Aug 28, 2025
Barça textpostsss 🙂↕️
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Barça textpostsss 🙂↕️
Lamine with the ugly cap and giant speaker, Hector doing his best Anuel AA impression, Dani calling the locker room "a schoolyard" and Balde saying it's "a kindergarten", Casado taking Lamine's phone to put on "un dia de partit", Iñaki Peña getting changed in the background, Balde fucked up his medal and tried to fix it while looking into the camera like he's in The Office, Ronald dropping it low.
I love this club.
🏆
Pablo Torre and the reader make a Tiktok trend where the reader calls Pablo's friends and parents to see if they would cover up a cheating or infidelity for Pablo.
Ex: the reader calls Pablo's mother and asks her if he is at home, that she has been calling him and he has not answered and the last thing he said was that he was going to his parents' house for dinner.
And likewise with his classmates, the surprise is that none of them would cover up something like that to Pablo and some even call him and write to him very upset to ask him where he is and who he is with and if he is cheating on the reader or not.
cheating prank
pairing: pablo torre x reader
summary: in which you test pablo's family and friends to see if they would cover for him cheating
warnings: none!
a/n: im sick :(
it started as a joke. one of those viral trends you’d seen floating around online. call your boyfriend’s friends and family, pretend you think he’s cheating, and see if they’d cover for him.
pablo was half-asleep on the couch when you brought it up.
“you’re chaotic,” he mumbled, eyes still closed.
“you’re not curious?”
he opened one eye. “not even a little. they like you too much. i’d get exposed in under ten seconds.”
you grinned. “let’s test it.”
he groaned dramatically but didn’t protest. “fine. go ahead. ruin my peace.”
you started with his mom.
you put the phone on speaker and cleared your throat.
“hola, señora torre,” you said sweetly. “sorry for bothering you. is pablo with you right now?”
she paused. “no, cariño. i haven’t seen him today. why?”
“he said he was going to have dinner with you, but he hasn’t answered my calls in hours…”
her tone changed immediately—concern sharpening her words. “no, he didn’t say anything about dinner. are you alright? do you want me to call him? maybe he lost his phone—”
you rushed to stop her. “no, no, it’s okay. just checking.”
you hung up and turned to pablo. “she passed.”
his phone buzzed within seconds. mamá calling.
he let out a heavy sigh. “i am never hearing the end of this.”
next, you called alejandro. pablo sat up straighter, suddenly alert.
“hola?” alejandro picked up after two rings.
“hey,” you said casually. “just wondering—is pablo with you?”
“what?” he sounded confused. “no, i haven’t seen him since practice. why? is something wrong?”
“he said he was going to your place, but he’s not answering.”
immediately, alejandro got serious. “do you want me to call him? should i come over? wait—is he cheating on you? what the hell?”
you choked on a laugh, trying to stay in character. “i don’t know. probably not. i was just checking.”
“call him again. and if he doesn’t answer, i’m texting him. this is shady.”
you hung up, and pablo’s phone lit up with messages
bro answer the phone now
she just called me—what is going on
you better not be doing something stupid
“he’s spiraling,” pablo muttered. “i can feel it.”
you smiled. “they love me.”
“they’re terrified of you.”
the last call was to a mutual friend. someone you both knew well—someone who, if anyone, might be tempted to lie.
you hit call and put it on speaker.
“hey,” they answered. “what’s up?”
“quick question,” you said, keeping your voice casual. “pablo said he was heading to yours tonight. is he there?”
a pause. then, hesitant: “um… yeah. yeah, he’s in the bathroom.”
you raised an eyebrow. pablo looked up at the ceiling.
“really?” you said, already smiling. “because he’s sitting right next to me.”
your friend let out a sigh. “okay, yeah. no way. i tried. i give up. i’m not getting involved in this. i value my life.”
pablo laughed. “coward.”
“smart coward,” they replied. “you’re on your own, bro.”
later that night, lying next to pablo in bed, you replayed the whole thing on your phone, still grinning.
“not a single one of them lied for you,” you said, smug.
pablo stared at the ceiling. “i have no allies.”
you kissed his cheek. “that’s because they’re all on my side.”
“i know,” he mumbled. “i could disappear for an hour and they’d start printing missing posters just to hand them to you.”
you curled up closer, proud. “they just care about me.”
he groaned. “i need new friends.”
“you can’t. they like me more.”
“unbelievable,” he muttered, but didn’t pull away.
taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!
https://x.com/vigoz_909/status/2009004813468783072?s=46
Im still dyin to know what he actually said to makes everyone laugh like that 😭💀
No because Eric and Pedri were still laughing at this AFTER the game ended it was SERIOUS! 😭😭
A dad one with Pablo Torre pls pls! I'm thinking a match setting where baby attends his dad's first match ever and is excited and overwhelmed all at once. And tires himself out, so Torre is holding his sleepy son in his arms while getting the motm 🥺
✮ Father of the Match - Pablo Torre
pablo torre x parent!fem!reader
sy: what the request saysss
a/n: this is a req from oct so i am so so so sorry omg, ill make it up to you however but it was a really cute req thank you💚
warnings: nooope.
eleven months ago, you welcomed little baby diego into the world. now eleven months later, you’re bundled up in the stadium watching your husbands champions league qualifier, with a new addition to the family.
the stadium is near deafening, thunderous cascades of hollers and anthems rippling throughout the rows of seats like waves.
diego perches upon your hip, snugly cradled close to your chest—his tiny no.14 blaugrana jersey adorably oversized on him.
“hey, y/n!” taia exclaims, instantly sweeping you into an air-squeezing hug. “oh dios mio! it’s been so long! i’ve missed you more than life itself!”
you pull away, laughing at her remarks. diego also erupts with a giggle of his own, using his preferred method of introduction: grabby hands. taia beams at him with hopeful eyes, trading a optimistic glance with you as you hand him over.
“and who’s this este hombrecito?” she cooes, carefully squeezing his cheek. “aren’t you just the cutest! mamà’s been hiding you from me for too long, hasn’t she?”
taia squeals as diego takes ahold of her finger, his laughter also contagious as it reaches the audience in seats behind you, who happen to similarly flare into a chorus of ‘awww’s.
“but how are you anyways, hon?” she asks, prying her eyes sideways. “it feels like it’s been years since i’ve last seen you in person!”
“you know how demanding babies can be,” you sigh, smiling wryly. “he’s a nightmare this one.”
“oh believe me—i do,” she mirrors your laugh. reluctantly, she detaches diego who seemed to be enjoying towing on her blonde hair, back to you. “gael is nearly two and he’s still just as needy.”
“speaking of, where is he? did you bring him?”
the brazilian nods, motioning over to the barrier close to the turf, where raphinha is proudly flaunting his son off to araujo and frenkie.
“ahh, got it,” you say. “why aren’t you down there with him?”
she places her hands on her hips. “well, my mother took him down. told me to stay here and defend the seats, but honestly, i think she just wanted first dibs on the smoothies down at the bar.”
“i can’t say i blame her,” you chortle. “they always sell to the same ten people within a few minutes.”
taia hums in agreement, scanning back over the pitch. raphinha signals her over, also offering you a nod of encouragement.
“you coming?”
your eyes daze at the huddle of players down at the pitch, the one that shines the brightest for you, seemingly searching through the stadium.
“yeah sure, lets go,” you agree and trace her footsteps down the concrete stairs. the atmosphere, from what you could recall, was entirely dissimilar.
the chorus’ of singing morphed much louder down here, the flags had quadrupled in amount and the fulfilled ambiance seemed more lively.
as you approach the barrier, the energy on the field was palpable with anticipation as the players were beginning their warm-up.
raphinha was the first to jog to taia, giving gael one last twirl up in the air before almost carrying taia over the wall, trying to hugs her.
within a beat, out of the flurry of motion, you seize pablo’s attention; ultimately, it causes him to sprint miles over the grass. torre weaves through the players and staff, his focus solely on you.
“mi amor!” he calls, his voice rejecting the fans’ noise. pablo reaches you within seconds, cradling you securely by the back of your neck.
his lips skim your forehead, and trail down to the bridge of your nose, then, landing a featherlight kiss just above your cheekbone before turning his focus to his son.
“how’s my mi pequeño campeón?” pablo says agilely. your baby gurgles with joy, aiming for his fathers face and eagerly exploring his features as if he’d never seen him before.
either that, or he genuinely missed him.
he pinches at his fathers nose, chin and ears. “ow—ouch,” pablo laughs through the pain, his eyes nonetheless crinkling with delight as diego takes ownership of his face.
within a beat, a jagged voice elicits. “torre! vamos! estás tardando demasiado!” (you’re taking too long)
pablo sighs, glancing back at the wrathful staff member, until he gives you a small, apologetic grin. “i have to go.”
“of course, good luck out there amorè.” you lean in for one last kiss. it lingers for a second, prompting pablo pull you back in for another. “we’ll be cheering for you.”
“my biggest supporters, eres la mejor. i’ll find you after the game cariño,” he promises, giving your hand a firm squeeze.
hesitantly, he departs away and you spin around. you spot taia patiently waiting for you, with gael around her neck. “what’s got you all smiley?” she asks as you approach.
it’s only now where it hits you, just how long you’ve been carrying an unshakable grin—like it’s been glued there.
“cmon chica,” she extends her free hand out. “let’s get back to our seats before we miss anything.”
you tumble up the steps together, settling back into the rigid seats just as the first whistle blows almost instantly, the players lining up for the clubs anthem.
diego is perching atop your knees, with gael sat similarly on taia’s lap.
for a moment, as pablo scatters across the field and into his midfield position, you lock eyes with him and so does your son. “papá!” he squeals, pointing down at the field.
pablo gives you a fluttering wave, smiling at diego who’s enthusiastically squirming on your lap. you return a heartfelt smile, pressing a kiss to your son’s conditioned curls. “that’s right baby, there's papá.”
diego was burbling throughout the entirety of the match, exchanging and blowing raspberries to gael every so often. he wriggled on your lap, his miniature hands clapping widly to the rhythm of the shouts wavering via fans.
screams were exchanged, hugs, maybe a few tears were spilled but the match ended in a dominant win for barcelona. the best part about it? pablo had earned the most prestigious award, you believed existed, the potm.
there was nothing short of urgency and adrenaline surging through your veins as you scuttle down the stairs, frantically sprinting onto the pitch.
pablo spots you before your gaze even lands on him—already running toward you. “i’m so proud of you baby!” you squeal ecstatically, leaping into his arms and puckering every inch of his face.
your husband welcomes you with open arms and a kiss that’s far too passionate to appear on live tv—but he doesn’t care at all.
“this one’s for you,” torre bandages the golden medal around your neck, splaying his hands on your lower back. “you’re my real prize.”
you’re crying before you even realise it. you laugh through the tears, cupping your husband by the cheeks. “don’t be so dramatic,” you tease. “but te amo, i’ve never been so prouder of you.”
pablo moulds his lips back to yours. “te amo.”
your silence is suspended by a ringing babble that you both knew too well. taia kindly offered to nurse diego for a bit; she finally hands him back to you, after leaving.
“papá win! papá!”
he crouches down to the height of your hip. “did you see papá score today?”
diego gurgles again, kicking his legs and reaches out to grab his fathers jersey by the collar. “ah si, te gustó?” pablo ushers a laugh, pretending to interpret the babble. “papá ran fast huh?”
all three of you convey soft fit laughter, until you hear the hundredth man shout pablo’s name. lewa’s painfully, obviously the coarsest. “torre, vamos! ven por tu premio, hombre!”
there’s a swarming sea of barça jerseys, ready to swallow him into the circle, chanting and jumping around him as he hesitantly follows through.
“ole, ole ole olee!”
the team congratulate him on his award—slapping his back, ruffling his hair and attempting to lift him into the air. lamine even, jokingly, tries to snatch the trophy; ferran lifts it over his head whilst the others simultaneously holler his name.
“mamà..” diego cries, his eyes flickering shut. you look down, where you see diego abruptly fast asleep. his head is buried near the crook of your arm, already softly snoozing and snoring.
amid the rowdy celebration, pablo is back by your side. “he’s already gone to sleep huh? was he that energetic?”
“you have no idea,” you lean on his shoulder, passing the tiresome baby into pablo’s arms upon request. “i don’t think i’ve seen him that happy in all eleven months.”
your husband wraps his arm around your waist, his silver mvp award sparkling under the fluorescent lights. through the reflection, you can make out all three of you, looking all curled up together.
diego looks merely knocked out, pablo has his chin perching atop your head and your pressed up against his body, nuzzling into his neck.
“pablo,” a woman squeaks behind him quietly. “would you mind recording a video about your motm award for barça’s social media?”
your forced to straighten up when torre turns around. he looks at you for approval, nervously, until you encouragingly smile.
“si, si.. of course i can,” he eventually replies. sarah handed him the camera to hold, whilst you step back, fidgeting with the golden medal.
whilst still sweaty and jubilant, pablo emits a preparatory cough a good couple times, before flashing you a grin and hitting record. he then looks across at his son sleeping snugly, which gives him all the motivation he needs to speak.
“hola culers, estoy muy contento por la victoria de esta noche y por el premio motm, y espero con muchas ganas el próximo partido,” his tone as soft as velvet. (i’m very happy for tonight's victory and for the motm award, and i’m looking forward to the next match)
pablo beams into the camera, titling his head briefly out of shot, to show his son sleeping peacefully in his arms. “por supuesto, este niño en mis brazos me ayudó a lograr este sueño.” (of course this little boy in my arms helped me achieve this dream of mine)
guilty without charge. literally. “and my wife too.” the player directs the tape behind him, utterly catching you off guard.
his own expression softens as he ends the video with a warm smile, drawing his son closer to his body. “¡visca barça!”
🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli
The boys ahead of the game 😂❤️