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It Had to Be You Part One Part Two
We Found Love
A World Alone
I've Got You Under My Skin Part One Part Two Part Three
Gold Rush
If You're Too Shy (Let Me Know)
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Fernando and his Baseball Player Girlfriend
Fernando and his Popstar girlfriend
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Nomad
Second Nature
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The World We Knew
[Off Campus x fem!reader] [Eventual Garrett Graham x fem!reader]
Summary: Y/N Y/L/N was considered the best goalie in all of college hockey. However, she knew that if anyone, whether it be her teammates, the media, or the fans, were to find out that she was actually a woman behind the mask, her reputation would be screwed and her dreams of getting drafted into the NHL would go down the drain. So, she did would anyone would do if they were trying to be perceived as a man while actually being a woman: She went by her first initial and her last name, she rarely took off her mask, and she did not interact with her teammates off the ice. Y/N was a ghost, a phantom, who came to life only on the ice. The only person that knew of her true identity was Coach Jensen, who was willing to overlook her flaws (being a woman) because of her talent.
After transferring to Briar from Harvard, Y/N finds herself desperately trying to avoid her new teammates, who are keen on getting to know their goalie better, and keep her identity hidden from the world.
Chapter 1: She's The Man
Chapter 2: How to disappear
Summary: The Briar Hawks' new goalie is reclusive and oddly avoidant. Other than at the rink, the goalie is never seen, and never attends any team bonding opportunities. What the team doesn't understand is their new goalie is harboring a secret so important that only Coach Jensen knows.
Warnings: banter, swearing, implied parental abuse, implied sex??? sorry if the word "penis" bothers you š
A/N: part two to She's The Man!!! also heavily implied that hannah and garrett are not together, but not outwardly said (i think) SERIES MASTERLIST
"Can you hurry up?"
"Let me think! I've barely had time to decide. Stop rushing me."
Dean groaned. "Tucker, we come here almost every day." His elbows were resting on the table and his hands cradled his face. "Just order something."
"I'm trying to decide between a burger or the Turkey Club," Tucker replied, holding his chin while looking over the menu. "What do you recommend, Hannah?"
Boredly, Hannah tapped her pen against her notepad. She shrugged. "They're both good." Dean, Logan, and Garrett groaned. "Why not just get both if you can't decide? You can just take the leftovers home."
"But, I'm not that hungry," argued Tucker.
"I'm genuinely going to starve," Logan whined. "I can feel myself wasting away over here. I'm just skin and bones."
The door to Malone's swung open, but no one seem to pay it mind as that always happened. It slammed shut. Hannah glanced at the door, and then back to the table, but when her mind finally caught up with what she saw, she turned back to the door.
"Hey, Y/N!" Hannah greeted her new friend and neighbor. All four heads that were sitting at her table snapped to the front door, where the girl Hannah had called out to was standing. "What brings you around here?"
Y/N smiled awkwardly. She was wearing an oversized Harvard hockey hoodie and black leggings. She stood, rocking on her feet with a platter of cookies in her arms.
"Oh, well, I just wanted to drop these off." Y/N gestured to the baked goods in her hands. "Chocolate lava cookies, for you and Allie. Just as a thank you."
Hannah's jaw dropped. She stared down at the treats, which had just been shoved into her hands, and then back up at Y/N. "If I wasn't dating Justin, I would jump your bones right here, right now."
"Um, thanks..." Y/N trailed off. She was never good at flirting, even if was jokingly with her friends.
"I'm gonna go show these to Allie," Hannah told her. "Hey, you wanna sit down and order something? I'll be back in a few." She didn't give Y/N much of a choice before she moved away from the table and towards the kitchen.
Y/N glanced at the table, and when her eyes landed on Garrett, she withheld a groan. "Uhm, don't worry, I'm not gonna sit with you guys."
"Any friend of Hannah's is a friend of ours," Tucker said with a friendly smile. "We have plenty of room. Dean, let her get in the booth."
The blond slid out of the booth, just like Tucker said to, sending the girl a flirty smile as he stood next to her. "Nice to meet you." Y/N sent him a awkward smile in return. She begrudgingly sunk into booth.
She was now sandwiched between Garrett and Dean.
She didn't dare glance at Garrett. She knew he was already looking at her. She could practically feel his stare burning into the side of her head.
"Y/N, you are literally a Heaven-sent angel," Allie sang as she and Hannah walked back towards the table. Both girls were holding cookies, and had huge smiles on their faces. "These are amazing! You could make a business out of this."
"It's no big deal." Y/N waved it off. "I just wanted to thank you guys again for being so welcoming."
"So that's your name," Garrett realized. "Y/N." She gritted her teeth and shot him a glare.
Allie blinked. She and Hannah exchanged knowing smiles. "Have you guys met before?"
"Yeah, she was on her knees for me yesterday."
Every single person's head turned towards Garrett. Y/N clenched her eyes shut. The absolute nerve of this guy. If they weren't teammates, she would've paid the guy who drove the zamboni to run him over during practice.
"Uh, what?" Hannah asked.
"No, that's-" Y/N yelped. She groaned and held her hands up. "I dropped my keys under his car, and I had to bend down to get them, okay? That's all. That's it. Nothing more than that." She, for the first time, turned and glared at Garrett, who smiled back at her in a way that would make every girl in a five-mile radius go crazy.
"Right," Allie giggled. "You want anything to eat while we're here?"
"Can I please have the Meat Lovers' pizza?" Y/N wondered. She glanced over at Tucker, who was still looking at his menu. "You wanna split it with me, Tucker?"
He looked up and shrugged. "Sure. Can we do extra pepperoni?"
"You read my mind," Y/N agreed.
"Coming right up," Hannah said. She glanced at Y/N and Garrett once more and wiggled her brows before she and Allie left, whispering quietly to themselves as they did.
Y/N sat uncomfortably in the booth. When she tried to shift in her spot, Garrett's thigh grazed her own. She stopped trying to get comfortable and accepted her fate.
"So, are you into hockey?" Logan wondered. When Y/N raised her brows, he gestured to her hoodie. She glanced down and internally scolded herself for wearing it.
Her fists clenched. "Hey, quick question: Do you ever stop talking?"
"You know you like the sound of my voice," Garrett teased her.
"Do you know anything about the Harvard goalie?" questioned Dean from the other side of her. "He just transferred here, but he's a pretty quiet dude."
She tensed up ever-so-slightly. She had just been asked to talk about herself and her hockey capabilities to her new teammates that didn't actually know that they were her new teammates. "Uhm, not really. The guy was basically a ghost on campus." Y/N played with a rogue string on her hoodie sleeve. "He- Uh, is he any good?"
"He's insane," Tucker exclaimed. "He saved every one of G's shots yesterday without even trying."
"Wow, that's pretty impressive," Y/N agreed.
"It wasn't that impressive," muttered Garrett. "The guy got lucky, that's all."
"Something I bet you're unfamiliar with," Y/N quietly whispered as she cleared her throat. It was Garrett's turn to glare at her. Dean raised his brows in surprise while Tucker and Logan stifled their laughs behind fake coughs. "Is Briar any good at hockey?"
"Come to the game tomorrow and see for yourself," Dean said to her with a wink. "We're playing-"
"-Eastwood, yeah," Y/N said without thinking. She huffed an annoyed breath. "Their left wing is such an ass. Dude will fall down any time anyone touches him and will swear he got tripped."
Garrett smirked from beside her. He, not-so-subtly, put his arm on the back of the booth, his fingertips gracing Y/N's shoulder. "I thought you weren't into hockey," he pointed out.
"I-I'm not," she weakly protested. "Just stuff I heard on campus, that's all."
Luckily, before she could be interrogated any further, Hannah came by and dropped off the pizza that Y/N had ordered. Hannah sent a knowing smile as she glanced between Y/N and Garrett.
It was 3 A.M.
Most students at Briar at this time were either asleep, partying, or doing the deed. And if you were Y/N Y/L/N, you were at the gym.
Because you couldn't sleep. Because your mind was on its own, little treadmill and refused to let you sleep. Because it was your first game for the Briar Hawks, and not that you'd ever admit it, but you were terrified. Like, willing to go to the gym at 3 in the morning terrified because you'd rather exercise than wrestle with your own feelings.
So, Y/N stood in the workout facility at the Briar ice rink, her headphones on her head, standing in front of the mirror as she let her arm curl up and down with the weights in her hand.
As if it would take away all the anxiety she had. As if it would make her forget that she had a game tomorrow. As if it would make her forget everything that had happened at Harvard.
Big Shot by Billy Joel played in her headphones, the music a pathetic attempt to drown out her own thoughts. It wasn't working.
What it was successfully drowning out was the noise of her surroundings.
She thought she was alone.
Which is why, when someone tapped on her shoulder, she screamed and turned around. She ripped off her headphones and blindly shoved at the person's chest, hoping to create some distance.
"I have no money, what do you want from me?" Y/N cried, swatting at the person standing before her. Two large hands grabbed her wrists and prevented her from doing any more damage.
"Y/N, calm down."
She immediately froze. Her panic turned into annoyance.
Her eyes adjusted, and she craned her neck up to stare at the guy who had her wrists in his hands.
Y/N scoffed. "Are you following me?"
"Do you want me to follow you?" Garrett asked with a grin. "How'd you get in here, anyway? You got keys, or something?"
"Or something," Y/N decided on saying. Of course she had keys. Well, Jensen had keys, and she had borrowed them from him with the promise of giving them to him before the game tomorrow. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugged, and her eyes strayed from his face to his broad shoulders. "I'm here to work out, which is usually what people do in a gym. But, you probably know that, considering you went to Harvard, and stuff."
She rolled her eyes. "You're here to work out at 3 A.M. the morning you have a game? Overachiever much?"
"I work out when I'm stressed," Garrett told her pointedly. "Still doesn't explain why you're here."
Y/N reached down and picked her dropped headphones off the ground. "Couldn't sleep. Figured I'd try to tire myself out rather than just toss and turn the entire night."
"I know something else that could tire you out," Garrett offered, his eyebrows raised suggestively as he winked at her.
She wrinkled her nose. "In your dreams, dude. And in my nightmares." She turned back around, away from him, and so that she could look at her form in the mirror as she continued lifting her weights.
Garrett stiffened when his gaze landed on her back, where there was a large scar that started at her neck and ran down the curvature of her spine. It didn't look like a scar that happened on accident by a reckless child; It looked like the purposeful act caused by an adult who meant to do harm.
"Your back." The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them, spoken by someone who was all too familiar with having to hide bruises and make up lies about scars on his hands.
Y/N didn't turn around, but he saw her eyes shift to the ground as he looked at her reflection in the mirror. "It's nothing," she immediately said. Garrett scoffed.
"Bullshit."
She turned over her shoulder. "It's nothing," she repeated, more firmly this time, but there was no trace of hostility in her voice. She just sounded tired.
What bothered Garrett wasn't her avoidance of the topic, or the way she didn't even look at him when she spoke. It was the tone of her voice, and how she actually sounded like she didn't care.
And he hated that. He hated how someone could make something like that seem so small, so miniscule, so unimportant. Something that had clearly caused her pain.
Something that had hurt her.
It made Garrett's jaw clench. He told himself it was out of empathy, and that it was because he knew what she was dealing with. He told himself it was because he was used to covering up bruises and scratches, and lying to people just to protect himself.
"Garrett," she called his name gently. He hadn't realized that she had turned around to face him. Her face was full of concern. Why was she concerned about him when she was the one with the a scar the size of his hockey stick? "I'm fine. Really, it's nothing. I'm okay."
They didn't speak for the rest of the time that both of them were there. Garrett stole glances when he thought she wasn't looking, and Y/N pretended she wasn't intentionally walking past him whenever she switched activities.
When Y/N grabbed her bag and headed for the door, before she could open it, a large hand grabbed her bicep. It took all of her restraint to not flinch at the sudden touch.
"Let me take you back to your dorm," Garrett offered, though it wasn't much of an offer, as it was more of a gentle command. "Please. I don't want you walking around alone when it's this dark out."
"You really don't have to," Y/N weakly protested. "Really. It's like a ten minute walk."
"Yeah, well, it's a two minute drive. One minute, if I ignore the campus speed limit." At Garrett's lame joke, or his threat to speed, Y/N smiled softly. He felt a sense of relief bloom in his chest; At least she liked him enough to smile at one of his jokes. "Please. It's the least I can do after I basically implied that-"
"-That I gave you head to my two new friends and three of your teammates?" Y/N interjected, crossing her arms over her chest in an attempt to look mad.
Garrett grimaced. "Yeah..."
"You're right; It is the least you can do." Y/N picked up her bag again and slung it over her shoulder. "Alright, lead the way, Captain."
Garrett was lucky Y/N wasn't facing him, or else she would've seen the flush of his face and the way he had to adjust his sweatpants.
Garrett's car was nice. It was the kind of car that Y/N knew she would never be able to afford, at least not while she was a broke college student that was surviving on nothing but protein bars and Red Bulls.
It silently made her blood boil with envy, though she would never admit it out loud.
She hated that she would never reach his level success, and that she would never be as highly regarded as Garrett, despite the fact that they both played the same sport and were both highly sought-after NHL prospects.
Y/N hated the fact that no matter how well she played hockey, no matter how many games she won or how many shots she saved, she would never be as respected as Garrett. She would never be respected as her teammates were.
Why? Because she wasn't a man. It was as simple as that. Her lack of penis and the fact that she had boobs was the sole reason that she would never be treated with the same amount of respect and dignity that all hockey players were treated with.
"So, are you going to the game later?" asked Garrett as he reversed out of his parking spot. He had put his arm across the back of Y/N's seat, and she hated herself for how her mouth almost watered at the sight of the veins on his arm.
The girl shrugged. "I don't think so," she answered.
"Why not? Because of the obvious lie that you keep telling everyone that you're 'not into hockey'?" Garrett mocked her, causing Y/N to glare at him. "C'mon, you know more about Eastwood than I do."
"Fine," Y/N relented. "It's not that I don't like hockey. You caught me. I just, um, I'm just not into big crowds, y'know?"
"If that's the problem, then I can just get you a seat in a quieter section, or-"
"Why do you care so much if I'm at the game?" wondered Y/N with an uncomfortable laugh. "You don't know me."
"I want to."
She hated how Garrett was looking at her. Not because of how his gaze darted from her face to her lips, or because of how his arm was still slung over the back of her seat and she could feel the warmth of his body.
She hated how Garrett was looking at her because it seemed too real, too honest, too genuine.
Summary: The Briar Hawks' new goalie is reclusive and oddly avoidant. Other than at the rink, the goalie is never seen, and never attends any team bonding opportunities. What the team doesn't understand is their new goalie is harboring a secret so important that only Coach Jensen knows.
Warnings: None? Uses of "the goalie" instead of using pronouns, and swearing. Reader has a few physical descriptions, but other than that, it's pretty vague
A/N: if you come to my account for consistency for one fandom, i apologize š i lowk just write whatever i want when i want. also planning on making this a series!!!!! SERIES MASTERLIST
Garrett Graham prided himself in always being the first to the rink before morning practice and the last one to leave after practice was over. He enjoyed having the rink to himself for a little while before having to deal with the chaos of the entire team.
So, when he had finally laced up his skates and walked out of the locker room and towards the ice, an immediate frown formed on his face when he realized he wasn't the first one on the ice this morning. He took off his helmet and narrowed his eyes.
Instead of him being the sole one on the rink, he would be forced to share it with whomever had beaten him.
"Who is that?" Garrett asked Coach Jensen, motioning towards the player that was donning full goalie gear and was skating suicides like there was no tomorrow.
Coach Jensen looked up, and his expression faltered ever-so slightly when he followed Garrett's gaze, which was on the team's new goalie. Jensen cleared his throat. "That's the new goalie," he managed to get out. "Transfer from Harvard."
Garrett's brows shot up. "Harvard," he repeated. "He any good?"
"Only let in 5 goals last season," Jensen told the team captain. "Despite the fact that Harvard's defense was absolute crap."
"You serious?" Garrett's mouth fell open in shock.
"If you don't believe me, see for yourself." The coach gestured towards the player on the ice. Garrett shrugged. He was never one to back down from a challenge.
The captain of the Hawks put his helmet back on and skated towards his new teammate. When the goalie caught sight of the player skating towards him, the goalie stopped dead on the ice and looked towards Garrett.
Garrett tried to get a look at the new goalie's face, but it was covered by the goalie mask. "You alright if I take some shots on you?"
Wordlessly, the goalie moved towards the net. The goalie's stick was tapped against the goal posts before the goalie turned around to see that Garrett had lined up about ten pucks in a straight line.
He raised his stick. The first shot when right at the goalie, whose glove caught the puck. Garrett huffed, but tried not to be bothered by it. It was only his first shot, he was confident the rest would go in the net.
Boy, was he wrong.
Every shot that Garrett attempted was saved. Not a single puck went in the net. The goalie didn't seem to be at all intimidated. Garrett bristled.
He was shocked. He was annoyed. He was, unfortunately, impressed.
With his now bruised ego, Garrett skated off the ice. The rest of the team had arrived at the rink, which meant that everyone had just seen what had happened. He hung his head slightly as he moved towards the rest of his teammates, while the goalie continued doing laps on the ice.
Dean was the first to speak. He whistled lowly and grimaced as Garrett took off his helmet, revealing his red face and his clenched jaw. "Dude, that was rough."
Garrett's response was immediate. "Shut the fuck up."
"I told you, Graham," Coach Jensen said with a confident smirk on his face. "Best damn goalie in the country."
"What's his name?" John Tucker asked, watching as the new goalie stretch on the ice.
Coach Jensen sucked in a breath. "Most people just call-" He cleared his throat. "-him by his last name. Y/L/N."
"Stupid, fucking hockey bag," Y/N grumbled, slinging the bag, which felt like it weight a tonne, over her shoulder. She was so irritated. She shouldn't picked a sport with less gear.
Her hair was sticking to the back of her neck. She smelled like rubber and male body spray that she had to walk through in the locker room. Her shoelace was untied, but she was too lazy to bend down and tie it, especially considering she was lugging around a bag that weighed around 30 pounds.
All Y/N wanted to do was go back to her dorm, take the coldest shower ever, and sleep for the rest of the day. And maybe eat some of the leftover Snickerdoodles that she had made the night before.
She reached into her back pocket and fished around for her car keys. When she finally reached them, they fell onto the pavement and below the pristine Jeep that stood before her.
"Fuck me in the ass!" Y/N swore. She dropped her hockey bag onto the pavement, and it landed on the ground below her with a loud thud. She groaned as she fell to her knees, blinding moving her hand under the car as her fingers searched for her keys.
Thank God the parking lot was empty, because if someone had seen her like this, with her ass basically in the air, looking like a madwoman, she would die of embarrassment and never-
"Can I help you?" A low voice said from above her. She clenched her eyes shut as her fingers graced the cool metal of her keys. She knew that voice. She had just spent the last two hours hearing that voice yell at all the hockey players, herself included.
She pushed herself to her knees, and then to her feet. Y/N's whole body ached. Her knees felt like rubber, and her feet felt like a cavern of blisters. How she was able to walk, she didn't know.
When she stood up and faced the man standing before her, her face grew hot. Garrett Graham, AKA the captain of her new hockey team and arguably the best collegiate player in the country, stood before her looking like something out of a dirty dream she would never admit to having.
He was standing, more like towering before her, a stupid smirk on his stupid, pretty face that she wanted to wipe off.
Or kiss off.
Wait, that's not-
"No, thank you," Y/N managed to say. "I just dropped my keys under your car. Sorry. Didn't mean to get in your way, or anything."
Garrett, not so subtly, raked his eyes over Y/N's body, which was slightly gleaming in sweat from her workout. She was wearing a matching workout set and a zip-up hoodie. Her abs were visible due to her hoodie being unzipped, and her hair was frizzy from her workout and from wearing a helmet all practice.
"Well, then you need to get your eyes checked, because it's not."
"Right." Garrett smiled smugly. Y/N wished she would've shot a puck at his mouth during practice. His smile was irritatingly perfect for a man who played a sport where teeth were routinely knocked out. He watched as Y/N bent down and picked up the bag, and how she tried to not grimace at the weight of the bag on her shoulder. "You need help with that?"
"Nope."
"You sure?" His eyes were swimming with amusement, while Y/N gritted her teeth. "What's in there?"
"Nothing." One of her skates fell out of the bag that she clearly hadn't zipped up all the way. Garrett looked down at the skate, then back at Y/N. "I don't know what that is."
He reached down at picked it up. "You skate?"
"Are you going to give me my skate back, or are you going to continue making me play this game of 20 Questions?"
"You haven't answered any of my questions honestly yet," Garrett retorted.
She reached forward and tugged her skate out of his grasp. "I don't owe you anything, Graham."
"You know my name?" Garrett wondered, that annoying smirk adorning his kissable lips once again. "That's not fair, I don't know yours."
"Tough break," Y/N responded. She turned around and began walking away, desperate to escape the social situation that she had found herself in.
"That's not fair!" shouted Garrett from where she had left him standing.
"Better luck next time!" She sent him a sarcastic wave before walking away from the captain and his jeep.
Her day had gone from mediocre, to bad, to awful. It was mediocre when she was at practice, it became bad when she was forced to interact with Garrett Graham because she had clumsily lost her keys under his car, and it became awful when she got back to her dorm and decided to eliminate her stress by baking.
Unfortunately, she had run out of sugar. The one thing she couldn't bake without.
"This is just great," she grumbled, staring at her unfinished cake batter. She had spent the last 10 minutes scouring her apartment for sugar, but she had no luck.
She wasn't about to waste her cake batter. She had to get over her fears and actually socialize.
She needed to ask her neighbors if they had sugar.
It was cliche, but it was better than going to the local market just for two cups of sugar. That would be even more socializing, and it would also require her spending money, which she didn't have a lot of.
Y/N put on her slippers and left her apartment. She was sweating slightly. She hated talking to new people.
With shaking hands, Y/N's fist tapped on the door before her. It was decorated in a vinyl, and had polaroids of two girls taped on it. They were both very pretty.
A girl with curly hair and a cute tube top with mom jeans opened the door. "Hi, can I help you?"
"Um, yeah, sorry, hi, I moved in next door, and um, I was wondering if I could borrow any sugar that you might have? I'm making Strawberry Shortcake, and I stupidly didn't make sure I had all the ingredients beforehand," Y/N rambled. She awkwardly smiled and realized how fast she was talking. "Sorry."
The girl smiled. "Don't worry about it," she told Y/N. "I think we have some in the kitchen. C'mon, you can come in."
"Thank you so much," Y/N said. "I just moved in, and I haven't really had time to go to the store, or anything." She awkwardly trailed after the girl, her fingers laced together.
"No way! Did you transfer here?"
"Yeah, I, um, transferred from Harvard, actually." Y/N watched as the girl searched through her kitchen cabinets. "Tuition was crazy expensive, and I couldn't afford to pay it."
With sugar in her hand, the girl turned around. "Oh, that's awful," she lamented. "But, hey, Briar is great, and I'm sure you're going to love it here!"
"I hope," Y/N replied. "Thank you so much. If you'd like, I can bring you and your roomate a piece of the cake when it's done. Just as a thank you for helping me and being so generous."
"Awe, how sweet!" The girl exclaimed. "My name's Allie, by the way, and my roommate Hannah isn't here right now."
"I'm Y/N." Y/N introduced herself. "Thanks again. I'll be sure to bring two pieces by along with some Cool Whip and whipped cream, in case you like both."
Allie grinned. "I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship."
Summary: Fernando's GQ photoshoot send his girlfriend spiralling, and she tries not to let him see the effect he has on her.
Warnings: None!
A/N: my man my man my man my man my man š
This was really, really, truly embarrassing. A few photos should not be making her feel like this.
He had told her about the photoshoot beforehand, but Y/N had assumed that it would be a regular, normal, football photoshoot where he'd be in uniform. Fernando had neglected to tell his girlfriend that his upcoming photoshoot would basically be just a glorified thirst trap for the world to see.
Y/N was doing dishes when he had texted her that the article had been published. Her phone, quite literally, fell out of her hands and onto the floor as she stared at the pictures of her boyfriend that had been published for anyone to see.
From then on, she was not able to function properly. All because of those photos. Every time she tried to do something, whether it was her own work or chores around their shared apartment, Y/N was distracted.
It was pathetic in her opinion, getting so flustered over pictures of her own boyfriend. She couldn't help it, and she found herself saving each picture to her camera roll just so she could look at them over and over again. She felt like a creep, a stalker, obsessing over pictures of an athlete that she thought was hot.
But, this wasn't just some random athlete that was her celebrity crush; This was her boyfriend. The man that loved her, and the man that she had the privilege to love each day.
She was practically salivating as she scrolled through each picture. He was devastatingly handsome in an almost unfair way. Granted, he had always been attractive to her, and he would always tease her whenever he caught her staring.
Her head was clouded with one thing and one thing only: Fernando.
Y/N felt like a fangirl. She couldn't remember a time when she had been so distracted by just pictures. She had never felt like this. Her face felt hot, and her fingers trembled every time she scrolled through the collection of pictures.
In a huff, Y/N threw her phone onto the carpeted floor. Her body was spread out across the couch, and a pillow had been put over her face. She felt ashamed, for some odd reason, even though the man that she was currently thirsting over was her boyfriend.
"This is so pathetic," Y/N whined. She groaned into the pillow before she put it back in its rightful place on the couch and sat up. She glanced over at the time on the stove.
It was just around 5 o'clock, and Y/N had spent basically the entire day on her phone, foaming at the mouth at pictures of her boyfriend.
Not a productive day, to say the least.
Using all of her strength, Y/N managed to trudge to the kitchen. She popped open the fridge and immediately reached for the leftovers from a few nights before. The last thing she felt like doing was actually cooking an actual meal.
Y/N was so engrossed in the process of reheating the food in the oven to notice that she was no longer alone. While she was busy unwrapping the tinfoil from the pan, the door to the apartment had opened.
Fernando stood in the threshold of the kitchen, wearing a white compression shirt and grey sweatpants. He's leaning against the wall, in a classic boyfriend stance, watching his girlfriend move effortlessly around the kitchen.
He cleared his throat. She practically jumped out of her skin at the sight of him.
Fernando Mendoza is an expert on two things: Football, and his girlfriend.
So, as soon as she turned to face him, he could tell something was wrong. To anyone else, Y/N would've looked normal. But to him, he knew that something was bothering her as soon as he met her eyes.
There was a crease in her brows, and the way her eyes flitted around the room made him frown.
"Oh, hi," Y/N finally said. She sounded flustered. "Sorry, I wasn't sure when you were gonna be home. You scared me."
Fernando stepped forward. His smile dropped immediately, and he crossed his arms over his chest. "You okay?" he asked. When he reached out to feel her face, she uncharacteristically flinched away, like she was afraid of his touch. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said in a rush. "Nothing's wrong, 'm fine. W-Why?"
"Baby, you seem... Off. Are you sure everything's okay?" Fernando seemed so sincere, so caring, it hurt her heart to not tell him the truth. On the other hand, telling him the truth would be so embarrassing that she'd probably never be able to look him in the eyes again.
So, she lied to him. Terribly.
Y/N pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve and shrugged. "I'm okay. Really, I'm just- Tired. You want dinner? I prepared one of your meals for you."
"I can do it." He swifty pressed a kiss to her forehead and squeezed her hip as he moved past her.
"Ok, well, um, I'm gonna shower, then," she told him. He wasn't able to say another word to her, because she was already leaving him all by himself in the kitchen.
Something was definitely wrong. He didn't know if he had something, or if someone else had bothered her. Was she overwhelmed with all the attention that had been on them because of the playoffs? Did he forget to get something from the store?
He didn't know what he had done, or what had happened to make her feel like this, but he knew he needed to fix it. He needed to apologize. He needed to make this right.
After finishing his dinner and promptly putting all the dirty dishes into the dishwasher, he left the kitchen and entered his and Y/N's shared bedroom. From where he stood, he could hear the water running from the shower. Her pajamas were left on the bed, and so was her phone.
It took him a moment or two to realize, but Fernando realized that Y/N had accidentally left her phone on.
Now, Fernando wouldn't consider himself a jealous boyfriend. He didn't care if Y/N had guy friends, or if she followed other guys on Instagram, because above all, he trusted her.
However, he was a curious guy. He wasn't ever invasive of Y/N's privacy, and he had never even gone through her phone, because he believed that she was entitled to her own things and she didn't have to share everything with him.
As he glanced over at her phone with squinted eyes, he noticed that her phone had been left open on a picture of him. He frowned. It wasn't her lock screen, because that was a picture of him and her at a baseball game.
He knew he shouldn't have, but he moved closer to get a better look at her phone. When he finally got close enough to get a better look, he grinned.
There, on her phone, were the pictures from his GQ photoshoot.
The photos that had been taken for the photoshoot were a bit more scandalous than he would've liked, to be honest. He wasn't trying to show off or imply that he was available. He wouldn't do that to Y/N. But, the photographers and the representatives from GQ told him that everything would be in good taste, so he agreed.
Fernando didn't think the photos were anything spectacular. Sure, he looked pretty good, but it was nothing to shout about from the rooftops.
His girlfriend, however, seemed to think otherwise, judging by the fact that she had saved every picture from the article to her camera roll.
The door to the bathroom opened slowly. Y/N appeared, one towel wrapped around her body and her wet hair dripping down her back. Her face looked warm from the shower, and as soon as her eyes landed on him, she looked a bit panicked.
"Oh, hey," she said softly. "Sorry, did you need to shower, too?"
He shook his head. "No, I showered after practice." Y/N nodded. She moved towards the bed to get her pajamas, but Fernando swiftly grabbed them and handed them to her. "Here." His hands purposefully grazed hers.
"T-Thanks." She hurriedly rushed back into the bathroom and shut the door behind her.
Fernando couldn't help but grin. He knew it was wrong to tease her like this, but he had never seen Y/N so flustered. She was usually the master at acting cool, calm, and collected, so this was a different side of her that he had never seen.
While Y/N was in the bathroom, he had taken off his practice gear and put on a pair of grey sweatpants. No shirt. He then laid himself on the bed, his back against the headboard as he waited for Y/N to finish getting dressed.
Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Y/N was trying to hold it together. Her hands were literally shaking as she brushed out her wet hair. This was so, so, pathetic.
She took a few more moments before she left the bathroom again and entered the bedroom. Y/N tried her best not to look at Fernando. Though, as she quickly glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she could tell he was shirtless.
Y/N sighed softly as she moved to her side of the bed. She grabbed her phone, which was on the nightstand, and climbed into bed. She had been in bed for only a few seconds before she was tugged into Fernando's lap, his arms wrapped securely around her, and his chin tucked into the curve of her shoulder.
This wasn't a new occurrence. Fernando always wanted Y/N close to him.
She shifted a bit in his arms before she opened her phone.
As soon as her phone unlocked, the screen showed one of the pictures from Fernando's photoshoot. Y/N quickly shut off her phone, but she knew by the snickering coming from her boyfriend that he had seen what was on her phone.
"You really liked the photoshoot, huh?" Fernando wondered, a bit smugly as he tilted her chin so that she was looking at him. Y/N squeezed her eyes shut and tried to worm her way out of his arms. He didn't let her. "Aw, come on, I'm teasing you, baby."
"It's not funny," Y/N protested weakly. "It's embarrassing."
"No, it's not," he argued. "I'm flattered. I wasn't trying to impress anyone but you, and it worked." Y/N shrugged in his arms. In one motion, Fernando had moved them so that he was above her while she layed on her back on the bed. "Who needs those photos anyway when you've got the real version right here?"
summary: You and Fernando Mendoza were never really just friends. Not when he memorized your coffee order after hearing it once. Not when you became the first person he searched for after every game. Not when every goodbye started feeling a little too painful to be normal. But with football, gymnastics, distance, and years of bad timing standing between you, figuring out what you are to each other becomes a lot harder than falling in love in the first place.
warnings: none, all fluff!
A/N: second part of this fic! tumblr wouldnt let me post it all in one go so heres the second part! lmk if yall have any more ideas for fernando fics!
word count: 12k... gulp
enjoy š
The season got worse before it got better.
Not statistically.
Statistically, Fernando was incredible.
The problem was everything underneath it.
The offense kept collapsing at the worst possible moments. Media pressure intensified every week. Fans blamed him for losses that werenāt entirely his fault because quarterbacks always became the face of disaster first.
And Fernando?
Fernando internalized everything.
You knew he did because he stopped sleeping normally.
You could hear it in his voice.
See it in the shadows beneath his eyes during interviews.
One night you woke up at 2:13 a.m. to three missed calls from him.
Your heart dropped instantly.
You called back immediately.
Fernando answered on the first ring.
āHey,ā he said quietly.
Something was wrong.
You sat upright in bed. āWhat happened?ā
A pause.
Then:
āWe lost.ā
Relief flickered through you first.
Then guilt for feeling relieved.
āOh.ā
Not just lost.
Devastated.
You could hear it now.
The exhaustion in his breathing.
The silence packed tightly underneath his voice.
āTalk to me,ā you said softly.
Fernando laughed once.
Not happily.
āI threw two interceptions.ā
āThat happens.ā
āI missed a wide-open read in the fourth.ā
āThat also happens.ā
āWe shouldāve won.ā
You closed your eyes briefly.
God.
Football owned too much of him sometimes.
āFernando.ā
Another silence.
Then finally:
āIām tired.ā
The words came out so quietly they almost disappeared entirely.
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because this wasnāt physical exhaustion.
This was deeper.
You leaned back against your headboard, phone pressed closer to your ear.
āCome here,ā you said before thinking.
Fernando blinked on the other end of the line.
āWhat?ā
āCome to Indiana this weekend.ā
āI have practice.ā
āSkip one.ā
āI canāt skip practice.ā
āYou absolutely can.ā
A tiny laugh escaped him despite everything.
āThere she is.ā
āIām serious.ā
āI know.ā
You softened your voice. āYou sound miserable.ā
Silence.
Then:
āI miss you.ā
The confession slipped out so naturally it took both of you by surprise.
Fernando froze immediately afterward.
Like he couldnāt believe heād said it aloud.
Your heartbeat stumbled violently.
The air changed.
Again.
Always again.
You swallowed hard. āI miss you too.ā
Too soft.
Too honest.
Fernando exhaled shakily through the phone.
And suddenly you could picture him perfectly:
head tipped back against the wall,
eyes closed,
completely exhausted from carrying too much for too long.
You wanted to reach through the phone and hold him together.
Instead you said carefully:
āYou donāt have to stay somewhere thatās making you unhappy.ā
Fernando didnāt answer right away.
When he finally spoke, his voice sounded distant.
āYeah.ā
The transfer rumors started three weeks later.
Sports media practically foamed at the mouth over it.
CAL QB CONSIDERING TRANSFER?
FERNANDO MENDOZAāS FUTURE UNCERTAIN
TOP PROGRAMS EXPECTED TO PURSUE STAR QUARTERBACK
Your teammates sent you screenshots constantly.
Mostly because everyone in your life had apparently become deeply invested in the romantic tragedy of you and Fernando existing in separate states.
One text from your old Cal teammate simply read:
if he transfers to indiana iām buying a lottery ticket
You ignored it aggressively.
Mostly because the thought had already crossed your own mind.
And that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
You tried not to ask him about it directly.
Tried being the important word.
āHow bad is it?ā you asked one night while walking back from treatment.
Cold Indiana wind whipped around you while Fernandoās voice crackled softly through your earbuds.
āThe portal stuff?ā
āYeah.ā
Fernando sighed quietly.
āPretty loud.ā
āYou hate attention.ā
āCorrect.ā
You smiled faintly.
āAny schools standing out?ā
A pause.
Too long.
Then:
āThere are a few.ā
Your stomach twisted.
This shouldnāt matter this much.
It was football.
Just football.
And yet suddenly every possibility felt terrifyingly personal.
āYou donāt have to tell me if you donāt want to,ā you said carefully.
āNo, itās okay.ā Fernando hesitated. āIndiana called.ā
Your entire body stopped moving.
Snow drifted lazily across the sidewalk around you.
āWhat?ā
āThey reached out this week.ā
Your pulse kicked violently against your ribs.
āOh.ā
Excellent response.
Truly groundbreaking conversational skills.
Fernando laughed softly like he could hear your brain short-circuiting through the phone.
āIt makes sense football-wise,ā he said quickly. āGood offensive scheme. Strong development staff. Better fit.ā
āRight,ā you managed.
āCloser to NFL preparation.ā
āTotally.ā
āAndā¦ā Fernando stopped briefly. āYouāre there.ā
Silence.
Your heartbeat became deafening.
On the other end of the line, Fernando sounded like he immediately regretted existing.
āI just mean,ā he rushed out, āhaving someone familiar nearby would help the transition.ā
Of course.
Obviously.
Completely normal thing to say about the girl you definitely werenāt secretly in love with.
You stared out at the snowy campus with your breath trapped somewhere in your lungs.
Then quietly:
āYouād really come all the way out here?ā
Fernando answered so fast it almost startled you.
āYeah.ā
No hesitation.
None.
The certainty in it shook something loose inside your chest.
Because football mattered to Fernando more than almost anything.
But somehow, every road he took still kept leading back to you.
The official transfer announcement broke the internet for approximately twelve straight hours.
CAL STAR QB FERNANDO MENDOZA TRANSFERS TO INDIANA
Every sports account on earth immediately posted graphics of Fernando Mendoza in crimson and cream while fans collectively lost their minds.
Indiana students celebrated like theyād personally secured national championship insurance.
Cal fans went through the five stages of grief in real time.
And everyone else?
Everyone else became violently obsessed with one specific detail.
You.
Because the internet had apparently spent years constructing a conspiracy board about your relationship like two emotionally repressed athletes were a national security issue.
One tweet with over two hundred thousand likes simply read:
that man transferred 2000 miles for LOVE
You threw your phone across your bed immediately.
Your roommate picked it up, read the tweet, and wheezed laughing.
āYou know what?ā she said. āI support investigative journalism.ā
āDelete that.ā
āNo ā¤ļøā
Meanwhile, Fernando was having a terrible time.
Not because of football.
Football-wise, the move made perfect sense.
Better scheme. Better support system. Fresh start.
He repeated those reasons so many times during interviews they stopped sounding like real words.
The issue was that reporters kept bringing you up.
āExcited to reunite with Indiana gymnastics star y/n?ā
Fernando nearly drove his forehead directly into the podium microphone.
āWeāre friends.ā
The reporter stared at him.
Then very slowly:
āRight.ā
Fernando visibly aged another decade.
The night before he arrived in Indiana, you couldnāt sleep.
At all.
You tried.
Failed spectacularly.
By two in the morning you were fully horizontal on your bedroom floor staring at the ceiling while your roommate watched you with open amusement.
āYouāre acting like your husbandās returning from war.ā
āHeās not my husband.ā
āYouāve literally been in love with him since California.ā
You sat up immediately. āI have not.ā
She blinked once.
Then burst out laughing so hard she almost dropped her laptop.
āYou are actually adorable.ā
You threw a pillow at her face.
Unfortunately, she was correct.
Because the truth was:
you hadnāt seen Fernando in person in almost five months.
Five months of FaceTimes and texts and football interviews and gymnastics streams.
Five months of missing him so constantly it became background noise.
And now he was suddenly going to be here.
Actually here.
Close enough to touch again.
Dangerous.
Extremely dangerous.
By the time morning arrived, your stomach was in complete rebellion.
You changed outfits three times before realizing you were behaving clinically insane.
āHe has literally seen you in sweatpants before,ā your roommate reminded you.
āThat was California sweatpants. Different psychological environment.ā
āThat sentence shouldāve been illegal.ā
Maybe it should have been.
Because when you finally reached the athletic center and spotted Fernando standing outside beside a mountain of luggage, your brain stopped functioning anyway.
For a second you just stared.
The last few months had changed him slightly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to notice.
Broader shoulders.
Sharper jawline.
A little more confidence sitting beneath his posture now, even if exhaustion still lingered around the edges.
Then Fernando looked up.
And immediately smiled.
Not polite.
Not careful.
A real one.
Warm enough to hit you like physical force.
Your heartbeat tripped over itself violently.
āHi,ā you breathed.
Fernando stared at you for one second too long before answering.
āHi.ā
Neither of you moved.
This was absurd.
You talked every single day.
Why did this suddenly feel like seeing each other after deployment?
Fernando recovered first.
Barely.
āYou cut your hair.ā
Your eyebrows lifted instantly. āThatās the first thing you say to me?ā
āI panicked.ā
You burst out laughing.
God.
There it was.
That feeling.
Like your body recognized him before your brain did.
Fernandoās expression softened immediately hearing your laugh.
Like some tension inside him loosened on instinct.
You stepped closer without thinking.
āSo,ā you said lightly, āIndiana quarterback now.ā
āStill feels weird.ā
āYou look weird in red.ā
āThatās hurtful.ā
āYouāll survive.ā
āDebatable.ā
The smile lingering on his mouth made your chest ache.
Youād missed this.
Missed him.
More than you realized.
Before you could think too hard about it, impulse took over completely.
You launched yourself at him.
Fernando caught you automatically.
Exactly like always.
Strong arms wrapping around your waist in one smooth motion while your feet lifted briefly off the ground.
But this time felt different.
Because neither of you let go immediately.
Your arms stayed looped around his shoulders.
Fernandoās hands remained steady against your waist.
Close.
Too close.
You became hyperaware of everything all at once.
The warmth of him.
The smell of his cologne beneath cold winter air.
The way his breathing hitched slightly when you settled against him.
And then, horrifyingly:
his thumb moved.
Just once.
A small unconscious swipe against your side.
Your stomach flipped so hard it bordered on medically concerning.
Fernando slowly set you back down.
Neither of you stepped away.
His hands lingered for half a second longer than necessary before dropping carefully to his sides.
Dangerous.
Again.
Always.
āYou look happy here,ā he said quietly.
You looked up at him.
Really looked at him.
At the boy who crossed the country carrying exhaustion and hope and probably feelings he still refused to name properly.
And suddenly Indiana didnāt feel temporary anymore.
āI am,ā you admitted softly.
Fernando held your gaze.
Something shifted between you then.
Not dramatically.
Nothing obvious.
Just a subtle unraveling.
Like the distance that had protected both of you for years finally disappeared all at once.
Behind you, someone wolf-whistled loudly from the football entrance.
Both of you jumped apart immediately.
One of Fernandoās new teammates grinned shamelessly.
āBro,ā he called out. āYou didnāt tell us she was real.ā
Fernando looked moments away from walking directly into traffic.
You, unfortunately, started laughing so hard you had to grab his arm for balance.
Fernando glanced down at your hand wrapped around his sleeve.
Then at you.
And despite his embarrassment, he smiled too.
Soft.
Fond.
Gone the second anyone else looked too closely.
Indiana athletics became unbearable about the two of you almost immediately.
Not maliciously.
Just relentlessly.
Because apparently there was nothing college athletes loved more than watching two emotionally constipated people orbit each other for years without figuring it out.
āYou know he looks at you like a rescued dog seeing sunlight for the first time, right?ā one of your teammates asked casually during stretching.
You almost tore a hamstring.
āWhat does that even mean?ā
āIt means that man is down catastrophically.ā
Across campus, the football team was somehow worse.
Fernando made the mistake of mentioning your name exactly one time during film review.
One.
And suddenly his teammates acted like they were witnessing a live-action romance novel.
āGymnastics girl texting you again?ā
āShe has a name.ā
āOHHHHH.ā
Fernando regretted speaking instantly.
Unfortunately for him, things only escalated from there.
Because once Fernando Mendoza settled into Indiana, he started existing around you the way gravity existed around planets.
Constantly.
Naturally.
Inevitably.
He walked you home after late practices.
Showed up to meets carrying coffee and protein bars because āyou forget to eat when youāre stressed.ā
Sat beside you during study hall with his knee pressed lightly against yours under the table like it meant nothing.
And the problem was:
Fernando loved through consistency.
Not grand gestures.
Tiny things.
Accumulating things.
Like the fact he automatically handed you the pickles off his sandwich because he remembered you liked them.
Or how heād pause football film every twenty minutes to ask if your ankle was bothering you.
Or the way he learned the names of your gymnastics skills so thoroughly he started critiquing landings like someoneās deeply invested suburban father.
āYou had too much chest forward on the landing there,ā he informed you one night.
You stared at him in disbelief. āYou are a quarterback.ā
Fernando shrugged calmly from your couch. āI contain multitudes.ā
āYou contain psychological warfare.ā
He grinned.
Actually grinned.
God.
That smile was becoming a problem.
The first real almost happened during Indianaās season opener.
The atmosphere inside Memorial Stadium felt electric.
Students screaming.
Music shaking the stands.
Camera flashes exploding across the field every few seconds.
And in the center of all of it stood Fernando in crimson and cream looking terrifyingly good under stadium lights.
Which was rude of him, honestly.
You sat with his family during the game because somewhere over the years his parents had simply started treating you like additional offspring.
His mother grabbed your hand every time Indiana scored.
His younger brother kept yelling:
āTHATāS MY QUARTERBACK.ā
Technically true.
Emotionally annoying.
And Fernando?
Fernando played like someone finally breathing properly for the first time in years.
Loose.
Confident.
Happy.
You noticed it immediately.
Every pass looked sharper. Every movement more certain. The tension that followed him through his final months at Cal had loosened visibly from his shoulders.
At halftime, he glanced toward the stands searching automatically.
And the second he spotted you?
His entire face softened.
The cameras caught that too.
Obviously.
Because apparently the universe enjoyed humiliating both of you publicly.
Your phone exploded instantly.
ROOMMATE:
girl that man looked at you like you personally invented happiness
You locked your phone immediately.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
Indiana won by fourteen.
The stadium erupted afterward.
Students flooded the lower sections while the marching band blasted fight songs loud enough to rattle your bones.
You barely made it halfway toward the tunnel before Fernando spotted you.
And suddenly there he was.
Still sweaty from the game.
Helmet tucked under one arm.
Joy radiating off him so brightly it almost startled you.
āYou were incredible,ā you told him honestly.
Fernando laughed breathlessly. āItās one game.ā
āYeah, and you looked like a completely different person out there.ā
Something softened in his expression.
Then quieter:
āI think I needed this.ā
The honesty in his voice wrapped tightly around your chest.
You stepped closer instinctively.
āSo did I.ā
For a second, the noise around you faded strangely.
Fernando looked down at you with that same expression he always got when he forgot other people existed nearby.
Too focused.
Too warm.
Your pulse kicked hard against your ribs.
Then his hand settled against your waist automatically.
Like it belonged there.
Your breath caught immediately.
Fernando froze too.
Neither of you moved.
The air shifted.
Again.
Always again.
You could feel the warmth of his palm even through your jacket.
His eyes flicked toward your mouth.
Your stomach flipped violently.
One second longer and something irreversible probably wouldāve happened.
Instead:
āMENDOZA!ā
A reporter appeared out of nowhere like a demon summoned specifically to ruin your lives.
Fernando blinked hard.
His hand dropped immediately.
The moment shattered.
Again.
Always.
āYou mind answering a few questions?ā the reporter asked.
Fernando still looked slightly dazed. āUh. Yeah.ā
You stepped backward carefully, trying to ignore the fact your heartbeat was now actively attempting escape.
The reporter grinned between the two of you knowingly.
You considered faking your own death.
Fernando rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly before glancing toward you again.
āYou waiting for me after?ā
The question came out hopeful enough to hurt.
Your chest tightened instantly.
āObviously.ā
His smile after that followed you around for three straight days.
Later that night, you sat beside him on the hood of his car outside the stadium long after everyone else had gone home.
Cold autumn air drifted through the parking lot while campus lights glowed softly in the distance.
Fernando leaned back against the windshield beside you, exhausted in the loose-limbed way that only happened after good games.
āYou know,ā you said, nudging his shoulder lightly, āIndiana fans are already obsessed with you.ā
āTheyāre obsessed with winning.ā
āMm. No. They specifically like you.ā
Fernando made a skeptical face.
You laughed softly. āYouāre charming when youāre not trying to be.ā
āThat sounds fake.ā
āItās unfortunately very real.ā
A quiet smile tugged at his mouth.
Then silence settled again.
Comfortable silence.
The kind the two of you had built over years.
Fernando stared up at the night sky for a while before speaking softly.
āI almost didnāt transfer.ā
Your head turned immediately.
āWhat?ā
He shrugged slightly. āIt was scary.ā
āLeaving Cal?ā
āLeaving everything I knew.ā
Your chest tightened.
Because suddenly you understood exactly what he wasnāt saying.
Leaving you there wouldāve hurt too much.
The realization sat heavily between your ribs.
Fernando glanced toward you again, voice quieter now.
āBut every time I pictured stayingā¦ā He hesitated briefly. āIt just stopped feeling right.ā
Your heartbeat slowed painfully.
Cold air curled around both of you while the stadium lights hummed softly nearby.
āAnd Indiana did?ā you asked.
Fernando looked at you then.
Really looked at you.
Like the answer lived directly in front of him.
āYeah,ā he said softly.
And for one terrifying second, you thought he might finally say it.
He didnāt say it.
Of course he didnāt.
Because apparently the universe had decided the two of you would spend the rest of your lives hovering one emotional sentence away from changing everything.
Instead, Fernando Mendoza looked away first.
Then cleared his throat like the moment hadnāt just nearly detonated both your nervous systems.
āYou cold?ā he asked.
You stared at him in disbelief.
āFernando.ā
āWhat?ā
āYou cannot say something devastatingly romantic and then immediately ask if Iām cold.ā
His eyebrows lifted innocently. āI asked a normal question.ā
āYou absolutely did not.ā
A laugh escaped him then.
Soft. Genuine.
The sound wrapped warmly around your chest in the dangerous way only Fernandoās laughter could.
āYou never answer questions directly,ā you accused.
āThatās not true.ā
āYou once avoided telling me your favorite movie for six months.ā
āI needed time.ā
āTo develop an opinion on a movie?ā
āIt was complicated.ā
You snorted.
Fernando smiled at you for a second too long before leaning back against the windshield again.
And just like that, the moment passed.
Sort of.
Not really.
Because afterward, things shifted anyway.
Subtly at first.
Then all at once.
The problem with unresolved feelings was that eventually they started leaking into everything.
Especially once you lived in the same place again.
You and Fernando fell back into each otherās routines with alarming ease.
Like distance had only paused something inevitable instead of stopping it.
And Fernando, unfortunately, had become even worse at hiding how much he loved you.
Not verbally.
Never verbally.
But physically?
Emotionally?
Disastrously obvious.
He looked for you constantly.
You noticed it during games first.
Every single time Fernando ran onto the field, his eyes searched the stands automatically until they found you.
Only then would he settle.
Like your existence physically calmed him.
His teammates noticed too.
āOh my god,ā one receiver muttered during warmups after following Fernandoās line of sight into the crowd. āHeās actually insane.ā
Meanwhile, your own team had fully given up pretending you werenāt basically together already.
āYou know whatās funny?ā your teammate Lily said during conditioning one morning.
āNo.ā
āIf Fernando proposed tomorrow, none of us would even blink.ā
You nearly dropped a medicine ball directly onto your foot.
āHeās not going to propose!ā
Lily stared at you.
āBabes, you two practically share custody of emotional stability.ā
āThat sentence means nothing.ā
āIt means marry him faster.ā
You hated how warm your face became afterward.
Because part of you wanted that.
Terrifyingly badly.
Not marriage specifically.
Okay maybe a little specifically.
But the idea of permanence with Fernando had started feeling less frightening lately.
And more inevitable.
Which was arguably worse.
The first real crack in your self-control happened in November.
Gymnastics season was approaching fast, meaning your stress levels had reached medically concerning heights.
Your coach adjusted three separate routines that week. Midterms were crushing you alive. Your ankle had started bothering you again during landings.
By Thursday night, you were exhausted enough to cry over a broken hair tie.
So naturally, Fernando showed up.
Because somehow he always knew.
You opened your apartment door to find him standing there holding takeout bags and looking vaguely concerned.
āYou forgot dinner again.ā
Your eyes narrowed immediately. āAre you tracking me?ā
āYou posted a photo from the gym six hours ago.ā
āThat proves nothing.ā
āIt proves youāre surviving exclusively on caffeine.ā
He stepped inside before you could argue further.
Warm food smells instantly filled the apartment while you collapsed dramatically onto the couch.
Fernando glanced around at your scattered notes and textbooks.
āRough week?ā
āIām going to fake my death.ā
āThat feels excessive.ā
āYouāll understand when I become a mysterious gym cryptid living in the forest.ā
Fernando laughed quietly while unpacking food containers onto your coffee table.
Then, without even thinking about it, he handed you a fork already prepared exactly the way you liked.
No onions.
Extra sauce.
Napkins because you always forgot them.
Tiny things.
Always tiny things.
Your chest ached suddenly.
Fernando sat beside you afterward, shoulder brushing yours naturally while football highlights played softly from the TV neither of you were actually watching.
For a while, the silence felt peaceful.
Then your phone buzzed.
You glanced down.
Unknown number.
You frowned slightly before opening the message.
hey, this is ethan from psych class
a bunch of us are going out friday if you wanna come
Fernando didnāt react outwardly.
But beside you, his entire posture went subtly still.
You noticed immediately.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
āOh my god,ā you groaned dramatically. āNot another one.ā
Fernando looked at the TV with suspicious intensity. āAnother what?ā
āA guy asking me out.ā
Too casual.
You said it too casually on purpose.
Fernando nodded once.
Still staring forward.
āNice.ā
You blinked slowly.
Nice?
That was the response?
Your irritation flared instantly for reasons that were absolutely irrational and deeply embarrassing.
āNice?ā you repeated.
Fernando finally glanced over. āWhat?ā
āThatās your reaction?ā
āWhat reaction am I supposed to have?ā
You opened your mouth.
Closed it.
Excellent question actually.
Because what reaction did you want?
For him to look jealous?
Upset?
Possessive?
Your stomach flipped uncomfortably.
Fernando watched your expression carefully now.
Too carefully.
āYou donāt wanna go?ā he asked softly.
āThatās not the point.ā
āThen what is?ā
The room suddenly felt too warm.
You looked away first.
āI donāt know.ā
Silence settled heavily between you.
The football game continued faintly in the background while your pulse thudded unevenly beneath your ribs.
Then quieter, Fernando asked:
āDo you like him?ā
You almost laughed.
The question felt absurd.
āNo.ā
āThen donāt go.ā
Your eyes snapped toward him instantly.
Fernando looked like he regretted speaking the second the words left his mouth.
Too honest.
Too fast.
Your heartbeat stumbled violently.
āWhat if I wanted to?ā you asked carefully.
A long pause.
Then:
āā¦Iād still tell you not to.ā
The air changed immediately.
Fernando realized it too.
You could see panic flicker across his face as he sat up slightly straighter.
āI just mean,ā he started quickly, āyouāre stressed and busy andāā
āFernando.ā
He stopped.
Your voice came out quieter than intended.
āWhy do you care?ā
Silence.
Real silence this time.
Heavy enough to feel.
Fernando looked at you for a long moment without answering.
And suddenly your entire chest tightened because for the first time in years, it seemed like maybe he actually might say it.
Finally.
Maybe finally.
Fernando looked terrified.
Not of you.
Never of you.
Of the moment itself.
Like he could physically see the edge both of you had been circling for years and suddenly realized one wrong sentence would send everything over it.
The silence stretched between you, thick and electric.
You could hear the faint commentary from the football game still playing in the background. The hum of your refrigerator. Your own heartbeat pounding hard enough to be medically alarming.
And Fernando justā¦looked at you.
Dark eyes steady.
Guard completely cracked open for once.
āBecause,ā Fernando Mendoza said slowly, āI donāt think Iām very good at pretending anymore.ā
Your breath caught.
Every muscle in your body went still.
Fernando laughed softly then, but it sounded nervous. Almost disbelieving.
āHonestly,ā he admitted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, āI think I stopped being good at pretending a long time ago.ā
Your chest physically hurt now.
āFernandoā¦ā
āI know,ā he interrupted immediately. āI know this is probably a terrible idea.ā
āThen why are you saying it?ā
His eyes met yours again.
And there it was.
Years of it.
Every airport goodbye.
Every late-night call.
Every almost-kiss.
Every lingering touch and held-back confession and moment that meant too much.
āYou wanna know the truth?ā he asked quietly.
You nodded before fear could stop you.
Fernando exhaled once.
Then:
āI transferred here for football.ā A pause. āBut not just for football.ā
The room tilted slightly.
Your stomach flipped violently.
āFernandoā¦ā
āI tried to talk myself out of it.ā His voice remained calm somehow, even while his expression absolutely wasnāt. āI told myself it was the offensive system. The coaching staff. NFL development.ā A helpless laugh escaped him. āAnd all of those things are true.ā
āBut?ā you whispered.
His eyes softened instantly.
āBut every future I wanted somehow still had you in it.ā
That nearly shattered you.
You looked away immediately because your vision blurred all at once.
God.
God.
For years youād imagined this conversation differently.
More dramatic maybe.
Cleaner.
Certain.
Instead it felt terrifyingly vulnerable.
Like standing in the middle of something enormous with nowhere left to hide.
Fernando noticed your silence instantly and panic flashed across his face.
āHey,ā he said quickly, shifting closer. āYou donāt have to say anything right now.ā
That somehow made it worse.
Because even now, even while confessing feelings heād clearly carried forever, his first instinct was still protecting you from pressure.
Your throat tightened painfully.
āYou idiot,ā you whispered shakily.
Fernando blinked. āThatāsā¦not ideal feedback.ā
A laugh escaped you unexpectedly.
Wet and breathless and tangled with tears.
Fernandoās entire expression softened seeing it.
And suddenly you couldnāt take it anymore.
Years.
Years of this.
You turned toward him fully on the couch, heart pounding so hard you could barely breathe.
āI have been in love with you,ā you confessed quietly, āfor an actually humiliating amount of time.ā
Fernando froze.
Completely.
Like his brain stopped functioning mid-thought.
āWhat?ā
You laughed once through your tears. āSee? This is why weāre a disaster. Weāve both apparently been losing our minds in silence for years.ā
Fernando stared at you.
Still frozen.
āYouā¦ā He blinked rapidly. āSince when?ā
You gave him an incredulous look.
āFernando.ā
āNo, seriously.ā
āTHE PERFECT TEN.ā
His eyebrows furrowed. āWhat?ā
āWhen I jumped into your arms after my perfect 10 and you looked at me like you were about to ruin both our lives.ā
Realization crashed across his face instantly.
āOh my god.ā
āYEAH.ā
āI thought I imagined that!ā
āYou absolutely did not.ā
Fernando covered his face with both hands.
āYouāre kidding.ā
āI spent three straight days replaying it in my head.ā
āI almost kissed you.ā
āI KNOW.ā
Silence.
Then both of you started laughing at the exact same time.
Not graceful laughter either.
The slightly hysterical kind that comes after holding tension for far too long.
Fernando dropped his hands slowly, still staring at you like he couldnāt fully process this was real.
āYou loved me at Cal?ā he asked softly.
You looked at him for a second before answering.
āThere was never really anyone else for me.ā
The honesty of it settled heavily between you.
Fernandoās expression changed instantly.
Something tender.
Something wrecked.
Your heart stumbled.
āYou have no idea,ā he said quietly, āhow many times I almost told you.ā
āYou have no idea how many times I almost begged you to.ā
That did it.
Something in Fernandoās restraint finally snapped.
Not wildly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
He moved toward you slowly, carefully, like he was still giving you time to change your mind.
You didnāt.
Not even slightly.
His hand lifted gently toward your face before hesitating for half a second.
You leaned into it immediately.
Fernando exhaled shakily at that.
And then finally,
finally,
he kissed you.
Soft at first.
Careful in that devastatingly Fernando way.
Like he was still worried this might somehow disappear if he moved too fast.
But the second your fingers tangled into the front of his sweatshirt, something deeper unraveled completely.
Years of longing crashed together all at once.
Fernando kissed like he loved:
patiently,
earnestly,
with his entire heart exposed.
Your hands slid into his hair while his thumb brushed against your cheek so gently it nearly ruined you.
And when you finally pulled apart, both of you looked equally stunned.
Fernando rested his forehead lightly against yours, still holding your face carefully in both hands.
āWell,ā he breathed.
You laughed shakily. āYeah.ā
āI think Iāve wanted to do that since freshman year.ā
āYou waited an insane amount of time.ā
āI was trying to be respectful.ā
āYou were trying to psychologically torture me.ā
That earned a real laugh from him.
Warm and helpless and happy in a way youād never heard before.
Then Fernando looked at you again.
Really looked at you.
Wonder mixed with relief mixed with something almost disbelieving.
āYouāre actually here,ā he said softly.
Your chest tightened instantly.
āSo are you.ā
And for the first time in years,
neither of you had to pretend anymore.
The first thing Fernando Mendoza said the morning after you kissed him was:
āI think my team is gonna be unbearable about this.ā
You laughed into his chest from where you were half-asleep against him on your couch.
āThatās your biggest concern?ā
Fernando looked down at you seriously. āYou havenāt seen how committed they are to humiliating me.ā
āFernando, your linebacker called me āfuture Mrs. Mendozaā before we were even dating.ā
āHeās been preparing for this moment since August.ā
A smile tugged at your mouth before you could stop it.
Dating Fernando didnāt feel dramatic the way you always imagined it might.
It feltā¦easy.
Like finally putting down something heavy you didnāt realize youād been carrying for years.
There was no awkward adjustment period.
No uncertainty.
Just relief.
Relief in reaching for his hand openly.
Relief in kissing him goodbye without pretending it meant less than it did.
Relief in finally hearing him say things heād been holding back forever.
Like:
āText me when you get home.ā
Or:
āYou looked beautiful tonight.ā
Or, your personal favorite:
āI love you.ā
The first time he said it happened accidentally.
Which somehow made it more Fernando.
You were sitting on the floor of his apartment halfway through helping him study red zone adjustments when he stood up to grab water from the kitchen.
āCan you hand me that notebook?ā he called.
You tossed it toward him badly.
Fernando caught it against his chest with a startled laugh. āYou absolutely would not survive as a quarterback.ā
āRude.ā
āYou throw like someone afraid of the football personally.ā
āAgain: rude.ā
He grinned while opening the notebook. āStill love you though.ā
Silence.
Fernando froze instantly.
You stared at him.
He stared at you.
The poor man looked like he wanted to physically rewind time.
āIā¦ā Fernando blinked rapidly. āOkay, so apparently thatās how Iām saying it.ā
Your heart melted so violently it shouldāve been studied scientifically.
You stood up immediately.
āCāmere.ā
Fernando still looked stunned as you walked toward him.
āYou donāt have to say it back right away,ā he said quickly. āI mean, obviously weāve established feelings are happening, I just didnāt plan for the actual wording to happen while discussing defensive coverage.ā
You grabbed his face before he could continue spiraling.
āI love you too.ā
Fernando went completely still.
Not nervous-still.
Not shocked-still.
Just overwhelmed.
Like happiness hit him so hard he forgot how to function for a second.
Then he kissed you with enough emotion behind it to leave your knees weak.
Afterward, he buried his face briefly against your shoulder and muttered:
āThank God.ā
You laughed so hard you nearly dropped his notebook again.
The internet, unfortunately, also found out eventually.
Not because either of you announced it.
Mostly because Fernando looked at you like a man witnessing divine intervention every time you entered a room.
Hard to hide, really.
The official confirmation happened after Indiana beat Michigan in a game that basically turned campus into a temporary lawless nation-state.
The stadium erupted afterward.
Students stormed the field.
Reporters screamed over each other.
Someone climbed a light pole for reasons nobody fully understood.
And in the center of all of it stood Fernando, grinning so brightly it almost didnāt look real.
You barely made it through the crowd before he spotted you.
Then immediately started moving in your direction.
Like always.
Only this time there was no hesitation.
No almost.
Fernando reached you, grabbed your face with both hands, and kissed you right there in the middle of the chaos while cameras absolutely lost their minds around you.
The stadium somehow got louder.
Somewhere nearby, one of his teammates yelled:
āITāS ABOUT TIME.ā
By morning, social media had detonated completely.
THEY FINALLY DID IT
WE SURVIVED THE SLOWEST BURN IN NCAA HISTORY
HE TRANSFERRED ACROSS THE COUNTRY FOR HER YOUR HONOR
Edits flooded the internet within hours.
Old Cal clips.
Sideline moments.
Interviews where Fernando visibly forgot how sentences worked around you.
Videos of you wearing his jersey.
Footage of him at your gymnastics meets looking one proud smile away from ascending into heaven.
Your favorite edit used a clip from freshman year.
The hallway.
The dropped papers.
Fernando smiling shyly while you laughed at him for color-coding playbooks.
You stared at it for a long moment before showing him.
āOh my god,ā Fernando groaned, hiding his face in your shoulder. āWhy do people have archival footage of us?ā
āBecause apparently weāre a public service.ā
āYou bullied me the first day we met.ā
āYou were carrying enough binders to qualify as a structural hazard.ā
Fernando laughed softly against your shoulder.
Then quieter:
āI knew pretty fast.ā
Your breath caught slightly. āKnew what?ā
He lifted his head enough to look at you properly.
āThat you were gonna matter to me.ā
God.
Even now he could still do that to you.
Still unravel you completely with one soft sentence.
You touched his face gently. āYou matter to me too, quarterback.ā
Fernando smiled.
Not shy anymore.
Not uncertain.
Just happy.
Steady.
Certain.
The kind of happiness that had taken years to reach you both.
Spring arrived slowly after that.
Gymnastics season ended with you winning a national title.
Fernando cried harder than your parents did.
āI am literally fine,ā you informed him while he hugged you after the medal ceremony.
āYou stuck that landing under insane pressure,ā he argued emotionally. āDo you understand how difficult that is?ā
āYou sound like a sports documentary narrator.ā
āYouāre making fun of me during a vulnerable moment.ā
āCorrect.ā
He kissed your forehead anyway.
Later that night, long after interviews and celebrations ended, the two of you slipped away from the noise and walked across campus together beneath soft Indiana spring air.
No cameras.
No crowds.
No expectations.
Just you and Fernando.
His hand stayed warm around yours while campus lights glowed gold across quiet sidewalks.
āYou know whatās weird?ā he said eventually.
āWhat?ā
Fernando glanced down at you with a small smile.
āI spent years thinking telling you how I felt would ruin everything.ā
Your chest tightened softly.
āAnd now?ā
He squeezed your hand once.
āNow I think you were the best thing that ever happened to me.ā
You looked up at him.
At the boy from the hallway floor.
The quarterback with color-coded playbooks and careful eyes.
The person who loved quietly until suddenly it wasnāt quiet at all anymore.
Then you smiled.
āYeah,ā you said softly. āYou were worth the wait.ā
And this time,
finally,
there was no almost left between you.
A/N: thank you so much for reading! reblogs are very appreciated :3
summary: You and Fernando Mendoza were never really just friends. Not when he memorized your coffee order after hearing it once. Not when you became the first person he searched for after every game. Not when every goodbye started feeling a little too painful to be normal. But with football, gymnastics, distance, and years of bad timing standing between you, figuring out what you are to each other becomes a lot harder than falling in love in the first place.
warnings: none, all fluff!
A/N: hey guys! I havenāt written a fic in a while but I have been obsessedddd with Fernando Mendoza lately and i couldnāt get this idea out of my head! This is also the longest fic Iāve ever written and it took so long so I hope yall enjoy! pls let me know if there are any more fernando ideas yall have and I will do my best to write them!!!
word count: 12kā¦ gulp
enjoy š
The first time you met Fernando Mendoza, he was trying and failing to carry entirely too many things at once.
Three playbooks balanced unevenly against his chest. A duffel bag hanging from one shoulder. A protein shake tucked awkwardly beneath his arm like heād forgotten it existed halfway across campus. Somehow, despite all of that, he still managed to catch the athletic center door before it shut in your face.
You barely noticed him at first.
Your entire body hurt.
Six hours of gymnastics practice had left your legs trembling by the time you dragged yourself across campus, and your coach had spent the last forty minutes critiquing every microscopic mistake youād made on beam like your scholarship personally offended herr.
You were exhausted. Sweaty. Irritated.
Not exactly in the mood for cheerful human interaction.
āThanks,ā you muttered, ducking under his arm and stepping through the doorway.
āNo problem,ā he said quietly.
Then one of the binders slipped.
Everything exploded.
Loose papers scattered across the tile floor in every direction while Fernando froze in visible horror, his expression somewhere between embarrassment and resignation.
A long silence stretched between you.
One page drifted slowly past your shoe.
Fernando closed his eyes briefly. āCool.ā
You stared at him.
He stared at the disaster around him.
āā¦You good?ā you asked finally.
āYeah,ā he sighed, already crouching to collect pages. āThis happens more than youād think.ā
You should have kept walking.
You really should have.
Instead, with the heaviness of someone making a terrible life decision, you dropped your backpack onto the floor beside him and crouched down too.
āYour organization system sucks,ā you informed him.
āItās usually better than this.ā
āThat somehow makes it worse.ā
A startled laugh escaped him.
Soft. Short. Like he wasnāt used to doing it loudly.
You tried not to notice that.
Most of the pages were covered in handwritten notes so neat they barely looked real.
Coverage schemes. Route adjustments. Defensive terminology highlighted in different colors with alarming precision.
You held up one sheet, eyebrows lifting.
āYou color-code protections?ā
Fernando looked mildly embarrassed. āIt helps me memorize faster.ā
āYouāre insane.ā
āProbably.ā
You snorted.
He smiled a little then. Small enough you almost missed it.
Together, the two of you organized papers across the hallway floor while athletes passed by without paying attention. Somewhere deeper inside the building, music echoed faintly from the basketball gym. Sneakers squeaked against polished courts. Someone yelled across the weight room.
The world kept moving around you.
But for some reason, this moment settled.
You learned his name because his student ID slipped out of one of the folders.
Fernando Mendoza.
Quarterback.
Freshman.
āYou play football?ā you asked dryly, gesturing toward the mountain of playbooks.
āNo, actually. Competitive knitting.ā
That caught you off guard enough to laugh.
This time he looked more relaxed hearing it.
āYouāre a gymnast, right?ā he asked carefully.
You glanced up. āHow do you know that?ā
āYouāve got chalk on your hoodie.ā
You looked down.
Right. Chalk streaks everywhere.
āThat,ā you sighed, āis deeply humiliating.ā
And for some reason, standing there under fluorescent lighting with sore knees and chalk dust on your sleeves, your stomach flipped.
Just slightly.
Barely enough to notice.
At the time, you thought nothing of it.
Years later, you would remember it perfectly.
Not because it was dramatic.
It wasnāt.
There were no fireworks. No cinematic orchestra swelling in the background. No immediate realization that this person would someday become the center of your life.
Just two exhausted freshman athletes sitting on the floor of Calās athletic center while Fernando apologized every thirty seconds for ācausing chaos.ā
But maybe love stories rarely announce themselves properly.
Maybe sometimes they begin with scattered papers and a held-open door.
You learned very quickly that Fernando was impossible not to love.
Not in an obvious way.
Not the kind of person who entered rooms demanding attention.
If anything, he seemed actively uncomfortable being perceived for too long.
He spoke softly. Listened carefully. Remembered everything.
Tiny things, especially.
Your coffee order after hearing it once.
The fact you hated when people touched your wrists before competitions.
That you always got quiet before meets.
That your left ankle bothered you more in cold weather.
āYou notice entirely too much,ā you told him once.
Fernando shrugged from where he sat beside you in the library, laptop glowing against tired eyes.
āI just pay attention.ā
That was the problem.
He paid attention to you like it mattered.
And somewhere between late-night study sessions and accidental three-hour phone calls, he became part of your life so naturally it stopped feeling strange.
Then started feeling dangerous.
By sophomore year, everyone at Cal assumed you were dating.
Honestly?
You understood why.
Fernando was everywhere.
At your meets wearing Cal gear and sitting beside your parents like he belonged there. At the library until two in the morning because āyou focus better when someone else is suffering with you.ā Outside the gymnastics facility holding coffee carriers after brutal practices.
And every single time you spotted him waiting there, your chest did something deeply annoying.
One Friday night after an away meet, you stumbled exhausted off the team bus to find Fernando leaning against his car in the parking lot.
You blinked at him.
āWhat are you doing here?ā
āYou said your meet ended at ten.ā
āItās almost midnight.ā
āTraffic.ā
āYou drove two hours?ā
Fernando frowned like the answer was obvious. āYou sounded upset on the phone.ā
The worst part was he genuinely didnāt understand why that mattered so much.
You stared at him for a second too long.
Then looked away first.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
āCāmon,ā he said softly, taking your duffel bag before you could protest. āI brought food.ā
Inside his car smelled like laundry detergent, coffee, and faintly like the peppermint gum he chewed during games.
You sat cross-legged in the passenger seat eating fries while Fernando drove through quiet Berkeley streets one-handed.
Streetlights flickered gold across his face.
āYou wanna talk about practice?ā he asked eventually.
āNo.ā
āOkay.ā
Two minutes passed.
Then:
āShe told me my body composition is affecting my tumbling.ā
Fernandoās jaw tightened instantly.
You noticed because you always noticed him too.
āSheās wrong,ā he said carefully.
āSheās not completely wrong.ā
āShe is if sheās making you miserable.ā
You looked out the window before he could see your expression change.
That was another problem with Fernando.
He never tried to fix everything.
He just stayed.
Steady. Patient. Warm in all the places you were tired.
And every time he did, loving him became a little more inevitable.
The first time things almost happened was after your perfect 10.
The entire arena blurred afterward.
Noise crashed around you from every direction while your teammates screamed and your coach grabbed your shoulders hard enough to bruise. Cameras flashed. Music blasted overhead.
You barely processed any of it.
Because across the crowd, you spotted Fernando already moving toward you.
Still in his practice gear.
Still carrying his football backpack.
Like heād sprinted straight from training the second he heard.
Your heart lurched stupidly.
You reached him before your brain caught up.
One second you were standing there.
The next, you were in his arms.
Fernando caught you automatically, hands locking around your waist while momentum lifted you clear off the ground.
āYou were incredible,ā he breathed.
Not loud.
Not performative.
Like he meant every word.
Adrenaline rushed hot beneath your skin.
You looked down at him.
Too close.
His eyes flicked toward your mouth before he could stop them.
Your stomach flipped violently.
Around you, the arena still roared.
But inside that moment everything narrowed painfully small.
His hands tightened slightly against your waist.
You became hyperaware of every place you touched.
The warmth of his hoodie beneath your fingers.
The quick rise and fall of his breathing.
The fact that neither of you had let go yet.
And then:
āMENDOZAAAAA!ā
One of his teammates yelled from across the tunnel entrance.
The moment shattered instantly.
Fernando blinked hard like waking up.
You stepped back too quickly.
āRight,ā he cleared his throat. āUh. Congrats.ā
āThanks.ā
Neither of you looked directly at each other after that.
Later that night, lying awake in bed, you replayed the moment over and over until your chest physically hurt.
Meanwhile across campus, Fernando sat through film review hearing absolutely none of it.
Because all he could think about was how perfectly youād fit in his arms.
And how badly he wanted to do it again.
By junior year, loving Fernando Mendoza had become less of a crush and more of a chronic condition.
Quiet. Persistent. Embedded somewhere beneath your ribs.
The worst part?
You were almost certain he felt it too.
Not because he said anything. Fernando rarely said anything directly when it came to himself. But there were moments that lingered too long to ignore.
Like the way his voice softened whenever he was tired and talking only to you.
The way he looked for you in crowds automatically.
The way his entire posture changed when you walked into a room, shoulders loosening like some part of him could finally unclench.
Or the fact that every single person at Cal athletics had apparently decided you were already married.
āYou know,ā one of your teammates said casually during recovery lifts, āFernando looked ready to fight God himself after your coach yelled at you yesterday.ā
You nearly dropped a resistance band on your face.
āShe was criticizing my landing.ā
āYeah, and he looked one comment away from becoming a federal issue.ā
āThatās dramatic.ā
āIs it?ā
Unfortunately, it wasnāt.
Because gymnastics had stopped feeling like home.
You tried pretending otherwise for months.
You ignored the exhaustion chewing through your body. Ignored the constant pressure from coaches. Ignored the way your reflection started feeling less like yourself and more like something being evaluated under fluorescent lighting.
Your performances were still good.
Great, technically.
But happiness had become harder to locate.
Fernando noticed before anyone else did.
Of course he did.
One night after practice, you found him sitting alone in the football stadium bleachers.
It was late enough the entire field sat empty beneath harsh white floodlights, the giant CAL logo glowing against the center turf like something abandoned.
Fernando looked up when he heard your footsteps.
āYouāre limping.ā
You immediately frowned. āHello to you too.ā
āYouāre limping,ā he repeated calmly.
āIām fine.ā
āThat wasnāt convincing at all.ā
You rolled your eyes but climbed the bleachers anyway, dropping heavily into the seat beside him.
Cold air wrapped around both of you instantly.
For a while neither of you spoke.
Below, sprinklers hissed quietly across the field.
Fernando handed you a Gatorade without looking.
Your favorite flavor.
Because of course it was.
āYou missed dinner,ā he said after a minute.
āYou keeping tabs on me now?ā
āYou make that sound creepy.ā
āIt is creepy.ā
A pause.
Then:
āYou okay?ā
The question settled softly between you.
Too soft to dodge comfortably.
You leaned back against the metal bench with a tired sigh. āJust stressed.ā
āGymnastics?ā
You nodded.
Fernando stayed quiet for a second too long.
Then:
āYou donāt have to prove anything to people who only like you when youāre winning.ā
Your head turned toward him immediately.
āWhat?ā
He stared out toward the field instead of at you.
āI hear the way your coaches talk sometimes.ā
Embarrassment flared hot under your skin.
āYou shouldnāt listen to that.ā
āI donāt exactly have a choice when theyāre yelling.ā
āThey yell at everyone.ā
āThat doesnāt make it okay.ā
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
Because Fernando said things gently.
But when he cared about something, there was steel underneath it.
You swallowed hard. āItās just part of the sport.ā
He finally looked at you then.
āNo,ā he said quietly. āBeing miserable shouldnāt be.ā
That nearly undid you.
You looked away before he could tell.
The stadium lights blurred faintly at the edges.
For a terrifying second, you almost told him everything.
How exhausted you were.
How trapped you felt.
How badly you wanted someone to tell you it was okay to stop hurting yourself just to deserve being there.
But Fernando was looking at you with that unbearably steady expression again.
Like heād sit there all night if you needed him to.
And suddenly the truth sitting in your chest felt enormous.
You loved him.
Not in the easy way anymore.
Not in the harmless college crush way.
No.
You loved him in the terrifying way.
The life-altering way.
The kind that made future decisions feel dangerous.
Because if you let yourself have this, really have this, losing it someday would destroy you.
So instead of saying any of that, you forced out a laugh.
āYou know,ā you said lightly, āyouāre weirdly philosophical for a quarterback.ā
Fernando blinked.
āI had one emotional thought. Relax.ā
You laughed for real this time.
Mission accomplished.
Deflection successful.
At least until his hand brushed yours against the bench between you.
Neither of you moved away.
And somehow that felt worse.
A month later, you got the Indiana offer.
At first you just stared at the email in silence.
Indiana University Athletics.
Transfer opportunity.
Full support package.
New coaching staff.
Fresh start.
Your heart pounded harder with every line you read.
It felt impossible.
And then, almost immediately, guilt followed behind it.
Because the first person you wanted to tell was Fernando.
Which was exactly the problem.
You found him later that night in the football facility watching film alone.
Somehow he was always watching film.
The room glowed dim blue from the projector screen while defensive formations flickered across the wall behind him. Empty energy drink cans littered the desk beside a terrifyingly organized stack of notes.
Fernando glanced up the second you walked in.
Then frowned.
āYouāve got your stress face on.ā
āI do not have a stress face.ā
āYou absolutely have a stress face.ā
You hovered awkwardly near the doorway.
Fernando immediately muted the film.
That tiny gesture nearly broke your heart.
Because he always did that.
Always made space for you immediately.
āWhat happened?ā he asked softly.
You looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At the boy who had quietly threaded himself through every important part of your life without either of you realizing how irreversible it had become.
Then you sat down beside him.
Your knee brushed his automatically.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
āI got a transfer offer.ā
Fernando went still.
Not dramatically.
That was the frightening thing.
He justā¦stilled.
Like his body locked down every visible reaction before it could escape.
āOh,ā he said.
Your stomach twisted painfully.
āIndiana.ā
Silence.
Onscreen, the paused football formation reflected dimly across Fernandoās face.
Finally he nodded once.
āThatās huge.ā
āItās a really good program.ā
āYeah.ā
āThey have better medical staff.ā
Another nod.
āAnd the coaches are supposed to beā¦ā you hesitated. āDifferent.ā
Fernandoās jaw tightened briefly.
You noticed immediately.
āYou should go,ā he said quietly.
The words hit harder than they should have.
āYou didnāt even think about it.ā
āI did.ā
āNo, you didnāt.ā
āI did the second you said ābetter coaches.āā
That shut you up.
Because there it was again.
Fernando paying attention.
Always paying attention.
You looked down at your hands. āI havenāt accepted yet.ā
Fernando stared at you for a long moment.
Then:
āAre you staying because of me?ā
Your breath caught.
Too direct.
Far too direct.
āNo,ā you lied instantly.
Something unreadable crossed his face.
Not anger.
Something sadder.
āOkay.ā
You hated that answer.
Hated how easily he accepted it.
Like heād never ask you for anything that might change your future.
āI justā¦ā You swallowed hard. āCal feels like home.ā
Fernando smiled then.
Small. Careful.
But there was heartbreak hidden inside it now.
āYouāll make another one.ā
You almost kissed him right there.
Instead, you sat beside him in the dark film room while football footage flickered silently across the wall and both of you pretended your lives werenāt quietly splitting in half.
You accepted the Indiana transfer three days later.
Then spent the next two weeks pretending you hadnāt detonated your own life.
The official announcement went up on a Tuesday morning.
By Tuesday afternoon, sports accounts were posting edits of your routines set to dramatic music like youād died in battle instead of switched conferences.
Your teammates cried.
Your coaches suddenly acted devastated to lose you after spending months making you miserable.
And Fernando?
Fernando texted you exactly eight seconds after the news became public.
proud of you :)
The smiley face nearly killed you.
Because you could picture him typing it.
Carefully. Deliberately. Probably deleting three other versions first.
You stared at the message for almost a full minute before replying.
thank you
donāt use smiley faces theyāre unsettling
Three dots appeared instantly.
sorry
š?
You burst out laughing in the middle of the locker room.
One of your teammates looked up suspiciously. āFernando?ā
āUnfortunately.ā
āMarry him already so the rest of us can move on.ā
You threw a sweatshirt at her face.
But later that night, lying awake in your apartment surrounded by half-packed boxes, you reread his messages until your chest hurt.
Because leaving California suddenly felt real.
And no matter how many times you told yourself this was the right decision, part of you still wanted someone to stop you.
Part of you still wanted Fernando to say:
Stay.
He never did.
That was the unbearable thing about him.
Fernando loved selflessly.
Even when it cost him.
Your last week at Cal passed in strange emotional whiplash.
Everyone wanted to see you before you left.
Team dinners. Goodbye parties. Professors wishing you luck. Teammates crying in parking lots at midnight like you were being deployed overseas.
Through all of it, Fernando stayed strangely quiet.
Not distant.
Justā¦careful.
Like he was holding himself together with both hands.
You noticed it most the night he helped you pack.
Youād told him not to come over.
Mostly because you knew seeing him in your apartment surrounded by cardboard boxes would make everything feel horrifyingly permanent.
Naturally, he showed up anyway.
Carrying coffee.
āI said I didnāt need help.ā
āYou also said you were ābasically done packing,āā Fernando replied, looking around at the disaster covering your floor.
You followed his gaze.
Half-filled boxes.
Clothes draped over chairs.
Gymnastics gear everywhere.
āā¦I can explain.ā
āYouāre a liar is what you are.ā
āYou came here voluntarily.ā
āThatās on me.ā
You smiled despite yourself.
Fernando smiled back automatically.
Then it faded too fast.
The air shifted quietly between you.
God.
You hated this.
He set the coffee tray down before kneeling beside one of the boxes.
For a while, the two of you packed in silence.
Or tried to.
Mostly Fernando packed while you got distracted every thirty seconds by random objects holding emotional significance.
āOh my god,ā you gasped dramatically, holding up an old Polaroid. āLook how bad your haircut was freshman year.ā
Fernando looked offended. āThat was a normal haircut.ā
āYou looked like a suburban youth pastor.ā
āThatās incredibly specific.ā
āItās true.ā
He took the photo from your hand, squinting at it.
āā¦Okay maybe a little.ā
You grinned.
God, you were going to miss this.
The easy rhythm of him.
The way being around Fernando never required effort.
Even silence with him felt lived-in.
Comfortable.
Home-shaped.
Your chest tightened painfully.
Before you could spiral further, Fernando reached into another box and pulled out one of his hoodies.
He blinked.
You froze.
āOh,ā you said weakly.
Fernando held it up slowly. āThis disappeared eight months ago.ā
āIn my defense,ā you said carefully, āit was comfortable.ā
āYou stole it.ā
āBorrowed.ā
āYou never gave it back.ā
āYou never asked for it back.ā
Fernando looked at you then.
Really looked at you.
And suddenly the room felt too small.
Because that wasnāt just a hoodie.
It was late-night study sessions.
Football games.
Coffee runs.
Long drives.
It smelled like him for months after he gave it to you.
Neither of you said any of that out loud.
Fernando glanced down at the sweatshirt in his hands before quietly asking:
āCan I have it back?ā
Your heart dropped stupidly fast.
Which was ridiculous.
It was a hoodie.
Just a hoodie.
Still, your voice came out smaller than expected.
āOh. Yeah. Of course.ā
Something flickered across his face instantly.
Regret.
āWait,ā he said quickly. āNo, I didnāt meanā¦ā
You looked away first.
āItās fine.ā
āNo, itās not.ā Fernando rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, visibly frustrated with himself. āKeep it.ā
āYou donāt have to do that.ā
āI know.ā
Silence.
Then quieter:
āI want you to have it.ā
Your throat tightened violently.
Because suddenly it didnāt feel like he was talking about the sweatshirt anymore.
You stared at each other across the half-packed apartment while the soft hum of your refrigerator filled the silence.
Say something.
Say literally anything.
Instead, Fernando cleared his throat abruptly and crouched beside another box.
āOkay,ā he said too brightly. āWhat psychopath packed shampoo next to textbooks?ā
The moment dissolved instantly.
You hated how relieved you felt.
The night before your flight, Fernando took you to your favorite diner.
The same one youād been going to since freshman year.
Same booth.
Same milkshakes.
Same flickering neon sign outside the windows.
Only this time everything felt fragile.
Like one wrong movement might crack the entire night apart.
Fernando kept fidgeting with the paper wrapper around his straw.
A dead giveaway he was nervous.
āYouāre destroying innocent cardboard,ā you informed him.
āHm?ā
āThe straw wrapper.ā
Fernando glanced down.
āOh.ā
He flattened it immediately.
You smiled faintly.
Then the smile faded.
Because neither of you were talking about the actual thing sitting between you.
Tomorrow.
Finally, you forced yourself to say it.
āI leave at ten.ā
Fernando nodded once.
āI know.ā
The ache in your chest sharpened.
Outside the diner windows, rain tapped softly against the glass while cars hissed across wet pavement.
You swallowed hard. āYou gonna miss me?ā
Fernando let out a quiet laugh.
Like the question itself was absurd.
āCāmon,ā he murmured.
That answer somehow hurt more.
Because of course he would miss you.
That wasnāt the question.
The question was how much.
You stared down at your untouched milkshake. āThis is weird.ā
āYeah.ā
āI hate it.ā
āYeah.ā
Your eyes lifted toward him again.
Fernando already looked wrecked.
Tired eyes. Tense shoulders. Hands curled too tightly against the table edge.
And suddenly something inside you cracked.
āWhat if this changes everything?ā you asked softly.
The question slipped out before you could stop it.
Fernando went still.
Rain continued pattering quietly outside.
In the kitchen behind the counter, someone dropped a plate.
Neither of you looked away.
Finally, Fernando spoke.
āI think,ā he said carefully, āeverything already changed a long time ago.ā
Your breath caught.
Too honest.
Far too honest.
Fernando seemed to realize it immediately because panic flickered across his face right after.
āI just mean,ā he said quickly, āyouāre my best friend.ā
Best friend.
Right.
Of course.
You forced yourself to nod.
āYeah.ā
But the words sat strangely now.
Too small for whatever this had become.
The waitress interrupted before either of you could say anything else, sliding the check onto the table with a cheerful:
āYou two are disgustingly cute, by the way.ā
Both of you answered immediately.
āWeāre not dating.ā
The waitress blinked slowly.
Then burst out laughing.
āSure, honey.ā
Fernando covered his face with one hand while you stared at the ceiling in humiliation.
And somehow, despite everything hurting, you still laughed too.
Because that was the thing about the two of you.
Even heartbreak had always sounded a little like laughter.
The airport felt cruelly normal for a day that seemed determined to ruin your life.
People rushed past dragging suitcases. Flight announcements echoed overhead in flat robotic tones. Somewhere nearby, a toddler was actively losing a war against a juice box.
Meanwhile, your entire chest felt hollow.
Your parents stood a few feet away handling check-in while you pretended to reorganize things in your carry-on for the fifth time in ten minutes.
Mostly because if you looked directly at Fernando Mendoza for too long, you were afraid you might actually start crying.
Fernando leaned against the wall beside you wearing a gray Cal hoodie and exhaustion carved into his face.
Heād shown up at your apartment at six in the morning to drive you to the airport.
Of course he had.
āYou forgot your charger,ā he said suddenly, holding it out.
You blinked. āHow do you even know thatās mine?ā
āYou leave it at my place like twice a week.ā
Right.
Your stomach twisted painfully.
God, this was awful.
You took the charger from his hand carefully, your fingers brushing for half a second too long.
Neither of you pulled away immediately.
Dangerous.
Again.
Always.
Your mom glanced between the two of you with an expression so knowing it felt spiritually invasive.
You ignored her aggressively.
The boarding announcement echoed overhead before you could spiral further.
Final call.
Your chest tightened instantly.
āWell,ā you said weakly.
Fernando nodded once.
āYeah.ā
Neither of you moved.
This was ridiculous.
Youād survived brutal competitions, injuries, impossible training schedules, cross-country travel.
So why did saying goodbye to one boy feel harder than all of it combined?
Your dad finally cleared his throat gently. āSweetheartā¦ā
Right.
You had to go.
You turned back toward Fernando, suddenly unable to meet his eyes properly.
āThanks for driving me.ā
āAnytime.ā
āAnd for helping me pack.ā
A small smile tugged briefly at his mouth. āSomeone had to stop you from transporting seventeen emotional support sweatshirts to Indiana.ā
āTheyāre important.ā
āTheyāre cotton.ā
You laughed shakily.
Fernando smiled too.
Then the smile faded.
The silence stretched.
God.
You could feel the goodbye approaching now.
Heavy. Inevitable.
Your heartbeat thudded painfully against your ribs.
Say something.
Say anything.
Instead, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.
Fernando hugged you back instantly.
Hard.
Like heād been holding himself back from doing exactly that all morning.
The breath left your lungs slightly.
One of his hands pressed carefully against the back of your head while the other tightened across your shoulders, pulling you fully against him.
And just like that, everything cracked open.
Because this wasnāt casual.
This wasnāt friendly.
This wasnāt two college friends hugging goodbye at an airport.
This felt like grief.
You buried your face against his chest before he could see your expression unravel.
Fernando smelled like detergent, coffee, and the faint cold air outside.
Home.
Your throat burned.
āIām proud of you,ā he whispered quietly into your hair.
That almost destroyed you.
You squeezed your eyes shut tighter.
āYou better visit.ā
āI will.ā
āYou promise?ā
His arms tightened once around you before loosening again.
āYeah,ā he said softly. āI promise.ā
Neither of you let go.
Not immediately.
Not even when your mom started tearing up nearby.
Eventually Fernando pulled back just enough to look at you.
And your heart physically ached at the expression on his face.
He looked wrecked.
Not dramatic.
Not cinematic.
Just genuinely heartbroken in the quietest way possible.
Like someone trying very hard to survive this gracefully.
You wondered if you looked the same.
Probably.
His eyes searched yours for a second too long.
Then flicked downward briefly.
Toward your mouth.
Your breath caught.
For one horrifying moment, you thought he might kiss you.
And the worst part?
You wouldāve let him.
Right there in the middle of the airport with strangers walking around you and your flight boarding and your entire future waiting somewhere thousands of miles away.
But Fernando just exhaled slowly.
Then stepped back.
āText me when you land,ā he said.
There it was again.
That carefulness.
Always careful.
Always holding himself back exactly one step before the edge.
You nodded because speaking suddenly felt dangerous.
Then, before you could change your mind, you grabbed your suitcase and walked toward security.
Donāt turn around.
Donāt turn around.
Donāt turn around.
You made it halfway through the line before failing completely.
When you looked back, Fernando was still standing there.
Exactly where you left him.
Hands shoved into his hoodie pocket.
Watching you like something important was being taken away from him in real time.
Your chest caved inward.
You lifted your hand weakly.
Fernando mirrored the gesture instantly.
Then you disappeared around the corner.
The first month in Indiana felt like emotional whiplash.
The gymnastics facility was better.
The coaching staff was better.
The atmosphere was better.
Nobody monitored your body like a science experiment.
Nobody made you feel small for struggling.
For the first time in years, gymnastics started feeling joyful again instead of survivable.
Which should have made everything easier.
Instead, you missed Fernando so badly it bordered on embarrassing.
Not just the big things.
The tiny things.
You missed:
hearing his knock on your apartment door before early practices
stealing fries out of his bag without asking
the sound of football film playing from his laptop at 1 a.m.
his stupid little āhm?ā whenever he got distracted reading
It was ridiculous how deeply he existed inside your routines.
The worst part was that distance somehow made him more present.
Because now every conversation mattered.
You started calling each other constantly.
Morning walks to class.
Late nights after games.
Five-minute check-ins that became two-hour conversations somehow.
One night, you fell asleep on FaceTime while Fernando studied playbooks.
When you woke up at three in the morning, your phone was still propped beside his laptop.
Fernando glanced up immediately.
āYouāre awake.ā
āYou stayed?ā
āYou were asleep.ā
āThat didnāt answer my question.ā
A sleepy smile tugged at his mouth.
āNo,ā he admitted quietly. āI didnāt hang up.ā
Your heartbeat stuttered stupidly fast.
The dangerous thing about distance was that it stripped away distractions.
Without him physically nearby, every interaction sharpened.
Every pause lasted longer.
Every silence carried weight.
And meanwhile, the entire internet apparently decided your friendship belonged in a romantic drama.
It started after Fernando came to one of your Indiana meets during Calās bye week.
You spotted him in the stands right before floor rotation.
Instantly, your entire face lit up.
Unfortunately for both of you, ESPN cameras caught the whole thing in high definition.
Then they caught Fernando standing so fast after your routine that he nearly knocked over an elderly judge.
Then they caught him waiting outside the arena afterward holding flowers.
Social media lost its mind immediately.
FERNANDO MENDOZA FLEW ACROSS THE COUNTRY FOR HER???
THAT MAN IS IN LOVE YOUR HONOR
ābest friendsā btw sure š
Fernando texted you from beside the team bus later that night.
why are people making edits of us to taylor swift songs
You grinned at your phone instantly.
because you looked one missed call away from proposing in those clips
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then reappeared.
i was excited for you :(
Your smile softened immediately.
Because that was the thing.
Fernando never even realized how loudly he loved people.
He just did.
By the middle of your second year at Indiana, long distance had stopped feeling temporary.
That realization terrified both of you in completely different ways.
For you, it settled slowly.
Quietly.
Like waking up one morning and realizing your first instinct after every good practice, every bad day, every tiny inconvenience was still to call Fernando Mendoza first.
For Fernando, it hit all at once.
Violently.
During an away game in Arizona.
Cal had just won on a last-second drive, and reporters crowded around him immediately afterward while cameras flashed bright against exhausted eyes.
āFernando!ā
āHow does this win feel?ā
āYouāve officially crossed four thousand passing yards this season!ā
āWhat changed for the offense tonight?ā
Fernando answered automatically.
Polite. Focused. Careful.
Years of media training carrying him through the interview while adrenaline still buzzed hot beneath his skin.
Then one reporter laughed.
āSo who gets the first call tonight? Your parents or your girlfriend?ā
The entire group perked up instantly.
Fernando blinked once.
āUh,ā he said intelligently.
Someone else jumped in immediately.
āThe gymnast, right?ā
Another reporter grinned. āInternetās been trying to marry you two off for years.ā
Heat climbed straight up Fernandoās neck.
Which unfortunately answered absolutely nothing.
āOh my god,ā one reporter said. āLook at his face.ā
The entire media circle burst into laughter.
Fernando rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, smiling helplessly despite himself.
āWeāre just friends.ā
A reporter snorted loud enough to echo.
āSure.ā
Fernando laughed awkwardly again, but something strange lodged itself beneath his ribs afterward.
Because normally those questions just embarrassed him.
This time they lingered.
The bus ride back to the hotel felt unusually restless.
Players shouted over card games in the back rows while music blasted faintly through someoneās speaker. Outside the windows, desert highway lights blurred gold against the dark.
Fernando barely noticed any of it.
Your contact sat pinned at the top of his messages.
Three unread texts.
you survived!!!!
proud of you :)
also your receiver almost gave me cardiac arrest in the fourth quarter
His chest tightened painfully.
Not dramatic.
Not sudden.
Justā¦constant.
He missed you.
Not casually.
Not in the normal college-boyfriend-long-distance way his teammates complained about.
He missed you like missing sleep.
Like missing part of himself.
Every win felt incomplete without looking for you in the stands afterward.
Every good moment came attached to the instinct to turn and tell you first.
And suddenly the thought hit him so hard it genuinely stole his breath for a second.
Football wasnāt enough anymore.
Not without you there for it.
Fernando stared at your messages for a long moment before finally typing back.
barely survived actually
you jinxed me by watching
Your response came instantly.
rude
iām literally your good luck charm
Fernando smiled at his phone before he could stop himself.
Then quieter, almost unconsciously, he typed:
wish you were here
His thumb hovered over the screen.
Too honest.
Way too honest.
Panic arrived immediately.
Fernando deleted the message so fast it practically smoked.
Instead he sent:
team almost missed the bus bc coach wouldnāt stop talking
Coward.
Absolute coward.
Meanwhile, back in Indiana, you were having problems of your own.
Specifically:
you had started comparing every man alive to Fernando Mendoza.
An impossible standard, frankly.
Because nobody else remembered tiny details the way he did.
Nobody else listened the same way.
Nobody else looked at you like your happiness personally mattered to them.
Which became a problem the night one of your teammates convinced you to go on a date.
āYou need human interaction that isnāt FaceTiming a quarterback for four hours,ā she informed you.
āI interact with humans.ā
āYou interact with Fernando.ā
āā¦Thatās different.ā
āExactly.ā
So against your better judgment, you agreed.
The date lasted forty-three painful minutes.
Forty-three.
You counted.
The guy was perfectly nice.
Unfortunately, every sentence out of his mouth just made you miss Fernando more.
Especially when he checked his phone halfway through your story about gymnastics nationals.
Fernando never did that.
Fernando listened like every word mattered.
By the time you got back to your apartment, irritation buzzed beneath your skin for reasons you couldnāt fully explain.
Naturally, you called Fernando immediately.
He answered on the second ring.
āHey.ā
The sound of his voice hit you with immediate relief.
Dangerous.
āYou awake?ā you asked.
āFor you? Yeah.ā
Your stomach flipped violently.
You ignored it aggressively.
āWhatāre you doing?ā
āFilm.ā
āShocking.ā
Fernando laughed softly.
You could practically picture him already: hoodie sleeves shoved to his elbows, one hand rubbing tiredly at his eyes while game footage played somewhere in the background.
āYou okay?ā he asked after a second.
āYou ever go somewhere and immediately know youād rather be talking to one specific person?ā
A pause.
Then:
āā¦Yeah.ā
Something about the quietness of his answer made your chest ache.
You dropped onto your bed with a dramatic groan.
āMy teammate set me up on a date.ā
Silence.
Not long.
But long enough.
āOh,ā Fernando said.
Your eyebrows lifted slightly.
Interesting.
āHe kept talking about crypto.ā
Fernando snorted instantly.
āThat sounds terrible.ā
āIt was terrible.ā
āWhatād you do?ā
āI pretended I had early practice.ā
āYou do have early practice.ā
āExactly. Technically not a lie.ā
Fernando laughed again.
Warmer this time.
And suddenly the tension eased from your shoulders without permission.
The familiar comfort of him wrapping around you even through a phone screen.
āYou know what the worst part is?ā you said.
āWhat?ā
You hesitated.
Then:
āHe wasnāt you.ā
The silence afterward stretched too long.
Your own heartbeat suddenly sounded alarmingly loud.
Why did you say that?
Why would you say that?
Panic flashed hot beneath your skin.
You sat upright immediately. āNot like romantically,ā you blurted out. āI just mean personality-wise. Like conversationally. Youāre easy to talk to.ā
Excellent recovery.
Truly inspiring work.
Fernando stayed quiet another second before finally laughing softly.
But there was something strange underneath it now.
Something careful.
āYeah,ā he said quietly. āI know what you meant.ā
Your stomach dropped anyway.
Because somehow that felt worse.
The problems at Cal started quietly.
At first, Fernando Mendoza kept insisting everything was fine.
Which, in Fernando-language, usually meant:
everything is actively on fire but heād rather swallow battery acid than inconvenience another person with it.
You noticed anyway.
Of course you did.
It started with the calls becoming later.
Then shorter.
Then interrupted by long stretches of silence where Fernando sounded mentally somewhere else entirely.
One night during FaceTime, you watched him stare blankly at paused game film for almost thirty seconds without blinking.
āFernando.ā
āHm?ā
āYouāve been rewinding the same play for five minutes.ā
His eyes flicked upward toward the screen like he genuinely forgot it existed.
āSorry.ā
Your stomach tightened.
āYou okay?ā
āYeah.ā
Immediate.
Automatic.
Not believable.
You narrowed your eyes. āYouāre doing the thing.ā
āWhat thing?ā
āThe thing where you say āyeahā while visibly deteriorating.ā
Fernando huffed a quiet laugh through his nose.
āThatās dramatic.ā
āYou look like a Victorian orphan.ā
āThatās also dramatic.ā
But he smiled a little.
Only a little.
Not enough.
The exhaustion beneath him remained.
Heavy. Deep-rooted.
Like something wearing him down slowly from the inside.
āTalk to me,ā you said softly.
Fernando leaned back in his chair with a tired exhale, rubbing both hands over his face.
The film room around him sat nearly empty except for dim projector light flickering blue against the walls. Midnight again.
Always midnight lately.
āItās just football stuff.ā
āThat means absolutely nothing.ā
Another silence.
Then finally:
āI donāt know if this system works for me anymore.ā
You sat up straighter immediately.
āWhat do you mean?ā
Fernando hesitated.
Careful.
Always careful.
āCoaches want faster decisions. Less adjustment at the line. Less freedom.ā He stared down at his hands. āI feel like Iām thinking one way and they want me playing another.ā
āThat sounds fixable.ā
āMaybe.ā
But he didnāt sound convinced.
And suddenly pieces started clicking together in your head.
The frustration after games.
The clipped answers during interviews.
The way he looked more relieved after talking to you than after winning lately.
āYouāre unhappy,ā you realized quietly.
Fernandoās eyes lifted toward yours through the screen.
The honesty there hit harder than if heād said it outright.
āI donāt know,ā he admitted.
Which for Fernando might as well have been a confession.
Because he always knew.
Always had a plan.
Always carried himself like if he just worked hard enough, stayed disciplined enough, everything would eventually settle into place.
Hearing uncertainty from him felt deeply wrong.
Like seeing cracks appear in concrete.
Your chest ached.
āYou know,ā you said carefully, āyouāre allowed to outgrow places.ā
Fernando looked away immediately.
That reaction told you everything.
Because heād already been thinking about it.
The possibility sat there now between both of you.
Transfer portal.
Fresh start.
Leaving Cal.
Leaving home.
Leaving the place where the two of you became whatever this was.
And somehow that last part scared him most.
You could see it.
A/N: tumblr isnāt letting me upload all of it at once :( part two will be linked below!
Summary: The slip of their sister's sweater over Winter Break reveals the fact that she has a boyfriend, and sends the brothers into a tizzy trying to figure out who it is.
Warnings: mentions of hickies, sibling arguing ā¹ļø this isn't as Fernando focused as my last fic was, but he's featured!
A/N: a continuation of my last fic since i got so much positive feedback on it!
If looks could kill, Fernando Mendoza would surely be dead. His assailant? His own girlfriend.
He was still laying in her bed, his back propped up against the headboard and the comforter pooled around his waist. He was only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants, his abs exposed to the chill of the apartment air, and the occasional wandering eyes of his girlfriend.
Y/N was standing in front of her bedroom mirror, one of Fernando's t-shirts covering her body and a pair of fuzzy socks clad on her feet. She wasn't looking directly at him, her gaze on her own reflection in the mirror, but even then, Fernando could tell she was still upset with him.
"Baby, I'm sorry," he apologized, though the slight smirk on his face told her otherwise. She turned around with a furious look on her face, and if she wasn't leaving for the airport in the following 2 hours, Fernando would've tugged her back into bed with him, and not just to sleep. Instead, he stayed put and went against his urges that made him feel like a horny teenager again. "C'mon, it's not that bad."
She narrowed her eyes at him. ""Not that bad'?" Y/N repeated. "Fernando, I look like I just got mauled by a bear." He laughed. "It's not funny!"
He stood up and approached her slowly, careful to avoid getting yelled at by his girlfriend again. "I'm sorry," he repeated. He grabbed at her hip with his hand and rubbed his thumb against the supple skin. "Really, I-" He laughed despite the situation. "- I honestly didn't think it would look this bad."
"Oh, right, you didn't know that giving me hickies would end up with me having hickies on my neck?" asked Y/N. She rubbed at the skin on her collarbone, which was irritated and red.
"I got caught up in the heat of the moment," Fernando explained. "How can you blame me when I was with my beautiful girlfriend for the last time before she leaves for break?" He pouted dramatically, and Y/N sighed. "I'm sorry, baby." He pressed his lips over the marks on her skin in an attempt to apologize.
Y/N huffed. "I'll just have to be super careful," she muttered. "The last thing I need is for anyone to see this."
"You're still the most beautiful girl in the world," Fernando whispered, his kisses now moving up the column of her neck. "I don't know what I'm going to do without you here these next few weeks. I'm going to miss you, sweetheart."
"I'm going to miss you too, Nando, but I'm coming to New York for the ceremony, remember?" She told him as she carded her hands through the curls on his head. "I thought you'd be happy to be on your own for a little while."
"How can I be happy when my girlfriend is abandoning me?" Fernando moved away from Y/N and flopped onto the bed with an over-exaggerated sigh.
Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Alright, drama queen," she muttered, walking over and patting him on the stomach. "Are you sure you don't mind driving me to the airport? I don't want to put you out of your way..."
"Of course I don't mind," Fernando immediately responded. "You all packed?"
With a nod, Y/N responded, "Mhm. Don't forget to come back here and get the gifts I got for your parents and Max."
Fernando grinned. "You didn't have to get them anything," he protested, though there was no real conviction in his voice. He loved how much Y/N loved his family.
"It's no big deal." She shrugged. She reached over and grabbed the outfit that she had laid out on her dresser the night before. "I feel bad I'm not going to get to see them, though."
"They ask about you all the time," Fernando added. "I'm starting to think they like you more than they like me."
Y/N bit her lip. "I'm sure that's not true," she stated. She began walking towards the bathroom. "I'll be out of the shower in a few, and then I'm ready to go when you are."
Fernando sat up at the mention of Y/N taking a shower. "Can I join you?" He asked hopefully.
"Well, since you asked nicely-" Y/N didn't get to finish her sentence as a sudden squeal left her mouth when she was thrown over her boyfriend's shoulder.
When her mom said that one of her brothers was coming to pick her up, Y/N assumed that it would only be one of them. Her best guess is that it would be Quinn, seeing as he was the oldest and arguably the best at airport pickups.
With her rolling suitcase in one hand and her carry on in the other, Y/N strolled through the airport, her Adidas sneakers squeaking against the floor. Her headphones were resting around her neck, and every few minutes, she checked her phone, waiting for one of her brothers to text her.
Once she got her main suitcase from the baggage carousel, Y/N sighed. She now had two suitcases to deal with, and still no confirmation of if she even had a ride home.
"Jeez, did you pack for a few weeks or for the rest of your life?" A voice from behind her teased. Y/N practically jumped out of her own skin, but she knew that voice from anywhere.
Y/N turned to face the man that had spoken to her with a giddy smile. "Hey, old man, I'm surprised you're able to walk without a cane," she joked back.
Quinn looked ridiculous. His disguise, which consisted of a plain, black baseball cap and dark sunglasses, made him look like he was attending a baseball game in the dead of winter. Still, his cheeks were red from how hard he was smiling as he wrapped his arms around his youngest sibling's neck and pulled her into his chest.
"That's a weird way of saying 'thank you' for picking you up," Quinn responded, only wrapping his arms tighter around Y/N when she tried to pull away. "I missed you, munchkin. You gotta stop leaving me alone with those idiots."
"Hey!" Another voice yelled. Y/N craned her neck and finally realized that her oldest brother hadn't come alone. "If anyone's the idiot, it should be the one who tried to drive the emergency brake still on."
"Or the one who put plastic in the oven," A third voice added.
Y/N untangled herself from Quinn's arms and childishly stuck her tongue out at her two, other older brothers. "At least I'm going to graduate college," she exclaimed. "When Mom texted, I thought she said only one of you was coming to pick me up. I didn't think she meant the whole gang."
"We missed you!" Jack cried, placing an overly-dramatic kiss on his sister's cheek, causing Y/N to grimace and wipe the excess saliva off of her cheek. "My baby finally came home."
"I saw you, like, two months ago, dork," Y/N muttered.
"Don't even leave me alone with him again," Luke whispered in a low voice as he hugged his sister gently. "He never stops talking." Y/N giggled.
Nothing would ever compare to being with all three of her brothers, and it was unfortunate that they only got to be together around the holidays and for the summer. Since the moments Y/N had with her brothers were few and fleeting, she cherished them greatly.
"I missed you guys," Y/N said.
"We missed you, too, munchkin," Quinn replied, ruffling his sister's hair and laughing when she swatted his hand away. "C'mon, Mom has dinner ready at home."
"Surprised you guys didn't eat the whole house yet," teased Y/N. Her bags were soon taken out of the hands, and she was left with just her phone in her grasp, and the carry on that she had now slung over her shoulder. She had to stifle a laugh at the sight of Jack rolling her rose-gold suitcase through the airport.
Luke hummed. "Well, Jack already ate half of the package of sugar cookies that Mom was gonna surprise you with," he told his younger sister. Y/N glared at Jack while he smiled sweetly at her.
"Seriously?" Y/N whined. "I can't have anything."
"I was hungry." Jack defended himself. The siblings had now exited the airport and were walking into the chill of the afternoon air. "Where's your jacket?"
Y/N shrugged. "I packed it in my suitcase so I didn't have to carry it on the plane with me," she stated. "Where'd you guys park?"
"The parking garage," Quinn told her. "By the way, I need to borrow $5 for the parking pass."
She stared up at him with a blank look on her face. "Right. You're on a multi-million dollar contract, but you need to borrow money from the broke college kid."
"Oh, like Mom and Dad don't send you money every week." Jack snorted.
"It's food money!" Y/N argued. "It's not like I'm living some extravagant lifestyle in Indiana, of all places."
The four finally made it to the family car, and Y/N sat in the backseat with Luke while Quinn was in the driver's seat and Jack was next to him in the passenger's seat.
In the beginning, the ride was quiet. Except for the music that softly played in the car, there was a comfortable silence that settled in the car. Quinn was focused on the road, and Y/N was focused on her phone.
She was too enraptured in her phone to notice the collar of her sweater had fallen down her shoulder just slightly, which exposed her collarbone.
She laughed at something on her phone, causing Luke's gaze to shift over to her for a split second. His eyes were first on her face, but the redness of the skin near her neck caught his eye.
Luke's expression morphed into one of horror. There, on his baby sister's collarbone, was a constellation of red hickies. They stood out on her skin like red flowers in the wintertime.
He did the only logical thing he could as an older brother.
He screamed.
Well, more like shrieked. Very girlishly.
The car swerved as Quinn, clearly startled, regained his place on the road. Jack turned around to stare at his brother in shock. Y/N made a weird face, but when she saw Luke's glaze on her skin, she panicked and quickly moved her sweater so that it covered the hickies, but it was too late.
Luke saw.
She was screwed.
"Dude!" Quinn yelled from the front seat. "What is your problem?"
Luke's finger was pointed at Y/N. Her eyes were wide, and she desperately shook her head, as if trying to telepathically communicate to him. His mouth was agape. He couldn't't speak.
"Are you dying?" questioned Jack, now turned in his seat so he could see his other two siblings. His gaze darted between the two with narrowed eyes.
Y/N reached out and pushed Luke's hand away. "Luke, don't-"
"Y/N has hickies!"
Ellen and Jim Hughes were used to dealing with rowdy children. They had made it through raising three sons, who were also hockey players and seemingly had no regard for their own physical wellbeing while on the rink, as well as a daughter who took after her older brothers in a lot of aspects.
They thought they had seen or experienced it all. They made it through the awkward teen years, the birds and the bees talk, the rebellious stages, and the back-talk that all parents dealt with when they had teenagers.
When their three sons and their daughter came in the door, bickering like young kids again, the parents knew they were in for a long, long night.
Y/N was the first to enter the house, an irritated look on her face and flushed skin. However, when her eyes landed on her parents sitting at the table, her expression softened.
"Hi, Mom, Dad," Y/N murmured. She walked over to her parents and sat down at the table. She sighed heavily before letting her head fall onto the table.
Jim frowned. "Sweetpea, what's wrong?" His eyebrows creased in confusion as Ellen moved to rub Y/N's back.
"They know," she muttered.
The parents shared a look. "What do you mean, Y/N?" asked Ellen in confusion.
Y/N lifted her head off the table. "They know I have a boyfriend."
"How-"
"Y/N Hughes, if you don't tell me the name of the asshole that mauled you, I swear to God..." Jack threatened as he stomped into the dining room. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared at his sister, who threw her hands up in the air.
It was only seconds later that Luke and Quinn entered the house in the same manner Jack had just seconds before. All three brothers stared down at their sister like she was harboring the world's biggest secret.
"Mom, Dad," Quinn addressed his parents. "Y/N has a boyfriend." Jim and Ellen shared a look, a look that definitely wasn't one of surprise. "Wait- Did you guys already know?" Their silence was enough of an answer for Quinn. "You told Mom and Dad but not us? Why?"
"Because Mom and Dad aren't psychopaths like you guys are!" Y/N argued.
"We're not psychopaths," Luke stated firmly. "Is it so wrong that we want to beat up the guy that did that to you?"
Y/N's head fell into her hands. "You guys are exhausting," she complained. "It's not a big deal!"
"You have a boyfriend, Y/N!" Quinn pointed out. "And he- He did that to you."
"Mom..." Y/N whined, a pout on her lips. "Can you tell them to just leave me alone?"
"Oh, we'll leave you alone," Jack cut in. "Once you tell us this guy's name and where we can find him so that we can deal with him properly."
Ellen pinched the bridge of her nose. "Boys, leave your sister alone. She's not obligated to tell you everything," she told them pointedly. "She'll tell you when she's ready."
Luke made a pained noise. "She's covered in hickies, Mom!"
Y/N's cheeks turned bright red with embarrassment. She stood up and clenched her fists. She was beyond embarrassed, and wished more than anything that the floor would swallow her whole. "Why can't you guys just stay out of my love life for once, huh? God, it's none of your business!"
Without sparing her parents or her brothers another glance, Y/N raced upstairs and slammed her bedroom door shut.
Y/N wasn't sure when she had stopped crying. She could still feel the tear tracks running down her pink cheeks, and her bottom lip wobbled every time she recalled how she shouted and her brothers and the looks on their faces when she did.
She knew they weren't trying to be cruel or trying to embarrass her. It was completely unintentional. They were just trying to shield her from any potential harm, like they had done their entire life. But, in the process of doing so, they had hurt her feelings.
When Y/N had gotten into her room, she had flopped onto her bed and curled into a ball, her own arms wrapped around her abdomen in an attempt to comfort herself.
Fernando had told her to call him if she ever needed anyone to talk to, but Y/N felt silly calling him while crying. She knew he was busy with football, and the last thing he probably needed was his hysterical girlfriend crying on the phone to him.
A soft knock came from her bedroom door. Y/N's back was turned to the door, so even though she heard it creak open, she had no clue who it was that had knocked. She sniffled and rubbed her nose with her sleeve.
She felt her bed dip, and a hand was placed on her shoulder. "Munchkin..." It was Quinn. She still didn't turn around.
"Y/N, we're really sorry," Jack's voice chimed in.
"We didn't mean to hurt your feelings," added Luke.
Her voice broke as she spoke, "It's fine." She always forgave them too easily, something her mom always told her she didn't have to do.
"No, it's not okay," Jack protested. "We weren't fair, and we shouldn't have come at you like that."
Y/N sat up and finally faced her brothers. Quinn was sitting on her bed next to her, while Jack and Luke were sat on her window seat.
Their hearts simultaneously broke when the brothers finally got a look at their younger sister's face. Her eyes were puffy, and her cheeks were red from how much she had been crying.
She was crying because of them.
"I know I should've told you guys sooner," Y/N admitted quietly. "I just- I didn't want to be a bother. I know how busy you guys are between Olympics stuff and with the season starting, I just- I didn't want to distract you."
"Y/N, you aren't a distraction," Luke insisted. "You're the only constant in our ever-changing life. In a world full of chaos, you're the only thing that keeps us sane. We're so, so sorry, Y/N, we were being unfair."
"We didn't mean to invade your privacy, munchkin," Quinn continued. "We just always want to make sure you're okay, but it's so hard when you're so far away from us."
"Even though you're grown up, you're still our baby sister, Y/N," Jack said. "Nothing is ever going to change that."
Y/N smiled and leaned into Quinn. "I love you, guys," she told them. "Even when you tell Mom and Dad that I have hickies." The four shared a laugh. A beat passed. "His name is Fernando. We met when I came to watch the Canucks play the Sharks last November, and we've been dating since then."
Jack laughed. "Isn't Fernando the name of your school's QB? The dude that's nominated for the Heisman? What a coincidence." Y/N blinked. She didn't laugh. "It's a just a coincidence, right?"
"Well..." Y/N trailed off. She awkwardly smiled as her brothers groaned. "Aw, come on, at least I'm not dating a hockey player!"
"I feel like I just aged 20 years," Quinn muttered, rubbing his face with his hands. "Now I know how Dad feels everytime one of us gets in a fight during a game."
Luke said, "So, that's why you're into football all the sudden?"
Y/N shrugged. "Yeah." He hummed in response.
"We're happy for you, munchkin," Quinn stated as he pulled Y/N into a hug and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "But, just because he's a famous quarterback doesn't change the fact that we're going to kick his ass-"
Summary: Y/N Hughes, the youngest of the Hughes family, is dating the quarterback for the Indiana Hoosiers and attempting to keep her relationship a secret from her overbearing older brothers.
Warnings: my limited hockey knowledge ā¹ļø not proofread so please don't point out my spelling mistakes as i cannot handle criticism
A/N: this has been circulating around my brain for a while now!! hope you enjoy š
It was late at night when Fernando turned the spare key in order to unlock the door to his girlfriend's apartment. He knew, from many previous times of when he opened the door, that if he turned the handle the right way, it would make less noise and therefore would lower the risk of his girlfriend waking up.
When he softly closed the door behind him and locked it, his eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim lighting in the apartment. There were candles lit on the kitchen countertop, and the TV, which had switched from the ESPN post-game show to the LSU game that he wouldn't even watch as a football player himself.
This was the routine he was used to, and the one he looked forward to almost as much as he looked forward to playing actual football. He loved leaving the day behind and getting to spend whatever time he had left in the day with the girl he loved.
The only thing that would make his post-game routine even better? If his girlfriend was actually awake when he got to her apartment.
She always tried to stay awake, but she never could. Each game, whether it was home or away, ended with him returning to his girlfriend's apartment and finding her fast asleep on her couch after attempting to wait for him to get back.
His tall fame moved towards the couch, and his gaze softened at the site before him.
Y/N was fast asleep on the couch, her feet propped up on a pillow that rested on her coffee table. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and her frame was swallowed by an oversized crewneck that Fernando recognized as the same one that he had lost a few weeks earlier. Her glasses had slipped off her nose ever-so-slightly, and pieces of her ponytail framed her face in an effortlessly beautiful way.
He lowered himself onto the couch carefully in a way that wouldn't startle her. Fernando then grabbed her hand in her own and began placing soft kisses to the palm of her hand in an attempt to wake her up.
It only took a few seconds before Y/N's eyes began to slowly open, blinking in an attempt to adjust to the lack of light in the room. A smile graced her face when she realized she was no longer alone.
"What time is it?" Her tired voice asked.
Fernando shifted closer and gently took the glasses off of her face. "It's just past 10," he informed her. "I missed you."
Even in the dark of her living room, Fernando could tell that she blushed at his words. "I missed you, Nando. You played so great."
"You stayed up for the whole game?" Fernando joked, causing his girlfriend to scrunch her nose and tuck her head into the crook of his neck out of embarrassment. "I'm kidding."
Y/N moved so that she could see him once again. "That pass you made on fourth down was amazing," she commented. "My dad was texting me throughout the whole game. I think he's a bigger fan of watching you than I am."
"Your brothers don't think it's weird that your parents have a sudden interest in Indiana football?"
"Thinking isn't something that my brothers do that often, or well, for that matter," Y/N murmured in response. She shifted closer to him, and before she could blink, Fernando had tugged her onto his lap and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Are you hungry? I have leftover pasta from dinner that I can heat up for you."
"I'm not hungry." Fernando began placing butterfly kisses to the column of Y/N's neck. "Not for food, anyway."
"Nando," whined Y/N. "You're not funny. And you need to rest, you just had a game and I saw that tackle on you during the third quarter."
He smiled against her neck. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Just missed my girl." She bashfully bit her lip and turned so that she was facing him. "Is this mine?" Fernando tugged on one of her sleeves.
"Maybe," she admitted quietly. "Do you want me to take it off?"
Wordlessly, he reached down and tugged at the hem of the garment. Before he could move any further, Y/N's phone that was on the coffee table began to buzz. She groaned in annoyance.
She knew who it was, and she cursed the luck she had.
"Just ignore it," Fernando whispered, his gaze focused on her lips. And as much as she tried to, the incessant buzz of her phone distracted her.
"Let me just see what they want," Y/N said, causing her boyfriend to theatrically groan and lay his head on the back of the couch. Even though Fernando had never met Y/N's brothers, they were great at interrupting his alone time with his girlfriend (their sister).
"Anything important?"
"If you consider discussing Thanksgiving, which is, like, a month away, is important, then yes," Y/N replied, placing her phone back onto the coffee table. "It can wait until the morning."
"Great." Fernando tugged on Y/N's, which was actually his, sweater. "This. Off. Now."
It was just a week later, gameday, again, only this time Y/N was at Fernando's game. She found herself sitting with the Mendoza family, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a grey hoodie that had Indiana's logo on it.
Y/N loved the Mendoza family. Being the youngest of a rather large family, she loved being apart of the dynamic that her boyfriend had welcomed her into when he had introduced her to his parents and his two younger brothers.
Indiana was playing Penn State, a team that was normally ranked, only this year, they had fired their head coach and had lost their starting quarterback to an injury. Still, the Nittany Lions had put up a good fight against the visiting Hoosiers.
"Can I have a sip of your soda, Y/N?" Max, Fernando's younger brother, asked.
She grabbed the foam cup from the cup holder and nodded. "Here," she replied, giving him the cup. Her attention then turned back to the field, where Penn State had just attempted rushing for a first down, but failed. "This guy can't run to save his life," Y/N muttered.
"Their offensive line can't block, either," Max added.
Ever since Y/N had began dating Fernando, it had been Y/N's mission in life to understand the game of football. Growing up, the only sport she ever watched was hockey, hockey, and more hockey. So, up until she had met Fernando, her football knowledge was nonexistent.
Now? She knew what a run-pass option was, and the difference between offsides and a neutral-zone infraction.
"Are you coming to dinner with us after the game?" asked Max as he took a bite from the hotdog that was in his hands.
Y/N shrugged. She hadn't been explicitly invited, but she always ended up joining the Mendoza family in their post-game dinners. "If it's okay with your parents."
"I think my parents like having dinner with you more than they like having dinner with my actual brothers," Max giggled, and so did Y/N. "Plus, it's funny when Alberto tries to eat your food!"
"It's funny because it's not happening to you," complained Y/N, though there was no real malice in her voice.
With the amount of noise in the Beaver Stadium, Y/N was lucky that she even heard her phone ring. She turned it with her hand and her face went pale.
Quinn For Da Win is calling...
She gulped and considered her options. Either pick up the phone and have to lie through her teeth about where she is and what she's doing, or ignore his call, which would then cause not only Quinn to continue trying to call her, but her other two brothers would soon be trying to call her, too.
With a heavy sigh, Y/N answered the call and put the phone to her ear. "Hi, Quinn," she said.
"Hey, munchkin," Quinn greeted her from his side of the call. "It's good to hear your voice, I feel like we haven't talked in forever."
A frown graced her lips. It was true that since she had transferred to Bloomington, she had been too focused on her schoolwork and her budding relationship that she had neglected her relationship with her brothers.
"I'm sorry," Y/N mumbled. "It's my fault, I should call more. I've just-" Before she could even begin to explain what was keeping her busy from calling her older brothers, Beaver Stadium suddenly erupted into cheers, as Penn State had moved the ball down the field and was now first and goal at Indiana's 7 yard-line. "Uh..."
"Where are you right now? I thought you were just in your apartment."
"Oh, um, I'm at the Indiana game."
There was silence for a moment. "... You're at a football game?"
"Yeah, I was... Invited by some friends," she responded, a bit timidly. She felt awful for lying, but there was no other acceptable reason why she would be at a football game that wouldn't raise too many questions. "Look, um, can I call you back later? Sorry, I'm a bit distracted and-"
"It's fine," Quinn told her kindly. "Just call me when you've got the time. I love you, munchkin."
"I love you, too. I'll call you later," promised Y/N. She then quickly hung up her phone and placed it back in her jean pocket. She blew a breath out of her mouth. "They threw it on 4th and goal?"
Max nodded reluctantly. "Can't believe we're getting beat by a backup quarterback."
Y/N was utterly exhausted. Her hunched over frame sat at the kitchen table in her dining area, and the surface of the table was covered in scattered papers and assorted notebooks. To anyone else, she might've looked insane. To any other college student that was studying for their finals as well, Y/N probably looked like the most sane person to ever grace the earth.
"Sweetheart," a soft voice drawled. Y/N, so lost in her own thoughts, failed to notice that Fernando had gotten back from practice. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern and his eyes held a loving look in them that was reserved for his girlfriend only. When Y/N looked up from her work, Fernando huffed. "Honey, you look exhausted. How long have you been studying?"
She shrugged. "Dunno," she replied quietly. "Not long enough." Y/N ran a hand through her hair. "I still have so much to do, I still have to study for-"
"Y/N." He said her name firmly. "You need to take a break, okay? This will all be here tomorrow. You don't need to overwork yourself like this."
"Yes, I do," she stubbornly argued. "If I don't study, I'll fall behind, and I won't be good enough. I have to be the best, I need to be the best." Frustrated tears began to run down her face.
"Hey, hey, hey," Fernando whispered. He hated seeing her cry. He knelt down and grabbed both of her hands and encased them in his own. "Please don't cry."
"I'm sorry," Y/N immediately apologized. "I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to deal with this."
"I'm not 'dealing' with anything," protested Fernando. "I'm helping my girlfriend because I want to make sure she's okay."
"I just..." She trailed off. Y/N knew she probably looked like a mad woman, but she was too tired and too stressed to care. "I have to do well. I have to be something, you know? My brothers are something, and I can't just be nothing. I don't want to be nothing."
Fernando frown deepened, if it was possible. He knew that Y/N was under pressure being the youngest sister of three successful, young athletes, but it was rare that she spoke about it. She always said that it was her own burden to bear, and it wasn't fair for her to let it fall one anyone else but her.
He stood up from his spot where he was crouching on the floor and pulled Y/N out of her chair slowly. "You are not, and will never be, nothing. You are so talented, so intelligent, so thoughtful, and I hate that you don't see yourself that way." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "I love you so much, baby."
"I love you, Nando," Y/N sleepily muttered. And she did. Even in her stressed out haze, she knew she loved him, and nothing would ever change that.
Summary: The Indiana Hoosiers' social media admin is known for shamelessly flirting with Fernando, and he's not at all bothered by it. The only problem is that he has no idea who's behind the account, but he's determined to find out.
Faceclaim: Dina Denoire
Warnings: cringe flirting (when will it be my turn.)
A/N: all this draft content got me in a writing mood! cliffhanger??
liked by: fernandomendoza, espn, and 459,222 others.
indianafootball: qb1 on the field and in my heart āŗļøā¤ļø
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username: LMAO admin at it again
username: another day, another pickup line from admin
fernandomendoza: Thanks?
indianafootball: call me šš
fernandomendoza: Who are you?
indianafootball: your future wife ofc
username: i literally just refresh the page all the time waiting for another post from admin bc they're always so funny
username: i want an admin reveal so bad
indianafootball: i shall remain hidden in the shadows until the time is right
indianafootball: or until they fire me
liked by: yourfriend, yourmom, and 327 others.
yourusername: rare finds in my camera roll that aren't work related! š
liked by: o.cooper11, fernandomendoza, and 83,052 others.
indianafootball: current function mood
username: REVEAL YOURSELF!!
username: it's okay admin we see you š£
username: are you having fun at the party admin?
indianafootball: meh
fernandomendoza: Where are you at, Admin? Maybe we could meet up! š
indianafootball: nice try hottie
indianafootball: **buddy sorry autocorrect
fernandomendoza: š¢
username: using "function" in the big 25 š«„
indianafootball: don't try to change who i am
Y/N sighed boredly as she scrolled on her phone. Her work phone laid on the table, while her personal phone was in the palm of her hand. She used her pointer finger to aimlessly swipe through Tik Tok videos.
Her friend was off talking to a guy that had bought her a drink, which had left Y/N all alone at their shared table. It was a Wednesday night, and honestly, she really wanted to go home. Gameday was approaching ast, which meant she'd have a hectic day between posting and getting exclusive content from the players, not to mention all the hassle of traveling with the team.
Kilroy's was packed, like it always was most nights. People moved in and out of the scarce empty spaces, and voices were so loud that the music couldn't be heard. Most people were wearing red, seeing as the Hoosiers had a big game against Alabama in less than 24 hours.
She really wanted to go home, but she didn't want to leave her friend, who was a bit drunk, alone with some guy she barely knew. So, she stayed, the only thing keeping her company being her phone and her watered-down Diet Pepsi.
Someone near her suddenly cleared their throat, trying to get her attention. Y/N looked up and her heart stopped.
There stood Fernando Mendoza. Indiana's starting QB, college football's golden boy, and, oh, yeah, the guy she had been secretly flirting with online for the past few months.
"Hi," he greeted her with a smile that made her face feel warm. "Sorry, is this seat taken?" He gestured to the open seat.
She immediately shook her head. "No, sorry," Y/N apologized. "I mean, yeah, it's open, I meant-" She blew a breath out of her mouth. "No one's sitting there. If you and your friends want this table, I can move-"
"I'm alone," Fernando told her. "It's just me, my friends are..." He trailed off, waving to the crowds of people. "Otherwise occupied."
Y/N's eyes found her friend, who was now passionately making out with the guy she had been talking to all night. "I get what you mean," she murmured.
"Any good games on?" asked Fernando, his neck craned so he could glance at the TV that was mounted on the wall.
She shrugged. "If you consider Coastal Carolina versus Tulane a good game, then you're in for a real treat," Y/N explained. Fernando laughed. It wasn't a fake laugh, or one of those polite laughs that could be detected from a mile away; It was a genuine laugh that made her heart flutter. "I'm Y/N."
"Fernando," he stated, as if he wasn't the most recognizable guy on all of campus. "Can I, um- Can I get you another drink?"
Her answer was immediate, much to her own embarrassment. "Yeah."
Summary: An overtired and overwhelmed college student makes one wrong step that sends her headfirst into her bathroom door, which sends her into a fantasy world that she should never have been in to start with.
Warnings: Swearing (quite a bit); Self-indulgent???
A/N: finally writing for my current hyperfixation š i love this show sm!
Y/N couldn't recall a time in her life when she was so stressed out. Her brain was occupied with one thing and one thing only; Her schoolwork. A natural disaster could occur, and her only goal would be to make sure her textbooks stayed intact.
As she laid on the ground, the chill of the the dorm floor kissed her aching skin softly. An ever-persistent headache continued to nag her, and the light from her laptop screen only made her skull pound in a way that she knew wasn't healthy.
Each second that wasn't spent typing or looking over notes was a second wasted. She didn't have time to indulge in her own thoughts, or think about anything except the work that she needed to get done.
It was a few days into her second semester in college. The grey sky kept the sun out of sight, and Y/N couldn't recall the last time she was able to step outside without more than 2 layers of clothing. The flesh on her hands was dry and itchy, and she was constantly uncomfortable being in her own skin.
Maybe she was being pessimistic, but nothing seemed to be going right in her life.
Her grades weren't good enough, she was isolating herself from her friends, and she hadn't talked to her parents in ages. Everything in her life seemed to be going wrong, and she didn't know what to do.
Panic overtook peace, and Y/N could only throw herself into her schoolwork. In a world full of things she couldn't control, at least she could always try to improve her own grades. She could be anxious, overstimulated, and isolated, but she could also have good grades!
A few minutes before midnight, Y/N was now laying on her stomach, piles of papers surrounding her body, similar to how a picture is surrounded by its frame.
"Fuck me," she murmured gently, pressing the tips of her fingers into her temple. "I hate college, dude."
She stood up, and stumbled a bit due to the headrush that suddenly clouded her vision. The two Red Bulls she had drank a few hours prior seemed to have worn off, and Y/N was crudely aware of how tired she was. Her shoulders seemed to be stuck in a permanent slump, and her eyelids felt like two bricks on her face.
Tiredness, however, was the least of her worries. She had been studying for what felt like years, and it still didn't feel like enough. Nothing that she could do would ever be enough.
Like The Walking Dead, Y/N trudged to the bathroom, which was on the far end of her dorm. She was lucky that she had gotten a single, or else she would have to deal with not only her own presence, but also some stranger's as well.
In the haze of her own tired and frustrated mind, Y/N had forgotten that she had closed the bathroom door. She usually always kept it open, seeing as it was less to think about; Rather than having to open the door, she could just walk in. It was less work for her, a lazy student that was fueled by energy drinks and chips, to do.
Y/N was too focused on all the things she had to do once she was finished using the bathroom that she didn't realize the door was closed, and she was about to walk head-first into the wooden slab at full force.
A sickening smack echoed through the otherwise quiet room as Y/N's head came into contact with the door. She regained her footing just in time to stay on her feet as she backed away from the closed door.
Reaching up, she felt something dribble down her forehead. With a trembling hand, Y/N reached up and touched the substance delicately. A frown pulled at her lips when her eyes caught sight of the blood that now resided on her fingertips.
"Shit."
She then collapsed on the floor.
Was she in Heaven? Was she in Hell? Was she in Purgatory? Was she in the secret fourth option that was never described in her own religion, but still existed anyway? Y/N didn't know.
Wherever she was, it was quiet, save for the occasional whisper of the wind and the sound of a nearby bird chirping. At least her alarm wasn't going off.
Someone was touching her, a hand at her waist serving as a warning to Y/N that she was no longer alone. There was someone near her, and if she wasn't careful, she could end up in danger.
Hesitantly, she opened her eyes.
Yep, this definitely wasn't her musty college dorm that smelled way too much like stale air if she didn't open the windows for a few minutes every hour. Her eyes finally adjusted to the morning light that was practically blinding her.
The first thing she noticed was that she was laying on the ground like some hobo. Her body was covered in an itchy, woolen dress that made her long for her ratty, old college hoodie that softened with every laundry cycle.
She then noticed that there wasn't just one person next to her, but another small body that was slightly curled into her own. Y/N frowned.
Why the fuck was there a bald child that was practically melted into her own body? Was he bald by choice, or was it a medical condition?
Y/N slowly turned her head so that she was able to see who was behind her, and her confusion only grew at the site of a man with light brown hair that was practically spooning her.
"I knew that second Red Bull was a mistake," she muttered to herself, annoyance seeping into her tone even though she wasn't speaking to anyone else.
The child next to her began to stir. He rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands and sleepily blinked. "Good morrow, My Lady," he said quietly.
She curled her lips. "Sure," she replied. "Remind me again who the hell you are? And, are you bald because of a disease, or is it simply a poor attempt at a fashion statement?"
He blinked owlishly at her. "I am Egg, My Lady. Do you not recall the events of last night? It would make sense, considering Ser Duncan said you drank many pints of ale at the Baratheon tent last night."
"Hey!" Y/N protested, no longer caring that the stranger behind her was sleeping. "I don't drink. Well, at least not since that Halloween party Sigma Chi hosted. I didn't even know they still made Four Lokos."
A hand pinched at the skin at her hip, and Y/N let out a squeak at the sensation. "Will you two quiet down? It is too early for your constant chatter," the man behind Y/N grumbled, clearly annoyed at the fact that his beauty sleep was interrupted.
"Ser..." The boy, who was apparently named after the main ingredient in an omelette, continued to stare at Y/N weirdly. "Something is wrong with her."
"What are you going on about, boy?"
"She's speaking in tongues, Ser."
Y/N decided she had enough of this weird and way too vivid fever-dream. She wrenched the hand that was holding onto her off her waist and stood up.
Now that she had a good view of the man that had been sleeping behind her, Y/N knew that she was metaphorically fucked if this ended in a physical confrontation. This guy was taller than anyone she had ever met, and he was far more muscular than anyone that she was used to seeing on campus.
She needed something to protect herself with, or else she'd probably be ending up in a murder mystery documentary. Y/N couldn't die knowing she looked like she hadn't showered in years.
Her panicked gaze darted around the small area that she was contained in, and it landed on a sword that was propped up against a tree trunk. Without sparing the two another glance, Y/N lunged for the sword. Once it was in her trembling hands, she pointed the sharp end at the man's throat.
The child gasped.
The man, still half-asleep, grabbed the sword boredly and threw it onto the ground. "It's too early to deal with your nonsense, Y/N," he told her. His eyes were now on her, and she scowled. "C'mon, back to bed we go."
"How the hell do you know my name, freak? And, why are your eyes so blue? Are you wearing colored contacts? That's pretty performative, you know."
She watched as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I knew allowing you to have that fourth pint was a mistake," he muttered out.
"Maybe she was poisoned," Egg suggested. "It'd explain why she's speaking like a crazed woman."
"Shut up, Omelette," Y/N sassed. "You're bald. Enough said. Now, does anyone want to explain why I was sleeping on the ground, and why I'm now surrounded by people who sound like they should be in Peaky Blinders?"
Duncan straightened up. He thought that Y/N was just attempting to fool him once again with strange phrases he had no clue of their meaning, but something seemed genuinely wrong this time.
She was too confused, and too out of it. It wasn't the ale from last night, and she hadn't been hit on the head recently.
Something was certainly wrong with her.
He slowly stood up and approached her hesitantly, like he would with a wounded animal. Y/N stood rooted in the ground as she stared up at the giant man that was standing before her.
"Y/N..." He spoke softly. "Do you know where you are?"
She rolled her eyes. "Uh, duh, I'm outside. What kinda question is that?"
"She's lost her mind, Ser," Egg argued.
"Why is the bald child so opinionated?" Y/N suddenly began to swat at the air around her, trying to make the bugs that were circling her go away. "Why the fuck are there so many goddamn bugs?" Her heart began to thump in her chest rapidly. She wasn't waking up. This wasn't a Red Bull-induced nightmare; This was reality. "Where am I? Where the fuck am I?"
The witty exterior had worn off. She was scared. Y/N fell to her knees and cradled her head in her hands.
Footsteps drew near, and soon, Y/N felt a hand cradle her neck, while another cupped her face softly. "Y/N," the man spoke, his voice no longer frustrated and instead surprisingly calm. "You're alright, I'm here. I told you nothing would ever harm you, and nothing ever well. I will always protect you, even if it's my last act before I perish." His bright, blue eyes bore into her own in such an intense way that she wanted to look away, but she couldn't.
Tears cascaded slowly down her cheeks. Whether they were tears of exhaustion or confusion, Y/N didn't know. But she was crying, and she couldn't stop.
The man clearly wasn't judging her for crying, and he wasn't asking her why she was, either. He just held her as she sobbed.
A realization hit her like a bucket of ice water on her skin:
Y/N wasn't in her world any longer. She was a stranger in a strange land, a foreigner in a place she didn't even know the name of. She was lost.
okayyy i rllly loved the baseball gf headcanons and iāve got you under my skin!! could you maybe write like Fernando x pop singer?? (could use maybe Sabrina or Olivia Rodrigo or anyone you prefer ofc!!)
love the writing girl š
omg this was so fun to write! headcanons are quickly coming my favorite thing to write. sorry this took so long and i hope you like it! you can read it here
Fernando Mendoza Headcanons About Him and His Popstar Girlfriend
[Fernando Mendoza x popstar!girlfriend!reader]
Summary: Headcanons about Fernando and his girlfriend, who just so happens to be the most beloved up and coming pop stars in the country.
Warnings: mention of Quinn Hughes (?)
A/N: *insert mushu gif* I LIIIIIIIIIIVEEEEEEE (barely)
Every girl wishes that her boyfriend was as supportive as Fernando was. If there was an award for the best boyfriend, he would be the reigning champion and the odds-on favorite to win it next year, too.
Fernando met his girlfriend while she was touring in California while he was still at UC Berkeley. Though he acted like he had no idea who she was when they first met, if Y/N had listened to one of Fernando's playlists, she would've heard all of her own songs.
He knew every single one of her songs by heart. Whenever he found himself sitting in silence, Fernando would begin humming lowly under his breath. Her songs were always stuck in his head, and she was always on his mind.
Though Fernando thought of himself as an athlete, his girlfriend was 100 times more athletic than he was. She could do multiple concerts for days on end, and never seemed to get tired. He was a college athlete, yet his popstar girlfriend was in way better shape than he could ever be. He sometimes got tired from walking up a flight of stairs; Y/N could perform a 3 hour show 4 nights in a row and still could beat his mile time.
Fernando loved his girlfriend loudly. Sure, he occasionally heard a joke from a teammate about how whipped he was, or read a comment online about how pathetically down bad he was, but it didn't bother him. He loved his girlfriend, and no one could make him feel bad about it.
During pregame warm-ups, the Hoosiers would play a few songs that Y/N sang. Videos online would surface of Fernando singing to himself as he practiced throwing. People couldn't get enough.
Y/N loved doing shows in Miami. She would always invite Fernando and the entirety of the Mendoza family. She always made sure they had the best seats and made sure to take a moment to thank them for always being there to support her.
One of her outfit changes included one of Fernando's red Hoosiers jerseys. The crowd always erupted in cheers as Y/N emerged into view proudly wearing her boyfriend's last name on her back. Her profile picture across all her social media platforms was a candid picture of herself after a show wearing one of Fernando's jerseys (he took the picture).
If Y/N ever received hate, Fernando would be at her defense immediately. He wouldn't hesitate to call out anyone who slandered her name, and would always stick up for her no matter what. For anyone to criticize her for simply doing her job and what she loves was something that he would not stand for.
Fernando is secure in his relationship with his girlfriend, even though the entire internet seems to be in love with her. Sometimes he see comments on her posts, such as: "What does he have that I don't?" and "Mendoza can't handle all that". He doesn't mind; His girlfriend is hot, and he knows it.
The only thing that does bother him is when another famous athlete or a celebrity gets a bit too comfortable speaking about their feelings towards his girlfriend. Waking up and reading a tweet about how Quinn Hughes thinks his girlfriend is talented and pretty was not something that Fernando expected.
He always commented on her posts. He'd leave simply with a 'š', or would tell her about how amazing she performed.
If his own schedule conflicted with one of her concert dates, Fernando would watch the live streamed footage. He never missed one of her shows. He followed her fan accounts and would enjoy scrolling through the accounts whenever he had the time.
One time, one of those interviewers came up to him while he was on campus and asked what song he was listening to. Like everyone would have expected, Fernando was listening to one of Y/N's songs. He spent the rest of the interview promoting her new song and telling everyone what his favorite album of hers was.
Fernando would probably never admit it (because it would make him sound conceited), but his favorite songs that Y/N had were the ones she wrote for him. She made him feel so loved, and when he couldn't be near her, listening to the songs that she wrote for him made him feel less alone.
They did various interviews together, whether they were doing trivia questions about each other, or they were playing internet games. Y/N and Fernando were loved by a lot of fans that loved seeing their relationship blossom.
One time, a newspaper article had referred to Y/N as 'Fernando Mendoza's Girlfriend.' In response, on his next Instagram post, he referred to himself as Y/N Y/L/N's boyfriend.
His pregame outfit, a majority of the time, was of one of Y/N's concert t-shirts. And yes, he made her sign it.
Fernando would absolutely crush one of those interviews where he hears a clip of one of Y/N's songs and has to name it from the part of the song that he heard. It wouldn't even be funny how easy the game would be for him. Even Y/N took a longer time to recognize her own songs than he did.
He would learn to play piano for her, just so that he could help her practice her songs when they were together. When she needed a deeper voice to feature in her songs, she would ask him to record a small part. He would immediately agree, and fans would go crazy once they realize it was Fernando singing in the background of one of Y/N's songs.
Hi girlie! I was just wondering who all you write for, and what are your boundaries for who you consider writing for? I have some requests that I feel you would execute really well but I donāt want to send them to overwhelm you if you donāt want to write for them!
hi, thank you for asking! there are obviously some people/sports i am definitely more knowledgeable about, but given the request, i would feel comfortable writing for anyone š¤
hi guys, so sorry for the lack of posting recently! i have one more request that i need to publish, which should hopefully be released sometime tomorrow š¤
