#atletico madrid drabble

[percervall]

amor de me vida

Player: Rodrigo De Paul Words: 975 Warnings: None, fluff Request: Stealing their clothes - he's away and you've been ill at home but you miss him so you basically drag yourself to his apartment/house to wear one of his hoodies and joggers and then he comes home during the night (was supposed to be later that next day) and he finds you cuddled up in his bed, wearing his clothes and he drops everything and joins you and you wake up and you two cuddle and A/N: I tweaked it a little bit, hope you like it!

title's from Maluma's ADMV

---

January was one of those months that always left her feeling run down. Work had been exhausting the past month and today had been a particularly horrible day where everything that could go wrong, went wrong. What made it even worse was that she hadn’t been able to see her boyfriend in over a week due to their conflicting work schedules and missed him terribly. He always knew exactly what to do to make her feel better. Missing him felt like a dull ache in her chest, mirroring the way her head pounded with a headache that had settled behind her eyes. There was no point in pretending she could get any work done feeling like this, so after sending a quick email to her boss, she packed up for the day and figured she might as well go to his house to at least seek comfort in his shower and bed. One of the many advantages of dating a professional athlete was that they had money to spend on top tier water pressure and mattresses. 

After stopping by the supermarket to get some soup and bread, she parked her car in front of his house. Rodrigo had given her a key for situations just like this, where she needed him to settle the ache in her bones. Dropping her work bag by the door, she took off her shoes and carried the groceries into the kitchen. Her phone automatically connected to the sound system he had set up, and the playlist she had put on in the car started playing over the speakers. She made her way to the ensuite, throwing her clothes in the laundry basket. As the hot water hit her skin, she sighed at the feeling of her muscles letting go of the tension that had held them in a vice all day. 

She wrapped the towel tighter around herself and walked to Rodrigo’s closet. They shared a preference for oversized lounge wear and while his closet held about a third of her’s, right now she wanted nothing more than to wrap up in one of his soft hoodies. Grabbing her favourite one, she buried her face in the fabric, inhaling the scent of his fabric softener and aftershave. Smiling softly as his scent enveloped her, she got dressed in the hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, and settled in for an evening on the couch with her favourite series on TV.

+

To say he was tired would be an understatement. Between winning the world cup with Argentina and the starting of La Liga, his time had been spent mostly travelling. The plan had been to travel back from their latest away fixture early the next morning, but the whole team wanted to go home and see their families –Rodrigo being one of them. Ever since Diego agreed, he’d been trying to get a hold of his girlfriend. She hadn’t answered her phone, but when he pulled up to his house he spotted her car on the driveway. His lips tugged up in a smile seeing it parked there. Rodrigo quickly made his way inside, dropping his bag by the stairs to take up later. The house was quiet, but he could tell she was still downstairs by the light coming from the living room.

“Babe?” he called out, voice barely above speaking volumes. He waited a beat to see if she’d answer before moving into the living room. The TV was still on, a streaming service politely asking if anyone was still watching. Rodrigo moved further into the room, picking up the remote to turn the TV off. Turning his face, he spotted his girlfriend on the couch, bundled up in one of his hoodies and fast asleep. She had made herself a hot drink and was still clutching the empty mug to her chest as her head rested on her own shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile lovingly, taking in her sleeping features. Rodrigo carefully took the mug from her hands, placing it on the coffee table, before moving to lift her up. He chuckled when she sighed deeply and snuggled into him as he carried her out of the room. 

“Hey,” she croaked, waking up enough to realise the couch wasn’t moving but her boyfriend had come home and was carrying her upstairs.

“Hey mi vida. This is a nice surprise, didn’t think you’d gotten my texts.” 

“Put my phone on do not disturb, so haven’t seen any come in. Just missed you and your hoodies,” she mumbled, sleep slurring her speech. Rodrigo chuckled and carried her up the stairs. He gently set her down on his bed and moved to his closet to get her a shirt to sleep in. 

“How was your day?” he asked as he handed it to her. 

“It’s been hectic and I’m exhausted. Last month was insane and it’s not looking to slow down any time soon. Went home early today with a headache,” she told him, swapping the hoodie for the shirt. Kicking off the sweatpants, she got under the covers. Rodrigo climbed in as well, pulling her closer. It wasn’t lost on him that she had referred to his house as home, his heart squeezing at the thought of her living with him. 

“I have the day off tomorrow, how about we spend it in bed all day?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. She hummed in agreement, snuggling into him. 

“That sounds lovely,” she sighed. Rodrigo smiled again, pressing his lips to her hair. He heard how her breathing evened out, body fully relaxed against his. Finally giving in to sleep, the last thought that crossed his mind was that he would ask her to move in tomorrow. Home was no longer a place, it had become a person shaped like the woman asleep in his arms. 

Tags @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass @lfc21

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[missgavi]

hii<3, just a thoughts that came into my head,

the reaction his teamated would have if they see hickeys on his neck and scratches on his back

and we know this boy can get angry on the feeld but what if a football player from the other team like flirts with you and you don't catch on cause before gavi you had like a lowkey crush on him and just want a picture and authagraph and gavi just gets jealous

(sorry to put them togheter in one request even tho there two different things)(or you can do both for one story👀)

sorry if its confusing😭

nah cause they’d tease him so baaaad 

"and what are these cabron ?" Pedri asks on a teasing tone, playfully pinching one of Gavi's hickey, the purple mark gaining a reddish hue.

"don't mind those, they could pass as some killer mosquitos bites" Raphinha says with a smirk on his face "I'm more curios about those" and goes to trace the scratch marks on the younger boy's back.

Gavi groans and moves away from them, cursing them out in spanish as his teammates hunch over in laughter.

Quickly getting changed, he grabs his bag and makes his way where he told the culprit for the marks to meet him. Walking onto the pitch, Pablo's face turns red and if this were a cartoon there'd be smoke coming out of his ears as he spots you and none other than Joao Felix.

It was clear all the way from his side of the pitch that the Atletico player was flirting with you, his face all smug. Tightening the grip on his bag he starts walking towards the two of you.

Pablo comes up behind you and picks you up, spinning you in his arms. Squealing, you immediately recognised the arms wrapped around you and as soon as your feet hit the ground , you turn around in his hug and give him a warm kiss.

"Ai mi amor, look" you show him a t-shirt with Joao's signature, completely missing his flirting and just being happy about the autograph.

Gavi's heart softened at your innocence, wrapping an arm around your middle before turning towards Felix.

"Good game ei Joao, maybe next time you'll win" Pablo says on a passive-agressive tone. Felix gets the message and after some heated convo between the two the Atletico player finally leaves and lets the two of you get on with your own ministrations.

Turning to look at Gavi, you give him your usual charming smile "He's so sweet isn't he ?''

"Yeah, we're burning that t-shirt when we get home" Gavi says, leaning into a passionate kiss as you giggle against his lips.

[pochteta]

the rodrigriz drabble is now live go insult it in the comments kthxbye

[chlerc]

he hey sports ; joão félix

— summary; in which João arrives home and finds you laughing at the partnership video he filmed for EA Sports.

pairing — joão félix x f. reader ( third person story )

word count — 707 + an ig post from joão.

content — being lovey-dovey with joão when he comes home after training and sees you laughing at him. But he thinks it’s not really funny and whines about it.

NAVIGATION + author’s note: i think the joão leaving Chelsea drought just hit me, i saw him liking Chelsea’s post for Kai Havertz birthday and lost it, that was my last straw fr.

THE SUN SET IN the sky as fresh colours brushed upon an artist's canvas, the orange gold stretches far and wide, the colour of fire hearths and tangerines. With light pouring through the curtains, there she was curled up on the couch with a video constantly replaying.

She had been home this whole day, finishing up with university assignments as well as awaiting the arrival upon home of her favourite portuguese. Whilst being too engrossed with the video on her phone, she was deafened to the sound of an unlocking door. “Seriously? I come home after training to find you laughing at a video that shows me struggling?”

She glances up from her device, staring at the reason who had been the cause of her tears from laughing. Her leg shuffled towards him with her lips upturned, reaching her eyes as they crinkled. “Welcome home, amor.” She giggled while greeting him with a chaste kiss to his lips and grabbing his duffel bag from his grasp.

“Very funny huh? Not that funny when I’m the one struggling eh. I wasn’t even struggling, they just couldn’t hear me right.” João rambles through his gritted teeth although he admits internally that it was a funny thing. “It is very funny, look!” She shoves the clip on her phone right into his face, volume at full blast.

He grumbles in response at her action but still watches the whole video. “He Hey Sports. Bro, come on!” João grabs the phone from her grasp, letting the video run as she lets out a heart laugh. He swore if his struggling to say EA Sports gets him a laugh like this everytime, he would have done it over and over again just for her.

God, the sound of her laughter is a soul elevator for anyone blessed enough to hear it. It was sugar in his day after a training preparation for the weekend. “He Hey Sports bro! I didn’t say H.” He’s hundred percent sure that she just laughed louder at that part of the clip.

“Anjo, enough now. It’s not really nice to be laughing at your boyfriend’s accent.” He whines, turning off the phone as he joins her on the couch where she was clearly having the time of her life teasing him. João snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her close to his chest where it vibrated to her laughter. “Very funny huh?”

She gazed upon him, her hazel eyes glittering as he saw his own reflection in her eyes. The warmth of her body radiating off her as João felt it in his bones despite the sweater he had on. He leans forward briefly to sneak a kiss on her forehead, the very same smile she greeted him with displayed on her face. They say the sun is the brightest light, but the light of her smile is the brightest they have yet to see.

“Can you say EA Sports for me please?” Her lips jutted out, her doe eyes staring right through his soul. In that moment he knew how utterly fucked he was in the ass, there was no way he would ever be able to resist her or her requests, certainly no way when she was looking at him like that. “You think you’re sooo funny, don’t you?”

“Pleaseee!” She clasps both her hands together, pleading at him but he was going to say it for her either way. “He Hey Sports, it’s in the game.” And there it goes again, her laugh ricocheting throughout the living room. But it was worth it to João, everything was worth it if it meant for her to laugh like that and him being the reason for it.

“No way, we have to play FIFA tonight and have you take a picture of it and post it on Instagram. You have a partnership with them, you gotta make up for not being able to say it right.” She caresses at his cheek with her thumb and João only nods to her. “Yeah you’re having so much fun, I wonder why.” Her eyes twinkled, thinking of the same moment from the clip. His exasperation was it for her. “I am because of you, eu te amo João.”

Liked by ynusername, chelseafc and 3,927,173 others

joaofelix79 i would like to thank He Hey Sports for the scrumptious dinner my girl cooked for me. I’ve been religiously practiced on saying it, I will do better the next video. He Hey Sports, It’s in the game.

View all 6,927 comments

ynusername i got him to say it for me every day he comes home from training 😁

joaofelix79 @ynusername yeah and you be having the most fun 😒

easports @ynusername thanks for helping him out 😂😂😂

chelseafc He Hey Sports João!

risingballers Sequel of that clip 😂😂

[sergio-para-siempre]

Fic Masterlist - Sernando

All your dreams are here Explicit, 2849 words, PWP Sergio and Fernando meet on the pitch of the San Siro Stadium the night before the 2016 Champions League Final between Real Madrid and Atletico de Madrid

Somewhere between desperate and divine Explicit, 2566 words, PWP Fernando makes some interesting discoveries about Sergio

We wrote a story in the fog on the windows that night Explicit, 4969 words, PWP  When Fernando's future is up in the air, he goes to Sergio for advice. (contains rainstorms, a hot shower and not a lot of actual advice)

You got a way of moving through me like a fever Explicit, 1263 words, PWP When a goal celebration gets a little too handsy, Sergio and Fernando continue their celebration in the team showers

A thousand summers in my memory Mature, 3000 words, Drabble Collection The story of Sergio and Fernando over the years told in scattered fragments

You are whispers and sunlight Explicit, 2101 words, PWP Sergio and Fernando spend a lazy morning together

We were born with fire and gold in our eyes Explicit, 2877 words, PWP Sergio and Fernando celebrate winning the World Cup

Of christmas lights and headaches Mature, 2400 words, Drabble Collection Sergio is a nuisance, Fernando has the patience of a saint and somewhere in between it’s almost Christmas

You're my sanctuary Teen and Up Audiences, 1714 words, Comfort Fic Unexpected defeats always hurt the most - Set after Real Madrid's defeat against Espanyol Barcelona

I wanna see the sunrise and your sins Explicit, 20346 words, 7/30 Chapters A collection of 30 unrelated Sernando One Shots, each based on a different Kink/NSFW Prompt.

You make me feel like home Teen and Up Audiences, 1390 words, Fluff Fernando takes Sergio on a surprise vacation to a lake house

Strangeness and Charm Mature, 3012 words, Serial Killer/Immortal AU Fernando is a serial killer, but Sergio refuses to die based on this prompt by diegoalvesisgod: You are a serial killer and you picked me as a target, but I’m immortal and you can’t kill me, but hey, you trying is really funny, let’s do it again.

[footbaliimagines]

green light (an antoine griezmann imagine)

these are intended to be like snippets of a relationship between two people who <3 each other from the start but cant quite get their timing right. Idk it’s all a bit random and jumbled but i like the idea and the individual bits and the song and i hope you like it!! (p.s. the timeline is not 100% nailed tbh there isnt really much of a coherent timeline at all oops but let’s just go with it and not overthink it too much LOL SORRY)  also it is ridiculously long so its allllll under the cut down there and also i have basically just lifted and edited one of my other drabbles in here so yeah

 I know about what you did and I wanna scream the truth

You’re 18 and you hate him so much that you’re sure you never want to see him again.

(Never want to speak to him again, never want to look at his stupid smile, never want to set sights on another football match again in your entire life.)

He left you, alone, sad, single and still pining, after pledging his commitment to you and your relationship only to have his head turned by a stupid football team.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

It was all so god damn stupid.

“You’re not stupid,” Your best friend rolls her eyes and nudges you with her elbow.

You hum unresponsively, and silence envelops your bedroom once again. Rolling onto your back, you scrunch your eyes shut and groan, “I am. I’m stupid for believing him, and stupid for falling in love with such a stupid guy and I’m stupid because I’m here whining and crying and feeling sorry for myself while he’s out having the time of his life.”

“You’re not stupid.” This time, she laughs at your stubbornness, and flops next to you on your bed. “You’re in love. That’s not stupid. That’s life.”

She looks at you knowingly, and you hum again. It feels like your world is crumbling around you, but her words are probably the wisest you’ve ever heard. “I still feel stupid.” You mumble.

Before you’re about to burst into tears again, she wraps her arms around you and murmurs into your shoulder, “You can, and that’s valid. But you’ll be okay, you’ll move on and in a few years’ you won’t even remember his name. I promise.”

thought you said that you would always be in love

“Wine? Beer? I have some whiskey somewhere if you’d prefer that?”

You shrug, “I don’t mind. Whatever you’ve got open already.”

He pours you a gin and tonic and waits expectantly for you to speak up.

But you don’t.

You stare, fixated, at your glass, and swirl your straw around in the ice with one hand, fiddling with the zipper on your jacket with the other, waiting for him to make the first move.

It feels stranger than you can imagine to be sat here in silence next to Antoine. You want to speak, you feel like you should speak, but the words can’t quite come and there’s an insurmountable lump lodged in your throat. You haven’t seen each other in months, and it feels like there’s been a hole in your heart ever since he left.

(A huge, horrible Antoine-shaped hole.)

It’s not like you don’t see him at all, but his visits have slowly become less frequent and university has begun to occupy more and more of your time, and you’ve inevitably drifted. Awkwardness was never something you feared with Antoine, but now the atmosphere couldn’t be any more uncomfortable.

You cave after a few more minutes of strained silence. “How have you been?”

He’s grateful that he didn’t have to be the one to make the first move, and nods quickly. “Good, good. How’s home?”

“Home’s good too.”

“And yourself?”

“All good.”

(You want the ground to swallow you up.)

“Hey- you know that you can tell me anything, right? You don’t have to hold anything back.”

“Bit difficult when you’ve not been around, but sure.” You say, and there’s a bitterness in your voice that you don’t bother to hide. “And maybe if you bothered to call every once in awhile I’d feel a bit more comfortable spilling my guts to you.”

“Don’t be a dick about this. Calm down.”

He leans back on his seat, sipping coolly at his water. He’s cool and casual and acting like he doesn’t give a single fuck, and the arrogance of it all, the way he swans back home and acts as if he’s the bees knees just because he can kick a ball about for a bit makes you seethe.

“Fuck you.”

Then he laughs - he has the audacity to laugh - and salty tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “What’s so funny?”

You place your glass down on the table with extra force and stare him down, dead in the eye. “I’m sorry- hey, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m a joke.” You scold him. “You’re the one that left and created all of this. You’re the one who has to pick up the pieces. Not me.”

And with that, you sweep out of the room, only for Antoine to lurch forward, clasping your hands in his and looking at you intently, his blue eyes flaming wildly, begging you, persuading you to stay. “I’m sorry.”

You slow to a stop and bite your lip.

“I think I’m just nervous. Not seeing you in so long - you’ve- you’ve changed. You look so, so beautiful. And it threw me off. I’m sorry. I swear, I’m sorry.”

You glance around his apartment. It’s empty, save for a pile of video games and dog toys. There’s nothing there, nothing of substance, and it feels empty, soulless, not like a home. A pang of sympathy burns through your heart as you realise you can’t leave him like this.

Whispered apologies and breathless ‘i-miss-you’s’ lead from one thing to another.

You pull him in and try not to overthink too much as he leads you to his room.

did it frighten you how we kissed when we danced on the light up floor?

You’re 22 now, and Antoine’s taking on San Sebastian by storm.

(Or at least, that was what you told everyone.)

It’s the end to his first proper season, and the club are hosting a summer party at a swanky hotel in the city centre. You’ve been flown out specially and introduced proudly to his teammates and coaching team, and the way he looks at you makes your stomach tumble.

(It’s like you’re seventeen again.)

He spins you around on the dancefloor with glee, and his parents and siblings are laughing at his goofy behaviour as you twirl with him to whatever was top of the charts in 2012.

(You’re too giddy to be seeing him again to remember properly.)

“I’m so happy for you.” You’re practically shouting to be heard above the music. “There’s no one who deserves success more.”

He smiles bashfully and blushes, before dipping his head and pressing his lips to yours. It’s a quick, short kiss, and probably looked much less romantic to outsiders than it felt to you, but it winds you and makes the blood rush to your head. “I love you.”

You tell him, in a hushed, breathy voice that you love him too.

I whisper things, the city sings them back to you

Now, it’s 2014 and Antoine’s just completed his transfer to Atletico Madrid.

“How’s life treating you in the capital, Senor?”

He laughs, and it’s only then that the amount you miss him hits home. His laugh is homely, it’s comforting and melodic and rumbles through his chest, and you can’t help but grin. “Life is great.” He chuckles, and a pang sears through your heart.

You want him to be happy, of course you do, but you’d be lying if you told yourself that it didn’t hurt to know he wasn’t just coping, but flourishing without you. “I’m glad to hear that.” You say gently. “You deserve it.”

“The city looks so beautiful at night.” Antoine observes, tipping his glass and nodding in the direction of the Madrid skyline in front of you two. “Doesn’t feel like home yet, but the view doesn’t hurt.”

You smile, and nod in agreement. It’s chilly, and before you know it he’s draping his jacket around your shoulders, speaking softly, “I miss you. And I think about you every day.”

His words knock the air out of you, and your face breaks into a smile. You want to reach over and link your fingers with his, but you swiftly compose and refrain yourself.

(You’re over him, completely 100% over him, and it wasn’t worth going back to square one again for one night, only to fly back to France the next morning and then not speak for weeks again.)

Antoine laughs again, and places his wine glass down on the side before gesturing at you to do the same. You down your champagne in one swift gulp and the bubbles rush to your head, making you burp- and subsequently, making Antoine laugh even harder. He entwines your fingers together, tugging you to the middle of the rooftop space. His steps mirror yours and wobble slightly, wavering as the alcohol works its familiar magic, and he pulls you in. You can’t help but let yourself get pulled along, and your hands link between his neck.

His black suit is stiff and ironed, and fitting tightly around his neck, and you press down on the material as he draws you closer. The music from the Atleti Christmas party is faint in the background- some playful, piano sonata serving as little more than ambient white noise- and you can barely make out the notes, never mind the beat, but Antoine starts to dance with you.

(Well, slowly wandering in circles because you’ve both consumed far too much alcohol to dance properly, but the sentiment remained the same.)

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world to me, you know that, right?” He mumbles into your shoulder, as you slow back to stillness.

You roll your eyes and shake your head, trying to pry yourself out of his grasp to no avail. His arms around you tighten, as if he can’t, won’t, let go, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world and letting go could have disastrous consequences. His voice wobbles, and all of a sudden he’s that small, scared, nervous 18 year old boy you said goodbye to at the airport so many years ago.

“You’re a massive liar.”

He shakes his head determinedly; your quirk your eyebrow at him, challenging him. “The most beautiful, the silliest, the most annoying-.” He continues, and he smiles playfully at you.

“Sorry, do you want me to throw you off the roof, or-?”

He laughs, and his grip eventually loosens.

Antoine follows you as you walk back inside the party, and doesn’t let go of your hand for the rest of the night.

sometimes I wake up in a different bedroom

You’re 25 now, older, wiser, more mature.

Shaped by life as a working woman with a house and a mortgage and a new swanky job in Paris.

(The fact that seeing photos of him continues to make you swoon to this day and that you still fall victim to his blue eyes whenever he visits makes you kind of hate yourself.)

(God, it’s all so cliche and messy that you can’t even recognise yourself anymore.)

“I don’t know what it is, but I always go back to him.” You mumble.

Your best friend smiles sympathetically. She’s been there for you every step of the way of this horrible, drawn out convoluted Antoine-saga that she’s basically become the third person of your relationship.

(If you could even call it that.)

“He was your first love, your first boyfriend, your childhood sweetheart, if you will.” She reasons.

“Of course you’re going to think about him. He’s not just an average, normal ex.”

“I think he was it for me.” You admit, in a tiny and quiet voice. “Which makes the fact that I don’t know if we’ll ever work so much scarier.”

Years have passed and life has changed, but there’s one thing (well, one person) that remains constant.

You’re not sure if you’ll ever get over him.

I hear sounds in my mind

brand new sounds in my mind

You pick up the bottle of champagne from the bar, letting the heavy glass bottle rock in your hands. The liquid inside warms from your touch, and you sit gingerly at the end of the hotel bed while he lingers by the window. You feel like an intruder invading somewhere where you don’t really belong, but he calms your nerves by smiling reassuringly and reaching out to sling an arm around your waist. “Congratulations.”

It’s the night after the semi-finals of the EUROs, and Antoine’s face is fixated with a rapturous grin, blue eyes fixated on you and scanning your body hungrily.

You haven’t seen him in months’; it feels new and nervous and kind of exciting. “Stop looking at me like that.” You narrow your eyes at him.

He laughs, leaning his head back and tipping up his chin before gently lifting the champagne bottle out of your hands. “Looking at you like what?”

“Like you,” You struggle for the words. “I don’t know, like you like me.”

He replies emphatically, “I do like you. What do you want me to do? Give you evils? Chuck you out of my hotel room, which you rudely barged into with no invitation, as a matter of fact?”

“Very funny.” You roll your eyes.

“You’re my best friend. Of course I like you.”

“I like you too, then.” You take the bottle of champagne back off of him and pad to the side cabinet to deftly pick up two flutes, as he spins you around to hug you from behind.

You can feel his lashes tickle the back of your neck and the smell of his aftershave drifts to your nostrils. The lights are dim and there’s music playing from his phone in the background; he takes your hands and spins you around, laughing maniacally.

There’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

honey I’ll be seeing you down every road

The next time you see him, it’s his summer break and you both return to your hometown. Despite your insistence to everyone that this time, things would be different and you wouldn’t go down that same stupid route again, it’s Friday night and you’re in his old bedroom, lying on the floor with a bottle of red wine sat between you.

“Love is stupid, and confusing, and I hate it.” You moan.

You’re spilling the details of your latest breakup to him, and the wine is making your blood run hot and your view foggy.

“I’ll cheers to that.”

He clinks your wine glasses together and mirrors your body language as you down the rest of it in a rapid gulp. “And breakups are shit. And men are shit, and I hate-”

“Hey, hey, hey.” He interrupts. “I’m not shit. Don’t tarnish me with the same brush.”

You feel a chuckle bubble up in your throat and choke out indignantly, “Oh Antoine, believe me, you’re the shittest. The absolute worst.”

He feigns indignation, but you leap to your feet and point your finger at his face before he can argue back. “You made me think that we were in love, when I was naive and gullible and 18, for Christ’s sake, and you lied to me and told me we’d always be together and all that bullshit.” What had started as mere joking had escalated to something bigger, and your voice seethes with poison and spite.

(You would later come to blame liquid confidence for your outburst.)

“And then we see each other and every now and then, and you tell me again that you love and miss me but you do absolutely fucking nothing about it.” You rub your eyes with your hands and feel them sting with tears. “I’m sick and I’m tired, and I’m so, so fed up. And I can’t do this anymore, being your bit on the side, you know, your convenient fuck buddy because you know I’d do anything for you and that once you go back home you don’t have to deal with the consequences.”

He nods numbly, shellshocked, and can’t bring himself to look at you. For once, for you feel like you have the upper hand.

(It’s a refreshing, empowering, satisfying feeling.)

(So why do you still feel so shit?)

“I understand.”

“I really fucking hate you sometimes, Antoine.” You say, in a small voice. “For what you’ve done to me- for what you do to me. How I’m strong and capable and I have my head screwed on until I see you, and then I’m a mess with no control. And how it happens every single fucking time.”

“Stay.”

One word, like it’s that simple, like it’s that easy, like you’re that stupid.

Like you’d believe a single word that came out of his stupid, piece of shit mouth.

He’s begging and he jumps to his feet, and the look in his eyes and the way his hands tremble is nearly enough to make you crumble again but you stand strong. Because you’re selfish - as you should be, for once - and you refuse to accept it this time.

You’re resentful, selfish and you’re bitter as hell.

He mutters, “You’re all I have these days. Please don’t leave.”

“I can’t be what you need me to be anymore.” You shake your head and back away. “I really can’t.”

It hurts more than you can imagine to reject him at his most vulnerable but there’s a feeling of accomplishment and adrenaline running through your veins as you leave.

honey I’ll be seeing you wherever I go

After that night, you go without seeing Antoine for a good five months, and you’re doing fine.

(Fine. A-okay. Great, even, depending on the day.)

Life, football, the Champions League, your new job - you name it - they all get in the way, and as if following a routine, your friendship returns to sporadic text messages, occasional email exchanges and promises to meet up that never really pan out.

You’ve realised you don’t care as much about the football, and sometimes find it difficult to even hear the word Madrid in conversation, but it’s okay, and all is good and happy and constant in your life.

Change is good, and Paris is incredible. And you’ve discovered a bunch of new shows and singers and artists and you remind yourself constantly that broadening your horizons is beneficial and necessary and nothing bad could possibly have come from it.

Sometimes, you think you spot him in the corner of your eye. A flurry of dark hair in front of you in the street, a broad set of shoulders ordering coffee, a man speaking Spanish lilted with a French accent, a booming laugh and a twinkling smile. You see him and it’s like a switch has been flicked within you, it’s him, you know it’s him immediately, and suddenly it’s like you’ve stepped into a time machine and you want to approach him and say hi, hey, how are you, you look great, we should grab coffee.

(Or something. You can’t guarantee that it would be a friendly exchange, and knowing your temper and the sour way you last left things, the likelihood of an amiable reunion was very slim.)

Then it dawns on you, that it’s not Antoine at all.  It’s another man, a complete stranger, and you’ve been staring at him like an idiot for no reason at all.

You think sometimes that you could have simply got it all wrong. Antoine’s invaded your brain, marked his stamp and presence in your head and ruined every other man on the planet with brown hair and a handsome grin and a deep laugh. In fact, if you were never able to form a healthy relationship with another man in your life, he’d be to blame, you often muse moodily. He’s trapped you, preventing you from moving forward, because it’s like you’re stuck in this vicious cycle where everything comes back to him and you see him everywhere you go.

The man you’ve been staring at for the better part of the last 10 minutes’ flashes eye contact with you briefly when he gets up to leave. You’ve been imagining this man as him, projecting a story and a life and a plot onto a random stranger you would never see again, all of that potential.

The possibilities, the what-ifs and all the what-could-have-beens, how your life could have been so different if you’d accepted Antoine’s offer to move out with him so many years ago.

You try to push these thoughts as far as possible out of your mind.

honey I’ll come get my things, but I can’t let go

You’re sitting in the waiting room of the dentist when you spot the glossy cover of Closer in the corner of your eye, photographs of Antoine splashed across the front. He’s holding hands with a mystery brunette, shielding her from the paparazzi’s glares.

You pick it up and it feels like watching as an outsider to a parallel universe, like sitting on the wrong side of a glass enclosure or like a spectator at the zoo watching on. He’s thriving, prospering, blossoming in Madrid, partying with the world’s elite and living the life that you always knew he would get to one day. You should feel happy for him, but there’s an uneasy, gnawing feeling in your gut.

You toss the magazine back onto the table.

I wish I could get my things and just let go

The streets of Paris are beautiful and picturesque, you muse, as you walk home. It’s been a long day at work, and there’s a tempting bottle of chilled pinot grigio waiting for you in your fridge, and a bath calling your name. You stretch your neck, digging out your keys and glancing back up to your front door.

He’s sat there, waiting patiently, fiddling around doing something or other on his phone with his hood up. It’s dark by this point, and if you hadn’t recognised his shadow you’d have been ready to whip out your pepper spray and pounce. He’s in casual wear, presumably after his spontaneous flight out to Paris, and takes his hood off. It’s probably to deter any potential fans or paparazzi, but gives off an awful impression nonetheless.  “Hey.” You call out.

Antoine jumps before looking up at you. “Hi.”

“Is there a reason you’re sat on my front step?”

He laughs nervously. Your first glance at him makes your throat dry up and your heart stutter, and suddenly you regret your decision to put a spectacular lack of effort into your appearance today. “I wanted to talk. I was in town and just thought I’d drop by.”

“What, you were just casually in Paris?” You raise an eyebrow at him questioningly and he shrugs in response. “You shouldn’t wait around at people’s doorsteps in all black with your hood up. Could give off the wrong impression. You’re lucky I didn’t attack you or call 911.”

He smiles cheekily, “Duly noted.”

He aligns his steps next to yours as easy as anything, and follows you into your hallway when you unlock the door. The lights slowly flicker on, and it feels like you’re sat on a knife’s edge.

Why was he here? What did he want? Why didn’t he call beforehand? Who told him that blonde and blue highlights would seriously be a good idea?

Your mind fizzes to the brim with unanswered, desperate questions, but you are determined to keep your cool. “I don’t know what to say.” Is what you mumble out instead.

Antoine smiles softly, that ridiculously, perfectly photogenic smile, and your heart starts beating incessantly already.

“Let me speak, then.” He clears his throat. “I just want to apologise.”

“What for?”

He cuts you off, “And I want to explain some things to you.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve been a dick.”

You smile and shrug. “Can’t say I massively disagree.”

“But I’m ready to stop that now.”

“So honourable. Jeez.” You mock, and he gives you a look.

(As if to say, shut up, i’m trying here, let me finish my god damn sentence.)

“Because I’m ready now. I know it’s taken me so long but I know now, it’s dawned on me. It’s you, it’s all you and it always has been you. You deserve the best, not just with this, whatever this is, but with everything in your life, and I haven’t been able to give you me at my best, not until now. That’s why I’ve been so hesitant, that’s why we’ve always been so unsure, because I could never give you what you deserved. But It’s so clear to me now. God, I love you more than I ever thought was possible, I love you so much that when you’re not here it’s like I can’t breathe, and food has no taste and it’s all so pointless. I love you. I think deep down I always have. And I want to make the plunge now, because I’m all in. All, 100%, completely, truly, unfailingly all in.”

He offers you a hand which you take, pulled in like a magnet. “I never want to be without you, ever, ever again. Not a single day.”

You gulp, your eyes welling with tears. “Flying out to Paris was probably unnecessary, I know. But- hey, just give me a call when you get the chance, okay? When you’ve made a decision, thought about it-”

“I don’t need to think about it.” You interrupt him eagerly, and you cup his face with both hands.

His chest is heaving with deep, nervous, shaky breaths, mirroring yours, and when you smile it takes over your face.

(You’re probably terrifying him because you’re pretty sure the smile on your face makes you look like a lunatic, but you don’t care.)

His hands find your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and he kisses you roughly, like no time has passed. His lips are soft and familiar and they feel like coming home.

You breathe, “I’m yours.”

“Hm?”

Antoine swings you up and your legs wrap around his waist, as his arm hooks around you with ease and he continues to press kisses to your neck.

“All yours.”

I’m waiting for it, that green light, I want it

“Til death do us part.”

“Til death do us part.”

You opt for an intimate, cosy reception, but the music resonating soundly around the hall, your guests’ chatter and laughter, and the never ending clinking of cutlery and glassware makes it sound like you’ve invited the whole population of France. Antoine grips your hand so tightly that his nails leave marks on the back of your hand and before you can even blink (or, as the cliche goes, have a slice of your own cake), you’re whizzing round, saying goodbyes.

(It’s the happiest day of your life by a mile.)

Antoine presses a line of kisses down your neck, marking a pattern from below your ear to the base of your neck. He murmurs, “God, I feel like I’ve been waiting to marry you for the whole of my life.”

“Maybe we should have just eloped when we were like, eighteen.” You laugh. It’s a tongue in cheek comment but you can’t help but feel like there’s some truth in your statement. “ It would have saved lots of back of forth-”

“And lots of pain, crying- the latter, mostly on my part.” He chuckles, and you laugh again, like it’s something infectious and like your entire body has just been taken over by bubbles and champagne and all things light and fizzy.

(It feels like you’re floating on air.)

(And for the first time, you start to think that maybe, all the heartache and the fighting and the angry pledges you made that you would never speak to him again, were worth it.)

(Love did weird things to you.)

“Now, would you like to join me in our wedding suite, Mrs Griezmann?”

It rolls off his tongue like honey and you bite your lip in euphoric anticipation, nodding emphatically. The sound of your shared laughter (there it is again, that hyperactive, constant bubble of laughter) echoes around the empty hotel corridor as you follow him to your suite.

There’s a twinkle in his eyes when he looks back at you.

[percervall]

if your cascade ocean wave blues come

Player: Marcos Llorente Words: 1084 Warnings: Detailed description of a panic attack, dealing with mental health struggles, smut (just teeny bit), cockwarming (if you squint) A/N: I had this idea for a while but couldn't figure out where to begin until it hit me one Sunday and I wrote the whole thing pretty much in one sitting

---

You know before you even look at the clock that it’s early in the morning. It’s still pitch black, the world outside of your bedroom is very much still asleep. If only you were that lucky.  You can feel the worry gnawing at the edges of you as it takes up more and more space. Sighing, you toss and turn, trying to find the sweet spot on your pillow that will shut your brain up. It had been quiet up until the moment it woke you up, the pre-bedtime activities enough to tire you out, your anxiety riddled brain peacefully going along. Unfortunately for you, your brain wins this fight; thoughts begin running a million miles an hour and you can feel the panic slowly clawing its way into your chest and up your throat. 

You’re trying to fight the unravelling with logic, but it’s to no avail when your head keeps pelting you with what ifs and shouldn’t haves. You try to keep your breathing even, hoping that the war that’s raging in your body won’t wake up your boyfriend, but the feeling of someone squeezing your throat closed does absolutely nothing to help you do so. 

In.. out.. you tell yourself, counting your breaths as hot tears burn at the corners of your eyes and you swallow down a sob. You squeeze your eyes shut, a hand clamped over your mouth as you try every single coping strategy your therapist taught you, but nothing works –the failure only adds to the panic that’s tearing its way through you, paralysing you in the process as the only thought that crosses your mind is I can’t breathe. 

You know it’s too late to take the sleeping tablets she prescribed you with; if you take one now, you’ll be knocked out for the next 9 hours. The weighted blanket you would fall back on is still at your own flat, seeing as you had forgotten to bring it. You hadn’t thought you would need it, things had been going so well ever since you switched meds –too well apparently. Right now you could kick yourself for your optimism. Granted, things had been a lot worse at the beginning of your relationship with Marcos, where the anxiety had felt debilitating at times and you even wondered what he saw in you in the first place. Thankfully he was quick to dispel all your doubts and assure you that if anything, it made him want to love you harder, fiercer. 

Trying the breathing exercise once more, you let out a shaky breath but it’s not working. A frustrated sob escapes as an arm wraps itself around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“‘S wrong?” your boyfriend mutters in your ear, still half asleep. You try to answer him, but the panic has made it impossible to form a coherent thought. Instead you let out the sobs you’d tried to bite back. 

“Hey,” Marcos says, sounding a lot more awake now, “hey, I’ve got you.” 

You allow him to turn you around, to pull you against him. You claw at his chest, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips serving as a small reminder of what lulled you to sleep in the first place. Marcos keeps whispering sweet nothings in your ear, keeps running his fingers through your hair. You can feel his heart beating in his chest where your fingertips rest against his skin. The steady thud thud thud provides you with the lifeline you need in order to break through the haze of anxiety, as you slowly, so very slowly, return into your body. You realise how tense your muscles are as you try to relax into him, how you feel an ache whenever you move your legs, serving as another reminder as to what served as a sleeping aid. 

Marcos rubs slow little circles over your shoulder, the touch enough to break through the last of the fog in your brain. Your body feels heavy all of a sudden as the tension drains out of you. Taking a deep breath, you exhale slowly, before opening your eyes. A dull ache is settling behind your eyes and you know that it’ll feel like you’ve been hit by a truck when you wake up tomorrow, but you’ll gladly deal with that over the aftermath of a full blown panic attack that would lead you down the scary spiralling thoughts rabbit hole. 

Marcos looks at you, his eyes swimming with concern and adoration for you. 

“Had an anxiety attack?” he asks and you nod.  

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” you whisper, “just want to stop thinking.” Marcos smiles sleepily and pulls you even closer. 

“I thought you had fucked me dumb,” you confess, voice small, cheeks burning and core throbbing as more memories flood your head of how he had pulled orgasm after orgasm from you. Marcos’ chuckle reverberates through your chest and you can almost make out his cocky grin at your disguised compliment. 

“Let me try something. Am too tired to fuck you dumb as you so eloquently put it,” he says, pulling your thigh over his hip, “but maybe this’ll do the trick,” he adds and gently, so very gently nudges his semi-hard cock into you. You gasp, the feeling of him stretching you is almost overwhelming. He slides in easily, you’re still dripping from earlier with your own release mingled with his cum. Marcos holds you against him, one hand buried underneath his pillow while the other grips the fleshy part of where thigh meets hip. Your breath comes out panting as you get used to the feeling of him, fighting the urge to roll your hips.

“God, you always feel so good,” Marcos all but groans. You can’t help but moan in agreement, the feeling of being so full enough to make your brain stop whirling. It forces you to remain firmly in your body and out of your head. Marcos allows you to snuggle into him, and you let out a content little sigh as the exhaustion tugs at you. 

“Think you can sleep like this?” Marcos murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. You nod, letting out a soft hum in agreement as your eyes struggle to remain open.

“Thank you,” you mumble. 

“Mm, more than welcome mi flor. Sleep, baby,” he murmurs, and it’s all the encouragement you need to fall asleep, feeling so warm and safe wrapped up in the cocoon his body creates for you. 

ngl, I was nervous to post this one. Having dealt with mental health problems myself (and having suffered from panic attacks), it hit a little close to home. Know that if you recognise yourself in this fic, you are worthy of help and love.

please let me know what you think, your comments are like breadcrumbs for the fanfic goblins in my brain (or maybe they're ducks. who knows?)

Tags @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass @lfc21 @nyctophilic0vitnir

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[percervall]

and it sounds just like a song

Player: Marcos Llorente Words: 738 Warnings: Smut from the first paragraph, masturbation (f), unprotected sex, dirty talk, multiple orgasms (f) A/N: I blame Atleti's admin for this, they're feeding the brain rot about this slut of a man. I wrote this in a couple of hours and barely edited it so please be kind @mercedesjpg hope you enjoy!

---

He hears her before he sees her. Marcos can’t help the grin that spreads on his face as he opens the door into the living room to see his girlfriend on the couch, wearing nothing but an old Atleti t-shirt, back arching and body trembling as an orgasm tears through her. 

“What a sight to come home to,” he comments, closing the door behind him. He leans against it, arms crossed as he keeps watching her.

“All your fault,” she all but moans as she comes down, hips still bucking as she keeps the toy pressed against her clit, “oh fuck..” 

A whine leaves her mouth as she throws her head back. The vibrations against her already sensitive clit are enough to send her flying again. He can feel his cock straining against his tracksuit bottoms as he watches her. 

“How is this my fault baby, you’re the one with a vibrator against her dripping pussy,” he coos, moving closer. He takes the toy from her hand and drags it through her folds, down to her opening, collecting her wetness, before moving it back up to her clit.

“It’s your slutty behaviour. You might-.. Fuck… you might as well show up to training in speedos next time,” she manages to say as she pants. Marcos smirks and presses a button to increase the intensity of the vibrations, making her cry out as he drags it over her clit.

“Sun’s out, thighs out. Not my fault the social media team captures it every time,” he comments and keeps the toy pressed against her.

“Oh God.. Marcos.. I’m gonna.. So close…” she mumbles, as the muscles in her thighs tremble. 

“One more, let go, hermosa..” he murmurs, watching as she comes undone for the third time. 

“More.. I need-.. Please.. Marcos..” she whines, not finishing any of her sentences, thoughts inchorrent as she comes down from her high, hips moving in slow circles. 

“What do you need, baby?” he all  but purrs, turning the vibrations down to the lowest setting. 

“Need more.. Need you.. Please, fuck me.. Marcos.. Please..” He doesn’t need more encouragement than that. Marcos turns the toy off, dropping it to the floor before stripping. He then helps her undress before turning her over onto her stomach. 

“Such a needy girl, aren’t you?” Marcos says, holding onto her hips as he slowly enters her from behind. She can only moan in return, the feeling of him stretching her almost overwhelming. 

“Please..” she whispers, fingers desperately clutching at the couch cushions. Marcos hums and sets an unrelenting pace, filling her so deep she sees stars. 

“Yes…” she moans, eyes fluttering closed as he gives her what she needs. She tilts her hips ever so slightly, making him hit that spot inside her.

“Fuck! Right there.. Don’t-.. Don’t stop…” 

“Feel so good baby. Gonna be a good girl for me and let me fuck you? Just let me use this pretty pussy?” Marcos’ words send a jolt of lust down her and she can only nod. His fingers dig into her as he gives her what she begged for. Marcos keeps murmuring praise and absolutely filthy things, half of which barely even register in her lust-clouded brain. She can feel her orgasm building. She knows it won’t be as gentle as the previous ones, they all helped build up this tidal wave that’s threatening to pull her under. Marcos is about to absolutely ruin her.

“Marcos-.. Can-.. Need.. Please can I cum?” she begs, her voice breaking with a sob of pure need. 

“That’s it baby, let go for me.. Need to feel you cum,” he all but grunts, reaching a hand down to rub tight little circles over her sensitive bud. Her orgasm washes over her, pulling her under as her vision blurs, body trembling with the intensity of it. Marcos is quick to follow, spilling into her with a groan.

As she returns into her body, she can hear the echo of someone screaming bouncing off the walls in the living room. Marcos lets go of her hips, pulling out and picking up his discarded shirt from the floor to help her clean up. She clings to him as she allows him to turn her onto her back. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, eyes still unfocussed as she looks at him.

“Mm, you’re welcome hermosa. I love you,” he replies softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes. 

Tags @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass @lfc21 @nyctophilic0vitnir

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[percervall]

Frustrations

GIF credit @skipthesmalltalk

Player: Rodrigo De Paul Words: 1304 Warnings: Smut, p in v, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slightly dom!Rodri A/N: It's truly a shame that there is no RDP fanfic on this site. Just look at him! How can you not?? This one's for @footballffbarbiex. Honest to god, Jan Oblak and RDP's pissed off face were the only two good things about yesterday's match. I wrote this in just a little over an hour last night while having half an eye on the last few minutes of CL matches. It's by far the dirtiest thing I've written so far, so enjoy

---

The match had been infuriating to watch from the sidelines, but she knew it would have been even more infuriating to play. She looked up from organising her kit when the door slammed open. She hadn’t expected them back yet, they usually stayed on the pitch to thank the fans. When Jan walked in with a face like thunder, she quickly slipped out knowing the boys needed their space. As she stood in the corridor, she watched different versions of frustration and disappointment walk into the dressing room. 

Her heart hammered in her chest when she spotted Rodrigo storming down the tunnel. She was attracted to him on a normal day, but there was something about him seething that made her stomach flip. She felt herself move further back the closer he came until her back collided with the wall. Rodrigo kept walking, taking hold of her AAA lanyard and yanking her close to him when he stood in front of her. She gulped, the fabric digging into the back of her neck as she looked up at him. His eyes were dark and she could feel the anger radiating off of him as his lips crashed to hers. She knew she should be scared of him –any rational person would be- but instead she could feel her pussy throb as he pushed her back against the wall, pinning her in place with his body.

“Don’t fucking move,” he ordered after breaking the kiss. She swallowed hard as she looked at him. There was only one way this would end and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to it. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. Rodri stormed into the dressing room but came back out almost immediately. He took hold of her hand and basically dragged her along the corridor. 

“I’d find an empty closet, but I know you don’t care about who sees you getting fucked,” he said, his voice hard as steel. He had moved them far enough away from the tunnel and dressing room that it would be unlikely for someone to walk in on them, but she knew it wasn’t impossible. Knowing they could get caught at any moment and the promise of him just using her to work through his frustrations had her clenching around nothing. 

Rodri pushed her face first against the wall, his front pressing against her back. She moaned softly when she felt his hard cock against her bum, grinding against him. 

“That’s right baby. You gonna be a good girl and just take this cock, hm? Bet you’re already soaking at the thought of it, aren’t you?”

“Rodr-…” 

“You just gonna let me use that pretty cunt of yours?” he interrupted. She nodded, eyes fluttering closed. He yanked her tracksuit bottoms down, letting them pool around her ankles. She felt him palm her ass through her underwear, moving it aside to expose her already dripping cunt. He let out a low growl at the sight of her. She heard him pull his shorts down far enough to free his cock. She bit her lip to stifle a moan as he roughly entered her. The stretch of him filling her was almost overwhelming, making her gasp.  

“Oh that’s cute baby, we both know you can’t keep quiet. Let them know how well you’re taking this. Need to hear you as I fuck you,” Rodrigo said as he slammed his hips against her. She tried to find something to hold onto, but her fingers found nothing. She splayed her hands against the cold tiles, fighting a losing battle as they continued to slip down. 

His fingers dug into her hips as he fucked into her, using her to get the anger and frustration out of his system. She let out a string of curses when he tilted her hips ever so slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts. By doing so, he hit that spot inside of her every time he entered her. She could hear herself whimper and moan as the sounds of her arousal and his pelvis hitting against her ass bounced off the walls. 

“Fuck, look at you. So wet for me, taking my cock so well,” Rodrigo whispered in her ear. He gripped her body so hard that she knew it would leave marks. The thought alone made her clench around him. 

“Fuck, baby. So good, always so good for me. Love watching you take my cock like this.”

She could feel the coil tightening in the pit of her stomach as he whispered filthy things in her ear that reduced her to a whimpering and panting mess. 

“Rodri-.. close… So- fuck… So close… Please,” she managed to get out, as he fucked her against the wall. 

“Not about you baby, you’re just gonna take what I give you,” he bit back through gritted teeth. 

If she’d been able to form coherent thoughts, she would have responded to him. She felt him move a hand down to where their bodies met, rubbing tight circles around her clit. The added stimulation was the last straw; she cried out as her orgasm wrecked through her, body trembling and pussy clenching around him. She heard him swear as he spilled deep inside her. 

She immediately felt cold when he pulled out and whimpered at the loss. 

“What a sight you are baby, absolutely ruined with my cum dripping down your thighs,” Rodrigo said as he tucked himself back into his shorts. He helped her stand back up, leaning her against the wall as he righted her panties and pulled her trousers back up. She swallowed hard, eyes still unfocused as she came down from her high. Her legs felt like jelly and her heart beat hard against the confines of her chest. His eyes scanned her face, looking for any signs that he had gone too far. His eyes had softened and his face had lost its hardness. Rodrigo kissed her again, more gentle this time. She sighed into the kiss as she clung to him, her legs still refusing to function. 

“Thank you mi vida,” Rodrigo murmured in her ear as he held her to his chest. 

“Help me get to the dressing room please? Need to clean up before we get on the bus,” she managed to say. 

“Don’t think there’s time before the bus leaves. I’ll run you a bath when we get back to the hotel,” he said, brushing a strand of hair that had come loose from her ponytail back behind her ear. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and nodded. Her cheeks were burning at the knowledge he’d be dripping out of her all the way back. Rodrigo kissed her on the side of her head and walked them back towards the dressing room. 

“C’mon, let’s go. I think they might have already gotten on the bus,” he said as he pushed the door open so they could retrieve their belongings. 

“Got that out of your system?” Diego asked when he spotted them outside of the stadium. She felt the blush spread to her chest at the knowledge everyone had heard them. She knew their relationship was the worst kept secret at the club. It was one thing for his teammates to tease them about it, but them knowing what they had just done was another and if she wasn’t absolutely certain the boys would riot, she’d fear losing her job over it. Rodrigo just nodded in reply to his manager as he helped her get onto the bus. She kept her eyes down, not daring to look at any of the players. He sat down next to her, taking the aisle seat. 

“Sleep, mi vida. I’ll wake you when we get there,” he said quietly, wrapping an arm around her.

---

Full masterlist

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[percervall]

Weekend getaway

Player: Fernando Torres Words: 2104 Requested: No, but dedicated to @penguintransporter for sending me Nando filth. Warnings: Smut, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex A/N: you tell me. This just... happened. A "whoops my hand slipped" if you will.

A big thank you and 😘 for @theflyingfeeling for being my beta and cheerleader

Autumn masterlist

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They had been like ships in the night for the last couple of months. Between work, practice, and their children’s after school programmes, they had hardly seen each other, let alone spent time with just the two of them. Which is why Fernando came up with a plan to surprise his wife with a weekend getaway to a cabin in the woods just outside of Madrid. He had arranged for their three children to spend the weekend with his parents so they could leave as soon as she was done with work. 

“Nando? Wh-what are you doing here?” She looked up from her computer screen, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Hey sweetheart. Here,” Fernando replied, his eyes soft and a gentle smile on his face. He handed her one of the Starbucks cups he was holding. She accepted it, taking a careful sip and smiling when she could taste the cinnamon syrup added to her flat white. 

“Thank you.” She leant back in her chair, sighing as the muscles in her shoulders and neck relaxed. “Did you stop by just to give me coffee?” she asked.

Fernando chuckled. “No, I actually came to pick you up.” 

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t done that since before they got married, long before they had children. Her chest tightened with concern, every bad case scenario racing through her head. 

“Pick me up? Why? Is something wrong? Are the kids okay?” 

“That’ll have to stay a secret for now. Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to surprise my wife,” Fernando explained, seeing her visibly relax, “I hope you don’t mind, but I packed your bag. We’re only going for a few days. Ready?” He held out his hand. She took another sip and shut down her computer. 

“Am now. Where are we going?” Fernando just gave her a secretive smile as an answer. “Right. Secret. Alright, I’ll get my coat.”

She looked out of the French doors that lead onto the deck of the cabin, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. He had outdone himself, really. The cabin Fernando had booked gave them the privacy they needed while at the same time not being too far from home. They had both put their phones on ‘do not disturb’ with the exception of his parents and planned to spend the weekend focussing on each other. She leant against the open door frame, just watching her husband as she took small sips of her tea. Fernando was busy chopping some wood for the fire pit. He had pushed the sleeves of his henley up, showcasing his tattoos. The mossy green colour suited him and he looked right at home in the woods surrounding the cabin. She could see the muscles on his back and shoulders move underneath the fabric every time he lifted the axe. Even after being married for nearly 13 years, he was as attractive to her as he had been when they first met. Fernando straightened up, wiping the sweat of his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. “Enjoying the view?” he called, turning his head to look at her.

“Very much so. You aren’t bad to look at either,” she replied with a grin. Fernando laughed and carried some of the logs to the deck so he could take them inside later for the small woodburner in the living room of the cabin. Standing in front of her, he stole the mug from her hands before taking a drink of the tea. He had always towered over her, but ever since he started his own gym after retiring from football, Fernando had truly filled out. She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t doing things to her. 

“You’re staring sweetheart,” Fernando murmured, breaking her train of thought as he gave the mug back. She could feel her cheeks heat up.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to. It’s just been so long since I got to ogle at my husband without a child needing me for something.” 

“I know. This weekend is all about us and you can stare as long as you want. I love knowing I still have that effect on you even after all these years,” Fernando said. He smiled lovingly at her, the laughter lines around his lips mirrored in the way his eyes crinkled. It set off butterflies in her stomach. She reached up on her tiptoes, kissing him softly. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer while the other hand came to rest on her cheek. He tilted her face, changing the angle as he deepened the kiss. A low moan escaped her throat as Fernando licked against the seam of her lips, seeking entrance and she dropped the mug to the floor, the faint clank of the enamel on the deck barely registering. She could taste the tea on his tongue, his scent enveloping her –a mixture of the woods, sweat and the lingering scent of his aftershave. Her fingers grabbed onto the fabric of his shirt, trying to tether herself to him. A slow heat started to curl in the pit of her stomach, spreading lower. Fernando moved his arms to her hips, lifting her up without breaking the kiss.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and legs around his waist and let him carry her into the cabin. Fernando moved his lips to her jaw, down to her neck.

“I need you… I’d take you to bed, but I need you,” Fernando whispered, sucking on the skin behind her ear. He lowered himself onto the rug, laying her down gently. He reached above his head, behind him, and pulled off his shirt in one fluid motion. Her heart hammered in her chest as she took in his naked torso, a throbbing between her legs as she admired how his muscles moved under his skin. He’d always been beautiful, but there was something about the juxtaposition of his gentle nature and intimidating form that had her aching for him. 

Fernando took the hem of her loose knit jumper in his hands, pulling it up. She raised her arms, allowing him to pull it over her head. Fernando let out a low groan at the sight of her lacy bra, tracing the scalloped edge with a finger. She reached behind her, unclasping her bra and letting it fall away. His eyes darkened as he cupped her breast, rolling his thumb over the nipple. She clenched her thighs shut, rubbing them together in an attempt to release the ache she felt. 

“Nando,” she moaned, arching her back. Fernando didn’t answer, instead he moved his hands to undo the button of her trousers before pulling them down her legs. A tiny voice in her lust-clouded brain was thankful she had decided to take off her shoes the moment they had entered the cabin. She reached up, popping the button of his jeans open and pulling the zipper down. Fernando took her wrists, pulling her away from his groin and pinning them down by her side. 

“This about you, sweetheart,” he murmured, as he settled between her legs. He pressed feather light kisses to her thighs, moving up higher. She gasped when he brushed a knuckle over her through her panties. 

“Please…” she whispered. She could feel him smile against her skin as he pulled her underwear to one side. Fernando ran his tongue over her folds, moaning against her when he tasted her arousal. 

“Fuck, Nando.. Please…” She ran her free hand over his shoulder, up and into his hair, tugging slightly. This elicited another moan out of him as he dipped his tongue into her. She gasped, throwing her head back and tilting her hips to grant him better access. Fernando hummed his approval, tongue slowly fucking her. He replaced his tongue with two of his fingers and licked over her clit.

“Fuck!” Her hips bucked against him. The fire that had started in the pit of her stomach was slowly spreading through her body. Her breathing came out in gasps and her eyes were squeezed shut as the pleasure washed over her.

“Yes.. Yes, fuck, Fer-.. Right there.. Yes…” 

Fernando curled his fingers inside of her and sucked on her clit. It had been so long since they’d been intimate like this. The stretch of his fingers and the slow assault of his tongue on her clit were enough to send her over the edge. 

She looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, chest rising and falling fast, as he sat up. Fernando pushed his jeans and underwear down far enough to free his cock. She moaned at the sight of him, pussy throbbing in anticipation. Fernando moved over her, lifting her leg over his shoulder. He ran his cock through her folds, coating himself in her arousal before slowly entering her, making them both moan.

“Fuck.. Sweetheart, you feel so good around me..” Fernando groaned, pressing kisses to her neck and collarbones. 

“Need you to move Fer..” she whispered, running her fingers through his hair. Fernando kissed the skin between shoulder and collarbone as he set a languid pace. She let her head fall back, giving him access to her throat, and moaned at the feeling of him filling her completely.

“Please…” Fernando pleaded, forehead resting against her temple. She answered him by nodding, giving him permission to speed up. She knew neither of them had the patience right now for long and slow. They were both aching for release. 

Fernando picked up the pace, slamming his hips into her. He wrapped her other leg around his hip, changing the angle even more which allowed him to enter even deeper. That familiar feeling started building again. She was dancing on the edge, that coil in the pit of her stomach tightening. She slid a hand down to where their bodies met and started rubbing her clit. 

“That’s it sweetheart… Feels so good…” Fernando moaned against her skin. 

“I’m gonna-..” She couldn’t even finish her sentence as her second orgasm wrecked through her. She clenched around him as the waves of her orgasm crashed over her, pulling Fernando under with her as he spilled deep inside her, moaning her name. Fernando collapsed on top of her, staying inside of her. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through his hair as she came down from her high. The weight of his body was comforting and grounding. 

“I don’t think this has happened since I was a teenager…” he chuckled as he lifted his head to look at her.

“All’s forgiven,” she said with a laugh, resting a hand against his cheek. Fernando smiled and rolled off of her, tucking himself back into his jeans. She reached for his discarded shirt, pulling it on before fixing her underwear. Fernando helped her up off the floor.

“Love seeing you in my shirts,” he said as he pulled her against his bare chest.

“Oh, I remember. Vividly. Especially if said shirt had your name on the back. Remember the Real Madrid game? Round of 16 I believe. I’m still not convinced no one walked in on us.” 

Fernando laughed and nodded. “We beat them 4-0, I remember it well. Don’t think anyone saw us, they did hear us though. The lads wouldn’t stop teasing me about it for a week. Daniel was the worst,” he said, his laugh still evident in his voice as his eyes twinkled. She chuckled and rested her head against his shoulder. 

They were quiet for a moment, just cuddling in the middle of the living room, the only sound the rustling of the wind through the leaves. A shiver ran through her as the wind swept into the cabin through the still open doors, the skin of her legs breaking out in goosebumps.

“Let’s get cleaned up, hm?” 

She nodded and let him guide her into the bathroom. 

“Let’s promise to make time for each other when we get back home. It shouldn’t have to take a weekend every six years to do so,” she said as she turned the shower on. Fernando hummed in agreement as he pulled his shirt off her, shedding his own clothes. Her panties quickly joined the pile before he moved them both under the spray of the shower. 

“I’m sure either of our parents would happily take them for an evening so we can go out,” he said, lifting her up again and leaning her against the wall. She gasped as she felt him already hard against her core.

“T-that would be-.. be great.. Fer-..” Her eyes fell closed as he entered her again, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin behind her ear. 

“Gotta make up for lost time sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin. 

[percervall]

the days of old lang syne

Player: Fernando Torres Words: 1036 Warnings: Fluff, suggestive ending (couldn't help myself, it's Nando. What do you expect me to do?) Request: Dancing in the snow - They end up slipping and one falls on top of the other. GO AT IT! For @micallum, merry Christmas! I hope you like it <3

---

When Fernando had offered her to come along to the UEFA Youth League match in England, she had gladly accepted. Their children were staying with his brother and they had been very excited to have a sleepover with their cousins. She knew Fernando would be busy for most of the morning, but she didn’t mind exploring the city they had spent a couple of years living in before they had returned back to Spain. Although they were both a good decade older than when they first lived here, very little had changed. After meeting up with an old friend for coffee, she joined her husband and the team for lunch at the hotel. 

“How was your morning?” Fernando asked her as she sat down next to him. 

“Good, did some exploring. Met up with Nicola for coffee which was nice. It’s been years since I last saw her. The city has barely changed since we were here last,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. Fernando smiled at her. 

“How did training go?” She asked in return before taking a bite of her pasta. Fernando told her about how the boys did, how proud he was of the way they handled playing in this competition. She couldn’t help but smile as she listened to him. He had taken to the roll of head coach like a duck to water and she couldn’t be more proud of him. 

“Carlos has your ticket by the way. He said he’d wait for you at the entrance tonight,” Fernando said, pulling her from her thoughts. She nodded, giving him a kiss on the cheek and murmuring a thanks. 

+

She had almost forgotten how cold England got during the winter months. She stuffed her hands deeper into the pockets of her coat as a chill ran through her. At some point towards the end of the second half it had even started snowing. After the final whistle blew, she made her way down to the pitch, stopping to chat to some of the people she knew from their years in England along the way. 

“Hey sweetheart,” Fernando murmured, pulling her closer to him. She rose up on her toes to kiss him. 

“Congratulations on the win,” she said, pressing another kiss to his lips. It was still snowing and the flakes stuck to his hair and eyelashes. Fernando smiled into the kiss, the warmth of his lips melting away the biting cold. 

“Thanks, they played really well tonight,” Fernando said, resting his hand on her lower back. They watched the team run their cool down drills before they would head to the dressing room. 

“Wanna do something crazy?” she asked after a while. The team had finished their drills and the stadium was almost empty. 

“With you? Always,” Fernando said as he looked down at her, a smile so gentle on his face that it made her heart flutter. Even after all these years he still gave her butterflies. 

“Dance with me? I’ve always wanted to dance while it’s snowing,” she said with a grin, eyes twinkling. Fernando threw his head back and laughed. 

“Oh why the hell not.” He took her hand in his and started swaying to a song only he could hear, head resting on top of hers. She could hear him hum a Christmas song that probably had been playing in the reception of the hotel earlier that day. She rested her cheek against his chest, feeling the material of his coat against her skin. It must have been a silly sight, the head trainer of Atleti’s Juvenil A slow dancing with his wife in the technical area, but to her this meant more than him taking her out for dinner at a fancy restaurant. 

“I love you,” she murmured, reaching up for another kiss. 

“Love you too,” Fernando said with a smile, his eyes crinkling. “Alright, grand finale,” he said and tried to dip her. Unfortunately, both their feet slipped on the frozen grass and they came tumbling down, Fernando first with a groan and her landing on top of him with a shriek. As they lay on the ground, she couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Glad to see this amuses you,” he commented, but she could see the mirth in his eyes. She moved so her chest was resting against his as she looked at him.

“This is surely one way to make me fall for you,” Fernando said, resting an arm around her waist.

“Mm, that was the plan. Step 2 was to run back into the stadium and make out like teenagers against the wall outside the dressing room,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes. 

“And get told off by the gaffer again?” 

“Hm, last time I checked that’s you, but if you want to punish me I’m sure you can think of a few ways to do so,” she commented. Fernando laughed but she could feel the effect her comments had on him and saw how his eyes darkened. She rolled off him and got back to her feet, holding out her hand so she could help him up as well. Fernando kept hold of her hand and pulled her against him as they made their way inside.

“Good thing I no longer have to share a room,” he murmured in her ear as they got on the bus.

“Isn’t there a ban?” she said cheekily, but his comment made her cheeks burn.

“As you so helpfully pointed out, sweetheart, I’m the gaffer and a players ban no longer applies to me.” He looked at her with such affection, it made her feel dizzy. This evening truly felt like it had done on European nights when they first started dating and it left her feeling a little giddy. Nearly thirteen years in, and he could still sweep her off her feet with just a look. Resting a hand on his thigh, she gave it a light squeeze.

“Well then, gaffer, let’s see if your punishment fits the crime,” she whispered in his ear, leaning closer. His eyes flashed with pure want, that boyish grin she had fallen in love with in place. She had a feeling she’d be the real winner tonight. 

Tags @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass

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[percervall]

I thought I knew what love was (what did I know?)

Player: Marcos Llorente Words: 950 Warnings: Fluff, descriptions of anxiety related to public perception (minor) Request: PDA - PDA with Marcos please, and maybe it annoys people when it happens A/N: tweaked it a little bit, hope you like it!

title from First Aid Kit's The Boys of Summer

---

You had never been one for public displays of affection beyond holding hands. It had always made you uncomfortable when you saw others do it, so why subject those around you to the same discomfort? Although your perspective did shift a little the moment you started dating your current boyfriend. There were times where you psychically ached to feel his lips against your skin as his lips curled up in that trademark smirk that always gave you butterflies, where your fingers itched to feel him –any part of him. You had become the thing you had always tried to avoid, and there was a small part of you that hated how needy you had become. Fortunately your boyfriend never seemed to mind; if anything he leaned heavily into it, always whispering encouragements in your ear whenever people looked at you with something you had begun to label as a milder form of disgust. Let them look baby, he’d whisper, they’re just jealous.

And maybe Marcos was right, but it was hard to not let it affect you. Whenever he leaned in to kiss you when you were around others, you’d quickly turn your head so his lips would land on your cheek or hair instead. Your heart broke a tiny bit every time he’d frown at you as his lips landed anywhere that was not your lips. The final straw was when you dropped him off for practice and you had pretty much refused to kiss him when you saw his teammates and members of staff walking towards the building. Marcos’ brows furrowed but he didn’t say a word, instead he pressed a brief kiss to your temple. The shame and hurt you felt on his behalf sat heavy in the pit of your stomach for the rest of the day, making it difficult to focus on your work. You tried your hardest to block it out, burying yourself in financial statements instead.

When you pulled into the parking lot of the Ciudad Deportiva at the end of the afternoon, Marcos was already waiting for you. You killed the engine and rolled the window down when he walked over to you.

“Come with me. Please?” he said, holding out his hand. Confused as to what he needed to show you, you got out of the car and took his hand and let him guide you into the training grounds. Most of the team was still in the dining hall, thermos of hot water littered around the room, as the boys lounged on the couches. Marcos pulled you closer, your chest pressed against his.

“I’m going to kiss you, and you’re not allowed to pull away,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. You nodded, not knowing how else to respond. Marcos smiled that cheeky smile that always sent your heart racing and titled your face ever so slightly with a forefinger under your chin. His lips brushed against yours and your eyes fluttered closed, fingers curling into fists around the material of his long-sleeved training shirt. He hummed, deepening the kiss. You melted into him, still holding onto his shirt. The room around you faded to nothing, you were solely focussed on the feeling of Marcos’ lips on yours –tongue seeking entrance, of the way his hands squeezed your hips, of how the scent of his cologne enveloped you both. You broke the kiss, needing to come up for air, cheeks heating up. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, resting his lips there for a moment as you gathered your thoughts and tried to get your racing heart back under control. Marcos turned you to look at the room.

“See that?” he murmured in your ear as you looked at his teammates. You tried to figure out if anything had changed, but they were all still engrossed in their own conversations or phones.

“See what?” you asked, confused as to what he meant.

“Exactly,” Marcos said, “Anyone mind if I just stand here and kiss my girlfriend for a while?” he then asked his teammates. You would’ve covered his mouth with your hand if you had been able to, but Marcos had you pinned to his body. All you could do was stand there, horrified at the brashness of your boyfriend. 

“Just don’t block the exit and if you decide to pull a Rodri, please do it somewhere I won’t have to see. Once was bad enough,” Jan commented as he walked past you. 

“Oi, that’s on you for barging in without knocking first!” Rodrigo replied, his voice laced with humour at his friend’s discomfort. 

“You decided to use the physio room for a mid-training session quickie, how was I supposed to know? Those doors come with locks, use ‘em,” Jan retorted, eyebrow raised. 

You stood there, watching them bicker and tease one another as if it was a tennis match. You felt rather than heard Marcos’ chuckle as he pulled you closer again. 

“Please, never turn away from my kisses again? I love you and I want to be able to show you just how much. The people who matter don’t mind, and those that mind don’t matter,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. You nodded and hid your face in his chest.

“‘M sorry… I should’ve talked to you about how I was feeling instead of shutting you out. Am just not used to PDA, so it might take me a while. I want to, I want nothing more than to kiss you whenever I feel like it, but just.. Baby steps?” you all but whispered. 

“Baby steps,” Marcos promised, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.

Tags @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass @lfc21 @nyctophilic0vitnir

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[percervall]

Parenting

Player: Rordigo De Paul Words: 931 Warnings: None, fluff, dad!Rodri A/N: For @footballffbarbiex, hope I did both him and parenting justice!

---

She could feel a headache brewing as their 5-year-old gave Alexa the order to play “we don’t talk about Bruno”. 

Again. 

This would be what felt like the twentieth time in the last thirty minutes. 

“Sweet pea, how about a different song?” she gently suggested but her daughter shook her head. 

“No, mama. Bruno,” the little girl answered and cheered when the sound system her husband had installed started playing the song. She sighed and hung her head in defeat. 

Her head throbbed as she tried to drown out the noise, focussing on putting the glasses back in the cupboard and reloading the dishwasher with the rest of the dishes that hadn’t fit after last night’s dinner party. All she wanted was five minutes of relative quiet so she could get this done and then maybe finally sort that one drawer that had been bothering her for months now. Or maybe clean the kitchen windows which made her groan internally every time the sun highlighted how truly dirty they were. When their daughter requested Alexa to play the song again, she felt like if she didn’t get out, she’d snap. Grabbing her phone from the counter, she abandoned the clean dishes and hid herself away in the only available hiding spot this side of the kitchen —the pantry. She heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed and she could barely hear the Encanto soundtrack. Leaning against a shelf, she treated herself to some dried mango (but only because it was 10 in the morning and they’d run out of chocolate). She almost immediately felt guilty for hiding away and leaving her child unattended. Taking her phone, she opened the app of the camera they had gotten so they could check on the dog when they were away. Who would’ve thought it also worked for 5-year-olds? Resting her phone against a can of chickpeas, she grabbed another piece of dried mango and kept an eye on their daughter. 

He had been able to hear the music upstairs as he sorted the laundry and took a load out of the washing machine. Rodrigo couldn’t help but smile as the little voice of his daughter reached him, singing along at the top of her lungs. He hung the laundry to dry on the rack that hung in the staircase and made his way downstairs. He watched their daughter twirl around the living room with a loving smile and let his eyes wander to the kitchen where he had seen his wife last. Rodrigo furrowed his brow when he saw the abandoned glasses on the kitchen island and a pile of dirty plates on the counter but not his wife. 

He walked into the kitchen and on a whim decided to check the pantry first. As he opened the door, he caught his wife about to take a bite of some dried mango. Her arm froze mid-air and he could see how her cheeks heated up at being caught. 

“Hi,” she squeaked. Rodrigo let out a chuckle and closed the door behind him. 

“Hi yourself,” he replied, leaning against the shelf to her right

“Mango?” she said, holding out the bag to him. He laughed and took a piece, nodding his head in thanks. 

“Hiding are we?” he asked with a chuckle, taking a bite.

“Please save me your judgement, I feel bad enough as it is. It was either hide in here or shout at her. This feels like the least horrible/traumatising option,” she defended herself, nodding her head towards the propped up phone. Rodrigo pulled her closer, pressing a kiss against her temple as they watched their daughter perform to her heart’s content on the camera feed.

“I know mi vida, only teasing. I could hear her upstairs. How about I text the other dads in the squad and have a playdate at the park?” 

He felt her body relax against him, the guilt draining out of her. 

“That would be a lifesaver. If you could also uninstall Alexa, I will be forever grateful,” she muttered against the fabric of his shirt as she hid her face against his chest. Rodrigo laughed again, running a hand down her back as he sent a quick message in the WhatsApp group with the other. 

“I’ll talk to her about how often she can play the same song and see if we can create a playlist together with her favourite songs. At least then it’s not just the same song 50 times in a row,” he said, pocketing his phone. 

She tipped her head back, looking up at him. He met her eyes with a loving smile.

“You’re the best dad and best husband,” she said softly, reaching up for a quick peck. Rodrigo hummed appreciatively, tightening his arm around her as he kissed her back. They broke apart when they heard the door open.

“Can I have mango and cuddles too?” their daughter asked as she stood in the doorway. Rodrigo lifted her up, resting her on his hip. 

“How about we go play outside when you’ve finished your mango?” he asked her. The little girl nodded excitedly, mouth full of dried fruit. His wife mouthed a thank you as she put the bag back on the shelf. He smiled back at her. It hadn’t been easy in the beginning, and his travelling still made it impossible sometimes, but they had vowed that raising children would be a partnership and Rodrigo would do anything to make life easier for his wife -even if that meant going outside in the miserable Spanish winter. 

Tags @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass @lfc21

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find that girl (underneath the mistletoe)

Player: Rodrigo De Paul Words: 1586 Warnings: None Request: Mistletoe - they've both had a crush on one another for far too long but neither have admitted it. they're at a party before they go their separate ways for christmas and while there, one person (a friend or teammate) goes around with mistletoe and suddenly they're under it and …

For @footballffbarbiex, merry Christmas!

---

Every year the club hosted a Christmas party right after the last game before the winter stop. From the moment she joined the club as a team physio, she had been included in the invitation. This year, Koke and Saúl had pulled out all the stops for an ugly christmas jumper party. She looked around the room, taking in all the decorations. The room looked unrecognisable as the dining hall. There were fake Christmas trees everywhere, decked with multicoloured lights and baubles in all the colours of the rainbow. They had even hung glittery snowflakes from the ceiling. As her eyes scanned the crowd to see if she could find her best friend, she spotted the Argentinian players arriving. Her heart started beating faster when she saw him among them. Rodrigo De Paul. He was dressed in a deep red jumper with white lettering on the front and his jeans clung to his thighs. She couldn’t tell what the jumper said from across the room, but she had a feeling it would play into the playboy label the press had given him. Suffice to say he looked good. Then again, the man could wear a bin bag and still look like a runway model. 

“Here,” her best friend said, giving her a glass of wine, “you look like you need it.” She felt her cheeks heat up and muttered a thanks before taking a large sip. 

“Have you ever told him?” Noa asked, causing her to choke on her wine.

“Careful there,” Marcos said as he turned around, patting her on the back.

She took a deep breath and nodded, still coughing but throwing a glare at Noa. 

“I’ll take that as a no,” Noa said with a grin. 

“Told who what?” Marcos asked, brows knitted together in confusion. She stared at her best friend, silently pleading with her not to say a word. Noa grinned back at her.

“It’s a physio inside joke, you wouldn’t get it,” Noa replied. Marcos looked at them for a moment, but decided to leave the matter alone. 

He took a swig from his beer as his eyes scanned the room. His heart skipped a beat when he saw her. She looked great in her gold sparkly flared trousers and christmas jumper. Her hair was pulled back in two space buns adorned with more sparkles. Rodrigo felt his lips tug up in a smile as he watched her with her friends. She threw her head back with laughter at a joke Marcos had made, her hand resting on his arm. Jealousy flared up in him, making him tighten the grip on his beer bottle.

“He has a girlfriend already. And it’s not her,” Antoine said as he walked past him. Rodrigo felt a pang of shame at getting caught staring at her.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rodrigo muttered, taking another sip.

“Sure. You just stare like a lovesick puppy at every woman you meet,” Antoine commented sarcastically. Rodrigo hung his head. He hadn’t meant for it to be that obvious. He thought he had been quite inconspicuous with his feelings for her which had only gotten stronger over the last year or so. Oh, who was he kidding. He’d had a crush on her from the moment he saw her when he joined the club two years ago and Diego had shown him around the facilities.

“Come on Romeo,” Antoine pulled him from his thoughts, “group photo time!” 

He let Antoine drag him over to the other side of the room. He felt a body collide into his so he instinctively wrapped an arm around them to steady them. When he looked down, he looked into her face. 

“S-sorry. Noa pushed a-and-..” 

“It’s okay,” Rodrigo interrupted her, squeezing her to reassure her. She smiled up at him before moving to look at the camera. Rodrigo couldn’t move his eyes from her. Now that he was standing next to her, he could see that she was wearing a green jumper with all the jingle ladies on it in gold and three reindeer dressed as Beyonce. She’d even matched her eyeliner with a sparkly gold wing. 

“Alright everyone, smile for the camera!” the photographer said as he snapped a couple of photos.

“Oh would you look at that,” Antoine said from behind him, stretching an arm above them. Rodrigo looked, seeing what he was holding in his outstretched arm. 

“Hijo de puta,” he muttered when he spotted the mistletoe. Antoine just grinned at him.

“You gotta kiss her, those are the rules,” Marcos said with a wicked grin. She looked from his face to their group of friends and back at him. She bit her lip and quickly kissed him on his cheek, standing on her tiptoes to reach him.

“Na ah, that doesn’t count as a kiss!” Antoine said. Rodrigo was sure his heart would both stop beating and jump out of his chest all at once. His stomach was doing somersaults as he looked at her, his arm still around her waist. 

“It’s fine if you don’t want to, they’re just teasing and being idiots,” she said, smiling at him. Rodrigo noticed how it didn’t reach her eyes. Why did she look so… so disappointed at the prospect of him not wanting to kiss her? That made absolutely no sense. Unless… A glimmer of hope sparked through him. 

“But what if I want to?” he asked, hoping he sounded a lot more sure of himself than he felt.

“Want to what?” He could see the confusion in her eyes. His stomach did another flip while his heart hammered against his ribs.

“Kiss you,” he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. The sound of his teammates cheering and wolf whistling faded to nothing as he kissed her. He felt her tense up against him and he was about to pull back, apologise and run for the hills, when he felt her relax in his arms and kiss him back. Rodrigo pulled her closer, resting one hand against her cheek. She let out a soft whiny noise that went straight to his groin as he deepened the kiss. 

“Please tell me I’m not making this up,” she said, burying her face in his chest after they broke the kiss to catch their breath. She felt his chuckle vibrate in his chest and peeked to look at him again.

“I could kiss you again just to make sure,” he said, his smile evident in his voice. She nodded, hiding her face in his jumper again. He lifted her head with a finger under her chin and brushed his lips against hers once more. Her eyes fluttered closed and her hands grabbed at his jumper. She felt him lick against her lips, seeking entrance. She could taste the beer on his tongue. Wanting to feel closer, she rose up on her tiptoes, moving one hand from his jumper to his neck, running her fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. He let out a low moan, moving one of his hands lower to just above her bum. Rodrigo broke the kiss, but kept his hand there. 

“Still think you’re making it up?” he asked her with a cheeky grin. She bit her lip, shaking her head.

“Good,” he murmured, “God, you have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to kiss you like this.” 

“Two years!” Antoine called from somewhere behind her. “He’s been in love with y- ow! Jan!” 

She turned to see Antoine pouting and rubbing his arm where Jan had presumably punched him. 

“Stop meddling, Griezmann,” the goal keeper chastised him. She turned to look at Rodrigo when the realisation of what Antoine had tried to say hit her.

“Wait… You-.. You’ve been.. For two years? How…” she trailed off, not finishing any of her sentences. She saw a blush staining his cheeks and she was sure that if he hadn’t had his arms still wrapped around her, he’d be fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. 

“I uh,” he started, not quite meeting her eyes, “I’ve had the biggest crush on you ever since I first saw you. Just never had the courage to tell you..” 

She couldn’t stop staring. This had to be some kind of joke. How had she not seen it? Now it made sense why he would always pop in with her favourite Starbucks drink or for a chat. 

“Oh my God, I am so stupid. I was too busy not tripping over myself every time you walked into the room to notice that all this time you felt the same way,” she said, burying her face in his chest again. 

“The same way?” he repeated slowly. Rodrigo usually prided himself in being quick, he had to be as a midfielder, but right now he was lost. 

“Oh my God, you two are even worse than I thought,” Noa exclaimed, “She’s been in love with you probably just as long as you’ve been with her. The only two people who didn’t know were you two.” 

“So we decided to help a little,” Marcos added. 

“Don’t say we never give you anything brother,” Antoine said, his trademark grin in place.

“A headache. You give me headaches,” Rodrigo deadpanned. He could swear he heard Jan mutter welcome to the club under his breath. 

“And a girlfriend!” Antoine added cheerfully. Rodrigo had to give him that. Out of all the Secret Santa gifts, this might be the best one yet. 

Tags: @football-and-fanfics @kostasstsimikass

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a holly jolly christmas

Player: Marcos Llorente Words: 698 Warnings: None, fluff Request: Christmas baking - do it the way you like This might be one of the most domestic fics I've written in a while. Had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you like it anon!

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The scent of cinnamon and ginger greeted him when he walked in the door.

“Babe?” Marcos called out, dropping his training gear by the stairs to be taken up later.

“Kitchen! Did you get my text?” 

“Yeah, found the sugar,” he replied as he walked into the kitchen, placing the sugar on the counter. She threw a smile at him over her shoulder as she placed a rack into the oven.

“I could swear we had more in the pantry,” she commented, turning around and setting the timer.

“Who are you planning on feeding?” he asked with a chuckle.

“I promised to take some to Mrs. Álvarez, the neighbours are getting some instead of a gift as well. Antoine wanted a box, so did Jan and Koke. Oh, and Cholo wanted some as well!” Marcos' heart swelled at her excitement. She worked at the library and was responsible for setting up the reading programmes at the local primary schools, but loved baking and had always joked that if the library had to close down due to budget cuts, she’d start her own bakery. When his teammates realised she was also really good at it, they had been quick to take her up on the offer to buy small batches of holiday treats from her. 

“Of course Anto asked for your gingerbread biscuits,” Marcos commented, wiping away a dusting of flour from her cheek. “Can I help?” She shook her head. 

“No, not right now. How about you go shower and I’ll get the second batch going,” she said. Marcos gave her a quick kiss and went upstairs. 

With his hair still wet, but now dressed in his favourite joggers and threadbare jumper, Marcos rejoined her in the kitchen. She was swaying ever so slightly to the Christmas music playing in the background as she weighed out the flour. Marcos smiled and tied an apron around himself as he came standing next to her.

“Alright, put me to work,” he said and quickly washed his hands.

“Could you roll out the dough that’s in the fridge and then cut out the biscuits? There’s cutters over there. Just choose one you like,” she said, pointing to her right. Marcos nodded and got the dough out of the fridge, grabbing the rolling pin as well. His parents had gifted her one for her birthday with spacing bands to help roll out the dough evenly and to the right thickness. 

“How was training?” she asked, turning on her stand mixer.

“Cold. Like, I know we’re nearing winter, but it always catches me off guard when the temperature drops below 10 degrees,” Marcos said while rolling out the dough. She chuckled, looking up at him. 

“It’s a good thing you don’t play for an English or German club, babe.” Marcos stuck his tongue out at her, making her laugh. 

“But other than cold, it was good. Got two more sessions left before the final game of the year.” 

“And the Christmas party! Did you manage to talk to Álvaro about carpooling?”

Marcos nodded and put the rolling pin down. “I did, he said he would ask his wife and let me know either tonight or tomorrow. Snowflake or Christmas tree?” 

“Uhm, the trees I think. They’re easier to decorate for children, so we can put a few of those in the box for Anto,” she replied, turning off the mixer and wrapping the dough in cling film to chill. Wiping her hands on her apron, she joined him and helped move the cut out biscuits to a baking tray. 

They worked in relative quiet for a while until the first three batches of gingerbread biscuits had come out of the oven and were cooling on the counter. 

“Thanks for helping,” she said, leaning against him for a brief moment. Marcos smiled, wrapping his arms around her. He brushed more flour off her forehead and leaned down to kiss her.

“Anytime babe,” he murmured, which got him a smile in return that made his heart flutter. Although he wasn’t much of a baker himself, he’d always make time to help and support her the same way she always did for him and his career. 

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Pumpkin spice lattes

Player: Jan Oblak Words: 1221 Requested: - Warnings: Mentions of injuries A/N: Jan seemed like the kind of person who'd secretly enjoy a PSL 🤷‍♀️ Let me know what you think!

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“Hey,” she said, peering around the doorframe, “ready?”

Jan turned around and groaned when he saw it was her, making her grin. 

“Come on, you know you’ll feel better afterwards.” 

Jan rolled his eyes at that.

“She’s right, it’s important to build up strength through low impact exercise,” his physical therapist said.

“Not you too,” Jan groaned.

“Come on sunshine, I’ll buy you a coffee.” 

The prospect of something that tasted better than the stuff they offered in the dining hall finally swayed him. Jan sighed and got up from the massage table. 

“Fine,” he grumbled, following her out of the training facility. It was a hell of his own making, if he was being honest. They had met during an Atletico press day a few years ago. She had played as a goalkeeper for the women’s team, so they ended up chatting about the differences between the men’s and women’s leagues, and swapped stories about their favourite saves. Long story short, they became best friends. And then she suffered a career ending injury. Jan came to see her every day while she was still in hospital. When she got out, Atletico offered her a job on the social media side of things. During the first six months, he would come by her office and drag her along for walks while her shoulder was still healing, and later he’d drag her along to the gym for workouts. And now she was returning the favour while he was recovering from a ligament injury in his ankle. 

“You get to pick, 1k or 2k?” she asked, referring to the distance. Jan knew he should go for the longer distance, but that involved stairs which he wasn’t looking forward to after today’s session in PT.

“1k, my ankle already took a beating thanks to Óscar.” She chuckled and linked her arm with his.

“Alright, 1k it is then.” 

Jan was grateful to be able to sit down once they got to the café they both loved. His ankle wasn’t hurting per se, but it had started to throb. He let himself fall on the bench with a groan.

“Same as always?” she asked. Jan nodded as he tried to breath through the pain. He turned sideways so he could rest his leg on the bench as well, and the elevation eased some of the pain. Jan enjoyed the sunshine for a while, closing his eyes and tilting his face up. He noticed her leaving the café, pretty much dancing towards him. 

“An Americano for the grump and a PSL for me!”

“A PS-.. What’s a PSL?” Jan asked as he took his coffee from her. He pointedly ignored her calling him a grump. It was one of her nicknames for him and he begrudgingly accepted that. To be fair, he was grumpy. The rehab was taking longer than he’d like and it was wearing him down. She lifted his injured leg and sat down, resting his foot in her lap. 

“Only a gift from the coffee gods; Pumpkin spice latte. I was hoping they’d have them. These are my fave this time of year,” she beamed at him. 

“Can’t say I’ve ever had one,” Jan said, taking a sip from his own coffee. She gasped, turning to look at him with wide eyes. 

“Jan Oblak, you my friend have not truly lived. Here,” she said, handing him her cup. He looked at her, not fully trusting she wasn’t pulling his leg, and took a tempative sip.

“Jesus,” he muttered. She laughed and took the cup back.

“That’s diabetes in liquid form!” Jan said incredulously. 

“I know,” she said, eyes twinkling with mirth, “isn’t it the best?” 

He threw her a look, eyebrows raised as if to say are you kidding me? which only made her laugh again, head thrown back. Jan shook his head and took another sip of his black coffee to rinse out the overly sweet drink. 

“I don’t always get them, but I came to realise life’s too short to only drink boring coffee,” she said, shrugging one shoulder and taking another sip of her latte. They were quiet for a moment while he mulled that over in his head. If he was honest with himself, Jan had to admit that she was right; life was too short to only do the things you had to do and not do the things you loved. 

“Could I try another sip, now that I know to expect pure sugar?” Jas asked. She chuckled and handed him the cup. Jan took another sip, picking up on the different spices this time. Yes, it was still sweet, but it was.. Nice. The spices were very autumnal. He could see the appeal.

“Not bad. Still prefer something that won’t decrease my lifespan with each sip, but I can see why you like them,” he admitted. 

“I’ll make a PSL-lover out of you yet, just you wait,” she said with a grin, taking her coffee back from him.

“The club nutritionist will love you for sure,” he said sarcastically.

“They don’t have to know I’m smuggling you PSLs. I ask for an extra pump of the pumpkin spice syrup, but they’re normally not this sweet. Make you a deal: if you can run 1k without pain on the treadmill, I’ll treat you to one.” She held out her hand. Jan thought for a moment. Maybe this was the kind of bribery he needed to get through physical therapy. 

“Deal,” he said, shaking her hand.

“How’s it going, sunshine?” she asked as she walked into the gym of the training facility. It had been five weeks since they made their deal and Jan had been working hard in PT to reach his goal. He grunted a response from his position on the floor. She waited for him to finish his reps before she spoke again.

“Heard you’re making vast improvements,” she said. Jan nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“A little birdie told me you ran even more than 1k this morning,” she continued. Jan looked at her, eyebrows raised. He then threw a glare at his physical therapist. Óscar raised his hands.

“Don’t look at me, Oblak. Wasn’t me.” 

“Marcos told me,” she explained, “he and I go way back. But great job Jan! 1.3 kilometres, that’s huge!” Jan grumbled a reply, not looking at her. 

“Oi, if you keep up this act I’ll just have to give this to someone else. Maybe Marcos will appreciate it. Or Anto. That man loves his sugary drinks,” she said, pulling a to-go cup from behind her back. 

“Ah, now it all makes sense,” Óscar said with a laugh. Jan slumped his shoulders.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you. It’s been… It’s been a week,” Jan said. 

“I know. Here,” she said gently, holding the cup out to him. Jan took it from her, wrapping his hands around it.

“Thank you,” he muttered, taking a temptative sip. Jan would be lying if he said he hadn’t been looking forward to this. After she had introduced him to the PSL as she called it, he’d gone back a couple of times to get one himself with less of the syrup. He absolutely loved them now. 

“You’re welcome. Told you I’d convert you to a PSL-lover,” she said, grinning wide.