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paucubarsisimp · 2 months ago

Note

Hey girl! Could you write for the barca boys and reader after the copa del rey final? It's okay if not! Thanks girly! Love your work (and you ofc) 🫶🏻🫶🏻

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copa del rey

pairings: pablo gavi x reader,, pedri x reader ferran torres x reader, pau cubarsi x reader, hector fort x reader, alejandro balde x reader, lamine yamal x reader, marc bernal x reader

summary: in which you celebrate barca's win with your boyfriend

warnings: none!

a/n: i hope you like it angel <333

୨ৎ pablo gavi

the second the final whistle blew, pablo didn’t think—he just ran.

he barely heard the stadium erupt, barely saw the confetti raining down. all he knew was that they’d done it. they’d actually won the copa del rey. and somewhere in the chaos, you were watching.

his boots hit the sideline hard as he shoved past a camera, didn’t even bother looking for someone to wave to. all he cared about was you.

and when he saw you, standing just behind the barrier with wide eyes and a hand over your mouth, he nearly knocked someone over climbing toward you.

“you—” he started, breathless, and then he just grabbed you.

his arms wrapped around you so tight it was like he was trying to pull you into him, and you gasped a little, laughing as he buried his face in your neck.

“we fucking did it,” he muttered, voice shaking with adrenaline, lips brushing your skin.

“you did it,” you whispered back, hands fisting in the back of his jersey. “you were insane out there.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling fast. then suddenly he was kissing you—hard, hungry, like he hadn’t seen you in weeks, like the win didn’t mean a thing without this part.

you barely had time to breathe before he kissed you again, hands in your hair, body pressed flush against yours.

“i swear to god,” he said between kisses, “i was on that pitch thinking about you the whole fucking time.”

“pablo—” you started, but he cut you off with another kiss, messier this time.

“no, listen,” he insisted, forehead pressed to yours, voice low. “you’re it. not the trophy. not the crowd. just you.”

he kissed you again—short, sharp, like a full stop—then wrapped his arms around you again and lifted you off the ground.

“you’re insane,” you whispered, grinning.

“you love it,” he shot back, smirking.

you did.

especially when he growled in your ear, “come home with me. i want you in my hoodie, in my bed, like now.”

you didn’t even answer. you just kissed him like he’d kissed you—aggressive, all teeth and love and pride.

because yeah. he won a trophy.

but tonight? you were what he’d come running for.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ pedri

the moment the final whistle blew, everything felt like a dream. barcelona had won. 3–2. your heart was still racing, but all your thoughts were tangled up in one person—pedri.

you barely noticed the noise, the fireworks, the celebration. your eyes were only on him. his jersey was damp with sweat, hair messy from the match, and a smile on his face that could melt the sun. he looked around the pitch until his eyes found yours—and just like that, the world went quiet.

he jogged toward you, cheeks flushed pink, and opened his arms without a word. you were in them a second later, burying your face into his chest, breathing him in like you were trying to slow time.

“you did it,” you whispered, clutching the back of his jersey.

he laughed softly, breathless. “i scored one goal and almost lost my mind when it went in.”

you pulled back just enough to see his face. “it wasn’t just any goal, pedri. it was beautiful. it was perfect.”

he shrugged shyly, eyes flicking down to your lips. “it was for you. i saw you in the stands just before i hit it. figured if i was gonna score in a final… it had to be something special.”

your chest ached in the best way. “you’re so stupidly sweet, i don’t even know what to do with you.”

“you keep loving me, maybe?” he teased, his voice soft and warm.

you stood on your toes to kiss him, slow and sweet. the kind of kiss that tasted like relief, pride, and something close to forever. when you pulled away, you rested your forehead against his.

“this is the happiest i’ve ever been,” you whispered.

“me too,” he said, squeezing your waist. “i know the trophy’s nice and all, but this right here? you in my arms? this is the real win.”

you let out a tiny laugh, leaning into his touch. “god, you’re going to make me cry.”

“then i’m doing it right.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ ferran torres

the locker room was loud—music blasting, champagne spraying, laughter echoing off the walls. jerseys were half-on, socks forgotten, and medals already tangled in the chaos. but ferran looked like he belonged in all of it. like joy was made for him.

you stood by the doorway for a moment, just watching.

he caught sight of you through the blur of bodies, and his entire face lit up. sweaty, flushed, grinning from ear to ear—he crossed the room in a few long strides and pulled you into his arms without a word.

“you smell like celebration,” you teased into his neck.

he laughed, not letting go. “i smell like victory.”

“same thing tonight.”

he pulled back just enough to press a quick, smiling kiss to your lips before a teammate shoved a beer into his hand and dragged him back into the circle of dancing. you stayed close, leaning against the wall, watching him sway and shout along to the songs with the others—an arm always reaching back to find you when he could.

he looked over his shoulder mid-chorus and mouthed, i love you.

you mouthed it back, warmth blooming in your chest.

at one point, gavi wrapped an arm around you both and yelled, “can you believe this guy?” like ferran wasn’t grinning ear to ear and glowing under the locker room lights. you just nodded and said, “yeah. i really can.”

you ended up on the floor beside him, backs against a bench, sharing a half-eaten box of pizza someone brought in. the trophy was only a few feet away, sitting crooked on a pile of towels.

“do you ever get used to this?” you asked softly, resting your head on his shoulder.

“the winning?” he shrugged. “maybe. but not this part. you being here. that never gets old.”

you smiled against his hoodie. “even when i steal your pizza?”

“especially then.”

you didn’t need a perfect moment. this mess of laughter, grease-stained medals, and your legs tangled with his on a locker room floor was more than enough.

he turned to you, voice quieter now. “you’re my favorite part of all this, you know?”

you just nodded, because honestly? he was yours too

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ pau cubarsi

the locker room was a blur—shouting, singing, shirts being thrown, someone trying to use the trophy as a drum. but pau wasn’t in the middle of it. he was off to the side, still in his boots, sitting on a bench with flushed cheeks and his medal resting quietly on his chest.

you found him there, a small, tired smile pulling at his lips. he looked up when he saw you, eyes soft, like they always were with you.

“hola,” he said gently, voice barely rising above the chaos around him.

you knelt in front of him, hands resting on his knees. “hola, campeón.”

pau let out a quiet laugh, dipping his head. “no digas eso…”

“why not?” you smiled. “you were amazing.”

he shrugged a little, cheeks warming. “i just did my job.”

“no, amor. you played with heart. you played like you were born for nights like this.”

he looked at you for a long second, then took your hands in his, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. “it felt… right. everything. the way we played. the way we didn’t give up. and knowing you were here… watching…”

“always,” you whispered. “always watching you. always proud.”

he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his voice low and honest. “i kept thinking… if we win, i get to share this with you. and that made it all feel even more real.”

you reached up, fingers brushing over the curve of his jaw. “we’re gonna remember this night forever.”

pau smiled softly. “sí. but not because of the trophy.”

“because of what?”

“because of you,” he said simply.

you kissed him then, slow and sweet, and when you pulled back, he was still holding your hands like he never wanted to let go.

someone shouted his name across the room, and a sweaty teammate tossed him a beer with terrible aim. pau caught it, just barely, and turned back to you with a sheepish grin.

“ven,” he said, tugging you up gently. “celebra conmigo.”

and so you did—dancing a little, laughing with the team, fingers laced with his all night long.

and in the middle of the wild celebration, you stayed wrapped in something quiet, something unshakable.

his hands, his smile, his love.

just like him—soft. strong. and yours.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ hector fort

the moment you stepped into the locker room, you were hit with music, sweat, laughter, and the smell of victory. someone had already popped champagne, jerseys were half-off, and there, right in the middle of it all — was hector.

he was dancing like nobody was watching. loose limbs, big grin, surrounded by teammates who were just as chaotic. someone handed him a flag and he spun around, arms in the air, looking like the happiest person in the world.

and then he saw you.

“mi amor!” he shouted over the music, dropping the flag and jogging toward you. before you could say anything, he wrapped you up in his arms, spinning you around in a half-dizzy circle that made both of you laugh.

“you’re actually crazy,” you said, breathless.

“crazy in love,” he joked, forehead against yours, still grinning like a kid on his birthday. “did you see us? we did it.”

“i saw,” you whispered, brushing back his damp curls. “you were brilliant. and very, very sweaty.”

“don’t pretend you don’t love it,” he teased, pressing a fast, celebratory kiss to your cheek.

you stayed in his arms while the room moved around you — more singing, more drinks, someone trying to pour water on kounde from the top of a bench. hector held your hand and pulled you back into the center.

“come dance with me,” he said.

“i don’t know these moves,” you laughed, but he was already spinning you.

“doesn’t matter. just be here with me.”

and so you danced — badly, joyfully — with your champion. every now and then, he’d shout something to a teammate, then come right back to you, tugging you close like you were the prize he was really proud of.

later, when the locker room calmed and his voice was nearly gone from shouting, he wrapped his hoodie around your shoulders and kissed you like no one else existed.

“thank you for being part of this,” he whispered.

you smiled. “you make it easy to love every second.”

and in a night full of flashing lights and loud celebration, the way he held your hand was the part you’d remember forever.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ alejandro balde

the moment the final whistle blew, everything exploded. the stadium was a blur of blue and garnet, fans screaming, confetti raining down. but in the midst of the madness, you spotted him — alejandro, already grinning like a kid on christmas.

he was dancing with a few of the guys, completely lost in the moment, the joy of victory contagious. you couldn’t help but laugh at how carefree he was, his body moving to the beat of a song that was barely even in tune. his energy was pure, a beautiful chaos that made it impossible not to smile.

when he finally saw you, he broke away from the crowd, arms wide open. “¡mi amor!” he shouted, laughing as he scooped you up into a tight hug, spinning you around like the whole stadium wasn’t watching.

“you’re insane,” you giggled, breathless from the spinning.

“i’m in love,” he teased, pulling you even closer, his grin wide enough to light up the whole locker room. “we won! we actually won!”

you laughed, shaking your head. “i see that. i’m starting to think you enjoy this more than the match.”

“that’s because i’ve been dreaming about this moment,” he said, his tone playful yet sincere. “winning, yes. but having you here to share it with me — that’s the real victory.”

he kissed you quickly, in the middle of the locker room frenzy, not caring who was around. when he pulled back, you couldn’t help but smile at the way his eyes sparkled, the excitement still dancing in them.

“okay, okay, i need you to dance with me now,” alejandro said, his hand grabbing yours as he dragged you into the center of the locker room.

“wait, what?” you laughed, trying to keep up with his pace.

“it’s not a celebration without a little chaos,” he winked, twirling you under his arm.

you were laughing, stumbling slightly as he twirled you again, his energy infecting you like a fire. every teammate had gathered around now, and it felt like you were in the middle of the most joyful, spontaneous moment of your life.

when the music finally slowed and the crowd thinned out, alejandro pulled you close again, a quieter, softer smile on his face.

“thanks for being with me, cariño,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours.

“always,” you whispered, your heart full of happiness.

and in that wild, unfiltered celebration, you realized that this was exactly what you wanted — him, his joy, and his love.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ lamine yamal

the locker room was bursting with excitement — music, cheers, teammates shouting, and a constant buzz of energy. but in the middle of all that, lamine stood out in the most endearing way: wide-eyed, cheeks flushed with excitement, and a huge grin spread across his face.

he was a ball of energy, dancing and jumping around with his teammates like a kid in a candy store. yet, when he saw you, his whole face lit up, and without hesitation, he rushed over to you.

“you saw that, right?” he asked, bouncing on his feet, still vibrating with excitement.

“i saw,” you laughed, watching him with affection. “you were amazing out there.”

lamine’s grin only grew bigger as he pulled you into a tight hug, lifting you off the ground for a moment in the purest, most joyful embrace.

“we did it!” he exclaimed, his voice full of awe. “we won the copa del rey!”

you chuckled at his enthusiasm. “yeah, we did. and you were incredible out there.”

he pulled back slightly, but his arms stayed around you, his hands resting gently on your back. “i kept thinking about how i wanted to share this with you,” he said, his voice quieter, a little more sincere. “i wanted to make you proud.”

“you already did,” you whispered, ruffling his hair. “you make me proud every day.”

his face softened at your words, his hands slipping down to hold yours. “can we stay here a little longer? just the two of us?” he asked, eyes shining like he was asking for a secret moment amidst all the chaos.

“of course,” you smiled, squeezing his hands. “let’s enjoy the moment.”

the locker room continued to swirl around you, but in that little corner, it felt just like the two of you, wrapped in the quiet joy of the win. lamine kept glancing over at you, his eyes full of affection, and every time you met his gaze, his smile seemed to grow even brighter.

“this is the best day,” he said, his voice full of happiness as he pulled you into a small, spontaneous dance.

“it’s a pretty good day,” you agreed, laughing as he twirled you around.

and in that moment, surrounded by the noise and the celebration, it was clear: you and lamine were creating a memory that would last forever, just the two of you, with your hearts full of joy.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦. 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ .✦

୨ৎ marc bernal

the locker room was alive with celebration — teammates were dancing, laughing, and singing as they reveled in the copa del rey victory. the sound of popping champagne and joyous shouts filled the air, but in the midst of it all, marc stood with a calm but content smile, his crutches leaning against the wall beside him. he hadn’t played, but you could see the pride in his eyes.

he had been injured and sidelined, but none of that mattered now. he was part of the victory, part of the team, his heart bursting with pride for his friends who had fought so hard to bring home the trophy.

you walked over to him, your heart swelling as you met his gaze. despite not being on the pitch, his joy was palpable. as soon as he saw you, that soft, warm smile grew even wider.

“we did it, huh?” marc said, his voice full of that same warmth that always made you feel at home.

“we did,” you agreed, stepping closer. “and you were just as much a part of this win as anyone else.”

he shook his head, still smiling, but his eyes held a touch of vulnerability. “i didn’t play. i didn’t contribute like the others.”

“marc,” you gently cupped his cheek, “you’ve been a part of this team in every way. your spirit, your energy — it’s felt. you are a huge part of this win.”

his expression softened, and he reached out, pulling you into a tight hug. “thank you for saying that,” he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “i just wanted to be out there with them. but… being here with you, knowing they won for us — it’s enough.”

you squeezed him back, resting your head against his shoulder. “it’s more than enough, marc. i’m so proud of you.”

he pulled back slightly, still holding you close. “i know i’m not the one out there celebrating on the field, but this… being here with you, sharing this moment with you — this is everything.”

you smiled, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “we’ll celebrate it our way. together.”

marc smiled softly, his eyes lighting up with gratitude. “sounds perfect to me.”

and just like that, in the midst of the chaos, you both shared a quiet, perfect moment. no need for grand gestures or loud celebrations — just marc, you, and the soft joy of knowing that victory had been shared in a way that felt right to both of you.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted lmk if you want to be added!

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