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pavardscherie · 1 year

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fluff with pedri?? maybe dad pedri at camp nou?? 🤷‍♀️🙈

pairing pedri x f! reader

summary: you visit camp nou with your two year old son and pedri shows him how to own the pitch.

izzy‘s non-sense talk: okay, this killed me. have my child, please. i can only imagine him being such a great dad. hope you like it! and thank you for the request!

when the culers bought their tickets to the game, they expected a win from the team, they loved so dearly. what they did not plan on, was seeing a fan favorite midfielder in his most vulnerable state. on the pitch, when the minutes ticked away, pedri owned the game. dribbling out the enemies, finding the loopholes and adding assist after assist to his record.

the clear win spread happiness through camp nou, the individual players celebrated with the culers, clapping and singing the hymns they created. while most of them were occupied by the non-stopping cheering, pedri snuck away from the team to greet his two year old son, paulo. it was the first visit to camp nou, the little boy would remember. after all, he was a weekly guest when he was only a couple of months old.

pedri always tried his best to keep paulo‘s face out of the media, and hidden from the annoying photographers. this time, it was very different. the little hand disappeared in pedri‘s calloused palm, leading the two year old towards the empty goal. a football in his free hand, the midfielder wanted to show off the brilliance of his son to the culers and his mates.

paulo tried to hide himself behind his father‘s leg, the large crowds much scarier when standing in front of them than being in the middle of it. and as if the scene was planned and prepared, a couple of left over teammates started to shush the culers with their hands to allow paulo a perfect, and fearless first appearance in front of the crowds.

lewandowski has done it with his kids, showing them to the world with a proud smile plastered on his face while celebrating another win, another two goals he scored with them. but pedri has always been more protective with his son, always trying to keep foreign people far away from him.

pedri saw how much paulo imitated his father at home, trying to dribble the ball with his little feet, and outplaying you in the living room. and this time, the midfielder wanted to give his son the real chance to feel the cheering of the fans, the loud clapping and the hymn echoing through the stadium.

sharing smiles with his teammates, pedri led the little boy towards the white point in front of the goal. shooting a penalty was easier with no goalkeeper, but ter stegen immediately took his place in front of the net with a wide smile. obviously, he would not catch the ball, no matter how easy it would be.

crouching down beside his son, he whispered little hints about the goalkeeper‘s habit‘s into his ear, earning an understanding nod from paulo. „do it like pepi.“ you shouted from the sideline, clapping your hands together for your little everything. a small exemplar of pedro, the hair as black as charcoal, the sun-kissed tan a mixture of you and him. dressed in his own little jersey with ‚gonzalez‘ written on the back, paulo took a couple of steps back and showed ter stegen his tongue with a smile.

a signature gesture, a celebration gesture his father once made before pedri potter was born. truly exactly like the proud father, dressed in the barcelona kit with the number eight on the back, who stood beside his son with a wide smile. pride glistened in the curve of his mouth, and even tears gathered on his waterline, seeing the grown up little guy with his two years. paulo was everything pedro wanted after meeting you, and falling deeply and madly in love.

running forward, paulo kicked the ball with all his strength, watching with big, brown eyes and expectation. the ball jumped once, jumped twice, and ter stegen fell in the right direction but way too slowly and it rolled over the line. paulo could not believe what was happening, raising his hands in the air and running straight to his father, who watched proudly.

behind ter stegen, the culers cheered loudly, shouting pedris name but clapping for paulo‘s goal. the midfielder reached out for his son, picking him up in his arms with a wide smile. „did you see? i scored a goal just like you do!“ paulo boomed with happiness, giggling between the words.

„yes, yes, you did.“ pedri encouraged the little boy in his arms, his own world, he held tightly. „you just did it much better than pepi ever could.“

from the sidelines, you had your palms pressed to one another, the side of your fingers against your lips. pedri has been a good father before paulo was even born. always so caring, always so loving towards you and the growing belly. it was more than you could have imagined the night, you met the midfielder and engaged in a conversation.

the man you loved, who pressed a chaste kiss to the crown of paulo‘s hair. the little boy that looked exactly like his father, and would grow into such a great person as well. it was perfect.

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judesfavsblog · 8 months

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𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍.

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

this is my first time ever writing so bare with me please🥲

respectfully idgaf about your criticism.

not proofread!

𐬿𐬼𐬽𐮙𐬼��𐬽𐮙𐬼𐬿𐬼𐬽𐬽𐬼𐬼𐬽𐮙𐬼𐬼𐬼𐬼𐬻𐬻

it was 5am in the morning and the sun wasn’t out yet, your torso was strongly held by your boyfriend, clearly not wanting to let go.

“jude, get off me please”

you mumbled , still tried

it took a few tries to escape your boyfriend grip but he just wouldn’t budge.

“what you doing? what time is it?” his voice groggy, still considering it was early in the morning.

“get off me, i need to go pee.”

he managed to pry his eyes open and gave you a funny look before turning on the bedside light

“ alright i’ll come with you.”

you gave him a real hard look, why would he want to come with you?

“jude i’ll just be a few minutes, im sure you can live without me ,, right?”

he hugged your body in closer, there was no way letting go.

“why go pee when we have…” he held up a cup which was normally used for you guys retrieving your dehydration, you look up at him in disbelief.

“get off me you sick fuck.”

“baby why so mean?” jude giggled like a little primary school girl who’s just got her kiss .

“ it’s not funny, move bighead” you finally managed to escape him and hurry to the bathroom, little did you know you saw a figure standing at the door

“ what do you wantttt, leave me alone to piss in peace.”

“ oh princess you know i could never ever leave you alone , im too 𝐨𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 with you “

you gave him a dirty look as you washed your hands , he gave you a cheeky smirk and yawned , stretching, you eyed down his v-line, you thought it would be funny to poke his tummy.

“ and you call me the sick fuck..real funny y/n”

“ im not sick i just love you to much my sexy footballer bf” you gave him a sloppy kiss on the cheek, he smiled thinking to himself how much he loves you and appreciates you.

❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥

you guys i tried😕😕😕😕

#fluff #football #football fans #football stories #jude #jude bellingham #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham x you #judey #im so delulu #i want him #so badddd #pink and voices

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peligrosapop · 7 months

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💚🤍🧡Ireland with Palestine 💚🤍🖤❤️

#ireland #football fans #palestine #free palestine

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footballdesires · 1 year

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the perfect surprise, mason mount ───────────────────────────────────────── pairing: mason mount, she/her summary: requested by anon the request: Hello, can u make something fluff with Mason ?───────────────────────────────────────── requests are open, request away! ─────────────────────────────────────────

the departure day for the world cup in qatar came faster than expected. with two days left until having to leave the home country to win the trophy, mason played with disparate ideas to prove his admiration to his girlfriend one more time.

as the public relations manager of a large technology company, she couldn’t disappear for weeks to watch mason play for the english national team. her boss declined the request for vacation and offered her one day, instead of relaxing from the constant extra hours after the long shifts.

so, mason found a way to express his feelings face to face before having to leave her in england. sweaty hands rubbed over the tired muscles of his face, glancing nervously at the silver watch around his right wrist. a present from her, a reminder that no matter where he went, she would be right by his side.

the bright sun slowly sunk, cascading the hues of a peaceful orange and a calm red across the sky. between the cotton-like, white clouds, the tint of mixed color could have been painted by a talented, undiscovered artist. “mason?” the name, gently and quietly spoken, caught the attention of the football player.

for a moment, he bathed in the sound of her voice. he didn’t need to turn around and see a glimpse of the female’s face, he recognized the tone between a million others. the hands pushed into the tight front pockets of the jeans, mason stayed in the same position. rooted to the green blades of grass underneath his feet, she slowly walked towards the male figure.

she gulped down the breath that settled in the tightened throat, expecting that she has made a wrong choice or mason was truly displeased with a decision. he never easily ignored her if the two weren’t deeply in an argument.

arm outstretched, the soft tips of the fingers desired to tap on his broad shoulder when she had the chance to see a glimpse of the little preparation made in front of him. frozen in the pose, the mouth fell open and the surprise conjured a dazzled expression on the face.

head tilted over the shoulder, mason’s quiet chuckle didn’t reach the female. spread out in front of the football player was a large, plaid blanket. disparate sizes of thick, wooden coasters placed on the soft material, decorating the space further and keeping the kitchen utensils from falling over.

two plates, one on each side. a large, light brown basket stood ahead of them and revealed the choices of food he made and a bottle of red wine, her favorite one. blinking multiple times in a row, she tried to take in the scenario without fainting or completely freaking out over such a romantic gesture.

“did you.. like you know.. do this?” the words that stumbled out of her mouth were a mixture of various questions. she couldn’t form a usual row of words without pausing in the middle and start over, completely different than the first time.

“i did.” mason commented, taking in the credit for the romantic atmosphere and the beautiful decoration of an usual plaid blanket. “the world cup starts soon, and we will leave england in two days. i had to make sure that you don’t forget, or replace me in the meantime.”

the chuckle that rolled off his tongue sounded effortlessly, but the thoughts of being replaced truly bothered his mind. standing beside him, her head darted from the blanket towards the unfazed face of her boyfriend and back to the surprise picnic. the feeling of admiration mixed with confusion when mason stated his concerns. “i won’t forget you. neither would i ever think about replacing you.”

the confession made his heart dwell with pride, hammering against the thick bones of the rib cage. “i really don’t know how i deserve you. you’re gentle, loving and most of all, you probably own the greatest amount of genuineness.”

chuckling to himself, the amusement about her dazzled state disappeared underneath the softness of his voice. the head tilted to the side to look at her, he already found her still widened eyes staring at him. “what?” mason’s eyebrows were raised, the long wrinkles appearing on the forehead.

she was shamelessly gazing at the dark-haired male, with the one-sided smile. “thank you for this, for loving me and for being such an amazing person.”

“well, if you don’t stop the compliments, it will be much harder to leave in two days.” shrugging the shoulders, he was fascinated by the control her words had over his emotions. the anxiety vanished underneath the dwelling happiness, and relief. “it’s going to be insane without you. got to prepare to not lose my head after a shit game.”

“you’ll be okay, mason.” she leaned into him, the red-tinted cheek placed against the shoulder of the male, the lids slowly closing with a smile. “but i’m better when you’re around. it pains me to leave you alone in england.” the confession caused the female’s heart to ache, knowing how difficult it must be for the football player to leave his girlfriend behind for a couple of weeks.

since the first date, the two saw each other at least every second day until living together in a small house on the outskirts of london. mason loved the privacy, the disparate ways to leave the building with an arm around her, and enjoying the empty streets instead of the brightness of cameras. without a minute to himself, he wouldn’t have been able to prepare such a romantic surprise for his girlfriend.

“you’re my good luck charm, i need to kiss you at least thirty times until i have to be at the airport. one for each day, i could be away from you if we’re getting to the finale.” he lifted the arm and wrapped it tightly around the waist, placing the calloused, long fingers on the side of her hip. fingertips brushed over the fabric of her summer dress, stroking in small circles which were easily felt through the thin material.

she didn’t answer with words, a slow nod of agreement was enough for the two of them. instead of talking further about the departure, she snuggled her face against the side of his chest. the scent of sweet vanilla and strong musk infiltrated the breaths through the nostrils, and caused the corners of her mouth to lift into a calm smile.

“let’s settle down, enjoy the sun setting behind the horizon. the stars and the moon decorating the night, and still, nothing could be as mesmerizing as you.” the spoken compliments of admiration tainted the cheeks in a deep watermelon pink, and she couldn’t help herself but giggle softly. “you little charmer.”

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chelseajackarmy · 6 months

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Paris Saint-Germain F.C. play home at Parc des Princes in their Champions League clash against AC Milan

Their fans are some of the best in the world

#psg #paris saint germain #football #champions league #ucl #ac milan #futbol #golazo #soccer #parc des princes #fans #football casual #football fans #football hooligan #kylian mbappe #my captain #olivier giroud

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o-kurwa · 1 year

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#football fans

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formulalfc · 5 months

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🚨FOOTBALL FANS PLEASE READ🚨 (trigger warning: tragedy chanting)

Hey guys, I know this is going to seem a bit weird but I need some help with something and I was wondering if anyone in the football community would be able to help me out.

I am a journalism student and I am currently writing an article for my course and I have chosen to do an article about tragedy chanting in football.

I was wondering is any football fans that maybe go to games and have first hand experience with tragedy chanting, or maybe you go to games and have never heard tragedy chanting, if you have an opinion on tragedy chanting or any ideas on the subject, or you were involved or know people that were involved in a tragedy that is chanted about, if you would get in touch with me or let other people know how to get in touch with me.

I know this is a very touching subject for a lot of people and I aim to be as sensitive as possible with my questions but any help would be greatly appreciated. I personally have a lot of experience with tragedy chanting being a fan that goes to a lot of games but I want to draw away from my own personal experiences and search for other peoples experiences and ideas on the subject.

please reach out and get in touch as I said, even if you don't have any experience yourself I would love to hear peoples ideas.

you can leave a comment, send me a message anything you'd like, if its easier I can send you my email and we can chat through that as well.

I kindly ask that you reblog if you can, I would love if people from outside my mutual circle can also share their ideas and again thank you for reading🩷🫶

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mockva · 6 months

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#graffiti #russia #football fans

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pavardscherie · 1 year

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― what i deserve ;; pablo gavi & pedri gonzalez ;; part one

⤷ pairing: pablo gavi x f!reader ;; pedri gonzalez x f!reader ⤷ summary: your relationship with gavi ended after he cheated on you. time has passed, pedri always checked up on you with small messages until he invited you to one of the home games. somewhere between losing your heart to pedri; gavi still attempts to get you back. ⤷ warnings: curse words ;; injuries ;; mentions of blood ;; hand around throat ;; explicit sex scenes ;; asshole!gavi ;; cheating ;; violence in fights ;; spanking ;; dom & sub ;; dirty talk ;; teasing ;; very deep feelings & conversations ;; slight triangle thing but not most of the time ;; second chances kinda ;; friends to lovers ;; not proofread & probably horrible written kiss scenes lol ⤷ izzy's notes: first part here we go! it took me so long tbh, but like, i swear i got distracted by pedri (& reading other's imagines about pedri lol). tell me what you think if you want!

Seven Months passed. Multiple calls turned into none. Messages vanished from your lockscreen, and for the first time, when you stared down at your phone, it seemed more like a blessing than torture. The reminders of an unhealthy relationship rested in the back of your mind, stopping the painful memories of being cheated on to resurface.

It’s been almost a month since you found yourself, enjoying casual football games again. Raised by a very determined father, who cheered from the couch or in the middle of the fans for his favorite club, he passed his knowledge to you before he became the beautiful picture in the settling sun.

Avoiding Camp Nou to increase the distance between you and your former boyfriend, the stadium pulled you back one day. It all started with a call, you never expected to receive. On the other side of the line, waited a nervous Pedri with an invitation to one of his home games. After the awful break up with Gavi, the friendship between you and his best friend crumbled quickly.

At least, once in a while, you received a short text message, asking about your well-being but after answering, you never received another. The game of two messages in a month lasted until the surprising call reached you and suddenly, Pedri found himself in your inbox almost each day.

And somehow, even after declining his invitation multiple times in a row, you ended up in the secluded section of the stands, reserved for family members and people close to the players. It was new to you to be treated like a special addition in someone’s life as Gavi never offered you such a seat.

Your little flag draped over the bouncing legs, the anxiety had you trembling. An empty stomach caused your chest to tighten, as your eyes skimmed across the still empty pitch. It would be the first time of seeing Gavi again, after checking his latest social media posts once in a while. Snapchat let you in on the multiple parties he visited over the past months; in each picture another girl with high hopes of feeling his undivided love wrapped around his biceps. It was pathetic in many ways, especially that you still shed a tear while staring at the photo, and compared yourself to the different types of women.

Gavi never really had a particular type. He just enjoyed the thought of having too many gush about him.

Loud music boomed through the stadium, the announcer’s voice mixed with the beat as he welcomed the fans of both teams. After a quick speech about the upcoming match, the team was shown on the large four screen on each side of Camp Nou.

Fans shouted the last names of the players, some louder and some swallowed by the warm air of the early summer day until two faces appeared. Number Thirty, Gavi. His face appeared on the screen, the pillow-like lips without a curl and the arms crossed. He still looked like the guy, you met over a year ago.

Yet, the fans were equally excited when Pedri’s number was shown. Black hair carefully brushed down, the ends of his strands scattered across the forehead and the arms crossed like Gavi had before.

Eyes glued to the screen in front of you, you paid no attention to the players, running onto the pitch in their pre-match jackets and warming up for exhausting ninety minutes without additional time. Discomfort replaced the emptiness, and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to stand up, and run out of Camp Nou — away from the upcoming confrontation, and seeing Gavi question Pedri’s intentions.

Nervously, your trembling fingers brushed the loose strands of hair out of the face, attempting to forget about the little voice in the back of your head — shouting at you to run as fast as you could. You were close to the field, almost too close for your liking as it seemed so easy to notice your attendance.

Maybe it was a mistake to show up; even after Pedri’s words turned into a sweet begging. You should have declined his attempts, should have watched the match from home and switching channels quickly when Gavi appeared on the screen. Same routine as the past year.

“I thought you would dodge.” A familiar, gentle voice demanded your attention, the source standing right in front of the stands. Your head snapped around, almost quick enough to tear a muscle, as you were faced with Pedri. A ball tightly in one hand, his lips curled into a sweet smile. Black strands styled upwards on the front, dressed in the Barcelona kit and a pre-match jacket, his eyes glued on you.

“I accepted; how could I dodge then?” Your elbow propped up on your knee to stop the nervous bouncing of your leg, you placed your chin in your palm. “I’m not that mean.” Emphasizing the the second to last word, Pedri’s head dipped down, and chuckled mildly.

“I can’t judge that, it’s been a while.” The ball rolled out of his grip and bounced on the grass until being trapped underneath the studs of his football shoes. “I didn’t tell him, you’re here. He doesn’t really deserve to know about your presence.”

Pedri was Gavi’s best friend, they shared secrets with each other and even trained out of the club together. Through your relationship, you became close friends with Pedri as well. And you were thankful for it, as he forced Gavi into telling you how he messed up that one night. If it wasn’t for Pedri, you still would be trapped in a very toxic relationship with a man, who used your trust for nightly adventures.

“Thank you.” You mouthed, this time letting the small smile tugging on the corners of your mouth break through. “Score a goal for me, yeah?”

Pedri raised a bushy eyebrow, surprised by what you demanded from him after losing contact for way too long. Yet, nothing has changed, you were still irresistible in each possible way for him. Turning away from you to dribble towards the teammates, Pedri glanced over his shoulder for a second time and raised his hand to show you a simple thumbs up. Enough of an answer for the question, as the midfielder found his way to his partner in crime on and off the pitch.

The game was in the hands of Barcelona, holding the ball in their possession the longest, and playing in the half of the enemy team. Close to scoring the lead goal, they stood in the twenty-ninth minute when a particular, harsh foul coaxed a gasp out of your mouth. A frustrated defensive player from Villareal decided to slide-tackle Pedri, the studs on his shoes hitting the ankle of the midfielder with full force instead of the rolling ball.

With a loud scream, filled with pain, Pedri fell to the ground, clutching his ankle between both hands. Pain twisted in his expression, and you jumped up from the seat, throwing your hands in the air. Camp Nou was filled with Barcelona supporters who booed and shouted insults through the stands.

Pedri was the last friend you had left, the last person that actually attempted to ask about your well-being even if he never answered another message until writing again. Seeing him, crumbled, laying on the ground, triggered the bubbled-up anger inside of you.

"Idiots!" You suddenly shouted; the insult rolled off your tongue quicker than you were able to process in your head. The medical team hurried across the field, pushing the Barcelona players out of the way to take a closer look at the ankle. While your eyes glistened with worry, they drifted from the ground to another person, ruffling the hands nervously through the hair and staring down at his best friend. Gavi.

Delicate palms pressed against the cold, silver bars which were used as a railing, you stared at the horrific incident, and how the medical's started to help Pedri off the field. But the midfielder's mind changed with the first steps, shaking his head and hands to explain that he belonged on the pitch; and wanted to stay. The referee behind them, blew his whistle, pointing his fingers annoyed at the watch around his wrist. Waving him off, Pedri hobbled off the field and the game continued quickly. At least three minutes have passed, if not longer, and it would be added at the end of the first half.

Still leaning across the railing, you tried to steal a glance at the coaching bench to see if Pedri was truly doing better, or playing the tough guy while his ankle swelled in a deep navy blue and wine purple. The medical team focused completely on the midfielder, inspecting how harsh the contact was and how strong the pain was. Losing Pedri in the midfield position would be a devastating start into the game.

The match continued, with Barcelona forced to play with one man less; and the opponents immediately tried to use the fact to their advantage. You couldn’t find a second to glance away from the painful twist on Pedri’s face. Eyes squeezed close, the bottom lip assaulted by his teeth as the medic’s pressed their fingers deeply against different spot around his ankle.

Minutes passed, and Xavi decided a substitute for the struggling Pedri was needed on the pitch. Displeased by the quick exchange, he rolled his eyes but swallowed the unattractive curse words which wanted to escape his mouth. Cheerful sounds rang in your ears, the fans around you jumping to their feet with the arms stretched into the warm spring air. Lewandowski once again scored a goal for Barcelona; with an assist from none other than number thirty. Gavi, who ran over to the much taller man, jumping straight on his back for a piggyback ride.

Pedri clapped his hands from the sideline, still seated in the grass while a bandage was wrapped around the swollen ankle; a thick pack of ice hidden between the layers. While the team hugged, and congratulated Robert for another perfect lead goal, Gavi jogged along the sideline towards his best friend for their very own celebration. Head tilted to the side, acknowledging the different aged females that screamed his name in a high-pitched, loud voice, with a wave and a smile.

But the curve of his mouth dropped, when his gaze drifted through the front row of the stands, bathing in the applause; and suddenly, drawn in by your presence.

A black, woolen jacket over the shoulders, the sleeves in your delicate palms. Underneath the thin material of a cardigan was a tight-cropped shirt, showing a small line of exposed skin until the charcoal-colored cargo pants perfected the chosen outfit. Hair, partly in a messy bun, the loose strands falling freely over your shoulders.

An appearance that reminded him of the first nights, you spent together. You were never a person for the tight dresses, or the overusing of makeup, and the confessions immediately drew Gavi in. But this time, your worried gaze wasn’t focused on him, you were staring at the injured man next to the coach’s bench. Concern twisted your features, eyebrows pulled down in a frown when Pedri winced as the ice bag was pressed tighter against the purple marks.

You visited Camp Nou for Pedri; for Gavi’s best friend. Unfortunately, the thought of seeing his mate touch you, kiss you, or even more, bothered him. A sudden wave of jealousy overcame Pablo, turning away from the sidelines as the referee blew the whistle for the third time, and already rummaged through the little pocket on the front of his polo shirt.

Trembling fingers brushed through the damp, chestnut strands as Gavi received the first booking of the night. And all he had left as an answer, was a subtle shrug of his shoulders instead of throwing a fit. He did not understand the sudden, unknown pinches in his heavy-breathing chest, or the reason behind the drifting gaze of his eyes to see if you were still in the stands and not already by Pedri's side.

A trail of thoughts, seeing you with his best friend entangled, bothered his mind and increased the difficulty of focusing solely on the last minutes of the first half. In seconds, he remembered the scent you carried around like a shield of protection, a fruity mixture of raspberries and vanilla. It was never a perfume like he assumed in the beginning, it was just a tube of shower gel. Those memories never bothered his concentration before, all it needed to remind him, was a glance at your face.

The referee blew the whistle once more, ending the first half of the match with a leading goal for Barcelona. And it did not take you longer than a minute to find a way out of the stands and to the catacombs. Your face was a familiar one, the security guards were still the same from the time you were by Gavi's side. An advantage for you, as they casually nodded their heads and let you through to the entrance of the tunnels. Brushing the thin strands out of the face while jogging down the corridor, the hem of your sleeves tightly between the delicate palm and soft fingertips.

Anxiety burst through your body in irregular waves when you reached the entrance to the pitch. Greeted by multiple familiar faces, your unfocused gaze drifted through the crowd, trying to find the injured midfielder. "How ironic." The rough voice twisted your stomach, the all-too-familiar melody, you once loved to listen to for more than six months. Stopping in your tracks, like the soles of your shoes were rooted to the tiled floor, you swallowed the breath you held without notice. Before you had a chance to find Pedri, and assure yourself that the concern was deeply unnecessary, Gavi found your worked-up self. „Can‘t stay away from me, huh?“

Arrogance infiltrated Pablo‘s voice, showing off the admiration he received over the past months as a shield and a new part of his personality. Confidence always lingered in his body, but the way he spoke, wasn’t similar to what you remembered. Teeth gritted, the anger bubbled in the pit of your stomachs. Anger twisted your insides, tainted your gentle heart and attempted to push you into a blinded rage. Accusing him of what he has done, how easily he played with your heart and tossed you away, but the worse part was the way, he tore your soul apart with his lies and words. Delicate fingers clenched into tight fists, the manicured nail dug into the sensitive skin of your palms.

Little needles pierced your heart, and the pain tightened your chest. You wanted to scream at him, make a fool out of yourself in the middle of the faces, you became all too familiar with. Turning around to face the arrogant curve of his mouth, Gavi stood against the wall. Studs against the stones, arms crossed over the Barcelona Jersey with the number thirty and his name. Chestnut strands in a devilish mess, thick hairs stuck to his sweaty forehead but the curl of his lips, the smugness written in the corners was the only part of him, you were able to focus on. It did not matter how attractive he was in any situation, the actions he did turned him into an ugly person for you. "Hermanito, she's not here for you. I invited her to the game." Pedri's gentle voice echoed through the corridor, capturing the attention of the two ex-lovers. Gavi rolled his eyes, tilting the head to the side while yours snapped in the direction of the entrance to the pitch at the first tone.

One arm draped over the shoulders of a medic, Pedri was carried inside on one foot. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, he was still in pain, but he did not intend to show an ounce of it. Pedri's gaze drifted away from the glimpse of annoyance in Gavi's expression, and to your face. Gentle features twisted by emotions, anger, and confusion, but also concern overshadowed the pureness.

„Are you okay?“ Carefully, you took a step towards the injured player, who assured the medic‘s that he was fine enough to walk further on his own. „That looked harsh, is it broken? I hope not.“ You rambled on between questions and expressing your concern as the distance closed between the two of you, and Pedri stepped into your little personal bubble.

Gavi‘s existence was not acknowledged by you anymore, the groan that slipped past his lips swallowed by the thick air in the catacombs. "No, it's swollen but it's nothing too serious. I'm benched for the rest of the game though."

"At least, it's nothing too bad! I almost jumped off the stands after hearing your scream." The words she attempted to hold inside, spilled out of her mouth, and admitted the intense moments of concern she went through. "Don't worry, again." Pedri chuckled, waving the worry away with his hand. "But it's flattering to know that you declined my invitation way too many times, just to sit in the stands weeks later and jump out of your seat because I got tackled.” While Pedri did not leave a second to spare to share a flirtatious comment with you, Gavi swallowed the heavy mixture of breath and oxygen. A lump in the throat, the need to leave the hallways indescribable but his hooded eyes were glued to the scene. Curiosity forced him to stay in his place, curiosity about how far the encounter would evolve.

„Well..“ You trailed off, swaying from your weight from the left to the right while deciding what words to say. „You’re my friend.“ A gentle smile plastered over your face as the answer slipped out so easily. But what you didn’t see, was the little flinch in Pedri‘s proud posture, the way he almost considered taking a step back and leaving your personal bubble again after hearing the word friend. For him, you were always irresistible, he never understood how his best friend chose hundreds of others when the perfect example of a caring girlfriend was right in front of him.

But the scene, the awkwardness that unfolded between the two of you caused a loud laugh to slip out of Gavi‘s mouth. Suddenly, he was relieved that he stayed to witness how you called him a friend with such ease. “All that work for being pushed into the friend zone again.“ He clapped his hands together, pushing himself off the wall to walk towards the changing rooms. „Maybe, she‘s still too much into me, hermanito.“ Pablo disappeared, including himself in the round of multiple conversations between his teammates. Thoughts vanished when you confessed Pedri was just another friend; leaving you alone with him in the corridor suddenly did not bother Gavi anymore. Satisfied by your words, satisfied to see that you just could not move on from what he gave you, plastered a wide smirk across his face. At least Pablo told himself that you weren’t able to leave him in the past to smooth his growing ego. Glimpses of confidence and pride written over the curl of his mouth.

"Maybe, you can watch the second half from the stands with me?" You fiddled with the ties on your cargo pants, avoiding as much eye contact as possible. Gavi's words triggered another wave of pure anger, and it was difficult to decide if calling Pedri a friend was the wrong or a good choice. "Just you know, if your coach allows it." Shrugging the shoulders, asking such a question felt oddly weird. And waiting for an answer gave rise to your nervousness.

"I have to change first, then there shouldn't be a reason not to be able to." Asking for his company in the stands, with the almost invisible watermelon-pink tint across the span of your cheeks, allowed another spark of hope to ignite in Pedri's stomach.

Taking a liking to his best mate's ex-girlfriend wasn't the greatest move, but Pablo knew the best, that Pedri fancied you for much longer than he actually said. With a quick nod, the injured midfielder stumbled into the changing room and immediately received a warm welcome, and questions about his foot from his teammates. Except for his best friend, Gavi stayed in the corner of the room, drowning a bottle of water while his intense glare never left Pedri's smiling face. And the number thirty of the Barcelona Football Club was the first to leave the locker room again, leaving behind a confused Balde, and stumbling straight into your gaze again.

Somehow, his features moved on their own. Furrowed brows relaxed, and the corners of his mouth lifted, much to your dismay. “You could have done anything.” Gavi pointed a single finger at you, closing the distance with slow steps. The woolen cardigan suddenly felt too warm, too tight wrapped around your numb limbs at the sight. For months, you avoided social media, the news and even football as a whole to not come in contact with regret. Remorse for not answering his incoming text messages about spending time together again, the multiple question marks that filled your inbox and even worse, the filthy words he sent without hesitation, which your body accepted and reacted to way too quickly. “And yet, you chose my best friend as a reasonable excuse to watch me again.”

Shaking your head to answer his words without having to use your trembling voice, defending the leftovers of your pride, you failed ultimately when Gavi caged you between his sweaty body and the cold brick wall. Calloused palm placed beside your head, he used his free one to let his warm fingertips dance over the span of your cheeks. “Still so beautiful, even after I ruined you so many times.” The whispers triggered the memories, the moments you locked away in your mind — yet, not deeply enough for Gavi to easily access them.

Nights, you spent at his newly bought house. Wrapped tightly in the comfort of the black blanket, his naked chest pressed against your bare, arched back. Rough fingertips dug into the sensitive skin around your throat, pressing your windpipe barely together. It was never meant to hurt you, the ecstasy was his greatest reason. His hips snapped against your ass, diving deeper into the warmth of your walls. Moans filled the in darkness drowned bedroom, the dim light of the moon illuminating the side of your face. Lids fluttered close, just like those nights when Gavi was in the mood to ruin you.

But he chuckled, nonchalantly and pulled your mind out of the daydream that played like a movie in front of your closed eyes. Forcing the lids open, your pupils dilated in slight shock. Months of preparation weren’t enough to decline Gavi any access to your mind. But what was worse was the rapid pace of your heartbeat or the painful hammering against your rib cage that he was able to feel. The hand on your cheek started to travel south, fingertips caressed along your jaw, over the side of your throat, and towards your chest. Palm softly pressed against the material of your shirt, fitting perfectly between your breasts, his lips curled upwards in satisfaction when your heart boomed against his sprawled-out hand. „Still the same reaction and yet, you think Pedri could offer you what I‘ve given you.“ Head tilted to your height, just a couple of centimeters smaller than him, his warm breath fanned over your glossy lips

"Tell me that you're still mine, carino." Gavi muttered into the thin air that was caught between your mouth and his. Shaking your head with the last bit of willpower, and the unsettling feeling of shame in the pit of your stomach as he played his little mind games with you, your lips brushed over his repeatedly but never closed the gap. „You ruined me one too many times, darling.“ You hissed, wiggling yourself out of his trap and stepping to the side as the door to the locker room opened, and multiple players walked outside. It was the last piece of self-confidence that slipped out of your mouth and defended your honor. Mistakes were made, repeated way too often and kept as long-term secrets throughout the relationships. Gavi's disrespect to you as a woman was enough to turn him into an unattractive person. Yet, you questioned yourself if the sentence you spoke, wasn't too harsh.

Suddenly, your shoes became an interesting view to avoid Gavi's lingering gaze and the quick glances of the passing players. But Pedri's appearance went by unnoticed, his white sneakers the first thing you see. Taking in his body, the left hem of his cargo pants settled underneath his knee to decrease the pressure on the swollen ankle, the charcoal color an extravagant sight on his tanned skin. Paired with a hoodie, he adjusted the pieces of clothing to the warm weather, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A small black bag underneath his arm, keeping the most important essentials like his phone, and money inside of it. "You look a little flushed." Pedri used one of his hands to show with his long fingers the strawberry red tint across your cheeks, on his own face. Unfortunately, his words did not help to calm down your irregular breathing, or the intense pounding in your chest.

Any second longer at Camp Nou spread the discomfort in your body, shifting the weight from your left foot to the right to overshadow how much you trembled from the minutes with Gavi alone. Telling Pedri about his best friends' assault on his former lover would be absurd, after all, he was just a piece between Pablo and you. A friend for the two of you, but quietly cheering for your side. Clothes, way too tightly wrapped around your heavy limbs. Pedri's gentle face, radiating too much for your comfort.

"I think, I might just skip." You muttered, tilting the head to the side to avoid witnessing how the disappointment and the surprise twisted Pedri's features. Guilt bubbled in the pit of your stomach, inviting the midfielder first and then immediately taking back your words, and wanting to leave the stadium. Just in the span of five minutes, the glimpse of hope in Pedri's body vanished. Your sudden confession was a surprise to him, already attempting to find the mistakes he made that caused any discomfort to your figure. But the search never found a reasonable result. "Oh, I can sit at the coach's bench if you don't want to watch the game with me, it's fine." Pedri suggested immediately, trying to take the blame for the ways she felt without knowing what kind of emotions mixed in the pit of her stomach. "What?" You reacted quickly, the question tumbling out of your mouth as your eyebrows rose in confusion. Just for a simple second, you were clueless why he offered such a proposition but it hit you quickly.

"You said, you want to skip." Pedri's calloused palm placed over his neck, the fingertips scratching over the small hair and tanned skin. "I guess, you meant watching the game with me."

"Oh my gosh." You facepalmed yourself, letting your soft hand caress over you face. Strawberry red tint spread further across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, showcasing a sign of shame. "I didn't mean watching the game together, it was more about the entire second half. I think I will skip the rest of the game, I don't really feel prepared enough to watch Pablo longer than needed after his rude interruption." Palm pressed to your flushed cheek, your tried to hide the hues of bright crimson red tainting your smooth skin.

“Oh.” Pedri chuckled, a very calm and light-hearted sound as the relief washed over him. “Understood. He can be a real pain in the ass.” Since Gavi transferred to Barcelona Football Club underaged, and him and Pedri became best mates. Driving as the passenger of the midfielder’s forest green mini became a ritual, the fans always knowing if they saw Pedri’s car, Gavi wouldn’t be way too far. “I really hope you don’t mind. Maybe next time, the circumstances are better.” You almost apologized for looking after yourself once again, offering Pedri a gentle smile as you turned around to leave the cursed corridors of Camp Nou.

“I can drive you home.” Pedri was quick with his suggestion, taking a step forward to wrap his long fingers around your wrist and stop the distance from growing. The little contact; just the way his warm fingertips carefully pressed against your pulsating veins, caused another blush to creep its way across the span of your cheeks and increase the heat that already put your body on flames.

Like the watermelon pink attempted to tell you that the ignited fire wasn't a usual feeling. Admiration resurfaced, the slight crush you had on the midfielder before Gavi asked you out prominent in the way your face twisted. Letting the sensation linger, the warmth spread over your skin, you tried to tug your arm away from his embrace. Instead of another attempt to convince you of his offer, Pedri's finger loosened, your limb slipping out of his grip and out of reach, without taking a step forward. "Only if you feel comfortable enough to share a car with me." Pedro added to his suggestion, witnessing how your body language changed. Muscles tensed with his touch, your voice barely audible as your heavy breaths overshadowed the words. And for merely a moment, Pedri questioned the way he almost tried to persuade you into spending time with him — even if it was just a lame car ride.

Delicate and soft palms wiped over your face, probably ruining the layers of make up you covered your blemished skin with. Choosing Pedri’s company could be a chance to feel a moment of mild comfort again. After all, he cared enough for your well-being to ask many, many times. Even when you decided not to answer the first text messages because you thought Gavi would be the reason behind the sudden interest. But it wasn’t, it has never been. “Sure, it’s better than being alone right now.” You accepted with hesitation as your mind traveled through the worst-case scenarios. While you walked through the corridors towards the parking lot where the signature green mini waited, you heard how the fans chanted Gavi’s name like a beautiful melody as another goal extended the lead. Another ball hitting the back of the net, another time number thirty scored for Barcelona.

Bathing in the applause, the attention and how needy the girls at the front of the stands tried to reach out, Gavi smiled at the cameras. The curl of his mouth plastered across his face, the burst of happiness faded when the drifting gaze of his deep hazelnut orbs didn’t find your face in the crowd. Empty seats in the secluded section, his head snapped to the coach’s bench to find Pedri. But his best mate was missing too.

Unfortunately, the realization and the negative thoughts forced Gavi into a wave of blinded rage. He knew immediately, he would leave the pitch with another booking — just no one knew if it would be a simple yellow as usual, or a deeply crimson red one.

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judesfavsblog · 5 months

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my baby🥹

#football #jude #jude bellingham #football fans #fluff #judey #jude bellingham x you

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fanaticfangirl001 · 7 months

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Gonna write a thing that has to do with a certain football player but I have a bit of a dumb question.

What do fans call the umpires/refs like when they make a bad call bc in baseball a lot of fans call them Blue.

Ex: Fuck you Blue, you need glasses?

#football fans #Go Kansas City Chiefs #Travis Kelce fans #please help

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t3rr3nc3 · 8 months

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I can't respect your football fandom if you only hit me up to talk trash when my team gets whooped and your team has a decent win for once. Keep that same energy every week, every season, son.

#football fans #football #nfl #t3rr3nc3 #just saying

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footballdesires · 1 year

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speaking german, goretzka

pairing: leon goretzka / she, her info: leon's girlfriend wants to learn a couple of german words, but it's easier said than done. a/n: i'm german and idk but i really hate writing in german haha requests are always open!

translations:

“und nächstes mal lernen wir dann eine paar begriffe um mich beim nächsten spiel anzufeuern.” (and next time, we will learn a couple of words for you to cheer for me at my next game.)

"ich liebe dich." (i love you.) "schönen guten tag." (a very nice form of hello, or good day)

leon ran his long fingers through the mess of brown curls, scraping the over the scalp to calm down the frustration. for merely three hours, he sat in the same spot in one of munich’s many starbucks, with a dictionary on the small table in front of him. on the opposite side sat his girlfriend, the woman he met while being on vacation in portugal, and bringing her straight to germany with him.

even after she decided to leave the life behind in her home country and lived with leon for more than half a year, she still had trouble to pronounce the easiest words in his mother tongue. cursing in portuguese, and holding a conversation in english were the ways out of embarrassment. but she faced trouble when one didn’t understand any other language than german.

“it’s not that hard.” leon commented, when her gaze drifted over the words written down on the sheet of paper in front of her. she could have visited a state-certified translator and ask for help to become a master in speaking german. instead, leon sacrificed his free minutes between standing on the pitch to receive three points and exhausting training session to stay physically fit, to teach her a couple of sentences.

“that’s what i say about my mother tongue, and you still cursed while learning the first word.” she looked up, through the thick black lashes that framed the fiery, almond-shaped eyes. one thing, leon goretzka loved most about the portuguese was the fact that whenever he opened his mouth to sarcastically comment on a situation, she already had a comeback prepared.

shaking the head from left to right, a chuckle rolled off the tongue as he placed the elbows on the circular, wooden table between them. leaning further forward, the long fingers grabbed the small package of sugar, ripping it open quickly and pouring the white, small crystals into the freshly brewed cup of coffee in front of the female. after spending the hours of the day together, and cuddled up throughout the nights, the football player learned and remembered the smallest things about the female. for example, how she loved her coffee.

“tschönen guhten tage.” she quietly repeated for the millionth time this day, almost throwing herself back against the comfortable, black lounger when she realized how different it sounded from the times leon spoke the three words. she crossed the arms over the chest, with the shoulders slumped. the material of the table and the small crystals of sugar which landed beside the plate underneath the cup captured the attention of the portuguese.

her mind flashed through disparate images, the rolling, brown eyes of the male opposite of the table, wanting to run away from the scene or the closing lids as he slowly started to drift away into a slumber. leon tried his best to hide the constant exhaustion, but she stared straight through the unfazed masquerade.

“let’s try something else.” calloused fingertips tapped against the structure of the wooden table, desiring to receive the undivided attention of the female on him. tilting the head upwards, the bottom lip was pushed forward and the corners of the mouth dropped in a frown. she was disappointed in herself. “ich liebe dich, is the exact translation of i love you. it doesn’t matter how long you pull the letters or if you throw in another. in the end, it should sound the exact same.”

beaming with new-found confidence, she nodded the head repeatedly. “can you say it again, slowly?” the corners of the mouth lifted in a smile, and leon’s mouth mirrored the action. three words caused the female to forget about the frustration. “ich. liebe. dich.” he punctuated the words, slowly pulling the letters longer than needed to assure the precise communication between them.

“isch liebe disch.” she repeated the syllables, clapping the hands together when she realized that the sentence sounded close to what leon taught her. “that wasn’t too hard.” she admitted with a wide smile. taking the silver spoon between the delicate fingers, she stirred the coffee and placed it back on the small plate underneath the cup. looking up from the brown liquid, she raised the eyebrows when the wide smile on leon’s bearded face caught her attention.

“right.” he agreed with her, folding the fleshy fingers in front of his face, and placing the chin on the digits. “und nächstes mal lernen wir dann eine paar begriffe um mich beim nächsten spiel anzufeuern.” the german words floated out of his mouth as if he spilled the hot coffee straight on the table. eyes widened, and eyebrows arched highly, she opened the mouth to answer but didn’t understand a word.

the expression on her face, and the mouth ajar, caused leon to chuckle into the intertwined fingers.

“what?”

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evitachristine · 11 months

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I live in Prague and there’s this football match between the UK and Italy happening, don’t ask me what exactly bcs I don’t know and I don’t care.

What I do care about is them being aggressive, trashing this city and turning it to a dangerous place.

Can they calm down their testosterone or whatever shit is causing them to act this way. Like enjoy the game, sure, but there’s no need to act like literal animals. Maybe not animals even, pure beasts.

Just chill.

#prague #prague football match #west ham #fiorentina #west ham vs fiorentina – europa conference league final hammers eye european trophy in prague – stream #football fans #soccer fans #testosterone #hooligans

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