hey can you make one with Guille again, and where they met at one of his game with Barca's b team and fall in love? <3
✮ Forever Young - Guille Fernandez
guille fernandez x fem!reader
sy: when you attend a football game, having the faintest idea for what your going to experience, you don’t expect to gain a certain someone’s attention.
a/n: once he gets promoted to the senior team, tumblr is over. thank u for the req!! ◡̈
warnings: nothing
“do we really have to do this?” you complain to your brother, who’s shoving popcorn into his mouth. “i would rather be anywhere else right now.”
“are you 18?” he responds, breaking his stare and turning to you.
you grumble, already knowing where this is going. “oh vamos, you can’t keep using that as an excuse—”
“maybe you didn’t hear me: i asked you, are you 18?” he repeats, loving the control that he usually doesn’t get at home.
you groan, rolling your eyes and steering ahead at the pitch infront of you. “no..”
“then your my responsibility until you are,” he wickedly grins, and god, did his face look so punchable right now.
you stuff your hands into your pockets as the wind gnaws at your fingers, the sharp chill creeping through your coat like it has a personal vendetta against you.
here you are, on a dim and depressing tuesday, layered with thick clothes in an attempt to make yourself the slightest warmer.
you weren’t getting anywhere so far, but it’s the effort that counts. the sky is grey and gloomy, and if you were to suspect what country you were in, you would stay far away from saying spain.
your brother, a diehard barça fan, hurled you along to watch the atlètic team in a bid to feed his obsession but also, to annoy you.
you were the furthest from loving football and if anything, you probably despised it. what’s worth sitting around for 90 minutes, watching grown men kick a ball?
it was nothing special.
so far, nothing really intrigued you in watching this game as you saw it—it was just a few teenagers flexing skills around for wages.
that was, until you spotted a certain n.20 out, who looked exactly in your direction.
“see! is that fernandez looking at me?!” your brother besides you squeals, as the popcorn on his lap threatens to spill.
you sigh in exasperation, and bite back a laugh, “your such a dork hermano.”
“god forbid i have interests,” he bites back, “sorry that my habits aren’t laying in bed all the time and occasionally moving to style my hair.”
his temporary anger is dismissed, and he instantly goes back to screeching with excitement.
you glance back over to the pitch and notice the player again, your heart hammering in your chest.
not that you were too far in the stands to notice, but if you knew any better you could of swore he smiled for the faintest moment.
“hey,” you nudge your brother in the ribs, your eyes still trained on the n.20. “who did you say that guy was again?”
“well thanks for that by the way,” he scolds, rubbing over his ribs where you nudged him. “guille fernandez you mean? like the next generational midfield talent for barça.”
you hum, suddenly intrigued; your full focus is now primarily on guille and this time, your not just mindlessly staring.
with the jersey number that felt already engraved into your brain, you watch him move with purpose, controlling the ball effortlessly as if it’s just an extension of himself.
your brother wasn’t lying about him being good, but that wasn’t what kept you watching.
it was something else. something about the way he carried himself, the way he turned his head every so often—almost like he was checking the stands.
almost.. maybe, was he checking for you?
you shake the thought away. ridiculous. as if some rising barça star would even notice you in a crowd of people.
but then, right when you’re about to look away, it happens again.
despite being amidst the frenzy, the ball a few centimetres away from his touch, his gaze flickers up like he was searching for something.
and then, he finds you.
your breath catches as, for the briefest moment, he holds your stare. this couldn’t just be pure delusional, and even with blinking multiple times you couldn’t shake the, what if.
your brother screeches beside you, oblivious. “did you see that touch? my god, we’re witnessing greatness!”
you barely hear him. all you can focus on is the subtle twitch of guille’s lips before he turns away, slipping back into the rhythm of the game like nothing happened.
like he didn’t just look at you. out of all people.
the rest of the match blurs by. you don’t remember the score, don’t register your brother’s rambling about tactics and formations. all you can think about is that double look.
by the time the final whistle blows, your legs feel stiff from sitting so long in the cold. your brother is already yanking you toward the exit, practically vibrating from excitement.
“we have to wait,” he insists, dragging you toward the barriers where some fans are lingering. “maybe i can get a picture with him—oh my god, imagine if i actually get to meet him.”
you sigh, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets. the last thing you want to do is stand around in the freezing air, but you know there’s no getting out of this.
although it feels like hours, only minutes pass. players eventually trickle out from the tunnel, some stopping to greet fans, others heading straight for the buses.
your brother is practically bouncing on the heels of his feet like a man on a mission.
then, finally, guille walks out, his bag slung over his shoulder, hair damp, shirt clinging slightly to his skin from sweat. he’s talking to a teammate, but as he scans the crowd, his steps falter.
his gaze lands directly on you and your stomach does this weird little churn that it did hours ago.
“holy shit,” your brother whispers, “he’s coming this way! act normal. wait—do i look normal? do i—”
“shut up,” you hiss, elbowing him.
not like you weren’t as tensed as him, as nervous as him but also as excited as him.
the player stops just a few feet away. up close, he’s even more unfairly good-looking, his sharp features softened by the stadium lights. his eyes flicker between you and your brother, amusement dancing in them.
“good game,” your brother blurts out, a little too loud.
guille chuckles, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. “gracias.” then, to your absolute horror, his attention shifts to you.
“did you enjoy it?” he asks, simply.
the way he says it—the way his voice lowers slightly like this question is meant for you, and only you—sends heat creeping up to your hands despite the chill in the air.
when he had the liberty of talking to a football enthusiast next to you, he chose to talk to the girl who had no knowledge of football whatsoever.
“uh—” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way your brother is gaping at you, but also the how badly your heart was racing. “yeah. it was… good.”
guille raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t quite believe you. “just good? that’s all you can manage?”
you cross your arms, feigning indifference. “well, i’m not exactly a football fan.”
he clicks his tongue, tilting his head slightly. “but your here no?”
you glare at your brother. “not by choice.”
guille smirks, his gaze flickering between the pair of you. “ah. dragged along, huh? it happens to the best of us.”
“you have no idea,” you mutter, though in reality maybe you didn’t mind being dragged along anymore.
your brother, clearly not having a single thought in his brain besides: ‘oh my god, the guille fernández is talking to us,’ suddenly blurts out, “she was staring at you the whole game by the way, i’m sure you’ll find her here again.”
guille’s smirk grows. “oh?”
you silently curse your brother as you try to pretend you’re not completely embarrassed.
your brother is so lucky you can’t physically strangle him in this moment. “i was not,” you defend quickly, your face heating and your entire body tensed.
guille’s eyes stay locked on yours, and there’s a second where the world feels impossibly still, just the two of you sharing unspoken emotions.
“well,” he says, shifting lightly, “next time, you should come because you want to. i’d be happy to see you in the crowd again.”
next time?
your brain short-circuits and your not aware until now for how long you’ve been carrying an ear-to-ear grin during the whole conversation.
“and who knows, maybe bring a jersey so i can sign it for you, if not, your welcome to have one of mine.” guille says at last, giving you a brief wink.
he gives you one last smile before stepping away, blending back into the crowd of players and staff.
your brother grabs your arm, squeezing hard. “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”
you don’t answer. you’re too busy replaying those last words in your head.
next time.
may god help you.
