pairing: fernando mendoza x reader
wc: 844
a/n: my first time writing something for fernando! probably so sudden since i've only posted about him like twice butttt i've been following and reading up on this cutie for a minute now :3 but don't get it twisted i'm not rooting for the raiders i just think the guy's neat... not to mention my first time writing something in a while now that i finished school so it feels pretty good to write something that isn't completely academic :’ but hopefully headcanons will be my way in for writing for other players... anyway i hope u guys enjoy! apologies if there’s anything out of character ><
you get so endeared seeing fernando do marketing or promotional content either for himself or for the raiders – a couple weeks after the esquire shoot, you two are eating breakfast and he slides over the magazine to you and you are so ecstatic, snatching it from his hands immediately and grinning at how handsome he looks
he’s pretty flustered because he wasn’t sure how you would react but knowing that you loved it… he definitely feels a weight off his shoulders as you gush over the photos
when the raiders' schedule release video went out, your cheeks were aching for a solid few minutes from smiling knowing that acting is not his strong suit but he was incredibly adorable
he loves to send or bring you a bouquet of your favorite flowers withh a handwritten note on an important day, whether it’d be an interview or a test
“You got this! Love you <3 - Fernando :)”
he loves to learn so he wants to know more about what makes you happy, what gets you out of bed in the morning, what motivates you even if it’s the smallest or ridiculous concepts, he will want to know about it because he wants to be the best for you
he’d be a very attentive boyfriend – if there’s something you had your eye on but just never got around to buying it, you better believe he’s gonna get it for you regardless of the occasion
“bought you a little something, just because.”
in his journal, there’s various notes and reminders about that restaurant in bloomington you really liked, or the cafe in miami you two tried out that one time you went to his hometown during the offseason – small reminders and notes about things you really liked throughout your time together
he’s sometimes oblivious to how flustered you get around him – one day you’re making lunch and when you struggle to reach for something on a high shelf, you feel a hand slide around your waist and the warmth of a broad silhouette behind you reaching to get it for you
“here you go :D!!!” and you’re just blushing and avoiding eye contact like crazy and yet somehow he has no idea that you’re losing your mind because of him ESPECIALLY when he’s shirtless and only wearing a pair of sweats
he will 100% without a doubt bear hug u when you two are cuddling and will likely be out like a light the moment your heads hit a pillow anywhere… it’s not his fault though! he feels totally safe when you’re in his arms but don’t get it twisted though he will absolutely fold when you’re the big spoon
while he’s born to give the Most PR Answers and Statements Ever, he is his most soft-spoken and himself when it comes to you
when you’re at a crowded space or event, he keeps an arm around your waist as much as possible (if he isn’t being whisked away by managers or fans to take photos) and checks in as much as he can because he knows these situations are incredibly overwhelming
“hey, you alright?” or variations of that are murmured into your ear at least 30 times in one night, making sure that he’s looking out for you the entire evening
keeps a playlist of songs that you two love and plays it whenever you two run errands or have a long drive somewhere together – doesn't care that it’s a broad range of songs that don’t fit together, but he thinks of you whenever a song you added comes on
reads to me like someone who’d love parallel play – while you read or work on something he’d be on his laptop watching film and wouldn't think too much of it because he's spending time with you
actually and factually loves when you cradle his face and loves to lean into your touch (he told me himself), will likely swoon the moment your thumb caresses his cheek
on gamedays though if you hit that, that’ll probably be the most zen he’ll ever be that day especially during a playoff game
gets to a point where it calms him down especially during major events like the natty, the heisman ceremony, and draft night
basically loves when you have your hands on him anywhere because he will Fold!
keeps a photobooth strip of you two cut in half – one in his wallet and another half in his phone case and loves to look at it during away games when he misses you a little extra
hates hates hates texting — he feels like he can never convey his message properly the way a phone call or facetime does so expect a lot of calls in your relationship
genuinely fernando would be the sweetest ever, such an attentive bf and will put you first regardless of the situation at hand. never ever expect anything less from him when it comes to your relationship. like his passion for football, he gives his all and then some because that’s just who he is
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A/N: sorry this took me so long! but I’m very excited for you guys to read thissss I will definitely keep writing this one! Also pls ignore any mistakes or misspellings bc I’m writing this on my phone bc my computer broke 😭😭
summary: There's a playbook for football. Unfortunately, there's no playbook for becoming best friends with Tom Brady's daughter... or realizing somewhere along the way that she's become the person you look for first after every practice.Fernando Mendoza has spent his whole life preparing for the NFL. He wasn't prepared for her.
word count: 13k
reblogs are greatly appreciated 💋💋
Fernando Mendoza liked routines.
The Film at six.
Practice at eight.
Protein shake after lifts.
Call his mom on Tuesdays.
Simple and predictable.
Which was exactly why he was currently irritated that someone had taken his spot in the quarterback room.
Not angry irritated.
Just quietly thrown off.
He stopped in the doorway, backpack hanging from one shoulder, staring at the unfamiliar girl sitting in his chair.
Well.
Technically not his chair.
But emotionally? Very much his chair.
She looked up from her phone at the exact moment he walked in.
For a second, neither of them spoke.
Fernando’s brain stalled immediately.
Because she was pretty.
Like unfairly pretty.
Not in a loud way. Nothing overly polished or trying too hard. Just… effortlessly impossible to ignore.
And she was looking at him now with slight curiosity, like she was trying to figure him out in real time.
“Sorry,” she said after a second, glancing around. “Am I not supposed to be in here?”
Fernando realized he was still standing in the doorway like a confused security guard.
“No,” he said quickly. “You can be in here.”
Pause.
“This is just usually where I sit.”
Amazing. Smooth. Incredible start.
Her mouth twitched slightly.
“Oh.”
She stood immediately. “Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“No, you’re okay,” Fernando said at the same time.
Then they both stopped. Then both tried speaking again. Then stopped again.
She laughed first.
Fernando wanted to walk directly into traffic.
“I’m kidding,” she said. “You can have your seat back.”
“No, seriously, it’s fine.”
“You looked emotionally attached to it.”
“I’m not-”
“You kind of are.”
Fernando opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Because unfortunately she was right.
Before he could attempt recovery, footsteps approached behind him.
“Found you.”
Fernando turned so fast he nearly hit the doorframe.
Tom Brady stood there holding a coffee and looking entirely too awake for the hour.
“Morning,” Tom said.
“Morning, sir.”
Tom stepped into the room and nodded toward his daughter.
“You two met already.”
Fernando blinked.
Oh.
OH.
That explained a lot actually.
“You didn’t tell him who I was?” Tom asked her.
She shrugged. “It was funnier this way.”
Fernando felt his soul briefly leave his body.
Tom, somehow, looked amused.
Dangerous.
But amused.
“She’s gonna be around the facility pretty often,” Tom said. “I’ve got meetings most days and she doesn’t know anybody here yet.”
Fernando nodded carefully.
“Okay.”
Tom took a sip of coffee. “Thought maybe you could help her out a little.”
Fernando stared at him.
“You want me to?”
“Unless you’re too emotionally attached to this room.”
She snorted.
Fernando looked down immediately, fighting a smile.
Tom noticed, which was horrifying.
“I can show her around,” Fernando said quickly.
“Appreciate it.”
Tom’s phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at it, sighed like a man burdened by corporate America, and pointed lightly between them.
“Behave,” he said.
Then he walked out.
The second the door shut, silence settled over the room.
Fernando adjusted the strap of his backpack unnecessarily. She leaned back against the desk.
“So,” she said. “Do all quarterbacks act this weird before nine in the morning or is this a special thing just for me?”
Fernando blinked at her.
“I’m not acting weird.”
“You walked into the doorframe.”
“That was one time.”
“It happened thirty seconds ago.”
He rubbed a hand over his face.
“This is going great for me.”
Her smile softened then. Less teasing now. More genuine.
Which somehow made him even more nervous.
“I’m kidding,” she said. “You’re fine.”
Fine.
Right.
Meanwhile his pulse was behaving like he’d just run stadium stairs.
Fernando set his backpack down carefully beside the chair.
“You really can sit there if you want,” he offered.
“I know,” she said. “But now I’m attached to the bit.”
He laughed before he could stop himself.
And something in her expression shifted slightly when she heard it.
Like she hadn’t expected him to laugh either.
Fernando cleared his throat immediately.
“So uh…” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “Tour?”
“Lead the way, emotionally attached quarterback.”
He shook his head, grabbing his iPad off the desk.
“You’re definitely gonna use that against me all season, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
And for the first time all morning, Fernando smiled without thinking about it first.
By day three, Fernando realized something deeply unfortunate.
Tom Brady’s daughter knew football.
Not fake “my dad played football” knowledge.
Real knowledge.
The kind that made Fernando accidentally stare at her during meetings.
“Wait,” she said from beside him in the film room, leaning forward slightly. “Pause it.”
Fernando paused immediately.
She pointed toward the screen.
“The nickel’s cheating inside too early.”
Fernando blinked.
Onscreen, the defense shifted subtly before the snap.
Most people wouldn’t have noticed it.
“You saw that?”
She gave him a look. “I grew up in a house where people argued about cover-two shells at dinner.”
“Oh. Right.”
She grinned.
Fernando looked back at the screen, rewinding the clip.
Sure enough, the nickel corner drifted half a step too far inward before the motion man crossed.
A tell. Small, but there.
Fernando looked at her again.
“That’s actually really good.”
“Thank you,” she said proudly. “My childhood was deeply weird.”
He laughed quietly.
Over the past few days, he’d learned something important about her.
She made him laugh constantly. Which was becoming a problem.
Because Fernando liked talking football.
Loved it, actually.
But most people got bored after five minutes.
She didn’t.
If anything, she got more interested the deeper he went.
Which was how Fernando somehow ended up spending twenty straight minutes explaining route manipulation against split safeties while she listened with her chin resting in her hand.
“And then if the linebacker turns his hips too early,” Fernando continued, drawing on the tablet between them, “you can basically hold the middle open with your eyes.”
She nodded immediately. “Dad used to do that constantly.”
Fernando looked up. “You noticed that?”
She stared at him.
“Fernando.”
“Right. Sorry. Stupid question.”
“No,” she said, smiling slightly. “You just forget most people don’t pay attention to football the way you do.”
The thing was:
She did.
That was what kept catching him off guard.
Not because she was Tom Brady’s daughter.
Because she genuinely loved the game herself.
And every time she casually understood something complicated, Fernando felt this weird spark of excitement in his chest.
Like he’d finally met someone who spoke the same language.
Which was probably why he forgot to notice how close they were sitting until her shoulder brushed his.
Fernando immediately sat up straighter. Way straighter.
She noticed instantly.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
His voice cracked slightly.
Fantastic.
Her lips twitched.
“You get nervous this easily around everyone or am I special?”
Fernando nearly dropped the tablet.
Now she actually laughed.
Bright and warm and completely distracting.
Fernando looked down at the film again in a desperate attempt to recover.
“Okay,” she said, still smiling. “You’re kinda fun to mess with.”
Fernando muttered something unintelligible under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I literally am not.”
“You literally are.”
Fernando covered part of his face with one hand while she laughed harder beside him.
And somewhere deep in the building, entirely unaware of the psychological warfare currently occurring in the film room, Tom Brady continued his meeting in peace.
The Raiders facility at night felt completely different.
Quieter.
Softer somehow.
Like the building itself finally exhaled after spending all day buzzing with noise and cameras and meetings.
Most of the lights were off by the time she wandered down the hallway with a bottle of water in her hand.
Her dad had left hours ago.
She probably should’ve gone home too.
Instead, insomnia and boredom had dragged her into wandering the facility like a ghost.
Which was how she noticed light spilling from underneath the film room door at ten-thirty at night.
She stopped.
Tilted her head slightly. Then smiled to herself.
Of course.
She pushed the door open carefully.
Fernando looked up so fast he nearly launched out of his chair.
“Oh my god,” he breathed, clutching his chest dramatically. “You scared me.”
She stared at him.
“You’re watching film alone in the dark like a serial killer.”
“It helps me focus.”
“There are exactly three lamps on in here.”
Fernando glanced around defensively. “The overhead lights are aggressive.”
She laughed quietly and stepped inside.
The room glowed blue from paused game footage on the massive screen. Empty coffee cups sat near Fernando’s laptop beside pages of handwritten notes highlighted in at least four different colors.
She pointed immediately.
“You actually color-code them.”
Fernando looked offended. “It’s efficient.”
“You’re such a nerd.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s becoming weirdly endearing unfortunately.”
Fernando’s ears turned pink almost instantly.
Which was becoming one of her favorite things on earth.
He looked back at the screen too quickly.
“So uh,” he said awkwardly, “what are you doing here?”
“Could ask you the same thing.”
“I was studying.”
“At ten-thirty.”
“We play football professionally.”
“You’re twenty-two, not Batman.”
Fernando snorted unexpectedly.
Then immediately looked embarrassed for laughing that hard.
It was honestly adorable.
She walked farther into the room and dropped into the seat beside him.
“What are we watching?”
Fernando hesitated for approximately half a second before grabbing the remote.
And there it was again.
That excitement.
Every time she showed genuine interest in football, something in him lit up. Like nobody ever wanted to stay in his world long enough for him to fully open the door.
But she did.
Always.
“It’s third-down stuff,” he explained, rewinding the clip. “I’ve been trying to figure out how defenses are disguising pressure against empty formations.”
She nodded toward the screen immediately. “They’re rotating late because your center keeps identifying too early.”
Fernando froze.
Slowly, he turned toward her.
“What?”
She pointed again.
“Watch the safety.”
He replayed the clip.
Once.
Twice.
And then Fernando sat back in his chair, staring at the screen in disbelief.
“How did you catch that?”
She shrugged. “I’ve spent my entire life around paranoid quarterbacks.”
Fernando laughed quietly, shaking his head.
“That’s actually insane.”
“You’re just mad I’m right.”
“I’m a little mad.”
“You should be.”
He smiled then.
Small, a bit sleepy.
And for some reason, in the dim light of the film room, it hit her all at once how pretty he was.
Not flashy pretty.
Not effortless celebrity handsome.
Just… soft around the edges.
Warm eyes.
Messy curls from running his hands through his hair all night.
Slight stubble.
The sleeves of his shirt pushed up to his forearms.
Comfortable.
Fernando looked like someone you accidentally trusted with important things.
Which felt dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“You’re staring at me,” he said suddenly, not looking away from the screen.
Her stomach flipped.
“You noticed?”
His mouth twitched slightly. “Quarterback.”
“Right. Observant.”
The room settled into comfortable silence after that.
Film rolled quietly across the screen while Fernando occasionally explained something or paused to rant about defensive tendencies with the intensity of a man discussing ancient prophecy.
Somewhere around eleven-thirty, exhaustion started settling over the room like fog.
Fernando leaned farther back into the couch, voice slower now as he explained something about coverage disguises.
She listened for a while.
Or tried to.
But the room was warm.
And quiet.
And Fernando’s voice had turned soft and sleepy beside her.
At some point, without really thinking about it, her head drifted onto his shoulder.
Fernando stopped breathing.
Actually stopped.
Every muscle in his body locked instantly.
Her head rested lightly against him, warm and impossibly close, and Fernando suddenly became aware of literally everything.
The weight of her against him.
The sound of her breathing.
The faint smell of her shampoo.
His heart slammed so hard he was genuinely concerned she could hear it.
Carefully, painfully carefully, Fernando turned his head slightly.
She was asleep.
His brain completely melted.
Okay.
Okay.
This was fine.
Normal.
Friends definitely fell asleep on each other while watching film at midnight.
Probably.
Fernando stared straight ahead at the paused screen for what felt like an entire lifetime, terrified to move even an inch.
Because if he moved, she might wake up.
And if she woke up, this would end.
Which was a horrifying thought.
Eventually his own exhaustion won.
Slowly, carefully, Fernando let his head rest back against the couch.
Still afraid to breathe too hard.
The last thing he remembered was the warmth of her against his shoulder.
And the terrifying realization that he never wanted her to move.
Fernando woke up slowly.
Not because of noise.
Because his arm had gone completely numb.
For a few confused seconds, he just blinked at the dark film room ceiling, disoriented and warm and weirdly comfortable.
Then he remembered.
Her.
Immediately, Fernando became hyperaware of the fact that she was still asleep against him.
Her head restedd against his shoulder now, closer than before somehow, one of her hands curled loosely near his arm like she’d grabbed onto him in her sleep.
Fernando’s brain blue-screened instantly.
Do not move.
He glanced carefully toward the digital clock near the screen.
12:14 AM.
Oh no.
Her dad was literally Tom Brady.
Fernando was going to die in a Raiders film room because circulation had left his arm and he was too nervous to wake up a girl.
Historic way to go honestly.
Very slowly, Fernando tried shifting his shoulder a microscopic amount.
Big mistake.
Her face pressed slightly closer instinctively.
Fernando froze so hard he nearly ascended spiritually.
Okay.
Great.
Awesome.
Now what?
His eyes drifted helplessly toward her face.
She looked softer asleep.
Less teasing.
Less sharp.
Just peaceful.
And Fernando had the deeply inconvenient realization that if he kept staring at her like this, he was going to accidentally ruin his own life.
The door suddenly rattled from somewhere down the hallway.
Fernando jumped violently.
Which woke her up instantly.
She blinked sleepily against his shoulder.
Fernando forgot every language he’d ever learned.
“Oh my god,” he blurted. “Sorry. I didn’t move. I mean I did move but not because I wanted you to wake up. Not that I didn’t want you awake. Obviously. You’re normally awake. I just meant—”
She stared at him for two seconds.
Then started laughing.
Not fully awake laughter either.
Sleepy laughter.
The kind that made her lean closer accidentally while Fernando combusted internally.
“You panic-talk when you’re nervous,” she mumbled.
Fernando closed his eyes briefly.
“Please don’t say that out loud.”
“It’s cute.”
His heart stopped functioning.
Actually fully stopped.
She stretched slightly before finally lifting her head from his shoulder.
Fernando immediately missed the weight of it.
Which felt psychologically catastrophic.
“What time is it?” she asked.
Fernando looked at the clock.
“Uh… twelve fourteen.”
Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”
“I think we accidentally died in here.”
“That explains why my neck hurts.”
Fernando laughed softly.
Then immediately grabbed the water bottle beside him and handed it to her without thinking.
She noticed.
That was the problem lately.
She noticed everything about him.
The little automatic things.
Like how he always handed her the first bottle from the fridge because he knew she liked colder water.
Or how he unconsciously moved her to the inside of sidewalks and hallways.
Or how he memorized things she mentioned once and brought them up days later.
Fernando did all of it without realizing.
And every single time, it made her stomach flip stupidly.
She took the water bottle from him carefully.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.”
Silence settled between them for a second.
Fernando rubbed the back of his neck. “Your dad’s probably wondering where you are.”
“He texted me earlier.”
Fernando’s entire soul left his body.
“What?”
She burst out laughing immediately.
“I’m kidding.”
Fernando stared at her in horror.
“You cannot joke about things like that.”
“You should’ve seen your face.”
“I think I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“Your father is Tom Brady.”
“Fair point.”
Fernando stood, gathering his scattered notes a little too quickly.
She watched him fondly.
Because there he was again.
That awkwardness.
Not performative.
Not trying to be charming.
Just genuinely, painfully earnest.
Fernando approached emotions the same way he approached football: carefully, seriously, with way too much overthinking.
It was adorable, unfortunately.
She laughed again, following him out into the hallway.
The facility was almost completely empty now, lights dimmed low for the night.
Their footsteps echoed softly as they walked.
“You know,” she said casually, “for somebody who’s so calm during games, you’re weirdly awkward in real life.”
Fernando groaned quietly.
“You’ve been waiting to say that, haven’t you?”
“A little.”
He shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile.
“I’m serious though,” she continued. “You’re different off the field.”
Fernando glanced over carefully. “Different good or different bad?”
She pretended to think about it.
“Different cute.”
Fernando physically stumbled.
Not even kidding.
Actually stumbled mid-step.
She stared at him in disbelief before dissolving into laughter.
“Oh my god.”
Fernando pointed accusingly at the floor.
“There was uneven ground.”
“We’re indoors.”
“Agree to disagree.”
By the time they reached the parking lot, both of them were still laughing.
And neither noticed Maxx Crosby leaning against a truck nearby until he called out:
“Well, well, well.”
Fernando stopped instantly.
Maxx looked between the two of them slowly.
Then at the time on his phone.
Then back at Fernando.
A grin spread across his face.
“No way.”
Fernando felt fear.
Real fear.
“We were watching film,” Fernando said immediately.
Maxx’s grin widened.
“Brother, I didn’t even ask.”
Beside him, she looked dangerously close to laughing again.
Fernando considered walking directly into traffic for the second time that week.
Fernando spent the next forty-eight hours trying to convince himself he was behaving normally.
This became difficult when Brock walked into the quarterback room Wednesday morning, took one look at Fernando smiling at his phone, and immediately said:
“There’s no way.”
Fernando looked up too fast. “What?”
“You’re texting her.”
“I text lots of people.”
Brock stared at him.
Fernando stared back.
Brock slowly sat down across from him. “You are the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
Fernando locked his phone instantly. “I’m not lying.”
“Dude, you looked happy.”
“That’s insane.”
“Exactly my point.”
Fernando rubbed a hand over his face while Brock cackled like a cartoon villain.
Unfortunately for Fernando, the problem wasn’t just the texting.
It was that somehow, over the past two weeks, she’d quietly become woven into every part of his day.
Morning coffee runs.
Watching practice together.
Late-night film sessions.
Random conversations in hallways that somehow lasted forty minutes.
And the worst part?
Fernando still genuinely thought they were “just friends.”
Mostly because the alternative was too terrifying to examine closely.
Meanwhile literally everyone else on the Raiders roster had eyes.
Which was how Fernando found himself getting interrogated during lunch by three separate teammates after smiling unconsciously at a text notification.
“What’s the smile for?” Jakobi Meyers asked immediately.
Fernando’s head snapped up. “There’s no smile.”
“There was absolutely a smile,” Brock said.
“A disgusting one,” Tre Tucker added.
Fernando looked deeply betrayed. “Why are you all paying attention to my face?”
“Because,” Brock said slowly, “you normally look like a stressed graduate student.”
Fernando frowned. “That feels targeted.”
“And suddenly,” Jakobi continued, “you’re giggling at your phone.”
“I was not giggling.”
Tre leaned across the table. “Was it Brady’s daughter?”
Fernando choked on his water instantly.
Every single person at the table erupted.
“Oh my GOD,” Brock yelled.
Fernando coughed violently. “Can you all relax?”
“Nope,” Jakobi said immediately. “Absolutely not.”
Tre grinned. “You like her.”
Fernando stared at them in horror.
“I do not.”
“You literally short-circuit every time she enters a room.”
“That is not true.”
Right on cue, she walked into the cafeteria.
Fernando looked up automatically.
And smiled immediately.
The table exploded so loudly several nearby players turned around.
Fernando dropped his head directly into his hands.
“This is a nightmare.”
“You are down catastrophic,” Brock announced.
Fernando peeked up just in time to see her approaching the table with suspicious amusement already on her face.
“Why does it sound like a zoo over here?”
“Fernando’s in love with you,” Tre answered instantly.
Fernando wanted to die.
“What?” she laughed.
“He is NOT helping his case,” Brock added while Fernando visibly malfunctioned beside them.
“I hate all of you.”
She slid into the empty seat beside Fernando, still laughing.
Close enough that their shoulders brushed lightly.
Fernando immediately forgot how breathing worked.
“You okay?” she asked innocently.
“No.”
That slipped out accidentally.
Her smile softened instantly.
And somehow that was worse.
Tre made dramatic gagging noises across the table.
Fernando pointed at him without looking away from her. “If you speak again, I’m requesting a trade.”
“You’d miss me.”
“I absolutely would not.”
She leaned closer slightly. “You know,” she murmured, “you do panic-talk a lot around me.”
Fernando looked down at the table immediately.
“Can we not keep bringing that up?”
“Nope.”
He shook his head, fighting a smile.
The thing was, she was right.
Fernando did get weird around her.
Not intentionally.
His brain just seemed to stop functioning correctly whenever she looked at him too long.
Which unfortunately happened often lately.
Like now.
She was still looking at him.
Smiling slightly.
And Fernando suddenly became very aware of:
how close she was sitting
how good she smelled
the warmth of her arm against his
Dangerous.
Extremely dangerous.
Before he could spiral further, Brock smirked across the table.
“So what are you two doing tonight?”
Fernando answered immediately. “Nothing.”
At the exact same time she said:
“We’re getting tacos.”
Silence.
Fernando turned toward her slowly.
“We are?”
She blinked. “You forgot?”
Fernando’s stomach dropped.
“No! I didn’t forget. I just thought you meant tomorrow.”
“You literally told me seven o’clock tonight.”
Brock looked like Christmas morning had arrived early.
Fernando looked horrified.
“You think I forgot plans with you?”
“I think you watch so much film you’ve lost contact with reality.”
“That is partially true,” Fernando admitted.
She laughed softly.
And because Fernando apparently enjoyed suffering, he found himself staring at her again.
It happened constantly now.
These little moments where the world seemed to narrow around her without his permission.
Where everything else got quieter.
Slower.
And every single time, Fernando told himself the same thing:
This is getting dangerous.
Unfortunately, his heart did not seem interested in listening.
Fernando arrived at the taco place fourteen minutes early.
Not because he was nervous.
Because being early was responsible.
And mature.
And definitely not the behavior of a man who’d changed shirts three times before leaving his apartment.
He sat in the parking lot for a full minute gripping the steering wheel.
Okay.
This was normal.
Friends got tacos.
Friends absolutely did not spend twenty minutes googling whether certain restaurants were “too date-like.”
Fernando got out of the car before his brain could get worse.
The place was small and loud and smelled like grilled meat and lime, neon signs glowing against the walls while music played softly overhead.
Fernando picked the booth furthest from the windows automatically.
Less visible.
Safer.
Which maybe said concerning things about his current mental state.
He was staring at the menu when her voice appeared beside him.
“You look like you’re preparing for a job interview.”
Fernando looked up so fast he nearly dropped the menu.
She slid into the booth across from him, smiling.
And Fernando’s brain immediately supplied the deeply unhelpful thought that she looked really pretty tonight.
Not dressed up.
Just comfortable.
Which somehow made it worse.
“I’m not nervous,” he said instantly.
She tilted her head. “I didn’t say you were.”
Fernando blinked.
“…right.”
Her smile widened.
“You are incredibly easy to fluster.”
“That feels exaggerated.”
“You panic every time I flirt with you.”
Fernando choked on air.
“YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH ME?”
The couple in the next booth looked over.
She burst out laughing immediately, covering her face with one hand.
Fernando realized what volume he’d used and dropped his head onto the table.
“Oh my god.”
“You genuinely didn’t know?” she laughed.
“I thought you were just naturally intimidating.”
That made her laugh even harder.
Which honestly would’ve been worth the humiliation if Fernando’s heart wasn’t currently trying to punch through his ribcage.
A waitress came over before he could recover.
Fernando ordered quickly, grateful for the interruption.
Then immediately overthought his order.
Too much food?
Not enough food?
Did enchiladas look weird on a first not-date?
Was this a date?
Oh no.
He’d accidentally started staring into space.
“You’re spiraling again,” she observed.
Fernando blinked. “What?”
“I can literally see you overthinking.”
“I don’t overthink.”
She gave him a flat look.
“Fernando. You organize playlists alphabetically.”
“In my defense, it’s easier to find songs.”
“That’s the least romantic sentence anyone’s ever said to me.”
Romantic.
Fernando’s soul left his body briefly.
She noticed instantly.
“Oh my god,” she laughed. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“That thing where you look like your operating system crashed.”
Fernando rubbed both hands over his face.
“This is actually horrible for me.”
“No,” she said softly, smiling at him over the table. “It’s kinda adorable.”
There it was again.
Adorable.
Every time she called him that, Fernando lost approximately three years off his lifespan.
He looked down at the table, trying and failing to hide his smile.
“You know,” she said after a second, “I think you’re the first guy I’ve ever met who gets more awkward when someone likes him back.”
Fernando looked up immediately.
“Back?”
Silence.
Brief.
Tiny.
But enough.
Her expression shifted first, like she realized what she’d said.
Fernando’s stomach flipped violently.
Neither of them spoke.
The waitress arrived with chips and salsa at the exact perfect moment.
Both of them sat back too quickly.
“Thank you,” Fernando said with the intensity of a man rescued from a burning building.
The waitress blinked.
“You’re welcome?”
She waited until the waitress left before looking back at him slowly.
“You know what’s funny?” she said.
Fernando eyed her cautiously. “What?”
“For someone who reads defenses for a living, you are unbelievably bad at reading signals.”
Fernando stared at her.
Then, because apparently his dignity no longer existed:
“…are there signals?”
Her jaw dropped.
“Fernando.”
“What?!”
“You genuinely had no idea?”
“I thought you were just being nice!”
She looked at him like he’d personally offended her.
“I asked you to get tacos alone.”
“I thought we were friends!”
“We are friends!”
“Exactly!”
She laughed so suddenly she almost knocked over her drink.
Fernando watched her helplessly, smiling despite himself.
And somewhere during all that laughter, something shifted.
Not dramatically.
Not all at once.
Just quietly.
Like both of them finally realizing they’d been standing on the edge of something for a while now.
Neither acknowledging it fully.
Neither stepping away either.
Their food arrived a few minutes later.
Fernando reached automatically to move the hot plate farther from her before she touched it.
She noticed.
Again.
Always.
“You do stuff like that constantly,” she said quietly.
Fernando looked up. “Like what?”
“Taking care of me without thinking about it.”
Fernando opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
Because the terrifying part was:
he didn’t even realize he was doing it anymore.
It just happened naturally.
Like his brain had decided somewhere along the way that she mattered.
The first late-night drive happened accidentally.
At least that was what Fernando told himself afterward.
In reality, it started because she texted him at 11:07 PM:
are you still awake
Fernando answered immediately.
Which was embarrassing.
yeah
Three dots appeared instantly.
i’m bored
dad’s watching film from like 2007 and muttering to himself
save me
Fernando laughed quietly to himself, sitting cross-legged on his couch with his iPad balanced on one knee.
that sounds terrifying honestly
it is
please tell me you’re doing something less depressing than football homework
Fernando looked down at the paused game film on his screen.
…awkward.
Before he could answer, another text appeared:
wait
are you literally watching film right now
Fernando considered lying.
Unfortunately he was a terrible liar.
maybe
Her response came immediately.
fernando it’s almost midnight
quarterbacks are oppressed in this country
She sent back six crying laughing emojis.
Then:
wanna go drive around?
Fernando stared at the text for a full ten seconds.
Drive around.
At midnight.
Alone.
With her.
His brain immediately started producing worst-case scenarios.
What if conversation died?
What if he said something weird?
What if he accidentally drove into a lake somehow?
And beneath all that panic sat another quieter realization:
He wanted to go.
Badly.
yeah okay
Three minutes later he was changing hoodies because apparently he’d lost all control of his life.
—
Vegas looked different at night.
Less sharp around the edges.
Neon glowing against the dark while the city hummed softly around them.
Fernando drove with one hand resting lightly against the wheel, the other tapping absentmindedly to the music playing low through the speakers.
She glanced over at him from the passenger seat.
“You really came out at midnight because I said I was bored.”
Fernando shrugged carefully. “I didn’t have anything else going on.”
“You were absolutely watching film.”
“…maybe.”
She laughed softly.
The thing was, Fernando liked silence.
Not awkward silence.
Comfortable silence.
And somehow, being in the car with her felt easy almost immediately.
No pressure.
No teammates staring.
No constant noise from the facility.
Just the road stretching ahead and her beside him.
“You know what’s weird?” she said eventually.
Fernando glanced over briefly. “What?”
“You’re way quieter one-on-one.”
Fernando frowned slightly. “Am I?”
“At the facility you get all awkward and start rambling.”
“I do not ramble.”
“You explained coverage disguises to me for forty minutes yesterday.”
“In my defense, you asked.”
She grinned. “See? That.”
Fernando smiled despite himself, eyes returning to the road.
After a second she asked quietly:
“Do you actually like football this much or are you just clinically incapable of relaxing?”
Fernando laughed under his breath.
Then thought about it seriously.
“A little of both maybe.”
“That’s kinda sad.”
“Probably.”
“But also weirdly sweet.”
Fernando’s chest tightened unexpectedly.
She looked out the window again as the city lights blurred past.
“My dad used to drive around like this during the season,” she admitted after a while. “Said it helped clear his head.”
Fernando nodded slowly.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “I get that.”
And he did.
Because for the first time in weeks, his brain felt quiet.
No pressure.
No overthinking.
Just this.
Her laughter filling the car every once in a while.
The glow of dashboard lights against her face.
The feeling that he could stay here for hours and never run out of things to say.
Dangerous thought.
Very dangerous thought.
—
The drives became a thing after that.
Not officially.
Nobody ever said:
this is our thing now.
It just… happened.
Some nights they got food.
Some nights they parked somewhere overlooking the Strip and talked until two in the morning.
Some nights Fernando drove aimlessly while she controlled the music and made fun of his playlists.
“Why do you have everything alphabetized?”
“It’s organized.”
“It’s terrifying.”
“It’s efficient.”
“You say efficient the way other people say romantic.”
Fernando glanced over, horrified. “That cannot possibly be true.”
She smiled lazily from the passenger seat. “It kinda is.”
And there it was again.
That feeling.
Like every conversation with her balanced somewhere between friendship and something much scarier.
One night they parked overlooking the city while music played quietly through the speakers.
Fernando leaned back in his seat, exhausted after practice.
She looked over at him.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Just tired.”
“You’ve been tired all week.”
Fernando rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Coach has me fixing my footwork stuff.”
“You’re overstriding.”
He turned toward her immediately.
“How do you know that?”
“You drop your shoulder when you get impatient.”
Fernando stared at her.
Then laughed quietly in disbelief.
“You notice everything.”
She looked at him for a second too long.
“So do you.”
The air shifted.
Tiny.
But enough.
Fernando suddenly became hyperaware of how close they were sitting.
How soft her voice sounded this late at night.
How easy it would be to lean a little closer.
His gaze dropped accidentally to her mouth.
Just for a second.
But she noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Fernando looked away immediately, pulse spiking.
“You know,” she said softly, clearly trying not to smile, “you get really quiet when you’re nervous.”
Fernando groaned quietly.
“You make me nervous constantly.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
Silence.
Fernando’s eyes widened slightly.
Abort mission.
Abort immediately.
But then she smiled.
Not teasing this time.
Just soft.
“Good,” she said quietly.
And Fernando spent the entire drive home gripping the steering wheel like it personally offended him.
By midseason, the Raiders facility had developed a Fernando Problem.
More specifically:
Fernando Mendoza had somehow become incapable of existing normally around Tom Brady’s daughter.
And unfortunately for him, everyone noticed.
“You’re smiling again,” Brock informed him one morning.
Fernando looked up from taping his wrist. “I’m literally not.”
“You literally are.”
“I think his face just does that now,” Jakobi added from across the locker room.
Fernando frowned. “You guys are creating narratives.”
Tre walked by at the perfect moment. “Morning, Mrs. Brady-Mendoza.”
Fernando almost dropped the tape roll.
The locker room exploded instantly.
“Oh my GOD,” Brock yelled. “That one got him.”
Fernando pointed aggressively. “None of you are serious people.”
Tre looked delighted with himself. “You got plans with your girlfriend tonight?”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
That answer came way too fast.
Which somehow made things worse.
“Interesting,” Jakobi hummed.
Fernando rubbed both hands over his face.
The problem was:
they weren’t technically wrong.
He and her spent almost every day together now.
Late-night drives.
Taco runs.
Film sessions.
Random errands that somehow turned into three-hour conversations.
Last week Fernando had gone with her to Target at eleven at night because she “needed candles.”
She did not need candles.
She bought three things and spent the rest of the time making fun of Fernando for reading ingredient labels like legal documents.
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I am beyond happy. I have absolutely mugged Juventus and Barcelona all in one transfer window. Both are great deals.
Now, you may be looking at Coutinho and thinking, “Was it worth it?”
Coutinho had lost his place in my squad. I bought Odegaard for 40m at the beginning of the game. Odegaard slots in anywhere better than Coutinho. The only place Coutinho could go would be to the wings (Sterling + Markovic are better) or centrally (Pogba and Youri Tielsmans).
I was nervous about putting him out for sale because I didn’t think I’d get too much. A game day before I put him up for sale, Juventus came knocking with a 90M evaluation of Coutinho. Cash money up front.
So, I was able to get 90M for a backup player. Not too shabby.
And now the WB (Franca) to Barcelona.
What an absolute mugging. It says $77M, but that doesn’t include the add-ons and a hefty sell-on (30%) clause. At the end of the deal, I think I could get away with $130M.
He was also a luxury player. He was the same age as my starting WB/R. I also have another player of similar caliber that can play both sides of the pitch AND more positions (even centrally in the midfield!) than this guy.
Through the moon with this transfer window. Was able to get rid of Benteke for $5M when I signed him on a free from Valencia. I didn’t want to see Sturridge go, but he was off for $17M to Manchester City. And despite my best efforts, I had to move Henderson on for $25M to Lazio.
I’ve nearly made $300M in player transfers in one window. I’ve only spent $8M of that on a back-up player who can slot in anywhere except for the back four.
So ecstatic about the business I’ve just done. All the time I play FM I think, “Will these players be worth it in the future?” And now I see the fruits of my labor start to appear.
