drabbles round one
First round of drabbles from this post. If you still want to request something, go ahead.
title: best laid plans … [Pepe]
for starsburning115
prompt: pranking La Roja.
rating: PG-13
words: 180
note: it’s Pepe on an NT call up. We all know how this goes ...
His phone goes off way before his alarm, way before it should. Villa groans, slapping around on his nightstand, trying to find the damn thing to shut it off.
“Hello?” he croaks, when he finally gets it to his ear.
“David! You gotta get up man, Coach wants us up early!” comes an annoyingly chipper voice from the other end.
“What time is it?” David pulls his phone away from his head so he can squint at the display. “No way, Reina,” he grumbles when he gets the phone back to his mouth. “Like hell am I falling for your stupid tricks.”
And then David Villa hangs up, puts his phone back on his nightstand and goes back to sleep.
Pepe sighs, looks at his phone’s screen, shakes his head and tries again.
“Fernando!”
“Do you know what time it is Pepe? No one will fall for that.”
“Iker!”
“Leave me alone.”
“Sergio!”
“Mnnugh?”
Twenty minutes later, an apologetic Pepe stands alone in front of del Bosque in the empty hotel lobby. “Sorry Coach, I tried to get them up, but no one believed me!”
title: green eyes [Silva/Nando, Silva/Villa]
for starsburning115
prompt: jealousy
rating: PG-13
words: 320
note: office AU; could be a sequel to this
David Silva always thought ‘teeth chattering’ was just an expression. But no, his teeth are actually honest to goodness clattering together. There’s cold, and then there’s this, New York City in winter. Silva turns to look miserably at the blond beside him. “Aren’t you freezing?” he mumbles through his chattering teeth.
Fernando smiles down at the shorter man as he shrugs. “I’m used to it,” he says. And he would be. While Silva’s based out of the company’s home offices in Valencia, Fernando has been based out of their power offices in New York for a couple years now. Silva casts him a pitiful look and Fernando’s freckled cheeks dimple as he tries not to smile harder. “Here,” he says, “let me.” And then he’s pulling off the scarf from around his neck and carefully wrapping it around Silva’s.
“I’m fine!” Silva tries to protest, but Fernando’s got the scarf most of the way wrapped already. And it is nice, Silva has to admit. There’s residual warmth in the scarf from where it was wrapped around Fernando’s neck, and if Silva presses his face into it, so that only his eyes are showing, then his cheeks are protected from the biting winds. “Aren’t you gonna freeze though?” he questions of Fernando.
Fernando, who’s cheeks are quickly turning rosy under the onslaught of the wind, gives Silva a wink. “I’m used to it, remember? I’ll be fine.”
Standing on the other side of Silva, David Villa seethes. “Why isn’t there a cab here already?” he stomps his feet, to ward off the chill and hugs his arms around his chest. Barcelona’s winters aren’t any warmer than Valencia’s, but Villa doesn’t see that stupid fucking flirt Fernando Torres coming to his rescue.
Fernando just smiles at Villa over Silva’s head. “It’s New York, a cab’ll be here any minute.”
“It better be,” Villa mutters as he turns away, so that he doesn’t have to watch Silva nuzzling Fernando’s scarf. Just great. His day keeps getting better and better.
title: just the facts [Sami/Mesut]
for liroa15
prompt: AU, where one of them is a footballer and one of them is a journalist sent to write a story about up-and-coming footballer X
rating: PG-13
words: 220
note: Mesut would be a terrible journalist, tbh (and if I wrote the next scene, they would both be drinking cokes.)
”You’re not very good at this, are you?” Sami says and then he regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. It’s not that the poor kid’s face falls, per se; that would require that the kid have been making much of an expression in the first place. It’s just that he gives Sami a sidelong glance with these big eyes of his, and that’s it, Sami feels like he’s kicked a kitten. Never mind that the kid-his name is Mesut, Sami reminds himself-clearly isn’t any good at being an interviewing journalist. There’s just some things you don't say. His mama would be ashamed of him. “Sorry, sorry!” Sami says with his best genial smile. “I’m just jerking you around, yeah?”
“It’s okay,” Mesut mumbles, looking back down at the iPad in his lap that he’s taking notes on, expression carefully blank, and Sami feels even worse.
“Look,” he suggests, “why don’t we try a change of venue, huh? Maybe switch it up a little?”
The look Mesut gives him is suspicious.
“I know this great little hole in the wall bar near here,” Sami suggests. “How about I buy you a drink?”
Mesut considers this suggestion for a long time before he gives a slow cautious nod.
“Alright!” Sami grins and claps the smaller man on the shoulder. “Let’s go!”
title: best laid plans … [Pepe]
for starsburning115
prompt: pranking La Roja.
rating: PG-13
words: 180
note: it’s Pepe on an NT call up. We all know how this goes ...
His phone goes off way before his alarm, way before it should. Villa groans, slapping around on his nightstand, trying to find the damn thing to shut it off.
“Hello?” he croaks, when he finally gets it to his ear.
“David! You gotta get up man, Coach wants us up early!” comes an annoyingly chipper voice from the other end.
“What time is it?” David pulls his phone away from his head so he can squint at the display. “No way, Reina,” he grumbles when he gets the phone back to his mouth. “Like hell am I falling for your stupid tricks.”
And then David Villa hangs up, puts his phone back on his nightstand and goes back to sleep.
Pepe sighs, looks at his phone’s screen, shakes his head and tries again.
“Fernando!”
“Do you know what time it is Pepe? No one will fall for that.”
“Iker!”
“Leave me alone.”
“Sergio!”
“Mnnugh?”
Twenty minutes later, an apologetic Pepe stands alone in front of del Bosque in the empty hotel lobby. “Sorry Coach, I tried to get them up, but no one believed me!”
title: green eyes [Silva/Nando, Silva/Villa]
for starsburning115
prompt: jealousy
rating: PG-13
words: 320
note: office AU; could be a sequel to this
David Silva always thought ‘teeth chattering’ was just an expression. But no, his teeth are actually honest to goodness clattering together. There’s cold, and then there’s this, New York City in winter. Silva turns to look miserably at the blond beside him. “Aren’t you freezing?” he mumbles through his chattering teeth.
Fernando smiles down at the shorter man as he shrugs. “I’m used to it,” he says. And he would be. While Silva’s based out of the company’s home offices in Valencia, Fernando has been based out of their power offices in New York for a couple years now. Silva casts him a pitiful look and Fernando’s freckled cheeks dimple as he tries not to smile harder. “Here,” he says, “let me.” And then he’s pulling off the scarf from around his neck and carefully wrapping it around Silva’s.
“I’m fine!” Silva tries to protest, but Fernando’s got the scarf most of the way wrapped already. And it is nice, Silva has to admit. There’s residual warmth in the scarf from where it was wrapped around Fernando’s neck, and if Silva presses his face into it, so that only his eyes are showing, then his cheeks are protected from the biting winds. “Aren’t you gonna freeze though?” he questions of Fernando.
Fernando, who’s cheeks are quickly turning rosy under the onslaught of the wind, gives Silva a wink. “I’m used to it, remember? I’ll be fine.”
Standing on the other side of Silva, David Villa seethes. “Why isn’t there a cab here already?” he stomps his feet, to ward off the chill and hugs his arms around his chest. Barcelona’s winters aren’t any warmer than Valencia’s, but Villa doesn’t see that stupid fucking flirt Fernando Torres coming to his rescue.
Fernando just smiles at Villa over Silva’s head. “It’s New York, a cab’ll be here any minute.”
“It better be,” Villa mutters as he turns away, so that he doesn’t have to watch Silva nuzzling Fernando’s scarf. Just great. His day keeps getting better and better.
title: just the facts [Sami/Mesut]
for liroa15
prompt: AU, where one of them is a footballer and one of them is a journalist sent to write a story about up-and-coming footballer X
rating: PG-13
words: 220
note: Mesut would be a terrible journalist, tbh (and if I wrote the next scene, they would both be drinking cokes.)
”You’re not very good at this, are you?” Sami says and then he regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. It’s not that the poor kid’s face falls, per se; that would require that the kid have been making much of an expression in the first place. It’s just that he gives Sami a sidelong glance with these big eyes of his, and that’s it, Sami feels like he’s kicked a kitten. Never mind that the kid-his name is Mesut, Sami reminds himself-clearly isn’t any good at being an interviewing journalist. There’s just some things you don't say. His mama would be ashamed of him. “Sorry, sorry!” Sami says with his best genial smile. “I’m just jerking you around, yeah?”
“It’s okay,” Mesut mumbles, looking back down at the iPad in his lap that he’s taking notes on, expression carefully blank, and Sami feels even worse.
“Look,” he suggests, “why don’t we try a change of venue, huh? Maybe switch it up a little?”
The look Mesut gives him is suspicious.
“I know this great little hole in the wall bar near here,” Sami suggests. “How about I buy you a drink?”
Mesut considers this suggestion for a long time before he gives a slow cautious nod.
“Alright!” Sami grins and claps the smaller man on the shoulder. “Let’s go!”