#ronald araujo oneshot

[iovebarca]

Omg can you do another araujo fic where the reader is part of the social media team or the med staff and shes a bit intimidated by him. he finds her really cute and always tries to talk to her but she always freezes or avoids him and hes tryna figure out whats wrong

Behind The Lens - Ronald Araujo

Authors note: I loveddd writing this!!!!

WC: 1000+

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!

Being part of FC Barcelona’s social media team meant your days were often a blur of photoshoots, behind-the-scenes videos, and drafting captions under tight deadlines. You loved the work, but it came with its fair share of challenges. Chief among them was one Ronald Araújo.

It wasn’t that Ronald was difficult to work with—far from it. He was professional, charismatic, and always willing to help out when the team needed extra shots or content for campaigns. The problem was… well, he intimidated you. Not because of his towering height or the commanding presence he carried on the pitch, but because of the way he seemed to zero in on you every time he was in the room.

And Ronald? He found it adorable.

It had started a few weeks ago during a content shoot. You were adjusting a camera angle when Ronald walked over, leaning down slightly to peer at the screen.

“Do I look good in this one, hermosa?” he asked, his deep voice laced with playful curiosity.

You froze, caught off guard by the sudden proximity and the unexpected term of endearment. Behind you, Pedri snickered audibly, clearly catching the exchange. “Careful, Ronald,” he teased, his grin wide. “You’re making her blush.”

Your face burned, and you quickly turned back to the camera, fumbling with the buttons as if you were busy. Ronald’s face was inches from yours, his warm, boyish smile making your heart stutter.

“It’s… fine,” you mumbled, barely daring to glance his way.

“Just fine?” His smile widened, teasing.

“I mean… you look great,” you corrected hastily, cheeks aflame. You avoided his gaze, too flustered to notice the flicker of amusement in his eyes.

From that moment on, Ronald seemed to make it his mission to strike up a conversation with you whenever he could. He’d pause mid-practice to call out a friendly “Hi” when he spotted you on the sidelines, “Make sure you get my good side”, and even linger in the hallway after meetings, hoping to catch you for a quick chat. Meanwhile, you were perfectly at ease chatting with other players like Pedri or Iñigo Martínez, laughing easily at their jokes and even teasing them back during shoots. Ronald noticed this stark contrast and couldn’t help but feel a pang of curiosity—and maybe a little envy—at how relaxed you seemed around everyone else.

Pedri, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, had pointed it out one day during practice. “Ronald, maybe you’re just too scary,” he joked as you walked by, camera slung over your shoulder.

Ronald laughed it off, though his gaze followed you thoughtfully. “Or maybe she just doesn’t know me yet,” he murmured. He couldn’t help but feel a growing determination to change that.

“Why do you always run away from me?” he asked one afternoon, his tone half-teasing, half-curious.

You blinked, startled. The two of you were alone in the media room, sorting through equipment after a shoot. The question caught you off guard, and you struggled to come up with a response.

“I don’t… run away,” you said weakly, focusing on coiling a stray cable.

Ronald chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter. “You kind of do. Every time I talk to you, you look like you want to disappear.”

“I don’t mean to,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. You fiddled with the cable in your hands, your mind scrambling for a way to explain yourself.

“Then what is it?” he asked, his tone gentler now. “Did I do something wrong?”

Your eyes shot up to meet his, panic flickering across your face. “No! It’s not that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He tilted his head, studying you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain. How could you tell him that his attention made your heart race, that the way he smiled at you left you tongue-tied? How could you admit that someone as confident and self-assured as him seemed worlds away from someone like you?

“It’s just… you’re…” You gestured vaguely, struggling to find the words.

“I’m what?” he pressed, his expression softening.

“You’re intimidating,” you blurted out, immediately regretting it. “Not in a bad way,” you added quickly. “You’re just… you. And I’m… me.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You sighed, setting the cable down. “You’re this amazing football player. You’re confident, and everyone loves you. I’m just- you make me nervous"

For a moment, he was quiet. Then he took a step closer, his expression earnest.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he said firmly. “You’re talented, hardworking, and way too good at avoiding me.” His lips quirked into a small smile. “I’m just trying to get to know you.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. “I’m not very good at… talking to people.”

“That’s okay,” he said, his voice warm. “I’ll do the talking. As long as you don’t run away.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. His dark eyes held yours, and for the first time, you felt yourself relax under his gaze.

“Okay,” you said softly.

His smile widened. “Good. Now, do you want to grab a coffee after this? I promise I’ll try not to be too intimidating.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension easing from your shoulders. “Sure. Coffee sounds good.”

The walk to the café was a revelation. Ronald chatted easily about his favorite spots in the city, the best restaurants he’d discovered, and even the books he liked to read in his downtime. You found yourself relaxing, drawn in by his warmth and the way he genuinely seemed interested in your thoughts. By the time the coffee arrived, you were smiling as you shared a story about one of your early blunders on the job.

“You’re not as scary as I thought,” you said finally, teasing him as you took a sip of your drink.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he replied, leaning back with a grin. “Does this mean I don’t have to fight Pedri for your attention anymore?”

You rolled your eyes, but your laugh betrayed you. “Maybe. If you keep being this charming.”

Ronald’s expression softened, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Deal.”

As you walked back to the training grounds, the tension between you had disappeared entirely, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t felt before. For the first time, the thought of spending more time with Ronald didn’t intimidate you—it excited you.

[swayziiwriter]

Behind the wheel | Ronald Araújo

summary: Ronald can’t wait till home to have you so riding his thigh behind the wheel of his luxurious car should suffice until you reached your home.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

"Are you going to allow me to treat you like a princess tonight?" You had to stop yourself from grabbing him by the collar and letting your neediness out in front of everyone as his words were barely audible and ghosted the shell of your ear.

However, you realized it merited the pause, the gleam in Ronald's eyes offering everything as he said thanks to his partners and directed you out of the arena, his hand squeezed immovably to the little of your back.

Your face was burning as you let him slide behind the wheel, the seat promptly pushed back as he held his arm out wide as he unlocked the car and grabbed your wrist as he pulled you back from clambering into the passenger seat. His hand dropped lower as he unlocked the vehicle.

You finally gave in and let the door close behind you with your thighs thrown in front of his legs, a cocky, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. And you wouldn't be lying if you said you didn't like how close you were, with your chests pressed against one another and your breath fluttering across his face as you said, "you did really well today, you know that right?."

As he hummed against you, his mouth pecked at the skin on your neck, teeth grazing your sweet spot. He didn't have to answer. Ronald's hands were already roaming your thighs as he harshly pulled at the material of your shorts, so there was no way you'd get home without at least a touch whenever he was in such a mood. it was a quiet request for you to lift up, fingers snaring around the belt as he pooled them at your knees, "show me how much you want me."

You didn't require telling two times as a hand went between your bodies and circled your clothing aside, scarcely getting an opportunity to move a greater amount of the slight cotton as his hand measured your midriff and directed you back to his thigh. As you rocked nervously against him a few times, spreading your excitement across his tense muscle and letting out a small whine of appreciation for your actions, his eyes darkened.

It was filthy and daring, and the parking lot was still partially full of cars belonging to teammates and staff members; But you didn't care because you pulled at the tiny curls with such force that your fingers reached the nape of his neck. "Look at you, so frantic for me. Is that how I treat you bebé?, is that right?"

Your eyes fluttering at his tone of voice and the pressure building in the pit of your stomach added to his words' ricochet to your clit as you felt your actions sped up slightly. As you listened to his heart thud in his chest, his skin was damp from the slickness you were leaving, and the friction sent your mind into a frenzy. He dipped his head, his mouth gliding over your nipples as your shirt was poked. "Come on bebé I know you want to cum for me," he cooed, his tongue flickering over the buds as he hummed at the way your back arched into him despite the laver of material between you two.

[iovebarca]

Abrazos Literarios - Ronald Araujo

Authors note: where are my araujo girlies attttt

WC: 1000+

warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, fluff!

The small, tucked-away bookstore was the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. Its brick facade was weathered but charming, with ivy creeping up one side and a hand-painted sign that read "Abrazos Literarios" hanging slightly askew above the door. The large front window displayed a cozy arrangement of books and a vase of fresh flowers, beckoning passersby to step inside. When you opened the door, a soft chime from the bell overhead welcomed you, and the warmth of the place enveloped you immediately. The faint aroma of old paper mingled with the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee, while the soft strains of classical piano music created an atmosphere of quiet elegance. It felt like stepping into another world, one where time slowed and the stories on the shelves seemed to whisper promises of adventure and escape.

The scent of aged paper and freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the faint notes of a classical piano track playing softly in the background. It was her favorite part of working there—the peaceful atmosphere and the quiet companionship of books. She loved the way the sunlight filtered through the large front window in the afternoons, casting warm, golden patches across the worn wooden floor.

That’s why, when the bell above the door jingled and a broad-shouldered man stepped inside, her first thought was that he might be lost.

Ronald Araújo, star defender for FC Barcelona, looked somewhat out of place in the cozy little store. His tall frame seemed to take up more space than should have been possible, and his sharp, athletic build contrasted with the snug, bookish environment. Dressed in a simple hoodie and jeans, he’d pulled a baseball cap low over his face, as if trying not to attract attention. Yet, there was something warm and approachable about his presence—something that made him seem more at ease than she would have expected.

“Hi,” he greeted her, his voice deep but kind.

“Hi,” she replied, trying not to stare. He was handsome, undeniably so, but what was someone like him doing in a little bookstore? She couldn’t help but feel a touch of curiosity mixed with surprise. “Can I help you find something?”

Ronald hesitated for a moment, then smiled sheepishly. “Actually, yes. I’m looking for something new to read. Maybe a novel? Do you have any recommendations?”

She blinked, caught off guard. She’d assumed he wasn’t the type to read much. Not because he didn’t seem intelligent, but because… well, athletes weren’t exactly known for spending their downtime buried in books. There was a stereotype that came to mind, and he didn’t fit her mental image of a book lover.

“Sure,” she said, recovering quickly. “What kind of stories do you like? Mystery? Romance? Fantasy?”

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “I’m open to anything. I usually like something with a good message or a story that sticks with you, you know? The kind that makes you think.”

She nodded, impressed despite herself. “Okay, let me show you a few.”

As they wandered through the shelves, she pointed out a mix of titles, her enthusiasm bubbling over as she described each one. She felt her voice growing more animated as she spoke, her hands gesturing to emphasize her points. He listened intently, occasionally asking questions or making thoughtful comments. It surprised her how genuine he seemed, not at all like the intimidating figure she’d seen on TV. There was something disarming about his quiet interest in her suggestions, something that made her feel unexpectedly at ease.

“This one,” she said, pulling out a copy of The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, “is about following your dreams and listening to your heart. It’s a quick read, but it’s powerful.”

“I’ve heard of this one,” Ronald said, taking the book from her hands. His fingers brushed hers briefly, sending a tiny jolt up her arm. “You like it?”

“I do,” she admitted. “It’s the kind of book that makes you feel hopeful.”

He flipped through the first few pages, his expression thoughtful, then tucked it under his arm. “I’ll take it. Any others?”

She smiled, sensing he was the kind of person who actually meant it when he said he’d read whatever she recommended. That thought made her heart flutter. “There’s one more I think you’ll like,” she said, leading him to another shelf. “It’s about…”

“Wait,” he interrupted, his voice soft. “I never got your name.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Oh, sorry. It’s [Your Name].”

“[Your Name],” he repeated, as if testing it on his tongue. “That’s a beautiful name.”

She laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks. And you are…?”

“Ronald,” he said, smiling warmly. “But I’m guessing you already know that.”

Caught. She shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. You’re kind of hard to miss.”

His laughter was soft, almost shy. “Fair enough.”

They talked for a little while longer, the conversation flowing naturally as they exchanged thoughts on their favorite books and what drew them to reading.

“There’s something about mystery novels,” she said, leaning against a nearby shelf. “I love how they keep you guessing. The best ones always have clues hidden in plain sight, and when you get to the end, it all clicks.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, his eyes lighting up. “I read one recently where the twist was so unexpected, I had to flip back and reread certain parts. It’s like the author was playing chess and I didn’t even realize I was the opponent.”

She grinned. “Sounds like a good one. What was it?”

“Gone Girl,” he replied. “It’s pretty dark, but the way it messes with your perception of the characters is brilliant.”

“Oh, I’ve read that! Gillian Flynn is a master at writing flawed, fascinating people. The tension in that book is incredible.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “I think I ended up liking it because it’s so different from my life. It’s like stepping into another world.”

“That’s the best part about reading,” she said softly. “It takes you somewhere new, even if you’re sitting in the same spot.”

Her words seemed to linger in the air, and for a moment, their eyes met. Then, with a slight smile, he asked, “So, what’s your all-time favorite book?”

She hesitated, biting her lip as she thought it over. “That’s a tough one, but I think I’d say The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón. It’s got everything—mystery, romance, history… and it’s a love letter to books.”

“I’ve heard of it,” he said thoughtfully. “If you love it that much, I’ll have to add it to my list.”

He told her about the books he’d read growing up, how he used to spend time at the local library in his hometown. She shared stories about customers who’d come in searching for books to change their lives. The connection between them felt effortless, like they were simply two people who had found common ground.

When he finally made his way to the counter to pay, he hesitated, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “Hey, [Your Name]?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you… maybe want to go out for coffee sometime? Or dinner? I’d love to talk more about books with you. And, well, other things too.”

Her heart skipped a beat. Was this really happening?

She smiled, pretending to deliberate for a moment. “I think I’d like that.”

Relief washed over his face, and he grinned. “Great. Here, let me…” He pulled out his phone, quickly exchanging numbers with her. “I’ll text you soon, then.”

As he left the store, the bell jingling behind him, she couldn’t help but smile to herself. Maybe athletes weren’t so different from book lovers after all. And maybe, just maybe, the little bookstore had a touch of magic to it after all.