have some outfit refs for the fanfic, this is what the losers will be wearing for like the rest of the story lol
anyway this is for chapter 2, which has been posted
SPOILER-Y STUFF UNDER THE CUT \/
i swear to fuck i dont mean for the important conversations to happen with their shirts off, i just keep having the vulnerable moments be when they take off their clothes- now hang on a minute. i fear ive built in a metaphor unintentionally
saturday night or the rest of your lifeㅤ( f reader )ㅤ2843w── warningsㅤslice of life ⋆ domesticity descriptions of making out spanish terms of endearement used are 'guapa' = pretty girl ⋆ 'mi vida' = my lifeㅤno use of ynㅤ⟡ ㅤfluff , proofread ! .ㅤ⸝⸝ㅤclick to masterlist .
A sudden breeze of sweet, Catalonian air slid into your apartment and passed the long curtains you had bought not that long ago for the room you had started to share with your boyfriend. They were beige and soft and barely a whisper of privacy between one of the busiest streets of Barcelona and the giggles you let fall in the space between your mouth and Ferrán’s bare back.
He looked quite silly like that, you had to admit, and he knew it too一you could tell in the giddy gleam in his eyes when he stared at you through the reflection of the big mirror that rested on the wall一, with small chocolate strands of hair clinging to his broad shoulders and random locks pulled back by pins you usually used in yourself. And every time he shifted and the plastic bags stuck to the wooden floor with duct tape rustled, you couldn't help the incredulous chuckle that escaped your lips.
Some of those times, Ferrán could feel it against the back of his neck rather than hear it, barely a puff of breath against his skin, but he tried to stay still to avoid messing up the work you were so tirelessly doing on his head. It was your laugh and the machine sliding against the hair at his nape, while you shaped up his hair.
And when the faint buzz stopped, and you left the clipper cautiously on the floor, he couldn’t help but face you. He had been sitting backwards in one chair you had brought from the kitchen for far too long, his arms resting in the back of it, spine straightened, and now that you had finished he shaked his shoulders, some of the stray strands of hair falling to the plastic on the floor.
“All done?” he asked, an amused smile curving his lips while turning in the leather of the chair. You didn’t say anything to his shuffling, so he changed the way he was sitting, back finally resting for a while, while you held up a finger in front of him.
“Just wait a second,” you instructed, crouching, and selecting one of the scissors you had left among the other utensils, in the part of the carpet that didn’t have cut-outs of plastic bags to keep the cut hair from scattering around.
His eyes closed when you threaded your fingers through his hair, that was still a little bit damp from the water he had poured earlier in the shower, and started to comb and select the parts that you wanted to cut a little bit shorter. That summer he had left it longer than usual, per your request, and that afternoon, when he had mentioned that maybe he should get a trim, you had taken matters into your own hands—quite literally.
Still, now that he had parted slightly his legs to let you stand in between them and work better, it was impossible for him not to hold his hand softly against the back of your thigh, sliding it upwards while you suppressed a knowing grin, tongue poking to your cheek inside your mouth.
“What do you think you’re doing?” you asked, tugging tenderly at his hair as a warning, knowing that he was going to ignore you and slid his hands under the clear T-shirt you had bought in the regional festivities of his village, in March, when visiting his family.
“What do you mean?” he retorted, eyes not leaving your face, and waiting for you to finish using the scissors to pull you by the curve of your ass to fall into his lap. You grabbed his shoulder with your free hand in a squeal, but gave in to the warmth of his embrace.
“You know you’re making it really hard to work like this,” you said, scrunching your nose with a chuckle.
“I think you’re managing just fine,” he shadowed your cheeky gesture in a heartbeat, his thumbs drawing circles in the skin below your ribcage like a mantra when they settled on your hips.
It was almost done—his new haircut and the music album you had started playing in your speaker before sitting him down in the chair—and you knew it hadn’t fallen into his plans to spend nearly an hour without you tucked tightly next to him in the couch, especially when you had already organised a hangout with his friends and time was running against his love for cuddles. But as you kept trimming and pulling out pins and doting over your boyfriend’s hair, you felt him sigh, leaning slightly towards you.
Your hand faltered, not risking it to cut now that he had lowered his head.
“We should start getting ready in a while,” his voice was low in the sensitive crook of your neck, and you combed through his hair a couple more times before resting your hand over the slight stubble of his jaw, softly making him meet your gaze.
“You don’t sound like you want to go.”
He leaned into the palm of your hand, breathing out half a laugh, half another sigh.
“I might not be that eager to go anymore, to be honest,” he confessed, and you felt him flush in embarrassment under your skin, darkish eyes avoiding yours. “I’m not tired, but…”
“We can just stay here,” you proposed, tilting your head to one side.
His chest puffed against yours when he exhaled yet a third sigh, but he pecked your lips before you could say another thing. He really looked like he wanted to just stay at your apartment, have a nice evening cooking together, and then maybe watch a movie—the usual tradition in slow weekends—but he was also very adamant with respecting his friends’ calendars, and he was not about to cancel on them when it had been somewhat difficult to agree on a date where everyone was free.
You knew it, so you didn’t push, and instead kissed him back with a kind smile on your lips.
Then he slid one of his hands higher under your T-shirt, lifting it slightly, and then both of them down, down, just under your ass, like he couldn’t decide how to hold you when you turned so pliable under his touch. You shuddered over his lap when he pulled you closer to him, and he opened his mouth for you in a silent exhalation when you teased him with your tongue.
Temperatures had been rising all day, but now that the June heated daylight dimmed into a chilly evening, it was the way he tightly dug his fingers into your bare thighs, fingers twitching from time to time, that gave away how hard he was trying to hold back. You were on a schedule, you whispered distractedly into your mind, too lost into Ferrán’s sweet, deep kisses, like you already knew you were going to ignore yourself.
But then you cracked one eye open to take a look at him, your free hand halfway into pulling his freshly cut hair, the other tightly gripping the scissors and the comb you forgot you were holding, and you managed to exhale a breathless laugh when you untangled your mouth from his. You hadn’t even realised the music from your speaker had come to an end.
“All done?” you murmured against his lips, and his eyes gleamed at you repeating his words when he finally opened them.
“Unfortunately,” he said back, clearing his throat.
“I think we officially should get ready to go out,” but instead of standing up, you left a chaste peck on his mouth.
“We should,” he parroted, already turning the blissed out expression on his face into a teasing gesture.
“We don’t even know what time it is,” you added, giving him another kiss, and then breathing in like you were preparing to list more reasons to stay home.
After that kiss, your judgement was a little clouded. Ferrán could see it in your eyes.
“We don’t,” he repeated again, but you both knew you only had to turn to your left to check the small clock on the wooden nightstand.
“Maybe we could—”
A shriek pierced through your room when Ferrán took you in his arms, standing up suddenly, and you dropped the scissors and the comb to hold onto his broad shoulders, heart stammering against your ribcage, laughter loud with joy. You tightened your legs around him, and the plastic bags you had set in the floor, under the chair, shuffled under his bare feet when he turned and whirled with you clinging to him.
“Stop, stop!” you giggled, closing your eyes, while all the colours in your room faded into the background until you could only see him. His face, his wide grin, and the space between his Adam's apple and your mouth.
He chuckled outloud, holding you as tight as you were gripping him, and after another twirl he set you into the bed, slightly out of breath. He tried to rest his weight with his hands around your head but ended up halfway standing, and you settled between his knees, sitting up with your weight resting on your elbows.
“We have twenty minutes to get ready, guapa,” he let you know, his hands still warm over the sliver of skin between the rolled up T-shirt and the waistband of your underwear. “We can stay at home tomorrow.”
“Okay,” you agreed, taking him by the drawstrings of his short sweatpants, and he leaned down to give you a kiss. “You can take a quick shower to get rid of all the hair that fell to your shoulders, and I’ll tidy this up.”
“We can do it when we’re back,” he protested, feigning a pout, “together.”
“You goo…” you sing-songed, pushing him back with your palm in his chest, “I’ll take care of it. You know we’ll be back late and then we won’t want to do anything besides sleep.”
He gave you an incredulous look, followed by a teasing wink, but complied with your words, and entered the bathroom in a couple of quick steps. You shaked your head, still smiling, and left the comfort of your bed to go pick up all the stuff that you had used to cut his hair, putting them in the towel you had left over the chest of drawers next to the balcony door.
You parted a little bit the curtains, peaking outside, and let the remaining golden rays of sunlight wash over you一it was not night yet, not yet either time for the longer days of the year. You closed the glass door after you, and cleaned up the floor, and the hair, and the mess you had made in pretending to be a hairdresser, while Ferrán started the shower and you let his sweet dogs into the room.
It had turned into a natural routine, you realised.
Not that long ago, you had secured a good job that allowed you to rent a small apartment in the center of Barcelona all by yourself, and now everywhere you looked there was a little bit of your boyfriend whenever you looked. He had started to leave little details of his life all over your things in the same way you had done at his house, and lately you had started to divide the days of the week into in which bed you were sleeping at night一sometimes alone, but most of the time, next to each other.
That weekend you had chosen your apartment because it was closer to the restaurant Ferrán and his friends usually went to have dinner with when they gathered outside of the football pitch, and you would end your Monday in his bed, with his dogs guarding your feet. It was way calmer over the months he was on vacation, and you were able to enjoy a visibly relaxed boyfriend by your side, even if you still had to work most of the days he rested.
When you entered the bathroom, halfway done with your make up, Ferrán had left the shower, and he splashed some water droplets over you, making you wince and stick your tongue out at him. You had stubbornly decided to play more music even though you would have to turn the speaker off in a couple of minutes, and Maroon 5 was singing when Ferrán walked into your room, only a towel around his waist, to change into something else.
You sighed as you finished with your lip combo, doing your hair into a quick bun. Your boyfriend didn't take that long to get dressed, and you still felt giddy when you had gone to your wardrobe to pick up a nice dress and some sandals, and found half of it occupied with his clothes. You took your time, hearing the soft ruffle of his dark jeans when he put them on, and how he sneakily changed the song that was playing.
“Ready?” you heard him ask over the new record, while he sprayed some cologne.
You shouted back a “Yes!” which you both knew meant you still had to choose accessories, and he was to take your bag as he waited, making sure that you had enough battery in your phone. And with that non-rehearsed complicity, in less than five minutes he was closing the front door of your apartment with the keys you had given him two months ago, leaving two sleepy dogs on your couch, and intertwining your hand in his.
“Do you think Laura will be there?” you asked, leaning your back slightly into his chest as you rode the elevator, “Last time she wasn't able to come and I'm not sure she actually likes me.”
He chucked as he left a quick peck to the top of your head, hands sliding around your torso “You only saw each other twice. And one was at an event.”
You pouted, turning in his embrace so he could take a closer look at your pitiful gesture, and asked him if Dani Olmo, Laura's boyfriend, had said anything about it.
“No, I haven't asked him if his girl has talked shit about you with him,” he said, sarcasm curving his lips into his signature smirk, “but I'll make sure to ask him next time we're alone.”
“That's not fair,” you protested, taking your purse from his shoulder when you got to the ground floor, and he waited for you to exit first, even though he knew you were going to storm out, pretending to be offended.
“I know you want her to like you, mi vida,” he conceded, falling into pace beside you, his arm around your waist, when you got to the street. “But you just met her. I'm sure before preseason starts you'll be texting, at least. She's pretty reserved.”
You leaned into him, embracing him, happily sighing, and just nodded.
“I’m happy to see the boys, though,” the tightness in your shoulders halfway gone, feeling less pressured into the company you would have at dinner. “It's been a while.”
“Yeah, that's cool,” he answered, guiding you through the few streets between your place and the restaurant. “I get to show you off a little bit. You're always busy.”
“You are the busy one,” you scoffed, grabbing onto the fabric of his light jacket to bring him closer to you. “Barça's precious shark.”
He just cockily smiled at your words, and you punched him softly into his side, making him laugh. He set you up, sometimes, because he knew you always avoided bringing up the public side of his job unless he started the conversation一just in case he didn't want to talk about it. As relaxed as he felt on vacation, he was in the mood to joke around about it, which said a lot.
“Besides, you already see the boys all the time,” you added, gazing at him. You could see the sign of the restaurant getting closer, all bright, golden neons and elegant furniture through the glass of the window. “You work with them.”
You managed to catch a glimpse of Pedri inside, sitting next to Eric一you thought you had seen his car parked a block from there一both of them engaging in a conversation that had a lot of laughter and some hand gestures from the latter. Their presence meant that if they already were inside, then Dani and his girl were probably too, they just weren’t in your sight.
You were not usually late, but if they arrived earlier than you, they liked to tease Ferrán for being the last one. Because the last one was always late, even if according to the clock he was on time. Any excuse was good to mess with each other.
“It doesn’t matter,” Ferrán said, opening the door for you. His smirk had trouble written all over it. “It's been too long since the last time I saw Pedri.”
You almost tripped at that, holding onto his forearm while he laughed. You were used to this, but you answered either way:
“一you saw him two days ago!”
author 's noteㅤ✶ㅤhello againnn! this is the first time in a whole year i actually felt like i was in the right state of mind to flow while writing. call it ferrán's magic if you will haha i hope it doesn't suck too much because it sure feel like it while i edited it, be patient with me while come out of this writer block i was in. hopefully you liked it! 🤍
production of maars ! do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works.
Do you think a monster is capable of fear? I think when he has something he loves, it starts to understand fear.
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Wait!! It's not over!! There is still more! It'll just take longer to post them as I have yet to finish them so please be patient! Thank you for all the love you have shown this au and it's truly my pleasure to be making these stories! There will be joy in the Hail Mary!! Trust!
