could you write a ferran torres fic where he and his wag kinda give off posh spice and david beckham in the 2000s?
spotlight ;;
f!model!reader x ferran torres (spain)
where you and him are like victoria and david beckham… just 20 years later.
a/n: loved this request but i didn’t know how to go about writing it so sorry it took a while </3 i tweaked it a little as well hope you don’t mind!
a/n 2: i don’t know spanish & i wasn’t even gonna TRY 💀 so everything is in english & if you know spanish just pretend the convos are in spanish
day 11 of my world cup 2026 series ~
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
you managed to make it to ferran’s game in spite of your busy schedule. hell, you cancelled a shoot for this. he should be grateful.
during one of the slower parts of the game, the cameras panned to you in the crowd: unbothered and looking chic as ever. although when do you not?
you were watching from the closest seats to the pitch along with one of the other wags.
“y/n l/n in attendance,” one of the sky sports commentators muttered as the other let out a soft laugh.
“quite surprising to see her here… she’s pretty lowkey outside of her modelling career, no?”
the camera did a slow zoom in on you texting someone. you were suited up in chunky glasses, a spain-themed tank top, low-rise denim minishorts, and boots. of course you had your accessories as well but they weren’t super visible from where the commentators were.
“have you heard the rumours, actually? she’s been seen with ferran torres back in barcelona a couple of times.”
“really?” the other commentator asked in slight disbelief. after a moment of silence though, it made sense to him.
you finally felt the camera on you which caused you to look at its direction and flash it a small yet elegant smile. one of unbotheredness yet excitement to be here.
“reminds me of posh spice and beckham in 2006. she has that original wag aura.”
the other commentator let out a sound of agreement.
then the match ended 4-0. ferran almost got his goal but it was ruled offside. unfortunate, but you saw it coming. you then quietly made your way to their hotel.
*
back in his room, he lied on his bed while you sat beside him, the both of you knowing you weren’t supposed to be there. his head was in your lap while he texted pedri about something.
you suddenly received a text from one of your closest friends — “look at twitter rn”.
confused, you opened up the app and it was right in your face. the first post on your feed was tagged “ferranandy/n” along with a picture of the two of you after the game.
you let out a soft snicker as you turned your phone towards him. “we look so cute together.”
he laughed. “there were commentators talking about us, you know. apparently we’re like posh spice and david beckham. i’m half the player he is though.”
you gave him a small frown before you put down your phone and put a hand on his cheek.
“don’t say that. you’re good too,” you reassured.
“i know i’m good,” he started, to which you scoffed, “i’m just saying he’s better. at least in his day.”
can’t argue with that.
you hummed as you continued scrolling twitter. “we’re like, viral, you know.”
“i don’t care about the rumours. let it be known that i love you. and that i’m yours and you’re mine.”
you laughed before finally turning your phone off and deciding to lay beside him. “how possessive.”
the room went quiet for a moment before you spoke up again. “they were comparing me to posh spice? i must have a great fashion sense then,” you thought out loud.
ferran laughed. a hearty one, at that. “you’re literally a model.”
“hey, sorry, i’m just trying to accept the compliment.”
he rolled his eyes before slinking his arms around your waist. “are the ones i give you not enough, posh?”
Author's note: I wrote this as a sequel to Back to Us, but you can read it separately.
No lo pienses tanto y bésame
Que se acaben los misterios
Bésame de una vez
Cero miedo, vamo' en serio pa' adelante
It started subtly.
You weren't even aware it was happening at first, until you found yourself staring a little too long at toddlers in the park. Or the way your heart twisted every time Lucia, your four-year-old daughter, wrapped her tiny arms around your neck and whispered, "I love you, Mami."
And Ferran. God, Ferran with Lucia was dangerous. The way he carried her on his shoulders, kissed her forehead, taught her football tricks in the garden like it was his life's purpose. Watching them together made your chest ache in a very specific, very hormonal way.
So maybe you dropped a few comments.
"Look at how cute she is in those pajamas. Imagine a tiny version of her."
Ferran raised an eyebrow. "She is the tiny version."
"No, like… tinier."
He blinked. "You mean a baby?"
"Maybe. Hypothetically."
He gave you a long look, then chuckled. "Oh no. You're catching it."
"Catching what?"
"Baby fever. I knew this would happen."
You tried to play it off with a shrug and a sip of coffee, but the idea had planted itself deep in your heart.
Still, Ferran didn't seem convinced.
Over the next few weeks, you started to be more obvious. Sending him funny baby TikToks. Sighing a little too dramatically when walking by baby clothes in stores. He noticed, of course. Ferran noticed everything.
One evening, as he slid behind you at the kitchen counter, his hands sneaking under your shirt to rest on your stomach, he whispered, "Still thinking about it?"
You leaned back into his chest. "Thinking is a strong word. Dreaming, maybe."
He chuckled against your neck. "You're dangerous when you start dreaming."
You turned around and wrapped your arms around his waist. "One more? Just one."
He leaned in and kissed your forehead. "You say that like it's a puppy."
"You love puppies."
"I also love sleep." You gave him your best pout, and he groaned. "Don't look at me like that. I'm trying to be strong."
You trailed your finger down his chest. "I could wear that outfit again. You know the one."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're playing dirty."
"I learned from the best."
He groaned again and pressed a kiss just under your ear. "We are not having another baby."
You smiled. The game had just begun.
Your flirting turned into teasing. The teasing turned into kisses. The kisses turned into a lot more.
The morning started like any other. Lucia was still asleep in her bed, tangled in her blanket, and Ferran was rushing around trying to find his training top. You leaned against the doorway of your bedroom, biting back a smirk as he huffed and muttered curses.
"You know..." You said sweetly. "I saw your shirt in the laundry room."
He looked up from rifling through drawers, shirtless and already breathless. "You could've told me that five minutes ago."
You shrugged, arms crossed over your chest. "I could've. But then I wouldn't get to see you like this."
His eyes narrowed, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You're evil."
You pushed off the doorframe, walking slowly toward him. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
"I'm already late." He turned to grab his bag, but you slid your hand across his bare back—slow, deliberate. He froze.
"Just a kiss goodbye." You said innocently, stepping in front of him.
He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. You deepened it ever so slightly. Just enough.
When he pulled back, your eyes were wide, and you stepped even closer, letting your fingertips play at the waistband of his training pants. "You sure you don't have five minutes?"
"Stop it!" He growled. "You're trying to kill me."
"I'm trying to help you warm up." You whispered, lips brushing his jaw.
He sighed heavily, forehead resting against yours. "You are going to be the death of me"
"I'll give you CPR." You said playfully, before leaning in again.
Another kiss. This one slower. Hungrier. He let out a frustrated groan, arms wrapping around your waist like he was two seconds from forgetting training entirely.
"I really have to go." He murmured into your mouth.
"Mmhm."
You stepped back with a sly smile, leaving him flushed and dazed.
By the time he finally left, his ears were red, his hair was a mess, and he was ten minutes late.
"You are lethal." He muttered one night after finding you lying across the bed in the outfit. That outfit.
Ferran's resolve broke in record time.
"This isn't fair." He whispered as you pressed against him. "This is manipulation."
"And yet you're not stopping me."
"I hate you."
Ferran was still towel-drying his hair when you walked in wearing his hoodie and holding two positive pregnancy tests in your hand, fake ones, but he didn't know that.
He turned, eyes wide. "Wait-- seriously?"
You burst out laughing. "No. But look how fast you panicked."
He narrowed his eyes. "You're evil."
You sauntered closer. "Admit it, you didn't panic. You were excited."
"I was… startled."
"You were picturing the crib already."
He stared at you for a beat. "I'm not ready."
You kissed his cheek. "That's what you said before Lucia."
You curled up next to him on the couch, draping a blanket over your lap. Your hand casually slid under the fabric and onto his thigh.
He tried to stay still, but your fingers crept higher. "You are not seducing me during Frozen 2."
You leaned into his ear. "Why not? Let it go…"
Ferran covered his face. "Oh my god."
You stood by the bed in one of his old t-shirts and nothing else. The lights were low. Lucia had been asleep for hours.
Ferran looked up from his phone and instantly raised a brow. "You're up to something."
"I'm ovulating." He choked on his own breath. You crawled into the bed and slid onto his lap. "Just thought you should know."
"You're not normal."
"You love me."
"I do!" He groaned. "And I'm not going to survive this week."
And Ferran, despite his best efforts, wasn't exactly saying no anymore.
But whenever you brought it up seriously, he'd deflect.
"You don't miss swollen ankles, do you? And no sleep? And diapers?"
You crossed your arms. "I also don't miss you snoring, but here we are."
He threw a cushion at you.
It didn't help that you had developed a habit of ambushing him all over the house. It was meant to be fun. Flirty. Just a little "practice." And then… Two weeks later, you were staring at a pregnancy test.
Negative.
You sighed. Disappointed, even though he wasn't on board. Even though it was just teasing.
That night, Ferran found you curled up on the bed.
"Hey!" He said softly. "You okay?" You nodded, but he saw through it. He saw the test in the nightstand. He kissed your temple and pulled you into his lap. "Were you hoping it was positive?" You didn't answer. He sighed. "You're really serious about this, huh?"
"I don't know." You whispered. "It's just… I love our family. I want more of it."
He rested his chin on your head. "I love our family too. But I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"I don't know… Of not being enough."
You leaned back to look at him. "You're already enough. Lucia thinks you hung the moon. So do I."
He looked at you, torn. Then he smiled sadly.
"Let's just keep practicing."
Things changed after that night.
Ferran might've claimed he wasn't ready, but suddenly, he was the one watching baby videos when he thought you weren't looking. He was the one holding his friends newborns and not giving them back right away.
And you noticed. Oh, you noticed.
One morning, you walked into the living room in nothing but his oversized hoodie and nothing underneath. You casually bent to pick up Lucia's toys, aware of Ferran watching from the couch.
He blinked, trying hard not to stare. "You need help with that?"
"Nope." You said sweetly. "Just tidying up."
Another time, you cornered him in the kitchen and pressed your hand to his chest. "Remember how you said we could keep practicing?"
He swallowed hard. "You make it very hard to say no."
You whispered in his ear. "That's the point."
You'd slide your hands under his shirt as he washed dishes. Leave subtle lipstick marks on his collar before he left for training. You even changed Lucia's bedtime story to: "Once upon a time, a big sister got a baby sibling…"
Ferran groaned dramatically. "You're turning our child into your co-conspirator."
"Teamwork makes the dream work." You teased.
[Eight Weeks Later]
Ferran stared down at the test in his hand, completely still.
You watched from across the bathroom, your fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt. The silence stretched.
"Are you gonna pass out?" You asked carefully.
He looked up slowly. "It's positive."
"Very."
He dropped the test on the counter, crossed the room in three long steps, and scooped you up without another word.
"Careful!" You squealed, laughing. "I’m carrying precious cargo."
"We're doing this." He said softly, voice a little shaky. "We're really doing this."
You nodded again, your heart full. "Looks like it."
A breathless laugh escaped him, and he leaned in to kiss you hard.
"You're trouble, you know that?" He murmured against your lips.
"Completely."
"But I love you anyway."
You smiled, resting your forehead against his. "And now we're gonna have another little someone to love, too."
His arms came around you, pulling you close, careful like you were already fragile.
Maybe like him going to usa for world cup and just him missing her at camp. Boys making fun of him. Something like that or just anything 😅
A/N: I’m sorry it took me so long. There’s just so many things rn and I hate posting a fic if I’m not hundred percent content with it. So I hope you like it 💕
I love the way Ferran's and Pedri's relationship is represented they're just too cute
Summary: Pedri is way too down bad while being separated from his girlfriend at the WorldCup. And while some of his teammates try to help, others find amusement in his sorrow.
Fluff, slight Angst
Word count: 3105
masterlist
Flynn Rider and his Rapunzel
The WorldCup has never been as horror for Pedri as this year. Not that he was unappreciative of the call up. Of course not. He’d dreamed of playing for his favourite club since he has been put in his first Barca jersey, but playing for his country was another pride he wasn’t able to describe beyond words. He was as grateful as ever to be called up again. Even though everyone knew, not calling him up would have been a loss for Spain’s game. Not only his teammates but the Mexican fans admiring him. He’s heard fans chanting his name all around Spain’s stadiums, but even in Mexico was something he didn’t expect at all. Recieving such recognition in another country, even another continent was simply ineffable.
And still, after all the heart warming chants, the goal, the assist made by his best friend, and the love he’s received by fans that travelled all the way to Mexico for a friendly as well as by the Mexican Spain fans, all he was able to feel was hollow in his chest while laying in bed of the hotel room he shared with Ferran, starring holes into the ceiling.
It wasn’t quite the exhaustion that pulled him down after getting back from the game. It was an intense match surely, but he had worse. He had scored a goal. De la Fuente has praised him for an outstanding performance. Everything was as great as it could be, and still one big part was missing.
It was already six in the morning when they finally arrived at the hotel what meant it’d be around 14 o’clock in Barcelona. He had received her massages right after the game, reading them as soon as he finally plopped down on his seat next to Ferran on the bus after already having survived media duties. Pedri didn’t expect her to actually watch the match and still she’s watched every single minute, sending him ridiculous remarks about situations, her opinion on some decision, and sometimes just her thoughts on how freaking hot he looked, even sending a picture of her wearing his Spain #20 Pedri jersey while sitting on the bed, room only illuminated by the screen after he scored.
He wanted to call so badly. The distance tearing him apart. But he knew her schedule and was more than aware of her university plan today, she would still have lectures until midday. And he himself should probably get a little sleep as well before their recovery session later that day. Still all he could think of was how much he misses her. Pedri is more than aware of the fact she isn’t able to do anything about it but he wished, scratch that, would do anything for her semester to end earlier.
His teammates were all accompanied by their family and wives even kids, but until Fer and his parents would arrive he’d have to do without any of them. The time difference wasn’t any better, while his parents were able to arrange some time for a video call, she wasn’t. The last two month of the semester tearing everything around her apart that wasn’t university. He wanted to personally get in contact with the school ministry to declare the semester for finished so she could travel with him. But that were just ridiculous ideas he had to suppress the actual emotions that overcome him anytime he wanted to contact her but knew she wouldn’t pick up. Still, he left several messages anytime he thought he needed to share some dumb story of Gavi falling in the pool or Ferran snoring on the plane, even though he knew his messages would stay on delivered for many more hours.
"Madre mía, you’re down so bad tío, it’s not even funny anymore," Ferran chipped from the other side of room while doom scrolling on tiktok. Pedri only let a huff escape his lips before dragging the blanket over his face to deny Ferran anymore sight of his miserable state.
"Oh come on, don’t dwell in self-pity now. You’ll be able to talk in what? Six to eight hours. You can survive that no?" Even if the Valancian was trying to be optimistic and encourage Pedri, he was able to extend the small tone of amusement in his voice. "I can basically hear your smug grin through the fabric of the blanket Ferran, no need to act like you're trying to be optimistic, carbón," Pedri huffed again hoping his friend wouldn’t take the words to heart.
"I know you miss your girl Pepi. But there’s no reason to act like a grumpy Gargamel that isn’t able to catch his Smurfs. Don’t you appreciate my assist?" Ferran was actually teasing Pedri by now. And although he knew his friend was only teasing, with the small intention of distracting him of his miserable state, cause apparently Ferran does have a teeny tiny part of softness in his heart, it wasn’t helping. They have never been apart this long, they haven’t seen each other since one and a half week because of her fucking university, Pedri thought, so she wasn’t able to accompany him to Madrid for the Spanish training camp either. The distance was killing him. Still, he tried and failed miserably to suppress the smallest laugh at Fer’s resemblance to the Smurfs.
"You don’t get it Fer. The time Lucho was still our coach you were able to see Sira every freaking day even in Qatar," he stripped the blanket of his face and replaced it with his hands. "Fair point. And still she left with Lucho to France only a few months later," the older countered, not showing any emotion talking about his ex, which Pedri knew, did take him a lot of time and effort.
"Right, sorry," his hands muffling the sound of his voice before dragging them all the way down to fall onto his sides. "No need to apologise Pepi," the older was eager to make clear. "Come on, at least talk to me instead of laying there like a dead starfish," his phone now placed face down next to him, while he himself sat up straighter against the headboard.
Pedri mirrored the older’s action and scooted himself up against the headboard as well, letting his head fall all the way back. "I don’t know tío, I just totally miss her you know? The last time we were separated that long was for that stupid exchange week she did two fucking years ago. Two years Ferran. Two," he could only repeat himself to let it sink in. "And there is still another freaking month to go. I don’t think I can do that man," his hands over his face again. "Gosh I know I sound fucking pathetic but I miss her, so fucking much," he dragged his hands down his face before planting them over his eyes. "If it wasn’t for this stupid time difference. I can’t even call her and the messages stay delivered for hours. Hours Fer," he repeated again. Hands now falling to his side again. "Ay, Dios, soy pena," (My gosh, I’m nothing but sorrow) he wanted to bring his hands up again but knew better.
Ferran, someone who always had a joke handy, ready to tease his down bad best friend, was actually taken back by the sincerity in Pedri’s honest answer. The way he spoke about her made him realise he wasn’t just down bad, that the teasing was actually justified, but that it was really affecting him in ways that may not be the healthiest, both for his psych and performance. The time Sira moved with her family to Paris he didn’t know how to help himself, than fall into a deep hole of sorrow, self pity, spiralling and an endless circle of mental fucked-up-ness. His performance reached an end, the same way the internet wanted it to end. The lack of communication with Sira the cherry on top of the cake. So yes, he knew exactly in what situation Pedri found himself in. Just the difference that the midfielder didn’t seek therapeutic help, as his performance has been the best of his kind lately. So what was he supposed to tell him now? To seek a therapist?
"If it’s reaching a point where it influences your performance, why don’t you talk with de la Fuente so you can skip one or another session to align both your free time?" Pedri mirrored his gaze with hollow. "Yeah, and he’d totally agree with that," even though he didn’t make any effort for his voice to hold trace of any kind of emotion, it was unmistakably filled with scoffing. Ferran knew what he had to tell Pedri if he was spiralling about his performance, but having to hold a pep talk with him about his love life? Yeah no. Maybe he should ask Dani to talk it out with Pedri, at least he is an expert in long distance.
"Im sure he would. If his star player complains about lack of love, and if such problematics lead to debilitated performances of his oh so important star midfielder… He’d buy a whole plane to fly you to Barcelona," the older was actually convinced by the plane buy thing. "Urgh, Ferrr," Pedri dragged the "r" and brought his hands over his face again. He couldn’t bare the thought of having to classify that the reason for his lack of concentration developed from a fucking time difference. How was he even supposed to convince de la Fuente of the situation, the older man would surely think it’s another failed attempt of Gavi trying to be funny. The thought didn’t only make him feel pathetic, but he felt like a burden, someone that relied on pity, someone who needed the attention and was miserable without it. "No, I can’t do that," he finally admitted.
"Why not?" Didn’t he get it? Wasn’t Ferran able to think at least a little bit further? "I simply can’t," Pedri was hoping Ferran’d just let it slide. "Pepi, if you feel, I don’t know, ashamed or intrusive, you’re not. Not for me, neither for mister," Pedri was about to open his mouth to argue but Ferran shushed him. "Look, he said it himself, to function like a team, we need to trust each other, on and off the pitch. So if you think mister would judge you or I don’t know, make fun of you, pity you, he won’t. He’d rather you tell him than dwell in sorrow all month." Pedri still looked at him wide eyed. "You wouldn’t hesitate if it was Lucho or Flick right?" He waited for affirmation from the Canary. He nodded. "See, so if it really is important to you, you’ll find a way of overbearing it. And if you need help in any way, I’m here, okay?" He wasn’t really waiting for an answer, but Pedri’s silent "mhm… thank you Fer. Really," settled something in his chest. "Siempre Pedrito," was the last thing the younger absorbed before drifting off to sleep.
Due to their spontaneous therapy session that night/morning, both forgot to set an alarm, which resulted in Gavi barging into their room by mid-day to drag them out of bed and into their training gear for a small brunch and their recovery session afterwards. To say de la Fuente wasn’t amused about the pair being too late was understandable, it didn’t last long though.
His teammates, especially noisy Lamine, didn’t miss the fact of Pedri bothering something. And everyone, really everyone, has seen Pedri at least once on his phone texting or calling her. So yeah, neither Ferran nor Pedri had to explain why he wasn’t hundred percent focused on his stretching exercises. "Yo Pedri, your Rapunzel is calling," Gavi screamed through the whole gym. "My Rapunzel what?" The Canary was utterly confused, still conceded to make his way towards the Andalusian. "Your dear girlfriend tío. You know, Rapunzel because she’s imprisoned in this tall tower called university, and you're Flynn trying to reach her nevertheless," Gavi tried to evaluate, receiving a handshake from Lamine for the accurate metaphor.
The direct mention of his girlfriend made his eyes widen and his legs basically sprinting towards his duffel bag. At sight of the caller ID his heart basically exploded of longing. He didn’t care about his whereabouts, didn’t care who might eavesdrop, he needed to hear her voice for his heart to slow down before it might combust.
"Cariño?"
"Hola Pepi," the voice on the other end of the line replied. A huge smile he couldn’t contain for the love of god spread across his face. "Amor, te he extrañado muchísimo," he basically whined. He was definitely not lying, he needed to hear her voice, the comfort it brought him, and he’d tell her word for word again, not caring if he was surrounded by his teammates that would use every chance given to bring it up again. He would sound cheesy for her every single time again. He simply was a man in love.
"I’ve missed you even more amor," he wanted to interrupt her as soon as the words left her mouth, he had to disagree, there was no way she missed him more. "Not possible cariño. Not possible." The laughter escaping her brought up way to many emotions for his liking. "Pepi-" she tried to argue, "No no really, there is no sense in arguing. You haven’t seen him sulking. You don’t have to share a room with him starring holes into his phone in sorrow," Ferran interrupted her. "Urgh Fer, leave her alone please," Pedri tried to steal his phone out of the older’s grip again. "Hello to you too Ferran," the low volume of her laughter carrying through the gym, almost making Pedri forget the Valancian still held his phone. "Give the poor boy the love of his life back or you’ll have to deal with his sorrow tonight again Ferran," the only sane one in the gym, aka Rodri, tried to defend the midfielder in any way.
Pedri tried to reach his phone again but Ferran held it high. "Listen to your capitán Ferran," he desperately tried to win back his phone. "Let him have some fun at least. That’s the payback for Pedri whining all day in their room," Lamine obviously defending the banter. Pedri wanted to kick Ferran in the balls so he’d let go of his phone, for fucks sake. How could someone who gave him truthful advice the night before turn so cruel overnight? He actually considered the kicking part as he heard her laughter following a joke from Ferran about something he didn’t pay attention to cause he was focused on how high his foot needed to swing to hit him not too hard but not too light either. Must have been something really funny, probably / surely some exaggerated story about Pedri, cause half of them gym started snickering as well. He’d have to ask her later what it was about, if, and only if he would get his phone back someday.
"Urgh Ferran, please," he pinched the bridge of his nose almost giving up against his best friend, or maybe he should start calling him ex best friend, who knows. "Ohhh did Pedri tell you how he stepped over the cones in training and fell face first into the grass?" Who knew the little devil on Eric’s right shoulder had the upper hand over the sacred angel that normally guides him. "Eric tío really? You too?" Pedri couldn’t believe what was happening, he wanted to laugh at the banter but had the urge to kick all of their asses and lock himself in his room with his phone. How is it possible to love and hate a group of people at the same time?
"Yes yes it was iconic, someone should’ve recorded. That was gold," even Nico went behind his back now. Great. Looks like he’d be stuck with Rodri untill the end of the WorldCup. Speaking of the devil, or in this case, his night in shining armour, strolled over from where he was cycling, shot Ferran one of those "I’m your captain, show respect" looks before taking the phone from the place Pedri wasn’t able to reach and handed it to him with all casualties, like he didn’t just basically save the younger’s life. He shot his captain a look that screamed appreciation. "Now leave the boy alone and do some work," he ordered to his teammates, ruffling Pedri’s hair "And you, make sure our boy isn’t too lovesick anymore por favor. We need him to be hundred percent concentrated to not step over cones again," he spoke into the speaker. Pedri’s checked flushed red before trudging out of the gym and as fast as possible into his shared room.
Ferran came back later not only from their recovery session, but a dinner and a whole FIFA tournament in Gavi’s room. To say neither he nor his teammates were keen on leaving, or letting Ferran leave too early, wasn’t an understatement after their little gym banter, but still their own kind of affection for eachother. By the time the Valencian did come back to their room a bit before midnight, cause de la Fuente was keen on making sure his players get enough sleep, he found Pedri laying on his stomach in bed. Phone tilted upwards by the headboard, his arms around the pillow, head resting on said arms. They were still talking, of course, but on face time now. And it seemed like no end. If Ferran didn’t knew better one could think they just only started their conversation. So much to tell and so little time. The sight was so sweet, heart-warming even, the smile on his faces lead to him snapping a small picture of the sight in front of him while oh so love struck Pedri was way to involved in his life on cloud nine.
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.
