Jul 19
2026 world cup final
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2026 world cup final
⋆˚꩜｡ TATTED UP ╱ ferran torres 𝑥 𝒻!reader 𝄞 SYNOPSIS: you find out your boyfriend has tattoos all over his back. it turns you on beyond words. ⁕ WARNINGS: 18+ (mdni), oral (f!receiving), munch!ferran, petnames, he’s sooooo kind and sweet and lovey dovey
“you look beautiful in this dress, angel.” ferran says with a slight grin when he kicks open the door to his bedroom. his brown hair is tousled from your date night, and you’re all giggly from a glass of wine too many. “oh really?” you retort with the apples of your cheeks burning from smiling so hard.
OH FERRAN !!
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𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ferran couldn't wait to get his hands on you after all of the world cup celebrations but he forgets that hotel walls tend to be very, very thin.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 nsfw content below cut. smut with very, very little plot, rough sex, drunk sex (consensual obv), oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex + creampie, praise, exhibitionism (if you squint), overstimulation
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 2.7k
ᝰ 𝒆𝒗'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔 | we're taking a break from our normal programming for a ferran fic because i couldn't get him out of my head since that goal on sunday. finally, argentina has lost, peace in the soccer world is restored. this is my first smut i've written in probably over a year so please be kind... LOL.
in other news, colston fic will def NOT be posted this week and i'm so sorry for lying to you... but i hope this makes it up????
The hallway is too bright.
That's the first thing you notice when the elevator doors slide open - the horrible, fluorescent quiet of a hotel at 4am, every light still on like it doesn't know the world just ended and began again. Ferran notices too, squinting against it, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to stop from laughing at the face he makes.
"Shh," you whisper, which sets him off, shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping it in.
He's drunk. You're drunk. The whole night had been like that - champagne that tasted like winning, music that rattled through your chest, Ferran's arm around your waist every time you tried to wander more than two feet away from him. Possessive in that certain way he gets, his thumb drawing slow circles against your hip through the fabric of your dress while he talked to his teammates, like he wasn't even thinking about it. Like you were just his, and that was that.
You'd pretended not to notice. He'd pretended he wasn't doing it.
HAHAHAHAHAAH
winner
all the different moments of celebrating the world cup with ferran!!
you sat in the stands with his family, your hands wrapped tightly around your lucky necklace your boyfriend, ferran, had given you.
Secret language - Ferran Torres
summary: One slow circle against your palm has always meant one thing between you and Ferran. The only problem? He decides to use it in the middle of dinner with his teammates. warnings: 18+, smut, established relationship, public teasing, sexual tension, car sex. wc: 2.5k a/n: omg i caved guys, I just had to write smth for this sexy man.
main masterlist | football masterlist
Some couples wore matching jewellery.
Some had anniversaries carved into lock screens or initials engraved on the inside of rings.
You and Ferran had something far simpler.
A language that belonged to nobody else.
It had started by accident almost a year into your relationship. One absent-minded evening, sitting side by side on his balcony in Barcelona, your fingers intertwined while the city buzzed quietly beneath you. He’d been tracing lazy patterns against your palm while you talked about absolutely nothing, and somewhere between teasing smiles and lingering eye contact, the meaning of those small circles had changed without either of you ever saying it aloud.
One slow circle.
I want you.
Two circles.
As soon as we’re alone.
It had become your favourite secret.
Nobody noticed because nobody was looking. To everyone else, it was nothing more than two people hopelessly in love, always finding an excuse to hold hands.
Only the two of you knew that sometimes the smallest touch could completely unravel the other.
Which was exactly why Ferran loved using it.
The restaurant was louder than expected.
Not chaotic, just alive.
Glasses clinked together every few seconds, waiters slipped effortlessly between crowded tables balancing trays over their shoulders, and somewhere behind you someone burst into laughter loud enough to make half the room glance over before carrying on with their own conversations.
Your table sat tucked near the back, just far enough away from the busiest part of the room that everyone could hear each other without shouting.
Pedri was halfway through telling some ridiculous story from training.
“…and then Gavi swears it wasn’t his fault.”
“It wasn’t,” Gavi interrupted immediately.
“It absolutely was.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It literally was.”
Everyone laughed.
Even Ferran.
You watched him shake his head, smiling into his drink as the argument continued around the table. There was something unfairly attractive about seeing him like this relaxed, happy, completely himself.
Away from cameras.
Away from interviews.
Just Ferran.
His knee rested against yours beneath the table, warm and familiar.
Without thinking, your hand found his.
It wasn’t unusual.
In fact, it would’ve been more unusual if you weren’t touching each other somehow.
Whether it was your hand resting on his thigh during long drives, his arm around your shoulders while watching films, or simply your fingers intertwined beneath restaurant tables, physical affection had become as natural as breathing.
He laced your fingers together automatically.
No hesitation.
No thought.
Just instinct.
Your thumb brushed lazily over the back of his hand while you listened to whatever story had everyone laughing now.
“…and then the coach just stared at him,” Pedri continued between laughs.
“I still think it was funny,” Gavi defended himself.
“You nearly got yourself kicked out of training.”
“Worth it.”
Another round of laughter.
You smiled, resting your chin lightly against your free hand.
Warm lights reflected against polished glasses.
The smell of fresh pasta drifted from somewhere nearby.
Outside, the Barcelona streets glowed beneath the evening sky, people wandering past the restaurant windows without a second glance inside.
It felt peaceful.
Comfortable.
Home.
Then…
His middle finger slipped away from yours.
Just enough for one fingertip to reach the centre of your palm.
One slow circle.
Your entire body forgot how to function.
It was barely there.
A featherlight touch.
So subtle that if anyone had been watching, they would’ve assumed he was simply adjusting his grip.
But you knew.
Oh, you knew.
Your eyes snapped towards him.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He hadn’t even looked at you.
He was nodding along to whatever Jules had started talking about now, taking another sip from his drink with the calmest expression imaginable.
You narrowed your eyes.
Seriously?
Slowly, you squeezed his hand.
A warning.
His lips twitched.
Barely.
If you hadn’t spent years memorising every tiny expression he made, you would’ve missed it completely.
Liar.
You turned your attention back to the conversation, determined not to let him get to you.
It was one circle.
That was all.
You could survive one circle.
“…what do you think?” Pedri asked suddenly.
Your head lifted.
“Hm?”
“The holiday.”
“Oh.”
You blinked.
“The… holiday?”
Everyone laughed.
“You weren’t listening,” Gavi accused.
“I was!”
“What did I just say then?”
“…something incredibly intelligent?”
“Not even close.”
Heat climbed your cheeks.
From beside you came the softest, most innocent voice.
“She’s tired.”
You looked at Ferran.
He looked back with complete sincerity.
The picture of innocence.
You wanted to kick him under the table.
Instead, you smiled sweetly.
“I slept perfectly.”
“Did you?”
“Mhm.”
“Huh.”
His attention returned to the conversation.
For nearly five whole minutes, he behaved himself.
You almost relaxed.
Almost.
Then…
Another slow circle.
This one somehow slower than the first.
You inhaled sharply.
It wasn’t fair.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
The gesture wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t impatient.
It was deliberate.
Patient.
Like he was quietly reminding you of a secret that existed between the two of you and nobody else.
Your fingers tightened instinctively around his.
Stop.
He answered by gently brushing his thumb across your knuckles, his expression never changing as he listened to Gavi passionately argue over something entirely insignificant.
You leaned ever so slightly towards him.
“What are you doing?” you whispered.
His eyes stayed on the conversation.
“What?”
“You know what.”
“I don’t.”
“You do.”
He finally looked at you.
Just for a second.
Long enough for that tiny, impossibly smug smile to appear.
“I think you’re imagining things.”
You stared at him.
“You are unbelievable.”
“I’ve been sitting here.”
“You’ve been teasing me.”
“I’ve been listening.”
“You are such a liar.”
By the time dessert menus were placed in the middle of the table, you were certain Ferran was enjoying this far more than any normal person should.
He hadn’t traced another circle.
He didn’t need to.
The memory of the last one lingered in your palm like phantom heat, and every now and then he’d casually brush his thumb over your knuckles, just enough to remind you he hadn’t forgotten.
He caught you looking at him.
“What?” he asked, voice perfectly innocent.
“You know exactly what.”
“I really don’t.”
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.
“You are impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Across the table, Gavi looked between the two of you with narrowed eyes.
“What?”
You blinked.
“What do you mean, ‘what’?”
“You’ve both been smiling at each other for like…” he glanced at Pedri. “Ten minutes.”
Pedri laughed.
“They’re always like this.”
“No, they’re worse tonight.”
“We’re literally just sitting here,” Ferran replied, sounding offended by the accusation.
“You’ve barely contributed to the conversation,” Gavi pointed out.
“I’ve contributed loads.”
“You’ve said about five words.”
“They were important words.”
Everyone laughed, and thankfully the attention drifted elsewhere.
You leaned back in your chair, trying and failing to ignore the warmth of Ferran’s shoulder brushing yours.
You’d lost.
You knew you’d lost.
Not because of the circles.
Not because of the teasing.
But because every time you looked at him, he’d meet your eyes with that impossibly soft smile that always made the rest of the room disappear.
You reached for your water, taking a slow sip before setting the glass back down.
“I think…” you began, “…I’m going to call it a night.”
A chorus of surprised looks met you.
“So early?” Pedri asked.
“You okay?” someone else chimed in.
You nodded quickly.
“Yeah. Just a long day.”
It wasn’t entirely a lie.
It had been a long day.
Just not for the reasons they thought.
Ferran turned towards you, his expression immediately softening.
“Tired?”
“Mhm.”
His hand found the small of your back beneath the table for the briefest moment.
“Then let’s go.”
Simple.
No hesitation.
No dramatic discussion.
Just the two of you making your excuses while everyone else protested that it was still early.
“You two are becoming grandparents,” Gavi teased.
“We’ll leave you young people to it,” Ferran shot back with a grin.
Chairs scraped against the floor as you stood.
You exchanged hugs around the table, promised you’d all meet up again soon, and waved one last goodbye before stepping out of the restaurant.
The evening air wrapped around you instantly.
Barcelona was quieter now than it had been when you’d arrived, the streets glowing beneath rows of warm streetlights. Conversations drifted from nearby cafés, scooters buzzed lazily past, and somewhere in the distance someone was playing music that echoed softly between the buildings.
For a few moments, neither of you spoke.
Your fingers found his again as naturally as they always did.
He intertwined them without looking.
“You lied,” you said eventually.
“I did no such thing.”
“You absolutely did.”
He glanced sideways, amusement dancing in his eyes.
“I simply held your hand.”
“You weaponised holding my hand.”
A laugh escaped him.
“I didn’t know that was possible.”
“Oh, you knew.”
“I might have suspected.”
You bumped your shoulder lightly against his.
“I cannot believe you kept a straight face through all of that.”
“I was very proud of myself.”
“You should’ve been an actor.”
“I’ll stick to football.”
The car came into view at the end of the row, tucked beneath a streetlamp that cast a soft golden glow across the bonnet.
You slowed as you reached it.
“So…” Ferran said, turning to face you.
“So?”
“You were very quiet back there.”
You folded your arms, pretending to think.
“I was.”
“And?”
“And I might still be slightly annoyed with you.”
“Might?”
“Might.”
His smile softened into something gentler now, the teasing giving way to affection.
“I’ll have to find a way to make it up to you.”
“You definitely will.”
He stepped closer until there was barely any space left between you, his forehead brushing yours for the briefest second.
“I had a feeling you’d forgive me eventually.”
You couldn’t help smiling.
“You are unbelievably confident.”
“No.”
His fingers squeezed yours.
“I just know you.”
For a heartbeat, the city seemed to fade into the background.
It was just the two of you, standing beneath the streetlight, sharing a smile that said far more than words ever could.
Then Ferran reached into his pocket for the car keys, unlocked the doors with a quiet beep, and held the passenger door open with an exaggerated little bow.
“After you.”
You rolled your eyes, laughing as you slipped into the seat.
“Such a gentleman.”
“I have my moments.”
He closed the door with a grin before walking around to the driver’s side, leaving the rest of the night waiting quietly beyond the windshield.
The moment the car doors clicked shut, the silence of the empty, dark parking lot became a catalyst. The air inside the vehicle was suddenly stifling, thick with the scent of his cologne and the shared desperation of hours of suppressed tension. Ferran didn't even put the car in gear before he had you pulled across the center console, his mouth crashing onto yours with a hunger that knocked the breath out of you.
It wasn't a gentle kiss it was a claim. His tongue swept through your mouth, tasting the wine and the longing, while his hands scrambled to get you out of your clothes. You scrambled over him, straddling his lap, the leather seat creaking under the weight of your combined heat.
When he finally slid inside you, the feeling was overwhelming. You let out a choked moan, your head falling back against the headrest as you sank onto him.
"Slow..." you whispered, your voice trembling. "I want to feel every inch of you."
Ferran groaned, his hands gripping your hips with a strength that left bruises. He didn't move, letting you set the pace. You began to ride him with an agonizing slowness, grinding your hips in small, circular motions that mirrored the signals he'd given you at dinner.
"Nena... Dios, you're so tight," he gasped, his eyes hooded, watching your face as you worked.
You leaned down, your breasts brushing his chest, whispering filthy things into his ear, telling him exactly how much you'd wanted this, how much you'd wanted to scream for him to take you right there under the table.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a guttural rasp. "Tell me how it feels. Tell me you're mine."
"I'm yours... Ferran, please, I can't... it's too much," you whined, your voice breaking into a high-pitched moan as you picked up the pace, just a fraction. The sound of your skin slapping against his, the wet, rhythmic friction of your bodies connecting, filled the cramped space of the car. The windows were already beginning to fog, sealing the two of you in a private, humid sanctuary.
You were teasing him, riding the edge of climax, refusing to let him finish. You could feel him shaking beneath you, his breath coming in ragged, desperate hitches. He was begging now, his forehead pressed against your collarbone, his voice a broken plea. "Please... mi amor, I can't take it. I'm going to lose it. Give it to me."
You let out a soft, triumphant laugh, your hips swirling one last time, driving him to the absolute brink. And then, you gave him the signal.
"Go," you whispered. "Now."
Ferran let out a sound that was half-growl, half-sob. He reached up, his powerful arms locking around your waist and hoisting you upward, lifting you off him for a split second before slamming you back down with a violent, upward force.
He stopped being slow. He became a storm. He began to thrust upward with a raw, primal intensity, each strike hitting deep, filling you completely. You screamed his name, the sound echoing in the silent parking lot, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he hammered into you.
"Ferran! Ferran!"
He was relentless, his hips snapping upward in a frantic rhythm, his voice calling you nena over and over, his words blurring into a mix of Spanish and pure, unadulterated lust. The heat in the car was unbearable, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat.
As he hit his peak, he let out a guttural roar, his body locking up as he flooded you, his grip on your hips so tight it felt like he was trying to merge your bodies into one. You collapsed against him, your chests heaving in unison, the only sound left being the ticking of the cooling engine and the frantic, echoing beats of two hearts trying to find their rhythm again.
basically just ferran being shy when they mention “oh ferran oh ferran” yeah that’s it but make it beachy.
you’re enjoying the sun and the crashing of waves on deck of the yatch your boyfriend, scored winning goal and a world cup champion, ferran had rented for the couple weeks of vacation he had, you two deciding on ibiza for some time of rest and relaxation before he had to return to a life full of training, diet and way too much time away from you, for your liking.
superestrella by aitana blasting in the background, the way it had been for the past, what was it? three days now?
when you feel a hand on your ass interrupting the meditation you had going. closing your book and lowering the sunglasses on the bridge of your nose to look at him, with a raised eyebrow when you notice his expression. “what’s going on?”
“they are never going to let it go” he groans burying his face in the back of your neck, you snort rolling to lay on your back so you could see him better and he decides to take it as an opportunity to rest on top of you full weight.
“oooh ferran?” you ask, with a smirk you can’t quite contain, which, receives a scowl from him when he notices. you’ve been having so much fun ever since the sound went viral and the endless teasing on his teammates part started.
“i see.” playing with the strands of his hair, you think of how girls started thirsting over your boyfriend: with edits on tiktok (which, by the way, you never fail to share with him) and the increase of followers on instagram. you were happy people were finally noticing what you’ve always known: the amazing person and talent that this man had.
how humble. and kind. and caring. and oh so devoted he was: to family, to his team, friends. and especially to you. being able to experience all of him first hand, it still blows your mind the extraordinary human being ferran torres is.
“what are you thinking?” you’re pulled out of your daydreaming by his voice against your ribcage.
“how lucky i am, to be with someone like you. and how much i love you.”
“oh god” he sounds almost pained, you’re about to speak again when his mouth is capturing yours in a slow intimate kiss that makes your brain short circuit.
you quickly melt into the kiss, pulling him closer as his hand travels down your body kneading the flash on the back of your thigh, making you tighten your legs around his waist succumbing to his kisses. mouth going slack when you feel his tongue licking into your mouth, your hand dangerously close to pulling down the front of his shorts.
“oh ferran oh ferran” you hear behind you in a over excessively sexual and high pitched tone to belong to marcos llorente, making you separate.
pulling down your glasses to at least cover your eyes and hold to the last bit of dignity you’ve got left while ferran’s head drops to chest exasperated “i’m never hearing the end of this” he complains in a whiny voice.
“that’s on you for being too hot.” you pat his shoulder sympathetically, pressing one last kiss to the top of his head.
safe to say that he spent hours on that deck trying to avoid any of his friends and get bullied.
why did he do it like that
