Heyy, I was wondering if you could write about ferran torres cuz I loved your writing and I'm feeling bored, so please write about him, anything will do.
ᯓ★ ferrán torres - will you want me now?
✩ pairing ferrán torres x reader ✩ summary you and Ferrán have been casually going out for months, everytime you want to get close, he pushes you away. with the world cup starting, will he finally be clear with what he wants? ✩ word count 2, 601 ✩ tags situationship, angst, happy ending ✩ a/n very heavily inspired by season 2 weight loss by harry styles. i hope you enjoy this anon ♡ first time writing ferrán, he actually deserves the world, i want him to do good in this wc ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
masterlist
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“Models of the pitch: 10 most handsome faces in the 2026 World Cup.” A playful smile spreads across your face as you read the Instagram post. This is the… fifth or sixth one to appear in your feed in just the few minutes you’ve spent scrolling on your phone to distract yourself.
Your finger involuntarily swipes through the carousel; you aren't the least bit surprised when a photo of Ferrán appears—this time, in the third spot. Ever since World Cup fever took hold, it’s been impossible to escape those posts—a constant reminder of just how sought-after he had become.
“This one or this one?” Ferrán’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.
You look up to see Ferrán holding two shirts out in front of you.
“The white one”, you say, before turning your attention back to your phone.
“You’re supposed to be helping me pack”, Ferrán points out as he puts the shirt into his suitcase.
“And I am. My opinion on your fashion sense counts as help. Besides, I deserve a little break after helping you with your pants”.
Ferrán’s laughter draws your attention back to him. He moves aside the stacks of athletic shorts neatly piled at the edge of the bed to join you. His arms wrap around your waist as his nose tickles your neck.
“You’re right, we should rest for a while”, he exhales, settling back against the pillow while keeping his grip firm.
With him close by, you notice his expression is easier to read: the tension in his jaw, his lips slightly pursed, and a look where worry spills from the corners of his eyes.
“You’re going to be fine, I’m sure of it”.
Ferrán gave a half-smile. “Although, come to think of it, I think the break should be for lunch. Pizza?” he asked, sitting down and reaching for his phone.
“Yes, thanks”, you replied, masking the disappointment of having been pushed away by him —yet again.
You watch him order the food, following him with your gaze as he leaves the room, excusing himself by saying he needs to enter his new card details into the app.
In the solitude of his room, a sense of frustration washes over you once again. You tried to connect with him on a deeper level, only to run up against an emotional wall.
You had met Ferrán four months earlier when you modeled with him in an Under Armour shoot. After texting casually for a few days, he had asked you out.
That’s how the weeks went by—moving from casual dates to spending the night at his apartment, meeting his friends and family, and eventually watching him play in the final matches of Barcelona’s season.
Yet, just when you thought Ferrán was finally going to let you into his life in a more serious way, he would pull back. Just when you thought he was finally going to let his guard down with you, he would put his walls back up to keep his distance.
And yet, there were those little gestures: a surprise visit to your apartment with your favorite dessert, his hand holding yours while you were out with friends, the way his eyes followed you whenever you stepped away until you returned to his side.
Burying your face in the pillow, you try to make sense of it all. Especially since your feelings for him are clear—you cared for him, and deeply. Yet you don't know how much longer you could put up with this nameless dynamic. Especially when he is about to leave for the World Cup, with an ocean between you and thousands of girls ready to try their luck.
The bed dips beside you; you lift your head to find Ferrán sitting next to you. You slowly sit up and easily read his expression again: he is nervous.
“There’s… there’s something I want to ask you. Well, I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time, but first I had to check your schedule with your agent so it would be a surprise”, he stammered, under your confused gaze. “I’d like you to come with me; it would mean a lot to me”.
Ferrán holds out a plane ticket and a ticket for the match between Spain and Saudi Arabia, which was to be played in Atlanta.
Your eyes widen in surprise. A warm feeling spreads through your entire body as you take them between your fingers. Ferrán wraps his hands around yours, his nervousness giving way to a look of determination.
“What a surprise!” you smiled excitedly, your heart racing.
“I would have liked you to be there from the start, but your agent told me you were working. Still, the important thing is that you’ll be there”.
You throw yourself at him, wrapping him in a hug; his hands quickly catching and pulling your body close. “Of course, I’ll be there. Thank you so much”.
“Your hotel reservation is all set, too, so you don’t have to worry about anything”.
Once again, confusion slowly crept through your system. One moment he was shying away from you, and the next he was asking you to be there for one of the most important moments of his career.
Ferrán kisses you sweetly, momentarily pushing that feeling aside.
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People could be cruel—you knew that for a fact. That was one of the reasons you had decided to keep your situation with Ferrán 100% private. Not a single photo together, not a mention, not a comment that could link the two of you.
After the draw against Cape Verde, social media had turned its vitriol on the players; while some managed to dodge the criticism, Ferrán hadn't been so lucky. The usual—and, honestly, by now tiresome—jokes about his struggle to score were flooding social media.
You knew it had affected him when he went completely silent for two days after the match, returning to your messages without replying to the earlier ones in which you’d asked how he was doing and encouraged him to keep going.
Now you see him come on in the second half, and you stand up to applaud him. Spain had already won the match, but you wouldn't be fully satisfied until Ferrán scored his goal, he deserved it.
It’s the erratic way he hunts for every pass and chases the ball with the conviction of someone who has something to prove.
The chance comes in stoppage time. You rise to celebrate his long-awaited and well-deserved goal, only to notice a hint of hesitation in the celebration. The referee heads to the VAR monitor to check for a possible offside.
You cross your fingers, wishing with all your might for it to be a goal—for him to have that moment. The decision echoes throughout the stadium, and disappointment tightens your chest as the goal is disallowed.
You kept clapping, though, because that didn't change the fact that Ferrán was giving it his all, just as always.
The final whistle blew a few minutes later, and despite the victory, Ferrán’s shoulders were slumped. He shuffled toward the tunnel and disappeared from sight.
Laura signals for you to follow her to greet the players. Ferrán’s family stays in the stands, chatting among themselves.
Dani walks over to say hello to Laura. You smile as you catch Ferrán’s eye, but he abruptly looks away and walks right past you. Your smile freezes on your face, then slowly fades.
Embarrassed, you take a step back and lower your gaze, trying to regain your composure. Maybe he didn’t see you, or didn’t recognize you.
“He… maybe he was too lost in thought to say hello”, Laura asserted. “Right, babe?” she asked Dani.
“Yeah”, he replied awkwardly. Laura gave him a nudge in the ribs. “So, I’ll talk to him and find out what’s going on, but I’m sure it wasn’t intentional”.
You nod, sensing the awkwardness in the air. Laura puts her arm around your shoulders as Dani runs off toward the locker room.
“Let’s wait for them outside, shall we? Some fresh air would do us good”.
Questions pile up in your mind as the minutes tick by. The players begin to emerge to join their loved ones. You spot Dani heading toward you, wearing a look that spells bad news.
“Ferrán isn’t feeling well and is heading straight to the hotel”, he announces as he catches up to you.
“What—? He’s not—he’s not coming?” you ask, confused.
Your stomach sinks the moment Dani shakes his head apologetically.
“What’s wrong with Ferrán? That’s not like him; there has to be an explanation”, Laura interjects, fixing her boyfriend with a piercing stare to get more information.
Dani shrugs, avoiding her gaze. “Don’t shoot the messenger”.
“It’s okay, Dani. Thanks for letting me know”, you say, offering a small, forced smile.
“I’ll accompany you to the hotel—”
“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Enjoy your night”, you say, cutting Laura off.
You say goodbye to the couple, hugging each of them. You run into Ferrán’s family making dinner plans with Pedri’s family, but you decline the invitation, using the excuse of an “unexpected meeting with your agent”.
The trip back to the hotel feels endless; the tears start flowing the moment you step into the room.
With blurred vision, you start looking for the next flight back to Barcelona. Frustrated at not finding an option for the following day, you toss your phone to the other side of the bed.
To others, the situation might seem insignificant—he simply didn't say hello. But the way your blood ran cold at feeling intentionally ignored made you realize you had reached your limit.
You open your suitcase and, without thinking, start packing a few clothes to distract yourself. Yet, your mind refuses to quiet down.
It’s not just ignoring you; it’s having sent Dani to let you know he wasn’t going to speak to you. It’s, once again, building those stupid walls to keep you out. And perhaps it’s your fault for developing feelings for what was likely always meant to be a casual relationship—just a fling.
A knock at the door interrupts the torrent of thoughts in your mind. You wipe away your tears before looking through the peephole. Your blood boils when you see Ferrán standing on the other side. You consider not opening the door—giving him a taste of his own medicine. No, that would be immature and would only put off a conversation that is inevitable.
You slowly open the door, biting your inner cheek, your eyes full of hesitation.
“Hey”, Ferrán murmurs, not meeting your gaze.
You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for something more.
“Can I come in?” He gestures toward your room.
You step aside and let him enter. Whatever was about to happen, you didn’t want to make a scene in the hotel hallway.
You close the door and lean back against it, still waiting for an explanation.
“I think there was a bit of a misunderstanding…” he begins.
He had looked up, though his gaze was fixed just to the side of where you stood. You could sense it—that holding back in his demeanor, as if he didn’t want to open up to you completely.
“I made a mistake by inviting you here”.
His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Of all the things you expected to hear, that was the last one.
You bite down harder on the inside of your cheek, hoping to hold back the tears threatening to spill.
“Is that what you think?” you manage to say. Ferrán nods, lowering his gaze. “Then look at me when you say it”.
A stifled laugh escapes your throat as you see that Ferrán won’t lift his eyes from the floor.
“It would be best if you went back to Spain; I’ve already taken up too much of your time”.
“Bullshit,” you interrupt. “What are you trying to do? Why do you always abruptly pull me away when things get tough?”
“You wouldn’t understand”.
“Right—if you don’t talk to me, I’m not going to understand. I really… I really thought this could turn into something real”, you say, shaking your head. “I’m so stupid”.
“No… God. You’re not stupid, I…” Ferrán hesitated before continuing. “I just don’t want…”
“Don’t want what, Ferrán?”
“I don’t want you to be with a fucking loser like me”.
Ferrán finally looked you in the face; uncertainty and fear danced in his eyes. He had finally let his guard down, and you found yourself looking at a frightened young man.
Everything makes sense in an instant. The distance, his reserved attitude, the way he acted as if he had something to prove.
“You’re not a loser”, you soothe him, approaching cautiously.
“Yes, I am. Everyone always has something to say about my performance at Barcelona—always. In every match, I try to be better. I thought this World Cup would be my chance to prove I’m worth it, that I deserve you. I invited you here to prove that, but what did you see? A damn goal disallowed for offside”, he admitted dejectedly.
Sighing his name, you moved a little closer until you managed to take his hand. This time he didn't pull away. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with yours and pulled you into a needy embrace.
"I want you to succeed because that makes you happy, not because it makes you worth it. You're already worth everything," you comforted him, stroking his hair. “I care because you care, not because it makes me want you more or less”.
“Really?” he murmured. “It’s just that I’ve seen those posts where they call me nothing but a pretty face, rather than a good footballer”.
“I know, but the World Cup is just getting started; you still have plenty of time ahead of you. Besides”, you say, positioning yourself in front of him to see him better, “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. As long as you know how important and vital you are, no one else’s opinion matters”.
The words seem to sink in for Ferrán; his furrowed brow relaxes, and he slowly exhales.
“It’s hard. You’re incredibly beautiful and talented, and you make it look easy”.
A small smile escapes your lips as you feel your cheeks warm up. “I know it’s hard—that’s why you have us for. The people who care for you for being you, regardless of performance. And for what it's worth, you're a very good player, as well as a quite attractive one”.
Ferrán laughs and lightly caresses your cheek.
“I was a jerk; I’m so sorry. I was really embarrassed about today’s game and… and I acted immaturely. I don’t want you to leave”, he sighes, tightening his grip on your waist. “I want you to be with me for the rest of the way. And not just as a friend, but as my girlfriend”.
Your heart leapt several times in your chest; Ferrán had finally spoken the word you had so longed to hear.
“Really?” you stammer, knees trembling.
“Of course. I wanted to ask you once I’d finally proven I was worthy of you, but I don’t want to risk losing you in the meantime”.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Ferrán—just that you want me the way I do”.
“That’ll be easy”.
Ferrán kisses you, and despite having done so hundreds of times over the past few months, this kiss feels different. More intentional, with the lightness of someone finally freed from the chains that had been holding him back.
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