ferran torres getting baby fever when seeing his friends/teammates's babies or kids at his campus
campus visit with a side of baby fever.
masterlist requests word count: 820
a/n: im writing so much dad ferran at the moment im loving it lmao genre: fluff. warnings: none.
summary: you go with ferran to his kids football campus back in his hometown of foios, only for ferran to fall in love with the idea of having his own mini player.
You weren’t expecting to run into this many kids when you came back to Foios. The little football campus by the park had changed since you were last here, and Ferran had insisted on tagging along because he hadn’t been back in months. You’d thought he’d just enjoy a quiet walk with you, maybe grab a coffee, but he seemed to have other ideas.
The moment you walked onto the field, Ferran’s eyes lit up. Little kids in mismatched kits were running around, laughing, chasing the ball with more energy than seemed humanly possible. A small boy tripped over his own feet and landed in a heap, only to pop back up, grin wide, and kick the ball straight toward another kid. Ferran crouched slightly, his hands on his knees, just watching.
“Look at them,” he whispered, almost to himself. “They’re so… alive.”
You laughed softly, looping your arm through his. “It’s just kids playing football. You’ve seen it a hundred times.”
“No, I mean it,” he said, eyes fixed on the field. His voice had a softness to it that made your chest tighten. “It’s… cute. Like really cute. I didn’t realize I’d miss this so much.”
A little girl ran past you, her ponytail bouncing, and Ferran followed her with his gaze, almost mesmerized. She stopped, kicked the ball toward the goal, missed by a mile, and ran off laughing. He chuckled, low and warm, and squeezed your hand.
“You’re acting like you want one of them,” you teased, nudging him gently.
He looked at you, wide-eyed, a grin tugging at his lips. “I don’t know if I want one. I think… I think I really, really want one.”
You stopped walking and stared at him. He was serious, voice a little husky. “Ferran…”
He shrugged, shrugging off the weight of embarrassment. “I just… watching them play, seeing how happy they are, it makes me think about what it would be like with our own. You know, a little kid running around, messing up the house, laughing when they score a goal.”
You laughed, imagining it. Ferran in the backyard, holding a tiny football in his hands, teaching a little one how to dribble. “You’d be such a soft dad,” you said, poking him in the chest.
“Soft?” he repeated, tilting his head. “I’d be the softest. I’d spoil them rotten.”
Your laugh softened when you saw him bend down to help a boy who had tripped over the edge of the turf. His hands gently steadied the child, brushing dirt from his shirt without a hint of impatience. Ferran’s eyes softened even more when the boy looked up and smiled at him shyly.
“That,” you said, pointing at him, “is the exact look of a man who is already imagining bedtime stories and tiny football jerseys.”
He gave you a sheepish smile and shrugged again, but there was no hiding the sparkle in his eyes. “Maybe I am,” he admitted. “I didn’t think about it before, but… yeah. Seeing these kids makes me really want one of our own.”
You squeezed his hand tighter, feeling warmth spread through you. “I think we’d make a great team,” you said. “You could handle the football lessons, and I’d handle the crying and the tantrums.”
Ferran laughed, that deep, happy laugh that always made your heart melt. He leaned close and whispered in your ear, “I’d do both if it meant seeing them smile like this.”
A small girl ran up to him, tugging on his shirt, and he knelt down instinctively. She chattered something you didn’t catch, and he nodded, listening carefully, his expression gentle and attentive. When she ran off again, he stood and looked at you, a soft awe in his gaze.
“I can’t get over it,” he murmured. “They’re just… amazing. I want that. I want little chaos, little happiness, little humans running around calling us mom and dad.”
You laughed again, resting your head on his shoulder. “Well, maybe we should start practicing then,” you teased, thinking of the tiny little humans you could one day call yours.
He chuckled and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “I think we should. I think I’m officially in love with the idea of our future little team.”
And as you stood there together, watching kids dart across the field with uncontainable energy, you realized that baby fever wasn’t just a joke for Ferran. Seeing him light up like this, seeing him soft and full of love, made your heart swell. You could picture it perfectly, laughter echoing through the house, tiny footballs scattered across the living room, bedtime stories and stolen kisses, and Ferran, the softest dad you’d ever seen, loving every second of it.
“Promise me,” you said quietly, “that when the time comes, we’ll do it together.”
He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple and smiled, eyes sparkling. “Always,” he said. “Always.”












