okay i saw that anon ask about fedric and i raise you one of my fave tropes of polyamory:
A dates B&C, but B&C don't date each other.
so ferran dates both pedri and eric but pedri and eric dont date each other (theyre just hella cool friends who share a boyfriend 😎)
(basically just an excuse to absolutely smother ferran in love lmfaoo)
-🎀 anon
MY man.
masterlist requested by: 🎀 anon! summary: pedri is very unhappy when he discovers eric has been flirting with ferran. word count: 1.1k genre: fluff(ish), kind of angsty but like funny angst itms lol
a/n: so i kinda kept the polyamory thing but kind of not because i feel like pedri would be way to jealous to be in a multi relationship sorry lol idea i chose instead (thank you @facesblurry): eric shooting his shot with ferran (eric doesn’t know pedri n him are alr dating) and pedri just giving him death stares until eric shoots his shot a little too much and bro has to intervene
Eric knew something was off the second Pedri sat down across from him in the cafeteria and didn’t say a word.
Not “what’s up.” Not “how are you?” Not even the usual “can you please pass the salt?”
Just silence. And a very, very intense stare.
Eric tried to be cool about it. He stabbed at his pasta and muttered something about the upcoming game. But Pedri didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Just watched him like he was a mouse trying to sneak across the kitchen floor.
Weird. Whatever. Maybe Pedri was mad about his training performance again.
The real problem, the actual problem, walked in a second later.
Ferran.
Hair perfectly messy, sleeves rolled up, big smile as always. And, okay, Eric would admit it, the guy was hot. He’d always been hot. That was part of the problem.
Eric had done his due diligence. There hadn’t been any rumors. No press photos. No “sources close to the player.” And Ferran flirted back, which had to count for something, right?
So yeah. Eric had decided to shoot his shot. Casually. Respectfully. With charm.
“You should let me take you out sometime,” Eric had said after training the day before, walking side by side on the pitch while Ferran messed with the edge of his sleeve.
Ferran had just laughed, laughed, and tossed his sweaty towel at Eric’s head. “What, like on a date?”
Eric shrugged. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”
And Ferran had smiled at him. One of those dumb, golden-retriever grins that made Eric feel like a teenager again.
So yeah. He thought maybe he had a shot. Had being the key word.
Now he was under genuine sniper surveillance from Pedri, and something in his gut told him this wasn’t just about training.
Ferran, oblivious as ever, plopped down beside Pedri, stealing a chip off his tray and chewing obnoxiously. “You two look like you’re in a staring contest.”
Eric tried to laugh. “Nah. He’s just mad because I actually tackled him in training.”
Pedri’s voice came out low. “I’m fine.”
Eric raised a brow. “You don’t look fine.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Okay, sure.
Ferran grinned between them. “Did someone spike the protein shakes or what?”
Eric looked at him. Then at Pedri. Then back again.
Then he made a very dumb decision.
“You know what,” he said, leaning in slightly, “I was serious, by the way. About dinner.”
Pedri didn’t blink. Ferran blinked a lot.
“Oh?”
“I’ll cook. We could do a movie too, if you want. I’ve got decent taste.”
Ferran was already turning pink, cheeks betraying him. “You want to cook for me?”
“Yeah,” Eric said, confidence swelling, “you ever had Catalan food made by someone who actually knows what they’re doing?”
“I mean, not really,” Ferran replied.
“Exactly,” Eric smirked.
That was the exact moment Pedri’s plastic fork snapped in half.
Eric jumped.
Ferran dropped the chip he was eating.
“Alright,” Pedri said, too softly, too calmly, like someone trying very hard not to commit manslaughter. “Time out.”
Eric froze.
Pedri pushed his chair back with the grace of an elephant. He stood up, walked around the table, and dropped his hand to Ferran’s shoulder in a gesture that was not platonic. Not even close.
Ferran tilted his head. “Pedri…”
“He doesn’t know,” Pedri said, not to Ferran, but to Eric, who was now seriously wondering if there were security guards in this building or if he was about to get a Canarian fist in his face.
“Know what?” Eric asked, instantly suspicious.
Pedri exhaled, hand still firm on Ferran’s shoulder. “That we’re dating.”
Ferran grimaced. “Pepi.”
“What?” Pedri said. “He flirted with you three times. Once in the gym, once on the pitch, and once right now. I think the message has to be a little clearer.”
Eric stared between them. “Wait. You two are dating?”
Ferran gave an apologetic smile. “It’s kinda private. We’ve been keeping it lowkey.”
“Lowkey,” Pedri muttered, “until someone thinks they’re the main character.”
Eric raised both hands. “Okay. My bad. You didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t ask,” Pedri replied, deadpan.
“You glared at me like I broke your toy.”
Pedri nodded. “Because you did.”
Eric sighed. “Alright, alright. I get it. Hands off. No more flirting.”
A beat of silence.
“…unless,” Eric added carefully, “you guys are, like, open.”
Ferran choked on his water.
Pedri’s mouth twitched. “Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying,” Eric said, full panic now, “no judgment. It’s 2025. A throuple isn’t that weird anymore.”
Ferran blinked at him. “Did you just say throuple?”
Eric, completely committed now, said, “I mean, think about it. I’m cute. You’re both cute. And we’re already friends.”
Pedri stared at him, completely deadpan.
“Amor,” he said to Ferran, “he just tried to invite himself into our relationship.”
“I heard,” Ferran said, eyes wide with shock and maybe amusement.
Eric shrugged, trying to save face. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll just go back to being single and tragic.”
“No, no,” Pedri said, finally cracking a laugh. “Let’s keep this up. I want to see how deep this delusion runs.”
“You’d be lucky to have me,” Eric said, all ego again, leaning back with a grin. “At least I know how to cook.”
Pedri raised a brow. “Ferran does the cooking.”
Ferran nodded proudly. “Best microwave soup you’ve ever had.”
Eric crossed his arms. “Okay. But I’ve got jokes. Charm. Money.”
Pedri scowled. “That’s not even that special. I’ve got all that too.”
Ferran was laughing now, full-on wheezing. “Oh my god. I feel like I’m on a dating game show.”
“You are,” Eric said. “And I’m winning.”
“No, you’re not,” Pedri and Ferran said in unison.
Eric sighed. “Damn. Worth a shot.”
Pedri sat back down and picked up his (new) fork, smirking to himself. Ferran reached across and stole another chip from his plate. Eric just stared at both of them and shook his head.
“Unreal. I get heartbroken and third-wheeled in the same five minutes.”
Pedri grinned. “That’s what you get for trying to steal my man.”
“Technically,” Eric said, “I only flirted with one of you. I didn’t know it was a package deal.”
Ferran laughed again, leaning into Pedri’s shoulder.
Pedri leaned back and raised his fork like a trophy.
Eric blinked. “What now?”
“Now,” Pedri said, “you go back to your lonely table and think about what you’ve done.”
“Wow,” Eric muttered. “Are you really putting me in timeout?”
“Yup,” Pedri said cheerfully.
And Ferran just smiled, all smug and soft and annoyingly taken.
Eric stood up, mock offended. “Fine. But if either of you breaks up with the other, I’m first in line.”
Pedri waved him off. “Dream on.”
Eric walked away, sulking dramatically.
As soon as he was gone, Pedri turned to Ferran. “Be honest. Did you flirt back?”
Ferran tried to look innocent. “A little.”
Pedri rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”
“You’re not mad, are you?”
Pedri glanced toward Eric’s retreating figure. “I don’t know. I might need you to prove it.”
Ferran smirked. “Right here?”
“Right now.”
And just like that, the cafeteria became even more off-limits to Eric García.
- sofía ✎ᝰ.
