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@vivi47
Masterlist
I'm writing mainly for FC barcelona, especially Pedri and Ferran <3
My stories are mainly written in English but do contain some Spanish at times
If you have requests please ask on my profile
Find my Tumblr here
Ferran x Pedri
Longing desires
Pedri
Eres mio
Mi campeón
No one talks bad about my girl
They're at training camp with the federation and are still not able to separate on their own
Pedri's muscles aching while Ferran is behind him using the exercise to catch glimpses of Pedri's ass
The images of Pedri I have in mind after Ferran's post
We all know what was going on that night at their home
My sweet slutty shayla
SOMEONE HAS TO TAKE HIS PHONE AWAY
I can't stand anymore of his posts without freaking out
He's so fucking hot I can't
Gosh that man is doing things to us and he isn't even aware of the kind of thirst traps he is posting
Congratulations to Pedri for getting laid and spooned by this masterpiece of a god
Parrales of the sexiest, filthiest, hottest, most handsome thirst trap of a man's tattooed back ever
I mean it, the first photo killed me
It shouldn't be allowed to look this hot
Just found this I'm CRYING
Pedri massaging Ferran's thight like he knows what he's doing
Ferran having his shorts rolled up like always
I don't want to know (I do) what he is hiding under them with Pedri touching him like that
I'm sure Ferran payed Pedri back for that massage in their shared room that night
I'll fight anyone who claims our boy isn't bi
The rainbow shark? A star ring?? See through sweater with a top underneath??? The necklaces -> plural? Sunglasses indoors? All white outfit?? Not to forget his heavenly long hair?
Yeah man, he just brought hard launch to another level
Congrats to Pedri for getting this at night 🙏
pic from @hangsterly
My Roman Empire
Fedri hard launch
A/N: I’ve been working on this one so long now, and I’m still not compleatly convinced by ist potentionall. I desperatly wanted to finish it cause Fedri is my Roman Empire. I need that. But I’m not quite dedicated to how it turned out. I defently love their relationship, i hope you do too.
Do you want a part 2? I first wanted to write a series but the way it turned out wants me to kinda leave it like that
Summary: Ferran and Pedri finally cross the border of their so long tormenting feelings. Ending the day the way the’ve always dreamed of
Fluff, Smut
Word count: 6465 (ik guys. I just couldn’t stop)
Longing desires
A night out with the team after a win always meant one thing for Pedri: playing father for the ones that got way too drunk for being high intensity athletes with a strict diet. As the cherry on top, as if playing father wasn't enough, the men were mostly older than him.
But this night was different. Different in the way the light gleamed through the place, adapting to the beat of the rhythmic music, making the room feel even more extensive and euphoric than it probably was.
The music blasted severe in his ears, the drums thundering enough to get his head vibrating. The crowd on the dancefloor indomitable to a point he was afraid to be dragged into it.
It was imposing.
He sat in the VIP boot nipping on his diet coke the same old way he always has. Some of the boys were scattered on the dancefloor with their partners, some were getting drinks while the others, well he didn't even know where they were. How could he lose track of them in a closed environment?
He was sure Rapha and Natalia were dancing, the same for Fermin, Berta, Gavi and Ana, there was no way they could deny their girls a dance even if they'd trip over their own feet. Lewa and Anna already left, Eric, Joan and Dani were- they were-the midfielder knitted his brows together, forcing his brain to replay the last 10 minutes.
His train of thoughts was interrupted by a certain Valencian making his way towards him with two glasses in hand.
"Why the face?" The striker questioned while sliding in the seat beside Pedri nudging his knee with his own.
"Was just wondering where Dani, Eric and Joan went off to," Pedri explained while letting his eyes roam the mass on the dancefloor, unable to make out any faces let alone silhouettes.
"Down at the bar flirting. Or more like trying to," Ferran joked, a small grin forming on his low illuminated face.
Pedri's head whipped around at Ferran's remark."With each other?"
"Claro que si."
"En serio?" Pedri's expression was something described as bitterly confused.
"No, of course not," Ferran laughed at the younger's confused face."It's more like Eric trying to flirt with a girl with Joan and Dani supervising while adding ridiculous remarks."
"Of course." Pedri chuckled lightly but didn't take the effort to break into a real smile.
"Here," Ferran nudged one of the two glasses he brought in Pedri's direction, urging him to take it.
"Qué es eso?" He dared to question the look on Ferran's face.
"Try it. It's good," was all he got out of his friend. The look on Ferran's face screaming treacherously, even while trying to downplay it. Pedri just knew him too well to fall for the act.
"Nah, I'm good, thanks. I still got my coke," he gestured to the barley drunken glass in front of him.
"Don't be boring, you've been nipping on that for an hour. Bet it's already warm."
Pedri stared at the glass like it might give him answers to questions he didn’t even ask. The other was right. The coke was already warm, ice melted a while ago, the straw bent and crooked at many places.
He was sure he’d be able to see deposits swimming around the liquid when twirling it.
„I’ll just get a new one. No big deal,“ he was already getting up, even though he wasn’t that thirsty, when Ferran’s hand on his upper arm stopped him.
„Just drink that one. It’s good, really,“ the older pulled the younger down again. The latter connecting with the red and black padded bench letting himself lean back.
„Fer,“ he groaned, stretching the e while letting his head fall back against the cushion, lights straying his face shortly, illuminating his tanned skin coated in a thin layer of sweat which formed by the intoxicating heat radiating of the total of bodies.
“You know I don’t drink,“ his eyes wandering in search of the older ones.
"Just this time Pepi. There's not much in it. You won't feel a difference," he nudged the glass even further in the stubborns direction.
"You sit here sulking anytime we go out. That's not part of the plan, we want to have fun right. And this," he gestures around the dreary state of his best friend,"does not look like a person enjoying themselves after winning a derby while providing two magically assist. Come on, enjoy yourself. Just once. Please," the pleading look in the striker eyes unsettled something in the younger's chest.
It wasn't quite relief, more like a strand of self esteem fading into the background, outplayed by the thrill of actually experiencing it whole.
He never drank. He hated the idea of losing his mind, not behaving like he actually would. The way I'd make him feel out of his body.
His limbs feeling heavy and his mind slow. Still he was aware of the potential it held.
He always kept an eye on his friends while going out. The way they flowed was unmistakable for him. Not a single thought nor burden on their mind. And he'd be lying if trying to convince anyone, let alone himself, he wouldn't want to try himself. However, the possible notion of loosing his mind in a way everything in him has a chance to slip free daunts him.
But now, here, looking in Ferran's eyes, shining with the plea of trying it, he actually considered it. Potentially it was the sensation of not wanting to disappoint him by denying again. Maybe it was his outstanding performance against Epanyol, providing two assists, being named MVP, securing three points. The fact they were eleven points cleare on Madrid. Basically securing the league title just now.
The combination of it all gave him just enough intoxication to actually reach for the glass. His fingertips gazing the angular pattern, the straw twirling from one side to another as he brought it to his lips.
Ferran was right. It wasn't that strong, not that he knew how strong it could actually be but it was enough to taste it on his tongue.
The bitter liquid making its way down his throat, the contrast of sweet juice and vodka strange, mixing hot in his stomach.
The older watched his brows knit together, his eyes shut before swallowing the next gulp.
And it seemed like no end.
He took one gulp after another, expression furrowing a bit before taking another sip.
Slowly the glass seemed to empty even further. The brunette did not slow down a bit.
The other one knew it was odd.
Pedri, always the sane one, never the drinker, never stepping out of line, someone who didn't want to be the center of attention, didn't want to stand in center if it wasn't on the pitch, was now gulping down one of his probably first ever drinks in record time.
Ferran knew for a fact that drinking tast never ended well, especially when you're a lightweight.
"Okay hermano, slow down will you?"
No reaction, he kept gulping until he was almost done. One could think he had a bet running on drinking as fast as he could.
"Hermano," Ferran was now grabbing the younger's shoulder, convincing him to stop or at least slow down. But the latter had other plans.
With one last gulp he emptied the glass and crashed it on the table.
"That was... Surprisingly really good," he exclaimed slumping back into his seat, head leaning back. The older's words were stuck in his throat, eyes wide and expression overly confused.
"What- I- Que?"
"It was about time I guess," shrugged the other, playing it off. "What? You urged me to, why the face?" He questioned at Ferran's puzzled expressions.
"Eh... nothing just didn't expect you to actually do it, let alone this fast."
"First time for everything tio. You wanna drink this? Or-," Pedri gestured to Ferran's untouched drink like he'd done it a thousand times before.
He did not.
Ferran too overcome by Pedri's new identity, didn't comprehend fast enough to prevent him from inhaling his drink either. Soon Pedri's already empty glass got company by Ferran's."Madre mía.¿Quien eres y que le pasó a Pedri?" Ferran's wider eyes unable to decide if he liked the new version of his better half or should stop him from drinking.
"Gotta get out of my comfort zone for once," the midfielder replied.
"Yeah, sure. First time for everything," the other countered with an unmistakable tone of perplexity.
"And... you still see clear? No pounding or spinning?"
"Eh- I think so? I mean, the lights do make everything a little blurry so..." his head turned around, taking in the location like he hadn't been there before.
Ferran knew drinking this much as a lightweight won't end well, plus drinking the amount in a span of a few minutes...
Yeah he could tell a thing or two about it.
He knows Pedri in and out. From his best to worst moments. And he knew when he wasn't himself. The way his head was slightly shaking when moving, like he couldn't hold the weight of it. His eyes slightly dejar, unfocussed. He could basically see him spiralling.
It was an unaccustomed sight for Ferran.
His best friend out of his own body, his thoughts beside him. He has seen him down, spiralling, coiling, acting unfazed even though everyone could sense he wasn't.
After loosing the most important games, after diagnosis of a new injury or simply overstimulation by the stress, expectations and intensity coming with their job.
But this, this was an entirely new sight for the Valencian. And he'd be lying if denying it wasn't a glowing sight. While the Canarian was already busy ordering another drink from the menu, he surely had no idea of.
Ferran didn't care on obviating him.
Too busy inspecting the new version of his midfielder, he absentmindedly trailed every inch of him.
His Hair, half sticking slightly to his forehead by a thin layer of sweat that formed due to the intoxicating heat formed by the mass of people.
Ends curling lightly, the same way they did when playing, upper half fluffy, waving with every rustle of wind, while the bottom sticks to his forehead, every strand curling its way to the right. The tip of his nose shining, glistening in the light layer of sweat. His brows, normally thick and somehow always scrunched together in a way, now completely relaxed. His lashes longer than ever, curling perfectly upwards.
Hitting his cheek every time he blinked, which in his state, occurred way more often than normally. His eyes resting shut longer, his lashes staying pressed against his perfectly rosy cheeks. The blush that normally formed every time he was out on the pitch, but Ferran early on got to know by shyness and embarrassment, tinting his cheeks in the perfect tone of crimson Ferran adored. His arms and adam's apple flexingevery time he brought the new glass to his lips. The perfectly full, rosy lips, now shining under lights by the alcohol on it.
Overall, a sight Ferran could not be able to forget.
Ever.
"Hermano, drink with me," Pedri reached out, nudging a glass similar of his own in Ferran's direction. He considered rejecting, wanting to stay sober to have an eye on Pedri in his new discovered element.
But gosh, how could he deny if the younger looked at him with his big glistering eyes, a pout on his lips so cute, Ferran swore himself he'd find anyone who dared to hurt him.
Maybe it was the alcohol talking or maybe just the way his chest clenched at his best friend's image.
However he didn't think much of it and accepted the glass from Pedri's way smaller hand. Their fingers brushing before Ferran brought the glass up to his lips, coating them in a similar shine to
Pedri's.
Both focused on their drinks didn't notice Eric and Joan nor Dani coming up to them gathering their belongings and saying goodbye.
They didn't care if they sounded mean by not reacting.
So soon after both now emptied glasses hit the table in front of them.
Ferran was sure he'd be drunk by now. His eyes not focusing, the. lights too bright and dark at the same time, shining in his face once a while.
He couldn't name the song that was playing for god's sake, he stopped caring a while ago. Only absorbing the beat, that hurt his ears more than he'd want to admit. He wasn't even sure whose jacket was laying on the bench next to him. Gavi's?
Maybe Eric's? No, Eric already went home. Right? Or was it Fermin and Berta? Maybe it's a women's jacket after all? Gosh he had no idea. The room slowly swirling in his mind, like a carousel, but for kids.
If he was already that drunk, how drunk would Pedri be? What a dumb question, he wasn't even able to think straight, how was he supposed to answer himself one?
Gosh that's another question. He needs to stop asking himself.
One look to his right and it was all answered either way. His normally composed, focused, rational captain was all but that. Even if Ferran’s brain wasn’t working perfectly at the moment he was able to fathom that Pedri was even drunker than him. He could already picture the younger waking up with a headache of his worst and probably first hangover.
But who was he to tell? He’d probably have a similar one, he just knows better to deal with it.
Call it experience.
____________________________
They did not only lose track of time, but track of many they drank.
One could think all glasses on the table belong to a group of five if everyone drank about three. Or both were just immersively addicted to alcohol, which either way, wasn't the case.
They booth looked like a literal disaster.
Small shot glasses crowded between the big cocktail ones. Serviettes laying around the table, some fresh, others already soaked by different kinds of liquid.
And the table itself, sticky in a way you could think it was supposed to be a human trap, all the liquid they spiled by trying some extraordinary drink games in every possible position, half
of the glasses already tipped over.
The pair was sure the rest of the team already went home, only them remaining.
The club itself looked emptier as well.
Both sat leaning against each other's side, laughing at some dumb joke that sounded zanier than it was. The alcohol in their veins doing more talking than their saneness, if there was even a single part of it left.
"Bring that nutmeg up o-once more, and I'll let you get benched n-next game," Pedri slurred in uneven words, some spelled clearer than the others.
"You w-wouldn't dare," Ferran pouted, grabbing Pedri's arm, basically thrown at him. He titled his head up, searching for the hazel expanded pupils that feature his own.
"I-I totally would. I'm your capitan," the younger brunette countered with a pathetic attempt to look frightening, despite his physical state.
The older just gave an unbelieving huff from himself, not daring to even try acting like taking him serious, fighting the urge of suppressing a laugh.
"You really question my a-auth-hority?"
Ferran wasn't sure anymore if Pedri's tone was filled with a ridiculous amount of sarcasm, or if he actually thinks Ferran is questioning his position in the club, which honestly, he would never, ever, question.
Everyone knew that Pedri was Barca's golden boy, something that won't ever change, there was no way they would strike against him.
Nevertheless, Ferran was back at throwing himself at Pedri, who for himself, didn't mind. Both leaning against each other, shoulders brushing occasionally,
Ferrans right hand resting on Pedri's tight, tracing soothing circles absentmindedly against the fabric of his jeans.
Pedri's head spiralling from the alcohol, thoughts no- and everywhere at the same time. He felt like his head might fall off any second, too heavy for his neck to hold upright, the only reasonably thought: what better solution than resting it on his taller best friend's shoulder.
For whom on the other hand, didn't even mind, Pedri could swear he felt him ease even more, the older's muscles softening, his frame enjoying the contact of being with his favourites, leaning his Head on top of the younger's one.
The boys, normally overlooked for their real self's, criticized for every of their performances, like it'd define them as a person, always tensed, overcome by stress, expectations so fictitious unable to meet, now sitting together at ease, no thought wasted about underperforming.
They were themselves, some messy somewhat adultsacting like teenagers at the same time.
Spending their lives outside of their football bubble, enjoying themselves like they weren't supposed to.
They didn't feel awkward, they were way past that stage. And after a few minutes of calm, they reminded themselves about their whereabouts.
"Let's go home, mhm?"
Ferran took his head of the younger one’s shoulder searching for his eyes. While meeting them he could swear he saw a thought swirling its way through the younger's head.
He blinked once, twice, a third time, his eyes roaming the room, like he'd remember something if he looked in the right direction.
"We're drunk," Ferran looked at him like he'd just declared the world is flat.
"No shit Sherlock, were drunk."
„No dummy-,“ he pushed Ferran’s confused head back with his index on the older’s forehead.
“I mean we can’t drive, how do we get home?“
He was actually pretty proud of the younger for the flash of thoughts, there was no way he would’ve considered that fact.
Either way, he pulled out his phone and ordered an Uber with the last bit of concentration left.“Got it,“ he gave the other an answer before leaving some money on the table, burying his face in the crook of Pedri’s neck.
“Uber in 12 minutes,“ his voice muffled by the younger’s shoulder.
Ferran could feel him tense slightly by his cold breath on his neck. It generally being a stark contrast to the heady atmosphere that has built up over the night.
Pedri brought his hand up behind Ferran, holding him by his shoulder. Probably- surely not the most comfortable position Ferran could imagine himself in, but the mix of Pedri's already lightly worn off cologne and the scent of sweat he was able to
unmistakably classify as the younger's one made it endurable enough to remain like that.
Pedri's arm around Ferran, his own thrown around Pedri's waist, gripping the shirt on his back, until the ping on his phone signalised the Ubers' arrival.
They didn't even question it, their thoughts running on autopilot. Pedri's address leaving his mouth without a second thought. It was normal for them, they stayed over each other's place all the time. No one questioned it anymore when seeing both arrive in Pedri's Porsche at Ciudat Esportiva.
The drive was silent, not the awkward kind, but the one that settles between two people who knew each other long enough, no need of filling the silence with words. They shared eye contact from time to time, their knees brushing occasionally.
Ferran almost stumbled into Pedri from behind when the younger struggled to unlock the door, too drunk to fit the key into the hole on the first two tries.
Finally reaching the couch after laboriously pulling off their sneakers they stumbled until sulking on the cushions. Ferran stretched out his legs in front of him near the coffee table, while Pedri leaned himself sideways on his friend's shoulder, his legs resting on the other end of the couch.
They stayed like that for a few minutes until Ferran tried to reach for his phone in his back pocket. Pedri, the lightweight he is, not only when drinking but generally nothing compared to his broad teammate, falling forward as Ferran shoves back his shoulder.
Not caring to complain or start an argument the younger let himself glide down, not putting up a fight against his bodyweight and gravity he landed in Ferran's lap.
The older's phone resting forgotten next to him on the couch, now looking down at the boy in his lap. His gaze mirroring the younger's one.
Both too drunk to act like they didn’t enjoy it.
Too drunk to hold back all the thoughts and feelings they locked away.
Too drunk to keep the act of their build up walls, supposed to
shield them from the confrontation of reality.
Pedri relishing the feeling of the back of his head resting against Ferran's, tanned, muscular thighs. The thighs he has admired in training too many times, the ones that glowed and glistened when Ferran pushed his shorts up the way he always did when training, making it abnormally hard for Pedri to not drool.
And maybe, maybe he had to pretend the need of using the toilet one or two times already to sort his brain, or dick, again. The same familiar drool now forming in his mouth when looking up at the unrivaled handsomeness man towering over him.
His lashes so dark, matching with his brows, his lips made to be kissed and savoured. The way his hair casted shadows on his face, he swore he'd rip the trimmer out of Ferran's hands if he ever dared to get a buzz cut again.
He never thought Ferran letting his hair grow out would end this magically, and he was more than grateful for the sight in front of him. His hair so perfect, fluffy, curving at the ends he had to bring his hand into it.
Once he started fiddling with some loose strands of his ends he couldn’t stop for good. All the time he fascinated about running his hands through the older hair, playing and pulling at it, we’re now paying off.
Ferran looked down at the boy in his lap, the curls on his forehead, his perfectly angled nose and the blush on his cheeks he admired, the one he fascinated about turning up during certain events he could only dream about.
His lips glistening he had to fight the urge to touch them. But when
the younger brought his hand up, finding ist way to his hairs, fiddling and twisting it, Ferran wasn’t able to contain the urge to himself anymore.
One swift movement of his hand and he was finally able to feel Pedri’s smooth, rosy lips under his fingers.
The eye contact magical, filled with sparks they couldn’t name but were sure of things unsaid between them.
When Pedri fisted a part of his hair, tugging on it, the blood in Ferran’s veins went cold, totally stopped. He intensified the eye contact even more if possible and was met with dark, glistening, hopeful and urging eyes.
He wasn’t sure what washed over him, adrenaline? Lust? Longing? The fear of waiting too long again?
Whatever it was, it came at the right moment for Ferran to slide his hand from Pedri's lips to the side of his neck, his free hand under his back, setting him upright, both now inches apart. Hebwas able to feel Pedri's breath on his mouth. Their noses millimetres apart.
And he leaned in, he waited, slowly if Pedri changed his mind, if he interpreted wrong. He gave him one last chance to beg out.
He didn't.
He leaned in the same way Ferran did. Tilting his head, and finally, finally both crashed their mouths together. The sensation crashing down on both of them. The longing they had waited so long to disappear now fulfilled.
Ferran tilted his head even more, hands on either side of Pedri's jaw, while one of his was resting on Ferran's chest and the other back at the nape of his hair, fisting and tugging at it like no end.
A groan escaped Ferran's lips when Pedri tugged at his hair again. The younger used the moment to slide his tongue into the older's mouth, saliva mixing on both lips. Their tongues dancing together as if they were made for each other, and each other only.
Pedri couldn't get enough, the taste of Ferran he imagined so many times now finally unlocked. He kissed him with such desperation, he wasn't sure he'd be able to recognised himself.
But Ferran?
He enjoyed it more than his ego would let him avouch.
The sexual tension between them unbearable, the Valencian let one of his hands fall fill the hem of Pedri's shirt, slipping under it in one swift motion and tracing Pedri's tanned body.
His abs, every defined muscle. The Canadian's lower abdomen was screaming. Ferran's hand roaming over him was the last straw he needed for him to unsettle the need of closeness he had buried deep down a while ago.
Ferran took his sweet time. Tracing ever single part of Pedri's abdomen, the abs he'd dreamed of tracing one day.
That day was now.
His hand making its way to his chest, resting in the middle and pushing the younger down, breaking their kiss, Pedri's back colliding with the couch. Ferran towering over him in a way the younger could think he was god himself.
The sight under Ferran got him burning, the taste of Pedri on his lips heavenly. The sound of panting, then catchig their rigged breaths filling the house. The older positioned his hands on each side of Pedri's shoulders, while the younger seemed too eager to wait.
He brought his hands up, one on Ferran‘s jaw the other at the back of his neck pushing him down until their mouths collided again.
The kiss was deeper than the one before, if even possible. Ferran tilted his head, his tounge pressing agains Pedri's lips asking for access he gladly granted. Tongues dancing in rhythms they didn't know existed.
They devoured eachother in ways they only dreamed of.
Ferran was sure he wasn't drunk anymore, at least not the way the sensations kept crashing down on him. It had to had worn down, he wouldn't want to forget this, not when waking up with an hangover.
His hands found their way into Pedri's hair, fisting it the same way the younger does with his own. This time Pedri's hand wandered slowly from Ferran's hair to his chin, tracing the lines of his throat, down to his chest and finally slipping under his shirt.
Ever ab, every muscle, every single millimetre precarious of his hand.
A huge groan escaped Ferran lips, swallowed by Pedri's mouth, he wasn't sure how long he'd be able do this: Containing the desire to
rip ever single centimeter of clothing from Pedri's body. His hand under Ferran's shirt not helping him.
He was dangerously close to lose control.
So his hand slipped under Pedri's shirt again.
This time though not wandering upwards, but downwards.
Playing with the waistband of the younger's boxer that stick out of his jeans. Slipping one, then two fingers under it just for the thrill.
The moan Pedri released into Ferran’s mouth while gripping onto his chest did the missing bit. Ferran fiddling with the button of Pedri’s jeans before throwing them across the room.
As if one piece of clothing missing wasn’t enough for him, he gripped the edges of his shirt.
Pedri understood the silent invitation immediately, without a word being necessary. He raised his arms, the movement fluid yet heavy, as if the air around them had become too viscous.
The cotton shirt slid over his chest, and for a split second the fabric interrupted the intense kiss they had been sharing. Ferran didn’t hesitate for a moment, yanking the piece of fabric aside and letting it slide to the floor, where it remained forgotten.
Ferran exhaled, a hoarse sound rising deep from his chest. For a moment, he was certain he had landed in heaven, or perhaps in hell, the boundary seemed completely dissolved in this place, in this heat.
Wherever he looked, he saw stars, flashing sparks before his eyes, triggered by the racing blood circulation and the overwhelming lust. The heat emanating from their two bodies was unbearable, an oppressive, humid wave that filled the room and made every breath a struggle.
Without a word, Pedri sank to his knees.
Ferran let out a sharp, hitched breath, his hands instinctively finding purchase on Pedri’s shoulders. He looked down, his pupils blown wide, watching as Pedri reached for the waistband of his shorts. The sight of Pedri, usually so soft and receptive, looking up at him with an intense, focused hunger made Ferran’s blood rush south with a violent thrum.
As Pedri freed him, Ferran groaned, his head snapping back against the head of the coach. He was already hard, aching and throbbing, and the moment Pedri’s warm lips closed around him, Ferran felt the world tilt.
Pedri didn’t just suck, he worshipped. He used his tongue to swirl around the head, tasting the precum, before sliding deep, taking as much of Ferran as he could possibly manage. He knew exactly how to move, the rhythmic, sliding pressure, the way he tightened his throat just enough to make Ferran’s hips jerk involuntarily.
Ferran looked down, and the sight nearly broke him. Pedri was looking straight up at him, his dark eyes wide and shimmering with a mixture of devotion and mischief. His cheeks were hollowed, his lips stretched tight around Ferran’s length, and the sight of the younger man so completely consumed by him was more erotic than anything Ferran had ever experienced.
„Dios, Pedri…“ Ferran gasped, his voice a wrecked whisper.
Pedri didn’t stop. He increased the pace, his hand wrapping around the base of Ferran’s shaft to add extra pressure, pumping in sync with his mouth. He used his tongue to tease the sensitive underside, flicking and swirling until Ferran began to see stars.
White flashes danced across Ferran’s vision. The world narrowed down to the sensation of Pedri’s wet, hot mouth and the sight of those wide eyes watching his every reaction. Ferran felt the build up reaching a critical mass, a coil of tension in his gut that was winding tighter and tighter. He wanted to push Pedri’s head down, to take control like he usually did, but he found himself paralyzed by pleasure, completely at the mercy of the younger man.
Pedri sensed it. He picked up the speed, his suction becoming more intense, his gaze never leaving Ferran’s face. He wanted to see the exact moment Ferran lost it.
„I’m… I’m going to—“ Ferran couldn’t even finish the sentence.
With one final, deep slide and a sharp flick of his tongue, Pedri triggered the release. Ferran let out a strangled cry, his fingers digging into Pedri’s hair as he spent himself. He shuddered violently, his entire body racking as he came heavily into Pedri’s mouth.
Pedri didn’t pull away. He stayed there, swallowing every drop, continuing to suck with a slow, rhythmic pulse until Ferran was completely spent, leaning against the couch with his eyes closed, chest heaving, and his mind a complete blur of white noise and bliss.
Pedri finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connecting them for a heartbeat. He looked up at Ferran, flushed, breathless, and utterly conquered, and gave him a small, triumphant smile.
Ferran was starstruck. His only thought bringing Pedri into his arms, mouths colliding again. He stood up, draging pedri with him, untill the younger collided with the matress.
Lying beneath him Pedri, the normally so composed, unshakable captain who gave silent orders and controlled games, now reduced to his very essence.
He was clad only in his boxers, the thin fabric little more than a thought covering his hips. It was a sight Ferran would never forget, an image burned into his memory like a brand. Pedri’s skin glistened with a fine, shimmering film of sweat that lay over his defined muscles and flat, heaving abdomen.
All Ferran could do was follow that path. He lowered his head, his tongue gliding over the hot skin, tasting the saltiness of the sweat, the pure, unadulterated taste of the other man. He rained wild, wet kisses down from Pedri’s jaw, over the pulse throbbing wildly at his throat, down to his collarbone.
Ferran didn’t wait any longer. The anticipation was a torment he no longer had to endure. He pressed his hips down, his weight, heavy and dominant, bearing down on Pedri, forcing him deep into the mattress. His thick, erect cock throbbed against the fabric of Pedri’s boxers, a hard, unmistakable demand for entry. Ferran grabbed the waistband, yanked the boxers down in one swift motion, over Pedri’s knees, his feet, and tossed them aside. Now he lay completely exposed before him, defenseless against this assault. Pedri now just as naked as Ferran.
Pedri gasped, drawing in a sharp breath as Ferran’s bare skin met his own. The friction, the heat, the sheer mass pressing against him was overwhelming. His hands instinctively grabbed the sheets, his fingers digging into the fabric until his knuckles turned white.
The Valencian positioned himself between Pedri’s legs, pushing his thighs apart, taking away any room for escape. He spat into his hand, rubbed the saliva over his member, and then pressed against the resistance, against the tight entrance that took him in.
When Ferran entered, it wasn’t gentle. It was a taking of possession, a firm, decisive assertion of dominance. Pedri felt his stomach cramp at Ferran’s thrusts, a visceral reaction to the sudden fullness that was bursting him. Ferran moved above him, his lips pressing against Pedri’s neck again, sucking the skin in as he pushed deeper, sliding every inch of his cock into the tight, heated depths. Pedri groaned, a deep, vibrating sound forced from his throat as Ferran filled him.
Ferran picked up the pace, his hips moving like a piston, powerful and rhythmic. Each thrust was a jolt that shook Pedri to his core, driving his body forward, only for Ferran to pull him back again to go even deeper. Pedri trembled, the muscles in his thighs tensing, his toes curling. Ferran’s breath brushed hot and wet against his ear, a heated moan that clouded his reason. Pedri’s entire body tensed, arching rigidly beneath Ferran’s weight as the other man increased the pace once more, hard and relentless.
“Joder,” Ferran gasped, his voice hoarse and broken with effort.
Pedri moaned louder, unable to control the volume, as Ferran’s movements became more urgent, almost brutal. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Ferran lost himself inside him, completely immersed.
Pedri felt his body arch beneath Ferran’s touch, adapting, wrapping around him and holding him tight, as if he never wanted to let him go. His head fell back, his neck arched, exposed and vulnerable, while Ferran overwhelmed him with a flood of kisses and hard thrusts.
The world shrank down to that single point, to the spot where they joined, to the friction, to the heat. Ferran was swimming in a sea of sensations, carried by the rhythmic movement of his hips. He saw Pedri’s face, contorted with pleasure, eyes half-closed, mouth open, and it drove him on even further. He reached for Pedri’s cock, which was thudding hard against his stomach, and began to massage it in time with his thrusts, hard and fast.
“I… I can’t…” Pedri stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper, but Ferran heard him. He heard the desire, the surrender.
“Then let go,” Ferran commanded softly, and thrust especially deep, hitting the spot deep inside Pedri that made him explode.
Pedri flinched, his body tensing, a hot orgasm like a sticky wave flooding through him. Ferran followed him just seconds later with a deep, rumbling cry, he buried himself all the way inside Pedri as he reached his climax.
They lay there, motionless, breathing heavily, as the waves of pleasure slowly subsided, leaving behind a heavy, pleasant weariness. Ferran let himself sink onto Pedri, his weight pressed the younger into the mattress, but Pedri didn’t resist. He wrapped his arms around Ferran’s back, pulling him closer as if he couldn’t bear the closeness, yet at the same time didn’t want it to end.
The air in the room was heavy with the scent of sex, sweat, and the two men themselves. It was a thick, almost suffocating scent, but neither of them felt the urge to open the window or move. Ferran turned his head slightly, kissing Pedri gently on the shoulder, a gentle contrast to the wild roughness of before. Pedri sighed, a soft, contented sound, and closed his eyes completely.
Slowly, his muscles trembling, Ferran rolled to one side, but he stayed close, his legs intertwined with Pedri’s, his hand resting on Pedri’s chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart. Pedri turned toward him, mumbled something unintelligible that sounded like a thank you, and nestled his head into the hollow of Ferran’s shoulder. The heat was no longer burning, but enveloping, like a thick, warm blanket under which they were both safe.
Exhaustion overtook them, quickly and inevitably. Their eyelids grew heavy, and their thoughts blurred into a chaotic mist of images and sensations. Ferran pulled the blanket over their sweaty bodies, roughly and haphazardly, but it was enough. Pedri exhaled deeply, his body relaxed completely, the last traces of tension giving way to fatigue.
They lay there, in the dark, tightly entwined, their breathing slowly synchronizing until it was in unison. No more words were spoken, no gestures were needed. The world outside didn’t exist for that moment.
There was only the bed, the warmth, and the two clinging to each other. Pedri fell asleep almost instantly, his head heavy on Ferran’s chest. Ferran followed shortly after, his hand still resting firmly on Pedri’s skin, as if he were an anchor in the darkness. In the end, they both slept together in bed, deeply and dreamlessly.
Some Jealous Pedri please. Maybe after a game Reader is being flirted with by a Real Madrid player. What is Pedri gonna do???
A/N: I’ve posted three fan fics‘ now… and two of them involve fucking Madrid players 🤧 especially the two worst. Sorry not sorry for the Jude fans here hehe
But I am so fucking proud of them for crushing them in El Clásico while winning la liga aaaaaahhhhh
Summary: Jude flirts with Pedri's girlfriend, knowing exactly how to get into his head. But Pedri is the one ending the night with himself between her legs.
Jealousy, Smutt
Word count: 3080
Eres mío
The noise of the Camp Nou after an El Clásico was unlike anything else, thick, electric, almost physical. It clung to the air like humidity, vibrating through the concrete, the floodlights, the very bones of the stadium. Even after the final whistle, the chants still echoed, rolling like waves across the stands as fans lingered, unwilling to let the night end.
She stood near the edge of the pitch, arms crossed loosely, her jacket pulled tight against the cool night breeze. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were alive, tracking the players as they walked off the field. She had that look she always had after big matches, observant, grounded, quietly taking in the chaos around her.
She spotted Pedri first. He was walking with Ferran and Eric, laughing at something, but even from a distance she could see the exhaustion in his shoulders, the adrenaline still simmering beneath his skin. He always carried matches like this in his body long after they ended. She smiled, ready to meet him halfway.
But someone else reached her first.
Bellingham.
Bloody Bellingham.
He approached with that easy confidence he wore like a second skin, the kind that made people turn their heads without him needing to say a word. His Real Madrid jersey was slung over his shoulder, his hair damp from the match, his expression relaxed in a way that didn’t match the intensity of the game they’d just played. Or the fact he lost.
“Didn’t expect to see you down here,” Jude said, stopping in front of her with a grin that was just a little too charming to be casual.
She raised an eyebrow. “I’m here every match.”
“Yeah, but usually you’re surrounded by Barça staff. Hard to get a word in.” His tone was light, teasing, but his eyes were sharp, assessing. “Good game, wasn’t it?”
“It was intese,” she said. “But we won, so why are you not with your team?”
“They can wait,” he replied with a half‑laugh. “But you know… I don’t mind losing as much when the view after the match is this good.”
She blinked, caught off guard, fot flustered, not flattered, just surprised. Jude didn’t wait for a reaction. He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice.
“You ever think about switching sides? Madrid could use someone with your energy.”
She snorted. “I’m not a transfer target.”
“Everyone’s a target,” Jude said, eyes flicking over her face. “Just depends who’s doing the scouting.”
Before she could respond, a shift in the air made her turn.
Pedri was walking towards them.
Not quickly. Not dramatically. But with a focus so sharp it cut through the noise of the stadium. His expression wasn’t angry, angrt would have been easier to read. No, this was something quieter, heavier, more dangerous. His eyes were locked on Jude, but the tension in his jaw told her he’d seen everything.
Jude noticed too. His smirk widened.
“Speak of the devil,” he murmured.
Pedri stopped in front of them, his gaze flicking to her for half a second, checking, grounding himself, before settling on Jude again.
“You lost,” Pedri said, voice calm but edged. “Shouldn’t you be with your team?”
Jude shrugged. “Just congratulating her on the win.”
Pedri’s jaw tightened. “She doesn’t need your congratulations.”
Jude raised his eyebrows. “Relax, hermano. I’m just talking.”
Pedri didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Then talk somewhere else.”
Jude laughed under his breath, amused. “Didn’t know Barça taught their players to guard the touchline this aggressively.”
Pedri stepped closer, not enough to escalate, but enough to make a point. “I’m not guarding anything. You should’ve realised it with the fact we won.”
Jude’s eyes flicked between them, “I see.”
She exhaled quietly. Jude was enjoying this far too much.
“Don’t you have media duties?” she asked Jude, her tone even.
He grinned. “They can wait.”
“No, they can’t,” Pedri said, voice low. “Show respect and don’t make them wait.”
For a moment, Jude held his ground. Then he smirked, lifted his hands in mock surrender, and stepped back.
“See you around,” he said to her, pointedly ignoring Pedri.
Pedri didn’t look away until Jude disappeared down the tunnel.
Only then did he turn to her.
His expression wasn’t angry. It was worse, hurt, unsettled, something raw flickering beneath the surface.
“What was he saying?” Pedri asked, voice quiet but tight.
She sighed. “Nothing important.”
“Dime, porfa.”
She hesitated, not because she wanted to hide anything, but because she knew how he got after matches like this, heart still racing, emotions still close to the skin.
“He was being… Jude-ish,” she said finally. “Flirting. Testing boundaries. Seeing if he could get a reaction.”
Pedri’s eyes darkened. “Did he?”
“From me? No.” She placed her hand on his chest grounding him. “From you?“ her finger pressing into his chet now, “Clearly,” she said softly, her finger flickering from his chest to his nose, tapping it once.
Pedri exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “He touched your arm.”
“It was barely anything.”
“It was enough.” She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Pedro.”
He looked at her then, really looked, and she saw it all, the adrenaline, the jealousy, the fear he’d never admit out loud. He wasn’t possessive by nature. He wasn’t controlling. But he felt deeply, intensely, and sometimes that intensity spilled over.
“He thinks he can get under my skin,” Pedri said, voice low. “And he did. Because he knows exactly what he’s doing.”
She reached out, brushing her fingers against his forearm. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Pedri swallowed hard. “I know. But seeing him with you, after a match like this—” He shook his head. “It hits different.”
She nodded slowly. “Because it wasn’t about football.”
Pedri’s eyes softened, but the tension didn’t leave his shoulders. “No. It wasn’t.”
He took a breath, steadying himself. “Come with me.”
He led her through the tunnel, past staff and players and cameras, his hand hovering near her back without quite touching, like he wanted to, but wasn’t sure if he should. The hallway smelled like grass and sweat and cold concrete, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead.
When they reached the quiet corridor near the locker rooms, he stopped. “Can I say something without sounding stupid?” he asked.
“You can say anything.” She took his hands in hers.
Pedri looked down for a moment, then back up at her. “I don’t get jealous easily. You know that.”
“I do.”
“But with him…” Pedri exhaled. “It’s different. He’s good at getting in people’s heads. He’s good at making people feel wanted. And he knows exactly how to push me.”
She stepped closer, her voice soft but steady. “He doesn’t make me feel wanted. You do.”
Pedri’s breath caught, just slightly.
“And I don’t care how good he is at pushing you,” she continued. “He doesn’t get to push me.”
Pedri’s shoulders finally loosened. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary.
“You’re too good for him,” he murmured.
“I know.”
A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. “You’re supposed to say something humble.”
“Why? It’s true.”
He laughed quietly, the tension easing from his body. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re dramatic.”
Pedri rolled his eyes, but the warmth in them was unmistakable. “I’m not dramatic.”
“You glared at him like you were about to start round two of the match.”
“He deserved it.”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
Pedri stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough that the noise of the stadium felt far away.
“I don’t want anyone thinking they have a chance with you,” he said softly.
“They don’t.”
His eyes searched hers, something vulnerable flickering there. “Good.”
She reached for his hand again, threading her fingers through his. His grip tightened instantly, grounding, steady.
“Let’s go home,” she said.
Pedri nodded, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
They walked out together, the stadium lights dimming behind them, the echoes of the match fading into the night. Pedri stayed close, not clingy, not possessive, just present, like he needed the reassurance of her beside him.
At home the air still carried the scent of victory champagne, mingled with the faint, salty tang of evaporating sweat. She still wore his jersey, the deep blaugrana fabric hung loosely upon her frame, it’s hem falling just low enough to graze the tops of her thighs. Pedri leaned back against the headboard, his gaze, dark and intense, fixed upon her. The man who, moments ago, had dazzled the entire Camp Nou with his brilliance, now had his eyes locked solely on her.
“Come here,” he murmured. His voice was low, husky with the lingering dampness of a fresh shower and thick with possessiveness, but still carried a trace of softness.
She did not hesitate, dropping to her knees upon the mattress, she leaned forward. The collar of the jersey slipped down, baring her pale, slender shoulders. Pedri hooked a finger beneath her chin, his thumb brushing lightly, yet with deliberate weight, across her glistering lower lip, as if caressing a prized possession that belonged to him alone.
He interwinded their lips. Sealing them together while rising and pushing her onto her back under him onto the mattress, the jersey rode up to her ribs, revealing her flat stomach and the delicate lace trim of her underwear.
Then, his kisses rained down upon her, hard, deep kisses, his tongue parting her lips with an aggressive heat as scorching as the afternoon sun in Spain.
“Tell me, whose are these?” he whispered against her lips, his palm sliding down her lower abdomen and beneath her clothes. His fingertips traced the curve of her ribs before unhesitatingly cupping her soft breasts. His thumb circled her nipple, waiting for her to moan and arch her body against him.
“Yours,” she panted in response, her fingers tangling in his damp, brown hair.
Pedri chuckled low in satisfaction, nudging his knee between her legs and using his body weight to press her deeper into the surface beneath them. He lowered his head, his warm, wet lips latching onto the most sensitive spot on the side of her neck, he sucked hard, leaving behind a deep crimson mark. A brand. Just as he branded the entire match with his jersey number out on the pitch.
“I saw the way that bastard looked at you today,” he murmured, lightly nipping at her collarbone with his teeth. “But I’m the only one who knows how to make you scream, aren’t I?”
She didn’t answer, he had already parted her legs, his fingers already sliding off the thin layer of cotton fabric to probe the moist, tight entrance. The rough pads of his fingers pressed slowly against her inner walls, feeling her tighten around them little by little. She gripped the bedsheets, her toes curling tight.
Pedri kissed the insides of her knees, the rhythm of his fingers shifting from tentative to precise, he knew all her weak spots, the exact angle that would make her arch her back, the specific pressure that would make her voice tremble. Suddenly, he thrust two fingers deep inside, pressing his palm against her pubic mound while his thumb traced circles, grinding against that most sensitive pearl above. She threw her head back abruptly, her neck arching into a beautiful curve as her hips instinctively thrust against his hand.
Her fingers traced red marks across Pedri’s back, her knees trembling slightly with every thrust. He leaned down, raising the jersey hem to her neck, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, his tongue teasing the erect bud, while his fingers quickened their pace, each stroke striking precisely against the softest, hottest spot of her inner wall. Waves of pleasure crashed over her, one after another, her body began to convulse uncontrollably, her fingertips digging desperately into his shoulders as broken moans spilled from her lips.
When he gently nipped at her most vulnerable spot and whispered, „Come on,“ the defenses she had held tight all night finally crumbled completely. An orgasm swept over her like a tidal wave, instantly drowning every shred of rationality. She arched her back, her inner thighs spasming as they clamped down against his hand, feeling wave after wave of intense contractions clench around his fingers.
Pedri did not stop, instead, he slowed his movements, gently lingering in the afterglow of her release until her breathing gradually steadied.
Once she had calmed down slightly, Pedri withdrew his fingers, lifted her legs, and draped them over his shoulders. Her dark blue jersey lay bunched up completely against her neckline, exposing every trace of where he had kissed her. He leaned down and took her labia between his lips, the tip of his tongue slid into the moist cleft, gently teasing the entrance as he waited for her sensitive body to ready itself once more. Then his tongue pressed deeper, ist supple tip tracing every fold and ridge, searching amidst her gasps for that specific spot that drove her utterly wild. He suckled her clit, his touch alternating between tender and urgent, circling the engorged little nub with his tongue before pressing down firmly. Her fingers tangled in his thick, dark brown curls, unsure whether to pull him closer or push him away, her thighs instinctively clamped around his head.
“Pedri…” Her voice was soft and husky, trailing off into a pleading whisper.
His response was to intensify the suction, his tongue flicking rapidly and precisely against her clit while his fingers slid inside her, thrusting in rhythm, like a symphony whose beat only he knew.
The last vestiges of her sanity shattered in her mind. A sharp moan escaped from deep within her throat, she arched her back, her lower abdomen contracting violently as her entire body curled into a tight ball amidst the intense spasms, a blinding white light flashing before her eyes. Every single nerve ending screamed, burned, and dissolved, the climax was fiercer, deeper, and more prolonged than ever before, lingering on and refusing to recede.
Once the world had settled back into silence, Pedri climbed up to lie beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her back flush against his chest. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, her breathing still trembling ever so slightly.
“Do you have any strength left? I’ve got plenty,” he whispered in her ear, his lips brushing teasingly against her helix as one hand slowly stroked the inside of her thigh.
She turned her head to look at him, her eyes shimmering with liquid light, then rolled over and straddled him. His jersey hung down like an oversized battle standard, draping over their joined bodies. She leaned down to kiss him, her tongue slipping between his lips to taste the faintly salty tang of her own fluids.
„Shouldn’t you be exhausted?“ she asked with an amused tone. „You’ve played 90 minutes of el clásico.“
„Nope. Never for this,“ he answered, his hands aligning himself with her entrance beneath the jersey.
Bracing her hands against his shoulders, she slowly lowered her hips, taking him deep inside her until she had swallowed him whole. Both of them let out stifled groans. She began to move, her knees and hips working in rhythm, starting slowly, as if searching for the precise angle that would drive him utterly wild.
Pedri panted heavily, his hands gripping her hips to help her steady her rhythm. She found her stride, gradually accelerating, riding him faster and faster, her thigh and glute muscles tensing tight. Broken gasps escaped his throat as his knuckles turned white, clenching her waist, his gaze had gone completely dark, all his possessiveness and jealousy melting away in the heat of her body.
“This is mine,” he murmured, thrusting upward forcefully as his palms cupped her heaving breasts. „Only I get this,“another heavy thrust.
“All yours,” she replied, sinking down hard to take him even deeper inside. Another thrust later and her orgasm spilled over her.
In that final moment, he rolled her onto her back, pinning her beneath him, and released himself deep within her, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his breath came heavy and hot.
She lay prone on the bed, her cheek pressed against the pillow, his jersey now crumpled into a ball and tossed to the foot of the bed. On the insides of her knees, faint red imprints from where they had been gripped moments ago still lingered. The soft, pleasant exhaustion that follows the receding tide of an orgasm enveloped her completely, a sensation so profound she didn’t even want to lift a finger.
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the hickey on the side of her neck, a mark that had already deepened to a purplish-red hue. His lips were soft, lingering against her skin for a few seconds. Then, he pulled the duvet over her, wrapping her snugly within it, sliding his arm beneath her waist, he gathered her whole body into his embrace, his chest pressing flush against her back. She hooked her heels around his ankles, and the two of them fit together like two spoons nested perfectly against one another, seamless and tight.
“The next time he looks at you like that,” Pedri murmured, his lips brushing against the skin behind her ear. His voice was soft, yet imbued with the deep satiety and quiet confidence that follows a hard-won victory, “I’ll just let him take a good look at the marks on your neck.”
She let out a soft laugh, then drew his hand up to her lips, sleepily pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Between her legs, the lingering warmth of his body still remained, a sensation both tenderly aching and deeply satisfied.
Jude could flirt all he wanted.
Madrid could push all they wanted.
The rivalry could burn as hot as it always did.
But at the end of the night, Pedri went to sleep with her beside him.
Yes please! I need more pedri x reader! Literally anything. Maybe something regarding of winning la liga
A/N: So less ffs regarding the end of this beautiful season
I am so proud of them for kicking those arrogant shits' asses hehe
Summary: You and Pedri after winning la liga
Fluff
Word count: 1902
Mi campeón
The final whistle cut through the stadium loud and sharp. Whole Camp Nou was growling. All fans on their feet celebrating. It was loud. Shouts from ever seat. The Barca hymn roared through the stadium. Every fan singing the Catalan words.
They had done it. Pedri had done it.
They won La fucking Liga.
Against Real Madrid.
In El Clásico.
The one thing they have worked for all season. Everything payed off.
The hard training sessions. Long tactical meetings. Eyerytime Pedri came home exhausted.
You didn’t realise the tears forming in your eyes. This moment, seeing Pedri happy as ever, celebrating with his teammates, his friends, while you sat with his family, it ment so much. Too much to comprehend for your little heart, that in this moment was filled with love and pride to the last centimetre.
„They did it! He did it,“ you whisper shouted into Fer’s face while he screamed full of happiness. Both of you embracing in a tight hug. „He fucking did it,“ Fer whispered into your hair while lifting you lightly if the ground. You clutched the back of his jerseys. Exactly fisting the part that embeoided the number 8.
„Madre mía, i’m so proud of him,“ you muffled into Fer’s shoulder. Not sure how, due to the loudness of the stadium but Fer understood you. He put you back on your feet and have you a last squeeze, „Yeah, me too. Me too.“
Turning around you were met with Rosy’s opened arms. She embraced you with another thight hug. Rocking you from one side to another. The same with Pedri’s dad.
You watched the team hug eachother, running around the pitch. As always you found your boyfriend in Ferran’s arms. Finally looking up the stands. You had to hold a laugh at his confused face when he couldn’t find you in the sea of blaugrana.
The moment his eyes found yours, everything else blurred. Pedri’s grin softened into something warmer, something that made your stomach twist, and he lifted his hand just slightly, like he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for you even from the pitch. You blew him a kiss, he caught it with a dramatic little gesture that made Ferran beside him burst out laughing, slapping the back of his head. Pedri shoved him away without looking, still staring at you like you were the only person in the stadium.
You barely had time to breathe before Fer wrapped an arm around your shoulders again, shaking you with excitement. “You’re having a long night before you, you know,” he teased, and you elbowed him lightly, but the small grin on your face never faded.
Rosy hugged you from behind, rocking you gently, whispering something you couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd, but you felt the warmth of her pride in the way she squeezed your arms.
Down on the pitch, the boys were chaos. Gavi was running in circles with Lamine on his back, both screaming something unintelligible. Alejandro almost run over Pau, while he tried to lift Gerad. Eric was hugging literally anyone who came near him. Dani was waving a Catalan flag, he probably stole from one of the fans, so aggressively he nearly smacked Joan in the face, earning a shove and laugh.
The moment the team gathered around the podium, after recieving their medals, the stadium seemed to inhale all at once. The noise didn’t stop it just shifted, deepened, became something almost sacred. You watched Pedri squeeze between Gavi and Ferran, eyes flicking up to find you one more time. When he saw you watching, he gave you that tiny, private smile, the one he never gave to cameras, only to you, and your heart nearly burst.
The trophy rose into the air, glinting under the stadium lights, and the roar that followed shook the ground beneath your feet. Confetti exploded, gold raining down like a storm. Pedri threw his head back and laughed, pure joy spilling out of him, and when he grabbed the trophy with the others, he lifted it so high his whole body arched with the effort. He shouted something, you couldn’t hear it, but you saw it in his face, pure proudness, gratitude and longing for something they fought for from the beginning.
After the lift, the pitch turned into a sea of families, girlfriends, kids running around with flags twice their size. You climbed down with the others, your heart pounding as you stepped onto the grass. Pedri spotted you instantly, jogged towards you. “Amor” he said, breathless, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a hug so tight you felt your feet leave the ground for a second. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then another, then your temple, laughing against your skin. “You did it Pepi. Mi campeon,” you kept repeating, like you needed to convince yourself of it more than him.
„You kicked Bellingham’s ass,“ you whisper shouted into his ears. A soft laugh filled his throat, „Gracias cariño, I tried,“ he whispered back, but you knew the sincerity behind it.
He let you down slowly. Taking his time. You kissed him once again before giving him his time with Fer and his parents.
Ferran appeared behind him with the trophy above his head. “Photo time!” he yelled, already dragging you and Pedri into position. Gavi jumped in from the side, nearly knocking Pedri over, while Eric wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the group. Dani held the trophy upside down for a second until Joan smacked his arm and fixed it, all of them laughing like children.
Their girlfriends joined too, all hugging tightly. Ana linked arms with Gavi and Fermin. Berta stood beside him with a hand on Eric’s shoulder while Laura fixed your hair before sliding her arm around your shoulder. It felt like family. Warm, chaotic, loud, perfect.
Pedri kept a hand on you the whole tim, your waist, your back, your hand, your shoulder, like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.
Photos snapped continuously. Serious ones. One with everyone smiling. Stupid faces. Someone, probably Gavi, pushing Joan at one point. More laughter.
When the group photos finally slowed and almost every player got their trophy moment, Pedri dragged his family to the podium. Pedri in the middle, Rosy and Fernando sir. On both sides of him. Fer next to Rosy.
You wanted to give the four a moment before they all waved you over to join. You got the family photo. The parents photo. Fer’s every year brothers photo. And finally one just from you and Pedri. He tugged you into his side. Hand on your wais the other holding the trophy. You hand on his hips, the other holding the second handle of the trophy.
Before putting it down Pedri kissed you, slowly, you smiled into he kiss. The perfect photo.
When the photos finally slowed and the stadium lights dimmed, he tugged you gently away from the group, leading you toward the quieter edge of the pitch. The noise faded behind you, replaced by the soft hum of the night. His hands sliding up your arms until they rested on your shoulders. “I wanted a moment with you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just us.”
You leaned into him, your forehead resting against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. He wrapped his arms around you, swaying slightly, his chin resting on your head.
„I am so proud of you,“ you looked up at him, eyes stinging again, and he cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re everything to me,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”
You nodded, and he kissed your forehead, slow and lingering, like he wanted to memorize the moment.
Next to you all the other players, their partners, kids, and family were resembled together. The firework exploding over your head’s. Colouring the ski in deep red and blue. A sight for enternity.
You’ve already done this. Last year, and the year before. But every year, it felt just like the first time.
Suddenly the warmth beside you faded. Pedri stood behind you phone in hand, smile wide. You had the mini version of the trophy in your hands, a smile spreading on your face at the sight of your boyfriend.
„Pepi…“ you sighted. This was about him, not you. „Shh, let me have my moment,“ he whispered before snapping pictures of you.
You hold up the mini trophy posing, the background of camp nou and the firework the perfect panoramic view. You turned around slowly, trophy handing from your hand while looking up at the sky, illuminated by red and blue. Featuring the colours on your shirt. Pedri’s shirt.
Later, at home, the world finally quieted. The adrenaline faded, leaving only warmth, exhaustion, and the soft glow of victory. Pedri dropped onto the couch with a groan, pulling you onto his lap without hesitation. His hands slid around your waist, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns on your back. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in, his voice muffled against your skin. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you today,” he murmured. “I felt it. Every second.”
You ran your fingers through his hair, gently pushing it back from his forehead. He leaned into your touch like he’d been waiting for it all night, his hands tightening around your waist. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Just like this.” You shifted slightly, and he let out a soft, content sound, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.
He kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, then the corner of your jaw, soft, slow, tender kisses that weren’t rushed or hungry, just full of love. His hands moved up your back, warm and steady, holding you like you were the only thing grounding him. “I love you,” he said quietly, almost shyly, like it was a secret he was giving only to you. “More than anything.”
You cupped his face, guiding him to look at you, and he did, eyes soft, tired, glowing. You kissed him, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that said everything words couldn’t. He sighed into it, his hands sliding up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
The night stretched on like that, soft touches, whispered words, quiet laughter, the two of you wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. No rush, no noise, just warmth and love and the feeling of being exactly where you belonged.
Pedri held you close, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath mingling with yours. Slowly he lifted your arms, peeling of the shirt with his name. Then his own. “This,” he whispered, voice barely audible. Hovering over you, fingers tracing from the lace of your bra down to your waist, “This is the best part of today.”
pedri posted
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pedri Mi familia. Mis campeones 🇮🇨 Nuestra tercera Liga! ❤️😘 @you Mi fan favorito ❤️
you mi campeón 😘❤️
feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 🔥❤️
ferrantorres ❤️❤️❤️
pablogavi ❤️
fcbarcelona 🪄❤️
you posted
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you El campeón de mi vida ❤️😘🪄
pedri te amo ❤️
feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 🤧❤️
fcbarcelona Nuestro dúo favorito 🫶
anapelayo guapaaa 😍
bertagalladooo 🔥😍
hiii saw you asked for pedri requests so here’s a little idea!
pedri with a popstar/actress reader who dated vini in the past and he cheated on her, and vini had badly spoken about her and pedri doesn’t have any of it
feel free to get as creative as possible with it!
A/N: Thanks for requesting I hope you like it 💕 I'm sorry for neglecting the popstar/actress part 🤧
Feel free to ask on my profile.
Btw this is my first story I hope it's not too corny. And English is NOT my first language.
Summary: Vini, your ex, talks bad about you and Pedri defends you in front of everyone.
Fluff, Angst
Word count: 3372
No one talks bad about my girl
You laid cuddled against Pedri’s chest on his couch. Something that became regular over the last year. Your comfort person. The one you could tell anything at anytime.
You clicked instantly when meeting at an afterpary after last year’s el clásico. Everyone knows the way Madrid has been humiliated.
Your ex, at that time still boyfriend, was obviously mad. It didn’t help that the Barca fans and specifically Gavi constantly reminded him of his Ballon d’Or loss. You were supporting him all season and at the end? Nothing. He was more than mad and you being Theres didn’t help.
You thought it was just a phase. Everyone has bad moments. Nothing major. Don’t make a big deal out of it. It’ll go way. At least you thought so. But you were wrong.
He didn’t apologise the nights at home for his behaviour towards literally everyone. Nor did he apologise for the way he had treated you. He didn’t even apologise after being caught cheating. There was no love anymore. Only constantly hatred. You tried everything to support him. Trough thick and thin. But he never showed it back. Hell he didn’t even appreciate it. He even humiliated you infront of his teammates just for him to stand in a better light.
And even though you were almost as famous as him. Having many fans. Many people who defend your back. They all wondered why you'd still be together with him.
His behaviour disgusted you. It even reached the point where you deleted all your socials. Telling your agency to post the most important campaigns.
The signs from Vini on the other hand were clear. No love. But as the fool you were, you didn’t know hot to end it.
So after Madrid lost, Vini decided to put all fault on you, you decided to ignore him. You went to an afterparty. Not expecting much, just drinking your thoughts away.
Instead your thoughts were taken away by a certain brunette midfielder of the opposite team. And even if you were madrista, well not really but only because of your boyfriend, you didn’t mind his company. And he didn’t mind you being his rivals girlfriend. On the contrary you enjoyed each others company.
Almost everyone got word of how much Vini disrespects you. In all the different ways. And Pedri didn’t mind on sharing those facts with you.
You didn’t really know him, but you were sure he wasn’t always that flirty. Probably alcohol or the adrenaline from the win. Either way you didn’t mind.
So a day later when being back at your boyfriends hotel room he gave you the last straw to end things with him completely.
To say he threw a tantrum was an understatement.
Either way you were living your best life. Studying in Barcelona has always been a dream. And now in company of your boyfriend by one year you couldn’t imagine it any other way.
Of course the fans eventually noticed your and Pedri’s relationship. The both of you’d have never expected it but they actually welcomed you into the Barca family. So did the other wags. Everyone except the madristas had enough human comprehension to understand the situation Vini had put you in and totally supported you in your new relationship.
Everyone except the madristas of course. If it was for any player. Literally anyone they wouldn’t have given a shit. But no. You were together with Pedri. Barcelona’s Pedri.
Vini didn’t let that fact go. He did and still does anything to make your life hell. Drag you into dirt even though you hadn’t had contact in the last year. It was pathetic really. And Pedri didn’t let that slide.
So here here you were. On his couch watching Madrid win by another controversial penalty.
„I’ve always been aware of Madrid being favoured by refs but witnessing it from the outside. It’s even more obvious. How’s this even possible?“ you questioned, looking up from Pedri’s chest to catch his beautiful dark brown eyes. „I know, it’s crazy right? Unbelievable how the Confederation doesn’t operate in that case,“ he shook his head unbelievably.
„That just sounded way to professional,“ you smiled up at him. His mouth catching a similar smile while shaking his head lightly. „It was hot,“ you whispered up to him, his mouth now cracking a real smile, his eyes glistering. „You think so?“
„Hmmhm,“ was all you got out of you mouth while joining it with Pedri’s. A light tender kiss. His hand on your jaw brushing his thumb against your cheek, while yours found it’s way to his soft curls. You began tugging at them the way you know drives Pedri crazy.
Your actions caused him to release a short groan. Using the moment of his parted lips you interwinded your tongues, letting them dance to the rhythm of your kissing.
You began sitting up slowly. Each knee next to Pedri’s, basically grinding him. His other hand found your waist while yours rested on his shirt. Squeezing the material occasionally.
The kiss got even more heated. Both of you releasing moans and groans. Your hand wandered under the nape of his shirt tracing his abs like you did the very first time.
You were about to take it off when a too familiar annoying voice filled the living room trough the TV. A groan escaped your lips, your hands withdrawn from Pedri’s abs back to fisting his shirt on his chest. Your head slumping onto his shoulder.
„He always has to interrupt everything,“ you complained, voice muffled by Pedri’s shoulder. His hand wandered from your wais to the back of your head smoothing your hair with his fingers.
„No worries cariño, I’ll turn it off.“
You nodded against his shoulder, even though he couldn’t see it you were sure he’d be able to feel it. „Gracias,“ you murmured into the side of his head. You felt Pedri reach for the remote, but the voice didn’t stop.
Slowly you lifted your head, turning to the always complaining whiny voice. That’s when you realised why Pedri hasn’t turned it off.
He was talking about you.
Bad.
It wasn’t new that he complained about you. You didn’t even care at this point anymore. Most of the fans, literally anyone investigated in football knew how bad of a boyfriend Vini was. Your family and friend supported you. But never has he talked on such a low level about you.
One could think they’ve lost and he wanted to make you responsible for it. But they won. There was no reason to say such words about you. Not live. Not ever.
Now too investigated after hearing your name you tried to focus on his words just as much as Pedri did. You glanced at him for a second. His hand still resting on your thigh while the other clutched the remote so hard you’d think it might shatter into pieces. His jaw was tight. Eyes too focused on the man on tv infront of him.
„You’ve missed a penalty agains Rayo last year. What was decisive today for you score this one?“ the reporter behind the camera asked professionally. He was surely hinting about tactics, teammates and the new coach. But of course, the Brazilian had to make it all about him and in this case you again.
„I just feel way lighter to be honest. Last year was really stressful, not only about the sport generally but with my ex girlfriend it was hard to focus. She was the main reason for my poor performance. It was distracting all the time. Coming home from intense matches or training and not being able to rest at home is a real challenge. Especially when playing for the best club in the world. Your performance needs to be consistent, and with her by my side nothing was consistent. The only thing was her complaining about the most unnecessary things all the time. I’m more than relieved I parted with her. It made me a better player. And I hope I’ll be able to help the team secure the title this year.“
Ths interview ended, switching to the game’s highlights, leaving you with your mouth open, and Pedri with a jaw ready to burst.
„I- I mean- that’s not even- he’s talking fucking shit! How dared he say such phony things about me!“ you were standing at that point unable to believe how low he’d go with his excuses of bad performances. „Hes just a fucking bad player. Joder, can’t he’s see how bad he is? His ego needs to be studied, damn it!“ You were pacing the living room. Wanting to punch the TV.
Pedri stood to, embracing you into a tight hug. His jaw still set, his eyes as furried as never. Full of rage. And still, he was all calm and composed for you. Something your ex never was. Everything always had to be about him.
„I fucking hate him,“ you clutched Pedris back, voice muffled by his shoulder. „I’m sick of this. Can’t he just let me be. Move fucking on,“ your voice stained with a plea, exhausted by Vini’s childishness.
„Lo sé amor. Lo sé,“ he craddled your hair, smoothing the other hand over your back, offering comfort.
„I’m tired of his shit. Really,“ your voice carried an unmistakable amount of shattering at the end. His arms tightened around your body. He rocked the both of you from one side to another whispering sweet nothings into your hair, gliding his fingers through it.
You weren’t crying, not exactly. Just overrun by exhaustion. It was always the same with him. Even when you were together. He made you question yourself way too many times. Made you down. Letting you feel like you’re not enough. Like he’d could have anyone and you should be grateful he’s still with you. He tricked you. Shattered your mind. Manipulated you into thinking you would have to proof yourself every. single. time.
Pedri was never like this. He catched early that Vini manipulated you. But he showed you the good sides of a relationship. The love from both sides.
With him, you’ve never even dared to question yourself. Pedri was simply perfect. He never made you responsible for any of his problems. Never a burden. Never an obstacle. Never. ever. a distraction.
With Pedri you could embrace yourself the way you wanted. And he’d always love you.
In the beginning it was hard to trust him. Not because he did anything wrong. Hell, he was perfect. But because you had build your walls. Didn’t want to show a vulnerable side. Not wanting to appear weak in front of him.
But he made it easy. Easy to let your walls down. Easy to let yourself get carried away by his charm. Easy to let yourself feel loved in ways you’ve never experienced.
You were always convinced in relationships being something unavoidable. Something like a requirement. Everyone was supposed to be in a relationship. You never assumed love would find you that way. That it was just a part of live you had to experience. Not a will but a condition.
But all of these thoughts shattered when Pedri declared his love for you. When you realised you loved him too. Real love this time.
And his love has never failed you before.
So now, him carrying you to bed, tugging you in and cuddling together made you ask yourself how the fuck you’d be able to question him in the beginning.
Before you totally dozed off on the Canary’s chest you heard him whisper in the lightest volume „Next time I’m playing that bastard I’ll punch him so hard he won’t be able to continue, I swear,“ he spoke so soft you almost didn’t catch it. Almost. And your chest filled with pride, love, appreciation and so much more you couldn’t name.
The next morning light crept in slowly through the blinds illuminating the room in a deep orange.
First thing to notice was the cold beside you. No hands around your wais. No hair brushing your neck. No Pedri.
You still reached over the empty side of the bed to find, not Pedri, but a letter.
Buenos dias amor.
I’m at training. Sorry I had to leave without giving you a good morning kiss, but you looked so cute I could bring myself to wake you. I’ll be back at around 2. We have a press conference today so I’ll run a bit later than usual.
Te amo mi vida <3
You couldn’t help but feel your chest tighten. How could he be so cute.
The clock said 11, late for your usual routine but today you just didn’t feel like it. You grabbed your phone, propped up the pillow and decided to scroll a bit on social media.
The first thing that catched your eye was the pink circle around Pedri’s profile. Training pictures maybe?
Clicking it you were shown an ugly picture of yesterday interview of Vini. You questioned why he’d post it until you read the text he provided below.
Talk is cheap. Better work on your own performance before dragging other people into the picture to make responsible for the mess you created by yourself. Grow up.
Your mind was unable to comprehend. Pedri just posted a story defending you. For you. So many questions piled up in the back of your head until the obvious solution popped up. He loves you. Of course he’d do something like this. Your chest clenched, you could feel a few tears rolling down your cheeks.
What on earth did you do to deserve him?
He was so fucking perfect. It made you want to combust.
The fans had already started defending you and calling Vini out since yesterday’s interview. Now that Pedri had posted the story they went more than crazy.
You weren’t one to watch videos of yourself but seeing them support you and appreciate Pedri as much as you do made you scroll a lot more on social media than usual.
The scrolls went from edits of the both of you, to edits just featuring himself. We’re you complaining? Hell nah.
It was a majestic glorious even sacred sight of him sweaty and shirtless backed up with multiple Spanish and English songs you couldn’t get enough of.
Getting lost in the huge fandom of Pedri edits an hour quickly went by.
After showering and changing you went from bed to the couch downstairs. The notification on your phone signaled the begin of Barca’s press conference.
Turning on the TV you sat on the couch with the Barca coffee mug Pedri gifted you for your six months anniversary.
A few minutes went by before the screen got filled with first Hansi Flick‘s and then Pedri’s face. His sight automatically bringing a smile to your lips.
The press conference started with the usual questions.
Assesments for the upcoming games.
Updates on injured players.
The role of certain players.
The difference in the game when certain players weren’t able to play, due to injuries or getting booked (caught caught Gavi).
They asked about the last game.
And they asked about training sessions.
Everything was professional, focused on performance and formalities. Until one journalist had to bring up the interview. Your heart fell into your stomach. You had no reason to be afraid of anything with Pedri but the mention Vini’s name alway made you get goosebumps.
„I’d like to ask about yesterday‘s interview from Vinicius Jr. I’ve seen you already posted it on your story. Would you like to classify your response regarding Vini’s accusations of your girlfriend?“ the journalist asked calmly with an urging under tone, leaving no room for actually denying to answer.
Pedri nodded the way he always did when listening to journalist. And if it wasn’t for the question, you’d say it was cute.
„Bueno, as you said I already posted it on my story. I’m no friend of arguments or beef. Especially not online in front of millions but I’m also having my friends and families back. If I hate one thing, then it’s lying. My family and friends, including my girlfriend, can always count on me even if I have to cross borders I normally wouldn’t want too. Regarding the interview, I’m sure not me nor my girlfriend are the only ones catching his lies. The only ones believing them are the ones in white. Es verdad. I am more than convinced it’s time for him to stop lying. And I’m trying to stay professional here but trying to justify your poor performance with accusing people who aren’t involved in any ways is not just pathetic it’s sad. I don’t want to go into detail, but she’s always supported him. He was just too blind to see and appreciate it. The most of us know how he treated her when they were together. If you need details you already know where to find them. And it‘s a clear sign if one denies them all and makes up own stories to justify their actions. I want you think about it, and then choose which side to be one. Just don’t let yourself get influenced by liars. I hope that clears it up.“
He spoke into the camera with a calm he usually carries on the pitch. If it wasn’t for the message he was trying to permit, it was fucking hot. But it was exactly the massage that got your eyes tearing up again.
You were so fucking lucky.
So lucky.
You didn’t even realise the tears falling down your cheeks until you automatically swiped them away with the sleeve of Pedri’s last season’s Barca hoodie.
The last thing you were able to see was Hansi patting his shoulder before the press conference ended. And even after that you were left with tears forming in yours eyes. Once again the feeling of love made your chest swell until it wanted to combust into million little pieces.
Reality didn’t set in until the front door opened and the familiar „cariño I’m home,“ echoes trough the house. Pedri carried himself like he didn’t just basically declared his love for you infront of millions.
His smile vanished though as soon as he saw your tears stained face with red and puffy eyes. Instantly, within a matter of seconds he was next to you on the couch holding your hands in his.
„Amor qué pasó?“ he stroke your cheek with his thumb. You laughed half-hearted not really being able to describe what you’re feeling. Shaking your head you answered „Nada, solo- solo the amo,“ before hugging him as close as possible. Head hiding in the side of his neck. Small sniffles escaping your mouth while he craddled your back the same way he did yesterday.
„Okay, I love you too,“ he softly answered resting his head on the back of your shoulder in return. You stayed like that for a while before moving to bed. You cuddled agains his side. His arm wrapped securely oround you.
„Gracias,“ you whispered against his chest. „For what? Me loving you?“ you nodded, „i should thank you for being the amazing person I fell in love with,“ he murmured while kissing your head. „I mean it. Thank you, it was amazing. You are amazing.“
„It was nothing really,“ he denied playing with your hair. You tilted your head lookin him in his eyes, „don’t say that. It was not nothing. It means more to me than you can imagine.“
His eyes growing bigger, the familiar sparkle appearing in them. „I love you. I love you so fucking much,“ he tilted your chin up, brining your mouths together. „I love you even more. You can’t imagine,“ you murmured agains his lips. He kissed your forehead before you rested your head back on his chest.
Falling asleep in the arms of the person you knew would keep you safe whenever you’d need to be and further. The person that loved you truly and wasn’t ashamed of showing. The one you could imagine your future with.
Anyone here having Pedri requests??
I should be focusing on my exams but screw it. I NEED Pedri ffs.
Feel more than free to request on my profile 🫰
