maryjane

she/her. can’t stand uncomfortable silence. vanilla. marlboro red and coffee addict.

m.list

part3

a couple minutes

the problem with ferran torres and what happened after you stormed out of his room is that now you can’t sleep.

the massive fight with your friends; the screaming, the harsh words, the way you slammed the door when leaving.

how you called your mom and she came to stay for over a week. what hurt most isn’t that he left but how he didn’t trust you enough to talk about it, to scream at each other’s face and then make out in the kitchen and let him fuck your brains out in the bedroom but he chose to leave instead.

growing up you never did have an example of how relationships should be. mom and dad were always fighting, while you and your brother soaked it all up.

how often one of them left without so much of a word and all you could do was wait for their return: sometimes it was good for a couple days, sometimes it was more screams as soon as the front door opened. couldnt possibly have been the healthiest environment for a kid.

after the divorce your father would forget to pick you up the weekends he was assigned to so that would lead to more court dates, then finally your mom remarried and you moved to spain, your brother visits every time he has days off work.

days in which you had these lovely brunches: mom with her husband, your brother with her girlfriend and you with ferran.

your family loved him and you loved his.

endless trips to ikea for the apartment, persuading him to give up the horrific bright yellow couch he wanted because in his opinion roma would’ve loved it so you made a bet: you’d train with him every morning if he was right but if he lost he’d have to paint the bathroom orange.

three days in he made you go and return it after roma threw up on it, once you got back you found him laying shirtless, full of paint and and orange bathroom still waiting for the tiles you later helped install.

and eating on the floor the five following days while waiting for furniture to be delivered.

the jar he’d tip every time you smoked, his disappointment digging your back.

that was the toughest fight you’d yet have: he hated it and you hated him for hating it because it wasn’t his place to decide what you could do and not do.

he’d lock himself in your room every time he returned home to you smoking and you spent the evening brushing your mouth over and over until there wasn’t any smell of tabacco left. you always found him wide awake when you went to sleep and always talked about how damaging smoking was and how he couldn’t loose you because of something reckless like smoking. when you conceded to only smoke when things were really bad for you he spent the night kissing and worshipping every inch of your body, waking up to him inside you in the morning and the run he had to make for the morning after pill.

the christmas presents you settled to buy in september after he completely forgot them the first year of dating.

you were cuddled up on the couch in front of the fireplace with hot chocolate watching it’s a wonderful life when a text from his family group chat by his sister telling us we had to bring the presents the night before in order to open the all together on christmas morning: the boiling chocolate slipping from his hand to your thigh. ending with a trip to the er with a second burn degree.

countless roadtrips, shared vacations, dinners with friends and barefoot dancing to mojo pin.

you look over at the clock, the same one you and ferran had bought after his niece smashed yours by playing ball together. it’s 02:14 am, letting a muffled scream into the pillow you walk over the tip jar right after finishing the cigarette. you check at the notifications on your phone frowning at the most recent one, from ferran:

can i come over?

oh right, another news after all that happened you had decided to start hanging out as friends from time to time: it was always super awkward and stiff, being friends with the love of your life, the casual talk and the fear of overstepping more so after you almost kissed and had a panic attack so bad that you ended in an alley throwing up and have been canceling on him ever since for the past two weeks. you’re biting at the dry skin of your lip pulling on it while drumming on the screen of your phone to think of an answer.

you click on his profile pic: it’s the one you had taken of him and his friends two years ago right after they had won the eurocup. you press call and his voice echoes thru the phone after the first ring. “come over.”

the door flies open before he even has a chance to knock. “hi”

“hi” you murmur moving to the side to let him pass.

carefully treading behind him.

“can i sit?” he points to the couch and you nod “go ahead”

“do you need anything?” you ask looking around.

he follows your stare in silence for a minute or so before shaking his hand. “only need you” you raise an eyebrow “is that so?”

“very much so.”

“that why you came over for?” you chuckle sitting on the coffee table in front of him.

“you’d have me go fuck someone else instead?” he asks in a mocking tone pulling the coffee table you’re sitting on and reducing the distance with one hand.

the only thing that can be heard in the room is your heavy breathing and his heartbeat against your palm, his thumb plays with your lower lip.

“can i kiss you?” he asks against your mouth, you surge forward closing the distance by pulling him into a kiss instead of answering such a stupid question.

he pulls you into his lap the moment your mouths touch, tilting your face to deepen the kiss, bullying his tongue into your mouth but you’re too busy stripping him down and feeling him up to care about control right now.

one moment you’re on the table kissing and the other you’re hoisted up, his hands on your ass your legs wrapped around his waist pulling him closer as he walks over the bedroom, laying you down and pinning your hands above your hands, placing sloppy kisses all over your chest. free hand busy playing with the elastic band of your thong, pulling and letting it rebound on your skin making you arch into him getting a satisfied smirk out of him.

he raises you chin making you look at him “tell me what you need”

you grab his waist to pull him closer, raising your hips to grind against his clothed cock.

“ah ah ah— he swats your hand away— you have to ask baby”

“please” you stare up at him wide eyed, he’s already looking down on you with a satisfied smile.

he kisses you again, right hand slipping between your legs to play with your clit at the same time his left hand wraps around your throat squeezing just enough to cut off your circulation.

“i’ll fuck you if you forgive me ok amor?” you writhe beneath his touch nodding “there’s nothing to forgive” you press a kiss on his temple, his eyes then his lips “so now fuck me”

he sits back flipping you over, pulling by the hips so you’re sitting on your knees.

“is this ok?” he asks against your ear lowering your thong leaving you completely exposed.

his warm palm on your back keeps you from jerking away when you feel him running his cock up and down your slit collecting your wetness before slowly pushing in, the stretch you had once been used to makes you bury your head into the pillows, his big hands messaging your shoulders to make you relax while he slides all the way in, fully seated inside you.

he hovers over turning your head to the side, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss full of the devotion and unsaid words, one hand intertwined with yours and the other playing with your nipple to distract and ease you into him.

when he notices your breathing change he starts moving with more confidence and firmness, hitting every single spot right making you clench around him, you start meeting his thrust moving against him with more fervor chasing your release.

he’s got a focused expression, biting down hard on his lip trying to concentrate and not to cum before you do, two fingers find your mouth pressing on your tongue to keep you quiet with both your noises getting louder and louder.

you’re so gone after your orgasm that you don’t register him pulling out at first only whining at the loss of contact. you look back just in time to watch him give a two lazy strokes before finishing all over your back.

“sex was all it took for you to forgive me?” he states to you both when you suspect it was more of an internal thought.

“if you’re good at it” you shrug continuing to play with his fingers, his arm around your shoulders and your head laying on his chest.

“have you found this?” he stretches reaching for something inside his side table, that had remained untouched since the day he left.

when he lays back down he’s got a deep green colored box.

“what’s that?” you stare at it unsure.

“it’s a ring.” he simply states opening the box to reveal a beautiful edwardian ring with a marquise diamond at the center with embossed floral details on the band.

“i bought this in florence during our anniversary, i went for a walk while you were sleeping and stumbled upon this jewelry shop and this ring was on display, i didn’t think about it too much: i went in and got it. when i saw you with frankie’s kids i realized right there and then that i was going to marry you and spend the rest of our lives together.”

“i don’t wanna put any pressure on you, but this has always been here, cause i’ve always known we would’ve taken that step someday. but now, i just want you to have it. no question, no stress you can put it on or lock it up.

but i wanna spend the rest of my life with you.”

when ferran wakes up in the morning he does it to an empty bed. “amor? amore” he calls in his sleepy voice, you’re in the kitchen preparing coffee for the both of you: you pass him the cup, his fingers touching yours during the exchange.

what he doesn’t notice is the ring resting on your ring finger: shining with every slight movement.

you and ferran have been together for a couple months, so with the relationship being pretty new you avoided announcing it to the world, choosing to keep a low profile. there was a lot of sneaking around and covering up in order to spend time together in public.

it was mostly to prevent scandals and causing unnecessary rumors considering you were both public people: him a footballer and you a singer.

so when you got a call from your agent telling about how you had been sent a contract to a spotify collaboration for el clásico match all there was to say was YES.

ferran’s alarm starts ringing at 7:17 am the day of the el clásico earning an annoyed groan by you both. “five more minutes” he murmurs sleepily

“that’s your alarm dude, turn it off”

“don’t call me dude.” he wraps his arm around your waist pulling you on top of him burying his head in your neck “i’ve got the match today” you nod feigning your best nonchalance possible. thing is, he doesn’t know you’re the guest at today’s match, you and his team all working overtime to make sure he wasn’t included in any content nor interview.

you wanted to surprise him and i guess the surprise worked out pretty well if his face was any indication when he entered the stadium was performing, sitting first row in utter disbelief but phone out filming nonetheless, after the shock wore off he was singing every song along with fans and teammates.

“ok, this is one last song before the match starts you guys! and i’m dedicating it to someone very very special alright? so make some noise!” you speak into the mic out of breath before getting into position at the center of the stage while the music to sports car drops.

you perform all the song maintaining eye contact with ferran, his cheeks turning red while pedri and eric by the looks of it are having the time of their lives teasing him.

the match ends with a very nice 3-0 for barcelona, two goals out of three scored by ferran earning him the mvp.

you’re called to join him and all the team on the field by your manager while he’s giving interviews.

when he’s done with them, he walks over with the biggest grin on his face that mimics yours, pulling you into a bone crushing hug “you were amazing, i’m so proud of you” you push the wet hair out of his face, turning to the cameras and posing for pictures together.

his hand is way too low on your back for it to be respectful in any way and you have to fight the urge to kiss him right there and them before all these people.

he leans down, lips touching your ear. “we’re gonna take care of this later at home, my pretty lady.” he whisper biting softly before pulling away with a smirk.

the next morning when you check your phones you’re trending everywhere.

if only we leaned into fighting

pt.2 of sue me

the catastrophic realisation of what you’ve done hits when you’re both standing face to face in the kitchen of his suite.

he slides your cup of coffee across the smooth surface of the table, you mumble a small, barely perceptible, “thank you“

not daring to make eye contact, but you can feel him staring.

what the fuck had you done? was the sex and pettiness of your decisions worth the aftermath of whatever this was?

“so, are we gonna talk about it?“ you’re almost tempted to answer no and run out, but that’s not you.

so instead what comes out is: “sure, lets talk about it. where do you wanna start?“

“are we gonna talk about how you left or how you started whoring around right after you left? you look at him

expectantly for an answer that you know won‘t come, the same way he did when you were left all alone by yourself.

“don’t do that. you’re being unfair“ he closes the gap by taking your hand in his and bringing them to his lips. you freeze at the touch and how just a few days ago you would’ve killed for this type of contact. instead you feel nothing.

“you didn’t even check in when all that mess happened online. but i can see that you’re happier, i’m happy for you“ you swallow your tears and are about to walk away when he grabs your wrist pulling you flat to his chest. and before any words could come out, he’s on you.

the kiss was sweet, at first, almost innocent barely touching before his tongue swept your lower lip tentatively becoming all consuming to the point where your brain couldn’t differentiate where you began and he ended.

“you think i’m happy? i’ve been miserable this whole time, without you“ he whispers trailing kisses from the hollow of your throat and down the middle of your chest, picking you up and placing you on the counter resting his forehead against yours. “i’ve missed you the same way a man underwater needs air.“

he’s got his arms wrapped around your middle, squeezing you in an embrace so tight you’re barely able to breathe and can’t quite bring yourself to return it.

overwhelmed by his presence taking up all your space you can’t help the ugly sob about to leave your throat “why?” you ask with a broken sob.

you want to, really really want to but can’t, what happened last night was a mistake to be blamed on the alcohol. you can’t just forget those last eight months like they didn’t exist, leaving without even a good reason.

you’re pulled out of your thoughts when his hands cup your face and kiss your forehead “we should get cleaned up and talk about this with a clear head“ he murmurs.

waiting for you there’s a clean shirt and shorts lying on the bed right next to your carefully folded dress when you come out the shower, you put them on heading to the couch, hair still wet, where ferran’s waiting for you. taking your hands in his before you have the time to pull away, you don’t mind tho, you’ve always found his touch grounding like when you used to be in public together and his hand would always find yours someway. on one of your first ever dates you remember how he burst out laughing when you told him how a couple holding hands was way more intimate than sex and

he’s never stopped doing it until last november.

“i know you hate me— i don’t“ you interrupt promptly.

you can sense his nervousness by the way he keeps playing with your hand, he takes a deep breath “just hear me out for a moment, ok?… when i broke up with you it was, bad timing. i was selfless, i mean we had been together for four years and i just had you so deep in me by the time that i had trouble accepting the fact that i needed you somehow and this irrational fear that you would be leaving somehow. or when i returned at five in the morning without telling you and i had braced myself for a fight that never came because instead of screaming i remember you running to me with tears in your eyes and i felt like an asshole. i– you, you were too nice to me about all i told you and i thought letting you go would’ve been fairer to you. and the conviction i had done the right thing until a month in i couldn’t function without you, not seeing your voicemails on my phone after practice or being able to call you in the car to tell you i was on my way home, arguing about the groceries or who was taking roma on a walk, spending the whole night up talking every time i lost a match cause you knew exactly what i needed better than i did myself, because it wasn’t me getting used to you. it was me engraving you to myself so firmly that it felt like a piece of me was taken away. but i was too ashamed to do anything about it, the guilt kept eating me alive. everyone kept telling me what a stupid mistake i had done and to ask you for forgiveness but i was too proud so instead of listening and swallowing it down i just focused on work and started to sleep around with everyone that’d spare me a second glance until a couple weeks ago. you see, this meeting wasn’t a coincidence. joan had asked your friends for your plans and as soon as the world cup finished i hurried and took the first plane to catch you.“

you're silent for a long time where he’s just looking at you for every single signal your body could give him, the hands intertwined a couple seconds ago are detached as you pull them to yourself. you take a deep breath before looking at him “what am i supposed to do with this? what are you expecting? tell me what to do”

“i’m sorry, i’m so so sorry, please i love you. think about it i’m begging you”

“i think i need to leave, i’m sorry” you stand up taking one last glance.

you stop mid word— whatever it was you were talking to laura about, now long forgotten— you don’t remember ever reacting so fast to something.

terrifying horror on your face when you lock eyes, that doesn’t really match because he’s got this amused face on mixed with cockiness.

“what?” wide eyed and face contorted into something you can’t quite explain.

there’s quiet before the whole lot start cackling up.

you look to ferran for an explanation and he just shrugs smugly, you’re not sure how to feel about him sharing such private details even when you love your friends so dearly. “i was just explaining them how a real man does it, amore”

“the missus taught you well huh?” dani playfully hits him in the ribs wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

“well what can i say? you gotta know what you’re doing” ferran answers with that shit eating grin plastered on his face.

but fucking your ex is iconic

sue me i wanna be wanted ferran torres

pt2 here

one might be asking: did you know he was going to be there? and the answer is absofuckinglutely.

you had planned the whole weekend around it.

now, finding yourself on the same place, the casual horror of it all, and you know because your friends had been insufferable ever since finding out.

and he was so smug about it too, different girl every night on his lap, and giving it all he had in his friends ig stories.

well two can play that game.

you were done being a saint about the breakup and swallowing it all down every time it threatened to come ashore.

the endless therapy sessions you subjected yourself to since it happened? blaming yourself for every single thing that had happened during those four years you had been together?overthinking about what you could’ve done better? if you were even to blame for the horrid separation at the end of a stupid saturday afternoon in november.

dating a footballer certainly wasn’t easy but what you hadn’t expected was how the aftermath of it was a lot more harsher; courtesy of his fans.

from having to private your socials to carefully choosing every single person you hung out with, because you were terrified of ending up online just for rumors started by stupid people that knew nothing about you, about what you two had.

and ferran in all this? absolutely nothing. there were gossip of him seeing someone in january, and that’s when you knew you had to quit talking to walls and get a hold of your life instead of spending days thinking what’s he gonna do?

so when you saw him standing on your hotel lobby with nothing but swimming boxers on a tuesday when all you really wanted that day was some coffee and food before spending the rest of it being fried by the sun, you were not going back.

you sat your friends down and set him apart filling the gaps. what the best course of action to take was, to show him how good you were, especially with the way pilates classes have helped the body you were going to show off as much as you could hoping he could be half as bitter as you were.

to show you weren’t the only one to have lost something that day.

he sucks, but he’s rich is the last thing you hear in the bathroom of some party in a little black dress retouching your makeup before going back to him.

and fuck if he didn’t look like god on earth with the stupid hair he had decided to grow out along with the just right enough beard, glasses pulled up to hold his hair back, but most importantly he was shirtless fucking show off, with the tan and the tattoos he had added to his collection. god you were absolutely foaming at the mouth, to think you’ve had him, for four whole years before he decided you weren’t enough for him to keep tagging along.

and when you lock eyes, you feel it all over your body, the look on his face is like bait like he’s daring you to go over.

so you empty the gin and lemon you had in one go and stride over, with the courage and adrenaline from both alcohol and the cheering of your friends, everything disappears.

we could talk about how that was all platonic and calculated but you’d be lying.

his scent, his touches, his voice, his kisses, his presence: everything blurred in one.

you can’t remember any of it. not that you can bring yourself to, not when his body is laying right next to you.

it almost makes you cry: both happy and sad. because you haven’t realized the deep trouble you got yourself in the moment his lips touched yours. how disappointed your mom and therapist are going to be, all the progress made crumbling to pieces like a house of cards blown by a petty child.

but what’s a girl to do? play it cool.

“babe” his morning voice scratches every single fiber in you, pulling you closer.

oh shit.