you silently pray, hope, for some more action from spain, the long lasting 0-0 making your heart pound a little more every second.

then before you can even process what’s happening, pedro porro makes a perfect pass to nico, that ends up ricocheting to ferran, who then kicks it perfectly and heavily into the net, leaving the argentinian golie on the floor.

you jump, you scream, you hug his sister, then his mom, and you feel his fathers hand rubbing your back, all of you with tears in your eyes, seeing ferran happily, even shocked with himself, destroying the corner flag, quickly swarmed by his teammates.

your eyes meet briefly and the look on his face immediately softens when he sees your shoulders shake with tiny sobs behind your proudest smile, throat already sore from screaming so much.

the game continues, intense, fiery and, most of all, dominated by spain, by your boyfriend. and when the final whistle blows, it’s like wind was knocked out of your lungs, for a second you even go dizzy with the atmosphere around you.

you chant with the rest of the spaniards, one arm draped around his sister, the other up in the air.

grabbing your phone, you make sure to take a picture of your boyfriend sitting on the edge of the little stage, kissing the most important trophy in the world that he earned.

family are then allowed down to the field. you follow behind his, letting them hug him first, letting them have their moment and taking a few pictures ferran would definitely get emotional at later.

ferran gives his last hug before you’re the only one left to have a moment with him, and the second he opens his arms you jump into them, tears rushing down your cheeks.

“fer, god- i couldn’t be prouder, i knew you would do it, te amo, te amo muchísimo” you hug his neck, legs at his sides, supported by one of his hands while the other rests on your hair, kissing the side of your head, your shoulder, anything he could get his lips on, in the sweetest way possible.

“i know, i couldn’t have done it without you.” he smiles charmingly, always trying to push himself down humbly.

“ferran, you did this. you earned this. you kept your head high even though everyone was pushing it down. give yourself some credit for once, please.”

“no, i know, but you’re the one who stood by my side, celebrated my goals and made me brownies when i lost so i’d feel better. you’re the only one who manages to get me out of my head when im eating myself alive. i wouldn’t even be in this field right now if it weren’t for your patience.” he admits, cupping your cheek, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“well i’m really happy you are…” you sniffle, finally landing your lips on his in an emotion heavy kiss, both of you demonstrating what words couldn’t say.

you pull away, brushing his messy, sweaty hair off his face with a chuckle, not a teasing one, a heartfelt one, unbelieving of the situation, admiring him.

“i love you so much, fer, im so proud of you.”

“i know, amor, i love you too, more than any trophy.”

“no, you definitely love this trophy more than me, and honestly, i don’t blame you.” you shrug with a smile, finally having your feet on the ground.

he laughs in response, pressing a fat kiss to your temple, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb and pointer pressing deep on either one of your cheeks, pulling you to take pictures with the heavy golden award, laughing when you couldn’t hold it up properly.

ferran couldn’t be happier right there, and neither could you.

bonus!!

you let ferran celebrate with his teammates freely, promising you’d take care of him so he could drink as much as he wanted to.

soon enough you get a call from markus from ferran’s phone, telling you he needs you to come get him.

giggling to yourself, you get to where the players where, seeing the other wags in not so different situations.

“amor! pedri kissed me on the cheek! i told him i have a girlfriend but he didn’t listen…” ferran slurred, shaking his head.

“it’s okay, bebé, you’ve kissed his cheek too.” you laugh.

“what? am i a cheater?” he gasps, getting up as you pull him.

“no, fer, everything is okay.” you sling one of his arms around your shoulder, practically carrying him up to your shared hotel bedroom.

he immediately collapses on the bed, sighing happily.

“here, water.” you rub his back so he’d get up, only earning a groan in response. “vamos, fer, you have to take a shower still.”

ferran only flips, his back now against the bed, his lazy smile growing at the sight of you.

“qué pasó?” you ask, attentive to see if he felt like throwing up, ferran was always the weak type.

“did i tell you i love you?” he slurs.

“yeah, a couple times today” you smile back at him, giggling, taking off the ridiculous sunglasses he wore messily on his rebel hair.

“bueno, te amo, te amo más que todo” ferran says with conviction, followed by a hiccup.

“i know, fer, i love you too” you kiss his nose, making him let out a half hum, half giggle. “now let’s drink our water, yeah?” he finally agrees, lifting himself up by his elbows to drink up.

that sobers him up enough to get him in the shower, washing off the festivities.

the two of you collapse on the bed, cozy beneath the covers, probably only a few minutes away from sunrise.

bonus two!!

you wake up with ferran’s dramatic groaning beside you.

“buenos dias, campeón” you smile, kissing his shoulder.

“hmm, hey, i appreciate you letting me celebrate, but don’t let me ever do that again” he slides on hand onto his head, rubbing it as his eyes shut tightly.

you only giggle in response, pointing at his filled water bottle and meds on his bedside table, already having prepared for this outcome.

“i don’t know if it’s my migraine but you’re looking a lot like an angel to me right now” he smirks, kissing your cheek in thankfulness.

you snort, patting his chest before getting up, stretching before walking to the bathroom.

“woah, hold on a second…” ferran’s voice drops a tone at the sight of you in practically nothing but his shirt, the FERRAN and the number seven practically glowing on your back.

“what?” your boyfriend’s lazy smirk guides you back into bed, crawling towards him. “what?” you ask again with a laugh.

“i’ve been cured.” he states, attacking your neck, laying you down, laying over you, holding his weight up on one of his elbows and one of his hands, making all his muscles pop.

your kisses keep going naturally, hands gliding over each other, tongues curling against the other.

“jesus- why wasn’t i celebrating all last night with you” he groans, earning a giggle from you, who quickly shut up when his hands wandered under his shirt you wore.

“you’re making me work today.” but despite the complaint, he starts the explanation all over again from the beginning.

his arm around your seat

the movie’s been playing for twenty minutes and joão hasn’t watched a second of it.

his arm is stretched lazily along the sofa behind you, fingers brushing your shoulder whenever you move. it’s not possessive, really, it’s just there.

often, you glance over and catch him already looking at you. his lips twitching into a smile before he looks back over to the television as if he’s been paying attention the whole time.

when he’s tired and keeps saying “mhm”

“and then she said she wasn’t even talking about me, which is absolutely ridiculous because—“

“mhm.”

you look over and see joão sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes. he’s clearly seconds away from falling asleep from a long day at practice, but he’s somehow still listening.

“did you hear anything i just said?”

“yeah”

“okay… what did i say?”

he shifts his arm just enough to peek at you. “something about someone annoying you.” pause. “come here.”

you laugh softly as he makes room for you besides him right away.

taking his time while kissing you

the conversation somehow seems to fade away between one smile and the next.

joão's hand settles against your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek as he leans in closer. there isn’t any rush to it. no impatience, no urgency.

he pauses for a second, eyes flicking down to your lips before meeting your again—giving you every oppourtunity to pull away. but when he finally kisses you, it’s slow and unhurried. smiling against his mouth.

putting on and taking off your heels

“lift your foot, amor.” 

you blink and put your phone down.

joão is already kneeling in front of you, one hand resting on your ankle as he fastens the strap of your heel. 

you laugh and ask what he’s doing, but he just shrugs. “helping.”

the entire time, he keeps looking up at you. not at the shoe, not at the buckle, at you.

later that night when the two of you are back home, he crouches down once again to undo the straps. “better?” he asks quietly while sliding the heels off your feet.

you nod with a soft smile and his grin comes immediately.

“good, meu amor.”