MY CHAMPION | Ferran Torres
summary — The World Cup final. Ninety minutes to make history. After weeks of being doubted and overlooked, Ferran Torres finally gets the moment he has been waiting for. Standing beside him through every setback, every criticism, and every silent struggle, you believe in him when the world doesn’t. And when his biggest dream is finally within reach, one moment on the pitch changes everything.
pairing — ferran x reader
words — 4200
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The crowds grew denser with every step. Red and yellow flags waved above the heads of the fans, while the light blue and white colors of Argentina flashed between them again and again. Chants echoed across the stadium forecourt, drums set the rhythm, and everywhere there was this special tension in the air — as if the whole world was holding its breath at the same time.
Getting from the hotel to the stadium had been a bit of a battle. No matter where you looked, you saw fans wearing the colors of the two teams, one of which would make history today.
They sang happily and excitedly, hugged each other, or smiled brightly at one another. The day almost felt like a holiday that everyone had been looking forward to and could hardly wait for it to finally begin.
The air was warm, filled with the smell of popcorn, sunscreen, and the electrifying anticipation of ninety minutes that could change everything.
And right in the middle of it all was you. Surrounded by the other girlfriends of the Spanish national team players — including Laura Alba as well as Ferran’s family.
Together, you were guided through a separate entrance by a member of the federation. The chatter of the fans grew louder with every step until you finally reached the stands.
For a brief moment, you stopped.
The stadium was overwhelming.
From your seat, you could see the perfectly green pitch where the match would soon take place, the match that countless people around the world would watch in front of their televisions, completely captivated. In the stands, the Spanish and Argentine fans formed a colorful mosaic of flags and colors, while chants echoed through the stadium again and again.
You let your gaze wander across the pitch, searching.
So far, not a single player could be seen. The green grass shimmered especially brightly in the sunlight, which had surely been carefully maintained once more before the final to make it shine in all its glory.
“I honestly can’t believe that it’s finally happening today!” Laura said to you as you sat down next to each other on the gray seats.
“Me neither. It still feels so… so unreal,” you replied while crossing your legs and lightly tugging at the red jersey with the number 7 on it. Ferran’s number.
You could still remember the first match of this World Cup so clearly, even though it felt like it had only been yesterday.
The World Cup had gone by so quickly that you looked back at all the matches you had watched inside the stadium with a sad smile.
Even though Ferran had not gotten that much playing time, you were incredibly proud to be a part of this journey in his life and to support him on-site as much as you possibly could.
But despite everything, you were also incredibly excited for Ferran and your vacation together, which would begin in less than two days.
Because being in a relationship with a footballer who had such a demanding schedule was not always easy, and because of that, his family and friends sometimes had to take a step back.
“I really hope all their hard work pays off and that they can lift the trophy into the air later…”
Laura was dating Dani Olmo, whom she jokingly pretended was her roommate on the internet.
The German understood all too well how little time for togetherness was left when you were dating a footballer.
A loud cheer erupted throughout the stadium.
“They’re coming!” someone shouted a few rows behind you.
Immediately, countless eyes turned toward the players’ tunnel. First, the goalkeepers stepped onto the pitch, accompanied by the applause of the fans. A few moments later, the outfield players followed in their training shirts.
Your heart began beating faster.
Almost automatically, your eyes searched for the number 7.
And then you found him.
Ferran walked onto the pitch together with his teammates. His gaze briefly swept over the stands and stopped on you for a split second.
A barely noticeable smile appeared on his lips before he subtly raised his hand.
You returned the gesture before he turned his attention back to the warm-up.
“Oh, you two are so cute!” Arantxa, Ferran’s sister, gushed, sitting to your right. Laura couldn’t stop herself from grinning and nodded in agreement.
Immediately, your cheeks turned red. Embarrassed, you lowered your gaze and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
Even though you had been together for almost a year by now. You really should have been used to Ferran’s family or your friends teasing the two of you with wide smiles. And yet, they managed to throw you off balance every single time.
You had never been someone who enjoyed being the center of attention. Especially not when suddenly everyone’s eyes were on you.
After almost twenty minutes, one of the coaches blew the whistle and called the players together. Slowly, they made their way back toward the tunnel.
Before Ferran disappeared, he turned around one more time. His eyes wandered across the stands until he found you. He placed a hand over his heart for a moment and smiled.
That was all it took.
You returned the smile, even though your heart was now racing.
Slowly, the pitch emptied again. One by one, the players disappeared into the tunnel until only the security staff and a few employees walked across the field.
The chatter in the stands grew louder with every passing minute. More and more fans took their seats, flags were waved, and music blasted from the speakers, making the entire stadium clap along.
You let your gaze wander once more over the now empty pitch. Moments ago, Ferran had still been standing there. Now he was preparing together with the team for the most important ninety minutes of his career.
Without realizing it, you intertwined your fingers. You were more nervous than you wanted to admit.
“You’re thinking too much,” Laura said with concern in her voice as she placed her hand on yours.
The German was just as nervous as you were. Like probably every fan inside the stadium, but she was much better at hiding her emotions and, above all, her nervousness in that moment.
“I know…” you replied quietly and sighed.
Ferran’s dream had always been to become a world champion one day. And today, it could finally happen. But what if it didn’t? How would you manage to catch him when he fell, to cheer him up? How would you help him process that pain?
“Get all those negative thoughts out of your head. We’re not thinking about losing now, okay? Not yet. We still have sixty minutes ahead of us where anything is possible, okay? And Ferran is going to be important for us.”
This time, it was Ferran’s mother who spoke up. She placed her hand on your shoulder from behind and gently squeezed it.
“I know…” you replied quietly and sighed.
It wasn’t only about the outcome of the match.
You knew how much was resting on Ferran’s shoulders.
For weeks, his name had repeatedly appeared in the headlines. Not enough playing time. Not enough influence. Some even questioned whether he still deserved a place in the squad. Words that were easy to write when you didn’t know the person behind the footballer.
Ferran had never let any of it show publicly. He smiled during interviews, trained tirelessly, and accepted every decision from the coach without complaining in public.
But you knew him better than any reporter.
You knew the criticism affected him. Not because he doubted himself, but because he demanded the most from himself. Sometimes you had seen him sitting silently on the balcony in the evenings, staring into the distance while wondering what he could do better.
That was why, more than anything, you wished that today he would get the chance to show everyone what he was truly capable of.
His mother’s words echoed in your mind for a long time.
And Ferran will be important for us.
You hoped with all your heart that she was right.
The first sixty minutes passed by in the blink of an eye — and at the same time, every single second seemed to last forever.
Spain dominated the match, patiently moving the ball through their own ranks and creating chance after chance. But time and time again, it was Martínez who destroyed the hopes of the Spanish fans with spectacular saves.
Every time your gaze wandered toward the substitutes’ bench, it stopped on Ferran.
He sat there, his eyes firmly fixed on the game, jumping up after every missed opportunity and passionately encouraging his team.
Again and again, you hoped that he would finally get his chance soon, so he could show on the pitch what he was capable of.
“This game is killing me…” Laura murmured beside you, having already chewed on the straw of her cola out of pure nervousness.
“Tell me about it…” you replied while running your fingers through your hair again, which by now must have looked quite messy — as if you had fought with a bird and had embarrassingly lost.
The players were slightly exhausted, completely sweaty, but still hungry for more. Spain especially wanted to finally score a goal. They were definitely the stronger team, but they simply couldn’t manage to put the ball into the net.
“I hope there won’t be a penalty shootout, because I really couldn’t handle that.”
With an agreeing nod from everyone around you, you let out a sigh, and your gaze wandered down toward the Spanish bench, where all the players had gathered in a circle and were listening to the coach’s words as he encouraged them once again and reminded them to give everything they had.
As the circle slowly broke apart, Luis de la Fuente once again patted each of his players on the shoulder encouragingly.
The substitutes also stood up from the bench.
Without meaning to, you held your breath.
Ferran took off his training jacket and handed it to a staff member. Afterwards, he grabbed an orange training vest and began warming up along the sideline together with two other players.
“He’s warming up…” you whispered more to yourself than to anyone else.
A smile crossed Ferran’s mother’s face.
“I told you,” she said quietly.
You couldn’t take your eyes off him anymore. Even from this distance, you could see how focused he was. No smile, no wave — only complete concentration on the match. Again and again, he looked toward the coach, as if he was waiting for exactly this one signal.
Less than two minutes later, the fourth official was already reaching for the electronic substitution board.
Your heart skipped a beat.
The number seven appeared in green.
Ferran was coming on.
Finally.
Finally, he would get playing time in this final important match of the 2026 World Cup.
Tears of joy slowly filled your eyes, which you quickly blinked away.
As Ferran high-fived his teammate Oyarzabal, whom he was replacing, and stepped onto the pitch moments later, you, Laura, and Ferran’s family jumped up from your seats, clapping loudly and cheering.
On the screen above the stadium, Ferran was shown in close-up as he jogged onto the field, a wide grin appearing on his lips. He had heard the applause and cheering. He knew exactly where it was coming from, and you knew exactly how much strength and motivation it gave him in that moment.
With every minute that passed, Ferran gained more confidence on the ball.
Your eyes were practically glued to the number 7 as he ran across the pitch and gave everything he had.
He pressed tirelessly, constantly made himself available, and put pressure on the Argentine defense. Even though he initially failed to create the decisive finish, it was immediately clear what fresh energy his substitution brought into Spain’s game.
Spain continued increasing the pressure.
Chance after chance went unused.
When the referee finally blew his whistle after ninety minutes, an audible groan went through the stadium.
Extra time.
The tension and nervousness inside the stadium were almost tangible. Everyone had wanted an exciting World Cup final. Whether they were supporting Spain, Argentina, or were neutral. But nobody had wanted the final to continue like this, painfully stuck in a draw.
You let your exhausted head fall back against the seat and took a deep breath.
Another thirty minutes.
Thirty minutes in which everything would be decided.
Your gaze automatically wandered back to Ferran. Even after those intense minutes on the pitch, he still looked focused. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, breathed heavily, and listened carefully to the coach’s instructions.
You knew that look.
It was the look of someone who wasn’t willing to give up.
And maybe that was exactly the reason why you had always believed in him.
⁀➴
The first minutes of extra time felt even more intense than everything before.
No one in the stadium was really sitting calmly anymore. Every attack was accompanied by a loud murmur, every lost ball caused a shocked intake of breath from the spectators.
Spain continued pushing forward.
You had long stopped looking at the clock. You could only follow the ball, the movements of the players, and especially the number 7, who kept making dangerous runs into open spaces.
Ferran fought for every single ball.
He sprinted, called for it, and tried again and again to push his team forward. It was exactly the kind of effort you knew from him. The kind many people didn’t see when they only looked at goals or statistics.
“Come on…” you whispered softly without taking your eyes off the pitch.
Laura reached for your hand and squeezed it briefly.
Ferran’s parents and his sister nervously bounced their feet up and down while his mother commented on every touch of the ball from him with a clap.
The three of them were just as tense. They could barely sit or stand still anymore, while hoping that this painful draw would finally turn into a 1–0 victory for Spain.
None of you said anything.
There was nothing left to say in that moment.
Then a loud cheer erupted throughout the stadium.
Spain had won the ball back.
For a brief moment, it felt as if the entire stadium held its breath.
The ball moved quickly through their own ranks. Every pass was accompanied by a loud murmur, every connection between players reigniting the hope in the stands.
By now, you were half-standing from your seat without even noticing.
Your hands were clasped together, your eyes fixed firmly on the pitch.
Then the ball came down the right side.
A quick run, a cross into the penalty area.
You held your breath.
Nico Williams jumped and reached the ball with his head. For a brief moment, everything seemed to slow down as the ball flew back toward the penalty area.
And then you saw him.
Ferran.
The number 7.
He had broken free at exactly the right moment, had moved into the open space, and was waiting for this one opportunity.
The opportunity he had been waiting for for weeks.
The one you had been waiting for with him.
His foot connected with the ball.
A loud strike.
The shot was powerful and precise.
For a fraction of a second, everything was completely silent.
Then the ball hit the back of the net.
1–0.
You needed a moment to understand what had just happened.
Your mind could barely grasp the thought.
Ferran had scored.
Ferran had actually scored.
In the World Cup final.
The player everyone had been talking about over the past few weeks. The player some had already written off. The player who had continued working every single day anyway.
And now he was standing there.
On the pitch.
As the hero of this moment.
“FERRAN!” you screamed without even realizing that tears were running down your cheeks. “HE DID IT! HE SHOWED THEM ALL!”
Everything around you erupted into celebration. Laura threw her arms around you, Arantxa clapped her hands while laughing and crying at the same time, and Ferran’s family jumped up completely overwhelmed.
But your eyes stayed only on him.
Ferran had already started running.
His face showed pure relief. Not just happiness.
Relief.
As if all the pressure, all the criticism, and all the doubts had no meaning anymore in this one moment.
And then he turned toward the stands.
His eyes found yours.
For a brief moment, the entire stadium seemed to disappear.
There was only him.
And you.
You placed a hand over your heart, just like he had done before the match.
A wide smile appeared on his lips.
He knew.
You knew.
This moment belonged to both of you.
And from that moment on, there was no stopping it.
The Spanish players, including the substitutes, ran toward Ferran and threw themselves around him, celebrating together.
The Spanish fans went wild, screaming and singing. The ground of the stadium seemed to shake while endless tears rolled down your cheeks.
He had done it.
He had shown everyone what he was capable of. He had, more or less, given all the critics out there a figurative middle finger and proved exactly what was inside him.
All the hours on the training ground. All the moments when he kept going, even though it hadn’t been easy. All the criticism, the doubts, and the outside voices that had questioned him — for this one moment, they were completely meaningless.
Because now he stood there.
In the World Cup final.
As the player who had brought his team one step closer to the greatest dream.
You knew this goal meant more to him than just a goal.
It was the answer he never had to give with words.
But the moment of relief did not last long.
The minutes were not over yet.
Argentina did not give up. Every attack made the Spanish fans fall silent again, every ball heading toward the penalty area made your heart beat faster.
You had long stopped sitting calmly. Your hands were intertwined while your eyes never left the pitch for even a second.
Please, please let this be enough. Please don’t let Argentina equalize. Please, please let Spain have this. Please let Ferran have this. Nobody deserves it more than he does.
Those were the thoughts racing through your mind again and again as you silently prayed.
And Ferran?
Ferran kept fighting.
He ran, helped defensively, supported his teammates, and gave everything for these final minutes. Not only for the victory. But for the dream they had all been chasing since the beginning of this journey.
Then the referee’s whistle sounded.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The Spanish fans roared, hugging each other while crying and smiling with happiness, while you still couldn’t truly believe what had just happened.
Ferran had made Spain world champions.
Ferran had done it.
He had fulfilled his biggest dream.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still.
All the doubts, all the criticism, and all the moments where he wanted to prove himself even more no longer mattered. Everything that counted was this one moment.
You had seen how much work, passion, and heart he had poured into this dream.
And now he stood there.
As a world champion.
It took a few seconds for your mind to finally understand what had happened. Then your eyes filled with tears, and they streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks.
You were pulled into the arms of Ferran’s family and your friends. Everyone was laughing, crying, and talking over each other. Everyone was trying to somehow comprehend that they had just experienced something nobody could ever take away from them.
They were allowed to call themselves world champions.
And you could hardly wait to hug the person who had made all of this possible.
⁀➴
It took several minutes until the chaos in the stands and around the pitch had calmed down slightly.
The chants of the fans still echoed through the stadium, cameras were still flashing everywhere, and the Spanish players were still celebrating their historic moment.
Then finally came the moment you had been waiting for the entire time.
The stewards gradually gave the families and relatives of the players permission to enter the pitch.
Your heart immediately began beating faster.
You could barely get a word out as you walked down toward the field together with them.
With every step, you became more aware of what had just happened.
Only minutes ago, you had stood in the stands, hoping that Ferran would get to experience this moment.
And now you were walking toward him.
Toward the man who had just become a world champion.
From a distance, you could already see his brown eyes shining with tears. His cheeks were slightly wet, and a wide grin rested on his lips — one that probably wouldn’t disappear for the next few days.
There he was.
The man you loved more than anything.
You let his family go first and gave them this special moment. First, Ferran’s father pulled him into a tight embrace, whispering proud words to him and repeatedly patting him on the shoulder with admiration.
You could see how much this moment meant to both of them.
Shortly afterward, his mother wrapped him in her arms. So tightly that it almost looked as if Ferran could barely breathe. But he only laughed softly while his own eyes became wet again.
His mother’s happy sobs were almost drowned out by the cheers of the stadium.
She had accompanied her son while he chased his dream.
And now she was allowed to watch him achieve it.
When his mother finally let go of him, Arantxa stepped toward her brother with a wide smile.
For a brief moment, she didn’t say anything.
She simply looked at him.
Maybe because she also had to understand that the little brother she had probably seen fight countless times before had just become a world champion.
“You’re truly incredible,” she finally said with a trembling voice before pulling him into her arms as well.
Ferran laughed softly and returned the hug.
“You’re not crying, are you?” he teased her gently, even though his own eyes were still filled with tears.
Arantxa rolled her eyes playfully and pulled away from him.
“Of course not. I just have something in my eye.”
You had to laugh quietly at her words.
That was Arantxa. Even in a moment that could hardly have been any bigger, she still managed to put a smile on her brother’s face.
And maybe that was exactly the reason why Ferran was so close to his family.
After Ferran had separated from his family, his eyes wandered across the pitch.
He was searching for something specific.
For someone.
For you.
For a brief moment, he stopped when your eyes met.
And even though everything around you continued to disappear into a sea of cheers, tears, and happiness, it felt as if this exact moment had been created only for the two of you.
The sparkle in his brown eyes became even stronger. The wide smile already resting on his lips grew even bigger.
You didn’t have to think.
You didn’t have to hesitate.
With quick steps, you crossed the few meters that still separated you.
Before either of you could say a word, Ferran pulled you into his arms.
Tightly.
So tightly that it felt as if he needed to make sure this moment was truly happening.
You wrapped your arms around him and buried your face against his shoulder. For a brief moment, all the noise around you disappeared. The cheering fans, the music, the cameras — none of it mattered.
Only him.
Only you.
“You did it,” you finally whispered with a trembling voice.
Slowly, you pulled away slightly, just enough to be able to see his face.
“You really did it.”
A small smile appeared on his lips while his eyes still shone with tears.
“I always believed in you,” you continued quietly. “Even when others didn’t. I knew you could do this.”
For a moment, Ferran simply stayed silent.
He looked at you as if he was trying to truly take in every single one of your words.
Because he knew you weren’t only talking about this goal.
You were talking about the weeks before. About the doubts. About the criticism. About all the moments when he had continued anyway.
Then he placed his hands on your cheeks and gently brushed away your tears with his thumbs.
“No,” he said softly, shaking his head slightly.
A confused expression appeared on your face.
But then he smiled.
“We did it.”
Your heart made a small leap.
Because that was exactly who Ferran was.
He didn’t see this moment only as his success.
Not as his goal.
Not as his victory.
But as something he shared with the people who had supported him throughout this journey.
And you were one of them.
“I love you,” you whispered, barely audible between all the celebration around you.
Ferran didn’t answer immediately.
He didn’t have to.
His smile said everything.
Then he leaned closer and placed his lips on yours.
A kiss filled with relief, happiness, and all the emotions you had barely been able to put into words over the past few weeks.
A kiss while he wore his world champion medal and the entire world celebrated around you.
And for that one moment, it didn’t matter that millions of people were watching.
Because you had gotten exactly what you had been hoping for all along.
Ferran had fulfilled his dream.
And you were allowed to share this moment with him.
