#ferran x reader

"Third door on the left," he murmurs now, close to your ear, and the warmth of it does something stupid to your stomach. He's got your hand in his, fingers laced together, pulling you down the corridor with this urgency that keeps threatening to tip over into something reckless.

"You're going to wake everyone up, Pedri and Gavi are next door," you hiss.

"I'm not doing anything." He stops at his door and turns to face you, and even now - rumpled, champagne-flushed, eyes gone soft with exhaustion and something else entirely, he looks like the man who scored the only goal in a World Cup final. Like someone who got exactly what he wanted and is already thinking about the next thing.

He fumbles with the keycard.

It doesn't work.

You bite down on a smile. "Ferran."

"I know, I know-"

He tries it again, the little light flashing red, and he exhales through his nose and presses his forehead briefly against the door like it's personally betrayed him. You're going to laugh, you can feel it building.

"Flip it the other way," you whisper.

He does. The light blinks green.

He turns back to you with an expression that can only be described as triumphant, like he's scored again. The lock clicked loudly in the silent hallway and you both froze, wide-eyed and drunk, before dissolving into hushed laughter.

"Shh, shh," he grinned, the smile boyish and wicked all at once as he pushed the door open. His hand slid lower on your body, squeezing your hip, then your ass as he guided you inside. "I'll be quiet, baby. I promise."

The door had barely clicked shut before Ferran's mouth was on yours again, hot and desperate. His hands framed your face at first, thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks, but that restraint lasted all of three seconds. One of his big palms slid down to grip the back of your neck, tilting your head exactly how he wanted as his tongue pushed past your lips.

He pressed you harder against the door, his body flush with yours. You could feel every inch of him - his chest, his abs still tight from the adrenaline of the match, and the hard outline of his cock grinding slowly, deliberately against your thigh. He rolled his hips in filthy little circles, letting you feel how badly he needed you.

"Been so hard for hours," he breathed against your mouth between kisses, voice wrecked and quiet. "Every time I looked at you tonight… fuck, I just wanted to drag you somewhere and bury myself in you."

Your hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer. The friction of his clothed cock rubbing against you had heat pooling low in your belly, your panties already soaked. He kissed you like he was drowning, messy and urgent, teeth tugging at your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands slid down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, until you dropped to your knees right there against the door. Ferran's eyes widened, dark with lust, as you quickly worked his belt and zipper open.

"Baby - fuck," he hissed as you freed his cock. It sprang out, heavy and flushed, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He was rock hard, veins prominent under your gaze.

You didn't tease, just took him into your mouth in one smooth motion, as deep as you could. Ferran's head thunked back against the door with a muffled thud, his hand flying to your hair, fingers tightening almost painfully.

"Shit - yes, just like that," he whispered, voice strained as he fought to stay quiet. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, pushing deeper into the wet heat of your throat.

You sucked him eagerly, hollowing your cheeks, tongue swirling around the head every time you pulled back. The taste of him, salty and warm, made you moan around his length.

He was breathing hard through his nose, chest heaving, trying so hard not to make noise. But you could tell he was already close as his thighs trembled, his grip in your hair grew tighter, and his cock throbbed heavily on your tongue.

After only a minute, he cursed under his breath and pulled you off with a wet pop, breathing ragged.

"Not yet," he growled, voice low as he hauled you back up, kissing you fiercely so he could taste himself on your tongue. "Want to finish inside you, I need to feel you come around me first."

Before you could respond, he scooped you up, hands gripping the back of your thighs. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you across the dark hotel room toward the king-sized bed. His mouth never left your skin - kissing, licking, sucking marks along your neck and collarbone.

He dropped you onto the mattress, the bounce making you both grin drunkenly for a second. His hands were everywhere at once, ripping at your clothes with zero patience. The expensive dress you'd worn to the celebrations was yanked up and over your head, your bra was quickly unclasped and tossed aside as he peeled your soaked panties down your legs and threw them somewhere into the darkness.

You were completely bare in front of him, and Ferran stared like he'd just won another trophy.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured reverently, running his hands up your thighs, spreading them wide.

He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, dragged you to the very edge, and buried his face between your legs without warning.

The first long, slow lick from your entrance to your clit made your back arch off the bed. He groaned loudly into your pussy at how wet you were, the vibration shooting pleasure through you, then he stopped holding back. Ferran ate you out like a man starved - messy, ravenous as two thick fingers plunging deep inside you and curling instantly against that spot that made you cry out.

"Oh my god - Ferran," you cried out, trying desperately to stay quiet. You bit your lip hard, one hand flying to your mouth while the other tangled in his hair.

He didn't let up. He kept devouring you, licking and sucking with obscene wet sounds that filled the room. His fingers pumped steadily, faster and faster, while his tongue worked your clit in tight circles. Every moan he made vibrated against your most sensitive parts, the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter.

You were failing miserably at being quiet.

Soft, broken whimpers and gasps kept slipping out despite your efforts. "Ferran - fuck, please- I can’t - ah!"

He pulled back just enough to look up at you, lips shiny with your arousal, eyes blazing with lust. "Shhh, baby," he whispered, voice husky, before diving back in even harder.

The pressure built unbearably fast as your thighs started shaking around his head, hips grinding desperately against his mouth. He was relentless - groaning, licking, sucking, fucking you with his fingers like he needed you to come more than he needed air.

You came hard, back bowing off the bed, a choked cry tearing from your throat before you could muffle it with your hand. "Oh, Ferran!"

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your pussy clenching rhythmically around his fingers as he kept licking you through it, drawing out every last pulse of ecstasy.

Ferran didn't stop until you were trembling and oversensitive, kissing your inner thighs softly as you came down.

He rose up over you, cock rock hard and leaking, eyes dark with pure need as he climbed onto the bed, crawling over you with a hunger that still somehow looked reverent. His body hovered above yours, skin hot and flushed from the long night.

For a moment, everything slowed. He cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheekbones as he looked straight into your eyes.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, voice thick with emotion and lust.

Then he kissed you - soft at first, almost sweet. His lips moved gently against yours, savoring the taste of your shared desire. You melted into it, arms wrapping around his neck, fingers threading through his messy hair as the kiss deepened. Tongues slid lazily together, like he was pouring every ounce of love and triumph into you.

You could feel his cock, heavy and burning hot, resting against your soaked entrance, twitching with need. But he didn't rush, just kept kissing you, breathing you in, forehead pressed to yours between kisses, eyes half-lidded and locked on yours.

With a low, broken groan, Ferran gripped your hips hard and thrust into you in one powerful stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden stretch and fullness ripped a loud cry from your throat. He didn't give you time to adjust as he pulled back and slammed in again, setting a relentless pace right away.

"Fuck - yes," he growled, eyes burning into yours. He refused to look away, staring straight at you as he fucked you senseless.

The headboard started slamming against the wall with every hard thrust. Thud. Thud. Thud. The sound echoed through the quiet hotel room, but Ferran didn't seem to care anymore. He'd completely forgotten about his teammates sleeping next door. All that mattered was you.

He was rough and fast, hips snapping forward with powerful strokes that drove the air from your lungs. Every thrust was deep, almost punishing in its intensity. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto your chest as he pounded into you, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with your uncontrollable moans and his deep, guttural groans.

You cried out sharply with every thrust, unable to hold back. "Oh, Ferran - oh god, slow down, they'll hear-"

But he just fucked you harder, eyes still locked on yours, pupils blown wide with raw lust. "Let them," he rasped, voice wrecked. "I don't care. Need you, need this."

He was fighting so hard not to cum. You could see it in his face - the clenched jaw, the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the desperate groans that slipped out every time your walls fluttered around him. His fingers dug bruisingly into your hips as he held you in place, driving into you again and again.

"Fuck, you feel so good," he groaned loudly, never breaking eye contact. "So tight… so wet for me. Look at me, baby. Don't look away."

You couldn't have looked away even if you wanted to. His gaze pinned you intensely as he fucked you into the mattress. Tears of overwhelming pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes, every thrust hit that perfect spot inside you, sending sparks of ecstasy shooting through your body.

Ferran suddenly grabbed your legs, pushing your ankles up onto his shoulders. The new angle folded you in half, letting him sink even deeper. He groaned loudly at the sensation, burying himself as far as physically possible.

"Oh Ferran, oh my fucking god-" you sobbed, the pleasure overstimulating since you were still sensitive from your previous orgasm.

"Gonna cum inside you," he panted, voice hoarse, thrusts growing somehow even deeper. "Fuck, look at me when you cum again."

His words, combined with the relentless drag of his cock against that sensitive spot and the overwhelming eye contact, sent you spiraling. You came hard around him, crying out his name loud enough that half the floor probably heard.

Ferran's rhythm finally broke. With a deep, guttural moan that echoed through the room, he slammed into you one last time and stayed buried deep, hips pressed flush against you. His cock pulsed hard as he came, flooding you with thick, hot spurts. He kept his eyes on yours the entire time, watching every second of your shared climax, forehead pressed to yours as he groaned your name like a prayer.

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breathing and the distant thump of your racing hearts. Ferran stayed inside you, gently lowering your legs as he collapsed on top of you, still pressing soft kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your neck.

"Best night of my life," he whispered against your skin, voice soft again.

The next morning, the parade bus is a disaster.

It starts before Ferran even makes it up the steps. Lamine is already there, sunglasses on despite the fact that it's overcast, grinning at him with the specific energy of someone who has been waiting all morning to say something.

"There he is," Lamine announces to no one in particular. "The hero of Spain."

"Don't," Ferran says.

"I'm just saying. Two goals last night."

Ferran stops walking. "I scored one goal."

"That's not what it sounded like from room 804."

The back of the bus erupts. Gavi nearly chokes on whatever he's drinking, Pedri has his face buried in his hands already, and Cucurella is outright cackling, leaning across the seat to slap Lamine on the arm like he's just said the funniest thing anyone has ever said in the history of professional football.

Ferran keeps walking and finds a seat, jaw tight, staring straight ahead.

It lasts about thirty seconds.

"Oh, Ferraaaaaan-"

He turns around. It's Gavi, voice pitched high, hand clutched dramatically to his chest, and now the whole section of the bus is losing it, a full chorus of his name in varying degrees of falsetto, and Ferran closes his eyes slowly like a man searching for patience he does not have.

"You're all children," he says. "We won the World Cup yesterday."

"We know," Pedri says, completely composed except for the way his mouth is twitching. "We were there. We heard."

"Shut up, Pedri."

"I'm just saying - thin walls."

"Incredibly thin," Cucurella agrees solemnly. "Paper, basically paper."

"I had to put headphones in," Lamine adds, shaking his head like he's recounting a trauma. "At four in the morning. On the night we won the World Cup because of you."

Ferran turns back to face the front of the bus. Outside the window, the streets are already lined with people, red and yellow everywhere, flags and scarves and thousands of faces blurring together. The noise of it filters through the glass, and it's enormous, the kind of sound that settles somewhere behind your ribs.

He'd scored the only goal in a World Cup final - he should be allowed to have this.

"She was really that loud?" someone asks from the back, one of the defenders, he doesn't even turn to look.

"Louder," Gavi and Pedri say at the exact same time.

The bus absolutely loses it again.

Ferran tips his head back against the seat and stares at the roof and thinks about how he is going to have to live with this for the rest of his career. Every dressing room, every camp, every time one of them wants a cheap laugh. He's going to be sixty years old and Lamine Yamal is still going to be doing that voice.

But then the bus turns the corner and the crowd comes into full view - hundreds of thousands of them, screaming, crying, holding up his name on banners and someone presses a medal into his hand, while Gavi drops into the seat beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and says quietly, genuinely, "You were unbelievable yesterday. You know that, right?"

Ferran looks at him.

Gavi grins. "The goal, I mean. Obviously."

"I hate you," Ferran says.

"No you don't."

He doesn't.

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The roar of eighty thousand people didn't sound like cheering, it sounded like a physical wall of noise, a tidal wave that crashed over the MetLife Stadium and shook the very concrete of the stands.

Ferran didn't hear the whistle. He didn't hear the screams of his teammates. He only felt the sudden, jarring silence in his own head the moment the ball kissed the back of the net.

For a heartbeat, the world froze.

The white of the goal-line, the blur of the goalkeeper's desperate dive, the emerald green of the turf, it all sharpened into a singular, crystalline image.

Then, the world exploded. He run. He run for his life in direction of the corner flag. His foot collided with the steel of the flag sending it flying.

His teammates were on him in an instant. The air felt too thick to breathe, heavy with the scent of crushed grass and the electric charge of a miracle.

"Ferran! Cabrón! You actually did it!" A weight slammed into his back, sending his feet further into the turf. Gavi’s voice was a screech in his ear, high and frantic.

Then came Pedri, then the rest of them, a chaotic pile of red jerseys and sweat and screaming lungs. "You did it! Vamoooos, you beautiful bastard!"

Ferran let them haul him up, but his legs felt like lead. He looked toward the stands, his eyes scanning the sea of red and yellow until they locked onto one spot. One face. Liliana stood gripped to the railing, her knuckles white, her face streaked with tears that she didn't seem to notice.

She wasn't screaming like the others. She was shaking, her hand pressed firmly over her mouth as if trying to keep it from leaping anymore screams.

Their eyes met across the distance, and in that look, the stadium vanished. The noise dimmed to a hum. "Te amo," he whispered, though the words were lost in the cacophony.

The ceremony was a blur of gold confetti and blinding flashbulbs. The trophy, a heavy, glittering piece of art, felt surreal in his hands. He held it aloft, the metal cool against his palms, but his gaze kept drifting.

He didn't care about the cameras or the commentators shouting his name into microphones. He only cared about the girl in the stands who had seen him at his absolute lowest. The one that supported him all the way.

As the players began to wander the pitch, embracing staff and family, Ferran pushed through the crowd. He didn't stop until he reached the edge of the VIP section. "Lili!" She didn't wait for him to reach her. She vaulted over the low barrier, ignoring the security guard's startled shout, and launched herself at him.

Ferran caught her, the impact knocking the wind out of him, but he didn't let go. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, the scent of her blossom perfume cutting through the smell of salt and turf. "You did it," she sobbed into his jersey. "Ferran, you actually did it."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his chest heaving. His eyes were bloodshot, his face smeared with dirt and sweat. "Did you see it? Tell me you saw it."

"I never took my eyes off you for a second. Not one second Ferri."

"I thought I was going to miss," he admitted, his voice cracking with a low hopeless laugh. "Right at the end, I thought, 'Not again. Please, not again."

Liliana reached up, cupping his face with both hands. Her palms were warm, grounding him. "Look around, Fer. Look at the scoreboard. You didn't miss."

"I can't believe it's over."

"It's not over. It's just starting cariño.“

“Madre mía, te amo amor. Te amo muchísimo." He laughed, a jagged, breathless sound, and kissed her hard, a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of salt and victory.

Seeing Ferran posing with the trophy every player has dreamed of since childhood set a long resting stone in her heart free. Feeling said trophy be with her hands while taking photos with love of her life was even more unreal. The weight of the gold medal around her neck dangling over her stomach was another sight beside the trophy that lunged several emotions into Ferran’s already overstimulated self.

The ride back to the hotel was a cacophony of reggaeton and shouting. The team bus was a rolling party, the players jumping in their seats, champagne spraying against the windows, even thoug a quarter of the team wasn't even legal to drink alkohol yet.

Ferran sat in the back, Liliana’s hand locked in his. De LaFuente fortunately made an exception for the closest family members to join the players on the ride back.

The Valancian was exhausted, the kind of bone-deep fatigue that made his muscles twitch, but the adrenaline kept him wired. "You're shaking," Liliana whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I'm just... I'm vibrating," he replied. "I feel like if I stop moving, I'll wake up in my bedroom in Barcelona and find out I dreamt the whole tournament."

"You didn't dream the bruises on your shins," her low laughter vibrated against his shoulder.

"True," a small smirk joining hers.

"Or the way you looked when you scored. You looked like you'd just won a billion in lottery." Ferran tightened his grip on her hand. "In a way, I did." She kissed his shoulder after that.

The hotel was a fortress of security, the lobby swarmed by press and fans.

Because of the win, the usual restrictions had vanished. The "family" floors were open, and the atmosphere in the hallways was electric. Doors were open, music was blaring from various suites, and the smell of expensive champagne filled the air.

When they finally entered his room and the door clicked shut, the silence was instantaneous and deafening. Ferran leaned his back against the door, sliding down until he hit the carpet. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his head hitting the wood with a soft thud.

Liliana stood over him for a moment, watching the way his shoulders slumped. The public mask of the champion was gone, replaced by the fragile boy she had known since they were teenagers.

"Finally," she said softly. "Finally," he echoed. She knelt in front of him, reaching out to unlace his sneakers. "Stay still. Let me."

"I can do it, Lili."

"I know you can. But let me." And he did. He watched her small hands work, the focused expression on her face. As the shoes came off, Ferran felt the weight of the last four years pressing down on him.

The memories of the midnight panic attacks, the scrolling through Twitter and seeing thousands of people call him a failure, the suffocating feeling of not being enough for the club, the country, or himself.

"They're going to stop now, aren't they?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. Liliana stopped, her hands resting on his knees. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Who?"

"The people. The ones who said I was finished. The ones who said I was a liability. The ones who told me I didn't have the mental strength for this. Everyone." Liliana shifted, crawling onto his side and wrapping her arms around his neck. She pressed her forehead against his.

"Do you think a gold medal changes the world, Ferran?"

"I hope so," his voice carried a bittersweet hiccup.

"It doesn't change the world. It just changes the narrative. The people who hated you for the sake of hating will find something else to complain about. But the people who actually matter? They saw you fight through the dark to get here. That's the part that counts." She places a lingering kiss into his hair while his head sank into her arms, his hands grabbing hold of them.

"I almost quit," he confessed, the words spilling out now that the dam had broken. "Three months ago, during the qualifiers... I sat in the locker room and… I… I couldn't breathe. I thought I was having a heart attack. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to hide in the house and never see a football again." Liliana pulled back, her expression softening.

"You told me you were just tired."

"I lied. I was terrified. I felt like a fraud. I kept thinking, 'Why am I even here? Someone else deserves this spot. Someone who isn't breaking apart inside."

"And yet, you stayed."

"Because you wouldn't let me leave." Liliana smiled, a small, sad tilt of her lips. "I didn't stop you from leaving. I just reminded you that you weren't alone in the dark. There's a difference." He closed his eyes, leaning into her. "I don't know how you did it. How you dealt with me when I couldn't even look in the mirror."

"It was easy," she whispered. "Because when I looked at you, I didn't see the 'liability' the newspapers wrote about. I saw the boy who used to practice until his toes bled in the rain. I saw the person who makes me laugh when I'm having a bad day. The world sees a player, Ferran. I see you." He pulled her closer, burying his face in her chest.

A single, jagged sob escaped him, followed by another. He didn't try to hide it. He didn't have to. In this room, there were no cameras, no fans, no critics. There was only the girl who had loved him when he was nothing, and who loved him now that he was everything.

"It's okay," she murmured, stroking the back of his neck. "Just let it go. It's all gone now."

They stayed like that for a long time, the only sound the hum of the air conditioner and the distant muffled cheers from the hallway. Eventually, the tension left his body, replaced by a heavy, comfortable lethargy.

Ferran pulled back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked at the gold medal still draped over his neck, reflecting the dim amber light of the hotel lamp. "It looks smaller in here," he noted.

"Everything looks smaller when you're not fighting for it, or when the whole world keeps an eye on it." He chuckled, reaching out to pull her up and onto the bed. They tumbled onto the duvet, limbs tangled, the expensive fabric bunching around them.

"I'm starving," he admitted. "You just played ninety minutes in a World Cup final. Of course you're starving."

"I want something terrible. Like, really greasy. A burger the size of my head." Liliana laughed, the sound bright and clear. "You're an elite athlete. Your nutritionist would have a stroke."

"My nutritionist isn't currently holding a World Cup medal. He didn’tscore the winning goal either. I think I've earned a burger."

"I suppose you have." He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her. The adrenaline had faded, leaving behind a raw, tender intimacy. He traced the line of her jaw with his thumb, his gaze softening. "I love you, Lili."

"I love you too, you idiot."

"I mean it. I really mean it. I don't think I would have made it to this room tonight without you. I don't think I’d have made it past last year without you." Liliana reached up, pulling his face down to hers.

"Then stop talking about it and just be here with me." The kiss was slower this time, devoid of the desperation of the pitch. “Enjoy it now. Cause you deserved it more than anyone.“ It was a promise, a quiet acknowledgment of everything they had survived together.

As they lay there, the world outside continued to scream his name, but inside the room, Ferran finally found the one thing the trophy couldn't give him.

Peace.

"Hey," she whispered against his lips. "Yeah?"

"Do you think the hotel has room service’s burgers?" He grinned, a genuine, wide smile that reached his eyes for the first time in months. "I'm about to find out." He reached for the phone, but before he could dial, he stopped, looking at her again. "Wait."

"What?"

"I just want to stay like this for five more minutes. Just us. Before mister will lecture me about das food tomorrow." Liliana smiled and pulled the duvet over both of them, cocooning them in a private world of warmth and silence.

"Five minutes," she agreed. "Then I'm ordering fries too."

"Deal." He closed his eyes, listening to the steady beat of her heart against his chest, knowing that no matter what the next season brought, no matter who shouted or what was written in the papers, he was already home.

“Te amo más que a nada,“ he whisperes against her temple. “Te amo más. Mi MVP.“

________________________________________

yourusername:

liked by pablogavi, pedri, tomholland2013 & others

tagged: ferrantorres

yourusername: last week in a nutshell 💗 see you soon new jersey y viva la roja ❤️💛

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zendaya: love you guys -> yourusername: love you moree

ferrantorres: te amo ❤️ -> yourusername: i love you moreee ❤️❤️❤️

pablogavi: you guys got food and didn't tell me? -> ferrantorres: exactly

fanusername: i love how there's no doubt who she's supporting -> fanusername: well obviously she'll support her boyfriend -> fanusername: bruh she's literally from spain they grew up together

oliviarodrigo: 🩷🩷 -> yourusername: my loveeee

fanusername: god what i'd do for a chance with either of them

theodysseymovie: from the red carpet to the red jerseys, serving looks both ways liked by yourusername

cineplex: and everybody in here better watch the odyssey -> yourusername: ^^

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yourusername:

liked by fcbarcelona, zendaya, tatemcrae & others

tagged: ferrantorres

yourusername: oh ferraannnn oh my loveee ❤️ WORLD CHAMPS! i don't have the words to explain how happy i am for you. no one deserves this more!!! i'm beyond honoured to have been able to share this with you. i lovee you and so so proud!

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ferrantorres: i love you so so much ❤️ there's no one else i'd rather do this with -> yourusername: going to make me cryy i love youuu

fanusername: VISCA BARCA (it's basically the same thing)

fanusername: SCREAMINGGG WE'RE WORLD CHAMPS BABYY

fanusername: SHUT THE FUCK UPPP -> fanusername: am i tweaking or is that a RING on her finger?

fanusername: ran here from twitter and look at that fucking rock

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ferrantorres & yourusername:

liked by daniolmo, pedri, fifa & others

ferrantorres: got blessed with two trophies this trip

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welcome to casanova beach club, what can i get you? fedri x f readerㅤ( 6556w ) ── warningsㅤthrouple content slightly angsty at the beginning because of #stress spanish terms of endearement used are 'mi vida' = my life / 'mi niña' = my girl / 'amor' = love slightly ferrán centered because he appears more please wear seatbelts when in a car guys! also joder means fuck in spanish, i think i dropped one around thereㅤno use of ynㅤ⟡ ㅤfluff , proofread ! .ㅤ⸝⸝ㅤclick to masterlist .

The big screen attached to the furthest wall from you was a blur of words and data you couldn't quite focus at the moment. You had your laptop opened in front of you, where the next presentation was on queue, and you were going through all the information you had memorized the day before over dinner while your boyfriend pretended to hear.

It was six forty something in the afternoon, AC turned on and the blinds dimmed so the bright May sunlight wouldn't bother you, and after all the preparation and lack of sleep now you were the one pretending to hear your colleague. The meeting, which had started almost three hours ago, was already running late.

And now you were running late.

You felt your phone vibrate against the wooden surface of the table, merely inches away from your hand, and picked it up before it could tremble a second time—not even daring to disrupt the monologue that your coworker was sharing with you about the content she wanted to include in her show during the following days.

As a senior content producer, you were supposed to be paying active attention, and even interrupting with constructive feedback as an expert in your field. You were also, however, allowed controlled slips from the gathering, if it had to do with work. And with the amount of projects and contacts that you had, there was always a chance that the next message was an important one.

At least if the device that you had left over the table at the beginning of the meeting was your work phone, which it wasn’t.

You unblocked your personal phone in a swift flick of numbers that were more reflex than memory, and disabled the sound in your phone in a heartbeat when you felt it buzz once again. At that time, that day, only two people could be the authors of the texts. A conversation that had started in the group chat because of a picture, so you lowered the screen light a notch before you went over the messages.

pedri: [attachment]

pedri: what do you think? too formal?

You bit back a smile, zooming in the selfie mirror that your boyfriend had sent you. You recognised behind his lithe figure the messy sheets he had forgotten to fix after leaving the bed that morning, and also the familiar way the reflection was slightly bathed by the evening sunlight. He was asking about the white button up shirt he was wearing, and the slacks and the matching suit jacket, but not about the nervous curve of a smile in his lips.

ferri: you look like you’re going to a wedding

ferri: drop the button up or the blazer and wear something more casual

And you agreed. The other third of your group chat, Ferrán, your other boyfriend, had a more enhanced sense of fashion, and it almost pained you that none of you could be in the room with Pedri to help him decide what to wear.

But the meeting was important, and you had already asked for days off for the rest of the week, so you had to be there. Even though in your very organised schedule, you were supposed to have already left—and you should have already done your presentation, but your boss had completely lost track of time and you were left with a cute picture and a conversation you could not be a part of instead of getting ready with him.

pedri: answer to @ ferri ‘you look like you’re going to a wedding’ my mom told me to look handsome

ferri: you always look handsome, don’t worry

You felt eyes on you, and when you lifted your gaze, your best friend in the office was looking at you. She had just written a quick sentence in her notebook, something your coworker had said and you had completely missed, and she delivered a short nod in your direction to check that everything was fine.

You answered with a tight smile, nodding back. Everything was as fine as it could be.

pedri: ha ha

pedri: what are you wearing, then?

ferri: [attachment]

ferri: casual but elegant

His clothes were still draped over his bed, but you could tell the classy details in his pants, and how well they unconciously matched the dress you had chosen for the occasion. You had sent a picture from the store the day you had bought it, and while you knew Pedri had cared, it was clear that it had been Ferrán the one to really take in the design.

pedri: you're a dork

pedri: it’s better if i wear black, right?

ferri: black goes with everything

ferri: stick to a dark colour palette

Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment, hesitating. You wanted to respond, but your fellow editor was still going on and on about how to announce certain news in the roster; besides, you had already spent an increasingly suspicious amount of time with the phone between your hands. You desisted, this time shoving the phone into your bag, that was hanging from the back of the chair, and pretended to cough as you fell back into focus.

7.12PM

You couldn’t help but check the time just once again. The number had changed, but not as fast as you had wished for only one minute ago. Your presentation had finished not that long ago, followed by a positive commentary from your boss, and now that you were done, escaping that meeting had turned into your one and only priority.

Your friend had picked up where you had left it, changing slightly the subject into her direct field of expertise, and you wanted to listen to her, but your head was running over all the options to still, somehow, manage to get there on time. Arriving late was really not an option, since it was the first event from your boyfriend’s work you were going to attend with his arm around yours.

It had been a long conversation, throughout the days that followed the big parade in the bus around the busy streets of the Catalonian capital their football team had organised, when Pedri had locked eyes with you and sent you a flying kiss. In the heat of the moment it had seemed innocent, because there were a lot of people, and it could have been for a random fan, but after reflecting on it and following a couple of dangerous threads about it on X, you had decided to officialise your relationship with one of them.

That way, if someone actually saw something, you could control the narrative. It was basic journalism.

But you could not announce anything if you were not actually there, and you didn’t have time to go back to Pedri’s house and get changed in time to leave with him. Your work clothes were not that bad, but you could tell you were not going to be dressed properly—or maybe way too strict, too professional. More like a member of the directive than a plus one guest. And if you went straight from your office to his house, it was still a fifteen minute drive.

With a deep, anxious sigh stuck in the back of your mouth, you pulled the texting app in your laptop.

you: i cant leave yet

you: lara is talking about the data for this weekend’s articles

you: our articles

You saw the silly picture you had taken of Pedri during the recovery of his latest injury pop up in the chat as soon as you had sent the last text, and then the bubbles forming and popping while he wrote an answer.

pedri: how long do you think it'll take?

pedri: i have to leave in 10 minutes max, the car is already here

Right, the rental car his club had chosen to pick him up, because you had decided to go together and then come back with Ferrán, since he lived so close by. You failed to avoid muttering a low fuck under your breath, but no one around you seemed to be too invested on what you were doing, rather than in Lara’s words.

you: it's ok, you go

you: either i arrive late or i dont go and we'll make it official another day

pedri: hey, you still got time

pedri: you can make it, dinner’s supposed to start at 8.30

pedri: everything will be fine

pedri: just keep us posted about what you decide

You pouted to the dimmed screen of your laptop while your friend started to pick up her notes from the lectern, and then swiftly looked over to your boss, still typing, to check what was next in the agenda for that afternoon.

you: i know

you: i just really want to go and this meeting is stressing me out

The coordinator of editors for LaLiga content shifted the papers in front of him at the head of the table, and exhaled a sigh with the next point you were supposed to talk about. You tried really hard not to defeatedly sink further into your seat, and listened to his questions.

ferri: we know, mi vida

ferri: for now focus on your job

ferri: that's the important part

7.29PM

There were no more presentations scheduled for the day, but you couldn’t stop looking at the bottom corner of the screen’s right side, where a couple of pixels flickered into existence every few seconds. It made the light numbers of the time appear and disappear, and you wanted to swear that it made minutes pass faster, but you were not entirely sure.

It was almost seven thirty, and in one hour you had to be in the restaurant that FC Barcelona had rented for the occasion. You knew how it looked already because you had written an article about the celebratory dinner that the club had organised to gather all the players, coaching staff and even the management, including their families and spouses, to praise everyone for the good work during the season.

And after dating two of those players for almost a year, this time you were going to be inside the beach club, surrounded by their teammates, instead of in the office, writing about whatever information the photographers of your company had collected in the time they waited outside the building.

The thought of introducing yourself to the footballers that already knew you in your most professional mindset as Pedri’s girlfriend would’ve had you restless if you weren’t already preoccupied about how to get there in the first place.

You slid your finger along the touchpad of your laptop to check the time one more time, and saw a new notification. It was Ferrán.

ferri: @ you do you want me to go pick you up?

The seat sighed under your weight when you sat up straighter, writing an answer as quick as possible.

you: don't worry

you: if i leave to go back home and change, i'm going to be late anyway

you: i'll probably go directly as soon as i'm done here

ferri: in your car?

You winced, knowing that he was going over the same path of options you had gone a while ago. Taking your car would be useless, because you didn’t have any type of identification or invitation to the event, so security wouldn’t let you pass. But if you went by walking, you could go up to the entrance as another fan and then ask Pedri to help you in.

To get there, unfortunately, you had to take a thirty minute suburban train, which right now was your last resort.

you: no

you: train

pedri: taking the train to castelldefels is a nightmare, amor

You knew. Of course you knew. And you also knew that he was trying to help, but with the echo of your boss’ voice in the back of your head, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of one of your coworker’s pen against the table, and the annoying speed in which the corner of the projector’s screen was flickering, you couldn’t even begin to explain how his words were only stressing you more.

you: i don't see any other option

And you saw him typing once more, but you closed the texting app before glancing at the answer.

7.51PM

When the clock on the wall—because you had decided to stop looking at the screen, for the sake of your sanity—had hit ten minutes to eight in the evening, you had already set your mind on just not going. It was not fair to the organisers of the event, it was not fair to the punctuality values your parents had taught you and it was certainly not fair to your heart, that had been stammering against your ribcage at an alarming pace.

Now it was calm, and even though you felt like you were disappointing your boyfriends in some way, you were also very at peace with yourself.

Everyone at the celebratory reunion knew you, and you were not about to appear in your work clothes, out of breath and slightly dishevelled, when they all had praised your professionalism, and your elegant composure in all the interviews you had performed with them. It was pride, but also your personal brand, that was in the line.

So for a while you had focused back into the meeting, earning approval and corrections in your plans for the following week. All national competitions were over, and now the football branch of your company was turning their focus on complete coverage of the upcoming World Cup, so they had decided to talk about it right then and there since you were going to be gone until the following Monday.

Great.

You took your phone from the leather bag hanging from the back of your chair, and opened the group chat with your boyfriends once again to a picture—the latest message of twenty three.

pedri: [attachment]

pedri: i just arrived

pedri: there's a lot of people

It was a cute selfie, with the curve of his chin slightly cropped and a dreamy background. You could see the beach in the back, thin and darker towards the shore, and the profound blue of the sea that was way darker than the one in the pool to his left, light twinkling over the water. The decorations were a haze of white and esparto grass and straw, and you couldn’t really see who was the player in the table behind Pedri, but there were drinks already half finished.

Still, you could tell he was nervous in the tightness of his sweet smile.

you: here they're still going at it

you: it feels like it will never end

you: going over some world cup prep

You crossed your legs under the table, trying to conceal the fact that you were paying more attention to the conversation held between your hands than to the chosen correspondents to travel to the USA during June and July. You knew your name was among them, because you had signed off those papers two days ago, so you really didn’t need to listen to the same list once again.

ferri: tell them you have an emergency

you: what emergency?

ferri: a relative is in the hospital

You almost snorted, your eyes rolling in exasperation. Ferrán was the one that teased the most when he was in a good mood, but he also had a good sense to understand when you were not in the right place to be teased. The problem with it came when he tried to make you laugh within your sour temper. Most of the time it worked, but not when it was job related.

And after all the risks you had gone over when talking about going official with one of them, it seemed like they didn’t remember a thing and you were the only one still going over all the possible terrible outcomes of a small slip.

you: they will see the pictures tomorrow and know is not true

you: i’m not risking my credibility at work, thank you

pedri: answer to @ ferri: ‘a relative is in the hospital’ that's too much, ferri

ferri: shut up, i'm working on a solution

Now, that was the message you had been fearing. Because Ferrán was not going in a rented car but his own, and he was also the most impulsive out of the three of you, he was more prone to stupid ideas that ended up in chaos—and you were not taking the chance for that to happen.

Your fingertips danced over the keyboard of your phone, deciding what to type, and then you heard someone clearing their throat. 

“Something you want to add?” your boss asked, strict and low, with a wrinkle of annoyance around his sharp eyes.

“No, sir,” you called back, setting the phone screen down on the table like it burned. “All clear.”

8.04PM

By the time the meeting followed the sweet path of the last point in the agenda, your fingertips were already twitching in anticipation to open the text message app in your laptop and check if Ferrán had said anything else about his possible ideas. But every time that you didn’t follow with your gaze the conversation, that you didn’t nod to the words of your coworkers or added your own input, you felt your boss’s eyes over you.

So you waited until the final part of the meeting, when the secretary of the director read the minutes of what you had agreed on during the neverending hours of non stop babbling, to sneakily open a new tab over the wallpaper picture of your hometown.

pedri: ferri, i think some spots in the parking lot are reserved for us so you can park there when you arrive

ferri: got it

You smiled, somewhat relieved, that everything seemed to go according to their original plan. Pedri was already there, having fun, and Ferrán was on his way, ready to spend some nice time with their team in a deserved celebration of their hard work.

You added a message, typing as slow as you could to avoid suspicion.

you: i will try to get out in 5 minutes if they don’t shut up by then

you: i’ll check if i have some extra clothes in my office

you: but if when i get there is too late, i’m going back home

pedri: hey, take it easy, it's ok

pedri: im not trying to stress you, amor

The tip of your friend’s sandal nudged your shin, and your eyes went upwards immediately. She pretended to cough, and proceeded to add some information to one of the points—the one you had been working on about the details in the farewell to Robert Lewandowski from FC Barcelona. Old news, but a nice article to complete all the information from your web.

She left her last sentence hanging just in the right way so you could continue for her, and actually add your voice to the discussion, and when you finished, the meeting continued smoothly.

You winked at her. Nice save.

you: i know

you: we all know what time is it, anyways

you: are there any cameras?

pedri: yeah, a lot. i think everyone sent journalists here

Of course there were. It was not just any football event, where all the companies would send their fair amount of photographers to capture every second, on top also of the usual fans that wanted to earn some signatures and pictures; it was a domestic dinner where sports met privacy and everyone got to have a glimpse of the footballer’s inner circle. Known and unknown spouses and girlfriends, and the way they interacted with each other, feeding the public’s morbid curiosity.

You looked over to your right, where the director of photography seemed as close to falling asleep as you were to flee the room any given minute, and considered the names you had talked about before the meeting, trying to remember if he had mentioned who he had selected to take pictures of the event that afternoon.

you: yeah i know

you: i don’t know who javi sent to cover the entrance tbh

pedri: everything is going to be alright, mi niña

pedri: let me know when you arrive and i'll go out to escort you

pedri: there's no rush

When your boss’s voice picked up in one last sentence before ending the meeting, you tried not to look too eager to leave. You closed the laptop in a heartbeat, and grabbed your bag so fast you almost tripped over the chair on your way out.

You heard your friend, probably confused, throwing some questions at you, but you shouted over your shoulder something messy and quick that you wished it sounded like ‘Talk to you later, promise!’, but really just came out as gibberish in the empty corridor.

The flat sole of your sneakers barely left any sound over the tiled path to your office, and when you arrived, you had less than an exhalation to leave your blazer in the little closet by the corner and take a cute, warm shawl that you kept there for emergency situations like that one. You put the laptop and the agenda into the key-secured drawer of your desk, and grabbed the black heels that you had left under the table some time last week in between meetings and projects.

Then you took off, making sure that the light was off and the door was closed, and didn’t even think twice before rushing to the hallway and down the stairs, too full of adrenaline to take the elevator.

Your bag was big enough to keep the items you had just gotten, and you juggled it with one leather handle over your shoulder to take your phone and check when the next train was going to be. You would have enough time to freshen up and get ready on the way to Castelldefells.

When you unblocked the device, instead, you had a private message from Ferrán:

ferri: i'm outside

ferri: no need to run

And someplace between a heart attack and absolute relief, you sighed his name out of your mouth—there had been a plan, after all. You should have known.

You ran your hand over your face in a defeated gesture, quick feet flowing over the stairs, until you got to the private parking of the building. Not the underground one, more hidden from the public eye, but the one upfront, where everyone could see who parked there.

And in the first row, in a shadow of luxury and care, there was a hybrid model of the Cupra deal FC Barcelona had made with the car company, waiting for you. And leaning into the driver's door, but outside of it, the strong silhouette of Ferrán, with his black, simple T-shirt folding into the curves of his arms with reverence. He was smiling, almost grinning, under the stupid cap he had at least decided to wear to pick you up.

“You stupid, stupid boy,” you muttered under your breath, approaching him like a storm brewing behind the horizon. The afternoon had been a carousel of emotions, but certainly the permanent one since you had started dating them was anxiety at everything Ferrán did that decided not to share with you two.

Like risking your privacy by appearing, out of nowhere, in your work place for everyone to see.

“Get inside,” you all but snapped at him, punching him strengthless in his chest, brows furrowed into the poor attempt of masked anger. You couldn’t stay irritated at him for too long, but every time you had to try a little longer.

“Not even a ‘thank you, amor’?” he asked, the grin still dancing on his lips, but taking the heels from your hand and opening the car for you nonetheless. “Joder, tough crowd.”

You ran to the passenger side, settling into your seat in an exhalation, and prayed for your coworkers to wait a couple of seconds before leaving the building. They were all sports journalists for LaLiga—even with the cap on, there was no way they didn’t recognise Ferrán’s face driving you away. They all would know anyway, when the pictures of your arrival appeared in their mail that night, but there was no need for them to find out beforehand.

“What were you even thinking, amor?” you hissed, lowering your bag in between your legs while he started the car.

“Well, my sweet girlfriend was stressed out of her mind trying to figure out how to get on time to dinner,” he answered, taking his cap off and throwing it in the space between you, then rearranging his hair with one swift move of his hand.

Your heart melted a little at his words, leaning back into the leather of your seat.

“Thank you,” you murmured, and when his free hand found yours in your lap, you held it for a second too long before he lifted it to kiss it.

“I know it was risky,” he told you, and you fought the need to scoff in his face, back to the playfulness that you two usually shared. “But it'll work, I promise.”

“I'm still going to look a mess, but I guess you're right,” you conceded, anticipating the incredulous way he opened his eyes.

“‘I'm right’?” he rested his hand on your thigh, and teasingly squished it, “Walah! Hold on, I need to record it or Pepi will never believe it happened! Can you repeat it?”

Warmth spread over your chest when you heard his laughter and joined him in a fit of happiness, pretending to roll your eyes at him. He hadn't even taken his phone to record it一this was just him messing with you enough to make you relax.

“It's your word against mine,” you said, “and you know my sister is a lawyer, so I'll probably win anyway.”

“Like Pedri wouldn’t take your side just because it's yours,” he added, glancing sideways between you and the road before making a turn. “You don't need no law一Ok, wait, hear me out. In the next red light, which will be in like a minute, I need you to change seats and move to the back.”

You frowned, setting your hand over his in your leg, “Why?”

“Well, I took the liberty to sneak into your apartment on my way to you,” he explained, the enigmatic curve of his lips merely a gesture of mischief. “So, unless I fucked it up, you should have everything you need back there to change.”

“You what一” but you were already looking backwards, his hand leaving the softness of your flared jeans to rest it on the wheel.

In the seat right behind you there was a hanger that you recognised as one of the set of ten you had bought in Ikea when you had first moved out of your parents’ house, an elegant, dark dress flowing into the clean carpet of the car. In your smaller travel bag, tossed carefully over the leather of the car seat, you could see the zip open, but none of its contents.

When you looked back at him, he had a faltering smile plastered on his mouth, clearly waiting for you to confirm if he had made the right call or not.

Instead of trying to word an answer, you slid your hand into his hair and whispered a tender kiss on his cheek.

“Graciès, guapo,” but your eyes were saying much more.

Before you could even begin to notice the reddish hue in his ears he stopped the car, red light right in front of you, as he had promised, and patted you gently in your knee, “Go, go, go!”

You opened the passenger's door in a shriek, and while you heard his chuckles from inside, turned immediately to the door behind, taking the travel bag over your lap and wincing to the loudness of the door when you closed it after you.

“Done!”

Ferrán glanced towards the bag you had left on the floor by his side, putting it where you had been seconds ago, looking for something you could use to cover yourself, and you missed the way he bit his lips in concentration through the rear mirror.

You were too busy going through the stuff he had taken for you, and preparing what you were going to use first. There was a dark, strapless bra, carefully wrapped in its original box, because you didn’t get to use it that much, and a small toiletry bag with some make up.

“Take this,” his voice made you connect your gaze with his in the mirror, and you took your own shawl without thinking twice. “I think it's a little bit see through, but with the tinted windows, and this wrapped around the backrests, no one should see anything from outside.”

“Perfect,” you called, but he knew you had already fallen into the simplicity of your usual routine to get ready. And, as he started to drive again, twenty minutes away from the beach club you were going to, all he could think was that even if it was a little bit see through, the only one to actually see anything would be him一and if that was the case, he wouldn't be too sad about it.

8.22PM

Ferrán had tried his best to behave behind the wheel. He really had, especially when you had asked him to let you know when he was going to stop at any red lights, to work on your make up without unfortunate movements that messed it up.

But at the same time, he was just reckless like that, and even more so when he knew his girlfriend was half naked in the back of his car. It was that haze of trouble in his gaze every time he glanced in the rear mirror and you caught him, and the sinful way in which your dress had flowed over you and you had put it on.

The jeans had been a little bit complicated to take off, but now everything was folded and kept inside the travel bag, and you had your phone in your hands. You were talking to Pedri, you had said, and he felt the vibrations of new notifications in his phone every time you sent a message.

“How’s he doing?” he asked, turning his head towards you.

“He's nervous,” and your voice sounded as agitated as he assumed Pedri would be feeling. He waited for more information, but you kept quiet, still typing, cornered in the further seat to him.

He was a touchy person, he couldn’t help it. His twitching fingertips longed for your presence in the passenger seat, close enough so he could feel you under his hand. But you were putting distance between the two of you on purpose一if he got used to it during the drive to the restaurant, then it would be less difficult for him to keep his hands to himself during the actual dinner.

But seeing you there, with your silky dress, and those thin straps that threatened to slide down your shoulder under the least amount of breeze, he thought it was close to torture. The heels you were going to wear were beside you, black and short and delicate, and the bag he had chosen was discarded by their side, its chain dangling over the carpeted floor of the car.

You were close to your destination, and the closer you got, the more wrinkles that appeared in your dark tinted lips. If Pedri was on edge, waiting and holding the secret of your relationship by himself in the restaurant, he couldn’t even imagine how you were feeling, about to step into the other side of a world you thought you were used to.

“Pedri says in two minutes he will go outside, to wait for us,” you murmured, but you didn’t even look at him while saying so.

“In two minutes we will be arriving, so it's perfect,” he answered, and he tried to sound as reassuring as reassured he wanted you to feel.

There was a pause, a pause of you putting your phone back into the bag he had taken from your so-well-organised closet, a pause that exhaled a sigh from your mouth and into his ribcage, and then he talked again:

“Hey,” and your name sounded so soft when he pronounced it that you couldn't not look at him. “Everything is going to be fine, and I mean it.”

“I know.”

He chuckled under his breath and used the flashing lights. You could already hear the fans screaming names一though you couldn't make out whose name they were saying.

“You know,” he repeated, “but you don't believe it.”

“I know that people will see me exiting your car, and assume I'm your girl, and then I will have to go up to Pedri and act like I'm just his for the night,” you explained, a pained little sound escaping your throat right at the end of the last word, “and it's not fair to you.”

He felt a knot of vulnerability building up in his chest, and said nothing after that. You were too close to security and the slow looming of reality, anyway.

He stopped the car right where the gate of the Casanova Beach Club started, and lowered the window so he could get identified by the agents in charge of security. They gave him the thumbs-up, and he drove a couple of meters to the first free spot in the parking lot.

Silence was beginning to swallow you whole by the time he finally turned the engine off, a myriad of journalists and fans buzzing outside, but he took a second to look at you一really look at you, with his hand in the passenger's backrest and his body turned to you一and smile.

“I love you,” he said, and there was not a glimpse of regret or doubt or the resentment you had expected in his chocolate eyes. “Nothing anyone could say will change that I love you, you and Pedri, and I don't care that I have to pretend to just be your friend out there if that means that I get to love you both quietly when no one is looking.

“Ok?” he asked, a heartbeat later, when all he could see was a shadow of tears in the waterline of your nude gaze.

“Ok,” you repeated, and his smile widened.

“Let's go then.”

He exited his seat gently, all gracious elegance and a troublesome smirk, and he waved at the fans while walking in front of the car to your side, the keys dangling from his hand.

You took his phone from the space between seats to give it to him later, and slid the thin chain of your purse over your shoulder, waiting for him. Your work bag and all the clothes were inside the travel bag, so when he opened the door for you, you gave it to him. He took it with his free hand, and then offered the other to you.

As graceful as possible, you put on the heels, and then rested your hand into his, getting out of the car. In one last look that belonged to you two only, and making sure that his frame hid your words, you murmured, “I love you too, by the way.”

His smirk softened into something sacred, something that disappeared when he remembered where he was, and he just nodded, helping you into the sidewalk.

He went back to the trunk, to leave your travel bag secured, and you just stood in the entrance of the restaurant, in front of the flashes instead of behind for the first time in your life. You felt rather awkward, under the heat of May, still and useless over the pavement. You were not even processing what the journalists were shouting at you, and for a moment your mind betrayed you into the image of a deer caught in front of a car.

You were standing in front of Ferrán’s car, after all, and you felt your heart stammering in the back of your mouth rather sickly.

Until one of the journalists actually said your name, and you abruptly turned in his direction一one of the journalists of your company. You didn't properly remember how he was called, just his surname after hearing it around the office.

And before you could even conjure up a way to smile without looking terribly uncomfortable with the situation, you felt your boyfriend’s hand around your waist. The left one, with no ring in his index, so it was Pedri.

You smelled him first, soft and barely there, then turned towards him, and only that way your smile felt genuine.

“You ok?” he asked, his grip slightly tight over the thin fabric of your dress.

“All good,” you said, resting your hand over his and squishing reassuringly.

“Can I just kiss you on the cheek?”

“If you don't,” Ferrán said, his back to the public as he approached you two, “I will. And then a lot of people will have a lot of questions.”

You giggled, shoulders relaxing now that you had your favourite people next to you, and nodded at Pedri. He lowered a bit his hand, slightly protective over you, and drew a circle with his thumb over the bone of your hip, leaving a cute peck on your cheek.

And as they greeted each other the same way they had been doing for years, the voices of the journalists came clearer, like you had just woken up from a dream and reality was settling around you. It was Pedri's touch on you, Ferrán close enough for his presence to feel grounding, and the multitude of questions about who you were thrown right before you.

Pedri guided you through the entrance, politely waving at everyone while security followed you along the way, and you knew Ferrán was somewhere behind your back. When you got to the outdoors corridor right before the hall to go inside the restaurant, you took a big breath.

You had come all the way already, the rest was going to be the easy part. You knew everyone inside, either because you had interviewed them, or because you had come across their name while investigating for your articles. They would be surprised when Pedri introduced you as his girlfriend, but not necessarily that much.

The hired photographer in front you didn't even ask before taking a couple of pictures of you entering the gathering, and you caught a glimpse of the director of the FC Barcelona already inside, as well as some of your boyfriends’ closest friends.

You felt Pedri's exhalation against your temple when he looked down at you, “Ready?”

You took a glance back towards Ferrán, who was already smiling at you in all supportiveness, and mirrored it with a curve of your lips. You leaned slightly into the Canary Islander next to you, and released the puff of air you had been holding.

“Ready.”

After your first step inside, you heard a big applause coming from the table where Gavi was sitting, and once you couldn't contain the laughter, the rest went as smoothly as it could go.

🍸ㅤ𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗟𝗘𝗗𝗚𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦.ㅤi think this fic might be my baby. i'm obsessed with it and i got overboard with it - i created a 2k word document with info about their backstory before being together haha but it's fine. they're cute. shout out to my partner in crime @aaksuitac for always supporting my craziness and being there to 'give me her life if i wrote fedri x reader'. esta vai pa ti, guapa. i hope you guys liked it 🤍

So maybe you dropped a few comments.

"Look at how cute she is in those pajamas. Imagine a tiny version of her."

Ferran raised an eyebrow. "She is the tiny version."

"No, like… tinier."

He blinked. "You mean a baby?"

"Maybe. Hypothetically."

He gave you a long look, then chuckled. "Oh no. You're catching it."

"Catching what?"

"Baby fever. I knew this would happen."

You tried to play it off with a shrug and a sip of coffee, but the idea had planted itself deep in your heart.

Still, Ferran didn't seem convinced.

Over the next few weeks, you started to be more obvious. Sending him funny baby TikToks. Sighing a little too dramatically when walking by baby clothes in stores. He noticed, of course. Ferran noticed everything.

One evening, as he slid behind you at the kitchen counter, his hands sneaking under your shirt to rest on your stomach, he whispered, "Still thinking about it?"

You leaned back into his chest. "Thinking is a strong word. Dreaming, maybe."

He chuckled against your neck. "You're dangerous when you start dreaming."

You turned around and wrapped your arms around his waist. "One more? Just one."

He leaned in and kissed your forehead. "You say that like it's a puppy."

"You love puppies."

"I also love sleep." You gave him your best pout, and he groaned. "Don't look at me like that. I'm trying to be strong."

You trailed your finger down his chest. "I could wear that outfit again. You know the one."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're playing dirty."

"I learned from the best."

He groaned again and pressed a kiss just under your ear. "We are not having another baby."

You smiled. The game had just begun.

Your flirting turned into teasing. The teasing turned into kisses. The kisses turned into a lot more.

The morning started like any other. Lucia was still asleep in her bed, tangled in her blanket, and Ferran was rushing around trying to find his training top. You leaned against the doorway of your bedroom, biting back a smirk as he huffed and muttered curses.

"You know..." You said sweetly. "I saw your shirt in the laundry room."

He looked up from rifling through drawers, shirtless and already breathless. "You could've told me that five minutes ago."

You shrugged, arms crossed over your chest. "I could've. But then I wouldn't get to see you like this."

His eyes narrowed, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You're evil."

You pushed off the doorframe, walking slowly toward him. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I'm already late." He turned to grab his bag, but you slid your hand across his bare back—slow, deliberate. He froze.

"Just a kiss goodbye." You said innocently, stepping in front of him.

He leaned in, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. You deepened it ever so slightly. Just enough.

When he pulled back, your eyes were wide, and you stepped even closer, letting your fingertips play at the waistband of his training pants. "You sure you don't have five minutes?"

"Stop it!" He growled. "You're trying to kill me."

"I'm trying to help you warm up." You whispered, lips brushing his jaw.

He sighed heavily, forehead resting against yours. "You are going to be the death of me"

"I'll give you CPR." You said playfully, before leaning in again.

Another kiss. This one slower. Hungrier. He let out a frustrated groan, arms wrapping around your waist like he was two seconds from forgetting training entirely.

"I really have to go." He murmured into your mouth.

"Mmhm."

You stepped back with a sly smile, leaving him flushed and dazed.

By the time he finally left, his ears were red, his hair was a mess, and he was ten minutes late.

"You are lethal." He muttered one night after finding you lying across the bed in the outfit. That outfit.

Ferran's resolve broke in record time.

"This isn't fair." He whispered as you pressed against him. "This is manipulation."

"And yet you're not stopping me."

"I hate you."

Ferran was still towel-drying his hair when you walked in wearing his hoodie and holding two positive pregnancy tests in your hand, fake ones, but he didn't know that.

He turned, eyes wide. "Wait-- seriously?"

You burst out laughing. "No. But look how fast you panicked."

He narrowed his eyes. "You're evil."

You sauntered closer. "Admit it, you didn't panic. You were excited."

"I was… startled."

"You were picturing the crib already."

He stared at you for a beat. "I'm not ready."

You kissed his cheek. "That's what you said before Lucia."

You curled up next to him on the couch, draping a blanket over your lap. Your hand casually slid under the fabric and onto his thigh.

He tried to stay still, but your fingers crept higher. "You are not seducing me during Frozen 2."

You leaned into his ear. "Why not? Let it go…"

Ferran covered his face. "Oh my god."

You stood by the bed in one of his old t-shirts and nothing else. The lights were low. Lucia had been asleep for hours.

Ferran looked up from his phone and instantly raised a brow. "You're up to something."

"I'm ovulating." He choked on his own breath. You crawled into the bed and slid onto his lap. "Just thought you should know."

"You're not normal."

"You love me."

"I do!" He groaned. "And I'm not going to survive this week."

And Ferran, despite his best efforts, wasn't exactly saying no anymore.

But whenever you brought it up seriously, he'd deflect.

"You don't miss swollen ankles, do you? And no sleep? And diapers?"

You crossed your arms. "I also don't miss you snoring, but here we are."

He threw a cushion at you.

It didn't help that you had developed a habit of ambushing him all over the house. It was meant to be fun. Flirty. Just a little "practice." And then… Two weeks later, you were staring at a pregnancy test.

Negative.

You sighed. Disappointed, even though he wasn't on board. Even though it was just teasing.

That night, Ferran found you curled up on the bed.

"Hey!" He said softly. "You okay?" You nodded, but he saw through it. He saw the test in the nightstand. He kissed your temple and pulled you into his lap. "Were you hoping it was positive?" You didn't answer. He sighed. "You're really serious about this, huh?"

"I don't know." You whispered. "It's just… I love our family. I want more of it."

He rested his chin on your head. "I love our family too. But I'm scared."

"Of what?"

"I don't know… Of not being enough."

You leaned back to look at him. "You're already enough. Lucia thinks you hung the moon. So do I."

He looked at you, torn. Then he smiled sadly.

"Let's just keep practicing."

Things changed after that night.

Ferran might've claimed he wasn't ready, but suddenly, he was the one watching baby videos when he thought you weren't looking. He was the one holding his friends newborns and not giving them back right away.

And you noticed. Oh, you noticed.

One morning, you walked into the living room in nothing but his oversized hoodie and nothing underneath. You casually bent to pick up Lucia's toys, aware of Ferran watching from the couch.

He blinked, trying hard not to stare. "You need help with that?"

"Nope." You said sweetly. "Just tidying up."

Another time, you cornered him in the kitchen and pressed your hand to his chest. "Remember how you said we could keep practicing?"

He swallowed hard. "You make it very hard to say no."

You whispered in his ear. "That's the point."

You'd slide your hands under his shirt as he washed dishes. Leave subtle lipstick marks on his collar before he left for training. You even changed Lucia's bedtime story to: "Once upon a time, a big sister got a baby sibling…"

Ferran groaned dramatically. "You're turning our child into your co-conspirator."

"Teamwork makes the dream work." You teased.

[Eight Weeks Later]

Ferran stared down at the test in his hand, completely still.

You watched from across the bathroom, your fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt. The silence stretched.

"Are you gonna pass out?" You asked carefully.

He looked up slowly. "It's positive."

"Very."

He dropped the test on the counter, crossed the room in three long steps, and scooped you up without another word.

"Careful!" You squealed, laughing. "I’m carrying precious cargo."

"We're doing this." He said softly, voice a little shaky. "We're really doing this."

You nodded again, your heart full. "Looks like it."

A breathless laugh escaped him, and he leaned in to kiss you hard.

"You're trouble, you know that?" He murmured against your lips.

"Completely."

"But I love you anyway."

You smiled, resting your forehead against his. "And now we're gonna have another little someone to love, too."

His arms came around you, pulling you close, careful like you were already fragile.

He exhaled, steadying himself.