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The final whistle cut through the stadium loud and sharp. Whole Camp Nou was growling. All fans on their feet celebrating. It was loud. Shouts from ever seat. The Barca hymn roared through the stadium. Every fan singing the Catalan words.

They had done it. Pedri had done it.

They won La fucking Liga.

Against Real Madrid.

In El Clásico.

The one thing they have worked for all season. Everything payed off.

The hard training sessions. Long tactical meetings. Eyerytime Pedri came home exhausted.

You didn’t realise the tears forming in your eyes. This moment, seeing Pedri happy as ever, celebrating with his teammates, his friends, while you sat with his family, it ment so much. Too much to comprehend for your little heart, that in this moment was filled with love and pride to the last centimetre.

„They did it! He did it,“ you whisper shouted into Fer’s face while he screamed full of happiness. Both of you embracing in a tight hug. „He fucking did it,“ Fer whispered into your hair while lifting you lightly if the ground. You clutched the back of his jerseys. Exactly fisting the part that embeoided the number 8.

„Madre mía, i’m so proud of him,“ you muffled into Fer’s shoulder. Not sure how, due to the loudness of the stadium but Fer understood you. He put you back on your feet and have you a last squeeze, „Yeah, me too. Me too.“

Turning around you were met with Rosy’s opened arms. She embraced you with another thight hug. Rocking you from one side to another. The same with Pedri’s dad.

You watched the team hug eachother, running around the pitch. As always you found your boyfriend in Ferran’s arms. Finally looking up the stands. You had to hold a laugh at his confused face when he couldn’t find you in the sea of blaugrana.

The moment his eyes found yours, everything else blurred. Pedri’s grin softened into something warmer, something that made your stomach twist, and he lifted his hand just slightly, like he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for you even from the pitch. You blew him a kiss, he caught it with a dramatic little gesture that made Ferran beside him burst out laughing, slapping the back of his head. Pedri shoved him away without looking, still staring at you like you were the only person in the stadium.

You barely had time to breathe before Fer wrapped an arm around your shoulders again, shaking you with excitement. “You’re having a long night before you, you know,” he teased, and you elbowed him lightly, but the small grin on your face never faded.

Rosy hugged you from behind, rocking you gently, whispering something you couldn’t hear over the roar of the crowd, but you felt the warmth of her pride in the way she squeezed your arms.

Down on the pitch, the boys were chaos. Gavi was running in circles with Lamine on his back, both screaming something unintelligible. Alejandro almost run over Pau, while he tried to lift Gerad. Eric was hugging literally anyone who came near him. Dani was waving a Catalan flag, he probably stole from one of the fans, so aggressively he nearly smacked Joan in the face, earning a shove and laugh.

The moment the team gathered around the podium, after recieving their medals, the stadium seemed to inhale all at once. The noise didn’t stop it just shifted, deepened, became something almost sacred. You watched Pedri squeeze between Gavi and Ferran, eyes flicking up to find you one more time. When he saw you watching, he gave you that tiny, private smile, the one he never gave to cameras, only to you, and your heart nearly burst.

The trophy rose into the air, glinting under the stadium lights, and the roar that followed shook the ground beneath your feet. Confetti exploded, gold raining down like a storm. Pedri threw his head back and laughed, pure joy spilling out of him, and when he grabbed the trophy with the others, he lifted it so high his whole body arched with the effort. He shouted something, you couldn’t hear it, but you saw it in his face, pure proudness, gratitude and longing for something they fought for from the beginning.

After the lift, the pitch turned into a sea of families, girlfriends, kids running around with flags twice their size. You climbed down with the others, your heart pounding as you stepped onto the grass. Pedri spotted you instantly, jogged towards you. “Amor” he said, breathless, grabbing your waist and pulling you into a hug so tight you felt your feet leave the ground for a second. He pressed a kiss to your cheek, then another, then your temple, laughing against your skin. “You did it Pepi. Mi campeon,” you kept repeating, like you needed to convince yourself of it more than him.

„You kicked Bellingham’s ass,“ you whisper shouted into his ears. A soft laugh filled his throat, „Gracias cariño, I tried,“ he whispered back, but you knew the sincerity behind it.

He let you down slowly. Taking his time. You kissed him once again before giving him his time with Fer and his parents.

Ferran appeared behind him with the trophy above his head. “Photo time!” he yelled, already dragging you and Pedri into position. Gavi jumped in from the side, nearly knocking Pedri over, while Eric wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into the group. Dani held the trophy upside down for a second until Joan smacked his arm and fixed it, all of them laughing like children.

Their girlfriends joined too, all hugging tightly. Ana linked arms with Gavi and Fermin. Berta stood beside him with a hand on Eric’s shoulder while Laura fixed your hair before sliding her arm around your shoulder. It felt like family. Warm, chaotic, loud, perfect.

Pedri kept a hand on you the whole tim, your waist, your back, your hand, your shoulder, like he couldn’t bear to lose contact.

Photos snapped continuously. Serious ones. One with everyone smiling. Stupid faces. Someone, probably Gavi, pushing Joan at one point. More laughter.

When the group photos finally slowed and almost every player got their trophy moment, Pedri dragged his family to the podium. Pedri in the middle, Rosy and Fernando sir. On both sides of him. Fer next to Rosy.

You wanted to give the four a moment before they all waved you over to join. You got the family photo. The parents photo. Fer’s every year brothers photo. And finally one just from you and Pedri. He tugged you into his side. Hand on your wais the other holding the trophy. You hand on his hips, the other holding the second handle of the trophy.

Before putting it down Pedri kissed you, slowly, you smiled into he kiss. The perfect photo.

When the photos finally slowed and the stadium lights dimmed, he tugged you gently away from the group, leading you toward the quieter edge of the pitch. The noise faded behind you, replaced by the soft hum of the night. His hands sliding up your arms until they rested on your shoulders. “I wanted a moment with you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Just us.”

You leaned into him, your forehead resting against his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat. He wrapped his arms around you, swaying slightly, his chin resting on your head.

„I am so proud of you,“ you looked up at him, eyes stinging again, and he cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re everything to me,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, and he kissed your forehead, slow and lingering, like he wanted to memorize the moment.

Next to you all the other players, their partners, kids, and family were resembled together. The firework exploding over your head’s. Colouring the ski in deep red and blue. A sight for enternity.

You’ve already done this. Last year, and the year before. But every year, it felt just like the first time.

Suddenly the warmth beside you faded. Pedri stood behind you phone in hand, smile wide. You had the mini version of the trophy in your hands, a smile spreading on your face at the sight of your boyfriend.

„Pepi…“ you sighted. This was about him, not you. „Shh, let me have my moment,“ he whispered before snapping pictures of you.

You hold up the mini trophy posing, the background of camp nou and the firework the perfect panoramic view. You turned around slowly, trophy handing from your hand while looking up at the sky, illuminated by red and blue. Featuring the colours on your shirt. Pedri’s shirt.

Later, at home, the world finally quieted. The adrenaline faded, leaving only warmth, exhaustion, and the soft glow of victory. Pedri dropped onto the couch with a groan, pulling you onto his lap without hesitation. His hands slid around your waist, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns on your back. He buried his face in your neck, breathing you in, his voice muffled against your skin. “I didn’t realize how much I missed you today,” he murmured. “I felt it. Every second.”

You ran your fingers through his hair, gently pushing it back from his forehead. He leaned into your touch like he’d been waiting for it all night, his hands tightening around your waist. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Just like this.” You shifted slightly, and he let out a soft, content sound, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you.

He kissed your shoulder, then your collarbone, then the corner of your jaw, soft, slow, tender kisses that weren’t rushed or hungry, just full of love. His hands moved up your back, warm and steady, holding you like you were the only thing grounding him. “I love you,” he said quietly, almost shyly, like it was a secret he was giving only to you. “More than anything.”

You cupped his face, guiding him to look at you, and he did, eyes soft, tired, glowing. You kissed him, slow and deep, the kind of kiss that said everything words couldn’t. He sighed into it, his hands sliding up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

The night stretched on like that, soft touches, whispered words, quiet laughter, the two of you wrapped up in each other, the world outside forgotten. No rush, no noise, just warmth and love and the feeling of being exactly where you belonged.

Pedri held you close, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath mingling with yours. Slowly he lifted your arms, peeling of the shirt with his name. Then his own. “This,” he whispered, voice barely audible. Hovering over you, fingers tracing from the lace of your bra down to your waist, “This is the best part of today.”

pedri posted

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pedri Mi familia. Mis campeones 🇮🇨 Nuestra tercera Liga! ❤️😘 @you Mi fan favorito ❤️

you mi campeón 😘❤️

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 🔥❤️

ferrantorres ❤️❤️❤️

pablogavi ❤️

fcbarcelona 🪄❤️

you posted

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you El campeón de mi vida ❤️😘🪄

pedri te amo ❤️

feeeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrr 🤧❤️

fcbarcelona Nuestro dúo favorito 🫶

anapelayo guapaaa 😍