Pedri’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a grin that can only mean trouble.
You lean over the back of the sofa, towel still wrapped around your wet hair.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he says way too fast. His thumb flicks across the screen. “Just posted a picture.”
You narrow your eyes. “Pedri. What picture?”
He turns the screen toward you, all innocent. It’s a photo of his breakfast spread , pancakes, orange juice, and two mugs of coffee.
Your mug. The pink one with the little chipped heart.
“Pedri!” you gasp. “That’s mine! People will notice!”
He shrugs, utterly unbothered. “So? Maybe I just drink two coffees now. I’m a growing boy.”
You groan and toss your towel at him. “You’re impossible. You promised we’d keep things private.”
He catches the towel mid-air, smirking. “Private, yes. Secret, no. There’s a difference.”
“There’s not a difference when your fans have CSI-level detective skills,” you retort, grabbing your phone. “Wait,oh my god. They’re already talking about it.”
You scroll through Twitter , or, as Pedri calls it, the battlefield.
@pedrilover97: “two mugs?? who’s he having breakfast with 😭😭😭”
@barcagirlx: “that’s definitely a GIRL mug. I recognize the nail polish color from his story last week 👀”
@footballtea: “he’s SOFT LAUNCHING someone I just know it.”
Pedri’s grin widens. “#PedriSoftLaunch? That’s actually a great tag.”
“Don’t encourage them!” you say, swatting his arm.
He leans back, smug and far too calm for someone who’s just sent half the internet into a frenzy. “You have to admit, it’s funny.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe,” he says, biting back a smile. “A little.”
That evening, you find him on the balcony, wearing one of his Barça hoodies and scrolling through fan edits of his own posts.
“They made a whole thread analyzing your kitchen tiles,” you say, holding up your phone.
He laughs. “My kitchen tiles?”
You nod gravely. “Someone zoomed in and matched them to a photo you took last summer. They know everything, Pedri.”
“That’s impressive, actually.” He scrolls again, face glowing from the screen. “Wait,this one says you’re secretly a chef. I like that one.”
“I’m a psychology major, not Gordon Ramsay!”
“Eh,” he says, waving you off. “Close enough. You’ve psychoanalyzed me while I eat your cooking. That’s balance.”
You cross your arms. “You’re impossible.”
Pedri looks up, grin softening. “But you love me.”
You sigh, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. “Unfortunately.”
He laughs, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Come here, mystery girl.”
The next day, the soft-launching gets worse.
You wake up to another Pedri post , a blurry mirror selfie of him in the hallway. Your reflection is barely visible behind him, holding your phone.
“PEDRI!” you yell from the kitchen.
He yells back, “What? I blurred it!”
You storm into the room, waving your phone. “I can still see my silhouette!”
He peers at the screen. “That could be anyone.”
“It’s me! I’m literally wearing your hoodie!”
He grins, completely unrepentant. “Good. Now they’ll think I have great taste.”
You throw a pillow at his head. “Stop being cute when I’m trying to be mad at you!”
He catches it, laughing. “Sorry, amor. Can’t help it.”
You flop down beside him with a dramatic sigh. “You’re going to break the internet at this rate.”
“That’s fine,” he says, sliding an arm around your shoulders. “As long as they don’t find you.”
You snort. “They already have a spreadsheet of possible candidates. I saw someone saying I’m a makeup artist from Madrid.”
Pedri grins. “Well, you do my eyebrows sometimes.”
“That doesn’t count!”
He shrugs, pulling you closer. “I like keeping them guessing.”
By midweek, the fandom’s gone feral.
People are analyzing his playlists, your nail polish, the background furniture , even the way his smile looks “happier lately.”
You both spend the evening doomscrolling and laughing on the couch.
“Listen to this one,” you say between giggles. “‘The mystery girl has small hands based on reflection physics, probably around 5’3”’.”
Pedri laughs so hard he nearly drops his phone. “Reflection physics? No way.”
“Oh, there’s more. Another one says you’ve been soft-launching for seven months based on the presence of a second toothbrush in your bathroom.”
He wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. “They’re not wrong, though.”
You blink at him. “Wait, are you admitting it?”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I like having my girl’s toothbrush next to mine.”
You groan. “Stop being sweet when I’m trying to yell at you!”
He grins, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Can’t help it.”
But things take a turn when you make a mistake.
It’s late , you’re curled up on the couch in Pedri’s jersey, watching highlights from the last match. You post a quick Instagram story: your legs on the couch, the TV showing Pedri’s goal, and his hoodie draped on the armrest. You don’t even think about it.
Thirty seconds later, your phone explodes.
DMs. Mentions. Notifications.
@barcafangirl: “THE JERSEY. THAT’S PEDRI’S JERSEY. SAME NUMBER. SAME ROOM.”
@pedrilover97: “the couch matches his last pic 😭😭😭”
@footballtea: “SHE SLIPPED. SHE POSTED. CONFIRMED.”
“Oh. My. God.” you whisper, watching it all unfold. “I just soft launched myself.”
Pedri walks in from the kitchen, bowl of cereal in hand. “What happened?”
You look up at him, horrified. “I think I just… hard-launched our relationship.”
He sets the bowl down, eyes widening. “You what?”
“Look!” you shove the phone at him. “They found me! It’s everywhere already!”
Pedri scrolls through the chaos, then bursts out laughing. “You lasted longer than I thought, cariño.”
“This isn’t funny!”
He grins, utterly calm. “It’s kind of funny.”
“Pedri!”
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “What do you want to do?”
You bury your face in your hands. “Delete everything. Move to Antarctica. Change my name.”
He chuckles, tugging your hands away gently. “Or… we could just post a photo.”
You blink. “A real one?”
He nods, smiling softly. “Might as well. You look too pretty to hide.”
Your heart stutters. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.” He scrolls to the camera app, flips it to selfie mode, and pulls you close. “Come here, mystery girl.”
You laugh, cheeks warm, leaning into him. “You’re going to cause chaos.”
“Good chaos,” he says, snapping the photo , both of you smiling, cozy and unfiltered.
Within minutes, he posts it.
Caption: No more soft launch 💙.
Your phone explodes instantly. Comments flood in.
@barcagirlx: “I KNEW IT! SHE’S SO PRETTY 😭”
@footballtea: “soft launch era is over 🫶”
@pedrilover97: “they look so happy together 🥹”
You read a few aloud and glance at Pedri, who’s scrolling too.
He looks up, eyes warm and shining. “See? Not so bad.”
You smile. “You’re right.”
He grins. “I usually am.”
You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully. “Don’t push it.”
He laughs, pulling you closer until your head rests on his shoulder. “For the record,” he murmurs, “I liked the soft launch. But I like this better.”
You look up at him, smiling softly. “Yeah. Me too.”
He tilts his head, lips brushing your forehead. “Told you. Private, not secret.”
You chuckle, closing your eyes. “Whatever you say, influencer.”
He laughs quietly. “Only if you’re my favorite post.”
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Summary: You decided to prank your boyfriend and see how he would react to you leaving late at night.
A/N: Prank inspired by @chriskeverian on TikTok. My Request Are Open. Please Follow, Like, And Reblog.
Lamine Yamal -
Lamine was half asleep on the couch when he heard your bedroom door open. At first he didn’t pay attention but then he looked up. And immediately sat straight up. You were fully dressed with your hair and makeup done. And in a cute outfit with a matching purse. You looked like a goddess but then he checked the time seeing it just struck midnight.
“…Amor where are you going?” You looked at your phone casually. “Oh, I’m going out.” “Out?” “Yeah.” Lamine checked the clock again and seeing its 12:03 AM. His brain visibly stopped working.
“OUT WHERE?” You shrugged. “Just meeting someone.” The silence was deafening. “Someone?”“Yeah.” Lamine immediately stood up. “Who is this someone?” You bit your lip to stop yourself from laughing.
His eyes narrowed then he spotted your phone recording. “…You’re annoying sometimes.” You burst out laughing hugging Lamine as he wrapped his arms around you. “I almost had a heart attack.”
Pedri -
You called out to Pedri from the bathroom saying you were about to head out. Pedri looked up from his book then looked at you. And he looked at the clock and back at you.
“Why are you dressed like that?” You smiled innocently.“I told you I’m going out.” “Now?” “Yep.” Pedri blinked.“It’s midnight.” “I know.” “Well are you meeting anyone or are you going to be alone?” You pretended to think. “Hm.” Pedri immediately closed his book.
“Don’t do that.” “Do what?” “Don’t ‘hm’ me.” You laughed and his suspicion grew. “You’re filming this.”You failed to hide your smile and Pedri sighed.
“I knew it.” Then he grabbed your hand and pulled you onto the couch. “Sit down.”
Gavi -
The moment Gavi saw you he froze. You looked absolutely amazing which was the problem because it was midnight.
“Where are you going?” “Out.” “No.” “No?” “No.” You stared and stared right back at you. Which was hard because you tried not to laugh.
Gavi pointed toward the window. “Do you not see how dark it is outside?” “Yes.” “Then why are you dressed like that?” You immediately lost it and Gavi groaned.
“You’re pranking me.” “Maybe.” “I knew it.” He absolutely did not.
Joao Félix -
Joao was scrolling through his phone when you walked into the room. His jaw dropped as you stood infront of looking gorgeous. Then his brain processed the time and he saw it was 12:01 AM.
“Meu bem?” “Yeah?” “Where are you going?” You picked up your purse. “Out.” Joao frowned.
“With who?” “A friend.” “A friend?” “Yes.” He just stared at you while you put on your heels. Then João stood up.
“No.” You laughed. “What do you mean no?” “I mean no.” “You can’t tell me no.” “I can when it’s midnight and you’re looking like that.”
You couldn’t even finish the prank because you were laughing too hard. Let’s just say Joao just dragged you into bed with him.
Richard Ríos -
Richard looked genuinely confused. He wasn’t angry or jealous just simply confused.
“Did I forget something?” “What?” “A party?” “No.” “A birthday?” “No mi amor.” You laughed a bit. He looked at your outfit then at the clock.
“Then why are you dressed like that?” “I’m going out.”“Oh.” A pause. “Wait.” You started laughing. “You’re setting me up.” “How?” “There’s no way this is real.”And he was absolutely correct.
Kylian Mbappe -
Kylian immediately noticed the second you walked downstairs. “Princesse.” You smiled. “What?” “You look beautiful.” “Awe thank you.”
Then he looked at the clock. And he could see it was 12:07 AM. The compliments now disappearing from his mind.
“Where are you going?” “Out.” His eyes narrowed.“Out?.” “Yes.” “At midnight?” “Yes.” “Without me?”
You nodded and Kylian stood up. “No.” You burst out laughing. “No because now I know this is a prank.”“How?” “Because if you were actually going somewhere, I’d already know.”
And is Kylian wrong here? No, no he is not.
Virgil van Dijk -
Virgil was too calm it was suspicious. He was lying down on the bed as you walked onto the room. You were fully dressed and ready to go.
“Hey.” Virgil looked up. “Hi.” “I’m heading out.” “Okay.”You froze. “Okay?” “Yeah.” You blinked. “You’re not gonna ask where?” “No.” “What if it’s dangerous?”“You’ll tell me if it’s dangerous.”
You just stared at him laying down eyes still on the tv. The prank was failing miserably then Virgil smiled. “You’ve been standing there waiting for me to react for thirty seconds.” He laughed at your surprised reaction.
“I got you.” As he laughed pulling you into bed with him.
Memo Ochoa -
Memo looked up from the kitchen with his coffee nearly hitting the floor.
“Wow.” You smiled. “Wow?” “You look beautiful.” You grinned as you picked up your purse.
“I’m heading out.” Memo checked the clock then checked it again. Because he was believing you were leaving at 12:04 AM.
“…No you’re not.” You almost laughed. “Yes I am.” “No.”“Why not?” “Because it’s midnight.” “So?” Memo crossed his arms. “So where are you going?”
“Out.” “With who?” “A friend.” Memo immediately looked offended. “A friend gets to see you looking like that at midnight and I don’t?” You burst out laughing and the realization hit him.
His eyes narrowed. “You really scared me.” “Got you.”Memo shook his head while laughing. Then pulled you into a hug.
“For the record, you do look very cute.” “Thank you.” “But if you ever do that again, I’m checking your purse first.” You laughed so hard you nearly dropped your phone.
summary: in which your son, matteo is a total mama's boy
warnings: none!
a/n: requested on my wattpad!
it started with the tiniest whimper.
pedri’s eyes opened before yours did, even though he’d only fallen asleep maybe an hour ago. the baby monitor’s soft crackle was followed by a familiar, escalating cry — tired, confused, definitely not just fussing in his sleep anymore.
next to him, you were still curled on your side, face tucked into your pillow, completely out. and honestly? you looked so peaceful that pedri didn’t even think twice. he was already throwing on the hoodie draped at the end of the bed as he whispered, “i got him.”
the nursery was dim, lit only by the glow of the nightlight in the corner. matteo was already sitting up in his crib, cheeks flushed, hair sticking up in every direction like a baby bird, and the moment pedri stepped in, the cries grew louder.
“hey, hey, mi niño,” he murmured gently, walking over and scooping him up with practiced hands. “shhh, it’s okay. papa’s here, yeah?”
matteo didn’t care.
not even a little bit.
the moment pedri held him close, his tiny fists pushed at his chest and a new wail came, sharper, more determined.
“mamaaa!” he sobbed, the kind of cry that stabbed straight through pedri’s chest. “mamaaaaa!”
pedri blinked. “really? you’re breaking up with me already?”
but matteo was beyond reason, tossing his whole body into the fit, like it wasn’t just preference — like he needed you. every breath was a sob, every sob was “mama”, like it was the only word he knew.
pedri tried everything. pacing the room. bouncing him gently. humming that lullaby you always sang. even the bottle that usually worked like magic was ignored. the more he tried, the more matteo screamed.
after ten minutes, pedri gave in with a sigh and kissed his son’s damp forehead.
“okay. okay, you win. let’s go find your favorite person.”
you were already half-awake when he came back into the bedroom, hair mussed and voice groggy.
“is he okay?” you asked softly.
“define ‘okay,’” pedri said, shifting matteo into your arms.
and just like that — silence. the second matteo felt your warmth, your familiar smell, your heartbeat — he settled. sniffled once. tucked his face against your chest and let out a soft, shaky sigh like the world finally made sense again.
pedri stared at the two of you, fully betrayed. “not even a thank you.”
you smiled sleepily, gently rubbing matteo’s back. “poor baby. probably had a bad dream.”
pedri smiled softly and climbed into bed beside you. matteo was already falling asleep again, breathing slow and deep against your chest.
“he’s a total mama’s boy,” pedri muttered, resting his head on your shoulder.
“you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
he smiled into your sweatshirt. “no. it’s cute. kind of unfair. but cute.”
you kissed the top of matteo’s head, then turned to do the same to pedri’s.
“you know he adores you,” you whispered.
“sure,” he said. “just not at three in the morning.”
you laughed under your breath, the sound warm and quiet in the dark. your hand found his, resting on the edge of the blanket, fingers curling together naturally.
outside, the sky was still dark. inside, it was warm and soft and still. just the three of you, tangled up in each other, half-asleep but full of love.
pedri looked at his son, then at you, and whispered like it was a secret:
“i don’t mind, you know. if he always wants you first. as long as i still get to love you both.”
and you squeezed his hand.
“you always will.”
taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, lmk if you want to be added!
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⁀➴┊includes: ferran torres, pedri gonzalez, pablo gavi, alejandro balde x 𝒇!reader
FERRAN TORRES
⁀➴┊okay, first things first. i think ferran just likes his women smart. he loves to be able to learn from you, to look up to you. he loves to admire you. whenever you’re telling him a story about what happened at work, he’d listen so intently, his eyes glistening. or whenever you use specific jargon, he’d literally think to himself in wonder that he’s bagged such a smart, intelligent and competent girl.
⁀➴┊he loves taking photos with you, and most importantly, he loves taking photos of you. no matter where you are, no matter what you’re doing. you could be sitting in a restaurant, and he’d snap a quick shot of you sitting pretty in the booth opposite him. you could have sauce on your chin, or you could be wearing a pretty smile, ferran thinks you always look absolutely beautiful.
⁀➴┊ you’re ferran’s comfort person. ferran is quite an emotional guy. he feels his feelings deeply, and he loves to be with someone who is also in touch with their feelings. someone with emotional depth, someone with emotional intelligence, who is able to pull him out of the gutter when he feels down or when he’s too harsh on himself. he enjoys a good late night convo, where the two of you stare up at the ceiling, all judgement-free with raw feelings. He loves being heard, being valued by you, especially when he gets to hold you close to his chest when he tells you softly what’s on his mind, confiding in you.
⁀➴┊especially now that he has longer hair: absolutely loves when you play with his hair. just carding your fingers through his locks, brushing stray strands of chestnut hair out of his face. you love doing it, scratching your nails over the back of his neck, too. ferran just revels in it, and when you take your hand out of his hair, he’s quick to put it right back. “why’d you stop, baby?” he’ll say, suddenly all clingy.
⁀➴┊his favourite spot to kiss you is your temple. i believe he genuinely likes the softness it brings, it’s so kind. it’s deliberate, slow, with intent. he literally can’t leave the house without pressing his lips against your temple, leaving you alone with his delicacy.
PEDRI GONZALEZ
⁀➴┊oh, he’s so husband. sooooo husbandish. i have no doubt in my mind that pedri would take over household tasks for you. with love, even. maybe you’re in the bathroom, busy with your nightly skin care routine, a million different droppers and tubes with face masks scattered all over the sink, and pedri would just pop in unannounced, cradling a laundry basket between his arms. “hi, babe,” he’d say lightly, as if the sight of him being all responsible and domestic isn’t a major turn on for you. “you got any laundry for me? i’m doing lights right now.”
⁀➴┊he would let you control the aux. he’s the designated driver whenever you two go out, and you’re the dj. he thinks your music taste is better, anyway. bopping his head along to the melody of the music, your feet on the dash, arm slung out of the window, all the windows down with the warm wind swishing past your heads.
⁀➴┊would also let you use his hand to test out different lipsticks whenever you drag him to sephora. pedri’s willing to sacrifice his clean hand if that means you’d leave the shop with a beautiful, new lip product you’re content with.
⁀➴ ┊i also think pedri loves unwinding with you. i can vividly see the two of you on the sofa, both watching something lighthearted, the laughing track ricocheting off the walls as he lightly cards his fingers through your hair, looking at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. he’d ask you what you would be doing the next day, what time you would have to get up. literally just soft, gentle small talk.
⁀➴┊ he’ll check up on you throughout the day. especially when he’s away for a game and is mostly travelling, he’d shoot you a quick text asking how it’s going at home, if you’ve already had lunch, or how your classes for the day went. speaking of school, i think he’d be the biggest hypeman ever. he’s always asking you if he can read one of your essays. pedri just stares at your laptop screen, nose scrunched up in confusion while he reads paragraph after paragraph. “well,” he huffs when he’s finished, “you’re the smart one from the two of us.”
PABLO GAVI
⁀➴┊ he gives me major lover and best friend vibes. with that being said, he’s a teaser. loves prodding you in your side when you’re concentrated, lightly pulling your ponytail to get your attention, shadow-boxing at you, he does it all.
⁀➴┊pablo absolutely loves a night in, especially if it’s on a cheat day, and he can eat whatever he prefers. Will spend the entire night binging another random 2000s tv series with you whilst munching on sushi, or pizza, way too invested in all the shit that’s happening on the screen, and obviously gives his unvarnished commentary on it, too. “wait, why did seth pick anna? he needs to end up with summer. he named a fucking boat after her!” you two watch episode after episode, and eventually end up falling asleep on the sofa, his arms securely tucked around you with half-eaten sushi on white plates.
⁀➴┊ i know for a fact that he also loves a good gossip session. “baby, i’m home!” he yells the second he comes home, dropping his car keys on the marble counter, a mischievous grin on his face. when he finds you somewhere else, behind your laptop, he’s immediately like: “you’re never gonna guess what carmen just said to marco,” already pulling up his phone to show you the receipts. he just talks so excitedly, and you two spend hours dissecting everything that happened.
⁀➴┊brings you random trinkets when he gets back from holiday. frivolous cheap keychains, a little tile from portugal, all the cheesy shit. it’s just a cute token of love, and it shows that he always thinks of you. literally always.
⁀➴┊ he’s the silliest drunk ever. when you try to take the car keys from his hands — because he’s obviously way too drunk to drive — he’d be like: “who are you?” he’d ask, a confused expression on his face, eyebrows scrunched up. “you’re not my girlfriend.” you sigh out, deep and loud, already opening up your hand palm. maybe you get a little gooey on the inside, because he’s just so cute and endearing. “i am, come on. keys.”
ALEJANDRO BALDE
⁀➴┊we all know alejandro seems like quite a playful person, and especially if you’re on the shyer side, he’d do anything to get you out of your shell more. he’s so spontaneous, carefree. from dancing in the kitchen to an oldie, to twirling you around when you’re wearing a pretty dress; alejandro is doing everything within his abilities to put all of his attention on making you comfortable. “there she is,” he’d say with a dopey grin as he looks you up and down when you step out of your shared bedroom, ready to go out on a date together.
⁀➴┊loves showing you off. you’re his phone wallpaper, and when you two are together, his heavy arm is basically glued around your waist, or hips, or shoulders. he sees it as a statement: she’s mine, back off.
⁀➴┊yeah, sorry i wholeheartedly believe he loves to touch your waist, or any part of your body. he’s a big body worshipper. he’ll literally trace your curves with his hands, trying to cover every inch of your skin as he scatters fluttery kisses down your neck. he’s, like, totally obsessed with you and the way you feel under his fingertips, playfully swatting your ass.
⁀➴┊he cooks for you. we’ve all seen that video of alejandro saying that he can cook and that he can clean? yeah, i definitely believe that date nights with him would include him cooking something for you, something he puts a lot of love in. your hands clasped together on top of the table like a lovesick couple.
⁀➴┊alejandro loves to make you blush like crazy. calling you the cheesiest, corniest pet names on the planet. he loves to inspect your face, tilting your chin up with a crooked finger, and tell you how he loves your sparkly eyes, your cute nose and your chubby cheeks until your heat hovers over your face.
a/n: oh also, i can’t stop thinking about pulling on ferran’s hair when… WHEN…. ugh i might have to write smth about that
guys check it outtt i wrote ferran smut!! 18+ tho!!!
Can you do something about Pedri being jealous? You choose if it ends in smut or not. I love your writing.
౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ Pedri - Jealous
⋆｡˚Pairing - Pedri x fem!reader
౨ৎ Summary - When a colleague drops you home from work, Pedri can't seem to control his jealously.
⋆｡˚Word Count - 3.4k
౨ৎ Warnings - jealous bf! possessiveness!
౨ৎ
It's 6:30pm and you're on your way home from work in a unfamiliar and abstract way. The train route which you usually took was cancelled at short notice, the bus routes were always packed full of people, the walk was far far too long and your boyfriend Pedri was still at football training when you clocked out the office.
So, instead you had been waiting around for thirty minutes for your co-worker, Julian, to finish his work and drop you off back at your boyfriends house.
And so here you were, in his navy blue Porsche which smelt of sandalwood and cologne which tried to hard to smell expensive. The city passed by like a blur as the engine purred under you. You engaged in conversation about work, and your colleagues and how their was weird smell in the break room today. Mundane laughter and simple flowing chatter filled the drive to Pedri's place in the Barcelona suburbs.
Julian was a good man, and a good friend in the office. During work hours he was someone you would spend a good chunk of your time with, sometimes going on lunch together with a few others or grabbing an after work drink together. If you both arrived early enough you would go grab a quick coffee from the local café around the corner form the office. But being in his expensive car, in a dark lit space, it made your tummy flip. Being in any Porsche that wasn't Pedro's felt foreign and forbidden.
Had Pedri not have been at training he would have come and got you. In fact, he offered to leave training early just to make sure you got to his home safely. When you told him that leaving his training session early just to pick you up from work was ridiculous he offered to send a car to come get you instead. You were about to take him up on the offer but then Julian came like a knight in shining armour. You text Pedri and let him know a friend from work was heading in a similar direction and would just drop you off on the way.
For Pedri, that was a relief. A girl friend was going to drop you off safely and he could get back to training without a worry. It also seemed like you would be arriving home at a similar time to him now, or he would get home a lit bit earlier than you which was a nice change for once. So, when training ended he rushed into his own Porsche filled with only the excitement of seeing you.
Julian turned the wheel with an easy confidence, glancing at you briefly as he merged onto a quieter street lined with the sloping trees of Pedri’s neighborhood. You were nearing the end of the drive now, the tension that had quietly built in your shoulders beginning to ease with the familiar sight of the Barcelona suburbs rolling into view. It was a strange feeling. Your work life seemed to be meeting you real life. Sure, the office knew you were dating Pedri. You'd get teased about it all the time but you never thought your work life would intertwine with him, with your love. But now it was about too. You just hoped that Pedri was already home.
The Porsche pulled to a gentle stop just outside Pedri’s house, that same navy blur now parked against the pale dusk like it didn’t quite belong. You glanced at the big house you had spent so much time in it was like your own home. The driveway was empty. Your boyfriend was not back from football yet, and for a moment you let your shoulders drop in relief. A sigh you didn't know you were holding in realised from your chest.
You unbuckled your seatbelt, "Gracias, Julian" you said while dusting your hands down your tight black work trousers just to give your hands something to do.
“Of course,” he said, one arm resting casually on the wheel. “Anytime.” His Rolex was catching in the light of the setting sun. Everything about him was so expensive and exuded old money, so old fashioned and chivalrous. Most girls looked at Julian and could not contain their blush, you'd seen it happen countless times at the café. The young baristas eyes cowering with nerves when they speak to him, or the older ladies who couldn't stop fawning over his muscles. But not you. Never you. You had Pedri. And Pedri was all you ever wanted.
You exchanged quick goodbyes and then reached for the door handle. Just as you did headlights washed across the front of the car. Another car, one which was sleek, black, and unmistakably familiar, rolled into the driveway at just the right moment to make your stomach drop and your heart quicken.
You froze, fingers still curled around the door handle.
The headlights flickered against the rear-view mirror, casting long shadows across Julian’s face as he looked toward the driveway, then back at you with a small, unreadable smile.
“That him?” he asked, voice low but casual, as though he wasn't fazed by the fact one of the best footballers in the world hadn't just showed up in front of him. Like he didn't watch him play week in and week out.
You nodded, too fast. “Si. That’s him.”
The engine of Pedri’s car purred low as it rolled to a stop. The light cut out as the ignition shut off, and for a beat, everything felt suspended. Caught between the final scene of one moment and the first flicker of the next.
You opened the door before the pause could stretch too long.
The air outside was cooler now, with the early evening breeze tugging gently at your white work blouse. You stepped out of the Porsche, the sound of the car door clicking shut unnaturally loud in the quiet street.
Pedri emerged from his own Porsche a second later, gym bag slung over his shoulder, dark hair still damp from a post-training shower, his Nike hoodie zipped halfway up. He looked good; flushed from training, tired in that soft way he always looked when he’d come home from training. He was smiling when he saw you, but it faltered slightly when his eyes landed on the navy Porsche.
Then they looked at you again.
He slowed a little as he crossed the driveway, his hand coming up in a lazy wave, his eyes trailing you up and down because something about you in tight fitting office wear always got him worked up. But, he could not stop himself from wondering who was in the navy Porsche that still waited outside his house. Who had driven you home?
Julian didn’t move, but the driver’s side window lowered slightly. You could feel his gaze watching, calmly, from behind the wheel. Not smug. Just curious.
Pedri greeted you with a small kiss on the cheek. Then his eyes flicked to the car again, then to you. “Didn’t know your friend from work drove a Porsche.”
You smiled, small and tired, brushing your hair behind your ear as you adjusted the strap of your handbag on your shoulder. You could feel the question lingering in his voice, wrapped in velvet but edged in something firmer. Curiosity, maybe, or protectiveness. Possibly both.
“He offered,” you replied softly, not wanting to make it a bigger deal than it was. “I didn’t want you leaving training early, remember? You’ve got a match in a few days. I was going to take a cab but Julian said he was heading this way. Made sense."
Julian. The name of man made Pedri's ears ring. It was a man who had driven you home. A man who you spent eight hours a day working alongside. Suddenly, that fact clicks in his head. The fact that you almost have a separate life existing in an office building in Barcelona's city centre. A world where he doesn't really exist. It makes his stomach turn.
You watched your boyfriend's eyebrows crease in the way they do when he's thinking hard. The way his jaw tightens in what was seemingly annoyance.
The noise of the car window rolling down even further broke some of the tension between us.
Pedri’s head turned slightly toward the sound, his eyes sharpening with something unreadable, his hand slipping from your waist back to the strap of his gym bag. He didn’t say anything , he didn’t need to. You could feel the shift in him, like something inside had straightened up, alert.
From the car, Julian leaned slightly into view. He looked out through the lowered window, his face calm, casual, eyes flicking between the two of you with no rush, no nerves, no intention of stepping out or overstepping.
Pedri looked at him. He was full of muscles, a sharp set jaw and wavy light brown hair. He was older, and looked it. Not in a bad way but in a manly way. He looked like most girls dream guy. His suit perfectly tailored, he expensive watch glinting away. He was stable, and respectable. He had a proper job and a good salary.
This was the man you were spending eight hours a day with. Your friend. Pedri thought.
“You good?” Julian called out to you lightly, in Spanish, just loud enough to carry across the short distance.
You nodded, turning your body more toward him instinctively. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks again.”
Julian offered a small nod and half a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Alright then. I'll see you on Monday morning, the usual time. Have a good night.”
And just like that, the window rolled back up. The navy blue car rolled away into the dying light of the evening. The engine roar getting further and further away.
Silence.
Pedri watched the spot where the car disappeared for a moment too long, then turned back to you.
"The usual time, eh?"
You blinked, caught slightly off-guard by his tone—not sharp, but not exactly light either. It hovered somewhere in the middle. Almost playful, but laced with something else; something heavier. The usual time. Three little words who have flicked the night like a switch.
You gave a small smile, trying to brush it off. “We get coffee most mornings before work. It’s not a big deal.”
Pedri nodded slowly, but his lips pressed into a thin line. The same look he gives when he has been fouled on the pitch and disagrees with the referee. A frown. “Right. Coffee. Just you and him?”
“Sometimes with others. Sometimes just us,” you admitted, honestly, but gently. “It’s just a routine. We both get there early and it’s convenient. That’s all it is.”
Jealousy was seeping through his veins. He couldn't stop imagining it. You and Julian in the corner of a café in the early morning, alone. Did he pay for your order? Did he pull out your chair? Did he carry your work bag just to be a gentleman? Did he fill the role he was absent from? He began to overthink the whole interaction that just happened, the way Julian checked to make sure you were okay. The way he didn't even really acknowledge Pedri, his eyes only ever remaining on you. He looked at you with what Pedri knew as desire, forbidden attraction that he could not act upon. Did your work attire work Julian up as much as it worked Pedri up?
Pedri didn't say anything, he just nodded his head to the front door and you followed behind him. You could feel the heat fuming from him. The raw jealousy.
౨ৎ
Inside the house, it was too quiet. The kind of quiet where you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears, your kitten heels clicking on the hardwood, the distant hum of city noise wrapped in a suburban quiet.
Pedri dropped his bag on the floor by the door in a sudden thud. He didn’t look at you when he did it. He stood for a moment with his back to you, still in the threshold, fingers flexing once at his sides like he was trying to contain himself from emotion.
You closed the door softly behind you, the click small and definite. Your bag slid from your shoulder and landed by your feet. You wanted to speak, but your throat felt thick. You weren't used to this side of your boyfriend. You didn't know how to navigate it.
You followed him into the kitchen, walking slower than usual. He opened the fridge, stared at it blankly, then closed it again. He leaned against the counter like he needed something to hold him up.
You stood near the kitchen island, your fingers worrying the strap of your handbag, waiting for him to speak first.
He finally turned toward you, his expression unreadable. “So, he drives you home. You get coffee together. What else?”
The words weren’t cruel, but they felt precise. Like he was picking them out carefully, deliberately. You blinked.
“It’s just coffee,” you said. “Just work stuff. That's all it is.”
Pedri nodded, but it didn’t feel like agreement. It felt like stalling. He looked at you again, really looked, his brown eyes dark under the overhead kitchen lights. His under eyes tired from his workout.
“I don’t like it,” he said. Simply. Without apology.
You opened your mouth, maybe to defend yourself, or maybe just to say his name, but he cut in before you could.
“I know you love me,” he added. “I’m not insecure about that.”
He walked a few steps closer. His voice didn’t rise. “But I don’t want you being close with another man. Not like that.”
“Like he knows you,” Pedri said, now standing just in front of you. “Like he knows you before nine in the morning. Like he knows all your wants and all your needs. Like he takes care of you. That's mine.”
You looked at him carefully, but he didn’t flinch under your gaze.
Pedri was watching you, waiting. His hand moved like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t.
"I know how men look at women they want but can’t have. He looks at you like that. I don’t want him anywhere near you.” His eyes darken with a serious glare you rarely ever saw.
Your stomach flipped because your body betrays you by liking this side to him. This man that's claiming you so boldly all while dressed in a matching black training tracksuit with curly wet hair, smelling like hard work and musk.
The air felt so charged, like you were being struck with electricity and flying sparks.
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “He’s just a friend,” you said finally. Your voice sounded small in the big kitchen. “He’s never crossed a line.”
Pedri’s eyes flickered, a tiny movement, like a muscle twitch. He took another step, closing the space between you until the counter pressed against your back. His voice dropped even lower.
“He doesn’t have to cross it,” he said. “He's already standing on it.”
You swallowed. He was so close now you could smell the faint chlorine from the training ground shower still clinging to his hoodie, the sharpness of his cologne dulled by sweat.
“I’m here,” you said gently. “I come home to you.” You try to reassure him.
You reached up and touched his wrist, his skin warm under your fingers. Slowly, his hand lifted, hovering before it finally settled at your waist. His thumb pressed against the fabric of your blouse, not hard, just enough to feel you there.
“I’m not asking you to quit your job or anything stupid,” he said, eyes still locked on yours. “I’m just saying, if he’s giving you rides, if he’s sitting with you in cafés, if he’s paying for your lunches, he’s not just being polite.”
“I don’t let him pay,” you said quietly. “And it’s not--” you stopped, trying to choose the right words, but none of them seemed to fit.
Pedri’s thumb drew a small, slow circle against your waist, like he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He looked at you the way someone looks at a photograph they’ve stared at for too long, their eyes tracing every line until it becomes burned into the brain.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes still locked on yours. “you don’t see it. But I do. That’s my job.” His fingers pressed a little harder into your waist, not rough, but enough to feel it. “To see it before you do.”
You swallowed. “Your job?”
He nodded once. “To protect what’s mine. Not because I’m afraid of losing it, but because I won’t let anyone else have it.”
Your stomach flipped again. He had no doubts. Only certainty and confidence.
His hand slid a fraction higher, palm spanning the curve of your waist now, his fingers warm against your skin through the fabric. "No more morning coffee, Si?". It wasn't really a question but he tried to make it sound like one. His lips dropping to your ear making your breath catch in your chest. Instantly your body responds to him. A rush of heat at the base of your spine and between your legs.
“I’m yours,” you whispered, voice small but sure, meeting his dark, steady gaze.
His eyes flickered with something deep and fierce, a quiet fire behind the calm. “Good girl,” he said, his voice dropping even lower. “Because no one else gets to touch you like this.”
Without breaking eye contact, he leaned down, mouth brushing your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in his wake as he unbuttoned the white blouse you had spent the long day wearing.
Your hands found his sweatshirt, fingers curling into the soft fabric, holding him close. The subtle power in his touch, the deliberate claiming, sent a shiver straight through you. Your hands tugged gently at the hem of his hoodie, and he let you, lifting his arms without a word as you pulled the fabric over his head and dropped it beside you.
Pedri's forehead rested against yours for a moment, the tip of his nose brushing yours. His breath was steady, his eyes searching. As if he needed to see you clearly. As if this wasn’t just about jealousy anymore, but something deeper. Possession, yes. But also an undying love.
You kissed him. He kissed you with back with hunger and want. His fingers threaded into your hair, cradling the back of your head.
He tugged you down the hallway, lips still longer. Breathes panting. Your back hit the edge of the bedroom door, your blouse falling the rest of the way open under his hands. He paused, just long enough to look at you, to take you in.
And then he said it, low and certain:
“It's just me and you. No one else matters”
You didn’t respond. Not with words, at least. You didn’t need to. The way your hands found his face, the way your mouth found his again. That was the only answer he needed.
The rest of the night unfolded slowly, wrapped in warmth and low murmurs, in the quiet promise of closeness. Skin on skin. Moan after moan.
Come Monday morning, Pedri woke up early enough to drive you to work. A little later than usual. No morning coffee. No Julian.
And that evening, he was there again; parked outside your office, leaning against his car in sunglasses, waiting. You walked out to find him like that, calm and oozing confidence, while Julian trailed behind.
Pedri didn't say a word, he just watched as Julian watched him open the car door for you, and instead of jealousy -- this time it was something sweeter. The satisfaction of watching Julian realise he would never have you, no matter how hard he tried or how long he waited.
