#torres

Urubu-preto/Black Vulture

spotlight ;;

f!model!reader x ferran torres (spain)

where you and him are like victoria and david beckham… just 20 years later.

a/n: loved this request but i didn’t know how to go about writing it so sorry it took a while </3 i tweaked it a little as well hope you don’t mind!

a/n 2: i don’t know spanish & i wasn’t even gonna TRY 💀 so everything is in english & if you know spanish just pretend the convos are in spanish

day 11 of my world cup 2026 series ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

you managed to make it to ferran’s game in spite of your busy schedule. hell, you cancelled a shoot for this. he should be grateful.

during one of the slower parts of the game, the cameras panned to you in the crowd: unbothered and looking chic as ever. although when do you not?

you were watching from the closest seats to the pitch along with one of the other wags.

“y/n l/n in attendance,” one of the sky sports commentators muttered as the other let out a soft laugh.

“quite surprising to see her here… she’s pretty lowkey outside of her modelling career, no?”

the camera did a slow zoom in on you texting someone. you were suited up in chunky glasses, a spain-themed tank top, low-rise denim minishorts, and boots. of course you had your accessories as well but they weren’t super visible from where the commentators were.

“have you heard the rumours, actually? she’s been seen with ferran torres back in barcelona a couple of times.”

“really?” the other commentator asked in slight disbelief. after a moment of silence though, it made sense to him.

you finally felt the camera on you which caused you to look at its direction and flash it a small yet elegant smile. one of unbotheredness yet excitement to be here.

“reminds me of posh spice and beckham in 2006. she has that original wag aura.”

the other commentator let out a sound of agreement.

then the match ended 4-0. ferran almost got his goal but it was ruled offside. unfortunate, but you saw it coming. you then quietly made your way to their hotel.

*

back in his room, he lied on his bed while you sat beside him, the both of you knowing you weren’t supposed to be there. his head was in your lap while he texted pedri about something.

you suddenly received a text from one of your closest friends — “look at twitter rn”.

confused, you opened up the app and it was right in your face. the first post on your feed was tagged “ferranandy/n” along with a picture of the two of you after the game.

you let out a soft snicker as you turned your phone towards him. “we look so cute together.”

he laughed. “there were commentators talking about us, you know. apparently we’re like posh spice and david beckham. i’m half the player he is though.”

you gave him a small frown before you put down your phone and put a hand on his cheek.

“don’t say that. you’re good too,” you reassured.

“i know i’m good,” he started, to which you scoffed, “i’m just saying he’s better. at least in his day.”

can’t argue with that.

you hummed as you continued scrolling twitter. “we’re like, viral, you know.”

“i don’t care about the rumours. let it be known that i love you. and that i’m yours and you’re mine.”

you laughed before finally turning your phone off and deciding to lay beside him. “how possessive.”

the room went quiet for a moment before you spoke up again. “they were comparing me to posh spice? i must have a great fashion sense then,” you thought out loud.

ferran laughed. a hearty one, at that. “you’re literally a model.”

“hey, sorry, i’m just trying to accept the compliment.”

he rolled his eyes before slinking his arms around your waist. “are the ones i give you not enough, posh?”

“they’re more than enough, david beckham.”

every movie i watched in 2025 - [15/?]

- this is all the time we have