fedrifan78

[fedrifan78]

what about a fic of pedri tracing ferran's tattoos as a way to comfort him and calm him down after a long day 🥰 thank u in advance!

ferran's tattoos.

masterlist requested by: anon! summary: pedri traces ferran's back tattoos after a long day to help him relax. word count: 834 genre: very fluffy

The house was quiet. Not silent, exactly, Barcelona was always humming in the background, but the air inside felt heavier somehow, like the day had laid its full weight across Ferran’s shoulders and refused to let go. He sat on the edge of the bed, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor, elbows on knees, head bowed.

Pedri hovered in the doorway for a second. Watching. Noticing the way Ferran’s back rose and fell with slower breaths, how his hands clenched loosely around nothing. He didn’t say anything at first. He just walked over and sat behind him on the bed, one leg tucked up, one foot brushing the floor.

Ferran didn’t flinch when he felt Pedri’s fingers ghost across his back. If anything, he seemed to lean into it, subtly, instinctively. Like his body already knew what came next.

Pedri dragged his fingertip gently along the top of Ferran’s shoulder blade, where the intricate wings spread out across his upper back.

“Rough day?” he asked, voice low, tracing the curve of a feather.

Ferran hummed. “Long.”

Pedri didn’t press. He knew how training had gone. Flick barking instructions, everyone just a little off rhythm, and Ferran, always too hard on himself, had stayed late to shoot on his own until the sun dipped below the rooftops of Ciutat Esportiva. He came home like this sometimes. Quiet. Worn thin.

“These still look good,” Pedri said, fingertip gliding along the edge of the wing. “You’ve had them forever, but I don’t think I’ll ever get bored of them.”

“Yeah?” Ferran asked, tone dry.

Pedri smiled. “They suit you.”

His hand drifted toward the center, brushing over the FT7 logo tucked between the wings, just below the crown.

“You’re not subtle, though.”

“I’m consistent,” Ferran muttered.

Pedri leaned in, breath warm at the base of his neck. “You’re something.”

He let his finger drop lower, tracing the script beneath the logo, lo intentas, te equivocas, te levantas.

“You try. You fail. You get back up,” Pedri murmured. “You’ve always done that.”

Ferran didn’t reply. He didn’t have to. His posture softened just enough for Pedri to notice. So Pedri pressed a kiss to the center of his back, right above the tattoo of the gladiator, steady and proud.

“This guy’s dramatic, though,” Pedri said, fingertip outlining the shape. “Like, he’s been through it.”

“Guess I like a bit of drama.”

Pedri snorted softly. “No kidding.”

His hands shifted to the sides, brushing lightly over gratitude and faith inked on either side of the gladiator. He didn’t say anything this time. Just left his palms there, grounding them both.

He leaned forward and pulled Ferran gently back, until Ferran rested against him fully. His spine curved naturally into Pedri’s chest, and his head tilted slightly when Pedri’s lips found his hair.

“I know this whole thing by heart now,” Pedri said after a beat, quieter this time. “Every line. Every word.”

“Yeah?”

Pedri nodded, chin brushing Ferran’s shoulder. “Right side’s the brain, left side’s the heart. Balanced, but barely.”

“Bit rude.”

“Bit true.”

That pulled a soft laugh from Ferran, his eyes closing. His fingers reached down and found Pedri’s, lacing together without looking.

Pedri’s thumb swept lower now, tracing across the two bay leaves curling along Ferran’s lower back.

“And then there’s the full philosopher moment,” Pedri said, voice dipping playfully. “Veni vidi vici. You went all in, huh.”

Ferran shrugged. “Felt right.”

Pedri kissed the back of his neck. “It fits.”

They sat like that for a while, wrapped in the hush of the room, the kind of silence that felt earned, not awkward. Pedri kept tracing, slow and steady, retracing paths he already knew. Past the chess piece, the bible verse, the eyes of Ferran’s sister, all of it worn into his memory the same way he knew Ferran’s laugh or the way his mouth twitched when he was trying not to smile.

“You’ve got a lot of stuff inked on you,” Pedri said eventually, his voice soft but steady, fingertips trailing one of the bay leaves again. “Does it ever feel like… too much?”

Ferran opened his eyes, glancing over his shoulder. “Not really. They’re just reminders.”

“Of what?”

Ferran shrugged lightly. “Things I believe. Stuff that matters. People I care about.”

Pedri nodded, his thumbs brushing along the edges of the gladiator again. “You’ve got all this history on you.”

“Yeah. I guess it helps me feel grounded.”

Pedri didn’t say anything for a second. Just held him a little closer.

“I like that,” he said. “That there’s a story to all of it. Makes me feel like I know you better.”

Ferran turned around then, shifting until they were face to face, knees bumping, hands settling around Pedri’s waist.

“You already know me.”

Pedri’s lips curved, just barely. “Yeah. But I like the way you tell it.”

Ferran kissed him then, slow and unhurried, like there was nowhere else he needed to be.

And for once, there wasn’t.

- sofía ✎ᝰ. taglist: @facesblurry rio @facesblurry helped me write

[fedrifan78]

hello! i have a fic idea! maybe something like pedri and ferran's relationship is really new and its pedri's first relationship with a guy and he sees a girl flirting with ferran and gets jealous/insecure??

thanks <3

-🎀 anon

yours, even if you doubt it.

masterlist requested by: 🎀 anon ! summary: pedri gets jealous when a girl flirts with ferran and starts doubting everything, but ferran reminds him what they have is real. word count: 1.1k genre: angsty to fluff

The thing about Pedri was that he wasn’t used to feeling things this loud.

He could dribble through the tightest midfield press without blinking. He could stand in front of thousands of screaming fans and still keep his heart rate under control. He could walk out onto the Camp Nou pitch and keep his voice calm during tunnel interviews. But Ferran?

Ferran made him nervous. Ferran made him feel.

And this thing between them, this fragile, amazing thing they’d only barely dared to name, was new. Not just the relationship, but the entire experience. Ferran was his first anything. His first kiss with a guy. His first late-night “you up?” text that didn’t come from a group chat. His first time watching someone fall asleep in his bed and feeling like the luckiest idiot alive.

So, yeah, Pedri was not prepared for her.

Blonde. Gorgeous. Smiling like she knew Ferran. Laughing at something he said as she leaned her elbow on the drinks table and angled herself toward him like he was the most interesting thing in the room. Which, to be fair, Pedri knew he was. That was the problem.

They were at a post-match event, something small and corporate, mostly just staff and players and a few sponsors. The kind of thing Pedri usually ghosted early from, but Ferran had wanted to stay for a bit. “It’ll be chill,” he’d said. “Just an hour, tops.”

That was twenty minutes ago. And now Pedri was halfway through a warm beer, standing across the room, watching his boyfriend, God, that still made his stomach twist, smiling at some random girl like he didn’t already have someone waiting on him.

A voice cut in beside him.

“She’s been talking to him for a while,” Gavi said bluntly, sipping from his own bottle like he hadn’t just dropped a casual grenade.

Pedri tensed. “Yeah. I noticed.”

“You okay?” Gavi asked, brows lifting. “You’ve got the ‘I’m about to break my own phone’ face.”

Pedri didn’t answer. He just took a longer sip of his beer and focused on keeping his expression neutral.

“You should probably talk to him,” Gavi added after a pause, like he was trying not to be annoying but also couldn’t not say something. “You two are...you know. A thing now.”

Pedri’s lips tightened. “Not a very public thing.”

“You think she doesn’t know?”

“I think I don’t know,” Pedri muttered.

That’s what it came down to. Ferran had been nothing but kind. Gentle. Patient. Even when Pedri freaked out after their first kiss and avoided him for two days. Even when Pedri couldn’t say the word boyfriend out loud without stumbling. Even when he flinched at Ferran’s hand brushing his in public.

But kindness didn’t cancel out fear. Pedri had spent his whole life pretending to be the person everyone expected him to be. This was the first time he was being honest. And it felt like everyone else had already learned how to do that, especially Ferran.

Ferran was sunshine. Effortless. Magnetic in a way Pedri never had been. It made sense that someone would flirt with him. What didn’t make sense was why Ferran had chosen him instead.

So he stayed frozen. Watching. Waiting for a sign.

And then Ferran laughed.

Not just a polite laugh. A proper, head-tilted, genuine laugh.

That’s when Pedri’s heart sank. It was stupid and irrational, and he knew it, but jealousy wrapped itself tight around his chest like a vice. He set down his beer, muttered something to Gavi, and walked out of the room.

He ended up outside, back against the cold brick wall of the building, hands shoved into his pockets. The air was cool enough to sting a little, but he welcomed it. Anything to ground himself.

He didn’t expect footsteps behind him. Or Ferran’s voice, soft and cautious.

“Pedri?”

He didn’t turn around.

There was a pause.

Then Ferran’s voice again, closer now. “Did I do something?”

Pedri exhaled slowly, the words heavy in his throat. “No. Not really.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Silence stretched between them.

Ferran sighed. “Okay. You want space, I get it. But don’t shut me out, Pedri. Not without telling me why.”

He finally turned then. Slowly. His jaw clenched, eyes burning, not with tears, but with the ache of something he didn’t quite know how to explain.

“You were flirting,” Pedri said flatly. “With that girl.”

Ferran blinked. “What?”

“I saw the way she was looking at you. And how you were laughing. I just-” Pedri looked away, voice low. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this.”

Ferran’s expression flickered. Hurt, confused, then something else. Gentle understanding.

“She was a sponsor’s daughter,” he said. “She was telling me a story about how she tried to sneak into a training session to meet one of the other players. She’s nineteen. And definitely not into me.”

Pedri didn’t respond. His shoulders were stiff, his whole body locked up with the kind of tension that made his chest hurt.

Ferran stepped closer. “You think I’d do this with you, and then go flirt with someone else?”

“No,” Pedri said immediately. “It’s not that. I just… I saw her and I saw you and I realized that you could be with someone like that. Someone who doesn’t make everything a mess.”

Ferran’s brow furrowed. “Pedri-”

“I’ve never done this before,” he admitted, voice low. “Not just being with a guy. Being with anyone. Not seriously. Not like this.”

Ferran’s voice dropped. “Hey. Look at me.”

Pedri did. Slowly. And what he saw in Ferran’s eyes knocked the air out of him.

It wasn’t pity. It was love. Or something damn near close.

“I don’t care if you’re new to this,” Ferran said quietly. “I don’t care if you get jealous or scared or awkward. I just want you.”

Pedri swallowed. His throat was dry. “Even if I’m not ready to tell the world?”

Ferran reached up and touched his face, fingers warm against Pedri’s cheek.

“I don’t need the world,” he said. “I just need you to trust me.”

Pedri didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

He stepped forward and leaned in, forehead resting against Ferran’s, eyes fluttering shut. It was quiet there. Finally.

“I do,” he whispered. “I trust you. I just don’t always trust myself.”

Ferran’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him into the kind of hug that felt like a promise. “We’ll figure that part out together.”

Later that night, curled up on Ferran’s couch with a movie playing in the background and their legs tangled beneath a blanket, Pedri let himself believe that maybe he could be good at this. Maybe love wasn’t supposed to feel perfect right away. Maybe it just had to feel real.

And this, Ferran’s hand in his, Ferran’s soft snoring against his shoulder, the quiet flicker of a Barcelona night behind the curtains, this was the realest thing he’d ever known.

He could learn the rest with time.

As long as it was with Ferran.

- sofía ✎ᝰ.

taglist: @facesblurry

[fedrifan78]

i was the one who asked about fedric the other day omg 🎀 anon if you see this thank you for the fic idea HAHAHA i love the fedric fic eventho eric is a thirdwheel lmfaoo hope to see more coming hehe

you're welcome! thank you for the request 💚💚

[fedrifan78]

pedri and fer matching outfits like their mom still dresses them

lmaoo rosy is a style icon they wish

[fedrifan78]

recently added to his back tattoo collection!!

[fedrifan78]

thank you so much everyone! 💚💚

[fedrifan78]

the way he was waiting for his turn 😭

literally this emoji 🧍‍♂️

[fedrifan78]

I loved all your Pedri Ferran fics , you wrote their dynamics exactly as I imagined them, please continue writing about them❤️🙏

Thank you very much!

I'm really grateful for all the compliments and feedback I've been getting 💚💚

[fedrifan78]

Thoughts on unaidri? they’re so cute when they interact

Not sure about that one lmao

I mean they’re cute, but I don’t think I ship them yk? Their hugs are cute

Currently not Unai’s biggest fan so that might be impacting my opinion slightly 😭

[fedrifan78]

okay i saw that anon ask about fedric and i raise you one of my fave tropes of polyamory:

A dates B&C, but B&C don't date each other.

so ferran dates both pedri and eric but pedri and eric dont date each other (theyre just hella cool friends who share a boyfriend 😎)

(basically just an excuse to absolutely smother ferran in love lmfaoo)

-🎀 anon

MY man.

masterlist requested by: 🎀 anon! summary: pedri is very unhappy when he discovers eric has been flirting with ferran. word count: 1.1k genre: fluff(ish), kind of angsty but like funny angst itms lol

a/n: so i kinda kept the polyamory thing but kind of not because i feel like pedri would be way to jealous to be in a multi relationship sorry lol idea i chose instead (thank you @facesblurry): eric shooting his shot with ferran (eric doesn’t know pedri n him are alr dating) and pedri just giving him death stares until eric shoots his shot a little too much and bro has to intervene

Eric knew something was off the second Pedri sat down across from him in the cafeteria and didn’t say a word.

Not “what’s up.” Not “how are you?” Not even the usual “can you please pass the salt?”

Just silence. And a very, very intense stare.

Eric tried to be cool about it. He stabbed at his pasta and muttered something about the upcoming game. But Pedri didn’t blink. Didn’t speak. Just watched him like he was a mouse trying to sneak across the kitchen floor.

Weird. Whatever. Maybe Pedri was mad about his training performance again.

The real problem, the actual problem, walked in a second later.

Ferran.

Hair perfectly messy, sleeves rolled up, big smile as always. And, okay, Eric would admit it, the guy was hot. He’d always been hot. That was part of the problem.

Eric had done his due diligence. There hadn’t been any rumors. No press photos. No “sources close to the player.” And Ferran flirted back, which had to count for something, right?

So yeah. Eric had decided to shoot his shot. Casually. Respectfully. With charm.

“You should let me take you out sometime,” Eric had said after training the day before, walking side by side on the pitch while Ferran messed with the edge of his sleeve.

Ferran had just laughed, laughed, and tossed his sweaty towel at Eric’s head. “What, like on a date?”

Eric shrugged. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

And Ferran had smiled at him. One of those dumb, golden-retriever grins that made Eric feel like a teenager again.

So yeah. He thought maybe he had a shot. Had being the key word.

Now he was under genuine sniper surveillance from Pedri, and something in his gut told him this wasn’t just about training.

Ferran, oblivious as ever, plopped down beside Pedri, stealing a chip off his tray and chewing obnoxiously. “You two look like you’re in a staring contest.”

Eric tried to laugh. “Nah. He’s just mad because I actually tackled him in training.”

Pedri’s voice came out low. “I’m fine.”

Eric raised a brow. “You don’t look fine.”

“I said I’m fine.”

Okay, sure.

Ferran grinned between them. “Did someone spike the protein shakes or what?”

Eric looked at him. Then at Pedri. Then back again.

Then he made a very dumb decision.

“You know what,” he said, leaning in slightly, “I was serious, by the way. About dinner.”

Pedri didn’t blink. Ferran blinked a lot.

“Oh?”

“I’ll cook. We could do a movie too, if you want. I’ve got decent taste.”

Ferran was already turning pink, cheeks betraying him. “You want to cook for me?”

“Yeah,” Eric said, confidence swelling, “you ever had Catalan food made by someone who actually knows what they’re doing?”

“I mean, not really,” Ferran replied.

“Exactly,” Eric smirked.

That was the exact moment Pedri’s plastic fork snapped in half.

Eric jumped.

Ferran dropped the chip he was eating.

“Alright,” Pedri said, too softly, too calmly, like someone trying very hard not to commit manslaughter. “Time out.”

Eric froze.

Pedri pushed his chair back with the grace of an elephant. He stood up, walked around the table, and dropped his hand to Ferran’s shoulder in a gesture that was not platonic. Not even close.

Ferran tilted his head. “Pedri…”

“He doesn’t know,” Pedri said, not to Ferran, but to Eric, who was now seriously wondering if there were security guards in this building or if he was about to get a Canarian fist in his face.

“Know what?” Eric asked, instantly suspicious.

Pedri exhaled, hand still firm on Ferran’s shoulder. “That we’re dating.”

Ferran grimaced. “Pepi.”

“What?” Pedri said. “He flirted with you three times. Once in the gym, once on the pitch, and once right now. I think the message has to be a little clearer.”

Eric stared between them. “Wait. You two are dating?”

Ferran gave an apologetic smile. “It’s kinda private. We’ve been keeping it lowkey.”

“Lowkey,” Pedri muttered, “until someone thinks they’re the main character.”

Eric raised both hands. “Okay. My bad. You didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t ask,” Pedri replied, deadpan.

“You glared at me like I broke your toy.”

Pedri nodded. “Because you did.”

Eric sighed. “Alright, alright. I get it. Hands off. No more flirting.”

A beat of silence.

“…unless,” Eric added carefully, “you guys are, like, open.”

Ferran choked on his water.

Pedri’s mouth twitched. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” Eric said, full panic now, “no judgment. It’s 2025. A throuple isn’t that weird anymore.”

Ferran blinked at him. “Did you just say throuple?”

Eric, completely committed now, said, “I mean, think about it. I’m cute. You’re both cute. And we’re already friends.”

Pedri stared at him, completely deadpan.

“Amor,” he said to Ferran, “he just tried to invite himself into our relationship.”

“I heard,” Ferran said, eyes wide with shock and maybe amusement.

Eric shrugged, trying to save face. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll just go back to being single and tragic.”

“No, no,” Pedri said, finally cracking a laugh. “Let’s keep this up. I want to see how deep this delusion runs.”

“You’d be lucky to have me,” Eric said, all ego again, leaning back with a grin. “At least I know how to cook.”

Pedri raised a brow. “Ferran does the cooking.”

Ferran nodded proudly. “Best microwave soup you’ve ever had.”

Eric crossed his arms. “Okay. But I’ve got jokes. Charm. Money.”

Pedri scowled. “That’s not even that special. I’ve got all that too.”

Ferran was laughing now, full-on wheezing. “Oh my god. I feel like I’m on a dating game show.”

“You are,” Eric said. “And I’m winning.”

“No, you’re not,” Pedri and Ferran said in unison.

Eric sighed. “Damn. Worth a shot.”

Pedri sat back down and picked up his (new) fork, smirking to himself. Ferran reached across and stole another chip from his plate. Eric just stared at both of them and shook his head.

“Unreal. I get heartbroken and third-wheeled in the same five minutes.”

Pedri grinned. “That’s what you get for trying to steal my man.”

“Technically,” Eric said, “I only flirted with one of you. I didn’t know it was a package deal.”

Ferran laughed again, leaning into Pedri’s shoulder.

Pedri leaned back and raised his fork like a trophy.

Eric blinked. “What now?”

“Now,” Pedri said, “you go back to your lonely table and think about what you’ve done.”

“Wow,” Eric muttered. “Are you really putting me in timeout?”

“Yup,” Pedri said cheerfully.

And Ferran just smiled, all smug and soft and annoyingly taken.

Eric stood up, mock offended. “Fine. But if either of you breaks up with the other, I’m first in line.”

Pedri waved him off. “Dream on.”

Eric walked away, sulking dramatically.

As soon as he was gone, Pedri turned to Ferran. “Be honest. Did you flirt back?”

Ferran tried to look innocent. “A little.”

Pedri rolled his eyes. “Unbelievable.”

“You’re not mad, are you?”

Pedri glanced toward Eric’s retreating figure. “I don’t know. I might need you to prove it.”

Ferran smirked. “Right here?”

“Right now.”

And just like that, the cafeteria became even more off-limits to Eric García.

- sofía ✎ᝰ.

[fedrifan78]

hii!! yeah, i meant x m!reader stuff for gavi/hector, so thank u for responding!! with that in mind, can i maybe request something with gavi realising he's falling for childhood best friend!reader?

thanks <3

-🎀 anon

more than maybe.

masterlist requested by: 🎀 anon! summary: pablo starts to realise that maybe he feels more than he originally thought for his childhood best friend. word count: 1.1k genre: fluff

Pablo’s always been sure about football. The moment he first kicked a ball, it felt like freedom. Like muscle memory, he was born with. Barcelona. La Roja. The pressure, the cameras, the expectations. He could take all of it.

But you?

You complicate things.

You’ve always been around. The summer mornings kicking a half-deflated ball around the park at the end of the street. The nights lying on his roof, too young to understand what time meant, too naive to think anything would ever change.

You were his first best friend. His loudest cheerleader. His harshest critic when he needed to be kept grounded. You’d call him dramatic when he got sent off and laugh when his voice cracked mid-interview. You were always there. And it was always easy.

Until it wasn’t.

It starts small. That’s how the worst feelings usually start.

The two of you are in his flat, watching some mindless show neither of you care about. You’re slouched across his couch like you live there, hoodie zipped halfway, hair sticking up from where he’d shoved a cushion over your face earlier. And Pablo’s not watching the show. He’s watching you.

Your throat moves when you swallow. He notices that.

Your fingers drum lightly against your thigh. He notices that too.

And when you laugh, like properly laugh, eyes scrunching and cheeks warm, Pablo’s chest tightens.

Weird.

He brushes it off.

Probably just tired.

But the next day, when you're stretching in his kitchen wearing one of his shirts, humming something under your breath, Pablo just… stares. And this time he catches himself.

And he panics.

Because what the hell is that?

He doesn’t say anything. Not when his brain starts replaying moments from the past few months like some twisted highlight reel. You tugging on his arm when he tried to leave early from a party. You wiping blood off his eyebrow with trembling fingers after a rough match. You making dinner while talking about how you hate living alone.

He thinks of how he didn’t want to leave. How he didn’t want to stop hearing your voice.

And suddenly it hits him.

He likes you.

He likes you.

He likes you?

No.

He can’t.

That’s not how this works. That’s not how he works. He’s never even thought about a guy like that before. Never had that fluttery, awkward, can’t-look-him-in-the-eye feeling with anyone except the girls he’s dated. So why now? Why you?

He doesn’t know how to deal with it.

So, naturally, he ruins everything.

You notice first. The way he stops lingering after training. The way he keeps conversations short, even when you joke like always. The way he won’t hold your gaze for more than a second or two. You try not to take it personally at first.

But it builds.

You text and he leaves you on read.

You call and he lets it go to voicemail.

And when you see him at Camp Nou after a match, sweaty and half-smiling, he gives you a nod. Not a hug. Not a fist bump. Just a nod.

It breaks something.

Two days later, you show up at his flat unannounced. You don’t even knock. You’ve had a key for years.

Pablo’s in the kitchen, shirtless, and his entire body tenses when he sees you.

“You good?” you ask, flatly.

He blinks. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug. “Dunno. You’ve been acting weird.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.”

Silence.

You lean against the counter, eyes locked on his. He can’t look away this time. He owes you that much.

“What’s going on?” you ask, voice soft now. Like you’re scared of the answer. “Did I do something?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

He exhales. “I don’t know, alright?”

You blink. “You don’t know what?”

Pablo looks away. His jaw tenses.

“I just… I feel weird around you lately.”

You furrow your brow. “Weird how?”

Another beat of silence. He finally looks at you again, but his voice is quieter this time. Almost fragile.

“I think I like you.”

You pause.

“Okay.”

“No.” Pablo shakes his head. “You don’t get it. I shouldn’t like you. I’ve never liked a guy before.”

Your mouth opens, then shuts. He can see you thinking, processing.

“You think that matters to me?”

“I think it matters to me,” he snaps. “Because it doesn’t make any sense. It’s just… you’re my best friend.”

You nod, slowly. “Yeah. I know.”

“And I don’t want to mess that up. I can’t mess that up.”

You’re quiet for a long moment. Then you say, “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

Pablo winces.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “Look, I’ve had feelings for you for a while, alright? I just didn’t say anything because I figured it wasn’t mutual. And I didn’t want to lose what we had.”

He looks at you, eyes wide. “You what?”

“I like you, Pablo,” you say, more firmly now. “I like you and I care about you and I’ve missed you like hell the last few weeks. But if you’re going to stand there and act like this is some disaster, then I’m not going to beg you to feel okay about it.”

Pablo swallows hard.

It’s quiet again.

Then he whispers, “I’m scared.”

You nod. “Yeah. Me too.”

He steps closer. Not too close, not yet, but enough that you can see the way his hands are trembling a little. His voice is barely audible.

“I don’t know what this means for me. Or for us.”

You nod again. “It doesn’t have to mean anything big yet. You don’t have to label it. You don’t even have to say anything more tonight.”

He looks up at you, eyes glassy.

“But if you want to figure it out,” you continue, softer now, “then I’m here. However long it takes.”

He blinks fast, nodding, and then before he can think himself out of it, he moves.

One step. Then two.

And then he’s kissing you.

It’s messy. Hesitant. Like he doesn’t fully trust himself. But it’s real. You feel the nerves in the way his fingers curl into your shirt. You feel the honesty in the way he exhales against your cheek. You feel the fear and the relief and the weight he’s been carrying for weeks.

You kiss him back.

You don’t say anything when he presses his forehead to yours after, chest heaving. You don’t need to. It’s all there, in the silence.

The confusion. The comfort. The chaos.

It’s all there.

You’re still figuring it out.

But at least now, you’re doing it together.

- sofía ✎ᝰ.

[fedrifan78]

req for a one shot where ferran has baby fever every time he looks at pedri interacting with kids

[ofc they’ve been dating for a while alr]

“are you ready?”

masterlist requested by: @facesblurry summary: ferran has baby fever. word count: 1054 genre: fluff

Ferran never used to notice babies. Not on planes, not in restaurants, not in the stands when the match ended and players carried their toddlers around in mini kits. He didn’t coo or stop walking or nudge whoever was next to him and say, look at that one. But lately… lately, something had shifted.

It started innocently. A teammate brought his daughter to training one afternoon, waddling around the pitch in a little dress and clutching a juice box with both hands. Ferran barely glanced at her. Until she turned, smiled up at him, and shouted, “Hola!”

His heart didn’t stand a chance.

That night, he found himself scrolling through Instagram reels of babies mispronouncing words or hugging puppies. The algorithm caught on fast. The next day, Ferran caught himself lingering too long outside a baby clothing store, eyeing a set of tiny shoes that looked exactly like the ones Pedri wore sometimes.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a phase. A hormonal episode. Maybe he needed more sleep.

But then Pedri walked into their apartment wearing one of Ferran’s hoodies, fresh out of the shower, hair still damp and curling, and Ferran couldn’t stop staring. His brain short-circuited.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Pedri asked, tugging the sleeves over his hands and flopping on the couch.

“Nothing,” Ferran said quickly, tossing his phone aside. “Just thinking.”

Pedri narrowed his eyes. “About what?”

Ferran opened his mouth, shut it again, then stood. “Do you want coffee? I’m making coffee.”

“You’re deflecting,” Pedri called after him. “And you never drink coffee.”

Ferran boiled the water anyway. His hands were shaking slightly.

The next time they kissed, Ferran pulled back halfway through, stared at Pedri’s mouth, and blurted, “Would you want kids?”

Pedri froze. “What?”

“Not now,” Ferran said, panicking. “Not like, tomorrow. Just someday.”

Pedri sat up, rubbing a hand through his hair. “That’s random.”

“I know,” Ferran said. “I just… I saw this video earlier. There was this dad feeding his baby, and the baby kept spitting the food back out and laughing, and the dad just looked so… happy. Like it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Pedri blinked slowly. “You cried at a baby video, didn’t you?”

“I didn’t cry,” Ferran mumbled. “I teared up. Slightly.”

Pedri was silent for a beat, then said softly, “You want to be a dad.”

Ferran groaned and buried his face in Pedri’s chest. “I don’t know. I think I do. I think I’m freaking out.”

Pedri curled a hand behind Ferran’s neck. “Why would that freak you out?”

“Because I don’t even know if that’s something I can have,” Ferran said, voice muffled. “With the job. The pressure. And you. I don’t know if it’s something you’d ever want. Or if I’m selfish for wanting it with you.”

Pedri didn’t speak for a long time. Just ran his hand slowly down Ferran’s back, drawing patterns with his fingertips.

“I’ve thought about it,” he said eventually. “But it’s not something I let myself think about often. You know. Because of the same reasons.”

Ferran lifted his head. “But have you thought about it with me?”

Pedri’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah. I have.”

Ferran’s throat closed. “You’re sure?”

Pedri gave him a small smile, brushing a curl away from his forehead. “You’d be a really good papá, Ferri.”

“I’d lose my mind,” Ferran said immediately. “I’d be that parent who keeps every drawing. I’d film everything too.”

Pedri laughed. “You already do that with my interviews.”

“You’re cute when you talk about football,” Ferran said defensively.

“You’re worse when I talk about you in them.”

Ferran sat back, grinning. “I take pride in that.”

They didn’t talk about it much after that. At least not directly. But the shift was there. Ferran watched Pedri hold a teammate’s baby after a match and felt his whole chest bloom. Pedri looked a little nervous at first, but then the baby giggled and tugged at his collar, and he smiled wide, easy, warm.

That night, Ferran saved the clip someone had posted of it. Watched it three times in bed.

“You’re obsessed,” Pedri said, crawling in beside him.

“Can you blame me?” Ferran replied, showing him the screen. “Look at you. That smile.”

Pedri rolled his eyes and slid under the covers. “You’re unbearable.”

“You love me.”

“I do,” Pedri said without hesitation.

Ferran turned off the phone. His chest felt full again, but not in the scary way. Just full.

It wasn’t until a month later, during an interview, that Ferran saw it written on Pedri’s face too.

They were being asked about life outside football, and Pedri said something about being happy, about feeling grounded. The interviewer joked about family, and Ferran watched Pedri glance sideways, eyes flicking to where Ferran was sitting off camera. It was half a second.

But Ferran knew him. He saw it.

Afterward, as they walked back to the car, Ferran took Pedri’s hand without a word.

“Was it obvious?” Pedri asked.

“Only to me,” Ferran said.

Pedri looked relieved. “Good.”

“You still want to wait, right?” Ferran asked quietly. “For all of it. The talking. The planning. The figuring it out.”

“Yeah,” Pedri said. “But I don’t want to pretend I don’t want it.”

Ferran squeezed his hand. “Same.”

They were still young. Still playing at the highest level. Still figuring out who they were and what they wanted in the quiet moments between matches and training sessions and the noise of the world.

But sometimes, in the morning, Ferran would wake up and find Pedri curled into his side, face soft, arms wrapped around Ferran’s waist, and all he could think about was what it would feel like to wake up to this ten years from now, with a small human kicking both of them in the ribs.

And sometimes, when Ferran pressed a kiss to Pedri’s temple and whispered goodnight, Pedri would open one eye and say, “I wonder if our kids would be like you or me.”

Ferran would kiss him again, smiling. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Pedri would grin. “Not bad. Just dangerous.”

And Ferran… Ferran would fall asleep feeling like maybe, just maybe, the future wasn’t as far away as it seemed.

- sofía ✎ᝰ.

[fedrifan78]

actually de la fuente is taking revenge on pedri bc he's jealous that he's never kissed his bald head

[fedrifan78]

your fedri soulmate au is so good 😭😭😭 i love it so much!!! i dont really know how to say it but your writing is so pretty 🥹❤️

thank you so much! <3

you guys are all so nice with all your compliments 😭

[fedrifan78]

helloo, would you feel comfortable writing for hector fort & gavi? (not together, but separately in x reader pairings)

thanks <3

-🎀 anon

like Gavi x m!reader and Héctor x m!reader?

I’d write x player or x m!reader stuff for Gavi, but probably not Héctor, sorry!

[fedrifan78]

Hi ! I have a request

I have this thought of whenever Ferran buys Pedri gifts he always buys him some expensive stuff, and it's always something you would normally gift a woman like a fur coat or pretty jewelry, and he never sees it as something weird or unusual but Pedri obviously does.

Idk I never gotten further into it but i had the thought from that sopranos scene when tony buys carm the gorgeous fur coat, and i was like damn she looked hot LMAOO. And i couldn't stop thinking that Ferran just spoils pedri when ever he gets the chance to (especially when it comes to clothes/fashion bro knows how to dress) Btw Love your fics and writing ugh ur so good

spoiled.

masterlist requested by: anon! summary: ferran doesn't listen when pedri tells him to stop buying him things. word count: 669 (hehe) genre: fluff

a/n: lowk no idea about the second half of this request so sorry if this isn't what you were meaning 😭

Pedri really thought he had made himself clear the last time.

He had stood in the middle of their shared bedroom with his arms crossed, trying to look serious while Ferran held up a tiny box that very obviously contained a new bottle of cologne. His voice had been firm. Direct. “You have to stop buying me things,” he’d said.

Ferran’s response had been a lazy shrug and a kiss to his cheek that completely derailed the conversation. “No, I don’t.”

And apparently, he meant it.

Because today, when Pedri opened his locker at training, a neatly folded baby blue hoodie was waiting inside. Brand new. Soft as clouds. His size. There was no card, no receipt, no note. But Pedri didn’t need one. He knew exactly who was responsible.

He didn’t touch it for a good five minutes. Just stared at it like it might disappear if he ignored it long enough. Gavi passed behind him at some point and whistled low. “You’re the only person alive who looks mad about getting free stuff.”

Pedri scoffed. “It’s not free if it comes with Ferran’s smug little smile.”

“You know you love that smug little smile,” Gavi said, grabbing his boots from the shelf beside Pedri’s and smirking. “What is that, the third hoodie this week?”

Pedri sighed. “Fourth.”

That night, when they got home and Ferran was sprawled on the couch watching Netflix like he didn’t have an agenda, Pedri tossed the hoodie into his lap.

Ferran looked down, mildly amused. “You didn’t like the color?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I prefer the term generous,” Ferran said, rubbing a hand along the soft cotton. “That blue brings out your eyes.”

Pedri stood there with his hands on his hips, jaw clenched. Ferran didn’t even flinch.

“You told me to stop,” Pedri reminded him.

“I did hear that. I just chose to ignore it.”

“Ferran.”

“Pedri.”

He patted the spot next to him on the couch, and Pedri sank into it with a resigned sigh. Ferran instantly slung an arm around his shoulders, tugging him in. “Let me spoil you.”

“I don’t want to be spoiled,” Pedri muttered.

“But I want to spoil you,” Ferran said softly, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. “Let me. It makes me happy.”

Pedri didn’t respond right away. He let the silence stretch for a few beats, trying to stay annoyed. He couldn’t. Not really. Not when Ferran always looked at him like that, with stars in his eyes and that gentle little smile that only ever belonged to Pedri.

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re beautiful.”

“You’re not going to stop, are you?”

“Nope.”

A week later, Pedri opened his drawer and blinked down at three new pairs of underwear he did not remember buying. There was a soft grey one, one that had tiny embroideries on the waistband, and a silky black pair that he was not even going to try and justify Ferran buying.

He held them up one by one, shaking his head.

“Ferran!”

There was no response from the hallway.

“Ferran Torres!”

The clatter of footsteps came seconds later, and Ferran appeared in the doorway looking all too innocent. “Yes, amor?”

Pedri tossed the embroidered ones at his chest.

“Adorable, aren’t they?” Ferran said, catching them easily.

“You’re out of control.”

“I just thought they’d look cute on you. And I was right.”

Pedri rolled his eyes and turned back to the drawer, but Ferran came up behind him and wrapped both arms around his waist.

“Come on,” he said softly. “You don’t even have to wear them if you don’t want to. I just like thinking about you wearing nice things.”

Pedri leaned back against him with a quiet exhale. “I already have nice things. I have too many things. You’re literally wasting money.”

“I have money to waste,” Ferran said, lips brushing behind his ear. “You’re worth all of it.”

Pedri’s face went red immediately.

“You’re disgusting,” he mumbled.

“And you love it.”

Pedri didn’t deny it.

- sofía ✎ᝰ.

and @facesblurry wanted to be tagged

[fedrifan78]

hello!! would you be open to write AUs? i would love to see a fedri soulmate AU where they share the same emotions but they never realise it (maybe they will). when either gets injured, they both feel immense sadness/disappointment. or maybe when ferran gets angry on the pitch, pedri also gets super angry (but their teammates are surprised cos pedri is never really THAT angry lmao 😭) and we all know ferran is always happy for pedri when he gets motm etc but he feels a sense of happiness he's never felt for himself 🥹 i think that'd be so cute!!!

i feel it too.

masterlist requested by: anon! summary: pedri and ferran are soulmates who can feel the emotions and pain of the other. word count: 1.1k genre: fluff

a/n: i decided to try it before i knocked it, and i don't mind this, but lowk don't think i'm gonna become an au writer guys 😭

It started when Pedri was 12.

He remembers the exact moment, weirdly enough. He was on the bench during a youth game, tying his laces tighter, and suddenly this wave of frustration hit him like a punch to the chest. For a second, he thought maybe he was just annoyed about not starting, but it wasn’t that. It didn’t belong to him. It felt distant and sharp, like something was stabbing through someone else’s day and just bleeding into his.

That was the first time.

And it kept happening. Little things, like bursts of joy that felt too wild to be his, or anxiety that crept in when everything in his world was calm. Pedri never told anyone. Who was going to believe him, anyway? He figured it was just some glitch in his brain.

He didn’t know it meant something. Not until Ferran.

The thing is, they click. From day one at Barça, they just get each other. It’s not perfect, Ferran is chaotic, sometimes. He sings too loudly in the locker room, he talks too much during tactical meetings, and he cannot sit still. Pedri is quieter. More deliberate. But there’s this weird understanding between them, something unspoken and warm, something that makes it easy.

Still, they don’t talk about the other stuff. The feelings. The way Pedri gets giddy before matches, even when he’s nervous, how he chalks it up to adrenaline, but it’s always stronger when Ferran’s in the lineup. Or how Ferran gets sad out of nowhere sometimes, a deep ache right in the middle of his chest that always, always hits on the same days Pedri’s got bad news.

One time, after training, Pedri limped off with a small knock. Just a rolled ankle, not even worth icing for long. But Ferran sat out the next session, too, saying his leg felt off. He couldn’t explain it. Just a weird echo of pain that wouldn’t go away.

Nobody put it together.

Not even them.

It’s a match against Atlético when things start to shift. The game is rough - elbows, fouls, tension boiling under the surface. Ferran gets shoulder-checked so hard he crashes into the advertising boards. He bounces up fast, jaw clenched, eyes burning.

And Pedri? He snaps.

There’s this shove - nothing dramatic, nothing card-worthy, but enough to get the ref’s attention. Enough to make even Gavi freeze in surprise, eyebrows shooting up like did Pedri just do that? The quiet golden boy, throwing his weight around like he’s ready to fight?

Ferran doesn’t even see it. He’s too busy yelling at the guy who fouled him. But after the game, when they’re both showering off sweat and frustration, Pedri won’t meet his eyes.

“You were angry,” Pedri says softly, staring at the floor. “So I was angry.”

Ferran frowns. “Yeah, I guess. Heat of the moment.”

“No,” Pedri says. “Not like that. I don’t really get mad. But when you do… it’s like I can’t not feel it.”

Silence falls between them like a dropped glass.

Then Ferran exhales. “You too?”

Pedri looks up. His heart stutters.

“All this time,” Ferran says, voice barely above a whisper, “I thought I was losing it. I’ve been feeling things that didn’t make sense. Getting happy when you win player of the match, like stupid happy. Not just ‘yay, my friend did well’ - it’s like I’m bursting. And when you’re injured… it feels like it’s happening to me.”

Pedri stares at him. The air in the dressing room is too still.

“We’re soulmates,” he says, like it’s the most obvious conclusion in the world.

Ferran laughs, disbelieving. “You think?”

“You literally just described every weird thing I’ve felt since I was a kid. It’s not a coincidence.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Ferran grins, that stupid grin that crinkles his eyes and makes Pedri’s heart do somersaults.

“Well,” he says, voice light but eyes serious, “no wonder we get along so well.”

They don’t announce it. Not to the team, not to the press, not even to their friends. It’s theirs. Private. Special.

But it changes things. Knowing makes everything warmer. Easier. On bad days, Ferran will text Pedri a simple hey, I’m okay now, like he knows Pedri’s been carrying it too. On good days, when Ferran scores or assists or just feels confident as hell, Pedri walks around glowing. People tease him for it - call him soft, say he’s finally letting loose - and he just smiles, letting them believe whatever they want.

Nobody guesses the truth. Not even when Ferran gets injured and Pedri is seen blinking back tears during warmups.

Not even when Ferran gets subbed in late, barely touches the ball, and still gets the loudest cheer from Pedri on the bench.

One night, after a match that Pedri dominates from start to finish, two assists, one goal, a standing ovation, Ferran shows up outside his apartment. He doesn’t knock right away. Just stands there, fists shoved in his pockets, heart beating too fast.

Pedri opens the door in a hoodie and socks, looking tired but soft. His eyes widen when he sees him.

“You felt it,” Ferran says.

Pedri nods.

“It wasn’t just the win. It was… I don’t know. You were proud of me. Not just football proud. Like…”

“Like I was in love with you,” Pedri finishes, quietly.

Ferran exhales. “Yeah.”

There’s a silence between them. But it’s not awkward. It’s full of something electric, something honest.

Pedri steps aside. “Come in.”

Ferran does. He toes off his shoes and sits on the couch like he’s done a hundred times before. Except this time, Pedri sits close. Closer than usual. Their knees touch. Their shoulders brush.

“You’ve always felt like mine,” Ferran says suddenly. “Even when I didn’t get why.”

Pedri turns his head, meeting his gaze. “Same.”

Ferran hesitates. “Can I…?”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t need to.

Pedri leans in.

And when they kiss, it’s not fireworks. It’s not chaos. It’s this deep, grounding kind of feeling, like something that was already there finally rising to the surface.

After, they sit with their foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air.

“I thought I was just sensitive,” Pedri murmurs.

Ferran laughs. “I thought I was just dramatic.”

They laugh together, soft and private and perfect.

They still haven’t told anyone. They don’t need to.

Gavi raises an eyebrow when Pedri beams too hard after Ferran’s third goal of the season. Hansi watches with a strange look when Ferran skips toward the bench just to bump fists with Pedri after a substitution.

And maybe, just maybe, a few of the others start to suspect.

But they never say a word.

Because whatever it is that binds Pedri and Ferran, whether it’s magic or fate or just something beautifully unexplainable, it doesn’t need to be explained.

They feel it.

And that’s enough.

- sofía ✎ᝰ.