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!
彡SUMMARY ; you decide to prank him by not kissing him back.
彡WORDS ; 920
彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.
彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language
⤷Pedri
He’s in the middle of a tense FIFA match, eyes locked on the screen, thumb smashing buttons like his life depends on it. You’re curled up beside him on the couch, legs tangled with his, half scrolling, half watching. Without glancing away, he leans in for a quick kiss something effortless, done a hundred times a day. But this time, you don’t move.
He presses his lips to yours or tries to. You stay still.
At first, he doesn’t notice. Just hums, locked in focus. But after a beat, he pauses the game and slowly turns toward you.
“Wait… did you just ice me?” he asks, squinting. “You didn’t kiss me back.”
You blink up at him, all innocence. “Did I?”
Now he looks betrayed. He tosses the controller onto the coffee table like he’s been gravely wronged. “Are you mad? Is this about the cake? I thought you were full...”
Your laughter spills out and realization dawns on his face. “No, no,” he groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. “You actually scared me for a second.”
You kiss him, slow and warm. Once. Then again.
“Better?”
He just hums, lips brushing yours. “Still recovering. Keep going.”
To make it up to him, you let him kiss you again five times. Okay, maybe ten.
⤷Pablo Gavi
He’s heading out the door, gym bag slung over his shoulder, cap pulled low over his curls. You’re leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee, still in his hoodie from the night before. As usual, he walks over for a quick kiss something automatic, built into his routine. But when he leans in, you subtly turn your head.
He pulls back, blinking. “Wait.”
You raise your eyebrows calmly. “What?”
He narrows his eyes, trying to process. “Did you really just avoid my kiss?”
You shrug, turning to rinse your mug like nothing happened. “Didn’t notice.”
He stands there for a beat, completely thrown, the smallest frown forming between his brows. He’s quiet but not cold. Just watching you carefully, trying to figure out what he missed.
You bite the inside of your cheek, holding in your laugh. You’re not used to seeing him this unsure.
When you finally turn, his expression is caught somewhere between confusion and worry. You step closer, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, and pull him down into a kiss slow and reassuring.
He exhales softly against your lips. “I thought I forgot something important.”
You grin. “Not this time. Just messing with you.”
⤷Hector Fort
He’s just finished telling you about his day, animated and smiling, when he leans in for a kiss soft, sure, like it’s the natural punctuation to the moment. But you pull back just enough that his lips brush your cheek instead.
His eyes flick open, confused. “Hey! What was that?” His voice is teasing, a smirk playing on his lips.
You raise an eyebrow, grin tugging at your mouth. “What? What’s wrong?”
He chuckles, but his gaze stays steady on you, eyes drifting from your eyes to your lips. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” you say, voice low. “Just a little.”
He shakes his head, mock exasperated, but leans in again, this time catching your lips fully. “Okay, payback time,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You smile into the kiss, feeling the warmth deepen despite the prank. He pulls you close, fingers threading through your hair. “Don’t make me work so hard next time.”
You laugh softly. “No promises.”
⤷Pau Cubarsi
You’re sitting close on the couch, the quiet hum of the evening settling around you. Pau’s tired but smiling—the kind of peaceful that comes after a long day. He leans in for a kiss, soft and familiar—but you don’t meet him. Instead, you let his lips graze your cheek.
He pulls back, startled, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? You’re doing me like that?”
You smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Maybe. Thought you needed a little challenge.”
He shakes his head, a laugh escaping him. “You’re impossible.” Then his gaze drops to your lips, and suddenly he’s closer, capturing them in a kiss that’s slow, deliberate, and warm.
You lean in to kiss him back but it’s your turn to pull away.
“I don’t feel like it anymore,” he says, that signature smile teasing at the corner of his mouth.
You laugh softly, heart fluttering. “Oh, is that so?”
He shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Guess you’re the one holding all the power now.”
⤷Ferran Torres
He’s feeling himself tonight fresh out of the shower, shirt off, muscles still glistening with droplets of water. There’s a confident smirk playing on his lips as he leans in for a kiss, like he knows exactly how irresistible he looks. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him, amused.
But this time, you don’t move. No kiss back. No reaction. Just silence.
He pulls back, hand theatrically pressed to his chest. “¿Qué? You don’t want this?” His eyes widen like you just denied him the sun itself.
He gasps, dramatically shaking his head. “I should call my agent. Clearly, my prime is over.” His voice is half-joking but full of playful mock despair.
Laughter bubbles up from you, shaking your shoulders as you nearly topple over. “Wait, what? You’re abusing me a bit.”
He catches you easily in his arms, grinning like he’s won a secret game. “Don’t play with me like that,” he murmurs, kissing your cheeks, forehead, and finally your lips slow and tender. “You almost hurt my ego.”
You smile against his mouth, the warmth between you comforting a perfect mix of love and mischief.
✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿
Can we see how Lamine, Pedri, and Gavi celebrate readers birthday? And maybe vice versa if you want. Thank you for your time
B-DAY HEADCANONS with lamine, gavi, & pedri
inwhich! i write you headcanons of what lamine yamal, pablo gavi, and pedri gonzalez would do for you on your birthday.
frannytalks! you guys have me working overtime 😞, but keep the requests coming i’m having sm fun, ty for all the support recently! don’t forget to join my taglist(s) here!
L. YAMAL
lamineyamal¡ always sleeps in with you. if he feels you wake up or begin to move, he insists you stay a little longer, he wraps his arms around you and doesn’t let you move.
lamineyamal¡ will always take you out to your favorite breakfast spot. he gives you as long as you need to get ready and doesn’t complain once. he’ll always take a couple things to-go at the end because he knows you’ll get hungry and complain on the way back or later in the day.
lamineyamal¡ always manages to surprise you. whether it’s with a few friends, your family, or a special surprise waiting for you at home, he’ll do it. you don’t know how he does it because you never expect it and he switches it up every year no matter what. every time you think you got it down, it switches.
lamineyamal¡ lets you pick out somewhere to vacation for one week on the night of your birthday, but he makes you pick a piece of paper out of a hat. you hate it, but you do love that he spoils you so much.
lamineyamal¡ never posts embarrassing photos of you on social media, at least not on his public stories. he’ll only post the most jaw-dropping photos and candids of you that he’s been saving over the whole year.
lamineyamal¡ almost never picks up his phone on your birthday, he only picks it up to post about you, text his family, or look at directions. he loves giving all his attention to you, and you only.
P. GAVI
pablogavi¡ wakes you up with a giant stuffed animal, usually of your favorite animal, and gives you kisses all over while he “hugs” you with the stuffies arms.
pablogavi¡ bakes you a cake the night before and excitedly sings you happy birthday, just you two, in the morning. he says that whichever wish you make in the beginning of the day is the one that will come true.
(never leave notes in the middle of stories, but writing that lowkey gave me meena, from sing vibes LOL. 😭)
pablogavi¡ decorates the whole house, which he thinks is a surprise, but you always feel and hear him get up in the middle of the night to decorate. he’s always falling or dropping something too.
pablogavi¡ takes you to a private spa & massage first thing after you get ready. he always brings your bestfriend along too, dropping you both off for two or more hours while he goes and does other important things for your birthday.
pablogavi¡ gives you a lot of “small” gifts that really aren’t small or inexpensive, but he thinks so. and he saves you a big surprise gift at the end, usually something you’ve been wanting forever. he always makes sure to use cute wrapping as well.
pablogavi¡ always gets your whole family together for your birthday, including friends. he even pays for some of their tickets so they can fly out and come to you, even if it’s only for a day or two. he knows how important your favorite people are to you.
P. GONZALEZ
pedrigonzalez¡ always wakes you up with breakfast in bed. he makes sure not to wake you up either, he’ll replace his hands with heating pads so you won’t feel alone.
pedrigonzalez¡ reads you out messages his family, friends, and fans sent him for your birthday. he always tells them to send messages to him so he can read them out loud to you, he’ll always put on a voice for every person which makes you laugh, and he’ll exaggerate things. all while you eat the breakfast he made you.
pedrigonzalez¡ will set up the living room since he knows you love to stay in and watch binge movies or shows. you two will spend hours watching and eating until it’s time to go to a reservation he made.
pedrigonzalez¡ will take you on a shopping spree every birthday. he takes you to your favorite mall and favorite little shops where you always go crazy and buy everything. at first you felt bad, but he always insisted and you started to feel more grateful and all gushy inside rather than embarrassed and upset-ish.
pedrigonzalez¡ always makes sure you never lift a finger the whole day. if you need to tie your shoe, he’s on his knees already. if you need to reach for a waterbottle or your phone, he’s there. if you need to scratch your arm, he’s scratching it for you. if you need to stretch, he’s helping you stretch.
pedrigonzalez¡ always ends the day with giving you a handwritten letter and letting you watch a slideshow he made. the slideshow is photos, videos, and funny & cute texts from the past year. it’s always at least twenty minutes long, he’ll always watch your reaction for when something funny or cute pops up, you always make sure to exaggerate your expressions because you know how much effort and time he put into it.
Can u do pedri fluff and it’s them cuddling in bed together and reader massages his scalp til he falls asleep in her arms, like major whipped pedri and he’s just so soft with reader
✮ Abracadabra - Pedri González
pedri gonzalez x fem!reader
sy: what the req says. need i say more.
a/n: yes it’s basic. no i will never stop writing these because it always comes back to these reassurance fics that i love equally reading n writing. 🙇🏻♀️
warnings: just fluuuff.
pedri spends over an hour in the bathroom. doing god knows what. all kinds of things that don’t even require attention to detail.
if you ask anybody, they’ll tell you he’s pretty low maintenance. atleast, that’s what they see on the outside. felicitously, you’re one of the few who see’s the inside, aka, the fanatic he becomes when it comes to personal care. there’s been a few times in which you’ll joke about how he’s “a woman trapped in a man’s body,” and as a result, he isolates himself in a sulk, and proceeds to give you silent treatment for a solidifying 5 minutes.
note to self: never stop. it’s hilarious.
amidst chewing on a handful of gummy bears, sprawled out across the bed, indulging with a new episode of: the summer i turned pretty, you notice your boyfriend waddle out of the bathroom.
“well that’s a new record,” you glance sideways at the clock, back at the tv. “63 minutes that took you. beating your seemingly futile-to-break 59.”
the spaniard has a towel patting at his head, rubbing his fingertips along the clean shave on his cheek; his shorts hang inappropriately low on his waist, exposing a little too much of his v-line that has you nearly choking on a gummy after forgetting to chew it.
“i think the clocks broken—” the tv catches his eye and earns a frown. “what’re you watching?”
“a show. it’s good. don’t criticise me.”
pedri yawns, stretching before tossing himself onto the bed. “i’m too tired to criticise. remind me to do so in the morning.“
back to being high maintenance, every pastime, without fail, pedri craves for you to pet him like a stray puppy before he can even think about letting himself sleep. in one way or another, you like to imagine yourself as a magician—because his ability to fall asleep just. like. that. with your help, is unmatched. if you were to resist and be a windup, what follows is pleads, or wide brown puppy eyes.
(un)luckily, you’re feeling like a windup tonight.
so, just how it always replays out, pedri shuffles close to rest his head on your chest, one hand bracing your hip and the other drawing idle, vertical lines on your arm. you stable one hand against the ceramic bowl, the other stationary at your side.
it doesn’t take long, at all.
first, he kisses your collarbone. then, he brings your hand up to the nape of his neck, as if silently begging for what he wants, but you purposely slide it back down to the mattress, teasing him.
he hums lazily. “cariño.. what are you doing?”
“watching tv.”
pedri pauses for a wink, another moist kiss to the base of your neck. “are you.. forgetting something?”
your eyes flicker blatantly-sluggishly between the bowl and the illuminated screen. “nope.”
your boyfriend lifts up with an resentful sigh, fisting his palms either side of your shoulders as he towers above you, his curls still sodden and dripping. “you are.”
the sudden change in his tone makes you sear your teeth into your tongue to curb a smirk. “what am i forgetting?”
“uhh—hello?” with disbelief, he points to himself. “me maybe.”
you knit your brows together, playing dumb a final time. “im forgetting.. you? but pedri you’re right h—”
his thumb flattens against your mouth, whilst he snuggles back up, breathing you in like oxygen in a world full of methane. “for that, you can scratch my head for a further 10 minutes.”
high maintenance, you don’t say.
you snort. “oh i can, can i? well, thanks for the permission.”
you start off slow, raking through the damp tufts of hair at the back of his head, then carefully glide to the crown of his head where you push the front strands of his hair back. he forgets to reply, completely short-circuited by the soft sensation of your fingernails dragging tenderly across his head in feather-light loops; you feel the tension in his muscles melt.
“mmmhm,” your boyfriend shivers, goosebumps prickling over his skin. “i feel bad for ferran. he doesn’t get this stress relief for free.”
“ferran? why him?”
the footballer blinks, clocking how asinine that sounded. “first, uh—first guy that popped into my mind.”
you giggle to yourself. he’s probably not aware of what he’s saying, whilst unobservantly you carve his name into the side of his scalp.
“your hair feels unusually soft mi cielo,” you compliment, taken aback that he’s ditched the repulsively, rotten apple-scented shampoo he previously swore by. “new shampoo?”
“oh uh, yeah, si,” he gulps. “i bought it yesterday.”
the scent wavers up to your nose, stronger this time. you approve until you freeze your fingers in motion; he mewls. it’s yours.
“pedri.. is that—?”
a sudden weight tears you seconds away from sitting up to confront him, and pedri exhales in blissful relief—the last thing he wants to do is move right now. before you register the weight, you feel nilo stretching himself out over the pair of you, licking once at pedri’s bare back.
“hola, mi niño,” your boyfriend ruffles at his ears. “get bored of your own bed?”
the furball lets out that petulant pant dogs do, tail wagging as he bares his teeth in a toothy smile, padding across pedri’s spine to nestle beside you instead.
“you want petting too, huh?” you coo.
nilo paws nimbly at the wool of your sweatpants, his chin resting on your thigh.
so that’s a yes.
“stealing the spotlight as always,” pedri mutters, pecking your cheek twice like an attention grab.
“he is not,” you defend, affectionally stroking the side of nilo’s belly. “he just wants love too.”
“i think he gets more than enough,” pedri protests. “especially from you.”
you shrug, running the pad of your finger to his temple. “its not my fault fernando deprives him of love when he looks after him.”
your boyfriend chuckles, his breath itching at your neck. he yawns again, exhausted.
a yawn infects you, your eyes beginning to blur the lines between scene and sleep. nilo has already passed out besides you, still curled up like a toasty loaf of bread. you take your hand from nilo’s ear to caress pedri’s back, linking the moles dotted over his perfectly tanned skin, just how you know he loves.
“hey baby,” pedri randomly jutters, his voice already groggy. “you still love me right?”
despite how heavy your eyelids feel, you crane your neck a little just to look at his face. his eyes are a mirror of yours: squinting in the dim aqua light, lips partly separated.
“of course i do. what makes you say that?”
“nothing.. i just—i love you.” his neck strains to take in the absorbing features of your face. “i don’t think i’ve loved someone as much as i love you.”
“pedri,” you laugh lightly. “you’re blabbering.”
“no. no i’m not. for like the first time ever im finally thinking straight,” pedri inhales, cupping the side of your cheek. “i only want you nena and if i don’t say it enough, i love you.”
your smile widens, so much so that an ache tugs at the corner of your cheeks.
“i love you too amoré. so much.”
your boyfriend stations his palm on your cheek, guiding you closer until your lips meet. it’s a mellow, languid kiss, like he’s not in a rush to let go. when he finally reels back, his head settles just above your lips. pedri’s once-steady breaths now come in slower puffs, as his heartbeat steadies enough just to know sleep captures his body.
you wonder if he’ll remember what he’s confessed in the morning—whether it will take a pillow to the face or a cold splash of water to jog his memory.
abracadabra.
|| 🔖🏷️: @n0vazsq @hearzdiarx @paucubarsisimp @diarieeeelils @joaosnovia @httpsdana @universefcb @madamsoulette @mariejuli @bwueden (lmk if you wanna be added or removed ◡̈)
love begin again and barça boyz ❤️ plz i need a barça boyz asparents or coparenting plz plz plz 😭
Coparenting | Barca Boys
Summary: What is it like to coparent with them
A/N: I can't lie, I love this request 🥺❤️ also, thank you, Anon. I'm happy to know that you loved Begin Again.
Part two
Pedri
"Do you have your coloring book?" You ask, grabbing your son's backpack. He nods at your question. "What about your neon color pencils?"
"I have the draw I made for papi." He answers, showing you the drawing one more time.
You gran him, walking to the Gonzalez Lopez household. You text Rosy that you are outside, thar way you don't have to knock.
"Okay, mi amor." You put him down. "Listen to your dad, don't eat too much sugar and have fun."
He nods, giving you that smile that makes you think of Pedri. He was so much like Pedri. Even the way of talking, not only did he got the accent, but the expressions.
Rosy opens the door, greeting both of you. You share a quick hug with her. "Hola, guapo." She says, greeting the smiling boy.
"Mira abu," He says, showing her the drawing. "Para papi."
"It's so amazing! Your daddy is going to love it."
You kissed him one last time. "Have fun in Sevilla, amor." You say, sending him inside the house. "You guys are going to have fun this weekend." You smile at her.
Rosy hugs you. "We will." She says, taking the backpack from you. "Are you doing anything this weekend?"
You nod your head. "I'll go to the movies." You smile. "Oh, can you please give this to pedri? These are the tickets to the game our son has next month."
You considered yourself lucky, Pedri was coming out of the house with your kid on his arms.
"Mami!" You hear your baby yell. "Papi is getting me an ice cream."
"That so yummy, baby." You smile at him. "Hi, Pedri."
"Hola." He says, a very dry tone.
Rosy knows that if looks could kill, hers would kill her son. "Pedri, this is for you." She says, taking the envelope from your hands.
When Pedri found out about the baby, he was over the moon. You were his puppy love since school, first kiss, first time, first everything.
You also were his biggest fan, there was not one game day where you weren't ready to go support him.
To him, it was a big hit when you told him that it wasn't working anymore. You had a very hard postpartum time, as much as you tried to work on yourself, you couldn't.
You move out of his house, not wanting for him to be the one to leave, plus you don't need a five room house.
He offered to get you a house and to pay for everything you needed. He didn't wanted you to move back to Tenerife.
Once you got on your own feet, you told him to only take care of the baby. You didn't want to be a bother to him.
"What is this?" He asks, grabbing the envelope.
"The tickets for the game." You explain. "I texted you that I was going to bring them."
"Mhm" He humms, kissing his boy on the cheek. "Thanks. I'll be back, mom."
You move to the side, waving at your boy. You can't lie that it hurts you to see Pedri being so dry to you.
"I got tickets for both Fernandos and you, hope you can make it." You whisper, knowing your voice was going betray you. "Please, take care of him."
Rosy hugs you, she knows that you never wanted to hurt Pedri.
When Pedri came back home, his son was asleep on his arms. He was carrying two big bags that contained toys, as always he was the one spoiling him.
Rosy was waiting for him. Her husband and oldest son knew better than to be near when the bomb exploted on Pedri.
"We are back. Gosh, he's heavier by the day." Pedri laughs.
"Take him to his room and come back, we need to talk." His mother says, a very stern tone on her voice.
Pedri does as he's told, he doesn't want to mess with his mom. At least not when she's using that tone of voice.
He lays his boy down, turning the white noise machine that helps him sleep and closing the door with care.
"What are we having for dinner?" He asks.
Rosy knows she shouldn't, but she can't help to be involved in the middle.
"Pedro, you really need to start being a little more considerate with the way you talk to Y/n."
"Mom, not again." He scuffs. "Leave me and her to deal with this."
"I try, but I can't help it. You act as if you are bothered by her. Your son is young, and he doesn't notice this, but he will grow and see that you barely even acknowledge his mom. That's not okay."
"I try my best, okay?" He says, rolling his eyes. "Again, don't mind it, this is between us."
Rosy tries to answer back, but Pedri is already going upstairs to lay in bed with his kid.
You decide to play potato at home all weekend, turning on the match when the time hits. You might not be together, but you are still turning every single match he has.
The match was like a heart attack, a lot of emotions.
But the biggest emotion you had was when your phone began vibrating. It was Pedri requesting a FaceTime.
You don't think twice and press the green button. Your screening shows him and your son cheek to cheek, both with a big smile.
"Mami, we won."
You smile so hard your cheeks feel numb. "That so amazing!" You jump a little. "Tu papi es un campeón." You say. (Your daddy is a champion)
You don't notice it, but Pedri smile grows when you say that. "We are going to sleep as a celebration." Pedri says, laughing a little. "This one's curfew already passed like three hours ago."
"Today's allowed," you laugh, making him laugh.
You talk a little bit with your son and with Pedri as he bathes and changes your son to sleep. He tells you that the nanny of Lewas girls was the one who was going to be helping with your baby.
"Okay, time to sleep. I love you, amor. Please sleep." You say, pointing at your camera so your son could notice how serious you are.
"Adios, mami." He waves at you, sending you a kiss like you taught him.
"Thank you for calling me. I love you both."
"Love you too, mami." Pedri says, knowing it wasn't just because he had to answer back. "Very much."
Gavi
"Hey, drop it." You say to your daughter, who was taking her toys out of her already packed backpack. "You need to be ready to go to your dad's house."
"Papi let me play with my Barbie when he prepares my bag."
You roll your eyes, knowing that, of course, Gavi was letting her do whatever she wanted.
"Okay, I get it." You say, getting closer to her. "But mami really needs to go to class, so please don't do that right now." You begged.
She shrugs, taking the Barbie out and leaving the backpack alone. You roll your eyes, sometimes you do hate to be the strick one.
"Let's go." You say, grabbing her hand and backpack.
You were thankful that Pablo has training in the afternoon for the whole week. You sister was on finals week at school, so she needed to focus on her exams and couldn't help you with your daughter.
You didn't have much option but to ask Gavi to watch her while you go to class in the mornings. He was supposed to have her the late evenings and nights because of you taking that time to do homework and study.
"I love you very much." You say to her, giving her a kiss. "Please behave, doll."
"Te amo, mami." She smiles, hugging you.
You press Gavi's doorbell. Waiting for him to let you in.
"Mami, I'm hungry."
"I know, perdón I didn't give you breakfast." You pout. "Daddy told me he was making you something."
You hear the click of the door. Pablo opens it with a big smile on his face.
"Vente, muñeca." He says, making grabby hands to her. "I have your favorite cereal ready."
You want to ask, knowing that it was that same cereal you asked him not to buy. But you were a little too late for that.
"Thanks again, Pablo." You smile. "Doll, don't eat that much sugar." You warn her.
You ran to your class, leaving Gavi to be the responsable one.
"We have all day to ourselves." He says, giving his daughter a kiss on each cheek. "Want to watch a movie while we eat?"
She nodded, that was already their dinner tradition. Usually Pablo gets take out for her while he eats something plain like a salad or some nutritional stuff.
He enjoys spending time with his daughter, even when he doesn't even know what she's doing most of the time.
Part of him being the < Do whatever you want > type of dad, was that he finds himself busy with something else while his daughter entertains herself.
The other part is him just being a young dad. After all, he's 20.
Being a teen dad wasn't something he had in mind. His parents almost killed him, especially when they find out.
Even tho he is a very calm dad, who allows her to do a lot of things. You know that if you and him were together, you probably would be the same.
He grabs her hand, moving her to the play room he has for her. He sits down on the couch while she plays with her Barbie dolls.
He plays with her for a while, then watches a movie together. Feeling like the time went by perfectly.
"Papi, my friend likes barca too."
"Oh really?" He asks, smiling. "That girl has a very smart dad at home." He chuckles.
"Papi, my friend is a boy." She giggles.
Pablo raises an eyebrow. Sometimes he wonders if what she says is accurate, but lucky him, his daughter happens to be as well spoken as he was when he was a child.
That meant that when she said that she has a boy as a friend, she can't be mistaking the world.
"A boy? Tu no puedes tener amigos. Recuerda, los niños dan asco!" He frowns, not approving his baby girl having a boy around her. "Who is this boy?" (You can't have boy friends. Remember, boys are yucky)
"Mami has boy friends." She frowns too.
"Mami doesn't," He argues. "Plus, mommy is a grown-up. You are my baby, you can't have a boy as your friend."
"Auntie Aurora has." She argues back. She's definitely his daughter. "She kisses him. I want to kiss my boy friend too."
"No!" Pablo shouts. "That will make your teeth fall. You can't do that." He says, very strong tone.
It looks like all the stars aligned against him. His frown softens when he sees the tears on his daughter's eyes.
"Muñeca, no." He says, lifting her up. "I'm sorry, doll. I didn't mean to yell." He coos her in his arms.
Another sign for him to know that the luck wasn't on his side that morning was the doorbell.
He looks at his phone, time showing that it was, in fact, you the one ringing the doorbell. He can't help but feel like the one who's about to get yelled is him.
"Amor, mirame." He says, grabbing his daughter's face. "Papi didn't meant to yell, I'm sorry, doll." He kisses her face.
"No." She says, moving her face away from him. "I want mami."
His heart goes faster when he hears his phone, a text from you. Asking if he was home because you were outside.
"Amor, fine!" He says, desperately. "You can kiss all the boys you want, just stop crying."
But she won't reason, thanks to him she's scared to be even be near a boy. Fearing her teeth are going to be missing.
"The tooth fairy won't come if I kiss a boy." She cries even harder.
"Por la puta." Gavi whispers. "Muñeca, stop crying."
He can't keep hiding inside his home. You rang the doorbell again, making him frown. He leaves his girl on the coach, telling her to wait for him.
He rans downstairs, opening the door to you. "Hi, I thought you weren't here." You smile. "Where's our daughter?"
"That's the thing." He says out of breath. "I made her cry, and now she won't stop." He pouts. "Don't yell."
"Gavi!" You shout.
"Joder, don't yell." He shouts back. "I didn't mean to do it."
You shake your head, pushing him out of the way and walking inside the house. You already know she's in the play room.
"Amor, ven aqui." You say as soon as you see her. "What did you Daddy did to you?" You ask her, picking her up and hugging her.
"He says my tooth are falling." She cry into your neck.
You turn to the door, knowing Gavi is there.
"Teeth," He corrected, "And if it helps, she says that you have a lot of boy friends." He says, frowning. "Why?"
You open your mouth. "I don't." You fight back. "Did you make her cry about that?"
"No, she wanted to kiss a boy." He explains. "She can't do that until she's 40!"
"So you decide to yell and scare her?" You ask.
He looks at the floor, hearing his baby sob. "I didn't mean to." He whispers.
You soften your frown, you know that Gavi is young. He obviously is going to have this childish moments with her.
You have those moments with her. It's normal that you both do.
"Doll, you won't lose your teeth if you kiss a boy. What papi meant is that you are too young to do it, and you have to wait."
"Yes, wait till you are 40." Gavi whisper. "Amor, I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean to make you cry." He pouts. "Perdoname?"
Your now more calmed daughter looks at you, waiting for you to nod and to turn back to Gavi. "Go with papi." You smile, giving her a kiss.
"Te amo." He says, kissing her cheek. "But you can't kiss boys."
"Pablo!" You warn him.
Ferran
"Hi, Fer." You smile, opening the door.
"Why was our daughter outside?" He asks, mad expression on his face.
He has her on his arms, one hand grabbing the barca mini ball he gave her the day before.
"Oh, she was playing with Nelly." You explain. "Want some water?" You ask.
"Papi, down." Your daughter says.
He puts her down, giving her the ball. He closes the door and follows you to the kitchen. You hand him the glass of water.
"Gracias," He says. "You look beautiful." He smiles at you.
You smile back, knowing that he always says something like that. "I'm wearing a food stained shirt and joggers." You point at yourself. "I don't feel very beautiful."
"Well, you are." He smiles. "Now, care to answer my question?" He blinks a few times.
"I did. She was playing with Nelly, the neighbor's daughter."
"And I assume that Nelly's dad is the one who was playing with them." He says, a very deceptive tone. "Playing with her barca ball, that I got her, playing football with our daughter."
"Okay?" You say. "I feel like you are conflicted with that, care to explain?"
"Y/n, he's wearing a Madrid jersey." He says, the disgust in his tone was enough to make you roll your eyes. "And why is another dude playing football with my daughter? She's only allowed to play that with me!"
"Ferran, she was excited to show Mario her ball, and Nelly and her play every Wednesday."
"Who's Mario?" He raised an eyebrow. "Is he Nelly's dad?"
"Ferran, stop." You scuff. "Hey, Arantxa wants to get her into ballet, by the way." You say, walking over to your room.
"I need to shower. Please turn the oven off in fifteen minutes, and don't give her juice if she asks, I know you!"
Ferran took the opportunity to go to where his daughter is.
"Amor, come here." He says, opening his arms. "Is Mario your friend Nelly's dad?"
He knows it is crazy to ask his barely three year old daughter that question, but kids know a lot so he does.
She nods, smiling. "Nelly likes my ball."
"I'll get her one." He smiles. "What do you think about living closer to Auntie Arantxa?" He asks the little girl, getting closer to her and kissing her chubby cheek.
He lifts her, hugging her closer to him.
If he can say something about being a dad, is that he loves it. Having a girl is the best thing, he loves dressing up as a princess, with his tutu and his tiara.
He knows that he fucked up between you and him. Putting more effort into his work, spending less time at home, and the time he spent there was either on the gym or the sauna.
You got tired of begging him to just give you a day. Begging him for an hour of the day, to maybe help with his daughter, to be with you.
He got home tired, eating dinner and moving to the gym to tired himself even more. You try to ask him to be there for you, but he failed.
When you told him you were moving out, that you needed to put your child first. He felt betrayed.
He even fought you, calling you selfish for using your child as an excuse. Till this day, he regrets that.
You rented a two bedroom house. Perfect and small for you and your child. You work at the daycare your daughter goes to, so it's perfect. Your house is perfect for the two of you, and the location is even better for work.
Ferran tried to buy you a house, a big four bedroom home that was in the same neighborhood. You said no, angry at him and wanting to give him the space you thought he needed.
Now you notice that he spends more time at your house than anything. Barely even going back, just to check on his dogs and to play with them a little.
"Kiss." He says, making a duck lip to smooch his daughter. "Te amo." He smiles
"Te amo, papi."
You walk back into the kitchen after your very needed shower. Ferran was dancing to baby shark.
You smile at that, "I'm back." You announce. "Want to stay for dinner?"
"Obvio," He laughs. It was obvious you weren't getting him out of there until she was asleep. "Want some help?"
You shake your head, being able to prepare the plates while he dances with her.
"I'm getting her that cupra mini car that I saw on Instagram." He says to you, grabbing his plate and moving to the table. "We are going to match, amore."
"Can that stay at your house?" You ask. "Thanks to you, I don't have that much space anymore." You point at your very busy living room."
"About that," He whispers. "I got to tell you something." He says, scratching the back of his head.
"What did you do?" You narrow your eyes at him.
"Pedri told me it was a good idea." He excuses himself. "And the location is perfect. There's a big patio. Almost next to my sister."
"Ferran!" You sigh, not wanting to fight in front of your kid. "Why?"
"Because I miss you, and this place is so small. Sorry to say it." He lift his hands. "I fucked up, okay? I did! And now I get to see my daughter only after work, I'm dying."
He gets up, walking outside for a moment. You give him a few minutes, smiling at your daughter who's looking at you with curiosity.
"Don't kiss and tell, but Papi is not the smartest of them all." You whisper, making her laugh. "I'll be back, eat your dinner, mi amor."
He's taking his time, not wanting to go back while being this disappointed at himself.
"Ferran," You call him. "Can we talk?"
"What do I need to do to fix this?" He asks, desperate for an answer. "I want you guys back."
"Let's start by not buying anything before informing the other." You joke, making him chuckle. "I know this is an ugly situation for us, but we can't play bingo with our daughter. I need to make sure you changed because I don't feel like leaving again at midnight."
"You won't ever need that."
"Let's try to finish today. After she's in bed, we can talk." You say, grabbing his hand and walking inside. "Deal?" You ask, standing at the door.
"Deal." He smiles, taking a deep breath. "Can I sleep over?" He asks, trying his luck.
"No." You say, pulling him inside.
Fermin
"Do you want the blue shirt or the white one?" Fermin asks his son. "I like this one more, because that way we can match!"
"Bu," His son says, trying to say the word blue. "Bu, papi."
Fermin smiles, pulling the shirt over his head. "Look at you," He says, lifting him and walking over to the mirror. "We match!"
He was spending the evening with his son. You needed to study for this very important test that was taking place during the evening. He took the time to spend the whole day with him.
"I'm sending a picture to your Gammy." He smile. "Say hi, grandma." He smiles, snapping a picture of the two of them.
"Mamá." Your son says after the picture is taken.
Something Fermin knows is that he's not used to being away from you that much. He might go with an hour more than usual, maybe two even, but the whole day without you? No way.
"Mami is studying, buddy." Fermin explains. "That's why you and I are going to go get ice cream!"
Fermin loves to spend time with his son, it was the highlight of his day. Of his life better say. He enjoys it too much.
He feels bad that he doesn't get to spend as much time as he would want, mostly because he didn't share a house with you and because his job has kept him bussy.
"Mami." Your son pouts.
He wants you too, but sadly for him, he fucked up. So now he doesn't have you as he wanted.
"We can call her." He says, taking his phone and dialing your number.
You answer to FaceTime. Smiling when you see your baby's face. "Hola, mi vida."
"Mami, bu!" He claps.
"Blue!" You repeat. "Love that you are matching."
"We are going for ice cream." Fermin says, informing you of the plans. "Sorry to interrupt you, but he's a mama's boy and he can't live without you."
You pout. "I love you, amorcito." You smile. "As soon as I'm done with this, I'll go pick you up and we will cuddle while watching coco."
Fermin feels jealous, he wants to cuddle and watch coco too. He wants to be able to be there and spend time with the two of you.
You can describe Fermin as a perfect dad. Even when people say that there's not such a thing. Well, there is. Fermin López is that thing.
He helps whenever you need him to help, he stepped up when you need him to, he cleans, he cooks, he knows how to change diapers, he knows how to deal with a cold or the flue, he knows how to deal with tantrums.
He's the perfect dad.
But he wasn't the perfect boyfriend. That's where he failed, and you don't blame him, you weren't the perfect girlfriend either.
Your relationship ended before the baby came. You try your best to hide from Fermin that you were pregnant.
You were afraid that his career was going to suffer. You try your best to hide it from your friend in common.
The thing you forgot was that he knew where you lived, so when he came back to Sevilla for vacations, he went straight to your house.
You opened the door without checking who it was, big mistake you thought at the moment.
He asked the obvious question. "Is it mine?"
After that, he tried to do everything he could to be there for you. Even encourage you to move to Barcelona.
He got you a place to live, mostly because you didn't want to go back together, feeling that he wanted to do all this because of the baby.
He helps you money wise with the baby, even when you mention that your parents can help you and that you will be fine.
"Thank you, Papi." You smile at Fermin as soon as he is on frame. "I really can't do this without you." You pout, feeling emotional.
"I love you, mami." He smiles. "Go get that test done, we love you."
You send them a kiss, hanging up the call.
"Okay, amorcito." He says to his baby. "Want to go get ice cream?"
He smiles when the boy in his arms starts to clap his hands. "Yeah, let's go!"
The evening was all fun and laughs. He loves spending time with his little one. He makes sure to cook something for you.
Just in time, the doorbell rang. He takes his son from the safe mini sofa he bought for him. He walks to the door with him, making him laugh by asking him if he is ready yo eat.
"Hola!" You say, smiling at them. "Amor, ven acá." You grab the baby from his arms. "Hola, Fer." You smile, hugging him. "Sorry, I forgot the keys."
Yes, he gave you a copy of his house keys.
"I made dinner." He smiles, kissing your forehead. "Come here." He grabs your hand, walking with you inside.
"Did you have fun?" You ask your son. "Did papi and you have fun today? Did you eat a lot of ice cream?"
"Papi." He smiles, looking over at Fermin.
"Send a kiss to papi!" You say, excited to show Fermin what your baby learned. "Kiss, muak muak."
He does this thing, where he places his hand on his mouth and makes a kiss sound as he puts his hand away.
"Amor!" Fermin smiles happy. "Do that again." He does. You love to see the happy face and the big smile on Fermin's face. "One more time." He says.
"Muak." Your baby says, throwing a kiss at Fermin.
Fer loves having you over, he would love to have you living with him. Maybe in the future, you said once.
౨ৎ Summary - Six months ago you and Pedri's situationship ended in mutual heartbreak. Now, your life has seemingly moved on. A new life in Madrid is blossoming, but when El Clasico comes around it brings your past with it.
(Inspired by Pushing It Down and Praying by Lizzy McAlpine)
I love him, kiss his mouth, prayin' he can't see what I see
Marco was new, someone you had been seeing for only the past few months. A new friend brought around by your move to Madrid. Barcelona had become too hard to live in, every street filled with a memory of him that you couldn't bare. Each flicker of dark red and navy blue sent shivers crawling down your spine. Barcelona had become to small of a city to encompass the love and heartbreak that you felt when you remembered him -- Pedro.
In Barcelona, that love and heartbreak was able to breath. In Madrid, it was snuffed out. Mostly.
The evening's warm sun cascades through the linen white curtains of the modern apartment in the capital's bustling centre. Horns beep outside, music beats wildly on the crowded Friday evening as young adults free themselves of the weeks mundane stresses on sweet Spanish beer and cheap liquor that burns in the chest.
Marco and you lay intertwined, heavy breaths and sticky skin. The noise of pleasure filled moans sound out between the four pale white walls. The floral bed sheets are thick and comfy beneath you, his hand rolls over your cheek like a gentle kiss. He loves you, you know that. But, you love him. Marco looks at you with wide deep blue eyes that are glazed over with awe and affection. When you look at them, you see honey, you see a deep brown that belongs to a man across the country.
Guilt trickles into the veins beneath your warm skin.
You kiss Marco. Maybe, a kiss would bring you back to the sun-kissed evening in Madrid and away from the coldness of Barcelona. A kiss could make you stop picturing another man, while someone else is inside you.
When I close my eyes you replace him
With shut eyes, your lips press against Marco's own plump ones. They're bigger than Pedro's, more demanding and controlling. It makes the kiss feel one sided and weak. It never felt like that with Pedro.
With shut eyes, and as your tongue intertwines with another you feel the memories of him flood back. Every kiss, every touch, both delicate and passionate. You hadn't felt Pedro's touch in six months, not since everything happened, and yet when he appears now in your mind he is the exact same.
Wearing no disguise you erase him
His brunette hair is floppy and messy as you run your hands through it lightly pulling at it just enough to feel him smile against your lips. It sticks to the light sweat sheen on his forehead as he thrusts inside you over and over. His rough hands grip onto your bare hips like they are the only thing anchoring him from sailing off to the oblivion.
Marco moans.
and your world crashes once again.
For a few moments, Pedro had erased him. The memories of your mind made it feel like it was him in the bedroom with you. It made you feel like it was him whose hands were roaming your body and touching you in all the spots he knew so well.
For a few moments, Marco never existed. and neither did the new job, or the apartment or the burning pulse in your chest located slightly to the left that hadn't faded since leaving Catalonia.
And that guilt returns, only this time it provides a lingering sweetness.
I want to feel guilty
I want to feel that its wrong
You know its wrong, you know it makes you a shitty person. You're leading him on and you're using him because Marco is the only one that can get you close enough to the way Pedro made you feel. They looked similar too, that's why you went on the date with him in the first place. The same brown hair, the same dark eyebrows, the same high cheekbones and the subtle bump in the nose. They look like they could be related. Cousins maybe.
Marco's face was easy to replace with Pedro's.
And that's a cruel thing to admit, but you're young and heartbroken just trying to chase down anything that makes living and breathing without the man you love easier.
And laying here beneath him, feeling that guilt as you fight back saying another man's name breathlessly through bitten lips helps.
Your climax isn't fake tonight, most nights it is but the visions of him were strong enough to push you over the edge tonight.
Marco finishes and confirms it with the moan of your name and the furrow of his thick brows. Pedro's did the same thing, you can't help but think.
Marco flops down in the bed beside you, a lazy lovesick yet boyish grin plastered across his flushed face. He brushed a stray strand of hair from your face and behind you ear. It's almost hard to look at him because you don't feel the same as he does in this moment and he can't tell.
You look away sheepishly, your eyes wide and staring at the bare ceiling. The streets below the apartment building are loud and rowdy, way more than they usually are.
"I've never heard the city so loud" You say, breaking the silence of the room for the first time since the panting and moaning stopped.
Marco chuckles. It's deep and hoarse. Rich and smooth.
You glance at him quickly, he's still looking at you. His smile still there, his stubble covered jaw sharp and slightly tightening.
"It's El Clasico tomorrow, all the fans are out partying early" He replies with an air of nonchalance, and of course he did because how could he realise that the words he just spoke made your stomach drop and your palm sweat. Marco didn't know anything about you and Pedro, or Pedri as he would call him, he had no idea that it was him that had sent you running away to Madrid and right into his arms.
"I actually was planning on it being more of a surprise, but now seems like a fitting time. I got us and a couple of our friends tickets to the game. It's a tradition that we go to at least one a year" Marco starts.
"I can't" You blurt out with too much haste. Marco scowls at you, only briefly, but there is a look of apprehension on his face for a fleeting moment.
"You can, you have no plans tomorrow or work"
'I don't like football" You say. It's not really a lie. Not anymore. Football was always the biggest reminder of him. Football was Pedri. Pedro was football. A relationship that ran so deep, and meant more to him than you ever could. In most way, you were the other woman and football was the wife that would always be waiting for him to come home.
Marco scoffs for a moment before speaking. "This is not football, Doll. This is El Clasico. This is.." He ponders and struggles to find a word that seemed to fit what he was trying to say. "Heaven" He settles on.
"You're coming. End of."
Your heart is beats uncontrollably while Marco begins to pick his clothes up off the cold deep wood floorboards. The atmosphere around between you feels unusually tense, something heavy that Marco cannot even begin to understand lies thick in the faded breaths.
The floorboards creek under his feet as his belt jangles while he fastens up his suit trousers. You lay under the soft covers, clutching them over your bare breasts as your eyes linger on Marco. However, your mind is somewhere else, it's racing with the thought that tomorrow you will be seeing Pedro. The one person you believed you would never see again. The one person who held your heart in his palms and crushed it. You were never even together, not officially but it often felt like you were. A ten month situationship filled with the whirlwind of love and hushed kisses, one that was kept so close and secret from the world around you both. Media never knew, his teammates hardly knew. But you both knew, and in your little world that was all the mattered.
Until, it no longer mattered at all to him.
Suddenly, you feel sick. Nausea swirling around in an empty stomach. Marco comes over and presses a firm yet caring kiss upon your forehead and somehow that makes you feel even more sick.
"Kick off is at eight. I'll swing by and pick you up at seven" He says with a cheeky wink before grabbing his perfectly tailored black suit jacket and leaving you alone in the fading light of your apartment.
-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-
You step out of Marco's black porsche onto the buzzing pavement outside the Santiago Bernabeu stadium as the streets fill with eager civilians all covered in shades of white clothing. Without much thought, you adjust the white Real Madrid scarf that was wrapped loosely across your neck despite the early summer heat. Marco had made you wear it, and it felt wrong and dirty. It felt naughty, but in a twisted way you enjoyed that guilt.
The white of jersey's shimmered in the light of the sunset, beside you Marco shines. His muscular arm wrapping over your shoulder's with a casual possessiveness. His grip never harsh but steady, stable.
He guides you through the gates, flashing his tickets. Your friends follow in behind, although they aren't really your friends. They're Marco's and you have just become a tagalong. All your friends remained in Barcelona.
As you make your way to your seats you realise that the energy in the stadium feels different than any other game you had been too. That this match meant something more, something deep routed and incomprehensible. History hung between the walls of the cathedral of football. Those in the stands don't pray to god, they pray to the game.
It was the noise that hit you first -- a deep rumbling of voices, chants and whistles that pulsed as if the sound itself was alive. Marco guides you through the sea of white and gold madridistas, and you can feel the buzzing electricity from around them. The stands smell of beer, sweat and cigarette smoke mixed with anticipation.
You make your way down the stairs, edging closer to the pitch. With each step you hope Marco will pull you down a row of seats, but he doesn't. Anxiety dances underneath your skin as you begin to realise how close you're going to be to the pitch, how close you're going to be to him. You thought you would be so far away that you would barely be able to see him, and he would never be able to see you but now that doesn't seem to be the reality.
Marco stops and pulls you down a row about seven back from the pitch, in the home end and just before the left corner with an incredible view of the goal.
As you sit down you feel your chest constricting, the air almost suffocating. Marco places an arm around the back of your seat as he speaks with his friends about the upcoming game. They think Madrid wish beat Barcelona with ease, that the Barcelona defence is no match for the goal scoring ability of their mighty Vini Jr and Mbappe. You know they're wrong. You've been to enough Barcelona games to be well aware of how difficult it will be for Madrid to beat them but you keep that to yourself as you bite your lips and fiddle with the tassels of the white and gold scarf.
You weren't a Barcelona fan either, only when you were involved with Pedro. So not now. You swallow away the sting that causes, and lean further into the arm of Marco. He turns his head briefly and smiles looking down at you before going back to his conversation, but you notice the way his arm has curled around you closer.
He's a good man, with a well paying job and he loves you. You should love him too.
The lights began to dim slowly, like a theatre just before they lift the red draped curtains. You know what's about to happen, you know who you are about to see and you aren't prepared. Your breath is caught solid like a lump in your throat.
One by one, the spotlights around the top of the stadium begin to flare back on. Music swelled from the speakers, too loud for most to bear but for you it is simply a dull ringing in the background of your mind because they were leaving the tunnel.
Players in blue and garnet emerging out into the hostile atmosphere, while those players in white beside them emerge like celebrated warriors.
The cheers and boos were swallowing.
You want to look away, but you can't. You have to see him, see what he looks like. Does he look the same as he did when you left all them months ago?
It doesn't take long for you to see him.
Number 8 bold on the back of his shirt.
You feel like crying. You feel frozen. You feel sore and wounded. You feel like you could be drowning.
He looks the same, like you left yesterday. His hair is still in the same cut, faded on the sides and long on top. He's clean shaven, and his eyebrows are neat. He's exactly the man you picture while Marco is inside you. He's the face that replaces him, the one that comes to visit you in dreams of both night and day, the one that no matter how hard you try you can't escape.
And he's real. He's here. Close, but not enough to touch.
And you're here, but he doesn't know that.
When his face is on the big screen for all the stadium to see, you wince and look down at your feet. Marco says something beside you but you don't catch it and your too focussed on someone else to ask him to repeat it. Instead, you find yourself fiddling with your nails, then with the fabric of your distressed denim mini skirt and finally the scarf tassels that had become your saving grace tonight.
The whistle blew.
The match began. Not just between the men on the green turf but between you and everything you had tried to leave behind.
-౨ৎ ⋆｡˚-
The second half had just begun, the fifty first minutes of a tense game ticking on the clock. The Bernabeu was humming like it had been all evening, so full of arrogance and purpose. The scoreline sat at 1 - 1 and yet the game had been intense, full of action and there was a strong belief in the stadium that something heavier was coming. Something magical was hanging on the edge.
Pedri jogged across the pitch, his studs whispering against the slick, green grass. His lungs pulled sharp in the night air, bitterness lingering on his tongue as the importance of winning this game and earning the rivalry's bragging rights weighed on his shoulders.
The ball had gone out for a corner. He wiped away the sweat from his forehead by lifting up the bottom of his shirt. His bare stomach now on show under the floodlights. The stadium hissed around him, a chorus of poisonous boos directed at those who shared his shirt. White scarves swung through the air like flags of war, but never in surrender.
It should have been just another set piece, like the ones he had practised in training. It wasn't meant to be him taking it at first, but he stepped up in the end.
He lazily kicked the ball to the corner flag with light taps against his foot. When he reached the flag, his hand brushed it lightly and without much thought. He placed the ball where he wanted it, settling it on the white mark with a practised ease and then he straightened back up. The home crowd behind him were rowdy, insults and distractions being hurtled at his back. Usually, he never looks.
But today he felt compelled too.
So, his honey brown eyes flicked up to the stands. They scanned the chaos that spread over the rows of people.
And then he saw you, or he thought he did.
Row 8. Not in Barcelona colours, no but in a soft snowy white scarf. Your hair tucked delicately behind your ears in the way you always did when you were nervous. Your plump lips bitten between your teeth in the way you always did when you were overthinking. Pedri watched you watching him, both of you so still and unmoving like he wasn't supposed to be kicking at ball at that very moment.
It was you. Pedri's chest tightened.
You weren't meant to be here. You were gone, to some place he didn't know. You had blocked him on everything, you had never responded to his last messages. To Pedri, you just vanished. One night you were arguing about what you were, and he said something stupid about football always meaning more to him than you ever could, and then the next day you had gone and become uncontactable.
Ten months spent together, and you just left like it meant nothing.
But now, you're here and he's looking at you.
Pedri struggles to tear his eyes away from you, but he forced himself to look at the goal, to look at his teammates. They're all looking at him with wide eyes, and yelling at him for taking to long to make his cross.
You need to focus, he told himself as he took in a deep breath trying to shake the feeling.
But, he couldn't. Something in the stadium had shifted, like the air around him had become dense and unbreathable. Like your name was invisibly embroidered into the night sky and hanging in front of him just out of reach.
He heard the whistle.
He lifted his arm.
Took a step.
Then, he curled the ball into the box.
A beautiful ball which arched towards the near post, sharp and spinning with a pin point precision few players in the world had mastered -- but Pedri couldn't really focus on the play, or the ball, or his teammates because you were here, sat only a few rows behind where he was now standing and the wounds of months ago were raw and reopened on the biggest stage of all.
As the ball sank into the fray of bodies in the box, Pedri allowed himself to look back at you in the stands once again. Just to make sure it hadn't been a trick of the floodlights or a hallucination stemming from his deepest desires, just to make sure it really was you.
He looked at you, and you were looking back at him. Your skin was glowy and tanned under the harsh floodlights. Each feature on your face was so strikingly beautiful and yet delicate at the same time. If he hadn't been in the middle of a game, he would have ran to you but he couldn't.
Pedri almost flinches as he watched the man sat beside you whisper something in your ear, he lips so comfortably close to your neck like he knew you well. You break your eyes away from him, and that cuts him deeper than he imagined it would. What cuts him even more is when he realises the white around your neck is a Real Madrid scarf, and that you came to a game knowing he would be playing wearing the colours of his rivals.
The sting was sharper than any tackle he had ever taken.
He turned away before he could see more, before he could see you eyes again still full of that quiet pain he had memorised. Before he could see if you smiled at that man the same way you used to smile at him before he messed it all up.
He jogged back to the middle of the pitch but his limbs felt heavy now. His chest burned -- not from fatigue, but from that feeling that you had moved on. That maybe this whole time, while he was thinking of you during lonely away matches and in hotel nights soaked in regret, you had already given someone else the version of yourself he once held so tightly.
But he knew that wasn’t the truth. He knew you too well, he had read your silence like it was his sacred scripture. He saw it in your face faltered just now. You were not over it. Over him. That wasn’t a face of someone free, it was the face of someone running. The face of someone haunted. That was someone still searching for something they’d never quite been given back.
He didn't know who the man beside you was, but he knew it wasn't love for you. He knew that you weren't feeling the same inside as you felt for him.
The book of your relationship was closed but a page was folded, a place it could be opened back up.
Back in the stands, your fingers play with the tassels of the scarf. Your chest panting up and down, tightening with panic as you tried to hold it together.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
He wasn't meant to see you, you weren't meant to see him again.
He was meant to have moved on. You were meant to have moved on.
So why did he look at you like you were sacred?, why did he tell you all those months ago you didn't mean anything to him when he looked at you like you were an angel?
Your knee bounced uncontrollably, and Marco was still talking beside you. He was talking about Mbappe and how he was the greatest in the world, and how Bellingham was the most intelligent midfielder he had ever watched play in the flesh. You could only nod with tight lips because you couldn't lash out and tell him to just shut up for a moment so you could fight the internal war in your mind.
You felt him kiss your cheek, his cold lips on your flaming cheeks.
and it takes you back again, back to when that was Pedro.
I love him, kiss his mouth, sayin'
Back to when you would be laying in his arms on the leather couch of his living room, the Barcelona sun soaking in through the floor to ceiling windows. Some sitcom on the television that neither of you are paying attention too. His lips ghosting your neck, then delicately tapping against your cheekbones. The warmth in pooling in your chest, and the heat rising between your thighs.
oh yeah, baby, touch and touch and touch me.
And then it would progress, to something more charged and sensual. There on his couch in the middle of the day because you couldn't resist. Or sometimes, in the kitchen pressed against the counter after he had been away thanks to football. Your favourite was always in the shower, when he got back from training and he was exhausted. The way he would lean his head on your shoulder while pleasuring you from behind. He gripped onto you like you were the only thing he needed. The way he grunted, and the way you whispered his name. Every moment felt like brushing heaven.
The cheer of the fans around you pulls you back to reality. Real Madrid had scored. 2-1 Real Madrid.
I wanna feel guilty
I wanna feel that it's wrong
Your cheeks are pink in embarrassment, your thoughts so consumed by dirty moments with the boy on the field triggered by the kiss of another man that you had completely missed the goal. You're the only fan still sat down, but you stay that way. Celebrating didn't feel right.
I wanna know peace again,
wanna sing a different song.
Nothing felt right anymore, not since you put yourself first and left him. Ever since that day, every decision felt wrong. No peace, just long nights being haunted by the thoughts of the life you once lived in a city you once loved.
Down on the pitch, Pedri began to move like a man possessed. The ball at his feet was no longer a tool of grace but an outlet for the confusion, and the heart ache. His passing was sharp, almost recklessly perfect. He went for gaps that weren't really there and somehow found a way through. The blue and garnet crowd roared with delight, but he didn’t hear them. His mind was somewhere else, stuck in a timeline where you had never left. Where the fight that night hadn’t happened. Where he hadn’t said something so deeply cruel that it shattered the only real thing he’d ever had outside of football.
When the ball came to him at the top of the box in the eighty third minute, he didn’t hesitate. He struck it cleanly, fluidly, with the technique of someone who'd been playing since before they could even spell their own name. He hit it without thought.
It sliced past the goalkeepers hands.
A goal, he scored a goal.
You were the only one in your section of white that stood up, because it was like muscle memory. It was natural for you to want him to do well. Natural for you to cheer for him even after he broke your heart. The madridistas around you were silent with hushed sighs, but the Barcelona fans across the way were rowdy and roaring.
Pedri didn't sprint, Pedri didn't smile. Not until you caught his eye.
You stood up as everyone else was sat down. Your jaw ajar like you hadn't even realised you cheered.
He looked right at you. No celebration. Just a look, a long and locked stare that felt like a conversation. I know you still love me. He whispered through deep chestnut eyes.
Then he was swarmed by his team. He had equalised. 2-2. Six minutes plus injury time left.
You slowly sat back down, feeling Marco's confused eyes on your frazzled face.
"You okay, baby?," He asked pulling you closer with so much love and care. A love and care you could never give back to him.
I want you to need me, I need to want something more.
He gives what he can, but now I don't know what he's giving for.
"I didn't know you liked Barcelona," Marco laughed trying to lighten the tension that stormed in the air around you.
"I don't," You told him, finally looking at him for the first time since you here tonight. Your expression softening with guilt that wasn't quite an apology, just plain vulnerability. Marco just nodded, because he was like that. Just understanding and empathetic. He placed his large hand over your thigh and gave is a squeeze of reassurance and let it linger there as the game went on.
Pedri was already back in hurried formation, the full belief that he could win this game on his shoulders. When the whistle blew again to resume play, he snapped back into smooth fluid motion. The pace of the game intensified -- Madrid pushing back harder, Barcelona responding with stubborn brilliance. The crowd surged and swayed, and time dissolved into a blur of movement and noise.
Six minutes went down to one. The ninetieth minute.
And Yamal had a free kick.
One last chance to score.
He took it. The ball spiralled through the air, hitting the top left corner with perfect precision.
3-2. Final score. Whistle blown.
You froze and the world spun around you in a sea of chaos. Madridistas cursing the skies, Marco holding his head in his hands. The boys in blue and garnet screeching with happiness as they jumped on top of each other victorious.
You didn't know how to feel. You didn't know what to do. The pull of the man on the field so strong, but knowing you couldn't go down there and see him. The space between you now seemed so final, and you realised that you needed something more than that. Anything. Just closure, or a sign. A message. A reason to stay in Madrid, a reason to go back to Barcelona. Anything. Just something to clear up this feeling of confusion and heartbreak. Just something final.
And you know that makes you weak, but Pedro could make anyone weak. He had that effect on people.
"Come on, let's go," Marco says, his hand on the small of your back as you stand up, ready to follow all the others in white leaving the stadium in disappointment. You grab your bag, pulling it on your shoulder and nod your head in reluctant agreement.
You're about three steps up the steep stairs when something stops you.
"Y/N! WAIT! Y/N!"
You know that voice, and it makes your stomach drop.
Both you and Marco turn, eyes glancing to the man in blue and garnet running away from the post match celebrations and too the stands. Running to you.
You pause in shock.
Marco's eyes widen as he looks from you to Pedro and back to you again. Confusion swirling around his mind.
Pedri reaches the edge of the pitch, his hands resting on the advertising boards as he leans slightly over them. His eyes glance at Marco for a moment, jealousy flickering beneath his skin as he sees his hand on the small of your back but then he looks at you. He knows what he needs to do, and he knows this is the only chance he has.
"PLEASE! LET ME EXPLAIN!" He shouts, not caring who hears. His hand stretched out for you to come and grab.
Softer, harder, in-between
You know just how to get to me
You look at him stood there, so exhausted and sweaty. His under thermals sticking to his torso like a second skin. You still love him. You love him more than you have ever loved anything in your entire life.
You look at Marco, whose looking at you with raw and stormy eyes. A glint of betrayal lingering in the blueness of them.
He is stable, you are deep.
You look back at Pedro.
The difference between them so stark now they are almost side by side.
Marco is safe, and stable, and he loves you.
Pedro is fire, and uncontrollable passion, and you love him.
Tears well in your doe eyes.
I know just how to get what I need
"I'm sorry," You tell him with a broken voice. You had used him, and he had never even known. That made you a horrible person, but you couldn't help it. You couldn't even look at him, eyes flicking to your feet as you took off the Real Madrid scarf and handed it back to him.
Then, you turned to where your Pedro was waiting and set off down the stairs.
I wanna feel guilty
I wanna feel that it's wrong
You grab his hand, and all them sparks that left your life months ago came back. He helps you over the advertising board and onto the pitch. When your feet reached the green turf, it was like time stood still. It was just you and him, looking though each other as the weight of the moment crushed you from all angles.
You didn't know how to speak, your heart hammering so loudly against the cage of your ribs and washing away all the noise of the post match chaos.
You blink away watering eyes, the vision of the boy you left behind and the hurt all coming back. You glance back to the stands in a moment of weakness, and you hope he's gone but he's not. Marco hadn't moved, he still stood in the stands with the scarf firmly gripped in his hand and a stunned look on his face.
Pedro followed your glance, to the guy in the stands. He knew the look on Marco's face because he had shared that same look when you left Barcelona all them months ago. It was heartbreak. The guys heart was being smashed under the light of the Bernabeu stadium. Pedri couldn't even pretend to feel bad for a single moment, you were his woman even if he was stupid enough to never put a label on it all them months ago.
"Y/n," Pedri said, stepping closer and bringing your wide eyes back to him.
You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Just a small, broken whimper fell from your lips and you tried to hold it together. Camera's were around, although focussed more on the other activities on the pitch than you and Pedri.
"I didn't mean it," Pedro told you, his hands cupping your red flushed cheeks and forcing you to keep looking at him so you can see just how bare and honest he is being. He's laying his heart out in front of you.
I wanna know peace again
wanna be singing a different song
"You said football meant more than I ever could," You say through gritted teeth, that anger from months ago simmering under the surface. The anger you never got to let out because you just left instead. "You said that to me Pedro, you told me I was nothing but a distraction that was getting in the way," You pull out of his hands, holding his wrists in your own.
Pedri whinces, hearing the pain in your voice. For the first time, he's seeing the damage those words caused. The way you were broken by him.
"I never meant it, not a word. I was angry and scared, I was playing like shit and I only seemed to think about you. I didn't care about the football, I cared about you and I panicked," His hands were trembling, his lips were parted and his eyes were pleading. "I have thought about that night so many times, just trying to rewrite a version where I wouldn't lose you"
You stood there, you heart feeling like it's been torn in two again. Pedro was never honest with his emotions, he never told you how he felt but he would show you. That's what kept you in that situationship for months, but you weren't that same girl any more. You had built up new walls, crafted a new life in a new city with a new job. A life that was different and removed from the one you had in Barcelona.
"You lost me, Ped," You whisper. "You were cruel, and you took me for granted,"
"I know, I know, but I want to be better. I want to make it up to you, fix things. You're all I think about"
Pedri stepped closer again, brushing a hair behind your ear. "Please," His voice cracked, "let me fix it."
You looked at him, really looked. His face was flushed from the match, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline. But his eyes -- they were wide and soft, like they used to be when you would fall asleep on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. You had memorised those deep brown eyes once. You’d drowned in them and you had never really resurfaced.
"I'd leave football tomorrow if it meant I wouldn't lose you again"
"No," Your breath hitched, "Don't say stuff you don't mean"
"I mean it," He said firmly, not a falter in his voice.
"I can't just go back, I have a life here now. A job in the city, an apartment. Friends."
it's only a question if somebody brings it up
“I’m not asking you to go back,” he said quickly, shaking his head. “I’m asking you to go forward. With me. Let me be part of that life. Wherever it is, whatever it looks like. I'll travel to you every free day. I want this to work.
You body swayed slightly, caught in the whirlwind of this situation. The pull of your past so strong, but the weight of you present resting on your shoulders. Marco is still here, but you don't love him. You never could. You could never love anyone in the way you love Pedri.
But can you trust him again? Can you trust him to not break your heart because you don't think you could survive that again.
Pedri noticed your hesitation and let his thumb caress your cheek. You eased into it like his touch was never absent.
I'm pushing it down and praying
"One chance, that's all I can give you," You hush quietly, scared to make it a real statement. Scared to go back to the past.
A smile broke onto Pedri's face, almost disbelieving.
Can you write an angst to fluff with Pedri? long-distance relationship, and while visiting him, there’s an argument and reader wants to sleep on the couch or in the guest room, but he insists, “No, I want you with me.”
Here We Go Again — Pedri González.
Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader
Summary: After finally being able to see your long-distance boyfriend, an argument ensues, but that doesn’t mean he’ll waste his only opportunity to finally sleep next to you.
Word Count: 975+
Disclaimer/s — Argument, slight cussing, angst to comfort!
A/N: “No, I want you with me.” IS INSANE OF YOU, NONNIE.
What the hell happened in the past thirty minutes that made you both storm out of the perfectly nice restaurant you were eating at? You mean, come on! It was going fine! Or, well, it was at first.
Fine until the topic of your guys’ future was slowly brought up—by him, nonetheless. Pedri was quite curious, as one would be when wanting to focus on what will happen to the two of you. Like how your relationship will obviously evolve, or whose house you would want to live in—all of that stuff.
Until one comment from you made him tense up. “I’d really think we should weigh all our options!”
It was a simple miscommunication. Truly. Instead of waiting for you to realize your mistake and take it back, he let out a sigh, ran a hand down his face, and wasted no time paying the bill. Alright…
You lingered a step behind him, your heart heavy while you silently made your way toward his car.
“Pedro—this,” a pause. “This is really immature.”
He doesn’t respond. Immature? Maybe. Though he wasn’t sure what else you could’ve possibly meant by what you said. “Let me explain, Pedri.”
Once you reach his vehicle, your eyebrows raise when he opens the door for you. It’s quick to drop; you didn’t want to make him more upset.
The instant you both settle in, he starts the engine and heads back to his apartment complex.
Explain while it’s still fresh. “I… didn’t mean it like that. By weighing out all our options, I meant that we still have time. Let it smooth out a little more.”
“It’s unnecessary,” the man says simply. Right.
“Then it’s unnecessary! I didn’t want you to think I was rushing into the entire ‘moving in’ process. It was just me being cautious—that’s all, I promise.”
“Have I mentioned you’re horrible at explaining?”
What the hell? Your eyebrows furrow. Was it a joke? Well, maybe. But given the circumstances, you definitely wouldn’t be taking it as one. “Okay, have I mentioned that you’re being immature?”
He doesn’t reply, though you notice his grip on the steering wheel tightening. You let out a sigh, thankful that the music is on. This would be a while, at least it wouldn’t be filled with silence.
Upon arrival, you didn’t wait for him to open the door for you like he always would; you just made your way up the steps, leaving the man behind.
You reach for the knob when you realize—shit. He literally has to unlock the door. How great for you.
Clenching your jaw, your gaze falls to the ground.
You hear your boyfriend’s footsteps grow closer and closer before they stop, the sound of his keys clinking together a welcome sound. When he opens the door, he waits for you to walk in first.
And you do, slipping off your coat and hanging it up. How fun! Now you have to get ready for bed.
It’s fine—just don’t think too much about it. You rummage through your suitcase, grabbing a pair of pajamas and disappearing into the bathroom.
When you finally come out, you see that he’d taken the chance to change as well. He’s tugging on a shirt when you slowly enter his bedroom.
“Blankets, where do you keep them?” You ask.
All he does is stare at you, like you just grew two heads. Like you just asked the stupidest question known to man. Yoo-hoo! “…blankets. What for?”
Oh, brother. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.”
That’s when he goes rigid. After what feels like an eternity, Pedri finally finds his voice. “No, I want you with me,” he insists. It’s soft, but you hear it.
Your stomach does about a dozen backflips.
Be logical—not a good idea. “You’re mad at me,”you tell him, as if it’s obvious. Because it, well, is.
“I’m—” his shoulders slump. “I’m not mad at you. Just confused. Just… just come sleep with me. I don’t want you on the couch,” he finishes quietly.
You meet his gaze; so does he. You stare at each other until you feel your body slowly relax. Fine. Whatever, he’ll get his way. Gently padding your feet further into his bedroom, you awkwardly pull the covers over and slide under them with ease.
He does the same, more gracefully than you.
What a show-off, you thought to yourself before getting comfortable, staring up at the ceiling.
Minutes pass in complete and utter silence. Oh, fuck. Maybe you are that horrible at explaining.
Inhaling sharply, you turn to face him. “I didn’t mean to give you the impression that I was hesitant on moving in with you because I’m not.”
Pedri’s quick to look over at you. “You’re not?”
“God, no,” you huff. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted these past few months. If there’s anything I am, it’s sure as hell not uncertain. I’d want to move in with—”
“I’m sorry.” He interjects, his hand coming up to push a strand of your hair away from your eyes. “I was being stupid. I was already thinking about it too much. I shouldn’t have stormed out,” he says.
A smile slowly forms. “You can say that again.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“I wasn’t being serious, idiot. It’s okay,” you utter with a shrug. “I didn’t mean to call you immature.”
He lets out a quiet chuckle. “Yes, you did.”
You laugh. “Guilty. Just—don’t do that again?”
“I won’t. I should’ve let you explain from the beginning, and I didn’t. That was entirely on me.”
“Maybe tomorrow we can plan everything out.”
His lips twitch. “Tomorrow. Yeah, sounds good.”
“Tomorrow,” you agree, your smile softening. And with that, the sleep that sweeps by is nothing short of pleasant. You could so get used to this.
Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated ^_^.
DT(s) — @pedriache + @spidybaby + @lechrts + @levidazai + @gadriezmannsgirl + @iovepoem + @sakashq + @joaoflms ! ౨ৎ (I LOVED THIS SO BAD.)
ꕤ pairing pedri x reader
ꕤ summary you crash into a luxury SUV on your way to pick up your brother; luckily, the driver is friendly... and quite handsome.
ꕤ word count 2, 500
ꕤ warnings none
ꕤ a/n hope you like it !!
Facing the enemy was never easy. You took a deep breath before leaving the house and facing it. Your parents' old car was parked across the street, waiting for you.
There was nothing you hated more in this world than driving. Trains and buses were your best friends. Why drive when someone else could do it for you? But your parents were out of the country, and someone had to pick up your little brother, who had broken his leg, from school.
You wiped the sweat from your palms on your pants before getting into the driver's seat. Turning the key, the car started with difficulty. Not only were you terrified of driving, but on top of that, you had to do it in a car that was about to die.
With another breath, you pulled the car out of the driveway and started driving to your destination. The school wasn't that far, about 15 minutes by car at most. You turned down the radio to concentrate more on the road, gripping the steering wheel as if it were about to bolt.
Just when you thought you were finally getting the hang of it, the car seemed to want to teach you a lesson. When you braked in front of a luxury SUV, it stalled. Panicked, you tried to restart it several times, fearing the light would turn green at any moment.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck”, you whispered, hitting the steering wheel. “Come on, please. Don’t do this to me”.
The car started again. Relief was barely spreading through your body when you realized the brakes weren't working. It wasn't long before you heard the thud of your car hitting the SUV in front, after that it stalled again.
You sank into your seat. A mixture of fear and embarrassment washed over you. You didn't know a damn thing about cars, but the distinctive Porsche badge on the car in front was recognizable even to you.
A thousand thoughts raced through your mind. From being late to pick up your brother to the fact that the repairs to the car in front would cost a fortune.
The driver of the Porsche got out, and your heart skipped a beat, feeling your blood freeze. You mentally braced yourself for the barrage of insults that would soon follow. You wanted to move, to do something useful, but the shock of the situation had you paralyzed.
“Are you okay?”, the driver asked, knocking on your window.
You nodded not looking at him, your hands still gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white from the effort.
The cars started honking since the light had turned green.
"If you want, we can pull over and talk", he suggested.
“The car won’t start”, you finally answered, still refusing to look at him.
You wanted to die right then and there, to be swallowed by the earth, to be struck by lightning. Anything to disappear from that moment.
“I'm going to move my car and come back to push yours, okay?"
Before you could answer, he got into his car and moved it a few feet out of the way.
You blinked several times, finally letting go of the steering wheel and drying your palms on your pants. Your heart was still racing. Why me? Why today? Why did I have to crash a car that's worth more than everything I own?
Lost in thoughts, you didn't notice when he returned to your window.
"You just have to steer, I'll push", he instructed.
You snapped out of it, focusing on not ruining any more things than you already had. Soon you were parked behind his SUV. Slightly trembling, you got out of the car, the cool breeze filling your lungs.
“Are you okay? Do you need me to call anyone?”, he asked again, reaching your side.
The sight left you speechless. His tanned skin was sweaty, probably from the effort of pushing your car, his brown hair was disheveled. And a pair of brown eyes were looking at you with concern. He seemed vaguely familiar to you, but the cloud that had invaded your mind prevented you from thinking clearly.
“Yes… I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I mean… you were at the receiving end”, you scratched your arms nervously.
“I’m fine. I’m Pedro, by the way”, he introduced himself.
You muttered your name in return. Approaching slowly and with terror, you watched the aftermath of the collision. The impact hadn't been too serious; at least it hadn't dented anything. However, it had left a small scratch.
The trembling in your hands returned as you stifled your cry with them.
“It’s okay, it’s nothing, really”, Pedro tried to calm you down.
He bent down to clean the scratch with his hands. Despite his efforts, it could still be perceived.
Tears escaped before you could stop them.
"This car isn't insured, but I promise I'll pay for it".
Pedro looked at you with a puzzled expression.
"You should sit down first", he pointed to a place next to him.
You accepted the offer and settled down next to him. Prepared to hear the exorbitant amount it would cost to repair that scratch of less than 10 centimeters. You wiped your tears with your sleeve before looking back at him.
"Seeing how you are, it's obvious this was an accident".
"Yes, this car is junk, but my parents refuse to get rid of it".
Pedro let out a laugh, shaking his head. You felt your cheeks warm up at that.
"I'm not going to charge you for the repair. It's really nothing".
Your eyes widened in shock. "It's nothing?”
“Are you serious? I mean, this seems like a really expensive car and…”
“And I can take care of it. Don’t worry about this”, he interjected.
Still unable to believe it, you blinked several times. You had expected hundreds of scenarios except this one.
You opened and closed your mouth several times to speak, but nothing came out. Where were you supposed to start?
“Thank you. For real… is there anything I can do to make it up?”, you questioned.
A spark of curiosity flashed through his eyes.
“Well…”
Your phone rang, interrupting him. With an apology, you pulled it from your pocket. Panic gripped you again when you saw your brother's name on the screen.
"Did you forget about me?"
"No, it's just... something happened. But I'm coming, give me... 20 minutes, okay?"
Your brother resignedly agreed. You hung up, worried, not knowing how on earth you were going to get there in a car that was clearly no longer working.
“Do you need a ride somewhere?”, Pedro asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.
"I don't want to bother you anymore. I've clearly taken up too much of your time already..."
“Not a problem for me”, he chuckled, standing up and offering you a hand.
He didn’t cease to amaze you. Anyone else would have made a scene, taken your money, and disappeared. You bit your lip and accepted his hand and his help.
You called a tow truck to take your car home. After making sure the information was correct, you got into Pedro's car. The interior was quite clean, with leather seats and a fresh smell. You told him where your little brother's school was, and he started driving there.
“So do you tend to get into a lot of car accidents?”, he teased.
"Not really. I hate driving, so I usually avoid it", you clarified. “You're my first. Congratulations".
You both laughed. The anxiety you had felt in the first few moments had already dissipated. However, you could still feel your heart pounding a mile a minute.
“And what do you do for a living that allows you to afford a car like that at such a young age?”, the risky question slipped out of your lips before you realized it.
You saw his cheeks turning red as a shy smile appeared on his face. Again, your heart skipped a beat.
“I'm... good at what I do”.
The vague answer left you baffled, but you decided not to press the issue. After a short chat, you arrived at your brother's school. You saw him sitting alone on a bench, looking bored. Pedro parked the car and you both got out.
"Dani!" you called to get his attention.
He turned around, annoyed. He was about to complain about your lateness when his expression changed to one of disbelief. Almost forgetting his broken leg, he tried to stand. You rushed over to stop him.
"What are you doing dumbass? You're going to hurt yourself", you scolded.
Dani just pointed at Pedro and stared at him as if he weren't real. "What…? How...?"
"Oh yes. This is Pedro. I accidentally hit his car. Nothing serious, but our car wouldn't start and he's going to do us the favor of driving us home", you explained, helping him with his crutches.
“Hi, and let me help you”, Pedro took his backpack as he shook Dani’s hand.
"You crashed Pedri's car?", Dani screeched, coming out of his trance.
Suddenly everything became clear. You froze when you heard that specific name. No wonder he seemed familiar; he was one of the most famous players, not just in Spain, but in the world. You mentally slapped yourself for being so stupid not to have recognized him before.
Mortified, you turned back to look at him. He, for his part, had an amused smile on his face.
"I'm sorry... I... I swear I have better days", you stuttered.
“Don't worry. I know you had more important things on your mind at the time”, he calmed you down.
His kind gaze made your knees tremble.
“Did you really crash Pedri’s car?”, Dani repeated, the same disbelief in his tone.
“Yes, Dani. It was an accident”, you answered him with embarrassment.
“And how are you going to pay for it if you can barely afford...?”, with a withering look you silenced your little brother.
Pedri laughed at your little squabble. When you three got to his car, he helped your brother get in and handed him his backpack. The drive home was filled with Dani interrogating Pedri. He asked about his playing style, the countries he'd visited, and his toughest opponents.
You paid attention too. A couple of times you realized you weren't really hearing him, but still, you couldn't take your eyes off him.
Pedri asked him how he'd broken his foot, and your brother told him the story of how he'd fallen down the school stairs because he was running with his shoelaces untied.
Seeing the familiar streets of your neighborhood, a little sadness washed over you. You knew you'd soon have to say goodbye to him.
"Do you want to stay for lunch?" Dani asked as Pedri approached his seat to help him out. "My sister cooks better than she drives".
Between offended and flattered, you felt your cheeks flush again.
Pedri looked at you as if he were asking the same thing.
"If you want. I really don't intend to take up any more of your time", you replied, hoping that perhaps he would like to spend more time with you too.
"I'd love to. But you have to let me help you".
“Deal”, you smiled, opening the door to your parent’s house.
Dani came in and continued his lively conversation, telling Pedri how he also played on his school team.
"It's a shame we can't play right now", he lamented, sitting down on the living room sofa and pointing to his cast.
"Maybe we can when you're better", Pedri replied, giving you a peek.
You had already gone into the kitchen to start preparing lunch. True to his word, Pedri came in a few minutes later, asking what he could do. You told him to set the table.
"And where are your parents?" Pedri asked.
"They're at an environmental conference in Mexico. They'll be gone until next week, so I'm staying here to take care of my little brother".
"Don't you live with them?"
"No, I rent an apartment a little closer to my university".
"Do you want to see my room?" Dani asked excitedly as he entered the kitchen.
You laughed at your brother's question.
"Well, I promised your sister I'd help her with..."
"It’s not a problem. I've got it all under control," you winked at Pedri. You knew Dani admired him a lot and probably wanted to show him his jerseys.
Now it was Pedri's turn to blush. He nodded, mesmerized, and let Dani take him to his room.
After a few minutes, lunch was ready. You went to Dani's room to let them know they could sit down to eat.
"No one's going to believe you were in my house... in my room," Dani said, watching incredulously as Pedri signed his cast.
"At least you'll have proof", Pedri chuckled.
"You sure knew how to make good use of your time," you said, seeing that Dani had taken out his shirts and spread them out on his bed for Pedri to sign. “Lunch is ready”.
Lunch was quite pleasant. Pedri complimented your food, and Dani seconded him. Pedri offered to wash the dishes and the three of you continued the conversation in the kitchen.
"Can we...?", Dani began after drying the last plate.
"No, you have homework, and Pedri has responsibilities too", you lectured.
“Okay…”, Dani accepted, deflated. “Well, thanks for staying, and for signing everything”.
“Thank you for inviting me. Get well soon”, Pedri ruffled his hair.
You walked Pedri to his car. A cool breeze had already started to blow; it was quite late.
"I'm sorry for keeping you captive. You were very kind to my brother, thank you so much".
"Nothing to thank me for. It was a pleasure having lunch with you".
"And honestly, if you change your mind about your car and want me to pay you, I will".
A brief silence fell between you. Pedri didn't feel ready to let you go yet.
"On second thought, I think I will need compensation."
The answer caught you off guard.
"How about we go out to dinner next week?", he inquired.
His question puzzled you even more.
“What…? With me…?”, you stuttered.
“Yes. I’ll drive, don’t worry”, he flirted.
Still not believing it, you nodded and gave him your number to work out the details.
"It was truly a pleasure meeting you and your brother".
"I'm sorry it had to be in such an... abrupt situation".
"That makes it memorable. So, I'll see you next week," he said, placing two kisses on your cheeks before leaving in his car.
You watched him turn at an intersection and disappear from sight. You walked back to the house, confused, excited, and with your heart racing.
"Could Pedri be my brother-in-law?", your brother joked when you collapsed next to him in the living room.
"Don't joke about that," you protested, covering your face with your hands.
