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car1no-xx · 1 year

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Pedri fluff where the reader is a player for Real Madrid womens team? 😈

Amor Fati (Pedri x RM fem!reader)

On a weekend trip to Madrid, Pedri runs into someone he rather wouldn't. Little did you two know fate had other plans.

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi beautiful anon, thank you for the request! I made this into a little enemies-to-lovers thing, hope you don't mind. Just a reminder my requests are open, and to submit any requests you'd like before I start studying for final exams for the next 3-ish weeks yuck

The morning was gloomy and foggy, much to your dismay. You loathed training in this weather, preferring the sun to keep your energy up and keep you motivated during the long hours of practice. It was a Friday, and to lighten your mood given the abysmal weather, you decided to treat yourself to a cappuccino before practice, hoping it would get you through the next few hours before the weekend officially commenced. You didn't mind showing up to the coffee shop in your training uniform - the baristas knew who you were, and so did the regular customers. You were grateful to them for never asking for your signature or pictures, especially in the mornings when you were still groggy, the bags under your eyes much too dark for your liking.

You grabbed a seat by the window, looking outside at the lush trees that decorated the Madrid streets. You mindlessly touched the embroidered badge on your jacket; you couldn't believe this was your life. A fan of Los Blancos since you were ten, you jumped through hoops and hurdles to get to the women's team. Being a woman in football was already hard enough - to play for Madrid, even harder. Then, a rough voice interrupted your daydreaming. "Sí, con leche, porfa." Yes, with milk, please. What was that accent? Definitely not from Madrid, you thought to yourself.

"Didn't expect to find you here," the voice said to you. You turned your head, your eyes going dark with the realization of who was standing in front of you. La madre que me parió, you quietly cursed to yourself. The mother who bore me.

Pedri. Barca's gifted, almost coddled midfielder. If your eyes could roll any farther back in your head, they'd likely fall out. Couldn't you just drink your coffee in peace? The thought of speaking to anyone, not to mention Madrid's rival, soured your mood even more.

"I literally live here. The question is what you are doing here," you spat.

You couldn't deny he was objectively attractive - his neatly trimmed eyebrows complimenting his almost raven-colored dark hair. His dark brown eyes that had a little sparkle in them when he spoke. One problem: you knew he hated you. Found you arrogant, too smart-mouthed for your own good. The feeling was mutual.

"Oh, you live here, in the coffee shop?" He was mocking you. "I'm here for the weekend, for no reason in particular but wanted to see how this precious city of yours is faring after all those losses," he said nonchalantly, shrugging.

That cappuccino you held in your hand was about three seconds away from landing on the hair he probably spent hours carefully combing this morning. Incorrigible prick, you thought to yourself. "If you expect me to fall over my chair laughing, you're sorely mistaken," you said, waving a dismissive hand towards him, hoping he'd get the message. Instead, he pulled up a wooden chair and sat across from you.

Would it really be a waste of my four euros if this coffee ended up on his head right now?

"I don't expect anything from you. Well, actually, maybe just a bit more pep in your voice. Thought you'd be happy to see me, bonita," he smirked. "We had fun at that party, didn't we?" That party. The one where you drunkenly ended up making out with Pedri for a total of twenty seconds a year and a half ago, only to quickly leave without saying anything else to him. It meant nothing. Less than nothing.

"That was fun for you? That was just me drunkenly making stupid decisions."

"Nevertheless," he winked.

"Don't flatter yourself. I don't doubt you took another lady friend home that night."

"Jealous?" That smirk, you thought. Slapping him would definitely take that smirk off his face, but you weren't keen on being charged with battery today.

"Enjoy Madrid," you said, rolling your eyes. And with that, you got up and left the coffee shop.

"What do you mean I'm still out for the next game?" You quietly raged at your coach the next day. Friday sucked, running into Pedri and all. Today was apparently even suckier.

"I'm sorry, y/n, but the physiotherapist still thinks you need time to recuperate."

One month you were out with a knee injury. One month too long. You understood it was normal for athletes to succumb to injuries now and then, especially with the demanding pressure put on your bodies, yet you couldn't help but feel terrible and utterly useless. More than anything, you wanted to play - even being benched was borderline an insult to you, your competitive nature always coming through and wanting to deliver your best with every match, every practice.

"I'm ready to play. I've been finishing the full practices, doing my exercises regularly. I'm ready," you said through gritted teeth, trying to keep your tears from seeping out. Don't let them see you cry. Don't show them any signs of weakness. No one wants a weepy player on their team with no bite, you thought to yourself. Perhaps a not-too-healthy way of thinking, but you knew the cutthroat nature of this sport, the constant comparing of female football players to the male ones. Miraculously, you managed to keep your forming tears at bay.

"I'm almost certain you will be ready to play the next game," your coach explained. Slowly nodding, you walked off the training pitch. If you were a cartoon character, you were sure steam would be coming out of your ears.

That night, you wanted to let loose, to drink away your anger and sadness. You told yourself a trip to the local bar with your girlfriends wasn't a bad idea, and so off you went. Despite your foul mood, you put on a navy blue high neck silk dress and strappy heels. The cut-outs on the side of the dress made your toned abs peek through. You felt confident, felt unstoppable.

Strutting up to the bar, you ordered tequila for yourself and your friends, looking forward to letting the alcohol take your mind someplace else other than the fact that you still couldn't play. Then, a light tap on your shoulder.

"Didn't think someone so cold could look so...inviting," the voice said close to the shell of your ear. Pedri. It was almost alarming how you managed to recognize his voice so quickly. You tried to ignore the tiny little butterflies his voice so close to you made you feel, how your stomach felt the same a year and a half ago when he kissed you in a drunken state. Feeling butterflies towards a Barcelona player? And such a cocky, smug one at that? Blasphemy.

"Pedri, por favor. Are you resorting to stalking me now?" You snarled.

"Bold of you to think you'd even be worth my time," he retorted. "Just funny how we keep bumping into each other, no? Fate trying to tell us something? Although fate doesn't know I'd never be with someone with that much arrogance."

"I'm the arrogant one? Please - you make some goals here and there and suddenly you're Barcelona's shining star and now you think you're God's greatest gift to mankind. Do me a favor, Pedri, eh? Go hit on someone else," you said as you turned around, pushing him away from you and wandering off back to your friends.

A shot of tequila in one hand, your friend's hand in the other, you stormed to the dance floor to try and salvage the night and your mood. Yet, you couldn't help but feel that Pedri's eyes were glued on you as you started moving on the dance floor, the alcohol overtaking your body. Although instead of dulling your emotions, the alcohol and music only heightened them. You started thinking - no, overthinking - about your work, your health, everything, on the dance floor. "I need some air," you called out to your friend.

Sitting on the sidewalk outside of the bar, your emotions started to overtake you. You couldn't hold back your tears, and yet you didn't fully understand why.

"Pasa algo?" Did something happen?

You didn't need a second glance to know who was speaking. You only shook your head. Pedri sat down next to you on the sidewalk, silent, and handed you a napkin he had in his pocket. Then, "Ordinarily, I'd say something to rile you up. But I don't like seeing anyone like this."

You were a bit shocked at his cordiality. "It's fine, don't worry about it."

He paused, then slowly moved his right hand to lightly rest on yours. His touch was soft, gentle. You hardly expected it from him, given your constant bickering and slight animosity anytime you saw each other, save for the one takeout session. You turned your face to look at him, and instead of the usual mockery in his brown eyes, you saw...was it understanding? Yearning? Empathy? You couldn't quite put your finger on it.

"It's obviously something if you're on the sidewalk crying. Dime." Tell me.

"I just...sometimes I don't know why I play. What I do this for. This goddamned injury, it just makes me feel so useless, so helpless," you sighed, your fingers running through your hair. He nodded.

He chose his words carefully before proceeding. "I know the feeling. The uselessness, the anger, the eagerness to get back on the pitch. But maybe these things happen for a reason. To make us...stronger? Although I know it doesn't feel like it now." He paused, then said, "If you need someone to talk to-"

"I'm surprised at your offer, given that you've made it clear that you hate me."

A faint smile tugged at his lips. He gently rested his hand on your knee and looked into your eyes. It felt like a lifetime before he said, "Maybe I don't hate you, after all. Maybe I've enjoyed our banter, but really all I've wanted to do was kiss you again. And I haven't admitted it to myself until now." His hand carefully moved from your knee, gently cupping your face, seeking your approval. For the first time, you didn't want to swat his hand away. Carefully, you leaned in and kissed him, your lips softly meeting each other before deepening the kiss just a bit.

As you slowly pulled away, you said, "You know, instead of sassy remarks, you could just ask me out."

"You've got yourself a deal," he smiled as he put his arm around you and pulled you in, your head resting on his shoulder.

You weren't sure how long the two of you stayed like that. You thought to yourself that maybe coincidentally running into each other wasn't too bad. And that maybe, just maybe, fate wasn't such a bad thing, either, after all.

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