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didishawn · 1 year

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Make sure he hears you are taken (Pedri x Reader) smut

Warnings: jealous Pedri, basically he answers your phone to make sure a guy getting too close to you hears how well he fucks you, smut, exhibitionism of some kind I guess, lots of Spanish

Masterlist

The whole trouble starts with Pedri on his car driving Gavi home after training.

He has been quite busy lately, not having enough attention for you lately so he feels as if he has to make it up to you, taking chance of tomorrow's free day to dine you out then fuck you well into the morning hours.

"Oye, coge mi móvil y llama a y/n, porfa, que quiero confirmar para hoy a la noche" he tells Gavi, the younger boy nodding, unlocking his friend's phone - your birthday the password, and pressing call on your contact, a picture of the two of you, rolling his eyes at how obsessively in love Pedri is. (hey, take my phone and call y/n, please, that I want to check for tonight)

The phone rings twice before your voice sounds on the other side, putting an instant smile on Pedri's face.

"Hola, amor, ¿como estás?" you greet him. (hey love, how are you?)

"Bien bien, solo quería confirmar si todo sigue en pie para hoy a la noche" you hum in agreement, and he grins widely. (good, good, just wanted to check if everything is still good for tonight)

Then he hears it, male voice in the background, your voice responding to whoever it was, Gavi's eyes widen, wanting to know what is about to come down.

"¿Con quien estás, amor?" (who are you with, love?)

You voice is lowered as you speak next "Un pesado de la uni, diciéndome algo de que quería quedar conmigo esta noche" (some loser from college, telling me something about wanting to hang out with me tonight)

Gavi's mouth is wide open as he side eyes his friend.

"¿Es tonto o que?" (is he stupid or what?)

You hum again at your boyfriend's question "Es muy pesado. Pero mejor lo hablamos luego, que no me quiero ni imaginar la cara de Gavi escuchando el chisme" (he is so annoying. But we better talk later I can't even imagine Gavi's face listening to the gossip)

The younger boy scoffs "¡No estoy chismoseando!" (I am not gossiping!)

"Ajá, si claro, haré que me lo creo. Bueno amor, nos vemos luego, te amo" Pedri says it back and indicates Gavi to hang up. (aha, yeah right, I will do as if I believe that. Well love, see you later, love you)

Pedri's knuckles are white as he grips the steering wheel.

"Tú sabes que ella ni siquiera mira hacia otro hombre" (you know she doesn't even look another man's way)

"Claro que lo se, pero no sé de qué va ese puto payaso, no es que nuestra relación sea secreta ni nada, todo el mundo sabe que estamos juntos" (of course I know that, what I don't know is what that fucking clown is about, it's not like our relationship is a secret, everyone knows we are together)

"No le des muchas vueltas, tú piensa que simplemente es un gilipollas que ya se cansará" (don't think too much about it, just think that he simply is an asshole that will eventually get tired)

But not even Gavi's unusually rational words can keep Pedri's mind away from whoever that fucking asshole is.

Pedri doesn't let his fleeting thoughts ruin your night together, though, even if his mind is full of jealousy.

You know he is jealous, he might be one of the best footballers out there, but acting is not a talent of his.

His fans go wild at how many stories and pictures he has posted tonight, some of them simply showing you off, one of the two of you kissing, another of the fancy restaurant he has taken you to, all photos accompanied by romantic quotes that almost has your eyes full of tears because of how happy they make you.

You know lay on your comfortable couch, a bottle of wine shared between you as you cuddle into his chest, him placing kisses on your head, both of you just happy with each other's company. He looks down at you with so much love in his eyes, a dumb smile on his face as you ramble about your day, your eyes as full of love as his.

Then your phone dings.

You both ignore it, but the sound repeats, once, twice, thrice.

You sigh, picking up the phone, a frown on your face as you see who the messages' sender is.

"¿Pasa algo?" your boyfriend asks you, his face full of concern. (is something wrong?)

You puff and show him the screen, the name of a boy on the notifications, asking you about what you are doing, telling you you would have had so much more fun with him than with 'that football player you are dating', there is a image attached to that Pedri can only guess is a dick pic, another message telling you all about how hot you are - as if you even needed a reminder of that, and how horny you make him.

"Supongo este es el gilipollas, ¿no?" you nod, he scoffs "Maldito cabron de mierda, ¿de que puto va? Asqueroso" (I suppose this is the idiot, right? Fucking, shitty asshole, what the fuck is he going about? Disgusting)

He drops the phone on the couch, his face hidden behind his hands, you approach him, you head in his neck "Lo siento" (you apologise)

He shakes his head "¿De que te disculpas? No es tu culpa sea un baboso" (what are you apologising for? It's not your fault he is a slob)

"Debería haberte dicho antes que no me dejaba en paz" (I should have told you before that he doesn't stop bothering me)

"No es tu culpa, se que he estado ocupado últimamente" (it's not you fault, I know I have been busy lately)

"No es excusa" you say, then lean forward placing a kiss on his neck "Déjame pagártelo" (it's no excuse. Let me make it up to you)

A handsome smile takes over his face, your mouths meeting in a passionate kiss, he cups your face, the kiss leaving you breathless.

He separates, his kisses going lower and sucking your neck, leaving a mark behind, his hands go lower too, gripping the hem of your dress, pushing it up.

"Venga bonita, dejame quitarte este vestido, dejame verte entera" (come on pretty one, let me take this dress off you, yet me see all of you)

You are left only in your panties, having chosen to not wear a bra tonight, his mouth salivating at the sight of you breasts, the cold air gardening your nipples. He leans forward, making you completely lay down as he showers over you, he kisses both breasts, his hips are grinding into yours, he already has you moaning, your hands buried in his hair, pulling on its strands, making it messy.

You are pulling on his shirt, wanting to see more of him, he kisses your check and takes it off, letting you see his strong upper part, your eyes stuck on the signs of the happy trail leading to the bulge his pants struggle to contain. You mouth attaches to his neck, he now lays on the couch, gazing up at you, getting comfortable as you lips go lower, hands unbuckling his belt, you push his pants down, the same with his underwear, his cock bouncing against his stomach, red tip, the veins looking about to explode, there is precum coming out and his balls look heavy.

"¿No vas a chuparla?" he teasingly asks, you roll your eyes. (are you not going to suck it?)

"Todo un caballero. Ni un por favor ni nada" (such a gentleman. Not even a please)

"Por favor, mi diosa a la que amo más que nada en el mundo, chupame la polla. ¿Así mejor?" (please, my goddess who I love more than anything in this world, suck my dick. Is that better?)

You hum, mouth wide open as you struggle to take him down your throat, your hand stimulating what you can't fit, his head goes back, his hands on your hair as you go up and down.

"Joder, pareces un experta y todo" (shit, you feel like an expert and all)

You let go, hand still working up and down "Mi novio me ha ayudado a practicar" (my boyfriend has helped me practice)

"Joder" he moans, hoarse voice high pitched "Suena a que es muy suertudo" (fuck. He sounds like a lucky man)

You kiss his tip, his heart is about to explode at how cute you look "Yo soy la suertuda" (I am the lucky one)

"Debatible" (debatable)

His hands pull on your hair, making you drop his cock as he once more pushes you to lay on the couch, he hovers over you, lips meeting yours as one hand grasps your cheek, the other reaches down to pull off your panties. Once they are gone, that same hand pushes your legs open, a finger starts teasing your clit, all of this without letting go of your lips.

"Dios, como te quiero" he says as you need a breather, he is looking at you as if you had hung the stars on the sky, in his mind you probably have. (god, I love you so much)

There are only inches in between you as he pushes a finger into you, fucking you with it slowly, you basically moaning into his mouth.

"Tan apretada y solo llevo un dedo. ¿Como se va a sentir cuando sea mi polla la que esté dentro?" (so tight and it's only one finger. How will it feel when it's my cock inside?)

You can't respond, now concentrated on the feeling of two fingers inside of you and another rubbing circles on your clit. Breaking eye contact is not a possibility, his eyes call yours, you can only see him, only the two of you left in a world that could be burning down for all you cared, his lips may be kissing your breasts, but his eyes stay on yours.

That is, until the loud ring of your phone, making you groan as you reach to toss it away. Pedri is faster and picks it up, disgust taking over his expression as he sees who the caller is.

"De verdad, que no se puede ser más subnormal" he is about to hung up, when an idea strucks his mind "¿Qué te parece si le dejamos escuchar lo bien que te follo, amor? Así se le queda bien claro que tú solamente eres mía" (seriously, you can't be more stupid. How about we let him hear how well I fuck you, love? So he can understand that you are only mine)

You think it over for a second, then slowly nod making him grin widely before planting along kiss on your lips and picking up the call, placing the phone right next to your head.

You are sure the guy is talking, but you can't really understand what he is saying - something about it you are there, Pedri is on his knees in between your legs, face on your center as he licks a long stripe up, lips wrapping around your clit, you let out a loud moan that they guy on the other side of the phone surely didn't miss.

Pedri is devouring you as if you were his last meal, there fingers now inside of you pumping in and out restlessly, his mouth doesn't leave your clit until he feels you about to cum by the high pitch on your whines and moans. He lets go, leaving you just about to reach the extasis that you long so much for.

He picks you up and turns you around, on all fours you feel him on your entrance, his tip teasing you.

"Recuerda dejarle bien claro que solo hay una persona que te puede tener así" (remember to make it clear there is only one person that can have you like this)

"Pedri!" you whine when he sticks only his tip inside of you, you are breathless, a whining mess as you hide your face in the pillow your boyfriend made sure to be avaible so you aren't as uncomfy.

"Dios, estas ya así cuando ni siquiera he hecho nada todavía. ¿Como vas a aguantar cuando te esté follando como te mereces?" (god, you are like this without me doing anything still. How will you manage when I fuck you like you deserve?)

His tip does playful taps against you, until finally he is entirely in you in one harsh thrust, a loud moan escaping your mouth and into the phone's microphone.

"¿Eso se sintió bien, amor?" you desperately nod and he laughs. (did that feel good, love?)

The pace of his hips is hard and fast, unforgiving, the noise of skin against skin is loud, not as much as you moans and whines, his groans are lower, hoarser. He leans down, biting into your neck, his strong chest against your back as he desperately ruts into you, heavy balls hitting you, his heat enveloping you.

"Deja que escuche lo bien que te follo, déjale claro de quién eres" (let him hear how well I fuck you, make it clear who you belong to)

"Pedri!" you whine, you are close, about to come as you tighten even more around him, trapping him inside you, your sound get hight pitched, so do his groans.

His hips stutter a bit, his pace faltering as he reaches down to you phone, speaking into it "Payaso, ¿te pensabas te iba a dar el placer de escuchar lo linda que se escucha al correr se para mi? Vete a la mierda, déjala en paz" (clown, did you really think I would let you the pleasure of hearing how pretty she sound when she comes for me? Go to hell, leave her alone)

He hangs up and tosses the phone aside, fully concentrating on you and how good you feel, picking you up and setting you on his lap, moving you up and down, thrusting, harshly into you, one hand playing with your clit, his lips attached to your neck.

"Venga bonita, vente para mi, necesito sentirte a mi alrededor" (come on pretty one, cum for me, I need to feel you around me)

You can't really think straight but nod desperately, cumming at once when you feel his tip kissing your cervix, all his cum filling you up to the brim.

It's not enough, you both know that, and by the time you are done, his cum is seeping out from you and it's early morning hours.

Needless to say, the boy never dares to even look you to the eye again.

#pedri #pedri headcanon #pedri imagine #pedri x reader #pedri smut #barca #fc barca #barcelona #spanish nt #spain national team #spain nt #football imagine #football player #football

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trulyhblue · 3 months

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My Girl

Hayley Raso x Barcelona! Reader

Warnings: fluff, established relationship, drinking, sport rivals, coarse language.

A/N — this photo of her after the Chelsea vs RMA CL game has me in a chokehold. A short but sweet one <3

_______________________

You met Hayley in a drunken embrace, breathing in the earthy chill that contrasted the firey ambience of the club.

You hadn't been starting for your Childhood team for a couple of weeks now, only just making the starting eleven today you went above and beyond in training. Barcelona was your home. You grew up in the city, raised with a football by your feet, and had been a part of the club for as long as you could remember. You were one of the many girls among the team who had never experienced life outside of the Spanish League, with no eminent efforts of changing that anytime soon. You had made your debut at seventeen, and over these past few years, you were lucky enough to see the team expand into one of the greatest women’s team in the world — arguably even the best.

While this came with certain bragging rights, and of course the utmost pride for the club, the safety and security that came with your position on the team were always at stake. Unlike other teams, Barcelona were ongoing in their endeavours to keep their players on their toes in regard to their contracts. This was most apparent in girls like you, who had been at Barca your whole life.

It was a constant battle to the top, but maintaining your status there was harder. You loved football. It was your passion, your dream, but it was also your career — a very demanding one, at that.

You had met Hayley in England when you were visiting Manchester to catch up with your close friend Ona. Ona was at United, thriving at the club in streaks, but her contract was ending with the reds. You were one of the first to know about the girl’s transfer to your club. You were so, so excited.

It was nearing the end of the season, the Manchester Derby being the game you watched, but you couldn't help but catch the eye of one of the girls on the opposite team.

Her name was Hayley, you knew that from the ribbon in her hair and the curls that fell from her flimsy bun. You watched her intently throughout the game, unable to peel your eyes off the woman as she threaded the ball in and out of her position on the wing. As a Winger yourself, you were able to easily admire her skill, despite the fact that you were in fact rooting for the other team. You were quick to make yourself known to her after the game, and everything sort of hit it off from there.

Hayley was kind. Her heart was full of gold, and her precious person was something you fell in utter love with. She made you laugh like no one else. She had a way of making you feel seen, heard, and thought of even if there were a million different things going on around you that looked to be more important. The two of you didn't even think about the physical distance that you’d have to face. The instant connecting made it impossible to break the bond you immediately had.

After a couple of weeks of talking back and forth, you had found yourself hopelessly enamoured with the Australian.

Ona announced her move to Barca in June, and your national team was preparing for the long and apprehensive task of the World Cup. Before, you thought yourself very lucky to be playing in such an important tournament with such talented played. You still think this now, but after meeting Hayley, all thoughts turned to the idea of being in the same country for a whole month together.

Obviously, you did not have much time to spend. Winning the World Cup was a dream come true. It was everything you had ever dreamed of. But your heart was yearning for only one thing.

Hayley had asked you to be your girlfriend on the day you were due back to Spain. Her surprising announcement to Real Madrid just before the Cup was nothing of a shock to you. While you played for the rival team — and maybe, sort of tried to convince the girl to try for Barca — you were over the moon that she was so much closer to you.

Now, months later, you were spending your evening in a bar with Aitana and Keira slung to your hip, slurring your words as you searched for your phone. The Barca girls were in Madrid after a critical match against Atletico Madrid, meaning the next few days were going to be by your Australian’s side.

“Ugh, calling the enemy, I see.” Keira quipped, rolling her eyes. Aitana giggled from beside her, watching your sluggish motions with a smug countenance.

You ignored their antics, ignoring their jokes and finding your girlfriend's contact on your phone. You didn't even register how it took a few seconds for her to pick up, but you realised she had been waiting by the sound of her keys.

“Heyyyyy, Hay.” You splattered, pulling down an inch of your heightening skirt. “Miss you so much, Babyyy.”

“Hello, darling.” You heard your girlfriend chuckle. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for what?” You asked. You flipped Keira off when she mocked your whines.

“For me to pick you up, Darling.” Hayley replied.

“Hm,” You pondered for a moment, trying to remember why you wanted to call Hayley in the first place. “I'm in a bar, Hay.”

“I know. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Nooo, I've had no drinks.” You whined, pulling yourself up from the secluded corner you and the girls were nurturing. “Why are you calling?”

If you were shit-faced drunk right now, you would've caught onto the Aussie’s continuous patience, and the endearment in her tone as she talked to you.

“You called me, Babygirl.” She spoke, her side of the phone quiet in contrast to the blaring music you were surrounded by. “Maybe it's time for me to pick you up?”

“You can't pick me up, Ribbon.” you giggled, the fond nickname rolling off your tongue in second nature. “You're at home. I'm at a club.”

“Oh, yes, my mistake, Darling,” she responded quickly. Hayley was already driving to your location having been waiting for this call all night. You didn't know this, but she was slightly envious of your team taking you away. While you both lived in the same country now, it was still at least a five-hour drive between Madrid and Barcelona. Furthermore, it wasn't often that teams would stay after away games, so it frustrated her knowing you were spending time with a team you spent every day with when you could be with her.

“I'm on my way now, okay?” She said to the phone, knowing that despite the silence you were waiting for her to guide the conversation. “Do any of the girls need a lift?”

You gave a quick glance over to the group you were with. Alexia was scolding Mapi downing shots. Ona was trying to force water down Aitana’s throat, and Keira was just singing at the top of her lungs, swaying to the beat of the music.

“No, Alexia is here.” You put it simply. Everyone knew that if Alexia was near, everyone would be getting home safe.

Hayley must've heard you from over the music since she hummed back. “Alright then,” She answered, turning the corner towards the club. “I want you to go tell Keira or someone that you're leaving so they know you're going.”

You ran a hand through your hair, crossing your arms over your chest in silent rebuttal. “Keira’s drunk, Hayley.”

“Okay, then don't tell her, tell Aitana.”

“Oh, erm— she's drunk too.”

You could hear the girl’s sigh. “Put Alexia on the phone please, Baby.”

You did as you were told, handing the phone to your captain without managing to explain why you did so. The older woman shared a solemn conversation with your girlfriend before hanging up the call and turning to Ingrid.

With Keira and Aitana yelling out goodbyes, the Norwegian woman held the small of your back, leading you out of the club to make sure you did so without error.

“Love you, Ingrid.” You muttered, holding the back of the girl’s top as she led the two of you out.

“Love you too, Precioso.” She replied, smiling at your dazed expression before finding Hayley’s car pull up beside you. You watched your girlfriend walk out towards you, giving your teammate a slightly awkward, but grateful nod as you breathed in her familiar scent.

“Hey, Hay.” You gasped, grasping onto Hayley’s sweater in replacement of Ingrid.

“Hey, sweet girl.” She uttered, opening the passenger door, aiding your balance as you trampled in.

You made sure to give one last look at Ingrid, smiling as big as you could. “Love you, Ingrid. Miss you so so so so much.”

“Miss you too, y/n/n. See you soon.”

You found yourself relaxing in the passenger seat as Hayley drove off. Her hand sat comfortably on your thigh, drawing small, wistful circles as you hummed a quiet tune.

When you finally arrived home, Hayley helped you take off your makeup, taking off your shoes, and slotting her Matildas trackies and one of her old Portland Thorns shirts over the top of you. You were like putty in her grip, letting her lead you to the bed without a second to protest, engulfing the cool climate of the sheets.

“I'm ‘gonna go get some water and paracetamol for you, Darling. Do you want anything else?”

Your girlfriend held out her hand, lightly stroking the baby hairs that had fallen from her pony and onto her face.

“Do we have any food?” you asked, knowing the answer already but feeling the need to ask anyway.

The Australian nodded and walked out of her bedroom, taking a few minutes to collect everything she needed. When coming back, she noticed the furrow in between your eyebrows. The drunken endeavours of the night were inevitably going to catch up to you and Hayley knew you were starting to release that when you happily accepted the water and medicine in a few gulps.

Once the two of you had settled back into bed, with Hayley changing into her pyjamas, you had almost forgotten about your prior request when you heard the ruffle of a packet sound from beside you.

Your head shot up, eyes darting to the yellow cardboard box and concealed package within it. Hayley’s arm had found its way across your waist, pulling you into her side as she let the scent of the food waft into the space.

You laughed at Hayley’s look of delight — two Cheddar Shapes already popping into the girl’s mouth.

“Where did you get these?” You asked, watching Hayley’s devious smile widen.

“Fan gave them to me.” She replied, shoving three more into her mouth.

You two shared a still and silence as you cracked away at the biscuits one at a time. Madrid had fallen into a quiet city — no longer filled with the connotations of noise and light, the wholesome bubble of your bedroom filling the enmity of home for the night.

“You're so cute, ribbon.” you quipped, glancing over the blush that had dusted your girlfriend’s cheeks. Hayley pulled you closer, the box of the Aussie snack hushed off the bed.

You felt the warmth of her embrace overwhelm you into fatigue, the combination of one another's love steering you two into an eternity of solitude.

“You are too, my girl.”

___________________________

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linamromero · 21 days

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𝙾𝙲𝙴𝙰𝙽 𝙳𝚁𝙸𝚅𝙴 - 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚈 𝚇 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁.

Boat trips and beach days were your favourite thing to do on your days off in the summer. After winning the liga de campeonas y la liga your squad earned the weekend off before heading off to international duties for the copa del mundo.

“Pass me your phone.” Your girlfriend asked, disturbing you from your topless tanning session.

“Por qué?” You raised a brow at Mariona, reaching for your phone.

“Música.” She jokingly rolled her eyes, luckily you didn’t see through her sunglasses.

You reluctantly passed her your phone as she connected to the speaker playing your playlist. She laid back beside you taking her own top off.

The boat was quite far off the Marina so you were safe from any paparazzi. Your teammates on the other hand didn’t seem to care, Ona, Patri and Claudia were too busy jumping off the boat whilst Lucy was filming them.

“Can you put some sunscreen on my back please.” You looked up at Mariona with a toothy smile on your face.

She nodded in response asking you turn over. You loved it when Mariona put sunscreen on you, let’s just say she’s very good with her hands.

She positioned herself so she was sat on you bum, applying the sunscreen all around your back. Mariona traced your very defined trapezius muscle, running her fingertips over the tiny tattoos you had dotted around your back and neck.

“Cariño.” You mumbled.

“Is that good?” She whispered in your ear.

“Your always good.”

Mariona used the palm of her hand to knead your lower back embedding the lotion into your skin. You bit your lip hard to prevent yourself from moaning, “There mi corazón.”

“Gracias bebita.” You peppered kisses on her face.

You laid on your front so you could tan your back, Mariona loved watching you tan hence why she asked you to wear the smallest thong bottoms you had so she could secretly stare at your ass for the majority of the day.

“Coti x coti please Y/N.” Lucy shouted over to you.

“Vale Lucia.” You put your thumb up at her.

The other girls climbed back on the boat when they heard the music begin to play, dancing with each other. You turned it up louder, going over to join them dancing, dragging your girlfriend with you. You slung your arms around her neck as you sang to each other.

When you met Mariona through playing for España you automatically knew she was the girl of your dreams. Immediately you became friends, inseparable even when both at Barcelona and national camps.

You didn’t let it slide that you liked her like that however after you won the liga de campeonas the first time you confessed everything to her which lucky for you she felt the same way. Ever since then you’ve been together and you both don’t intend on breaking up either.

The music carried on playing and you were still dancing, Mariona’s hands on your hips that were swaying to the beat, her face becoming closer and closer to you your lips almost touching.

“Te quiero.” You mouthed as she connected her lips with yours.

Every time the both of you kissed your heart would explode. The softness of her lips were divine, her hand placements, how close your bodies were to each other was perfect, even better when it was skin to skin.

“Te quiero mucho.” She hummed.

You soon left her presence to get each other another beer, “San Miguel?” In which she nodded.

You opened the bottles handing her one as you sat back down on the boat. She laid in your arms, her head resting on your breasts as you watched Patri and Claudia bicker over who’s drink was who’s.

“If we win the copa del mundo, we will go to Mallorca for a week.” You suggested randomly.

“Sí, private beach resort.” Mariona added.

“And why is that, you want to see your parents no?”

“Sí but you can’t fuck me when they’re around.” Your girlfriend tutted.

“Ay! I mean i suppose not but we have to see them at some point i love your mama’s food.”

“Mhm me too.”

——————

Little did they know that it would come true.

——————

No estoy seguro de esto.

(Not sure about this one).

Espero que disfrutes :)

(Hope you enjoy).

#woso #woso community #woso x reader #fcb femení #mariona caldentey x reader #woso fanfics #barcelona femeni #futfem #fc barcelona femeni #espwnt #spanish #spain women’s football #mariona caldentey #patri guijarro #ona batlle #claudia pina

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wosona · 10 days

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screaming, dying, crying, throwing up, setting my house on fire, jumping off a cliff.

#no because can she not #had a shit day was literally sobbing 10 seconds later and i was grinning at my screen #ona batlle #woso #barça #barça femeni #lucy bronze #spanish football team #woso community #fc barcelona #alexia putellas

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chicasteria · 9 months

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((( anna castillo ))) ; credit chicasteria

#anna castillo #anna castillo avatars #spanish fc #1993 fc #rpg #avatars 400x640

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the-rp-vault · 2 years

Photo

Pol Rubio, Merlí (S1, E7)

150x150 pixels gifs. Free to use.

#pol rubio #carlos cuevas #merlí #spanish fc #icons #resources #gifs #merli #gifset #ccuevasold

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pavardscherie · 1 year

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― what i deserve ;; pablo gavi & pedri gonzalez ;; part one

⤷ pairing: pablo gavi x f!reader ;; pedri gonzalez x f!reader ⤷ summary: your relationship with gavi ended after he cheated on you. time has passed, pedri always checked up on you with small messages until he invited you to one of the home games. somewhere between losing your heart to pedri; gavi still attempts to get you back. ⤷ warnings: curse words ;; injuries ;; mentions of blood ;; hand around throat ;; explicit sex scenes ;; asshole!gavi ;; cheating ;; violence in fights ;; spanking ;; dom & sub ;; dirty talk ;; teasing ;; very deep feelings & conversations ;; slight triangle thing but not most of the time ;; second chances kinda ;; friends to lovers ;; not proofread & probably horrible written kiss scenes lol ⤷ izzy's notes: first part here we go! it took me so long tbh, but like, i swear i got distracted by pedri (& reading other's imagines about pedri lol). tell me what you think if you want!

Seven Months passed. Multiple calls turned into none. Messages vanished from your lockscreen, and for the first time, when you stared down at your phone, it seemed more like a blessing than torture. The reminders of an unhealthy relationship rested in the back of your mind, stopping the painful memories of being cheated on to resurface.

It’s been almost a month since you found yourself, enjoying casual football games again. Raised by a very determined father, who cheered from the couch or in the middle of the fans for his favorite club, he passed his knowledge to you before he became the beautiful picture in the settling sun.

Avoiding Camp Nou to increase the distance between you and your former boyfriend, the stadium pulled you back one day. It all started with a call, you never expected to receive. On the other side of the line, waited a nervous Pedri with an invitation to one of his home games. After the awful break up with Gavi, the friendship between you and his best friend crumbled quickly.

At least, once in a while, you received a short text message, asking about your well-being but after answering, you never received another. The game of two messages in a month lasted until the surprising call reached you and suddenly, Pedri found himself in your inbox almost each day.

And somehow, even after declining his invitation multiple times in a row, you ended up in the secluded section of the stands, reserved for family members and people close to the players. It was new to you to be treated like a special addition in someone’s life as Gavi never offered you such a seat.

Your little flag draped over the bouncing legs, the anxiety had you trembling. An empty stomach caused your chest to tighten, as your eyes skimmed across the still empty pitch. It would be the first time of seeing Gavi again, after checking his latest social media posts once in a while. Snapchat let you in on the multiple parties he visited over the past months; in each picture another girl with high hopes of feeling his undivided love wrapped around his biceps. It was pathetic in many ways, especially that you still shed a tear while staring at the photo, and compared yourself to the different types of women.

Gavi never really had a particular type. He just enjoyed the thought of having too many gush about him.

Loud music boomed through the stadium, the announcer’s voice mixed with the beat as he welcomed the fans of both teams. After a quick speech about the upcoming match, the team was shown on the large four screen on each side of Camp Nou.

Fans shouted the last names of the players, some louder and some swallowed by the warm air of the early summer day until two faces appeared. Number Thirty, Gavi. His face appeared on the screen, the pillow-like lips without a curl and the arms crossed. He still looked like the guy, you met over a year ago.

Yet, the fans were equally excited when Pedri’s number was shown. Black hair carefully brushed down, the ends of his strands scattered across the forehead and the arms crossed like Gavi had before.

Eyes glued to the screen in front of you, you paid no attention to the players, running onto the pitch in their pre-match jackets and warming up for exhausting ninety minutes without additional time. Discomfort replaced the emptiness, and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to stand up, and run out of Camp Nou — away from the upcoming confrontation, and seeing Gavi question Pedri’s intentions.

Nervously, your trembling fingers brushed the loose strands of hair out of the face, attempting to forget about the little voice in the back of your head — shouting at you to run as fast as you could. You were close to the field, almost too close for your liking as it seemed so easy to notice your attendance.

Maybe it was a mistake to show up; even after Pedri’s words turned into a sweet begging. You should have declined his attempts, should have watched the match from home and switching channels quickly when Gavi appeared on the screen. Same routine as the past year.

“I thought you would dodge.” A familiar, gentle voice demanded your attention, the source standing right in front of the stands. Your head snapped around, almost quick enough to tear a muscle, as you were faced with Pedri. A ball tightly in one hand, his lips curled into a sweet smile. Black strands styled upwards on the front, dressed in the Barcelona kit and a pre-match jacket, his eyes glued on you.

“I accepted; how could I dodge then?” Your elbow propped up on your knee to stop the nervous bouncing of your leg, you placed your chin in your palm. “I’m not that mean.” Emphasizing the the second to last word, Pedri’s head dipped down, and chuckled mildly.

“I can’t judge that, it’s been a while.” The ball rolled out of his grip and bounced on the grass until being trapped underneath the studs of his football shoes. “I didn’t tell him, you’re here. He doesn’t really deserve to know about your presence.”

Pedri was Gavi’s best friend, they shared secrets with each other and even trained out of the club together. Through your relationship, you became close friends with Pedri as well. And you were thankful for it, as he forced Gavi into telling you how he messed up that one night. If it wasn’t for Pedri, you still would be trapped in a very toxic relationship with a man, who used your trust for nightly adventures.

“Thank you.” You mouthed, this time letting the small smile tugging on the corners of your mouth break through. “Score a goal for me, yeah?”

Pedri raised a bushy eyebrow, surprised by what you demanded from him after losing contact for way too long. Yet, nothing has changed, you were still irresistible in each possible way for him. Turning away from you to dribble towards the teammates, Pedri glanced over his shoulder for a second time and raised his hand to show you a simple thumbs up. Enough of an answer for the question, as the midfielder found his way to his partner in crime on and off the pitch.

The game was in the hands of Barcelona, holding the ball in their possession the longest, and playing in the half of the enemy team. Close to scoring the lead goal, they stood in the twenty-ninth minute when a particular, harsh foul coaxed a gasp out of your mouth. A frustrated defensive player from Villareal decided to slide-tackle Pedri, the studs on his shoes hitting the ankle of the midfielder with full force instead of the rolling ball.

With a loud scream, filled with pain, Pedri fell to the ground, clutching his ankle between both hands. Pain twisted in his expression, and you jumped up from the seat, throwing your hands in the air. Camp Nou was filled with Barcelona supporters who booed and shouted insults through the stands.

Pedri was the last friend you had left, the last person that actually attempted to ask about your well-being even if he never answered another message until writing again. Seeing him, crumbled, laying on the ground, triggered the bubbled-up anger inside of you.

"Idiots!" You suddenly shouted; the insult rolled off your tongue quicker than you were able to process in your head. The medical team hurried across the field, pushing the Barcelona players out of the way to take a closer look at the ankle. While your eyes glistened with worry, they drifted from the ground to another person, ruffling the hands nervously through the hair and staring down at his best friend. Gavi.

Delicate palms pressed against the cold, silver bars which were used as a railing, you stared at the horrific incident, and how the medical's started to help Pedri off the field. But the midfielder's mind changed with the first steps, shaking his head and hands to explain that he belonged on the pitch; and wanted to stay. The referee behind them, blew his whistle, pointing his fingers annoyed at the watch around his wrist. Waving him off, Pedri hobbled off the field and the game continued quickly. At least three minutes have passed, if not longer, and it would be added at the end of the first half.

Still leaning across the railing, you tried to steal a glance at the coaching bench to see if Pedri was truly doing better, or playing the tough guy while his ankle swelled in a deep navy blue and wine purple. The medical team focused completely on the midfielder, inspecting how harsh the contact was and how strong the pain was. Losing Pedri in the midfield position would be a devastating start into the game.

The match continued, with Barcelona forced to play with one man less; and the opponents immediately tried to use the fact to their advantage. You couldn’t find a second to glance away from the painful twist on Pedri’s face. Eyes squeezed close, the bottom lip assaulted by his teeth as the medic’s pressed their fingers deeply against different spot around his ankle.

Minutes passed, and Xavi decided a substitute for the struggling Pedri was needed on the pitch. Displeased by the quick exchange, he rolled his eyes but swallowed the unattractive curse words which wanted to escape his mouth. Cheerful sounds rang in your ears, the fans around you jumping to their feet with the arms stretched into the warm spring air. Lewandowski once again scored a goal for Barcelona; with an assist from none other than number thirty. Gavi, who ran over to the much taller man, jumping straight on his back for a piggyback ride.

Pedri clapped his hands from the sideline, still seated in the grass while a bandage was wrapped around the swollen ankle; a thick pack of ice hidden between the layers. While the team hugged, and congratulated Robert for another perfect lead goal, Gavi jogged along the sideline towards his best friend for their very own celebration. Head tilted to the side, acknowledging the different aged females that screamed his name in a high-pitched, loud voice, with a wave and a smile.

But the curve of his mouth dropped, when his gaze drifted through the front row of the stands, bathing in the applause; and suddenly, drawn in by your presence.

A black, woolen jacket over the shoulders, the sleeves in your delicate palms. Underneath the thin material of a cardigan was a tight-cropped shirt, showing a small line of exposed skin until the charcoal-colored cargo pants perfected the chosen outfit. Hair, partly in a messy bun, the loose strands falling freely over your shoulders.

An appearance that reminded him of the first nights, you spent together. You were never a person for the tight dresses, or the overusing of makeup, and the confessions immediately drew Gavi in. But this time, your worried gaze wasn’t focused on him, you were staring at the injured man next to the coach’s bench. Concern twisted your features, eyebrows pulled down in a frown when Pedri winced as the ice bag was pressed tighter against the purple marks.

You visited Camp Nou for Pedri; for Gavi’s best friend. Unfortunately, the thought of seeing his mate touch you, kiss you, or even more, bothered him. A sudden wave of jealousy overcame Pablo, turning away from the sidelines as the referee blew the whistle for the third time, and already rummaged through the little pocket on the front of his polo shirt.

Trembling fingers brushed through the damp, chestnut strands as Gavi received the first booking of the night. And all he had left as an answer, was a subtle shrug of his shoulders instead of throwing a fit. He did not understand the sudden, unknown pinches in his heavy-breathing chest, or the reason behind the drifting gaze of his eyes to see if you were still in the stands and not already by Pedri's side.

A trail of thoughts, seeing you with his best friend entangled, bothered his mind and increased the difficulty of focusing solely on the last minutes of the first half. In seconds, he remembered the scent you carried around like a shield of protection, a fruity mixture of raspberries and vanilla. It was never a perfume like he assumed in the beginning, it was just a tube of shower gel. Those memories never bothered his concentration before, all it needed to remind him, was a glance at your face.

The referee blew the whistle once more, ending the first half of the match with a leading goal for Barcelona. And it did not take you longer than a minute to find a way out of the stands and to the catacombs. Your face was a familiar one, the security guards were still the same from the time you were by Gavi's side. An advantage for you, as they casually nodded their heads and let you through to the entrance of the tunnels. Brushing the thin strands out of the face while jogging down the corridor, the hem of your sleeves tightly between the delicate palm and soft fingertips.

Anxiety burst through your body in irregular waves when you reached the entrance to the pitch. Greeted by multiple familiar faces, your unfocused gaze drifted through the crowd, trying to find the injured midfielder. "How ironic." The rough voice twisted your stomach, the all-too-familiar melody, you once loved to listen to for more than six months. Stopping in your tracks, like the soles of your shoes were rooted to the tiled floor, you swallowed the breath you held without notice. Before you had a chance to find Pedri, and assure yourself that the concern was deeply unnecessary, Gavi found your worked-up self. „Can‘t stay away from me, huh?“

Arrogance infiltrated Pablo‘s voice, showing off the admiration he received over the past months as a shield and a new part of his personality. Confidence always lingered in his body, but the way he spoke, wasn’t similar to what you remembered. Teeth gritted, the anger bubbled in the pit of your stomachs. Anger twisted your insides, tainted your gentle heart and attempted to push you into a blinded rage. Accusing him of what he has done, how easily he played with your heart and tossed you away, but the worse part was the way, he tore your soul apart with his lies and words. Delicate fingers clenched into tight fists, the manicured nail dug into the sensitive skin of your palms.

Little needles pierced your heart, and the pain tightened your chest. You wanted to scream at him, make a fool out of yourself in the middle of the faces, you became all too familiar with. Turning around to face the arrogant curve of his mouth, Gavi stood against the wall. Studs against the stones, arms crossed over the Barcelona Jersey with the number thirty and his name. Chestnut strands in a devilish mess, thick hairs stuck to his sweaty forehead but the curl of his lips, the smugness written in the corners was the only part of him, you were able to focus on. It did not matter how attractive he was in any situation, the actions he did turned him into an ugly person for you. "Hermanito, she's not here for you. I invited her to the game." Pedri's gentle voice echoed through the corridor, capturing the attention of the two ex-lovers. Gavi rolled his eyes, tilting the head to the side while yours snapped in the direction of the entrance to the pitch at the first tone.

One arm draped over the shoulders of a medic, Pedri was carried inside on one foot. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, he was still in pain, but he did not intend to show an ounce of it. Pedri's gaze drifted away from the glimpse of annoyance in Gavi's expression, and to your face. Gentle features twisted by emotions, anger, and confusion, but also concern overshadowed the pureness.

„Are you okay?“ Carefully, you took a step towards the injured player, who assured the medic‘s that he was fine enough to walk further on his own. „That looked harsh, is it broken? I hope not.“ You rambled on between questions and expressing your concern as the distance closed between the two of you, and Pedri stepped into your little personal bubble.

Gavi‘s existence was not acknowledged by you anymore, the groan that slipped past his lips swallowed by the thick air in the catacombs. "No, it's swollen but it's nothing too serious. I'm benched for the rest of the game though."

"At least, it's nothing too bad! I almost jumped off the stands after hearing your scream." The words she attempted to hold inside, spilled out of her mouth, and admitted the intense moments of concern she went through. "Don't worry, again." Pedri chuckled, waving the worry away with his hand. "But it's flattering to know that you declined my invitation way too many times, just to sit in the stands weeks later and jump out of your seat because I got tackled.” While Pedri did not leave a second to spare to share a flirtatious comment with you, Gavi swallowed the heavy mixture of breath and oxygen. A lump in the throat, the need to leave the hallways indescribable but his hooded eyes were glued to the scene. Curiosity forced him to stay in his place, curiosity about how far the encounter would evolve.

„Well..“ You trailed off, swaying from your weight from the left to the right while deciding what words to say. „You’re my friend.“ A gentle smile plastered over your face as the answer slipped out so easily. But what you didn’t see, was the little flinch in Pedri‘s proud posture, the way he almost considered taking a step back and leaving your personal bubble again after hearing the word friend. For him, you were always irresistible, he never understood how his best friend chose hundreds of others when the perfect example of a caring girlfriend was right in front of him.

But the scene, the awkwardness that unfolded between the two of you caused a loud laugh to slip out of Gavi‘s mouth. Suddenly, he was relieved that he stayed to witness how you called him a friend with such ease. “All that work for being pushed into the friend zone again.“ He clapped his hands together, pushing himself off the wall to walk towards the changing rooms. „Maybe, she‘s still too much into me, hermanito.“ Pablo disappeared, including himself in the round of multiple conversations between his teammates. Thoughts vanished when you confessed Pedri was just another friend; leaving you alone with him in the corridor suddenly did not bother Gavi anymore. Satisfied by your words, satisfied to see that you just could not move on from what he gave you, plastered a wide smirk across his face. At least Pablo told himself that you weren’t able to leave him in the past to smooth his growing ego. Glimpses of confidence and pride written over the curl of his mouth.

"Maybe, you can watch the second half from the stands with me?" You fiddled with the ties on your cargo pants, avoiding as much eye contact as possible. Gavi's words triggered another wave of pure anger, and it was difficult to decide if calling Pedri a friend was the wrong or a good choice. "Just you know, if your coach allows it." Shrugging the shoulders, asking such a question felt oddly weird. And waiting for an answer gave rise to your nervousness.

"I have to change first, then there shouldn't be a reason not to be able to." Asking for his company in the stands, with the almost invisible watermelon-pink tint across the span of your cheeks, allowed another spark of hope to ignite in Pedri's stomach.

Taking a liking to his best mate's ex-girlfriend wasn't the greatest move, but Pablo knew the best, that Pedri fancied you for much longer than he actually said. With a quick nod, the injured midfielder stumbled into the changing room and immediately received a warm welcome, and questions about his foot from his teammates. Except for his best friend, Gavi stayed in the corner of the room, drowning a bottle of water while his intense glare never left Pedri's smiling face. And the number thirty of the Barcelona Football Club was the first to leave the locker room again, leaving behind a confused Balde, and stumbling straight into your gaze again.

Somehow, his features moved on their own. Furrowed brows relaxed, and the corners of his mouth lifted, much to your dismay. “You could have done anything.” Gavi pointed a single finger at you, closing the distance with slow steps. The woolen cardigan suddenly felt too warm, too tight wrapped around your numb limbs at the sight. For months, you avoided social media, the news and even football as a whole to not come in contact with regret. Remorse for not answering his incoming text messages about spending time together again, the multiple question marks that filled your inbox and even worse, the filthy words he sent without hesitation, which your body accepted and reacted to way too quickly. “And yet, you chose my best friend as a reasonable excuse to watch me again.”

Shaking your head to answer his words without having to use your trembling voice, defending the leftovers of your pride, you failed ultimately when Gavi caged you between his sweaty body and the cold brick wall. Calloused palm placed beside your head, he used his free one to let his warm fingertips dance over the span of your cheeks. “Still so beautiful, even after I ruined you so many times.” The whispers triggered the memories, the moments you locked away in your mind — yet, not deeply enough for Gavi to easily access them.

Nights, you spent at his newly bought house. Wrapped tightly in the comfort of the black blanket, his naked chest pressed against your bare, arched back. Rough fingertips dug into the sensitive skin around your throat, pressing your windpipe barely together. It was never meant to hurt you, the ecstasy was his greatest reason. His hips snapped against your ass, diving deeper into the warmth of your walls. Moans filled the in darkness drowned bedroom, the dim light of the moon illuminating the side of your face. Lids fluttered close, just like those nights when Gavi was in the mood to ruin you.

But he chuckled, nonchalantly and pulled your mind out of the daydream that played like a movie in front of your closed eyes. Forcing the lids open, your pupils dilated in slight shock. Months of preparation weren’t enough to decline Gavi any access to your mind. But what was worse was the rapid pace of your heartbeat or the painful hammering against your rib cage that he was able to feel. The hand on your cheek started to travel south, fingertips caressed along your jaw, over the side of your throat, and towards your chest. Palm softly pressed against the material of your shirt, fitting perfectly between your breasts, his lips curled upwards in satisfaction when your heart boomed against his sprawled-out hand. „Still the same reaction and yet, you think Pedri could offer you what I‘ve given you.“ Head tilted to your height, just a couple of centimeters smaller than him, his warm breath fanned over your glossy lips

"Tell me that you're still mine, carino." Gavi muttered into the thin air that was caught between your mouth and his. Shaking your head with the last bit of willpower, and the unsettling feeling of shame in the pit of your stomach as he played his little mind games with you, your lips brushed over his repeatedly but never closed the gap. „You ruined me one too many times, darling.“ You hissed, wiggling yourself out of his trap and stepping to the side as the door to the locker room opened, and multiple players walked outside. It was the last piece of self-confidence that slipped out of your mouth and defended your honor. Mistakes were made, repeated way too often and kept as long-term secrets throughout the relationships. Gavi's disrespect to you as a woman was enough to turn him into an unattractive person. Yet, you questioned yourself if the sentence you spoke, wasn't too harsh.

Suddenly, your shoes became an interesting view to avoid Gavi's lingering gaze and the quick glances of the passing players. But Pedri's appearance went by unnoticed, his white sneakers the first thing you see. Taking in his body, the left hem of his cargo pants settled underneath his knee to decrease the pressure on the swollen ankle, the charcoal color an extravagant sight on his tanned skin. Paired with a hoodie, he adjusted the pieces of clothing to the warm weather, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. A small black bag underneath his arm, keeping the most important essentials like his phone, and money inside of it. "You look a little flushed." Pedri used one of his hands to show with his long fingers the strawberry red tint across your cheeks, on his own face. Unfortunately, his words did not help to calm down your irregular breathing, or the intense pounding in your chest.

Any second longer at Camp Nou spread the discomfort in your body, shifting the weight from your left foot to the right to overshadow how much you trembled from the minutes with Gavi alone. Telling Pedri about his best friends' assault on his former lover would be absurd, after all, he was just a piece between Pablo and you. A friend for the two of you, but quietly cheering for your side. Clothes, way too tightly wrapped around your heavy limbs. Pedri's gentle face, radiating too much for your comfort.

"I think, I might just skip." You muttered, tilting the head to the side to avoid witnessing how the disappointment and the surprise twisted Pedri's features. Guilt bubbled in the pit of your stomach, inviting the midfielder first and then immediately taking back your words, and wanting to leave the stadium. Just in the span of five minutes, the glimpse of hope in Pedri's body vanished. Your sudden confession was a surprise to him, already attempting to find the mistakes he made that caused any discomfort to your figure. But the search never found a reasonable result. "Oh, I can sit at the coach's bench if you don't want to watch the game with me, it's fine." Pedri suggested immediately, trying to take the blame for the ways she felt without knowing what kind of emotions mixed in the pit of her stomach. "What?" You reacted quickly, the question tumbling out of your mouth as your eyebrows rose in confusion. Just for a simple second, you were clueless why he offered such a proposition but it hit you quickly.

"You said, you want to skip." Pedri's calloused palm placed over his neck, the fingertips scratching over the small hair and tanned skin. "I guess, you meant watching the game with me."

"Oh my gosh." You facepalmed yourself, letting your soft hand caress over you face. Strawberry red tint spread further across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, showcasing a sign of shame. "I didn't mean watching the game together, it was more about the entire second half. I think I will skip the rest of the game, I don't really feel prepared enough to watch Pablo longer than needed after his rude interruption." Palm pressed to your flushed cheek, your tried to hide the hues of bright crimson red tainting your smooth skin.

“Oh.” Pedri chuckled, a very calm and light-hearted sound as the relief washed over him. “Understood. He can be a real pain in the ass.” Since Gavi transferred to Barcelona Football Club underaged, and him and Pedri became best mates. Driving as the passenger of the midfielder’s forest green mini became a ritual, the fans always knowing if they saw Pedri’s car, Gavi wouldn’t be way too far. “I really hope you don’t mind. Maybe next time, the circumstances are better.” You almost apologized for looking after yourself once again, offering Pedri a gentle smile as you turned around to leave the cursed corridors of Camp Nou.

“I can drive you home.” Pedri was quick with his suggestion, taking a step forward to wrap his long fingers around your wrist and stop the distance from growing. The little contact; just the way his warm fingertips carefully pressed against your pulsating veins, caused another blush to creep its way across the span of your cheeks and increase the heat that already put your body on flames.

Like the watermelon pink attempted to tell you that the ignited fire wasn't a usual feeling. Admiration resurfaced, the slight crush you had on the midfielder before Gavi asked you out prominent in the way your face twisted. Letting the sensation linger, the warmth spread over your skin, you tried to tug your arm away from his embrace. Instead of another attempt to convince you of his offer, Pedri's finger loosened, your limb slipping out of his grip and out of reach, without taking a step forward. "Only if you feel comfortable enough to share a car with me." Pedro added to his suggestion, witnessing how your body language changed. Muscles tensed with his touch, your voice barely audible as your heavy breaths overshadowed the words. And for merely a moment, Pedri questioned the way he almost tried to persuade you into spending time with him — even if it was just a lame car ride.

Delicate and soft palms wiped over your face, probably ruining the layers of make up you covered your blemished skin with. Choosing Pedri’s company could be a chance to feel a moment of mild comfort again. After all, he cared enough for your well-being to ask many, many times. Even when you decided not to answer the first text messages because you thought Gavi would be the reason behind the sudden interest. But it wasn’t, it has never been. “Sure, it’s better than being alone right now.” You accepted with hesitation as your mind traveled through the worst-case scenarios. While you walked through the corridors towards the parking lot where the signature green mini waited, you heard how the fans chanted Gavi’s name like a beautiful melody as another goal extended the lead. Another ball hitting the back of the net, another time number thirty scored for Barcelona.

Bathing in the applause, the attention and how needy the girls at the front of the stands tried to reach out, Gavi smiled at the cameras. The curl of his mouth plastered across his face, the burst of happiness faded when the drifting gaze of his deep hazelnut orbs didn’t find your face in the crowd. Empty seats in the secluded section, his head snapped to the coach’s bench to find Pedri. But his best mate was missing too.

Unfortunately, the realization and the negative thoughts forced Gavi into a wave of blinded rage. He knew immediately, he would leave the pitch with another booking — just no one knew if it would be a simple yellow as usual, or a deeply crimson red one.

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