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leilakisakabiri · 5 months

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Once You Know (Pedri)

Summary: The three times Pedri tried to confess his feelings for you, and the one time he succeeded.

A/N: Had to post for Pedri's birthday (three days late oops)! Happy 21st to him. Requests are open.

Word count: 3.6k+

Masterlist

The first time he felt an urge to tell you how beautiful you looked he nearly gave himself whiplash turning to do a double take. It was his 21st birthday party and he had gone all out. Hosting a private party on a famous rooftop club in Barcelona. You had just moved to Barcelona the month before - entering your final year of university and having an internship in the city.

He was ecstatic to have you there. You two had been friends since you were nearly eight, your families being friends due to owning restaurants on the same strip. While you were close growing up, as Pedri moved away and you started university the two of you had slowly drifted, seeing each other every couple of months as opposed to weekly. However, now that you had moved to the same city as Pedri, he had taken the opportunity to invite you to his party, hoping to see you again.

You arrived a little later than everyone else, having to rush straight from work. You quickly changed in the bathroom, putting on a sundress and trying to fix your makeup as best as you could. You were extremely nervous. You hadn't seen Pedri in over three months and had also never been to such a high-class event. You had never visited him before moving to Barcelona and you were anxious about the thought of meeting his friends who also happened to be world-class athletes and had more money than probably your whole hometown combined.

As soon as you entered the club you spotted Pedri leaning against the railing talking with another player. Torres, you realized.

Seeing as you didn't know anyone else here you headed straight for them.

You came to stand next to Torres facing Pedri, "Hey. Happy Birthday!"

You saw Pedri spare you a glance as his lips lifted in a smile, "Hey. Thanks."

He turned back to his conversation and you stood awkwardly with your present unsure how to give it to him seeing as the conversation ended.

You opened your mouth to speak up when you saw his head snap back to you, eyes growing wide as he realized who you were, "Holy shit Y/n! I'm sorry I didn't even recognize you."

He pulled you into a hug, warm hands pressing against the small of your back.

You giggled against him as you gave him his present, "For you."

His hand went to grab yours as he squeezed, "Thank you."

You gave him a smile, unsure what you were feeling. Seeing again him, felt like the universe was finally falling back into place. Like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

"This is my friend Fernane." He introduced you to the other player.

You smiled, giving him a wave, "Nice to meet you."

The boy waved back at you, a grin on his face, "Sorry didn't catch your name."

"Y/n."

"Well Y/n, do you wanna go grab a drink while Pedri greets everyone else?"

You laughed in agreement, following behind him to the bar.

Pedri watched you go, his heart beating a little too fast for his liking, and the urge to tell you to stay with him stronger than ever. The feeling kept growing, continuing to creep into his mind, until all he could do was think about you, about how much you reminded him of home, about how safe you made him feel, how content.

Maybe he did see you as more than a friend. But then again - the two of you had known each other since you were kids, and maybe he was just getting emotional at the thought of someone from home being so close to him now. Like a piece of the islands and his childhood had finally come back to him.

However, the way your dress wrapped around your figure as the wind flowed past you, and the way your perfume lingered in the air even after you walked away, was beginning to make him dizzy.

He thought there might be something there, but even if there was he wasn't sure how to approach it, or even if he ever would. You two worked best as friends.

So, therefore he couldn't be sure. Definitely not. He concluded that the liquor was getting to his head.

He didn't know how to feel. Actually, fuck it. He did know how he felt. He just didn't know what to do with the information.

He had never been in a situation like this before. Sure, he had liked girls in the past before, but they were people he had met without any intention of being friends. But with you it was different, you were friends first, and for so long. He couldn't quite pinpoint when he started to think of you as more of a friend, but he knew that the night of his birthday hadn't been the first time, but simply the time he finally realized it.

He had chickened out that night. Unsure of how to talk to you. Unsure if you were even single. The two of you hadn't talked for a while and he didn't know anything about your situation other than that you moved for work.

He hoped there was no one else. He really hoped. But then again maybe you already being taken would make it easier for him to move on.

He wasn't sure why his feelings for you came on so strong. One day it was just an inkling in the back of his mind, and the next he could see you everywhere and in everything. He would be listening to a song in the car and one lyric would randomly remind him of you, or he would be training and his mind would start to wander, wondering what you were doing right now, if you were on lunch break or busy studying.

He thought there was something seriously wrong with him.

Because why was he thinking about you so much? Why did he keep hoping you were watching his games, even though you had never asked to come to one before?

His fingers hovered over the button as he debated pressing send. In any normal situation, it wouldn't have been an issue, just one friend asking another to come to their game, but now that felt how he did, the task became that much more daunting.

"God damn it Pedri just send it!" Torres leaned over the boy's shoulder, annoyance plastered across his face.

"I'm nervous. What if she says no?"

He gave him a blank expression, "Then she says no. Big deal. But seriously she's your friend, it's not weird, just send it."

Pedri bit his lip, still unsure, "Fine."

Your phone screen lit up as you got a text. Stretching you reached out to grab it expecting it to be your manager sending you details about the file you were working on but you were surprised to see a text from Pedri instead.

"Hey, hope your first few weeks in Barca have been good! Barcelona's playing this weekend and I have two extra tickets if you want to come and bring a friend."

You smiled at the unexpected gesture. You had always wanted to go to a Barcelona game but felt weird asking Pedri if you could come.

"I would love to! Are you sure though? I can buy tickets if you need to give them to someone else."

Your phone buzzed immediately.

"No one else needed them, so they're all yours."

Lies. His brother had wanted to come to the game this weekend but he had told him no, not wanting to overwhelm you with his family in case you did say yes.

You agreed to take them and texted your friend, one of the biggest Barca supporters you knew, and asked them to go with you.

Your phone quickly became overrun with messages as they texted back asking a million questions about how you got family tickets and who you knew.

The day of the game arrived and you were abuzz with excitement. You contemplated what to wear, should you just go for a casual look or should you wear a jersey? And if you did wear a jersey should it be a blank one or Pedris? Would it be weird if you wore his?

You guys were friends, but he had also never offered you his jersey.

You opted for a regular fit, choosing to just wear a Barca scarf that your friend lent you.

Arriving at the stadium, you immediately texted Pedri in awe of how big it was, and how many people there were.

“Just got here. This place is massive. Excited to see you play!”

Your friend tugged you to your seats, making you take a hundred pictures of him in the stands.

“Oh my god Y/n I can’t believe we’re actually here. I haven’t been to a game since I was like seven, and I’ve never sat in the family section before. I feel famous.”

You laughed next to him, “I know. Mean either - it’s a little overwhelming.”

He sighed next to you, “So are you finally going to tell me who you know on the team? Is it Lewandowski or something? Or Gavi?”

You shook your head no, “Pedri actually.”

His mouth dropped open, “No way.” He smacked your arm, “How come you never told me? And how come you never invited me to a game before?”

You shrugged, “I dunno we’re friends but he’s never invited me before. This is my first game too.”

His eyes twinkled, “Dude he totally likes you.”

“No way. We’ve known each other for years.”

“Ok, but he didn’t invite you till now.”

“I just moved to Barcelona. He’s trying to be friendly.” You defended.

He squinted his eyes, “Mhm ok. Does he know I’m here?”

You nodded.

“Ok but does he know you brought a guy?”

You frowned, “He said I could bring a friend. You’re my friend.”

His smile widened, “Right but he doesn’t know that.” He pointed out.

“You’re making this weird.” You whined.

He held up his hands in surrender, “Fine but if he thinks we’re dating it’s your fault.”

The game started after that and the both of you became immersed in watching, shouting along with the rest of the fans. Besides yourself, you felt your mind wander back to your conversation with your friend, your heart skipping a beat when you thought about Pedri and the possibility of more.

You scolded yourself immediately, he was your friend, and that was it.

Although you couldn’t deny that he looked good down on the pitch, cheeks adorned with a pink hue and sweat trailing down his neck from running on the field.

Your friend left to go to the bathroom near the end of the game, Barcelona was at a stalemate with the opposite team, neither being able to break the other’s defensive line.

Finally, in the 84th minute, you saw Pedri make a break for it. He ran past the defenders, skillfully side-stepping one and doing a few tricks you remember him learning back when he still played for your school team. He saw the opening the same time you did and without another thought, he kicked. The ball landed in the back of the net with a thud.

Screams. All around you. Everyone was chanting Pedri’s name, and the boy in question was running towards the fan section, his hands already up in his signature pose.

He was embraced by his teammates, a proud smile on his face. Finally, they left him, beginning to walk back to their starting positions as he followed. Suddenly though he turned back around, his eyes going up to the family section, arm going up to point at you.

You bit your lip trying and failing to hide a smile. You had no idea why he was pointing at you but you would be lying if you said you there wasn’t a warm fuzzy feeling in your tummy because of it.

You saw his grin widen as yours spread across your face.

He was running on a high.

Nothing was going to stop him now. He had scored a goal and then partially dedicated it to you. And you had smiled. At him.

He felt like he was on top of the world. He had never understood it when other players had told him how important it was to them when their partners were able to come and watch them. The only thing Pedri had to compare it to was his family, and while he was always happy when his family could come, there was an unmatched feeling when he looked up and saw you in the stands, knowing that you had taken the time of out of your day to come and support him, and not because you had to, but because you wanted to. It made him play better, wanting to impress you, wanting to hear how good he was from your lips.

He had texted you to meet him outside the locker room minutes ago and you told him you were on the way.

He was going to do it. He had to do it.

He wasn’t even sure himself why he was so adamant about telling you now, but everything felt perfect like it was now or never.

He heard you before he saw you, talking with someone. He followed your voice, his eagerness, and excitement on full display. You hung up the phone as soon as you made eye contact with him, your smile mirroring his as you closed the distance between the two of you. You hugged him tight as he lifted you, his joy rubbing off on you.

“You did amazing. You should be so proud.” You beamed, fingers squeezing his shoulders as he put you down.

He was smiling in a way that was starting to make you breathless.

“Are you though?” He asked, eyes never leaving yours.

“Am I what?”

“Proud. Of me?”

You wanted to laugh at the absurd question, of course, you were proud of him, who wouldn't be? But the way he was looking at you, eyes shining with sincerity, like he really needed to know, made you sober up and want to give him an honest answer.

“Of course. I’m always proud of you.” You exhaled, not being able to look away from his annoyingly pretty eyes.

There was a beat of silence before Pedri began to speak a determined look on his face,

“Y/n I have to tell-” Pedri’s voice got drowned out by another familiar one.

“Y/n why did you just leave me? I barely-” Your friend's voice trailed off when he saw what he had just walked in on.

“Oh hey, guys.” He greeted awkwardly.

Your hand slipped off of Pedri’s shoulders and the action did not go unnoticed by the boy, “Oh Pedri this is Ian. Ian this is Pedri, the one from my hometown.”

Ouch.

There was that feeling in his heart again, just like when he had first seen you again for his birthday, but now instead of making his insides feel warm it was tearing them apart.

Was that all he was to you? Some kid you just knew from your hometown? And who was this guy anyway? Had he just given you a free date night?

So many questions and you just kept staring at him like you were expecting him to do something. But do what? Pretend to play nice when all he wanted to do was wallow in his misery. He was going to be sick.

“Hey. Sorry, I forgot I have to do something right after this. I gotta go.” His voice sounded cold even to his own ears and he forced himself to act nonchalant.

“Oh, do you want us to wait for you?”

“No, I already have plans with someone else.”

“Oh…ok.” Your voice trailed off, not knowing how to respond to that and honestly feeling a little stupid for thinking he would want to do something with you after.

“Yeah she’s an Instagram model, so I couldn’t say no. You probably don’t know her Y/n, y’know since you’ve lived in Tenerife your whole life and don’t get out much. She’s French actually.”

You felt the cruelty in his words. In just one breath he had taken several digs at you and basically compared you to a famous French model you knew you had no chance of competing with. He was right, you were just some random girl from a small town in Spain trying to fake your way through life in Barcelona. You felt the lump start to form in your throat, but you told yourself he probably hadn’t even meant to mean and you had just taken it the wrong way.

You nodded, refusing to make eye contact with him, “Ok. I guess we’ll leave then.”

“You know the way out.”

You felt Ian scoff beside you but you couldn’t focus on anything except Pedri’s figure as he walked away, your brain not being able to comprehend how it had gone bad so quickly.

He was sure now.

If there was anything he was sure of it was his feelings for you. But now the two of you weren’t even talking and every time he opened his eyes all he could think about was how badly he fucked up things between the two of you.

He wished he could turn back time and take it all back. There had been no one waiting for him, no French model, he had just wanted to get under your skin, hoping he could hurt you to even a fraction of the degree you hurt him. But he regretted it. He regretted it the second it passed his lips, he didn’t know why he did it. It was like he wasn’t even there for the conversation, his mind pleading with him from above, warning him he was making a mistake - but he didn’t listen.

It had been over two weeks since that night and now he was back in the Island ringing in the New Year with his family. Every now and then his mind would slip into thinking about if you were here too, just a five-minute walk away from him, having your own celebration.

It was just an hour for twelve when he decided a night walk was just the thing he needed. He had been absent all day, mind wandering as he kept thinking back to you and he felt bad having his family deal with him in his shit mood. He decided visiting the old football field, which was in the opposite direction from where you lived, would be the best option so that he wouldn’t be tempted to walk past your house.

It seemed fate had other plans for him though because there sitting on the grass, one barely-there street lamp illuminating the silver of your dress. was you, back turned to him.

It seemed even when he was trying to avoid you he couldn’t stay away.

“Y/n.”

You jumped at the sudden noise, looking up to see who was next to you.

“What are you doing here?” He asked, his voice was as smooth as honey and despite yourself, you felt yourself relax at the familiar sound.

“I just missed-” your voice was soft before you remembered how he had made you feel the last time you spoke, “Actually you know what, I don’t owe you an explanation. What are you doing here? Isn’t Terefine a little small for you? I don’t think any Instagram model would want to come all the way out here.”

You felt him sigh as he sat next to you, you felt his leg brush yours and you instinctively moved away from him.

“Don’t do that.” You could hear the hurt in his voice.

“Why?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“It doesn’t make me feel good about myself. I know I messed up.”

“Well, you didn’t make me feel good about myself. Actually, you made me feel like shit. Like you didn’t even care about me at all.” You spoke, finally admitting the truth.

“I’m sorry. I care. I care so much.” He tried to reassure you but you weren’t giving in.

“Then why even say it? Obviously, you can spend time with whoever you want since we’re only friends, but since you invited me to the game I thought-”

“I lied.” He cut you off.

He continued, “There was no other girl. Just you. I lied because I thought it would make me feel better after learning the girl I liked had a boyfriend.”

You sat in silence as you digested his words. Your heart felt like it was about to explode out of your chest, there was never someone else, but you also felt annoyed that he was so quick to jump to conclusions. He could have spared the both of you a lot of heartache if he had just asked.

You played with the grass in front of you, finally turning to look at him as you shook your head, “You’re an idiot.”

You felt his eyes scan your face, “Why?”

“If you would have just asked or stayed for a second longer instead of running off you would have known that Ian is just a friend and not my boyfriend.”

“Are you fucking with me cause this isn’t funny?” It sounded like a warning but his voice was pleading.

“No.”

“So you're single?” He confirmed.

You nodded again.

He gave you a soft smile, “I lied again.”

“What?” Now it was your turn to be confused.

“It’s not just like. I love you.”

364 notes · View notes

leilakisakabiri · 10 months

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Just For You (Neymar Jr)

Summary: You’re a reporter for Man City and Neymar dedicates a goal to you, starting a bunch of rumors and a long-lived rivalry.

Warning(s): None.

A/N: I miss the world cup era. Working on TPWK 2, it’s taking so long though.

Word Count: 2.9k+

Masterlist

The first time Neymar had dedicated a goal for you, the two of you hadn’t even been dating yet.

You had met each other during the PSG vs Man City game for the UEFA Champions League.

You were a freshly hired reporter for Man City preparing to interview players for your first game.

You and your co-worker were busy setting up the equipment prior to the game starting when you noticed that one of the players from the opposing team had come out and was giving an interview.

You waited until he was done before shouting for him, beckoning him over.

You made eye contact as he came over.

You launched right into your well-rehearsed speech, “Hello, thank you so much for joining us today, can you please state your name?”

He gave you a weird look but spoke nonetheless, “Neymar?”

Oh shit. This was Neymar. You had heard about him once you started to become more involved in the football world, however, you hadn’t done any research on him since he wasn’t a Man City player.

“Alright. Thanks for that.” You spoke.

“So Neymar how do you feel about tonight’s game?”

Neymar smirked at you, “Aren’t you a Man City reporter?”

You felt your face warm with the question, flustered you responded, “Yes. Why does that matter?”

Neymar shrugged, maintaining eye contact, “Just like to get to know my competition.”

Now your cheeks were definitely turning red, but you were quick to refocus on the original question, “So about the game, how are you feeling?”

Neymar kept his gaze on you the whole time instead of looking at the camera.

He had a sort of unnerving stare as he grinned at you, looking like he knew something you didn’t.

“Pretty good, think we’ll destroy your little team, show them how it’s done.”

You let out a loud laugh, “Please, we both know that Man City has been doing very well this season, and PSG has been barely able to hold their position in the league.”

Neymar’s smile faded at your words as he began to argue back, “Actually our defensive line has been the best it’s been in years, same with our attack. However, after the last game that Man City played it’s clear that their best days are behind them.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, clearly not pleased as he had just dissed your team, but you remained professional,

“I guess we’ll see tonight. How are you feeling about your chances of winning the league?”

“Confident. I’ll be even more so when we beat you.”

You raised your eyebrows at his confidence. “Well, may the best team win.”

He gave you a smile that was anything but nice before he nodded at your statement.

You decided to close out the interview, seeing as the game was beginning soon, “Ok well thank you for your time.”

He nodded once again before you cut the cameras, about to make your way back over to your co-worker before he interrupted,

“What’s your name?”

You turned to look back at him puzzled, “Y/n. Why?”

He looked back at you, his signature smirk back on his face, “I’ll remember that.”

That night Man City had lost 2-0. With the final goal being scored by none other than Neymar himself.

You felt yourself getting irritated as the game began to turn in his favor rather than yours. Your first game as an official team reporter and you would have to announce it as a loss instead of a win.

You only grew more agitated once Neymar scored the final goal in the 84th minute, sealing Man City’s fate. That agitation quickly turned into shock and then anger once you realized just how exactly the PSG player was celebrating.

Firstly, he had run towards the media stands instead of the fans like players normally would. he had then proceeded to give the cameras a kiss, making a heart shape with his fingers and signing an initial, but not just any initial, yours.

To make matters worse he had pointed straight up at you, sending a quick wink before he got tackled by his teammates, leaving you with no doubts about who that goal was for.

You felt your face flush despite yourself as you silently screamed at yourself as you battled between wanting to bash his brains in or simply giving him the finger.

In the end, you couldn’t do either, one because you valued your job, and two because you didn’t want to end up in jail for the rest of your life.

You felt yourself seething as you looked at him.

What a dick. Dedicating a goal to you that he had scored on your team? Major asshole move.

You felt your co-worker shift to look at you, “Did he just point at you?”

You didn’t even know what to say as you glared at the boy on the field wishing more than ever that looks could kill.

“He doesn’t know what he just started.”

And he didn’t. However, neither did you.

That day had started the short-lived rivalry between the two of you, however, it had also brought you into each other’s lives which ultimately ended up being the best gift of all.

Your little squabble that night had turned into a strained relationship filled with little jabs and annoyed glances.

Things had finally reached a tipping point at the annual Ballon d’Or award show nearly six months later.

Everyone knew about the tense relationship you had with the player, including fans, who seemed to love the disdain you had for each other, coming up with crazy theories that the both of you were in a secret relationship and hiding it.

The rumors had been difficult for you, they had just been annoying at first, but soon they started to hinder your actual work after your manager caught wind of the situation. You had worked hard for everything you got, and it made you irrationally angry that people were beginning to believe that you had been handed everything on a silver platter because of the rumors, and your manager not wanting to play into those accusations had removed you from certain cases, that she knew would give you the breakthrough you needed for your career, informing you that she “just didn’t want to add fuel to the fire”.

You scoffed at the thought.

This evolving issue is why you were so surprised when you were chosen as the main host for the award ceremony – the same one Neymar had been announced as one of the nominees for. It was an absolute honor to be selected for hosting the ceremony, and many well-acclaimed reporters and journalists competed for the top spot, which is why you were extremely confused when you had been picked. You had only been a professional reporter for less than a year and didn’t have any high-up connections to get you the position, although that’s what many people believed.

Your manager had come to your desk one random Wednesday afternoon and dropped the envelope onto your desk.

You looked up at her with confusion, “What’s this?”

She raised her eyebrow, one pristine hand going to fix the invisible crease in her custom blazer, “It’s a letter from France Football – FIFA division.”

Your eyes widened at her statement, and you felt your body stiffen, “What? How do they even know who I am?”

Her lips were in a thin line, “It seems they have seen your work and would like to get in contact. Perhaps someone recommended you.”

You shook your head in disbelief, “There’s no way, I don’t know anyone who would do that.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Well it seems you’ve been selected. They often tend to go for more established journalists, but it seems they picked different this year.”

You gulped under her scrutinizing stare, not knowing what to say.

“Well let me know what they want.” She said, finally walking away.

You stared at the envelope in disbelief. You knew what today was. Today reporters across the world were sitting anxiously at their desks, fingers clammy and spirits hopeful as they waited for the mail, praying that they would be one of the few chosen to receive a letter from the FIFA Board of Directors.

Your boss herself, who was head of Man City’s PR and Journalism team, had been locked away in her office all day, coming out periodically every twenty minutes to check if anything came for her.

Your hand shook as you reached for the envelope, fingers lightly tracing the logo imprinted onto the paper, heard pounding at the possibilities.

You opened the letter, eyes scanning the words. Your hand flew over your mouth as you stared at the words in front of you dumbfounded.

You had been selected.

You were going to be presenting at the Ballon d’Or ceremony.

The letter congratulated you for being selected, listing your numerous accolades, refreshing commentary, and unique journalistic approach as reasons you had been selected. The letter also stated that you had been recommended by someone close to the association, enabling them to discover your work.

You frowned at that, so your manager had been right.

But who would have done that?

That question had been left answered till the night of the ceremony.

You had been practicing your speech tirelessly, repeating it like a mantra as you stood behind the red curtains, mic in hand, waiting for your queue to walk onto the stage.

You saw the stage director give you a thumbs up and you took a deep breath, a large smile falling across your face as the curtains opened.

The ceremony had gone without a hitch, you said all your lines perfectly, interacting with the audience, and making a few jokes throughout the evening that had everyone laughing.

You waited patiently as the winners were announced, taking a seat at your spot at the first table, you glanced around the room, accidentally making eye contact with the man of the hour himself.

He sat laid back in his chair, an almost unbothered expression on his face as he locked eyes with you. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he almost looked a little bored – you found it a little ironic considering the Ballon d’Or was being presented next. But you did know better, reading people is what you did for a living, and you could tell by the way he kept unconsciously tugging at the sleeves of his tux he was nervous, even if his eyes remained passive.

You narrowed your eyes at him, but he only gave you a smug smile before being pulled into a conversation with his father. You turned back around, seeing him give you one last glance from your peripheral vision.

You felt your body grow hot under his gaze and you chastised yourself for it. You couldn’t let him get under your skin, the night was almost over, and then you could say that you hosted the ceremony perfectly.

The award was presented, with the nominees being announced one last time, and you caught yourself holding your breath, unsure what you were hoping for.

“And the award goes to Lionel Messi!” The announcer spoke.

Your eyes immediately drifted to Neymar once again, seeing him clapping along with everyone else. You couldn’t help but feel bad for him, although he seemed ecstatic for his friend, you knew how it felt to want something so badly and have it in the palm of your hands, only for it to slip through your fingers, while you could do nothing but watch helplessly.

You shook yourself from your thoughts, walking back onto the stage and closing the ceremony. You finished, a dazzling smile on your face as you gave a bow, letting the curtains close.

Your hands shook as someone took the microphone from your hands congratulating you.

You had done it! You had hosted the ceremony to the best of your ability, and nothing had gone wrong!

You hugged everyone who came to congratulate you before making your way back to your table, ready to celebrate your success with the gala food.

You walked past Neymar’s table distracted, only hearing the tail end of the conversation, but it was enough for your steps to falter.

Messi sat next to him, a surprised look on his face, “She was great! I still can’t believe you recommended her.”

Neymar shrugged, turning back to his food.

You felt your breath catch in your throat, they couldn’t possibly be talking about you, could they?

You greeted everyone as you sat down at your table, accepting their congratulations, but your mind was still swirling trying to piece together the snippets of conversation you had heard. Your manager had said that someone had probably recommended you for the position and you had been trying to figure out who it was, but you had never considered the player sitting not even 100 feet away from you.

You ate your meal slowly as you debated what to do. Should you confront him? Or just let it go?

The answer came a moment later when you saw Neymar get up from his table, walking towards the restrooms.

It was now or never.

Without a second thought, you excused yourself, trailing behind him, the thudding of your heart, and the warm feeling in your stomach outweighing all other emotions.

You saw him walk towards the single-stall restroom and mentally thanked whatever higher power was looking out for you.

You slipped inside before the door could shut all the way, seeing his hands grip the sink, head lowered.

“It was you.” You spoke.

His head shot up, and he whipped around, body relaxing when he saw you, “Shit. Reporta you can’t just walk into the bathroom, you scared me.”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” You questioned, watching him raise a brow.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You took a step closer to him, refusing to break eye contact. “You,” your finger jabbed his chest, “You recommended me.”

You saw his breath hitch and you knew he had been caught,

“Why?” Your voice was soft.

He remained silent, and you closed the distance between the two of you until you were standing only inches apart, neither of you daring to breathe.

He continued to look at you, eyes exploring every inch of your face, and you almost melted under his gaze. His eyes looked so pretty, like two pots of honey pulling you in, coating you in their sweetness.

“Because you deserved it.”

A look of disbelief washed over your features, “Why would you do that? We’re not friends.”

“We may not be friends, but even I can admit that you have talent. You’d have to be blind not to notice that.” He shook his head, gently moving your hand that was still pointed at his chest.

He continued, “I heard them talking about who to pick, and I knew it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t give your name. You work twice as hard as everyone else, but people always discredit you because of the rumors, rumors that involve me, and I didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t get a chance.”

You held your breath, unsure what to say, tummy doing somersaults at his words.

“You don’t have any problems with any players – just me. But that’s all they see, and then deem you as a liability, and I just couldn’t sit back and let them believe that.” He admitted.

His hand cupped your jaw gently, tilting your chin to face him, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear as he gazed at you, “Y/n you deserve it.”

Your heart began to pound rapidly, it felt like it was going to explode, “That’s the first time you’ve ever said my name.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

He gave you a soft smile, not saying anything.

“Stop saying things that are making me like you.” You said the first thing that came to your mind, mentally cursing yourself for admitting you liked him first.

He grinned at you, “Y/n? Liking little ole me? How can that be?”

You hit his shoulder in annoyance, peering up at him, “I’m sorry you didn’t win. If it’s worth anything, I think you deserved to win – you’re an incredible player.”

You broke eye contact with him, hiding your face in his shoulder, so he wouldn’t see your facial expression, “I’m sorry I just couldn’t say that with a straight face, but I mean it.”

He rolled his eyes at you, pulling you back by your shoulders, forcing you to look at him, “It’s worth a lot. Thank you.”

You saw his eyes flicker to your lips as he spoke, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop what you were planning to do next. Your fate had been decided the moment you followed him into the bathroom.

“Neymar, your gonna hate me for this.”

He looked at you confused, about to speak, but you cut him off, fingers locking in his hair and pulling him down to you, kissing him with everything you had.

He was frozen in shock for a second, and then he pulling you impossibly closer, eyes fluttering shut.

“Definitely don’t hate you.” He murmured in between kisses, hands grasping the back of your dress as he spun the both of you, pressing your body against the sink.

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