summary: the everyday conversations between pittsburgh's most beloved trauma doctors (mostly.) and you! small snippets of how i think the pitt characters would interact when not over a patient.
warnings: MDNI 18+ . swearing, inappropriate usage of a work gc, bullying of characters (no one is safe), slight nsfw, crack fic. reader is referred to as 'burn', roommates with santos and whitaker trope, hucklerobby mentioned, afab reader.
summary: an impulse decision leads to a new member of the family
a/n: hey guys! I AM SO BACK! happy pride to the gays, theys and everyone in between - we're doing a series! starting with lesbian until the end of the month.
a/n: this takes place in the same universe as mystery girl except time jump and they're now married! (for those who haven't read mystery girl thecottagelivinggal and thebestsantos are the same person - reader!)
thebestsantos
i may have gotten a cocker spaniel...
liked by crash.javadi, michaelrobinavitch, farmboydenny and 14 others
comments
theholytrinity
my beautiful wife... call me now.
→ thebestsantos
IM SORRYYYYYYY she was at the shelter
frankiebear
aw wish you all the best from rehab
→ danasincharge
you allowed a phone in rehab?
→ frankiebear
be nice to me for once im a recovering drug addict
theholytrinity
HAPPY PRIDE BITCHES
liked by thebestsantos, melissaking, parktheellis and 23 others
comments
melissaking
as your favourite ally happy pride!! <3
→ thebestsantos
youre the only adult ive seen use <3 unironically
→ melissaking
sorry
parktheellis
QUEERS UNITE
→ theholytrinity
we ride at dawn
thecottagelivinggal
meet mischief my cottagers!!
liked by theholytrinity, myfavouritecolours, rosesforruby and 25,473 others
comments
theholytrinity
fitting name... those were my doritos.
rosesforruby
ahhhh our queen has returned!!
→ thecottagelivinggal
i got married!!
→ rosesforruby
omg slay queen
crash.javadi
don't worry trin's warming up to her
theholytrinity
this dog... is actually kind of cute!!
liked by thebestsantos, mamacottageliving, farmboydenny and 26 others
comments
crash.javadi
AYYY WE WON
farmboydenny
who did the hair?
→ thebestsantos
who you think??
→ farmboydenny
i genuinely cannot tell
mamacottageliving
we love you mischief!
→ thebestsantos
hey mama!
crediting @cafekitsune for these pride dividers
thanks for reading <3
next stop? dennis whitaker x m!reader for gay pride
i'm going to try and post something every day of pride month. we'll see how long it lasts. happy pride and day 3 of consistency
Pairing: Trinity Santos x fem!reader
Summary: It’s been a long shift where you unexpectedly start your period and Trinity snaps at you. Dana comforts you, Ogilvie is a jerk, and Trinity realizes her mistake.
Tags/Warnings: fem!reader, nurse!reader, comfort/hurt, fluff, reader needs a hug, non graphic mentions of periods
Word Count: 2,344
Today felt like a day from hell. Patients were nonstop, trauma was nonstop, and patience was running thin throughout the department. Even Dana had been uncharacteristically snippy which she had been quick to apologize for and correct.
What made it worse was everything felt like effort. Even sitting down hurt. Your muscles ached and you weren’t sure why. Your brain felt foggy and your movements were stiff.
It didn’t stop you from doing your job, but it made everything infinitely harder.
You hadn’t done anything strenuous and couldn’t figure out what was going on until you felt something sticky between your legs when you bent down to pick up the pen you’d dropped three times in the last hour.
You rushed away to the bathroom to check. Your suspicions were confirmed when you saw blood. Fuck, you whispered. You did your best to clean whatever you could and hoped you had a pad in your locker.
You quickly washed your hands and rushed out of the bathroom hoping you didn’t get paged anywhere. You weren’t paying attention to anything other than the discomfort raking through your body as you swung the door open and crashed into the back of someone.
You watched in horror as a container of supplies flew forward and spread across the floor. You wanted to apologize and help, but the words died in your throat as anger roared out of the R2 you’d practically trampled.
“Holy fuck, does no one use their damn eyes. Now I have to completely start over. Thanks a lot, klutz.” Your body recoiled before your brain could catch up. You’d never heard Trinity sound so mean. Her words were like venom that immediately buried itself into your subconscious.
She hadn’t looked at you as she picked up her supplies and you rushed away. You could faintly make out her mumbling to herself as you rushed to the lockers a little more calculated than before.
Perlah and Dana saw the whole thing unfold. The blonde handed over her chart.
“Go, I got this,” Perlah assured as Dana walked in your direction. You didn’t hear her as you sat on the bench near the lockers and cried. Your shoulders were violently shaking and the tears would not stop. You’d always been an emotional person, but on your period it was one hundred times worse.
Your tears only continued as Dana sat beside you and held you tight.
“I’ve got you kid. It’s okay.” She knew there was more to the crying than just being yelled at, but didn’t push as you cried in the protection of her shoulder. She softly rubbed your back and held you until your breathing evened out. It felt like forever to you, but it had only been a few minutes.
You pulled away from her and saw the tear stains on her scrubs. You immediately cringed and went to apologize, but she raised her hand up in protest.
“Don’t. Sometimes we all just need a good cry. You okay?” You shrugged as your shoulders slumped.
“I just started my period today.” Dana gave a knowing look as she nodded. You’d never worked the first day of your period and now she understood why. Dana never questioned when you requested to swap shifts with someone once a month. It was only now she realized you didn’t ask this month.
“You didn’t ask to switch this week.” It wasn’t a question.
“I wasn’t supposed to start until sometime next week. Flo’s early.” Dana nodded with a smile.
“Oh, to be young. Is there anything I can do?” You shook your head no.
“I just gotta change out of these scrubs and hope I have a pad in my emergency bag.” She nodded in understanding as she stood from the bench and gave your shoulder a squeeze.
“Chin up kid. Only a few more hours. Take a break. Perlah and I will cover for you.” You gave Dana as good a smile as you could muster as she walked away. After fifteen minutes, a new pair of scrubs, and with a chocolate bar in hand you made your way back to the nurse’s station for your next assignment.
You slightly stumbled into the station and looked down to see your shoe was untied. You huffed, annoyed as you placed the candy bar on the counter to tie your shoe.
“I don’t know how you have so much energy today.” You heard Dennis’ voice as you straightened and were faced with him and Trinity. Your heart immediately sank. She didn’t look angry anymore, but you were still slightly scared.
“See Huckleberry, when you have an amazing girlfriend who brings you your favorite energy drinks to work, you’ll understand. Besides, I've put in two chest tubes and intubated a patient flawlessly.” She perked up when she saw you and quickly kissed your cheek when no one was watching. Well, besides Whitaker of course.
You were shocked. That’s when you realized Trinity hadn’t seen that it was you she yelled at. You weren’t sure what to do with this information when Dana spawned out of nowhere.
“Santos, Whitaker Trauma One. Incoming GSW.” Trinity swiped your chocolate bar from the counter with another kiss on your cheek and went off with Dennis. You pouted to yourself as you looked up at Dana with watery eyes.
“Triage with Donnie.” Dana handed you a few chocolate kisses and patted your forearm. You nodded and walked away to find the senior nurse.
…
Triage had been a welcome change of pace and you were grateful to Dana for placing you there. Donnie’s energy had always put you at ease. You enjoyed bantering with him and seeing pictures of his newborn in between patients.
He sent you to report back to Dana as he grabbed some things from one of the storage rooms. You carried an iPad in the crook of your arm as you approached the nurse’s station that was surrounded by student doctors.
“I’m telling you guys, all the supplies went flying. It was hilarious and the look on the nurse’s face was absolutely priceless.” A sour taste flooded into your mouth as you slowly approached, but didn’t see Dana.
“Crashing into Santos, did they have a death wish?” Victoria questioned. You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to ignore them as Dana finally appeared.
“The ED is definitely not a place to be clumsy.” Joy shrugged absentmindedly.
“Scram, you all have patients.” The three student doctors left immediately as Dana tapped your hand to pull you out of your stupor.
“Whatcha got for me kid.” You filled her in on you and Donnie’s patients and she nodded along. She asked a few follow up questions, but was glad to hear you’d discharged two patients and were freeing up beds.
“Great work. I heard you caught that appendicitis the second you saw the girl in the waiting room. That was an awesome catch.” You smiled up at the woman.
“Thanks Dana.” She tipped her head at you as you walked away feeling lighter on your feet.
…
As shift change came around you were beginning to lose steam. You were barely keeping your eyes open as you grabbed your bag to go home. You felt a little unsteady on your feet and stumbled backwards.
“Woah there klutz, don’t fall now that the shift’s over.” Your eyes were wide open now as you grabbed the edge of your locker to steady yourself. Just as you were about to turn around your heart dropped.
“What the fuck did you just say Ogilvie.” You’d know that voice anywhere. You turned to see the man looking down at Trinity with a pinched expression. Any tighter and he’d be physically shaking.
“Apologize now.” The bite in Trinity’s voice sent a shiver down your spine. Ogilvie threw you a quick glance and a mumbled “sorry” before he practically ran out of the ED.
You had been hoping to avoid the whole thing. You just wanted to go home and forget this day ever existed. You knew Trinity would’ve never acted that way if she knew it was you, but it didn’t make the interaction any better. She really had to do a better job of keeping herself in check.
Trinity looked like a kicked puppy as she approached you carefully. You sighed to yourself as a fresh wave of tears threatened to fall.
“Mahal… I. Fuck.” You sucked your teeth and shrugged sadly at her. Just as you were about to ask to go home a cramp decided to rip through your body. You gasped as you crouched down and held your stomach.
Trinity knew better than to try and touch you in that moment as she replayed all the moments of the day. You did seem rather quiet and she hadn’t seen you running around the ED like normal. You’d been more tired than usual. You also hadn’t been searching the ED for her.
Trinity bit her tongue when she finally placed all the pieces together.
You started your period, got yelled at by the one person who was supposed to be kind to you, and to top it all off she’d stolen your chocolate bar.
It all made sense, but Trinity hadn’t been paying attention. She kicked herself as you stood up. You looked pale and absolutely drained.
“Can we just go home?” Trinity nodded and followed behind you with her head down. You just didn’t have the energy for anything else today. You wanted to crawl into bed and not wake up for the next two days. You were grateful to not have to work for them.
The drive home was silent as Trinity drove. You stared out the window and clutched your stomach the entire time. Being in a car only amplified the pain. Every bump in the road meant a wave of pain rippled through your body. By the time you got to her apartment you were nauseated.
Trinity opened your door, but didn’t stand too close as you climbed out. It was clear her head was spinning. She’d been glancing at you the entire drive. You were slow to follow her inside, but did your best to keep up.
Once the apartment door closed behind the two of you the energy shifted. There was no hiding from the day. Trinity sat anxiously on the couch and looked up at you. She picked at her nails, but her eyes never left your form.
“Trin.” Her eyes flicked up to yours. She took a deep breath before words started spilling out of her mouth.
“Mahal, I am so sorry. I really didn’t know it was you, but that shouldn’t matter. I shouldn’t have lashed out. And I’m even more angry that I yelled at you. And I stole your candy. And I wasn’t paying attention and I missed so many things. I’m sorry I wasn’t. I should’ve…” You cut her off by climbing into her lap to shop her spiraling.
Her hands immediately wrapped around your waist and held you close.
“Breathe baby.” You whispered to her. The warmth of her body grounded you and soothed your cramps slightly. After Trinity took a few deep breaths you pulled away slightly to look at her.
“Look, I understand. Thank you for apologizing. I didn’t appreciate being yelled at, but I wasn’t looking where I was going either so I’m at fault too. I barrelled into you and I’m sorry for knocking everything out of your hands.” Her eyes softened as she nuzzled into your jaw.
“You did, but if I’d taken a second to assess the situation I would’ve realized what was going on. How are you physically feeling? I can’t remember the last time you worked when you started your period.” You leaned into Trinity’s touch. Just as you were about to answer your stomach growled.
“When was the last time you ate something?” Your eyes widened as you tried to hide your face. You had absolutely no recollection of when you’d last eaten something substantial.
“Honeyyy.” Trinity whined. You kissed her forehead and ran to the bathroom before she could chastise you more. Trinity immediately barreled after you as soon as you were out of her grip.
Your giggles filled the apartment as you raced to Trinity’s bathroom. Just as she was about to crush you in a hug she remembered you were on your period. She came to a halt directly in front of you. You quickly kissed her mouth causing her to lose her balance and fall on her butt.
Oof escaped Trinity’s lips as she stared up at you.
“You did that on purpose.” She pouted and playfully crossed her arms over her chest.
“Maybe.” You teased as you helped her up. She turned away from you as you went to kiss her again. You tightly wrapped your arms around her waist and kissed her shoulder. She tried to stay neutral as you moved her hair to the side and placed a chaste kiss on her neck. Trinity shivered under your touch. You put your chin on her shoulder as she held your hand over her stomach.
“I know I’m on my period, but would you want to shower with me? If it’s not too weird.” You loosened your grip to give her an out. You’d never showered together on your period. You didn’t plan to do anything, but appreciated her company. She carefully turned in your arms and threaded your hands together behind her back.
“Aking mahal, it is not weird at all. A period is part of life, a typically annoying one, but I do not mind one bit. I’d love to join you. Perfect chance to appreciate what’s mine.” You gave her a pointed look that said, ‘no funny business.’
“With my eyes, of course. And after that we can order food.” You smiled at her as a blush spread across your cheeks. You placed your forehead on hers and smiled with your eyes closed.
You and Trinity, this is where you each belonged.
***
Masterlist - Archive of Our Own
thank you to everyone who reads these, likes, and/or reblogs. it truly means the world to me 🫶
The request that I didn't follow too well 😅 (sorry)
When Natasha walks into your restaurant for the first time, you don’t think much of it. She’s just another customer for you to serve… albeit a beautiful one.
“Hi! Welcome in! How’s your night treating you?” you ask cheerily, giving her your best smile.
She offers you a huff through her nose and brushes off your question.
Okay, well, you can try and work with that. You persevere despite her lack of receptive response. “Here’s our menu. I’ll be back shortly to take your order,” you tell her, flashing her another smile.
Natasha grabs the menu from you without another word, so you take the hint and give her some space and time to peruse her options.
When you return to her table, she orders one of the simplest things on the menu—a burger, fries, and a water.
She doesn’t address or speak to you any further, ignoring your continued polite attempts at a small, pleasant conversation.
She leaves without a “thank you” or a “have a good night”, exiting the restaurant without a backward glance.
And she doesn’t tip.
Oh, so she’s not just another customer. She’s the fucking worst.
One week has passed since you last saw Natasha, and yet, you’re still ranting about the minimal interaction. You can’t stop; anger and irritation have been present every moment of your shifts since that day no matter what you do.
“She was just so rude,” you say hotly for what is probably the umpteenth time, “Literally, infuriating.”
“Uh huh,” your coworker responds, bored, having heard this basically on repeat.
“I just- I can’t fucking believe the nerve of her.”
“I hear you.”
“The absolute audacity to walk in here, barely say a word to me, and then not leave a tip.”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, I’m a great server, a fucking delight… and, not to mention, I’m downright adorable. No one doesn’t tip me.”
Your coworker has finally had enough of your tirades. “Dude, just let it go,” she sighs exasperatedly, “You’re, like, obsessed with her.”
“The fuck? I am not obsessed with her,” you deny immediately, spitting out the words as if just the thought disgusts you.
“You haven’t shut up about her since you saw her. Just admit you thought she had that super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on and you liked it.”
“I didn’t find her hot!” you argue, taking genuine offense at the fact that your coworker could think something like that about you.
“Sure, you didn’t.”
“No, seriously, I didn’t. I don’t,” you declare vehemently before muttering under your breath, “I swear, if she shows her face again, I’m going to-”
“Well, you’ve got your chance.”
“What?”
“She’s here.” Your coworker nods her head in the direction of where Natasha is, seated at the same table as the last time she was here. “She’s been here. Eavesdropping probably. You haven’t been quiet.”
Your gaze snaps over to Natasha, finding her already staring. One of her eyebrows quirks up as you make eye contact. “You didn’t think to warn me?” you hiss, alarmed, voice finally dropping to a lower volume as you look back at your coworker.
Your coworker just shrugs, unbothered, and then she walks away from you, heading to the back, leaving you alone behind the counter.
Natasha’s still watching you, eyes intense and unmeetable. You’re fleeing to the back after your coworker in just seconds.
You don’t emerge until you’re sure the redhead has left the restaurant, too sheepish and embarrassed to face her. You make your way over to her booth to clean up her dishes, and there, left on the table, is several crumpled bills. It’s the biggest tip you’ve ever received—the biggest tip you’ve ever seen—and, written on the merchant copy of the receipt in sloppy scrawl underneath her signature… ‘Fair enough’.
You don’t know how or why; the whole situation doesn’t make sense to you. You insulted Natasha, and yet she left that huge tip and agreeing note… and she continues to show up, over and over, arriving at the same time every week. She becomes a regular, always coming in during your shifts, always seating herself in your section, and always alone.
Your coworker teases you relentlessly. “She likes you,” she singsongs.
You have to frantically shush her every time, her loudness way too much for the small restaurant, the redhead surely able to overhear. “There’s no way she does,” you reject her statement, “I insulted her. A lot. Multiple times. And she made it clear that she heard me.”
“Yeah, and she also told you that you were right.”
“That doesn’t mean she likes me.”
“Don’t play dumb, and don’t pretend you don’t like her too.”
“How many times do we have to do this. I don’t like her.”
Despite the less-than-respectful-on-her-part first interaction, despite the less-than-respectful-on-your-part second interaction, you two do develop a sort of routine. Natasha sits in the same booth every visit; you memorize her order and put it in with the kitchen before she has to ask. She begins to smile and talk a bit more; you learn that her silences, when present, aren’t impolite.
You don’t want to admit it—because how could your heart possibly betray you like this by fluttering every time you see her stroll through the restaurant doors?—but you can’t keep lying to yourself about how you aren’tbeginning to like her. She’s not totally unpleasant anymore, you guess.
“Your usual,” you say as you deliver the burger, fries, and water glass to Natasha’s table.
She flashes you a small grin, and, like what’s typical for her now, thanks you, her voice soft when she talks. “You always know just what I need.”
You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your own smile. “You ‘need’ the same thing every time. It’s not hard.”
Unconsciously, you find yourself happy that she’s always unaccompanied, with no one in tow, and although you don’t think you’ll ever stop ignoring your coworker’s claims—“Just accept that she has a crush on you”—you’re secretly pleased at being told that perhaps Natasha likes you. Your coworker was right. She really does have a super hot aloof and mysterious thing going on.
It’s a Thursday when Natasha next comes in, which is… weird. She’s a Wednesday patron, a 6:30pm Wednesday patron, to be exact. She’s always on time. So, when she arrives at the restaurant on a different day than normal, at a different time than normal—right before you’re off, actually—and sits at a different table than normal, it’s beyond unexpected.
Your coworker shoots you a confused look when she watches the redhead make her way into her section instead of yours, and although you’re puzzled and perhaps ever so slightly jealous, you technically are supposed to be clocking out in a few minutes, so it’s not like you could serve her anyway.
Maybe she just really wanted another burger earlier than normal, and maybe she just didn’t want to sit by the window tonight.
You can’t help but eavesdrop on Natasha’s order. Will she be switching that up too?
“Can I get you your usual?” your coworker asks her.
Natasha shakes her head. “Not yet,” she answers, “I’m actually waiting for someone this time.”
You falter, heart sinking in your chest in a funny way that you don’t want to acknowledge. She’s on a date. Your eyes flick to the front doors, wondering just when the person meeting with her will be walking through them. You don’t want to be here for that.
You remove your apron and fold it over your forearm with maybe a little too much force, you grab your bag from the back possibly somewhat too roughly, and you make your way out of the back room, heading toward the exit with purpose. You happen to have to pass Natasha’s booth on your way. You don’t make eye contact.
You’re stopped by a hand reaching out to grab your wrist, and you whip around, confused and surprised at being stopped by her.
“Where are you going?” she asks, voice gentle as she tries to soothe your clear agitation.
“I’m off,” you reply, and you can’t help but throw something a bit more bitter her way as well. “But you know that already.” It’s a definitive statement. She’s familiar with your schedule by now; she’s been here enough times to have learned it.
“I do know,” she confirms.
It makes you even angrier, and your annoyance, stemming from jealousy, flares. You open your mouth to shoot back some retort, but she beats you to it.
“Well? Are you just going to stand there? Aren’t you going to sit?”
You freeze, brows furrowing. “What?”
“Table for two today,” she informs you even though you’re well aware, grinning in amusement at how obvious it is that you’re trying to connect the dots.
And then it clicks… and you slowly slip your bag off your shoulder… and you slowly take a seat across from her… and you slowly find yourself smiling instead of frowning in hurt.
Your coworker returns to the table, smirking knowingly, an ‘I so told you so’ expression on her face as she gives you a pointed look. “Your date finallyshow? Ready to order now?” she addresses Natasha.
Natasha nods, turning to face your coworker. “Yeah, I’ll take my usual, and…” She then looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to relay what you want to eat. “Get whatever you’d like. It’s on me.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I work here. I get all my meals for free.”
“I know,” she says playfully, “That’s why it’s on me.”
Summary: After you get hurt on a mission is when Yelena realises shes acting weird. Even worse, she likes you
Warnings: Blood, gunshot injuries, grenade
---
The safehouse smelled like antiseptic, burnt coffee, and gun oil.
You were pretty sure that was going to permanently become the scent of your life now.
“Do not move.”
Yelena’s voice came sharp from somewhere near your shoulder. A second later, cold fingers pressed against your side again, and pain split through your ribs hard enough to make you hiss.
“I wasn’t moving,” you muttered.
“You were thinking about moving.”
“I think about lots of things.”
“Yes. Terrible habit.”
You glanced up from the bed you’d been patched onto. Yelena sat on the chair in front of you, one knee propped up, med kit spread around her like she was performing surgery in a war zone instead of a dingy apartment in Latvia.
Her blonde braid hung over one shoulder. There was dried blood on the sleeve of her tactical shirt — yours, probably. A bruise purpled the edge of her jaw.
She looked furious.
Which was confusing.
You’d only joined the Thunderbolts three months ago. You were still the newest one there, still getting weird looks from Walker, still getting evaluated by Bucky every five minutes like he expected you to explode. You and Yelena got along fine — sarcastic comments, occasional shoulder shoves, one memorable argument over instant ramen preparation — but not close-close.
Certainly not close enough for her to practically carry you out of a collapsing building after you got shot.
You still remembered it too clearly.
The mission had gone bad fast. HYDRA remnants, bad intel, too many exits not covered. You’d taken a bullet through the side trying to get Yelena behind cover after a grenade rolled too close.
And afterward—
Yelena kneeling over you in the rubble, eyes wide.
Actually wide.
“Hey,” you’d slurred. “You look… scary.”
“You are bleeding everywhere.”
“Yeah. That usually happens.”
Then she’d cursed in Russian so violently you were fairly certain nearby ghosts got offended.
Now, six hours later, she was still hovering.
It made no sense.
“You are staring,” Yelena said without looking up.
You blinked. “Sorry.”
“No, is okay. I am very pretty.”
Despite yourself, you smiled faintly. “There she is.”
She snorted softly, but it disappeared almost immediately. Her hands slowed while wrapping fresh bandages around your ribs.
Too careful.
Yelena Belova was many things. Efficient. Brutal. Weirdly competitive about hot sauce tolerance.
Careful wasn’t one of them.
“You can go sleep, you know,” you said quietly. “I’m not dying anymore.”
“I know.”
“But you’re still here.”
“Yes.”
There was a beat.
“…Why?”
That finally made her look at you.
Blue eyes. Exhausted. Annoyed.
Something else underneath.
“I do not know,” she said honestly.
And somehow that was worse.
Because if she’d laughed it off, or brushed you away, or said something casual, maybe your stupid heart would stop doing this awful hopeful thing every time she looked at you.
But this?
This strange intensity?
It felt dangerous.
You looked away first.
“Oh.”
Yelena’s brows pulled together immediately, like she’d heard something wrong in your voice.
The apartment radiator clanged somewhere in the distance.
Yelena finished securing the bandage, but her hands stayed resting lightly against your side. Warm through your shirt.
You tried very hard not to think about it.
Failed horribly.
“You were stupid today,” she said suddenly.
You laughed weakly. “That’s your big emotional speech?”
“You jumped in front of grenade.”
“It wasn’t a grenade.”
“Explosive device. Same thing.”
“You would’ve done the same for me.”
“No.”
You finally looked back at her.
She was already looking at you.
“I would have killed them before they got close,” she corrected.
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. “Right. Of course.”
“But—” she hesitated.
Actually hesitated.
“I did not like seeing you hurt.”
Your chest tightened painfully for reasons that had nothing to do with the bullet wound.
“Oh.”
“There is the sad oh again.”
You swallowed. “Sorry.”
Yelena leaned back slightly, studying you with that unnervingly sharp assassin focus.
“You think I do not care about you.”
You nearly choked on air. “What? No.”
“You are bad liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“You avoid eye contact. Very dramatic. Like wounded Victorian child.”
Despite everything, you barked out a laugh.
Yelena looked pleased for approximately half a second before the confusion returned.
“I do not understand this,” she admitted quietly.
Your smile faded.
“Understand what?”
She gestured vaguely between the two of you like the answer should be obvious.
“This.”
Your heart began beating way too hard for someone recovering from blood loss.
“Oh.”
“There it is again.”
“Yelena…”
“I keep wanting to check if you are okay.” Her voice had gone strangely frustrated now. “I keep thinking about stupid things. If you ate. If your stitches reopened. If you are sleeping enough. It is very annoying.”
You stared at her.
Because Yelena sounded genuinely inconvenienced by her own feelings.
“I do not do this with anyone,” she continued. “Not even Alexei, and he cries dramatically if left alone too long.”
A nervous laugh escaped you. “I don’t really know what to say to that.”
“Neither do I.” She frowned harder. “This is why feelings are terrible.”
You looked down at your hands.
Because this was dangerous territory now. The kind where hope could ruin you.
Quietly, you said, “You don’t have to force yourself to feel something just because I got hurt.”
Yelena immediately looked offended.
“I am not forcing anything.”
“I know, but—”
“You think I am pitying you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
You opened your mouth.
Closed it again.
Because saying it out loud would make it real.
You’d spent weeks carefully swallowing this thing down — every smirk she aimed at you, every accidental touch, every late-night conversation in quinjet cargo holds.
You knew better than to fall for someone emotionally unavailable and heavily armed.
But apparently your heart was an idiot.
“You don’t like me like that,” you said finally, trying to sound casual.
Yelena stared at you blankly.
“…Like what?”
Oh god.
Oh, this was humiliating.
You rubbed a hand over your face. “Forget it.”
“No. Explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain.”
“Explain or I will wake Walker and tell him you cried during Top Gun.”
“You are a menace.”
“Yes. Explain.”
You groaned softly, then instantly regretted it because ribs.
Yelena immediately leaned forward again. “See? Pain. This is because you avoid communication.”
“You’re literally the worst person to give emotional advice.”
“I did not say I was good at it.”
Another silence.
Then, carefully, you said, “I like you.”
Yelena blinked once.
You kept going before you could lose your nerve.
“And I know you don’t feel the same way, so this whole… whatever this is? It’s confusing me a little.”
For a second, Yelena just stared.
Then:
“Oh.”
You looked at her suspiciously. “That’s my line.”
“No, because now I am having strange realization.”
Your stomach flipped.
Yelena sat there motionless for several long seconds, processing with the intensity of someone defusing a bomb.
Then she said slowly, “I threatened a nurse because she touched your arm too hard.”
“…You did what?”
“In my defense, she was very rough.”
You stared.
Yelena stared back.
And then, very abruptly, she put both hands over her face.
“Oh my god,” she muttered through her fingers in horrified realization. “I am in love with you.”
The room went dead silent.
You blinked.
“…What?”
She dropped her hands just enough for you to see her expression — equal parts betrayed and disgusted with herself.
“This is terrible.”
A laugh burst out of you before you could stop it.
Yelena pointed at you accusingly. “Do not laugh. I am having emotional crisis.”
“You just said you love me like you were diagnosed with a disease.”
“Because this is worse. Bullets I understand. This?” She gestured violently at her chest. “Disgusting.”
You were laughing harder now despite the pain, clutching your ribs while Yelena glared at you with absolutely no real heat behind it.
Then her expression softened.
Tiny.
Almost imperceptible.
But real.
"I am going to have a talk to Barnes"
And with that she had basically bolted out of the room, which had you overthinking. Did she actually love you? What did she want to talk to Bucky about?
—
It was past midnight when your bedroom door creaked open.
You sat up immediately.
Yelena stood there awkwardly holding a plastic grocery bag.
For an assassin, she was remarkably bad at dramatic entrances.
“Hi,” you said softly.
“Hi.”
She stayed near the door.
Like approaching too quickly might scare you off.
You tried not to read into that.
“I brought…” She frowned into the bag. “These stupid gummy things you like.”
Your lips twitched. “The sour ones?”
“Yes. They smell toxic.”
“You bought me toxic candy. Romance is alive.”
The joke slipped out before you could stop it.
Yelena went still.
“Right,” you said quickly. “Sorry.”
But then—
“I spoke to Barnes.”
“Oh?”
“He said I am idiot.”
“That sounds like him.”
“He also said running away from feelings is ‘emotionally constipated behavior.’”
You snorted.
Yelena rubbed a hand over her face.
“I do not understand this,” she admitted. “I understand guns. And knives. And how to remove spleen through someone’s mouth probably.”
“…Probably?”
“But this?” She gestured angrily to herself. “This is terrible.”
You smiled despite yourself.
She looked at you then.
Really looked.
And all the sharp edges in her expression softened into something terrifyingly vulnerable.
“You almost died,” she said quietly.
And suddenly the room felt smaller.
Your smile faded.
“I’m okay.”
“I know.” Her voice dropped lower. “But for five minutes, I thought maybe you would not be.”
The honesty in it hit harder than anything else had tonight.
“And I realized…” She exhaled shakily. “Nothing has ever scared me like that.”
You couldn’t speak.
Yelena stepped closer.
“I do not know how to do this properly,” she confessed. “But I know I want you near me all the time. I know I look for you first in every room. I know hurting you feels like someone is peeling my organs out with spoon.”
“That’s… weirdly sweet.”
“Thank you.”
“And graphic.”
“I am trying.”
You laughed softly.
Then her expression faltered again.
“But if you do not want—”
You cut her off by grabbing the front of her shirt and kissing her.
Yelena made a startled noise against your mouth.
Then immediately kissed you back hard enough to steal the air from your lungs.
Like she’d been holding it in for months.
When you finally pulled apart, she stared at you with wide blue eyes.
“Oh,” she breathed.
“Yeah,” you whispered.
“Oh, this is why people write songs.”
You burst out laughing, and she joined in.
When the laughter died down, Yelena looked at you like she still didn’t fully understand what she was feeling, only that it scared her.
And maybe that should’ve terrified you too.
Instead, your chest ached warmly. You patted the empty space on the bed next to you.
She climbed into your bed like she belonged there. Carefully avoiding your injuries.
Instinctively.
Without thinking.
You reached out carefully, brushing your fingers against hers.
Yelena looked down at your hand like it was another unexploded bomb.
“…This is still very embarrassing for me,” she warned.
You smiled softly. “Yeah?”
“Yes.”
“But you love me?”
She sighed heavily, deeply offended by the universe.
“Yes. Unfortunately.”
You laughed again, but she moved in just a bit closer.
pairings: barcelona femeni x teen reader, alexia putellas x teen reader
summary: pequeña settles into living with alexia and olga is in for a surprise when she meets the teenage whirlwind that alexia forgot to tell her about.
halfway home masterlist
“Ooh what a goal!” You screeched at the TV, sprawled out across the sofa in an oversized Barça hoodie and PS5 controller in your hand, headphones hanging around your neck as Fifa blasted through the TV, “That was an absolute beauty! Need a replay of that one!” You shouted mid-match, a spoon sticking out of a half-melted tub of ice cream beside you.
“Ale… I’m home—” Olga blinked, frozen in the doorway with her keys still in her hand, “Who are you?” She asked confused as her eyes landed on you, the teenager sprawled out across her sofa in a certain way that made her look like she owned the place, while her girlfriend was nowhere to be seen.
“Oh, hi,” You glanced up for half a second, totally unphased by her appearance, giving a brief response and casual wave, “You must be Olga. Ale’s told me about you. You’re… shorter than I imagined you to be.”
Olga’s jaw dropped slightly, opening her mouth to respond, before closing it again, thinking better of it, and trying again, “And you are?”
The only problem in the situation was that Alexia hadn’t actually outright told Olga that they had acquired a teenager on a somewhat temporary basis.
There was no mention of this whatsoever during their late night calls, or texts received during the day.
She had only been gone two weeks. Two. Not six months. Not a year. Just two weeks in Madrid for work, and she had come back to face you— a hoodie-clad hurricane, who had taken up the sofa and claimed it as your own.
This was a complete shock to take in.
“Hi! I’m… well, your girlfriend keeps on calling me Pequeña, but you can call me Y/N if you’d like?” You offered, smiling cockily at the older woman before proceeding to shove a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth.
Olga faltered, furrowing her brows before looking around the apartment, wondering if this was some kind of prank that her girlfriend was playing on her right now, “Ale?!” She shouted, marching in the direction towards the bathroom where she could still hear the water running.
You huffed, “Or not. That’s cool too. Rude, but cool.”
“Ale?” Olga called again, her voice high pitched in disbelief, “Alexia?! Come out, we need to talk! Now!” The woman didn’t relent, banging on the bathroom door for her girlfriend to answer.
“Um, dude, I think she’s taking a shower,” You sarcastically noted, turning your attention back to the TV as you unpaused the current game of Fifa, “Maybe you should wait until she’s out?--- Oh, oh, she shoots… and boom, she scores!”
Olga, in return scowled at you, “Geez, how wise of you to say. Oh, why didn’t I think of that?”
“Eh… maybe you should next time,” You told her, grinning cheekily as you proceeded to scoop another spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, “I mean it’s gotta be better than banging on the door and screaming like a banshee, right?”
“You’re a hilarious kid,” Olga said in a deadpan tone of voice, “Alexia! Hurry up in the shower, we need to talk about a problem!” She shouted, gritting her teeth and hoping to avoid another one of your many sarcastic teenage remarks.
“Hey! I’m the problem, it’s me,” You retorted in a sing-song tone of voice, “You can just say it aloud, you know? I get it, it’s cool.”
“ALEXIA!” Olga shouted as she pounded her fists on the bathroom door in a desperate plea to get her girlfriends attention.
The water finally shut off inside the bathroom.
“Hola, bebe.” Alexia greeted casually, stepping out with a towel wrapped snuggly around her body, freshly washed hair scraped back, leaning in to give Olga a quick, soft kiss on the lips, “You’re back earlier than I expected. How was the trip? Did you have a good time?”
Olga’s eyes flicked from Alexia to the sofa, then back again with disbelief written over her face, “You forgot to mention we’ve apparently adopted a teenager?”
“Ah,” Alexia murmured, tightening the towel around her as a sly smile tugged at the corner of her lips, “So, I see you’ve met Pequeña then, si?”
“Met her?” Olga scoffed, narrowing her eyes at the way you were sprawled out along the sofa with a tight hold on the TV remote, “Ale, she’s wearing your old Barça hoodie!”
Alexia gave her an innocent smile, “... She was cold.”
Olga blinked again, almost like her brain was trying to process this new information, “She was cold?” She repeated flatly, “So what, you just decided to give her your hoodie, let her help herself to our snacks and give her the Netflix password like it’s no big deal?”
“I mean, technically,” You interrupted, licking the spoon with smug satisfaction, “I didn’t ask for the hoodie. I just… found it. Next to those horrendous boots, also.”
“Aye, those boots are not horrendous!” Alexia shot back, folding her arms and looking displeased with your opinion, “I’ll have you know that they have style to them! And what have I told you about the volume? If you’re going to play on the playstation, then that is what the headphones are for!”
“Yeah, I know but… headphones are lame,” You complained in disagreement, “Oh, oh, and another goal! Do you see that? Look how good I am!”
Olga threw up her hands, utterly baffled, “Alexia, what is happening right now?”
“Pequeña is just… settling in,” Alexia insisted, leaning forward to snatch the TV remote off the coffee table and proceed to turn the volume down on the TV, “Volume down, or no game, si?”
You huffed, rolling your eyes in agreement, “Si.”
“Settling in?” Olga’s eyes narrowed as she folded her arms, looking between you and Alexia, “Because right now, all I can see is that she’s basically running circles around you, stealing my snacks and she’s even got the TV held hostage! You call that settling in?
“Hey, Olgs—Can I call you that? I feel like it’s a good nickname?” You rambled, getting distracted with what you actually wanted to ask her.
“No,” Olga kept a tight lipped expression, arms folded over her chest, “You can’t call me that! What do you want, tiny terror?”
“Are you sure? I feel like it suits you,” You insisted, grinning cheekily, “Oh yeah! Do you want to join me in a game of Fifa? I promise I’ll let you try and win.”
Olga exhaled slowly, muttering something in Catalan under her breath as she glared at her girlfriend, “Do you see what I mean? She’s taking advantage of things!”
“Alright, alright, I get it. She’s making herself at home,” Alexia sighed, biting her bottom lip, “Let me get dressed and then we can talk, si?”
Olga crossed her arms with a sense of skepticalism, but willing to listen, “Fine, but you better have a good explanation for this.”
“So… no Fifa game then? Okay, got it. Noted,” You mumbled, watching the two of them walk away into their shared bedroom, “You could’ve just said. It’s fine if you don’t wanna.”
“Explain,” Olga’s voice was firm now, measured but it was still simmering with disbelief as she followed Alexia into their shared bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest while she expected answers.
“I know what it looks like,” Alexia winced, grabbing her clothes from the dresser, “So, here’s the thing… Pequeña is moving in with us.”
Olga blinked as her lips parted in shock, “I’m sorry. She’s what?”
“Nothing permanent, but just until she can… “ Alexia began, exhaling a sigh, “Look, she’s only sixteen, and she’s an orphan! I found her at the training grounds. She was in an old storage cupboard—I didn’t know what to do, Olga.”
“So you just brought her to our home?” Olga questioned in disbelief.
“It’s… complicated,” Alexia hesitated, throwing a top on.
Olga raised an eyebrow in confusion, “It is?”
“Her parents are both dead, Olga,” Alexia admitted the truth, “Honestly? felt bad for the kid. I… I know what it feels like to lose a parent, and she’s so young, isn’t she? She needs some sort of stability.”
“Oh, Ale,” Olga’s heart clenched, hearing her girlfriend talk about her own dads’ passing, “I guess it must feel horrible to witness that, but what about one of those group homes?”
Alexia grabbed a pair of shorts out of the next drawer, “She ran from it, and well… I didn’t want to betray her trust and send her back there,” She told her, throwing them on, “I was planning to tell you, I just… I didn’t know how.”
“Well nothing says welcome home like a surprise of now living with a teenager,” Olga murmured sarcastically, slumping down on the bed.
Alexia smirked, shutting the chest of drawers in the bedroom, “You know, she’s really not that bad.”
“Ale, she called me short,” Olga pointed out.
Alexia stifled a laugh, “... She’s cheeky, cariño.”
“She’s something else, I’ll give you that,” Olga muttered in disbelief, “There needs to be house rules if she’s sticking around.”
Alexia smiled, draping her hands around her girlfriends waist, “You’ll learn to like her, carino,” She murmured, pressing a kiss on the nape of Olga’s neck.
“Don’t try to charm your way out of this,” Olga muttered in disagreement, “I’m still annoyed with you—how could you not tell me about this? This is big news, Ale. You didn’t even text me about it!”
“I’m not,” Alexia pulled away with a groan, looking at her girlfriend seriously, “I’m just… she needs help. I didn’t plan any of this, but I can hardly let her go back into the system, can I?”
Olga sighed, dragging a hand down her face, “I don’t know how to do this, Ale. I’m not a mum.”
“Neither am I,” Alexia replied honestly, “She doesn’t need a mum right now. Just a place where she can feel safe, and steady. At least somewhere where she can figure it out, si?”
“... This had better be temporary,” Olga warned, her voice dropping.
Alexia nodded, “It will be.”
Those were very famous last words.
Suddenly there was a loud crash that came from the living room.
“Oh, shit!” You shouted, panicked.
Olga’s eyes widened, “Oh god, what’s she done now?”
“Knowing her? Probably broke a lamp or something,” Alexia joked, failing to see the annoyance and worry on her girlfriend’s face.
“The lamp in the lounge that I picked out?” Olga’s eyes widened in panic, “Wonderful, we’ve taken in a teenager that has bad taste and no respect for my designing.”
“Give her a week. She’ll grow on you,” Alexia attempted to try and reassure her girlfriend.
Olga scoffed, shaking her head, “Really? She’s already making herself comfortable in our home—she’s stolen your hoodie, remember!”
“And she looks very cute in it,” Alexia added with a grin, opening the door to head back in the direction of the living room, “What did you do?”
You were sitting innocently in the middle of the room, with the now-broken lamp leaning sideways beside you, “Okay,” You started, looking at them both wearily, “In my defence, that thing was already wobbly as it was…”
“I need a glass of wine,” Olga muttered, dragging her palm down her face with not a lot of tolerance for your antics, “Or maybe even the whole bottle at this rate,” She added, storming off in the direction of the kitchen.
You eyed Alexia wearily, “So… Do you think that she likes me?”
“Give her some time to get used to the idea,” Alexia reassured, smiling gently, “Although, breaking her favourite lamp isn’t a great way to start things, Pequeña .”
You grinned innocently, “Okay, so maybe we don’t actually tell her that I broke the lamp. Oh! We can tell her that the cat did it or something instead!”
Alexia raised an eyebrow, “We don’t own a cat. And she already knows you broke it.”
“Oh, well…” You shrugged your shoulders, “Maybe you should consider getting one then?”
“Not a chance,” Alexia certainly didn’t like that answer, shaking her head as she walked into the kitchen to grab the dust pan and brush to clear up the mess in the living room.
“A bit of this, a bit of that,” You darted around the kitchen like a whirlwind, grabbing whatever looked the most interesting to add, “Ooh, and this,” You decided, dumping marshmallows, sprinkles and without hesitation, a handful of cooked spaghetti into the pan, “Ta-da! Here we have, breakfast of a champion!”
Olga stepped through the kitchen door, blinking tiredly and immediately heading to the coffee machine, halting in her step as her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, “What the hell are you doing?”
You flashed her a wide cheeky grin, “Making breakfast, duh! What else could I be doing?”
“It’s way too early to deal with… this,” Olga’s eyes scanned the growing chaos, with flour dust spread across the counter and sticky syrup puddles, “Look at the state of this kitchen!”
“Oh, right, um… yeah,” You hummed, briefly glancing around before shrugging your shoulders, “... Oops?”
Olga pinched the bridge of her nose, reminding herself to breathe in and out, “Oops? You’ve destroyed my kitchen, and all you can have to say is ‘Oops’? You’re really something else, kid!” She narrowed her eyes, “You’d better clean this up after you’ve done with… whatever this even is.”
“Marshmallows, some sprinkles…” You held up the bowl of gooey, rainbow sprinkled, marshmallow-spaghetti mix, “And spaghetti as well! D’you want any?”
“Absolutely not,” Olga scrunched her face up in horror, “You can’t eat that, kid. It’s not… Did you even cook the spaghetti right?”
“Why not?” You questioned, confused, searching for a fork to eat it, “And duh, of course I did. I’m not a complete idiot…”
Olga scoffed, shaking her head as she dodged the mess in favour of the coffee machine “Says the one planning to eat spaghetti, marshmallows and whatever else you said for breakfast like it’s normal.”
“What’s going on? What’s with all the noise?” Alexia mumbled, wandering into the kitchen as she took in the sight of her once-pristine kitchen, was now… well the complete opposite, “Oh my God! What the hell happened here?”
You puffed out your chest, “I made breakfast!”
“You can’t eat that,” Alexia peered at the concoction suspiciously, “That is not healthy, and definitely not passed by a nutritionist!”
“Why not? It’s got Spaghetti, there’s carbs in there!” You insisted, twirling the fork in the bowl and attempting to take a mouthful, “It’s even got maple syrup in it!”
You didn’t even have a chance to eat a mouthful before Alexia snatched the bowl and fork out of your hands, “You’re not eating it, no way. Find something else instead.”
“That’s sooo not fair,” You grumbled, not happy with that decision, “What they don’t know, won’t hurt them!”
Alexia was firm on her decision, going as far as to dump the entire bowl of your delicious breakfast into the bin, “Too late now. Now you have no chance but to find something else. And you’re banned from cooking in the kitchen from now on.”
You huffed dramatically, “Urgh, whatever! I hate granola, and that’s the only thing that I am seeming to find in the cupboard!” You complained, flicking through some of the cupboards, “Everything you have is healthy, like don’t you know you’re living with a kid now? You need to go shopping!”
Olga raised an eyebrow, smirking as she fixed herself a coffee, “Oh, is that right now? I’ll add that to my list along with everything else.”
“Thank you, I just want some sugar… That’s all I’m asking for!” You exclaimed, sticking your tongue out at Alexia and definitely not picking up on Olga’s sarcasm, “I’m a growing teenage girl, not a rabbit. I don’t need all this… green stuff, you know?”
“Alright, fine,” Alexia chuckled, shaking her head, “Just next time you want to channel your inner masterchef, can you maybe stick to something less… experimental?”
“Yeah, sure, but no promises,” You flashed her a cheeky grin.
“Do you not know what a laundry basket looks like? Your dirty socks don’t belong on the floor—God, I really sound like my mami right now,” Olga groaned, picking up yet another sock with an exaggerated sigh.
You barely looked up from the videogame controller in your hands, thumbs flying as you maneuvered through a brutal level of your latest obsession after you’d come home from a gruelling training session. There was a faint glow of the screen that lit your focused expression, completely absorbed in the game and completely oblivious to Olga’s mounting frustration.
“Pequeña! Seriously?! I’m not a maid that is going to pick up after you all the time!” Olga shouted aloud, annoyance dripping in her tone, “Alexia! Come and have a word with your teenage delinquent!”
“What’s going on?” Alexia asked confused, furrowing her eyebrows as she walked into the room to see Olga crouched in the middle of the hallway of the apartment, picking up your dirty washing while you were lost in your game in the living room, having a classic teenage moment.
Olga gave her a tired sigh and glanced up, her expression showing a mixture of exhaustion and annoyance, “That girl is really testing my patience!”
Alexia chuckled, shaking her head, “She’s a teenager, she’s bound to do that.”
Olga scowled at her girlfriend, “Well, you brought home a teenager that has no consideration for rules then. Sort her out, before I lose it!”
“I will,” Alexia agreed reluctantly, stepping over to where you were currently shouting at the TV as she coughed to get your attention, “Pequeña, a word?”
You barely noticed she was there, in the midst of playing the videogame and not paying attention to Alexia.
“Pequeña,” Alexia repeated herself, before proceeding to remove the headphones off you, “Pequeña!”
“Wha…?” You asked confused, suddenly realising that she was standing in front of you, “Oh, hi, Ale. Sup?”
“The washing on the floor. You need to start to pick up after yourself,” Alexia told you firmly, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s not Olga’s job to do that, nor is it mine.”
You finally paused the game and leaned back, looking over the side of the sofa with a mischievous grin, “What? It’s not even that bad!”
Alexia shook her head as she stepped forward and struggled to keep a straight face, “Don’t push your luck, or I’m not afraid to ground you, Pequeña.”
“You wouldn’t!” You gasped in outrage, “That is an absolute tragedy! You can’t do that!”
“I can, and I most definitely would!” Alexia told you smugly, “Start and pick up your dirty washing, please. Olga is not your personal maid.”
“Urgh, fine, fine,” You huffed, begrudgingly pausing the game and scrambling off the sofa to pick up the rest of the clothes on the floor, “There, happy now?”
“That’s better,” Alexia patted your head and smiled, “Let’s keep it that way, or else, you’re going to end up grounded.”
“What? That’s definitely not fair! You can’t… You can’t do that!” You grumbled in protest about the idea of it, “You’re not the boss of me!”
“Pequeña?” You were sitting up in bed, the apartment was unusually quiet considering how late it was into the night, and you thought that Alexia and Olga were best fast asleep by now.
You were mistaken when footsteps crept up behind you, and then you heard Olga’s voice.
“Shit,” You almost dropped the photo in your hand that you’d been staring at with tear-stained cheeks for the best part of an hour, “I… I didn’t see you there, sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay,” Olga crouched down beside you, but still kept a comfortable distance, “It’s late, what’re you still doing up? I thought you had school tomorrow.”
You sniffled, wiping your face with the back of your arm, “I do, I’m just… It’s dumb, I found this photo and it made me, well… like this,” You briefly gestured to the picture in your hands and then to your current state of emotion, “I’m totally fine, by the way. I don’t need a pep-talk.”
“Okay,” Olga replied, folding her arms, “I wasn’t exactly prepared to give one.”
“Alright then,” You mumbled, staring at the photo in your hands.
Olga didn’t move straight away as she just sat there and watched you quietly.
“But… Are you okay?” The woman checked in, careful to use the right words to not upset you again, “Because from my point of view, you don’t look too fresh. And without meaning to sound like I care, or like a nagging grown up, you should get some sleep otherwise you’ll be tired tomorrow.”
“You totally sound like my mami used right now,” The simple words had you breaking down into tears once again, “I’m… I’m sorry, you don’t need a teenager dumping my emotional baggage on you right now.”
You hadn’t meant to cry, again. One simple word and it had set you off once again.
“I’m sorry,” You apologised again, “I… I don’t mean to cry. I tried to keep it all bottled up.”
“That’s not a healthy thing to do,” Olga responded, keeping her distance while looking at you in a sense of deep concern, “You know you don’t have to do this all on your own. Do you… Do you want to talk about it?”
You hesitated, “It’s just dumb stuff. You don’t have to talk to me about this.”
“It’s not,” Olga responded, “I’m here, willing to listen to you talk..”
“I just… I found this picture of my parents, and I just… I miss them. A lot,” You admitted, the tears continuing to stream, “I told you it was dumb.”
“It’s not dumb to miss them,” Olga’s voice was gentle, “It’s natural to feel like that. Everything is still fresh, right?”
You nodded, biting your lip, “I didn’t think I’d still feel this way. I thought I would be past it now.”
“Grief doesn’t work on a timeline,” Olga murmured honestly, “I’m afraid it sneaks up on you when you least expect it.”
“I just wish… I could hear their voices again,” Your voice broke, “Or even just see them, one last time.”
Olga reached over, resting a hand lightly on your back, “I’m sorry, Pequeña. I wish that I could do that for you.”
“Thanks,” You sniffed, voice cracking with emotion that you held in, “Everything just happened so quickly. I feel like I’ve not wrapped my head around it still.”
“You’re not supposed to have it all figured out, and everyone handles death differently," Olga murmured, “Like I said, it’s still new and fresh. It’ll take some time to heal.”
You swallowed hard, “... I don’t know how to handle it.”
“That’s alright as well,” Olga told you, sincerely, “You just have to take it one day at a time, and I’ll be here with you. We both will.”
“You will?” You asked, skeptical.
Olga hummed in agreement, “You’re still a kid, you have a lot of pressure on you and it’s not healthy to handle it on your own and keep everything bottled in.”
“I… I don’t have anyone in my corner anymore,” You mumbled, looking down at your lap.
Olga gave a small huff of disbelief, “You do, actually. You’ve got Alexia. And now, whether I like it or not, you’ve got me too,” She said, raising an eyebrow, “Just as long as you don’t push too many buttons.”
You cracked a small smile, “I can’t promise anything.”
“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” Olga said, amused and shaking her head, “Now, come on, it’s late and you have school tomorrow. Go to bed, Pequeña—God, I definitely sound like my mami now.”
Making sure you were tucked up safe and sound in bed, Olga left your bedroom with the door cracked open as she slipped under the covers, exhaling a tired yawn.
Alexia stirred, lifting her head sleepily off the pillow, “Everything okay?”
Olga blinked up at the ceiling, “ I think we just bonded… over death.”
pairings: barcelona femeni x teen reader, alexia putellas x teen reader
summary: barcelona's youngest prodigy faces tragedy during her first few weeks after breaking out into the first few weeks, hiding the truth from everyone until it comes crashing down and her new teammates find out, seeking comfort and help from her new captain.
halfway home masterlist
this is my first time writing for this team, so i hope it's not completely terrible. i'm open to making this a small series if it peeks people's interest.
The call came just after you had wrapped up training for the day.
You hadn’t even had chance to take off your boots yet, with the grass still clinging to your socks and the adrenaline pumping through your system—on the pitch is where you always felt the most happiest—grinning, loud and cocky, making an impression while the rest of your teammates watched on in jealousy, rolling their eyes at your typical antics.
You had considered today to be a good day, you had just received the best news that you had been called up to train with the first team, and you were ecstatic.
This was such a fantastic opportunity, and you couldn’t wait to share the news with your parents, they had always been nothing but supportive of your dreams to become a professional footballer, your mum and dad didn’t earn a lot of money between them but they always went above and beyond to let you be happy, and achieve your goals.
Little did you know that you wouldn’t get to tell them your news, though.
… It was too late to tell them anything.
Your phone buzzing in your kitbag caught your attention, but you just assumed it would be either of your parents letting you know they were running late to pick you up.
Reaching inside of your bag with one leg resting up on the bench, your brows pinched together in confusion when you saw the caller ID.
📞 UNKNOWN NUMBER.
“Who’s calling me?” You thought to yourself, hesitant to even answer it at first.
You had a bad feeling in your stomach, unsettling and tight with worry.
“Are you planning to answer that?” One of your fellow teammates wondered, curiously as she caught you staring at your phone in confusion.
“Um, yeah… totally,” You mumbled, distracted while your thumb hovered over the screen.
You wished you had just let it go to voicemail. Maybe then it would’ve taken longer to ruin your life.
But with hesitance, you swiped right and answered it, bringing your phone close to your ear, “¿Hola?”
There was a beat of silence.
And then you heard the voice of an unfamiliar woman that you didn’t recognise, “Is this Y/L/N?”
You weren’t sure what to make of this woman. Her voice was neutral, and you somewhat already hated it.
“Si?” You mumbled, frowning, “Who is this?”
You could honestly say that the next ten seconds that passed were a complete blur, hearing those words in one sentence was enough to make your heart feel like it was stopping.
Accident.
Parents.
Immediate family.
No survivors.
You don’t essentially remember dropping your phone out of your hand, nor your knees buckling and you collapsing to the floor. You can’t even say that you remember the wailing sound that you apparently made, the one that sounded something between an awful animal that came from somewhere inside of you.
All you remembered was the sound of blood rushing in your ears—You felt numb to everything.
You were completely broken, and now you were automatically an orphan.
What were you supposed to do now?
You thought you were being clever, at least that’s what you thought in your mind.
Maybe resourceful, even.
When it came to family members, your dads’ sister, your aunt made it very clear that she wasn’t interested.
“Too much responsibility,” The woman stated without even thinking twice about it, “I have my own life to live. I don’t have time to take care of a child.”
She didn’t even pretend to feel guilty about it.
And sure, social services acted all sympathetic, or at least they tried in your opinion. However, they were more focused on the stacks of forms to fill out. It was a polite way of them passing on their care, making your skin crawl.
Like hell were you going to let them place you in foster care as if you were some type of charity case.
You weren’t soft, and you could take care of yourself, just like you always had.
So… of course you only did the reasonable thing you could think of.
You ran away.
And you went to the only place that still felt remotely like home.
Barça training grounds.
It wasn’t overly fantastic, you had a duffel bag, a handful of euros and half-eaten granola bar, along with your sleeping bag that you had managed to stuff in your locker during the day.
You thought you had it all figured out, staying out of the way, not making any mess and the important one, never getting caught.
Three simple rules you stuck too, in order to stay out of the system.
You made yourself at home in an old storage cupboard near the physio rooms, it was a bit cramped, there were spare cones, water bottles, half-deflated balls, and a rolled up mat that had most likely seen better days.
It wasn’t warm, and it definitely wasn’t soft.
But it was somewhere you could stay, hidden out of the way.
It was yours.
After all, you only had to sleep there on the night, and during the day, you kept your head down and blended into training when you were called in, being your usual self, full of attitude and cocky around everyone to show you were fine.
As if you hadn’t lost your parents less than a month ago.
You had to keep that personna up, and not let your facade crack. You weren’t allowed to show weakness. You couldn’t crumble.
Nobody batted an eyelid when you lingered around after training had finished, nobody knew you hadn’t gone home in days—Not even when your socks had been worn three times in a row and your face looked dishevelled, as if you hadn’t slept in over a week.
That wasn’t exactly far from the truth.
You were exhausted, emotionally and physically. But you couldn’t let it show.
Inside, you were a mess and trying to claw at every aspect of self-dignity. You were proud of yourself for making it through the funeral service without shedding a tear, so you could do it now… right?
Wrong.
Everything was fine, great even, or at least so you thought.
Until the morning that you were found, and your time hiding out in the training grounds was officially up.
You’d barely had the chance to wake up before the door creaked open, and you knew that you were done for.
“L/N, what’re you doing in here?” You recognised the voice of the person straight away.
It was your new captain, Alexia Putellas.
Shit.
You were done for now.
“Um, I… I was just…” You fumbled to find the right words, trying to figure out if you should just grab your things and run, or even pretend like you had only decided to take a nap, but none of your excuses would be believable at this point.
You couldn’t help but wonder if you should just tell her the truth, and maybe things might be easier?
You were tired of trying to keep up a persona of someone keeping it together, when in reality, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Alexia repeated, breaking the tense silence, staring at you intensely.
At this point, you would prefer if she just shouted at you instead, but this seemed so much more worse than that.
You sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and swallowing the dryness in your throat, “I just… I needed somewhere to crash,” You finally admitted the truth to her.
“¿Qué quieres decir?” Alexia asked, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion.
You really wanted to sass her, show her your usual cocky attitude and put on a brave bravado. But all you could do right now was press your palms to your knees and keep your gaze fixed on the floor.
You didn’t exactly know what to tell her.
“I… I can’t go home,” You admitted, not bearing to be able to look up and face her pity expression.
Alexia continued to look confused about the situation, “How long have you been sleeping here for?”
“Um, a couple of weeks… I think?” You responded, biting your bottom lip, “I had no choice.”
“Where are your parents?” Alexia wondered, curiously.
“Dead,” You mumbled without even a second thought as you felt a pang of guilt in your chest
Alexia’s expression softened, her mouth parted slightly, “Oh, Pequena.”
You hated the pity. You had to deal with that at the funeral—sympathetic glances and condolences of long lost relatives that you barely knew, and yet none of them wanted you.
Why would they? You weren’t their responsibility.
“I don’t want your pity. I’m fine,” You snapped suddenly, feeling the instant regret when you see the expression Alexia gave you.
“You’re just a kid,” Alexia stated, her tone returning to softer again.
You weren’t entirely convinced that she was that bothered, and you really didn’t want another look of pity, “I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have too, though,” Alexia murmured, taking a breath to pause, “What about the rest of your family?”
You turned to look at Alexia and scoffed, “What family? My Aunt made it very clear that she had no singular interest in taking me in, and neither did any one else.”
Alexia furrowed her eyebrow, “Are social services not involved, no?”
“I ran away from there, I’m… I’m not going into care,” You mumbled, telling her the honest truth.
Like hell were you going back there.
“You’re so young,” Alexia noted in concern.
“I can handle myself, I don’t need help!” You insisted, bluntly, “I’m not going to a foster home, a stranger's house—I’m not going somewhere that smells of bleach and loneliness, or somewhere they’ll make me share a room with three girls. I’m not… I’m not doing it!”
That’s when you broke down entirely in front of the older woman. All the emotion you had kept bottled in, came pouring out in an instance.
Angry. Raw. Real.
Alexia just stared in shock, unsure what to do at first.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m here, okay? It’s going to be fine,” Alexia reassured, resting her hands on your shoulders, “Look at me, Pequena. Everything is going to be fine.”
“How is it?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “My parents are fuckin’ dead, and now I’ve been caught sleeping in here, so now… now I’ve got nowhere to go!”
“You have,” Alexia replied, kindly.
“Yeah, right,” You muttered in disagreement, “I don’t. I’m fine by myself.”
“Get your stuff. You’re not sleeping in here again,” Alexia decided, bluntly.
“Wait,” The panic clawed at your throat, “Wait, no… I’m not goin—Where are you taking me?”
“I’m taking you home,” Alexia told you, honestly.
You stared at her, stunned, “What?”
“I’m taking you home,” Alexia repeated, getting up from her crouching position, “Get your stuff, Pequena.”
You frowned, confused, “Your home?”
“For now,” Alexia agreed, “I’m not letting you sleep on the floor in here. I have a spare bedroom, it may as well be put to good use, si?”
You blinked at her, dumbfounded. Your throat ached from the crying while your chest remained tight with everything that you had tried so hard to keep buried deep down inside of you, “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t,” Alexia said softly, crouching beside you now, resting a steadying hand on your shoulder, “But I’m going to.”
There was something about her tone of voice that made you agree—nor were you about to argue with her. There was no pity, and it wasn’t charity.
It was something more… warmer.
Steadier.
It was something that almost scared you, but it filled you with a sense of hope.
“You’re serious?” You mumbled, arching an eyebrow as you tried to study her face for any trace of doubt.
There was none whatsoever.
“I’m not letting you sleep in here, and if you don’t want to go to a kids’ home then I’d like to have a piece of mind that you’re at least sleeping well and comfortable at night,” Alexia told you, honestly, “Call it… Captain duties.”
You didn’t exactly trust your voice to speak anymore so you just nodded in agreement, and slowly picked up your bag that held everything that you owned inside of it.
Taking one last glance around the cupboard, you held onto the straps of your back and nodded stiffly, “I’m ready.”
“Come on then, Pequena,” Alexia guided you out of the cupboard, with your bag still clutched over your shoulder as she walked beside you in silence through the majority of empty corridors that you passed.
Nothing more was said until you reached the exit door.
“You can stay as long as you need,” Alexia told you in a gentle tone of voice, opening the door, “No rules about when you have to leave, I just want you to be honest with me about things, okay? Let me help.”
“Thanks,” Was all you could muster the words to say right now, glancing at her as you felt a weight lifted off your chest, and a hope that you finally had someone in your corner… maybe?
Could this be your way of starting to find your way back?
Back to something more… something that felt like home, even if it wasn’t your original one that you had lost, along with all the memories inside of it.
You weren’t quite there yet, not yet.
You were halfway there, though. And for now, that seemed like enough.
you’re a growing girl. your sleepy brain doesn’t care that you have adult responsibilities to deal with.
pairing: alexia putellas x teen!reader, barca femeni x teen!reader
wc: 2.3 k
tags: reader is very sleepy, and violent when someone wakes her up, fluff and comfort, alexia takes care of r
Being a normal teenager meant you needed a lot of sleep.
Being a teenager who was also a professional athlete that trained for 6 hours a day meant you needed a lot of sleep.
And with travel schedules and media duties and school on top of all of your training, you didn’t always get the sleep your body craved at the appropriate times.
To make up for this, your body would take any chance it got to catch a few more minutes of shut-eye, even at inconvenient times. You were also not exactly a fan of waking up, and after one or two blind punches thrown when someone was too violent in waking you up, it was determined that the only person allowed to wake you up was Alexia. She was weirdly good at it, the only one able to consistently get you up in a gentle way that didn’t lead to any bloody noses.
Heres 4 times you fall asleep and 4 times Alexia helped you out.
1.
Everyone was in recovery today instead of a second session. With the overload of matches on your schedule, it was deemed necessary by the physios to slow down on training for a day and allow everyone time to get what they needed.
Anyone still nursing an injury or tweak was in a therapy session. Others were in the pool or ice bath. Some, including yourself, had a massage on the schedule.
It may sound nice, but do not be fooled. These recovery massages were not the relaxing ones with warm towels and cucumbers on your eyes. No. These massages had even the toughest of your teammates hanging on for dear life, jaw clenched and a towel shoved in their mouths to quiet the whimpers of pain as the physios abused your muscles in the name of recovery.
The physios worked on the soft tissue of your muscles, digging in with their tools and working out the knots you had accumulated throughout the last few weeks of the season.
You were set to hop into the ice bath after you were done, and Alexia was next on the docket for a massage that she was already dreading.
So imagine her surprise when she walked up to the physio table, expecting to see your face contorted in pain and hands gripping the edge of the table like you were dying, and instead saw you fast asleep.
“She fell asleep?” she asked, completely shell-shocked. She wasn’t even sure that was possible.
“Si, about 5 minutes after I started. Poor niña must be exhausted, I wasn’t exactly being gentle.”
Alexia just shook her head and kneeled down next to the bed, gently running her fingers through your hair. She had found that this was the gentlest way to wake you up.
“Nena, wake up, you have to go to the ice bath.”
You groaned and turned your head away whatever noise that was disturbing your nap.
“Come on, time to get up. Your massage is over.”
“I don’t wanna..” you whined.
“You are hogging the table. Up, come on. You can nap in the ice bath.”
Alexia maneuvered your body off of the table and onto your feet, although you were still swaying and half asleep.
You zombie-walked to the ice bath, plopped in like it was bath water, and promptly went back to sleep. Aitana had to fetch Alexia to wake you up when she realized your lips were turning slightly purple.
“Recovery day for you in more ways than one, huh?”
“Si,” you yawned.
2.
You were at some event for Nike. Honestly, you weren’t really sure what it was. You just knew all you had to do was sit, listen to some speeches, eat whatever they put in front of you, and “mingle” until the night was over.
You were particularly exhausted after your double session that day, and you had been up later than you wanted to be the night before finishing schoolwork that you had put off over the weekend while in Madrid for a league match. You had to go right from training to get your hair and makeup done for the event, but you were lucky enough that your manager thought to bring you a Redbull so you didn’t fall asleep on your feet.
But the caffeine could only do so much, it had long worn off and now you were crashing. Alexia was at the event too, except she had to actually give a speech and had more responsibility than you.
You were meant to be mingling, talking to other athletes and people with money who wanted to invest it in women’s sports. A good thing, of course, but all you could think about was your bed. And the homework you still hadn’t finished.
You somehow managed the few conversations you were roped into, stretching out your energy to try and last the night. After a few hours it was starting to feel unmanagable. You glanced around, spotting Alexia talking to a few other athletes in one of the corners. You beelined for her, and in the time it took you to walk across the space, the conversation had ended and she was alone.
“Nena,” she wrapped her arm around your shoulders and pulled you into her side, “feeling okay?”
“I’m tired. When can I leave?”
“We can leave together, soon. An hour, tops.”
You whined like a child. An hour was far too long to keep fighting sleep.
“I know, I know,” Alexia pulled you in closer so you were flush against her chest and could lean your head on her shoulder.
She thought she was just offering you a short reprieve from having to hold your own head up, but she realized how naive she had been. It had only been a minute or two, but Alexia was sure that you had fallen completely asleep in her arms, standing straight up.
She shook her head, amused, and let you sleep for a few more minutes while she called her driver. Screw the event, you needed your sleep and clearly were in no state to get yourself home.
“Hey, nena, wake up,” she combed through the hair at your scalp.
“Did I fall asleep?” you mumbled.
“Si, and we’re going home now, so you need to walk. Just out to the car, and then you can sleep again.”
You stood by yourself, blinking the sleep out of your eyes as Alexia grabbed your hand and led you out of the building to the waiting car.
As soon as you were both settled in the backseat you were out cold again, leaning on Alexia’s shoulder and curled up into her side. The driver quickly got you both back to your apartment. This time, Alexia didn’t even bother waking you up, carrying you bridal style up to your apartment, using one hand to get the lock and get you inside to your bed.
But she couldn’t just leave you there in your event clothes, that would be mean. So she searched around in your drawers to find makeup remover and a hairbrush and some clothes for you to sleep. Alexia smiled to herself when she found the hoodie she had lent you months back on an away trip when you had forgotten yours hooked on the end of your bed.
She woke you up, similar to how she had earlier, just enough to get you to sit up.
“Do you need help getting changed or do you got it?”
“I can do it,” you grumbled, stumbling into the bathroom. You emerged a few minutes later, looking far more comfortable than before.
“Come here, let me get you sorted and then you can sleep again.”
Too tired to be difficult at all, you plopped down next to her on the bed and let her swipe the makeup wipe over your face and brush your styled hair out. She even braided it.
As soon as you were given the okay, you collapsed backwards and promptly passed out, on top of the blankets and everything. Alexia shook her head and manuevered your body under the covers, tucking you in with care and leaving with a kiss on your forehead.
Assured that you were taken care of and sleeping soundly, Alexia left you be and got her driver to pick her up.
The next morning, when the recollection of falling asleep at the event and somehow ending up home and taken care of came back to you, you smiled and opened your phone to Alexia’s contact.
moltes gràcies ale, you didn’t have to do all that
Of course I did nena, I hope you slept well.
And if another one of Alexia’s hoodies magically appeared in your locker 2 days later, neither of you mentioned it.
3.
The air was always a little lighter right after a training session. Maybe it was the endorphins or the blissful exhaustion that came with doing what you loved for work.
It wasn’t uncommon for some girls to hang behind on the pitch for a bit before heading in for lunch, especially on such a nice day. Summer was turning to fall and it was perfect football weather. You, Pina, Jana, and Kika were sprawled out on the grass of the training pitch, boots off and propped up on your elbows, talking about training and Instagram and the clouds.
The girls were 15 minutes into a debate on third kits when Pina realized they hadn’t heard a smartass comment from you in far too long. She glanced over and saw you fast asleep on the grass.
“She’s asleep.”
“What else is new?”
“Niña can sleep anywhere.”
Jana stared at you and cocked her head to the side. “I think this is the first time she’s fallen asleep on the pitch, though. Usually she atleast makes it inside?”
“Speaking of inside, I’m starving. We should go eat before Patri steals all of the pasta.”
“And how are we getting her inside Pina? I’m not waking her up. I don’t want a broken nose.”
“We could carry her in? She won’t wake up.”
“...if we all carry her, it won’t be too heavy for each of us.”
Jana stared at Pina and Kika for a minute, before shrugging and crouching down. “I got her legs.”
Kika sighed, “I’ll hold up her torso.”
“I got the shoulders.”
The three girls carried you into the facility like a dead body. Some staff members gave them odd looks, but once they saw you, asleep, they completely understood.
They tossed you onto a couch outside the cafeteria and stared. “Now what?”
Pina thought for a minute before calling out, “Alexia!”
Alexia looked up from her lunch and once she saw who was calling her, groaned. “I can never have 5 minutes of peace, can I?.”
She saw you sprawled out on the coach, limbs every which way, dead asleep. “What happened to her?”
“She fell asleep on the pitch outside. We carried her in,” Kika explained like it was the most normal thing in the world.
“And now we need you to wake her up so she doesn’t sleep through lunch and pass out next session,” Jana chimed in.
Alexia looked at the three girls, eyebrow raised, before sighing, “go eat, I got her.”
She shook her head before kneeling down to you on the couch.
“Nena, wake up. You have to eat so you can train.”
Your eyes fluttered open and you looked extremely confused. “How did I get inside?”
“Your amigas carried you in.”
“And I didn’t wake up?”
“Are you surprised?”
“I think that’s a new low, even for me.”
“Si, nena, I agree.”
4.
Team bonding nights, especially with this team, were always something of chaos.
Cata, Mapi, and Patri were currently the last ones left on the board for Twister, and the game was slowly dissolving into nonsense.
Usually you would be one of the instigators, cracking jokes and joining in on all the games eagerly, teasing the older girls about being boring.
But tonight? Tonight you were exhausted. It was midterms for you, and they were kicking your ass. All of the studying on bus rides and in hotel rooms at away matches and in the empty conference rooms in between training was catching up to you.
But you weren’t going to fall asleep.
You really wanted to enjoy the night with your team, get some laughs and release some of the stress that had been building up. You knew you hadn’t been as pleasant as possible recently, with the stress of trying to pass all of your exams weighing on you, and you just wanted one night of hanging out with your friends like you didn’t have derivative rules and La casa de Bernarda Alba taking up all the free space in your brain.
You had tried to stay up, you had.
But you were in your favorite hoodie–that was only clean because Ona had noticed how overwhelmed you were and came to your place to do laundry and cook you a meal like the absolute angel she is–,and you had taken your place on the couch next to Alexia after you had failed at Twister, and somehow one of Ingrid’s ridiculously comfortable blankets had found it’s way draped over you. You felt your eyes drooping and immediately sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
“You okay, nena?”
“Si, I’m good Ale.”
“Tired?”
“Nope.”
3 minutes later and you were falling asleep again.
“Nena, it’s okay to sleep. You’re tired.”
“Not tired..”
“Yes, you are. Why are you fighting it? You usually have no issue falling asleep everywhere.”
“I wanted to stay awake tonight, hang out with everyone…I’ve been so busy.”
“That’s okay, they understand. It’s hard doing football and school. Let yourself rest, nena. It’s okay.”
And when Alexia pulled you closer to her and pressed a kiss to your temple, there wasn’t much you could do but listen to her, falling into deep sleep curled up to her side while the rest of the squad continued with game night.
✢ pairing: alexia putellas x teen!reader, barca femeni x teen!reader
✢ wc: 3.1k
✢ tags: *mention of suicidal thoughts, parent death, and panic attacks** , therapy, depression, trauma, reader is healing
✢ a/n: the therapy session that takes up majority of this chapter was 100% inspired by @2truthsand1lie and her lovely therapy scenes, hopefully i did it justice lol. im thinking 2 ish more chapters for the main story here, and then i have plenty of blurb ideas
“Nena, I really don’t think it’s a bad idea.”
“I’m not disabled, Alexia. I can handle living by myself.”
“I’m not saying you can’t, I’m just saying it would be better if maybe you weren’t alone so much.”
“I’m not alone all the time, I’m at training most of the day!”
“Si, and for the past week you haven’t left your apartment except to go to training.”
“So what?”
“So, I’m worried about you. And I want to keep an eye on you.”
You stared her down.
You hated this idea. You already felt like your body and your mind were out of your control, like a runaway train only gaining speed. You were floating in space with no tether, helpless to do anything but drift further away from your sanity.
And now your living situation was being decided without your consent?
“Fine, whatever,” you mumbled a string of German curses under your breath.
Alexia just smiled, “I know you aren’t a fan of the idea, but try to see from my perspective, si? I just want you to be safe. And happy.”
Happy. A funny concept, really. Every day you became more convinced that “happy” just wasn’t something you got to have. Maybe you got tastes of it, like the past month in Barcelona, but you should’ve known it wasn’t going to last. It never did. It didn’t even make you angry anymore, you had started to accept it as fact.
A few boxes of your stuff was moved down the street and into Alexia’s place, not everything because you both insisted that this was only temporary until you found your footing again.
But even once you were confined within her four walls, her concern didn’t go away. It got worse, honestly, seeing how much you had regressed in such a short time.
Every day was the same routine: drag yourself out of bed, go through the motions at training, come home, collapse into bed, and stay there until the next morning. Rinse and repeat.
Alexia had to force you to eat, to get up and move around, to do recovery that she knew was second nature to you.
You stopped having dinner with Kika and Vicky. You flaked on your weekly coffee date with Esmee. Your phone sat on your nightstand, calls and texts left unanswered and unchecked.
It was such an intense change, that it only took a few days before a very concerned Vicky cornered the captain in the locker room after training. You were elsewhere, bregrudingly finishing up your workout.
“What’s up, Vick?”
“Is y/n okay? I mean, we all reached out after…what happened…but she hasn’t responded to anyone. And we keep inviting her to have dinner and hang out, but she isn’t answering us. We just…wanna make sure she’s okay?”
Alexia sighed, “She’s okay. She’s staying with me, and she’s just going through a rough patch right now. Healing isn’t linear, you know that, nena.”
“I know. Is there anything any of us can do?”
“Just, keep trying? I know it hurts when she doesn’t respond or shuts you out, but just keep reaching out. Keep showing her that we’re all still here, si? She’s going to be okay, promesa.”
Vicky nodded, now determined, “Okay, I can do that. Just let me know if there’s anything else, okay?”
“I will. Thank you for being a good friend, nena.”
…
The door shut, the sound echoing in your skull as you sat down on the brightly colored couch. You hadn’t been to your therapy sessions since the panic attack. You would tell everyone that’s where you were, and then hide in the bathroom for the hour.
Yesterday, an executive sent you an email, reminding you that not attending the necessary sessions was a violation of your contract, and so, unless you wanted to get sued by FC Barcelona, you had to go.
So here you were. In the room.
You stared at the floor.
She stared at you, at her clipboard, then back at you.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen eachother.”
You shrugged.
“I heard something happened after training two weeks ago?”
“I just had a panic attack. It happens,” you mumbled, trying to shrug it off like it wasn’t a big deal.
“I heard it was a bit more serious than just a typical panic attack.”
No response.
“Why have you skipped our sessions since then?”
“I didn’t want to talk about it, and I knew you would make me.”
“Not make you, encourage you. Yes, we would have talked about it. Not only about the incident but the buildup, and why it got to the point where your reaction was so intense.”
“Are you calling me overdramatic?”
“No, I’m saying that while, yes, you had a very valid reason to be upset, I don’t think that your fitness test was the only factor that led to your panic attack.”
“...I thought I was doing better.”
“And you were! You are! Remember, this is just a blip in the road. You’ve heard it a million times, healing isn’t linear, but it’s true. This is just a small setback, and it doesn’t discredit any progress you made or anything that has already happened.”
“I just…I don’t even understand was happened! I was so angry, and I guess part of it was the fitness test, but I think I just felt angry at everything!”
“That is completely okay to feel. A lot of things have been out of your control recently. It’s normal to feel unsettled or unstable when things happen like that, which can then lead to confusion, anger, or sadness. Sometimes all of those at once.”
“I guess, football was always the one thing I could control, you know? Even if my teammates sucked and the staff hated me, even when my papa died, I could always just put my head down and train. I could perform on the field even when the rest of my life was a disaster.”
“And now you can’t even do that, right? Your body isn’t listening to you either, when it always has, which can be incredibly frustrating.”
“And what if I never pass? What if I start training again and I’m not the same player? What if I can’t keep up, and the staff realizes this was all a big mistake? That I’m a liability, that I don’t deserve to be here, and this whole thing was just a mistake?”
Your therapist was silent for a moment, “Is that what you think about all this? That being here is a mistake, and that you’re just waiting for everyone else to realize you don’t belong here?”
“Yes! Of course I do!” you shouted, tears wetting your cheeks, “I didn’t belong in Madrid, and that was my home club! That’s where I grew up, where I learned how to play football. If they didn’t even like me there, how can I trust that anyone else will? Barcelona, especially!”
“Y/N, look at me. Just because you faced rejection in one place, doesn’t make it the rule for every place. It is very unfair that you had that kind of experience in a place that is meant to be your home, and it’s understandable that it would scare you moving forward. But y/n, you aren’t in Madrid anymore, okay? You’re in Barcelona, and things are different here, even if your mind is trying to tell you that isn’t the case.”
“How can I believe that?”
“Well, we can look at the logic. I know you’ve moved in with Alexia because was worried about you. I know Vicky came to me a few days ago, asking how to best support you since her and the rest of your friends can tell you aren’t doing so well. I know that the staff gave you zero pressure to train the days after the incident, although you still showed up. Tell me, do these sound like things that would’ve happened in Madrid?”
“...no. No, they don’t.”
“Well, alright then. Can you give me any example of the girls here being mean to you, or talking bad behind your back?”
You shook your head, “But just because I don’t know about it doesn’t mean it’s not happening.”
“You know what? That’s fair. Your skeptiscm is valid. But I really don’t think it’s happening, at all. With the way news spreads around this place, you and I would both know if something like that was going on.”
You were silent. The logic made sense. The several examples that pointed out exactly how different this was made sense.
“Can I ask you something else about Madrid?”
You nodded.
“Did you have panic attacks there too?”
Your shoulders tensed, memories flooding in. You nodded, again.
“Did the girls make fun of you for having them?”
“M-maybe. Yeah.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” she shifted in her seat, “What you’re doing right now is called defensive detachment, and it’s a response from what happened to you in Madrid. Your mind associated having a panic attack like that with getting made fun of, bullied, or ostracized. And now, you’re removing yourself from the situation before it can even happen as a way to protect yourself. Even though your environment is different, and safer, your mind doesn’t understand that yet.”
“So that’s why I’ve been pulling away from everyone?”
“Precisely, and I think that’s the reasoning behind a lot of your isolation. You don’t believe that the girls here aren’t going to hurt you, and you don’t want to relive what happened in Madrid, so you aren’t even allowing yourself that connection.”
“I feel horrible, ignoring everyone…but I just can’t. I can’t get myself to look them in the eye or answer their texts.”
She nodded, “It can be very hard to break these thought patterns, especially those that push you into isolation.”
“How do I fix my head?”
“I won’t use the word ‘fix’, because you aren’t broken, but to break out of this spiral, we start small. Maybe you text one person back, start one conversation during training. See how that feels, and you can gradually build back up. You once told me hanging out with Esmee wasn’t super emotionally demanding right?”
“Yeah, she’s good with quiet,”
“Maybe, once you’re feeling up for it, ask her to get coffee. No pressure, just being in eachother’s space,” she nodded, “And when you find yourself isolating, try to recognize that behavior and name it.”
“Okay, I think I can do that?”
“Yes, you can! It seems like our time is up, but I’m very proud of what we’ve talked through today, and I will see you next week.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
…
You suddenly became hyper aware of your own behavior. Maybe you were taking your therapist’s suggestion to name your emotions a little too seriously.
As a result of this, you also became much more aware of everyone else’s behavior.
Kika dropped dinner off at Alexia’s door one afternoon, a post-it note on top of the container, reading “for our chica, we miss you in the kitchen! come by next week?”
You smiled, seeing that the meal was one of your recipes that you had introduced them to. The note found a home on your dresser, and you smiled through dinner for the first time in weeks.
One day affter training, Pina came searching in the gym, smiling when she found you.
“Wanna do shooting drills?”
“Uh, yeah, sure?”
“Awesome! It’s been a while, I missed training with you.”
Your chest felt lighter than it usually did as you enjoyed the warm weather and played around with shooting techniques for far too long.
You got out of the shower one night to a new book on your bed. It was one of the Alexia’s favorites, you knew, but in French. You remembered having told her you wanted to read more in French a few weeks ago.
You saw the smile on her face when she saw you two chapters in when she came to say goodnight.
Logic, you kept telling yourself, think logically, would they do all this if they hated you? Probably not.
Some days, it worked. You were able to exist in a way that didn’t make you feel like you were worth as much as a paperweight once the day was done. You smiled without needing to force it. You bantered with Vicky in the weightroom and asked Irene questions about tactics you had seen in film.
You were having good days. But of course, healing is not immediate. You had bad days. Bad thoughts crept in, your mind making every irrational assumption it could.
They just feel bad for you, it’s all pity.
Maybe they know you’re decent at football, but they don’t actually care about you.
Alexia probably put them all up to this so that you don’t end up a disaster with her name on it.
But the good days started to outweigh the bad, and that’s what you tried your best to focus on. You slowly cleared your inbox of unanswered texts, you stopped avoiding conversations in the locker room, and even if it took the whole week to work up the courage, you did end up asking Esmee for coffee.
Of course, she was excited.
Omgg yes! I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long! We can go out to the beach again, I loved it there.
Alexia had to ask you what you were staring and smiling at on your phone.
And amidst all this, you found your footing again in training. The staff noticed, telling you it was nice to see a smile on your face again.
You smiled wider and moved through your program with purpose.
“How would you feel about fitness tests tomorrow?”
They’re lucky you weren’t holding any weights, because you would’ve had broken toes.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yeah, it’s been two and a half weeks. Up for it?”
You nodded wordlessly.
Sat in Alexia’s passenger seat that afternoon, you were plagued by memories of last time.
“Are you okay, nena?”
“Mhm,” you nodded, “I’m just…tired. Gonna sleep early tonight, I think.”
“Okay, that’s fine. I’m going to cook dinner when we get home, then.”
“Sounds good, thanks Ale.”
You were quiet. Alexia observed you as you paced around the house. This wasn’t the quiet she had seen before. This was an overthinking quiet. It scared her a little bit.
“Are you sure there’s nothing going on? Anything you want to talk about?”
“Nope. Nothing at all. Dinner smells good.”
Alexia shook her head, focused on the vegetables in front of her. Why did she even try?
…
Maybe this was the universe deciding you finally deserved a break.
You had sleep great last night, over 9 hours, and a perfect sleep score. You didn’t feel groggy on the way to training, and your warmup didn’t wind you like it always seemed to. You weren’t dragging your feet, no, you were bouncing. You hadn’t even had caffeine!
And your mind? Shockingly blank. Calm waters.
You felt…ready. As weird as that felt.
You didn’t dwell on it, another shock for you, as you stepped up to the line.
“Ready?”
“Now or never.”
You blacked out.
Not physically, thank God, but mentally. You started running and the next thing you know, you’re done. Your staff, who have all seen you through this entire process, erupt in cheers. You smile, chest heaving and yet soaring.
“I passed?”
“With flying colors! We’ll have to double check everything, but you should be ready to train on Monday.”
You fist bumped everyone, taking your time to stretch out and take your recovery drink, but still getting back to the locker room before the rest of the girls were done training.
Sat in your locker, you stared ahead in disbelief.
You had done it?
Like, actually. 6 months ago you weren’t sure if you would still be alive right now, and now you’ve rehabed your body up to the point that you’re physically capable to train with the best team in the world?
Your mind wasn’t processing any of it. You were in shock, definitely.
So much so, that you didn’t hear Patri bounding down the hallway and bouncing into the locker room.
“Nena! What’s up? Everything good?”
You nodded, swallowing, “Uh, yeah. Good. I, uh, passed my fitness test,” you said sheepishly.
A second of silence, and then, “What?! You took it today?!”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Mi superestrella! Mírate! Estoy tan orgulloso!”
Before you could process anything, you were being scooped out of your cubby and spun around in Patri’s arms.
“What’s going on?” Alexia stifled a chuckle, walking in to see Patri completely ragdolling me.
“She passed her fitness test! She can train!”
And if you thought just Patri was bad? Now there was 20 of her.
“Dios! I can’t believe it!”
“Finally! I’m so excited!”
“You didn’t tell us you were taking it today!”
“Is this what you were all stressed about last night?”
Vicky found you once it all died down, taking the time to give you a real hug and tell you how proud she was.
Alexia waited until you were about to leave, stopping you and turning your shoulders to face her.
“I’m so proud of you, nena. You deserve this so much. And you’re going to do amazing on Monday.”
“I haven’t even thought about that yet…I think I’m still in shock.”
“Good! Stay that way. No need to stress. Everyone here knows how talented you are. I for one am very excited to train with you.”
Halfway through the drive home, your neck snapped to Alexia, eyes wide like saucers.
“Oh my god, I’m actually training on Monday…”
“Aye! None of that! No stressing!”
“Are you kidding me? Alexia!”
“Nena! You are fine. Honestly, do you think pity exists here? Do you think you would be here if you didn’t deserve to be?”
“No! But…I haven’t played all out in months.”
“It’s all muscle memory. You act like you haven’t been training every day.”
“Yeah, ball handling and shooting. Not Barcelona training.”
“How much longer are you going to sit here an argue with me?”
Kneading your temples with your fingertips, you sighed, sinking back into the seat.
“I promise, it’s going to be okay. I’ll be here the whole time, your friends will be there. It’s just training.”
life in barcelona is better than you ever allowed yourself to dream. you allow yourself to have hope, for now.
✢ pairing: alexia putellas x teen!reader, barca femeni x teen!reader
✢ wc: 4.7k
✢ tags: **mentions of mental health, depression, death, panic attacks** , fluff in the beginning, angst, hurt/comfort, alexia is mother, everyone loves r
✢ a/n: i was late to class yesterday because i was too consumed writing this! i honestly went very obsessive w this and it was very therapeutic, i hope you all enjoy!
“Vicky invited me to hang out at her place with some of the other girls over the weekend.”
You dropped the comment casually over dinner; Alexia had started a routine of barging in every other day with ingredients or leftovers and refused to leave until you had eaten. Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth while you continued to eat like you hadn’t said anything.
“R-really?”
“What, is it so surprising that someone wants to hang out with me?”
“No, no, not that. This is good! Very good. That’s…that’s good.”
“Why are you acting weird?”
“Nothing! I, uh…this is…good.”
Your eyes narrowed, staring at her with a level of judgement that only possible via a teenage girl, shaking your head and deciding it was best to not question her.
The truth is, Alexia was nervous. She had been a few seconds sway from ordering all the younger girls to include you in their outside-of-training plans, but she knew you wouldn’t appreciate your captain forcibly making friends for you.
You didn’t talk much at training, weren’t super loud or outgoing like Vicky or Kika, and she worried that making friends would be difficult in the chaotic environment that was the Barcelona changing room.
Your first day had been…better after the situation. The meeting was fine, Pere had asked you to introduce yourself; your voice was clear and even, like you weren’t hyperventilating just a few minutes ago. Your acting skills made Alexia feel uneasy. In the gym, you stayed mostly to yourself, completing your specialized program alongside the rest of the girls, and Alexia couldn’t help but glance in your direction every few seconds.
“Ay, stop staring. She’s fine,” Patri chided inbetween sets.
“I know she’s fine.”
“The better question might be if you’re fine. You look like a mom who just dropped their kid off at school for the first time.”
“Shut it, Patri.”
Alexia wasn’t staring or being overbearing at all. She was just…concerned. I mean, you weren’t able to breath a few hours ago! It was only natural for her to worry. But she couldn’t deny the relief she felt when she saw you making small talk with Aitana, or grabbing a weight from Esmee.
You stayed in the gym for your planned conditioning workout while the rest of the squad headed out to the field. Nothing too intense today, just a bunch of touches and review of some structural concepts. You were already out of the shower when the rest of the squad filtered in from outside, getting ready to leave for the day.
“First day done! How was it, chica? You think you like it here?” Pina’s voice boomed through the room as you pulled a hoodie over your head.
“Yeah, it was a good day. I mean, I don’t think anyone likes doing sprints for 2 hours, but it wasn’t too bad.”
Alexia glanced over more than once. You seemed lighter with Pina’s arm swung over your shoulder, Cata imitating the way Sydney absolutely wiped out during warm ups. Or maybe it was more of that masking from earlier. Alexia shook her head and hoped she was wrong.
The days repeated themselves, all blending into one as they usually do during preseason. You dragged yourself out of bed, had meetings and film sessions, worked out with the girls, and did your own conditioning and drills. And the therapy every other day, of course. Every day was the same as the first. Although no more panic attacks, which was a small win that you (and Alexia) were willing to celebrate.
“So you think I should go? To Vicky’s, I mean?”
Alexia paused. She had seen a lot of emotions from you. Sadness in the dim light of your old place in Madrid, panic that one morning, numbness most of the time, the pockets of happiness when someone made you laugh, focus in the gym. But nervous? That was a new one.
“Of course, why not?”
You shrugged. “I don’t know. I was thinking about not going.”
“How come? It will be fun. You like them, no?”
“I do, I just…I don’t know. I haven’t…done that in a while.”
“Done what?”
“Hung out with people? Had…friends like that, I guess.”
“You didn’t do that in Madrid?”
You shrugged again. It was a favorite emote of yours, it seemed. “I told you, they didn’t really like me. I went to the mandatory team bonding and stuff, but that was it. Sometimes me and Misa would like, get coffee, but I honestly think she just felt bad for me.”
“I don’t think that’s true. The part about Misa, at least.”
Obviously Alexia had talked to Misa about you. She hadn’t gotten much out of the keeper, Misa famously not being one for emotions and all that.
“She was always quiet, even before. It’s probably worse now though, obviously. She’s very thoughtful, and observant. Because she spends most of her time just watching instead of talking, you know? I think that’s why we kind of got along, she just let me talk. I think she doesn’t think she deserves to take up space, or something like that. I don’t know why, I’m not a psychologist, but that’s the vibe I got.”
Alexia had her friends words with her in the back of her head as she answered you.
“Anyways, I think you should go. From what I’ve heard, they always have a good time together like that. And it’ll be good for you to see them outside training. You deserve to have some friends here, be happy.”
You tensed up for a second, the words knocking on a part of your brain you hadn’t touched in a while. Friends hadn’t really been your biggest priority recently.
“What if it goes bad? What if I’m…I don’t know…weird? Socially stupid? What if I just..shut down or something?”
“Nena, I promise it’ll be fine. There’s no reason to be nervous, it’s just a casual hang out. And if you feel like you’re freaking out, you can call me, vale? You can escape to the bathroom and call me, I can come pick you up, whatever you need.”
“So you think I should go?”
“Si, I do.”
For some reason, you found yourself wanting to trust her.
…
That Saturday you had trouble pulling yourself out of bed. The apartment was still unfamiliar, still didn’t feel like yours. After a full week of training, not only was your body exhausted but your mind as well. You didn’t want to get up, make yourself presentable, and get all the way to Vicky’s place (3 blocks down), and then have to be social. But you also didn’t want to flake. That would make you look like a bad person, and you would definitely get a talking-to from Alexia. You really didn’t want to deal with that. And you didn’t want your new teammates to think that you were a bad person. So, the self esteem problems beat out the depression and you pulled yourself out of bed.
You made yourself look like a person again, with as minimal effort as possible, and walked on over to Vicky’s building. The Barcelona sun was nice, even you had to admit. It was a little harder to be miserable with such amazing weather. Even if you felt like throwing up on the elevator, your shaking hands knocked on her door with surprising strength, committing yourself to actually do this and maybe make some real friends, pending that you didn’t fuck it all up, of course.
“Chica! You came!” Vicky swung open the door and immediately enveloped me in a hug. Startled, you recovered quickly and tried to not look as uncomfortable as you were.
“Yeah, uh..yeah,” you laughed, god you are so awkward, following her into the space. Kika, Esmee, and Jana were already there, sprawled across the couches and laughing about whatever Kika had pulled up on TikTok.
“Syd’s on her way, late as usual. Pina and Cata might be coming later? Who knows with them…anyways! Want a drink? Water, coffee, anything?”
“Um, water’s cool,” you felt like you were at a job interview, not hanging out with your friends, or atleast potential friends.
You stood awkwardly by the kitchen island. You didn’t know what to do with your hands. Should you talk? Should you awkwardly waltz around and compliment her interior decorating like people did on TV shows? How do normal people act?
Thankfully, you didn’t have to think too much because once a glass was pressed into your hand, Vicky was already gripping the other and tugging you towards the couch where Kika seemed to be setting up some kind of card game.
“I’m so glad you came! We need to get to know you better, seriously,” Esmee laughed, scooting up to the other side of you.
“Yeah, you’re so mysterious,” Jana chirped from across the couch, handing everyone a few cards. You looked at your hand, seeing typical ‘get to know you’ questions printed on all the cards. Anxiety pooled in your chest. What if they asked about my family? Or Madrid? Or…or anything?
“Wait Kika, how does this work?”
“I’m so glad you asked Esmee,” Kika wiggled her eyebrows, “One person starts and places a card in the middle and asks someone else to answer. Then that person asks the next question. If you don’t want to answer, you don’t have to, you just have to pick up another card from the bottom of the deck. First person to lose all their cards wins!”
“Sounds fun!”
Sounds like personal hell.
Nope. You should be optimistic. They aren’t evil. You’re fine.
“Newbie goes first!”
You stared at your cards, deciding the safest option. You played a card saying “what’s been keeping you sane lately?” and asked Esmee.
“Oh good one, probably those massages from the physios. I keep almost falling asleep and then they get mad at me, but like, it’s so relaxing?” she laughs, taking a swig of her drink.
You mostly sat and observed as the next few turns avoided you. Kika talked about missing her friends from Portugal, especially after spending her summer there. Jana was asked about something a stranger did to make her smile, and told the group about the lady who lives on the floor above her wishing her luck on the new season and few mornings ago. Vicky said the last time she cried was last night, down a rabbithole of sad TikToks at midnight.
Then Vicky played her card to you: what are you feeling a lot of recently?
Um. Numbness? On autopilot? Slightly overwhelmed and very out of my depth? Like I need to take a midnight flight across the world and disappear from all of this?
“Intimidation, I guess? I mean, Barcelona is filled with so many legends, you know?” It was a bit of a risky answer, but in the spirit of the game you didn’t want to be too boring. Definitely not a lie, but not the complete truth either. Thankfully, you must’ve picked your half-lie well, because you were met with a chorus and agreements, head nods, “mhm”s.
“Makes sense, yeah,”
“Everyone’s felt that here, seriously if they say they haven’t they’re lying.”
“Yeah, I mean I’ve grown up here and it was still terrifying.”
“I feel like you’re handling it really well though, like you seem really well-adjusted.”
Well-adjusted? That was a new one.
“Oh, thanks. I don’t know, I guess I’m just taking it all one day at a time?”
Sydney arrived shortly after you played your next card, this time to Jana about her favorite childhood memory, and Pina and Cata barging in later on.
Honestly? You actually think you enjoyed yourself. Sure, you spent most of the time sitting and listening, and maybe you jumbled up all your words a few times when you actually spoke, but it wasn’t too bad. You weren’t asked anything overly personal, but you did talk a little about growing up in multiple countries, your favorite teams growing up, and why you chose your kit number.
Everyone was nice, supportive, and genuinely seemed to listen when you had something to say. The night eventually dissolved into chaos, predictably, and you found yourself laughing along with everyone else, even cracking a joke or two.
When the night was over, Vicky offered to walk you to back to your building so you didn’t have to walk alone in the dark.
“But then you’ll have to walk back alone?”
You were met with a shrug and her hand pulling you to the hallway.
The two of you had just stepped onto the street when Vicky started, “I don’t know if you know or not, but, uh, my mami passed when I was 11. She had cancer. So, I know it’s not exactly the same as your situation but, if you do ever want to talk, I do know how it feels. And I know how lonely it can be.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry Vicky. And…thank you. Seriously.”
“Anytime. That’s what friends are for, right? Anyways…wanna come and help me and Kika cook dinner after training on Monday?”
“Sure…yeah, that sounds good.”
“Nice, see you then!”
You walked into your building with a smile on your face. It was still there when you texted Alexia that you had gotten home safe, adding on a thanks for making me go to the end of your message.
…
Alexia had never been more thrilled to have dinner plans cancelled. When you texted her to not come over that night because you were cooking with Kika and Vicky? She could’ve thrown a party. She called you later that night instead, once your location was back in your building.
“Hola Ale?”
“Hi nena, how was dinner?”
You laughed, like, almost howled, “oh dios, let’s just say there’s no way I’m ever letting Kika alone in a kitchen ever again. She almost set her hair on fire because the gas stove wasn’t working and she stuck her head right down onto it to “look”. And then she almost dropped all the rice on the floor because she wanted to look like a hibachi chef…ay Ale it was hilarious. But the end tasted good, mostly thanks to me and Vicky.”
Alexia was stunned in silence for a second. You were in a good mood? She hated how crazy that sounded, but honestly she had never heard you like this. Giggling and laughing, she could hear the smile on your face as you recounted your evening. Her face split with a wide grin
“Ale? You there?”
“Yes! Si, si I’m still here. That’s amazing nena! I’m glad you had fun, and kept Kika from dying. Um, don’t stay up too late, si? Do you want a ride to training tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure. That’d be nice. Gracias.”
“Of course. Be there at 8.”
“So early,” you groaned playfully, “but yeah, see you then.”
…
Alexia thought she had understood what people meant when they said there was no pride like watching your child succeed. She had watched an entire generation of players grow up and into their abilities, witnessing the little girls from La Masai grow into sensational young women that took the world by storm. She felt maternal toward a lot of them; they all spent more time at the training grounds than they did at home, and many of them had moved away from their families at a young age to pursue their dreams. As their captain, it only felt right to guide them in any way she could, and that often lead to an immense feeling of pride as Alexia watched them score their first high-stakes goal, or lift a trophy for the first time. Nothing compared. That’s what she thought.
She had to pinch herself multiple times over the coming weeks. You seemed…good. Happy, she would almost dare to say.
You, Vicky, and Jana had formed a little circle that left the locker room constantly in fits of laughter and the staff with a constantly forming headache. They dragged you into their schemes and pranks, and even if you always looked a bit like the little sister that had been dragged along for the ride, she was happy you were being involved. The three of you would (try) to cook together after training, rotating apartments and sending Alexia videos of your creations, or the takeout you ordered if it turned to chaos and left with a kitchen smelling slightly burnt.
In one of the videos, you were talking to Kika in what sounded strangely like Portugese.
“I didn’t know you spoke Portugese,” Alexia hummed as they drove to some media obligation the next morning, Alexia dragging you along with her because these things made her miserable and she knew you hated being alone in your apartment on days off when everyone had other obligations.
“I don’t, not really.”
“I heard you speaking it with Kika? In one of the videos you sent last night.”
“Oh yeah, well she’s been teaching me a few words and phrases and stuff. It’s been on my list of languages to learn, and I already spend so much time with her I might as well learn something, you know?”
Alexia nodded, impressed. “How many is that now, with Portugese?”
“Um, 3 native fluent, 2 literate, 2 conversational, and now 1 beginner.”
“What are the 2 conversational?”
“Catalan and Dutch,”
“You speak Dutch? Does Esmee know that?”
You almost rolled your eyes, “yes, of course Esmee knows. I, like, exclusively talk to her in Dutch now.”
“I didn’t notice that-”
You shrugged. “We don’t a lot of training, because she wants to practice her Catalan and Spanish too, but when we got coffee last week it was all in Dutch.”
“You got coffee with her?”
“Jees, Ale. Where have you been? Yes, we got coffee at some place out by the beach. I almost bailed on her, because I felt really like, emotionally drained that day, but I’m glad I went. Esmee is very easy to be around. She doesn’t demand a lot, you know? She’s cool just existing in comfortable silence sometimes.”
“Yeah, she is like it, isn’t she? Well, I’m glad you went and had a good time.”
“Me too.”
You reached to turn up the volume, a Catalan song Alexia had never heard playing through her Cupra’s speakers.
“Where did you find this song?”
“Hm? Oh, Pina put it on the shared playlist I have with her and Cata.”
“Shared playlist?”
“Yeah, you know when you can all add songs to one playlist and-”
“I know what a shared playlist is, I’m not that old,” you raised your eyebrows, a silent retort, and she continued, “but I didn’t know you guys had the same music taste.”
You shrugged, again, “I wanted to find some Catalan artists that aren’t Rosalia–no offense–and they’re always the ones on aux in the changing room so I figured they had good taste.”
Alexia looked mildly offended, what more did you need than Rosalia??, but responded, “That’s pretty cool, nena.”
“Yeah, their music is very cool. It’s different, I’ve never heard anything like most of it.”
Alexia nodded along, although she wasn’t talking about the music.
Dinner, coffee dates, playlists…you were doing well. Adjusting. Making friends. Being happy.
It startled Alexia, how deeply proud she felt. Pride, relief, appreciation, and a weird urge to wrap you in a hug and tell you exactly how proud of you she was.
Every day she looked at you and saw the girl from the dark apartment in Madrid. Pale, bags under your eyes, skin and bones, a soul so shattered she could see it on your face.
But that wasn’t what you were anymore. Your eyes had some life in them. The muscle in your arms and thighs was coming back, slowly but surely. The Barcelona sun had kissed your skin, bringing out some freckles that she didn’t know you had.
Alexia wasn’t dumb, she knew healing was a long process, that a few weeks in Barcelona hadn’t healed you completely. You showed up with puffy and bloodshot eyes on enough mornings to remind her otherwise. But there was hope, there was progress.
Every time she saw you smile, every silly story you told, it made Alexia’s heart swell in her chest.
This was the pride they had been talking about. The feeling of seeing someone you love go through hell and finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Seeing them finally start to take baby steps towards the surface.
You were having…similar thoughts. It was weird how natural everything was. How you just seemed to fit seamlessly into life her in Barcelona.
Cautiously, you started to become optimistic about this whole thing.
Maybe this wasn’t a horrible idea.
Maybe Alexia was right.
Maybe this will actually work out.
Maybe you could be happy again.
Terrifying thoughts, truly. You didn’t plan on getting attached so quickly, not after you had your world ripped from you so forcefully. But dammit, those Barca girls were worming their way into your heart against your will. And as much as you relished in it, and tried to enjoy it, it scared the shit out of you.
Alexia was also right, you weren’t magically better. There were bad days. Nights where you spiraled, cried until your hoodie sleeves were soaked and sat on the floor of the shower until the water went cold. Days when you went immediately home after training, shutting yourself up in your apartment and ignoring the world for the rest of the day, letting Alexia in to force you to eat without saying a single word and then pushing her out immediately after.
It happened, of course it did. But it was becoming less frequent.
You were actually finding coping mechanisms. Sometimes you journaled, as stereotypical as it was it really worked. Sometimes you stuck around the facilities to do some finishing practice, emotional regulation disguised as extra training. You forced yourself to be around people–lounging around on Kika’s couch instead of your own, joining them to hang out at Ona’s place, actually taking up Misa’s offer for a phone call to catch up once or twice a week–because it was harder to get lost in your own mind when you were surrounded by laughter and distractions. You and Vicky went on walks around your neighborhood when the grief got too heavy, keeping eachother afloat and trading your favorite stories of your parents.
And you were actually taking your therapy sessions seriously. She applauded you on your progress, which you thrived off of. The strength coaches were also impressed, and told you in the next few weeks they could start talking about easing you into training with the team, slowly upping your intensity. Admin Carla joked that she would have her work cut out for her making sure you didn’t appear anywhere on the team Instagram.
Everything seemed to be slotting into place. It still scared you, but maybe you could be brave and accept your new world.
…
You had barely slept last night. Your mind decided it would be fun to replay the moment you got the phone call from the hospital every time you shut your eyes. You took the sleep meds you weren’t really supposed to have, and woke up feeling more zombie than human.
Having overslept, you told Alexia you would drive yourself today, not wanting to hold her up. The fatigue made it easier for the bad thoughts to creep in, and you felt like too much of a burden to inconvenience her at all.
Trudging into the changing room, much later than usual, your chest was already heavy with anxiety. You wanted to throw up, even more so when you remember you were supposed to do some fitness testing that morning. Tests that would determine if you were ready to start training with other people again. Tests that you needed to perform well on, because you needed to actually start playing football again. You missed it, finally. Your therapist said it was a good sign, that your motivation to do things you loved was coming back. But now you weren’t so sure. Maybe apathy was better than chest-crushing anxiety.
The gym session was fine. You got to do the same workout as everyone else now, so it was nice to feel normal. The rest of the girls went out to the pitch, bidding you good luck on the testing.
Your legs felt heavy as you warmed up, you were out of breath a little too fast.
The fitness test started, and you immediately felt off. Your mental state was nowhere near where it needed to be to perform physically, and the trainers could tell as well.
And 20 minutes later, you were sent to cool down with a hung head and a promise of a retest in a week or two.
Your body shook at you stretched out, numbness creeping in around the edges, frustration bubbling over inside you.
Your body didn’t work anymore, because your mind stopped working months ago and your body deteriorated alongside it. Your mind was a mess, screwing up your sleep and your friendships and your football. You were a shell of the person you once were. You felt trapped in the prison your mind had become.
Stretching, ice bath, shower, clothes. All done on autopilot while you spiraled deeper and deeper.
Alexia trained outside, oblivious to the hell you were putting yourself through just feet away.
How foolish were you to think that this might work? That you were good enough to be here? That you were allowed to be happy? This was all a big mistake, wasn’t it? It should’ve been you that died, not your papa.
You didn’t notice your knees giving out, your chest rapidly rising and falling, the salty taste of your tears. You didn’t notice the laughing and talking from the hallway, the boots against the hard floor, signaling the return of your teammates from the pitch.
You didn’t hear Mapi’s teasing cease immediatly, calling for Alexia with a seriousness not normally seen from her. You didn’t see the way your friends stared, concern painted over their features.
You flinched when she tried to hold you, Alexia remembering how much it had helped last time. You fought her on it, clawing at her arms that tried to hold you to her chest, limbs flying everywhere in a desperate attempt to escape. Patri jumped in, grabbing your wrists while you were distracted by Alexia and using her strength to hold you down. Irene got the rest of the girls out of the room.
You fought. You cried, gasping for air, chest heaving in a way that had to be painful. Alexia tried to talk to you, tried to break through whatever was going on and get you to calm down before you made yourself pass out.
“Ay, nena, come on. You gotta snap outta this…you’re gonna make yourself faint. Come on.”
Alexia was close to tears herself, the pained look on your face killing her inside. After what felt like ages, your breathing began to slow. Your body slumped in Patri’s arms, still sobbing but with your breathing under control now.
“I-, I got it from her Pats. T-thanks,” Alexia whispered, moving you into her lap.
“You sure Ale?”
“Yeah, yeah I got it. Thank you,” Alexia’s eyes didn’t leave you once.
Patri nodded, getting up to leave and join the rest of the team in one of the other rooms.
“I got you nena, I’m here,” she whispered sweet nothings to you, rocking gently in hopes of getting you to calm down.
“I-I-” you began, sobs overtaking before you could get any other words out.
“Shhh, you’re okay. Try to breathe, nena.”
Her soft tone made ripped another sob from your chest.
“I-I j-just wanna g-go h-h-home..,” you managed, but your next words really broke Alexia’s heart, “I w-wanna go home but…dios…I don’t know where h-home is anymore..”
you officially become a culer. alexia holds your hand through the entire process, and you can’t find it in you to be annoyed at it. your first day doesn’t go as planned.
✢ pairing: alexia putellas x teen!reader, barca femeni x teen!reader
✢ wc: 3.8 k
✢ tags: **mentions of mental health/depression/panic attacks & death of a parent** , protective alexia, like very protective, she’s so mother. hurt/comfort, fluff kind of
✢ a/n: ugh i love this story sm. also i need to get a nickname for our reader lmk if you have ideas!! enjoy mwah!!
“So Ale, what were you up to in Madrid this weekend? I saw your stories.”
A normal question asked over coffee with a few of the girls. Nothing unusual to ask, especially considering how close they all were, but it still made Alexia tense up. She hadn’t decided how to tell the team about you yet. Nothing about your situation was certain, and adding a bunch of curious and overbearing—while well-meaning—players onto your plate seemed like a bad idea.
“I was…visiting someone.”
“Someone? A special someone?”
“No. No one. Nothing.”
“Ale, please. You are a horrible liar.”
Alexia sighed. She could trust these girls. Patri, Irene, Marta, Caro. Mature people. Mostly. The ones who, in theory, wouldn’t freak out when Alexia revealed she was courting a Madridista to join their club.
“I was…scouting. A player.”
“In Madrid? What, like, an academy player?”
“No, she plays for their first team.”
“Who’s first team?”
Alexia cringed at the way the words got caught in her throat. Maybe to someone that wasn’t her, whose existence wasn’t eternally tied to Barcelona, this could’ve seemed silly.
“Alexia…don’t tell me you were scouting someone from Real Madrid?” Patri treaded carefully, her eyebrows already halfway raised up her face.
Alexia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “And so what if I was?”
“So what? Alexia, are you feeling okay?”
“It’s complicated, okay? She’s…she’s young, and she’s talented. And…she’s not in a great place, alright?”
“Wait, this isn’t the one who’s papa died?”
“Si, her..”
“She’s leaving Madrid?”
“Si.”
“Why?”
“That’s not for me to say.”
The four women surrounding her gave each other incredulous looks. This was Alexia, the human embodiment of FC Barcelona, sounding unusually protective over some kid from Madrid that she had supposedly met once. Obviously, this immediately became grounds for speculation.
“Listen, I know what it sounds like, okay? I know that. But I’m asking you to trust me on this. Don’t you trust me?”
The group reluctantly agreed. Alexia had never led them in the wrong direction. Not on the pitch, and not off of it. Their speculation wasn’t erased, but it was eased. For now.
…
In the past, the air on a flight to Barcelona was filled with anticipation, excitement, all the energy that came along with a rivalry like theirs. Usually, for you, it was saturated with apathy.
Today, though, the air was thick with your anxiety.
This is a horrible idea.
Why am I doing this?
Why did I let her convince me to do this?
I want to go home.
I want my dad.
I want to go to bed.
But the plane did what planes tend to do and moved through the air and eventually, deposited you safely on the ground in Barcelona. Your feet moved you through the airport without much thought or real intent. Eventually you ended up in a car. The driver had a FCB crest on his jacket. The mere sight of it made your heart rate pick up.
The mediterranean city flashed by you through the tinted glass of the car window. You had to admit, it was gorgeous. You loved the beach, the sun. The fact that it wasn’t Madrid, maybe. You felt the ghost of your father chasing you at more of distance here; he wasn’t hiding behind every corner, stained on the streets or painted on the brick of every building you looked at.
You were given a tour of the facilities by the club president. You were aware that you weren't exactly outgoing or extraordinarily personable, but you really couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The most you gave was a head nod here, a whispered “nice” there. Their rapid Catalan wasn’t difficult to keep up with, something that seemed to impress them. Not on purpose, really, not some tool to impress them and convince them you would be able to assimilate into the culture. You just already spoke Spanish and French, and it was close enough for you to fill in the gaps, even in your fogged-up brain.
And then there was Alexia, there to walk you around the training pitches and into the lockerooms and other facilities. You saw her and felt a bit of the weight get lifted off your soul. Not much, but a little. Her familiar face made just slightly easier to carry the load. Why, you still weren’t sure. She didn’t force you to talk much. Didn’t ask unnecessary questions about how your flight was or how you were doing. Maybe because she could see the answer in your silence and in the bags under your eyes.
“I’m coming into contract negotiations with you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. You need an advocate.”
“I’m perfectly capable-”
“No, you really aren’t. You look exhausted. You can barely have a conversation with me, let alone those money sharks.”
“Gee, thanks.”
You walked the length of the training pitch and back, feeling the grass under your shoes. It felt foreign to be on any training pitches that weren’t the ones you had grown up on. The colors that decorated the fences and benches were wrong. But then, would white feel any more correct?
The two of you made your way back through the hallways that were supposed to become your new home, and into a conference room.
You sat opposite to the club administration, Alexia to your right and your agent on the monitor. Your left leg bounced under the table, your hands twisted the ring you always wore on your left hand.
The engraving on the inside of the silver band, Insieme per sempre, ran over the skin of your thumb. Those words were immortalized in the stone themselves, but couldn’t have become more different in meaning since their origin. Originally the ring served as the physical representation of your parents’ love. Of course, that hadn’t worked out. You hadn’t seen you mother since you were 3. As you grew up, he had always said the words were for you, that you and him were the ultimate team. Now, though, it was your half-hearted way of trying to convince yourself that you weren’t as completely alone as you felt.
The meeting began, effectively snapping you out of your head. It was all a lot of nonsense to you, honestly. Your agent did most of the talking, and you chimed in when it was absolutely necessary. They discussed a timeline, of you moving yourself to Barcelona, of all of the logistics that no one ever bothered themselves with. That’s when Alexia made herself known.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to start training with us right away.”
Your head snapped over to her. Excuse me?
The executives immediately asked for an explanation, having a similar reaction. She took a breath and spoke like such a diplomat it almost made you angry.
“She’s been through an unfathomable trauma, and I guarantee if she was evaluated by our psychologist, she would not be cleared to play. I don’t think it’s a good idea to push it so soon. Not to mention that she’s not in form to keep up with us. Have her do frequent meetings with psych, rebuild her strength, and then phase her into training. I don’t think we start thinking about a debut match for a few months.”
You bit your lip to not lash out at her. So what, she was going to make you come all the way to Barcelona and then not let you play? What the hell?
But your agent agreed, and if you had learned anything these past few months, it was that even if you disagreed with him, it didn’t really matter if he thought it was for the greater good.
“And actually, on that note, we should discuss keeping this quiet from the press. We all know it’s going to bring a lot of attention, not so much positive, and I don’t like the idea of that so soon.”
Okay, that might’ve been your favorite thing Alexia had said all day. It had sunk in on the plane how angry everyone was going to be. Madrid fans, Barcelona fans, no one was going to be happy with you. You were online, maybe a little too much, and were very aware of what each set of fans said about the other. Both of those forces, combined, all coming down on you, might be a bit much.
The executives reluctantly agreed on a January announcement. Keep you hidden from training videos, and the let rumors linger if you’re seen at a match. You’re pretty sure they just saw how convinced Alexia was of her own ideas and decided they had better things to do all day than fight with her. The meeting was adjourned and you walked out with a signed contract, a move-in date, and psych evaluation booked. Woo-hoo. .
Stepping out into the hallway, you rubbed your eyes and took a deep breath. This was far too much activity for one day, and you weren’t even done yet. Alexia insisted on taking you to dinner and then personally driving you back to your hotel so she could be sure you were fed and safe. Fair enough on her part, you probably weren’t going to eat anything if she didn’t force you to.
The drive to dinner was quiet, the car filled only with the sounds of Alexia driving and the faint sound of Catalan music playing softly through the speakers. You had never heard any of it, but you mentally cataloged a few songs to add to your playlist later. New music in a new language never failed to intrigue you, not to mention songs in the one you were going to have to get real comfortable with really fast.
Dinner itself, all things considered, was alright. You still weren’t in much of a talking or eating mood, which made the whole act of having dinner with someone else relatively difficult, but Alexia made do. She controlled the conversation, briefly going over everything from team expectations to old stories from team bonding nights. You zoned out occasionally, staring at some nondescript spot on the wall next to Alexia’s head and snapping back into reality as she was halfway through a sentence that you had no idea how to decipher.
“I have a document with everything that I’m telling you, so it’s okay if you don’t really listen.” She wasn’t being accusatory, she was just being considerate. She was meeting you where
you were, extremely refreshing after months of being tugged in different directions by everyone in your life.
You nodded absentmindedly, but you felt something inside you flicker. Something that reminded you of when your dad would wake up before the sun to make breakfast when you had early training sessions, or when he made sure the fridge was stocked with your favorite protein shakes every week, even if that meant he went without a haircut or a car wash for a while. It wasn’t the same intensity, the same brightness. But it was there, and it broke through the haze. You felt seen. You felt cared about, just a little. It tugged the corners of your lips up, just a little.
Alexia mentally patted herself on the back.
…
The moving process was hell.
But somehow Alexia was there for every step. She just happened to have business in Madrid and dropped by your place to help you pack. She just happened to have an excuse to already be in the city every week until you were ready to leave. She didn’t comment on the fact that no progress was made between her visits, or the way the sink was full every time she came even though she made sure the house was spotless before she left each time. At least dirty dishes meant you were eating.
Packing was difficult. Everything was difficult, but packing seemed especially daunting. You had all of your things, and your dad’s things on top of that. The idea of going through his room, his clothes, his life? Too much.
Alexia took that job. She would choose a category and you both would pack. You with your things, and her with your dad’s. She had every box labeled and color coded with custom packing tape. You let out a rare laugh at the ridiculous sight of the bright pink, labeled tape.
Ultimately, she never made you feel like a chore or an obligation. She never made you feel bad for how you felt. She just met you where you were without a second thought and picked up the rest of the slack without complaint.
And when you did finally make it to Barcelona, it became that much easier for her to check up on you. Not only were you now in the same city, but you were literally down the street from her. Obviously on purpose, she had been the one to pick out an apartment for you. She took you on a walk one night, pointing out little shops and cafes she liked and the apartment building a couple blocks down that Kika and Vicky lived in. You noticed a music store with vintage Catalan and Spanish vinyls. Maybe that would be fun?
She helped you unpack. She left you to take what you wanted of your father’s things and had the rest placed in a storage locker for when you were ready.
One non-negotiable was that Alexia needed to have a copy of your key, “just in case”. You knew what that meant, of course. You were self aware enough to know that you weren’t trusted alone for long periods of time. You knew that all of your kitchen knives had suddenly disappeared in the moving process, along with the pencil sharpeners that used to be in your desk drawer and your shaving razor. You knew that you didn’t entirely trust yourself anymore, and you knew that Alexia knew that and needed to be able to get in in case you did something stupid.
Just that thought though, that she cared enough to think about that, set off that feeling in your chest again. It was becoming almost familiar.
…
Your physical evaluation was brutal. Turns out, doing nothing but rotting in your depression for months slightly affects your endurance. Who would’ve thought?
Your baseline for both cardiovascular and muscular strength were well below par, and it would be some time before you would be allowed to fully join the squad for training. You were banished to a program of strength training with weights that you would’ve scoffed at a year ago, drills designed to work your skills without leaving you bent over and faint, and a seemingly endless number of sprints. Exactly what you wanted to be doing, obviously.
Although, once you sat down in the psychologist’s office, you desperately wished to go back to the physic room. At least that was clinical, cold, and hard. No emotions or fuzzy crap.
Seated on a plush couch, surrounded by too many pillows with too many bright colors, you decided you hated this. But Alexia physically blocked the door with her body, and your idea of bulldozing her left as soon as it came; you may be mentally ill but you aren’t stupid.
At first you refused to talk, refused to answer her stupid checklist of questions on her dumb form on the idiotic clipboard with some nonsensical inspirational quote on the back. Realistically, you knew it wasn’t going to work long term, but like hell if you weren’t going to try.
“Listen, y/n, you do want to play football again?”
“I guess.”
“Try again?”
“Sorry?”
“I said try again. Do you want to play football again?”
With a sigh that wasn’t at all dramatic, you answered, “yeah, I guess.”
“Okay, well then I would recommend you at put in at least a little effort here. I won’t force you to talk today, but trust me, you won’t see the pitch if you don’t put some effort into these sessions. Sound good?”
“...whatever.”
Alexia was still outside the door when you finished up, and if you shouldered past her and made a beeline for the bathroom, she didn’t mention it.
…
“Does anyone know what this is about?”
“No clue, Ale made it seem important though.”
The girls slowly filtered into the locker room, taking their spots in their cubbies and quietly murmuring amongst themselves.
Earlier that day, Alexia had texted everyone, informing them of a mandatory team meeting at the training center. Something about prepping everyone for the new season that was set to begin bright and early the next day.
Notably, you were not aware of this meeting.
Because you were the main topic of conversation.
“Okay, that’s everyone,” Alexia began, turning on her Captain’s Voice and taking her spot at the center of the room, “listen up, chicas. I have a few things to go over before we start training tomorrow.”
Alexia had the attention of the room no matter what she did, this time no different.
“We have a transfer player coming in to start training with us.”
“Giulia? From Roma?”
“No, not her. Another one. She’s…she’s from Real Madrid.”
Cue the shocked, curious mumbles across the room.
“I know, I understand. And I know you lot and how you operate, so under no circumstances will there be any teasing or jokes made at her expense about the club she comes from, entiendo?”
Even the younger ones, who loved nothing more than to tease Alexia, understood that her tone meant that this was not something to push her on.
“And,” she continued, “you may have seen her name in headlines because she lost someone important to her near the end of last season. I don’t think I need to say this, I hope I don’t need to, but please no comments of any sort about that either.”
Similarly, no one said a word. Most people were able to put the pieces together on who this mysterious transfer was, and simultaneously began to understand where this protectiveness from their captain was coming from.
“She’s currently on mental health protocol, so she won’t be joining us for pitch training yet, but you’ll see her in the gym and in with the physios,” Alexia took a deep breath, “One more thing, the news of her transfer likely won’t be announced to the public until January. Do your part in respecting and protecting her privacy.”
People were confused, naturally, about the details. About how all this came to be. But they believed in the sincerity and intensity of their captain’s words, and trusted her enough to accept what you would bring to the squad.
…
You didn’t sleep that night. How could you? Anyone in their right mind would be nervous for their first day of preseason with Barcelona, and you most certainly were not in your right mind.
Alexia had offered to drive you, you had declined. Your hands shook as you somehow drove yourself to the training grounds without ending up in a ditch.
You were absurdly early, which meant you had plenty of time to spiral in your car before training started. Perfect.
I’m about to humiliate myself in front of all my idols.
I can’t do this.
This is a horrible idea.
I don’t deserve to be here.
Alexia probably just feels bad for me.
I should’ve crashed this car on the way here.
You jumped 2 feet out of your skin when Alexia knocked on your window, cursing as you lowered the window.
“You just scared the shit out of me!”
“Want to walk in with me? We’re the first two here.”
“Um…sure,” you didn’t really want to, you didn’t want to be around anyone, but that’s wasn’t an option and you supposed it would be nice to walk in with someone, Alexia specifically.
“Good, vamos.”
The halls were empty, save for the occasional staff member who piloted waved to Alexia, not to me, before disappearing. The locker room was deserted, lights off and air still. It felt suffocating.
Alexia showed you where to get you training gear, where to drop your laundry, the hallway that led to the gym, physios, everything you would need.
You got changed on shaky knees. Your chest tightened in that familiar way, but you pushed it down. You still didn’t think you could do this, still convinced this was a terrible mistake. But you knew how to put on a face. You could be the confident prodigy that you were probably expected to be. Right?
The next person to arrive was Irene. She introduced herself and shook your hand. You think you responded well enough, if the encouraging smile from Alexia was something to go by.
More people filtered in. More greetings, more introductions, more pressure in your chest. This wasn’t some figment of your imagination anymore. This wasn’t something that was going to happen. You had FCB training gear on, and Aitana Bonmati sat two cubbies down from you.
The time to get out to the meeting room was quickly coming.
You made a run for it. Fast steps headed for the door you came in, walking and walking until you were alone. The cool brick of the hallway wall pressed into your back and dragged your top up your back as your legs folded.
It didn’t take long to kick in. My lungs burned, my cheeks were wet, and I heard heaving. I couldn’t even register that I was the one making those sounds.
Someone in front of you. Your arms wrapped around your legs tighter. Compressing yourself into a ball. Whoever was in front of you, they grabbed your wrists. There were words, too muddy to make out. Your wrists pulled up and you were stuffed against something warm. There was pressure everywhere. Not the kind that crushed yout chest before, but good pressure. The blood roaring in your ears softened enough to hear thumping. Rhythmic thumping. A heartbeat. Your head was against someone’s chest. Alexia’s chest. Her voice broke through the haze.
“Just breathe, nena. I got you. You’re safe.”
One hand cradled your head, the other tight around your back and holding you tight to her body.
Once your nervous system had chilled out, you flinched away from Alexia’s hold like she was on fire, frantically wiping your tears. Fuck.
You had a panic attack. On your first day. Could this get any worse?
“Fuck- I’m sorry…um, that- that hasn’t happened in a w-while I- ”
“Hey, you’re okay, relax. It’s okay, don’t be sorry.”
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Fuck, that’s so embarrassing.”
“It’s not embarrassing, nena. It’s okay.”
“How long?”
“10 minutes? Maybe a bit longer?”
“Dios..I can’t do this..I need to go home, I can’t be here- “
“Hey, hey, look at me. This is okay. You are okay. You belong here, and you can handle this. It’s not going to be easy, and it might be a long road, but we can’t think about that, si? We can focus on getting through today. Tomorrow you focus on tomorrow, okay? Please don’t be embarrassed, nena. Now, vamos, we have a meeting to get to.”
you’ve been through ringer this past year. teammates that hate you, a car accident that killed your father, and a city that feels as empty as your heart. you’re about to give up everything, and then alexia putellas shows up at your door.
✢ pairing: alexia putellas x teen!reader, barca femeni x teen!reader
✢ wc: 2.7k
✢ tags: **mention of parent death, depression and suicidal thoughts** , madridista reader (js trust me okay), polyglot reader, mental illness
✢ a/n: accidentally started another series? whoops? oh well this ideas been floating around in my head for a while so i finally put it down on paper. or a google doc. enjoy! let me know if you’re interested in her story!
You liked languages.
It was the product of having lived in three different countries by the time you were 10.
Spanish was your best, you having lived there for the past 6 years. You spoke Italian to your dad, but you didn’t seek out media in that one like you did the others you knew. Too many bad memories. Your English was good, considering you had only lived in England for 3 years. It was mainly social media and pop culture that kept it in your head. In school, you had to pick a language to take classes in, so you picked German. Then you learned French on your own just because.
Your bookshelves were lined with titles in all different languages. Your playlists couldn’t be enjoyed by anyone but you, because most people would only understand a quarter of the songs that played. You figured out how VPNs worked so you could stream French Netflix or German Disney shows.
You just loved the idea of languages, how people from different areas of the world communicated so differently, and yet there were so many similarities throughout. You loved how your world expanded with every language you learned, how it opened up thousands more connections you could make.
You also loved how easy it made it to eavesdrop on your international opponents during a match, but that just par for the course.
You had played football since you were a 7 year old girl running around in Sicily with the boys in the dry grass down the street from your Nonna’s house. It was one of the only fond memories you could think of from the time you and your dad spent in Italy.
When you were 10 your dad picked you both up and shipped off to Madrid. A work offer, a fresh start for the both of you, a chance to distance yourselves from the hell that Italy had become. You continued to play football, this time on a real team. Still with all the boys. But you were faster and smarter than them, and soon enough you were 12 and your dad was sitting you down and telling you that a nice grown up had watched your last match, and now you were going to play for a new team, this time with other girls your age, called Real Madrid.
You liked playing for Madrid, mostly because you liked football and you liked to make your dad proud. But it was never Madrid itself that you loved.
You always felt like an outsider, like the rest of the girls on your team were in one clique, and you were just there. They wore white with their whole chest, proudly calling themselves Madridistas for life, cursing at and spitting on anything Blaugrana. You never felt like that, never had that allegiance to your childhood club that they did. It made you feel like an outcast, like you were alone. You had never been overly shy, but it was safer like that there. They didn’t like you, didn’t want to talk to you. So you didn’t even try.
But your lack of friends didn’t stop you from training and working harder than everyone else, if not for the crest on the front of your kit but for the name on your back. You remember your dad’s face when you told him you were invited to a first team training session for the first time, when you were available for a match for the first time, and finally, when you made your senior debut. He was in the stands, screaming and proudly wearing your jersey. It was the only thing that made you smile that entire day.
You had done well in the few minutes you were on the pitch, but you hadn’t done anything extraordinary. No world-class goals, no assists from the other end of the pitch, no game-saving tackles.
And, apparently, that was enough for your teammates on the B team to feel like they had a right to comment on your performance. That you weren’t good enough, that the staff had made a mistake, that any one of them were much more suited for the first team than you were. When you returned to the B team, they treated you with disgust, making up a reality in their heads that you were snotty and cocky, that you felt like you were too good for them, to justify their shit-talking. It was miserable.
And the first team was no better.
You were quiet and kept to yourself, not speaking with any of the older girls unless spoken to. You were terrified, already being disliked on your own team, but they took it as you being conceited and arrogant, somehow. You retreated into yourself more than you ever had.
You hesitated when they approached you with a one-year contract at the end of the year. A whole year of that torture on the senior team? You didn’t know if you could handle it. But the thought of going back to the B team with all of them knowing you turned down a professional contract? That sounded even worse. And your dad seemed so proud when you told him about the offer. So you signed it. Painted a smile on your face as you signed the paper and shook the club owner’s hand.
The next year was hell enough already. You went to u-17 camp for England and for Spain. You still hadn’t made a decision on that, which only gave the girls one more thing to taunt you about.
You were still concieted, arrogant, cocky, and a horrible person. You were greedy and selfish. Your form was sloppy at best, and you still thought you were better than everyone else.
The arrogance they talked about was you keeping your head down at training, speaking to no one and taking up as little space as you could. All those languages running around in your head and yet, you never uttered a single word more than necessary.
Your selfishness was you sometimes taking the ball to goal yourself instead of passing it off unnecessarily. They believed it should always be them, that you didn’t deserve the ball. That you were more likely to screw it up than they were.a
Your sloppy form was you leading the team in goals and assists, because yeah, even with your selfishness you still seemed to set your teammates up pretty well.
You were counting down the days until your contract was up, and you could leave. Or quit football. You honestly didn’t know.
But everything you thought you knew in the world got put on a screeching halt sometime mid-March. You got the call at training, between sessions in the gym and on the pitch.
“Hola?”
“Hola, is this Y/N L/N?”
“S-si.”
“Hola, soy del Hospital Universitario La Paz. Tienes que venir aquí de inmediato, soy tu padre.”
You didn’t hear anything else, you just ran. You drove 20 miles over the speed limit and somehow didn’t get pulled over. You arrived at the hospital, still in your training clothes. You said every Italian prayer you could remember from your nonna and then googled more when you ran out.
Your dad was dead before the next morning. Car accident. The doctors tried their best, but he was never going to make it.
Now you really had no idea what to do. The one thing keeping you tethered to reality was gone. The single good thing about life in Madrid was gone.
You took time off. You wanted more, but the club wanted you back, and who were you to argue?
So you trained. You were even quieter than before. You played like you were carrying the weight of your father on your back, like every movement costed you energy you didn’t have. Your form had dropped considerably and yet you still topped the stats of the league, right up there with the Barcelona players you were supposed to hate but never did.
Some of your teammates sent you a text when he died. That was about all the pity you got.
By the end of the season, you felt like you were dragging your corpse along with you wherever you went. You felt like it was a miracle you made to the end of the season. You didn’t want to play football anymore. You didn’t want to do anything. You had managed to circumvent the whole foster care thing and get emancipated because you made enough money to justify it. The solitude of your apartment wasn’t helping at all.
Your agent almost got you into another contract with Real Madrid without contacting you, thinking that would be what you wanted, that you didn’t want to be bothered or have to make a big move with everything else going on. You had a panic attack until you threw up and then fell asleep right there on the bathroom floor at mere thought.
Other clubs started to reach out. English clubs, German clubs, French clubs, other Spanish clubs.
But you told your agent you were done. Done with football. Maybe with life. You weren’t sure, honestly. But your agent was a hard head and kept your doors open.
You were waist deep in your own depression when Barcelona came knocking with a late offer. You wrote it off almost immediately. You were hated in Madrid, where you had been raised for years. You couldn’t even imagine what it would be like for you, a Madridista to the rest of the world, in Barcelona. You were ready to tell them to kick rocks when you got an unexpected knock at your door.
That was weird. You didn’t have family or friends in Madrid who cared enough to show up at your apartment. Your agent preferred to call you. You didn’t want to pull yourself out of bed, the movement requiring energy you didn’t have. But they were persistent, so you pulled yourself out of bed and opened the door anyway, and saw none other than Alexia Putellas standing in your hallway.
You swore your eyes bugged out of your head for a second.
“What the hell are you doing here?” It was the most words you had spoken in days. It made your throat hurt. It sounded foreign, wrong.
“Nice to meet you too, niña. Can I come in?”
“I guess..? Wait- why are you here?”
Alexia pushed her way into your tiny apartment. All the lights were off and the blackout curtains were pulled tight. She slapped the light switches and made you wince by how bright they were.
“It’s very dark in here.”
“Yeah, for a reason. I like it like that. Why are you here, by the way?”
“Seriously, it can not be healthy to live in this much darkness-” she threw open the curtains that were bathing the room in darkness, exposing your gorgeous view of the Madrid skyline and the setting sun. Huh, it was almost night again. Great. You had no idea what time it was anymore.
“For the last time, what are you doing here?”
“I’m here to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“About your contract. And you. And your papa. And everything. Do you have tea?”
You must be having a fever dream. Yes, that was it. You contracted some illness in your depression and now you were having insane, fever-induced dreams of Alexia Putellas breaking down your door and saying she wanted to talk to you about your dad.
You just shook your head at the ridiculousness of the situation and went to make tea, pulling out mugs and tea bags and putting on a kettle. It was the most action you’ve done in a while. For some reason it didn’t feel heavy and impossible to move once Alexia waltzed her way in.
She looked at your bookshelves, “You speak all these languages?”
“No, I just have them all for show,” you rolled your eyes.
She sat in silence as you made cups for both of you. She said she took it black. You put a spoon of sugar in yours.
The first half of the cups were drank in silence as well. You were thankful for it, even if it was weird. She cleared her throat after a sip and you knew the silent reprieve was over.
“You were going to say no to our offer.”
“How did you know that?”
“I have my ways. You didn’t even attempt negotiations. You think we hate you because you come from Madrid?”
“Why do you care?”
“Because I care about my team, and I want us to do well. And that means caring about who the club is potentially asking to join us. Which includes you now. ”
“So you just barge your way into the apartments of all the people Barca offers contracts to?”
“No, only the ones who aren’t even legal adults yet and are abandoning their childhood club months after something horrible happened. We wouldn’t hold it against you, by the way. The Madrid thing.”
You had nothing to say to answer that. You didn’t believe a thing she said.
“I lost my dad too. I was around your age.”
“I know.”
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. I wanted to reach out as soon as I heard about it. And then I saw you back on the pitch 2 weeks later.”
“What about it?”
“I didn’t play football for 6 months when my papa passed.”
“Oh. Well, people grieve differently.”
Alexia sighed, “You’re leaving Madrid.”
“I am.”
“4 months after your dad died.”
“That’s right.”
“Can you see why I’m concerned?”
“No, I can’t.”
She sighed again, “It’s just been you and your dad for a while, si?”
“Yeah.”
“And you two were close?”
“Very.”
“So, your dad passes away, one of the most difficult things anyone can go through, especially at your age, and you jump back into work two weeks later looking like you had risen from the dead just to throw your boots on and fall onto the pitch. And then, months later, you take the first opportunity to leave the only place you’ve ever played football, while you are still 16, by the way.”
You shrugged, “Why do you care? I played for Madrid. You should hate me for even existing. And I’m done with football anyway, you’re wasting your time.”
“I don’t hate children. What happened at Madrid that made you want to run like this?”
She had completely skipped over you saying you were done with football. You cringed when she called you a child. And you were silent at her question.
“So there was something.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t say there wasn’t, either. If someone asked me that question about Barcelona I would reassure them in a heartbeat that everything was good, but you did not.”
“It was nothing.”
“But it was something. Something that affected you this much.”
You were silent for a long time. You sipped your tea. It was cold. You sipped it again.
“I didn’t fit in, I guess.”
“That can mean a lot of things.”
“People didn’t like me, okay? Didn’t include me. Talked crap behind my back. Staff sucked too. Happy now?”
“I am, yes. Thank you for telling me. I know there is more to the story, but that’s a good starting point.”
“Starting point?”
“Si. I’ll be expecting you in Barcelona this summer”
“What?”
“Trust me on this one, okay?”
“I don’t even know you! And I told you I’m done with football!”
“We don’t do cliques, or drama, or talking crap in Barcelona. We don’t make you feel bad for being quiet. We don’t make people want to run away, and we won’t alienate you. We don’t force players back 2 weeks after one of their parents dies.”
“How did you-”
“Like I told you, I have my ways. I’ve been told I’m very observant. Come and see me when you come to visit the facilities. We can have dinner. Stop it with all the quitting talk. And keep the blinds open, it’ll help with the depression.”
And just like that she waltzed out of your place, like she had never been there. You stood there in shock for a few minutes.
You didn’t know why you told Alexia anything. Why you let her into your apartment. Why you even heard her out.
Then you texted your agent, asking how quickly you could start negotiations with Barcelona. He asked if you had hit your head. You said you had a visitor and changed your mind.
You were on a flight to Barcelona within a week.
Damn you, Alexia Putellas. What the hell are you doing to me?
Can you do a teen reader one where they get injured and Alexia is super worried and so is alexias mom because she sees her as family as well?
Family isn't always blood
Alexia Putellas x teen!reader
Warning: injury
Words: 2k
The injury happened so fast nobody processed it properly at first.
One second Y/N was sprinting down the wing during training, laughing because Clàudia Pina had just shouted something ridiculous at her from midfield—and the next—she was on the ground screaming.
The sound stopped training instantly. Not a dramatic yell. Not frustration. Pain. Real pain.
Every single head snapped toward her.
Y/N curled in on herself near the edge of the pitch clutching her ankle with both hands, face pale almost immediately.
“Oh shit,” Mapi León muttered.
Coach blew the whistle sharply for medics before anyone else even moved.
But Alexia Putellas was already running. “Y/N.”
The panic in her voice made several players exchange worried looks instantly. Because Alexia never sounded panicked. Ever.
Y/N looked up with tears already spilling down her face. “I heard it,” she choked out.
That sentence made Alexia’s stomach drop violently. “What?”
“I heard it crack.”
“No, no, no—don’t think about that right now.”
But Y/N was shaking now. Actually shaking. The medics arrived quickly, kneeling beside her carefully while asking questions in calm voices.
“Where’s the pain?”
“Can you move it?”
“Did you hit knees with anyone?”
Y/N tried answering but her breathing kept hitching badly between words. Alexia crouched beside her immediately and grabbed her hand.
“Look at me.” Y/N’s eyes snapped toward hers instantly.
“There you are,” Alexia said softly. “Breathe.”
“She can’t put weight on it,” one medic murmured grimly after examining the ankle.
The swelling had already started. Bad sign. Very bad sign.
Y/N let out another broken sound when they touched it wrong. Alexia’s expression tightened immediately.
“Careful.”
“She needs scans.”
The entire training ground had gone quiet now. Nobody stretching. Nobody talking. Even the younger academy girls watching nearby looked pale.
Because everyone loved Y/N. She was sixteen years old and somehow managed to become everyone’s little sister within months of joining first-team training.
Loud. Chaotic. Annoying in a lovable way. Always stealing food from people’s plates. Always talking. Always smiling.
Seeing her crying like this felt deeply wrong.
“Can you stand for me?” the medic asked gently.
Y/N nodded shakily. Then immediately cried out the second weight touched her ankle.
Alexia caught her before she fully lost balance.
“Okay,” the medic said quickly. “No standing.”
Y/N buried her face against Alexia’s shoulder suddenly, breathing unevenly.
“I’m sorry.”
That nearly broke Alexia’s heart. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I ruined training.”
Alexia blinked at her in disbelief.
“You think anybody cares about training right now?”
Y/N looked genuinely guilty. God. Still a kid. Still so young. The medics carefully helped settle Y/N onto a stretcher while Alexia stayed beside her the entire time.
“You’re coming with me?” Y/N asked quietly.
“Obviously.”
“Coach might need you.”
“Coach can survive twenty minutes without me.”
Coach nodded immediately from nearby. “She’s right.”
______________________________________________
The hospital waiting room felt freezing. Y/N sat curled into herself in a wheelchair with an ice pack balanced carefully over her swollen ankle while Alexia handled paperwork nearby.
Every few minutes Y/N glanced toward the hallway nervously. The adrenaline had worn off now. Which meant fear replaced it. Fear and pain.
Her ankle throbbed horribly.
“What if it’s bad?” she whispered finally.
Alexia looked up instantly. “We don’t know anything yet.”
“But what if—”
“Hey.” Alexia crouched in front of her immediately. “One thing at a time, okay?”
Y/N’s eyes looked suspiciously shiny already.
“I don’t want surgery.”
Alexia’s chest tightened painfully.
“You don’t even know if you need surgery.”
“But what if I do?”
The thing about young players was that injuries terrified them differently. Older players understood recovery. Understood setbacks.
Sixteen-year-olds just thought everything might end forever. Alexia reached up gently fixing loose strands of hair behind Y/N’s ear.
“You are not going to lose football because of one injury.”
Y/N looked unconvinced. Easy to say. Harder to believe. Before Alexia could say more, her phone buzzed loudly.
Mamá calling.
Alexia answered quickly. “Hola.”
“How is she?” Eli asked immediately.
Not hello. Not how are you. How is she. Alexia glanced toward Y/N instinctively. Still small in the wheelchair. Still trying not to cry.
“We don’t know yet.”
“Is she alone?”
“I’m here.”
“Good.”
Then softer: “Tell her I’m coming.”
Y/N looked up immediately at that. “Eli’s coming?”
Alexia nodded once. Y/N’s face crumpled unexpectedly. Because Eli Putellas treated her like family from the second she met her.
Home-cooked meals. Constant worrying. Text messages reminding her to sleep properly. The kind of affection Y/N secretly missed sometimes being away from parts of her own family for football.
“You don’t have to cry before the scans,” Alexia teased gently after noticing tears gathering again.
“I’m not crying.”
“You literally are.”
“Shut up.”
“There she is.”
That tiny bit of attitude made Alexia feel slightly better. At least Y/N still sounded like herself.
_____________________________________________
The scans took forever. Or at least it felt forever.
Y/N hated every second of it. Hated lying still. Hated the uncertainty. Hated the horrible spiral happening in her brain.
What if it was torn? What if she missed months?What if Barça stopped believing in her?
Stupid thoughts.
But impossible to stop. When they finally wheeled her back into the small waiting area, Eli had arrived already.
The second Y/N saw her, she nearly started crying again.
“Oh sweetheart.” Eli crossed the room immediately and cupped Y/N’s face gently in both hands.
“You scared us.”
“I’m okay,” Y/N whispered automatically.
Both Eli and Alexia gave her identical looks. One she definitely recognized.
The “that’s obviously nonsense” look.
“You’re injured,” Eli corrected softly.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”
And somehow that sentence broke the fragile control Y/N had left. Her face crumpled instantly.
“I don’t want to be hurt,” she whispered.
Eli pulled her into a hug immediately despite the awkward wheelchair angles.
“Oh bebé…”
Alexia looked away briefly because seeing Y/N cry always made her emotional too. Especially this kind of crying. Quiet. Scared. Young.
“I know,” Eli murmured softly while rubbing circles against her back. “I know.”
Y/N shook slightly against her shoulder. “What if I can’t play?”
“You will.”
“You don’t know that.”
Eli pulled back just enough to look at her properly. “I know your heart,” she said firmly. “And girls like you always fight back.”
That made fresh tears spill down Y/N’s cheeks instantly. Because Eli sounded so certain. So safe. Like maybe things would actually be okay eventually.
The doctor arrived before anyone could say more. Everyone stood immediately.
“Well?” Alexia asked.
The doctor smiled slightly. “Good news first, nothing is broken.”
The relief in the room was instant. Physical. Visible. Y/N nearly slumped over completely.
“Oh thank god,” Alexia breathed.
“But,” the doctor continued carefully, “she has significant ligament damage. A severe sprain.”
Y/N’s stomach dropped again. “How long?”
“Several weeks minimum.”
Weeks. Not months. Weeks. Alexia visibly relaxed beside her. But Y/N still looked devastated. Because when you’re sixteen, even weeks feels enormous.
“No surgery?” Eli asked carefully.
“No surgery.” That helped slightly. A little. “She’ll need rest, physio, and no football for a while.”
“No football?” Y/N repeated weakly.
The doctor smiled sympathetically. “I know. Worst sentence imaginable.”
“You have no idea.”
That actually made him laugh softly. Good. At least she still had humor.
______________________________________________
The hardest part turned out not to be the injury itself. It was staying still afterward.
Y/N hated recovery immediately.Hated crutches. Hated sitting out training. Hated watching everyone else practice while she sat on the sidelines wrapped in jackets feeling useless.
And worst of all—she hated feeling dependent.
“Can you stop trying to carry things?” Alexia scolded after catching her attempting to balance three water bottles while on crutches.
“I can do it.”
“You literally almost fell.”
“But I didn’t.”
“That’s not the point.”
Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically. Alexia stole the bottles anyway.
“You’re worse than my physio.”
“Good.”
Recovery made Y/N grumpy. Really grumpy. Mostly because pain mixed badly with frustration.
One afternoon Eli arrived at Alexia’s apartment carrying containers of food only to find Y/N sitting miserably on the couch glaring at daytime television.
“Oh no,” Eli laughed softly. “She’s reached the angry stage.”
“I’m not angry.”
“You’re glaring at a cooking show.”
“They’re annoying.”
Alexia snorted from the kitchen. “See?”
Y/N threw a pillow at her weakly. Rude.
That evening became one of the worst nights emotionally. Because reality finally hit fully.
Y/N sat on the floor beside the couch doing rehab exercises slowly while trying not to cry from frustration.
The resistance band snapped accidentally from her grip. Pain shot through her ankle again instantly.
And suddenly—she was crying. Full crying.
“I hate this,” she choked out.
Alexia immediately moved toward her. “Hey.”
“I can’t even do stupid exercises right!”
“Recovery takes time.”
“I don’t want time!”
Alexia’s expression softened painfully. Y/N wiped angrily at tears.
“I finally got here,” she whispered. “I finally started feeling like I belonged here and now I’m hurt.”
Alexia crouched carefully in front of her.
“You belong here whether you’re injured or not.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“No,” Alexia said quietly. “It isn’t.”
Y/N looked up slightly. Alexia rarely talked about her ACL injury openly. But when she did, everyone listened.
“Football gets taken away from you for a while,” Alexia said softly. “And suddenly you don’t know who you are without it.”
Y/N’s breathing hitched slightly. “Exactly.”
Alexia nodded once. “I know.”
Silence stretched between them for a second. Then Alexia reached forward carefully and squeezed her hand.
“But you’re still you.”
Y/N looked unconvinced. “No football changes that.”
Eli appeared quietly from the kitchen then, sitting beside Y/N gently.
“You know what I saw the first day you came to dinner?”
Y/N blinked. “What?”
“A girl who talked too much and stole potatoes off my plate.”
That earned the tiniest smile.
“You still do both those things injured.”
“True,” Alexia admitted.
Eli brushed hair gently back from Y/N’s forehead. “You are family because of who you are. Not because you play football.”
And that—that finally broke something open emotionally. Because Y/N didn’t realize how badly she needed to hear it until then. That she still mattered hurt.
Still mattered healing. Still mattered sitting uselessly on couches feeling miserable.
She leaned sideways suddenly into Eli’s shoulder.
“…Thank you.”
Eli kissed the top of her head softly. “Always.”
Alexia watched them quietly from nearby with something warm in her chest.
Because maybe family wasn’t always blood. Sometimes it was choice. Sometimes it was showing up.
Sometimes it was sitting beside scared sixteen-year-olds and reminding them they were loved even when football disappeared for a while.
And honestly? That mattered just as much as the game ever could.
The rain had stopped barely twenty minutes before training started, leaving the grass slick and shining under the cloudy afternoon sky. Y/N hated rainy sessions. Not because of the weather. Because rainy sessions usually meant chaos. And chaos at FC Barcelona Femení training was dangerous.
Especially when the coaches decided to make everything “competitive.”
“Four versus four,” one of the assistants announced while tossing bibs onto the grass.
“Small pitch. Two-touch limit. Losing team cleans up equipment.” Groans erupted immediately.
“That is psychological warfare,” Clàudia Pina complained dramatically.
“You cleaned cones wrong last time,” Patri Guijarro replied.
“I cleaned them artistically.”
“You stacked them upside down.”
Nearby, Aitana Bonmatí stretched calmly like she existed above mortal problems while Vicky López attempted to juggle a ball on one foot and nearly slipped on the wet grass.
Y/N laughed quietly to herself while adjusting the sleeves of her training top.
Seventeen years old. Youngest player in the club. And currently trying very hard not to embarrass herself in front of literally the best players in the world.
“Y/N.” She looked up immediately.
Alexia Putellas tossed her a blue bib.
“You’re with us.”
Us apparently included Alexia, Aitana, and Ona.
Great. No pressure at all. Y/N caught the bib awkwardly.
“Thanks.”
Alexia tilted her head slightly. “You look nervous.”
“I wonder why.”
“You’ll survive.”
“That’s what everyone says before something horrible happens.” Aitana snorted softly beside them.
Coach clapped loudly from midfield. “Vamos! Quick teams!”
The tiny training pitch was brutal immediately. Small space. Fast touches. Constant pressing. No time to think. Exactly the kind of football Barça loved.
Exactly the kind of football that made Y/N feel like her lungs were collapsing.
“MOVE!” Ona shouted while overlapping down the wing.
“I AM MOVING!”
“FASTER!”
“THAT SEEMS EXCESSIVE!” Alexia burst out laughing as she intercepted a pass and flicked the ball between Y/N’s feet.
“Focus, pequeña.” Y/N groaned.
“Stop nutmegging me!”
“No.”
The games became increasingly competitive as the session continued. Rainwater sprayed everywhere whenever someone changed direction too sharply. Players slid across the grass. The coaches yelled constantly. Vicky celebrated every goal like she’d won the Champions League.
And unfortunately for everyone involved, Cata Coll had decided today was a good day to become terrifying.
“HOW DID SHE SAVE THAT?” Clàudia yelled after another impossible stop.
Cata grinned from goal. “Skill issue.”
“She’s evil,” Vicky informed Y/N solemnly.
“Correct,” Y/N agreed.
The final game started after nearly forty minutes. First team to three goals wins. Losers clean everything. Which meant suddenly everyone cared way too much.
Y/N’s team: Alexia, Ona, and Vicky.
Against: Aitana, Clàudia, Patri, and Cata in goal.
“Easy win,” Vicky announced confidently.
“Your confidence is embarrassing,” Patri replied.
Coach blew the whistle. Chaos. Immediate chaos. The ball zipped across the tiny pitch at ridiculous speed. Every touch mattered. Every mistake got punished instantly.
Y/N loved it. This kind of football made her forget she was seventeen. Forget the pressure. Forget the cameras sometimes watching training. Forget the comments online debating whether she was “ready” for professional football.
Out here, she just played.
“Y/N!” Alexia called.
The pass came hard and fast. Y/N controlled it instinctively, turning sharply away from Clàudia before slipping between two defenders.
“GO!” Vicky screamed.
Y/N accelerated toward goal. Cata rushed forward instantly. Everything happened too quickly after that.
One second Y/N saw the opening.
The next—Her boot caught awkwardly on the wet grass.
She slipped. Cata dove at the exact same moment. And suddenly there was nothing but impact.
A sickening crack. Then darkness exploded across Y/N’s vision. The collision threw both of them sideways violently.
Gasps erupted around the pitch. Y/N hit the ground hard enough to feel her skull bounce against the turf.
For a second, everything sounded underwater. Far away. Muted. She blinked slowly. The sky above her spun strangely. Rain clouds blurred together. Why was everyone yelling?
“Y/N!” Someone grabbed her shoulder gently.
Or maybe aggressively. It was hard to tell.
“Don’t move.” That voice sounded panicked.Alexia?Y/N tried sitting up immediately. Huge mistake. Pain slammed through her head so violently she nearly threw up.
“Oh—”
“Easy,” Irene Paredes said sharply as she appeared beside her.
“Stay down.”
Something warm dripped over Y/N’s mouth. She touched her face automatically. Her hand came away covered in blood. A lot of blood.
“Oh my god.” The words came out weak and confused.
Blood poured steadily from her nose onto the grass beneath her. Not normal bleeding. Not a little blood. A terrifying amount.
“Oh, that’s bad,” Vicky whispered nearby.
“Medic!” someone shouted immediately.
Cata was already sitting up a few feet away looking horrified.
“I didn’t—she slipped—I—”
“It’s okay,” Alexia said quickly, though her own face looked pale now too.
Y/N blinked repeatedly. Why did everyone look blurry? The world tilted strangely when she tried focusing. Her stomach rolled unpleasantly.
“I feel weird,” she mumbled.
That made several players exchange looks instantly. The medical staff sprinted onto the field.
“Y/N, look at me,” the physio said while kneeling beside her.
“Can you tell me your name?"
”Seriously? I know my name.”
“That’s good,” the physio replied calmly.
“Do you know where you are?”
“…Training?”
“What day is it?” Y/N frowned hard.
Why was that difficult?
“…Tuesday?”
“It’s Thursday.”
“Oh.” That sounded concerning now that she thought about it.
The physio’s expression tightened immediately. “Okay. Don’t try standing yet.”
Y/N wanted to argue but another wave of dizziness crashed into her before she could. Alexia crouched beside her, visibly stressed now.
“You scared us.”
Y/N attempted a joke automatically. “Good. Character building.”
Nobody laughed. Not even a little. That was how she knew this was serious. The blood still hadn’t stopped. It soaked through the towel the physio pressed against her nose.
“Jesus,” Ona muttered quietly nearby.
Cata looked genuinely sick with guilt. “I’m so sorry.”
Y/N turned her head slightly toward her. Instant regret. Everything spun again.
“You didn’t do anything,” Y/N mumbled weakly. “I slipped.”
Still, Cata looked awful. The physio carefully checked the back of Y/N’s head.
“Any neck pain?”
“No.”
“Nausea?”
“…Yeah.”
“Headache?”
“Really bad one.”
Alexia swore quietly in Spanish under her breath. The physio nodded once toward the medical cart approaching the pitch.
“Concussion protocol.”
Y/N closed her eyes briefly. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.
______________________________________________
The locker room afterward felt strangely quiet. Too quiet for Barça. Usually there was music blasting, Vicky yelling about something ridiculous, Clàudia arguing with Patri over nonsense.
Now everyone spoke softly. Y/N sat on one of the benches with an ice pack against her face while the team doctor shined lights into her eyes every few minutes.
The bleeding had finally stopped. Mostly. But her nose was swollen badly, and dried blood still stained the front of her white training top.
Honestly? She looked horrific.
“Proud of you,” Clàudia said while sitting beside her.
Y/N blinked slowly. “For what?”
“You managed to traumatize the entire team.”
“Multitalented.” Clàudia smiled slightly in relief.
Good. That meant joking was allowed again. Across the room, Cata still looked miserable. Y/N sighed quietly.
“Cata.” The goalkeeper looked up immediately.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
“I smashed into your face.”
“You’re a goalkeeper. That’s kinda your thing.”
Cata still looked unconvinced. Alexia crossed the room then, handing Y/N a water bottle.
“Drink.”
“Yes, captain.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” Y/N took the bottle carefully. Even sitting upright hurt now. Every movement made her head pound. The lights overhead felt painfully bright too.
"How bad is it?” Vicky asked from nearby.
The doctor answered instead.
“Mild concussion, probably broken nose. We’ll do scans to be safe.”
Y/N groaned softly. “No football?”
“Definitely no football.”
“Thats so not cool”
“No training for at least several days,” the doctor continued.
“Cruel.”
“Y/N.”
“Okay, okay.” Still. The idea of missing sessions made her chest ache immediately.
At seventeen, every training mattered. Every minute mattered. Especially here. Especially at Barça. As if reading her thoughts, Aitana sat down across from her quietly.
“You know resting now means coming back faster, right?”
Y/N sighed dramatically. “You sound wise. I don’t like it.”
“I am wise.”
“She absolutely believes that too,” Ona added.
Aitana nodded once. “Correct.”
That finally earned a laugh from the room. Small. But normal. The tension eased slightly after that. Until Y/N stood up too quickly. The world lurched violently sideways.
Her knees buckled instantly.
“Whoa—” Strong hands caught her before she hit the floor. Alexia. “Easy,” the captain said sharply.
Y/N grabbed her arm automatically as nausea slammed through her again. Everything blurred unpleasantly.
“Oh, I hate this.”
Alexia’s expression softened immediately. “Sit back down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You nearly collapsed.”
“Dramatic behavior.”
“You’re concussed.”
“Allegedly.”
Alexia stared at her. “…You literally forgot what day it was.”
Y/N considered this. “Okay fair.”
The room laughed again. Even Cata smiled weakly this time. Good. That mattered more than Y/N expected. Because the worst part about injuries wasn’t pain. It was watching teammates blame themselves. And Cata looked seconds away from crying.
Y/N leaned back carefully against the lockers. Her head still pounded. The room still tilted slightly. But at least everyone had stopped looking terrified. Mostly.
Then the door opened. Coach walked in. Everyone straightened instinctively. He looked directly at Y/N first.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a truck.”
“That means you’re honest at least.”Y/N smiled weakly.
Coach crouched slightly in front of her.
“You scared everyone today.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize for accidents.”
That sounded suspiciously directed toward Cata too. The keeper looked down immediately. Coach continued calmly.
“Medical staff already talked to me. You rest. No arguments.”
Y/N opened her mouth. Coach pointed immediately. “No arguments."
“…Rude.”
“I mean it.”
She knew he did. Still sucked though. Coach stood again before glancing around the room.
“Session’s done. Go home.”
Nobody moved immediately. Typical Barça. Half football team. Half emotionally attached family. Eventually, bags started zipping shut and players slowly filtered toward the exit.
Most stopped beside Y/N first.
“Feel better.”
“Text us later.”
"Don’t die.”
“That one was from Vicky,” Patri clarified.
“Helpful,” Y/N muttered.
Finally only a few people remained. Alexia. Cata. Aitana. And the doctor finishing paperwork nearby. Cata stepped closer slowly.
“Can I see?” Y/N frowned. “See what?”
“Your nose.”
“That sounds threatening.” Cata rolled her eyes slightly before crouching in front of her. Y/N carefully lowered the ice pack.
Cata winced immediately. “…Okay wow.”
“Yeah, apparently my face lost the fight.”
“It’s definitely broken.”
“Fantastic.”
“You still look pretty though,” Vicky yelled from outside the locker room.
Everyone burst out laughing.
“GO HOME!” Alexia shouted back.
“LOVE YOU TOO!” Silence settled again after the laughter faded.
Then quietly, Cata spoke. “I really am sorry.”
Y/N looked at her properly this time. Not guilty. Not defensive. Just genuinely upset. And honestly? That made Y/N feel worse than the injury itself.
She nudged Cata’s knee lightly with her shoe.
“If you keep apologizing, I’m gonna headbutt you again.” Cata looked horrified. Alexia snorted loudly. Aitana actually laughed.
Success. Finally, finally, Cata smiled too.
“There she is,” Y/N said softly.
“What?”
“You stopped looking like you murdered me.”
“Well… you were bleeding everywhere.”
“Adds personality.”
“You’re insane.”
“Probably concussed.”
“That’s not how concussions work,” Aitana informed her immediately.
Y/N pointed weakly. “Nerd.”
Aitana looked offended. “I actually graduated school unlike someone”
“Exactly and also damn that's harsh"
The doctor interrupted before the argument could continue.
“Hospital now.” Y/N groaned dramatically.
Alexia grabbed her bag before she could complain further.
“Come on.” Standing hurt less this time. Still dizzy though. Alexia stayed close beside her automatically as they walked down the hallway toward the parking lot.
“You don’t have to babysit me,” Y/N muttered.
"I know.”
“But you are anyway.”
“Yes.” Fair enough. Outside, the air felt colder now. Fresh rain smell lingered around the training grounds while evening settled slowly over Barcelona.
Y/N paused near the car suddenly. The world tilted again. Alexia steadied her immediately with a hand on her shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Mhm.”
“That pause says otherwise.”
Y/N sighed quietly. “…Everything’s spinning a little.”
Alexia’s face tightened again. For someone usually so composed on the pitch, she got visibly stressed when teammates were hurt. Especially younger ones.
“You’re not playing for a while,” Alexia said carefully while opening the passenger door for her.
Y/N grimaced. “I know.”
“You’ll recover.”
“I know.”
“But?”
Y/N looked down at her hands. “…What if people forget about me?”
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Alexia froze slightly. And suddenly Y/N regretted saying anything.
Because it sounded stupid. Insecure. Young. But she was young. Seventeen. Playing among Ballon d’Or winners and Champions League stars. Missing even one week felt terrifying.
Alexia leaned against the car door quietly. “Nobody’s forgetting you.”
Easy for her to say. She was Alexia Putellas. People would remember her forever.
Y/N looked away. “You don’t know that.”
Alexia’s voice softened immediately. “I do.”
Silence settled between them.
Then Alexia continued: “You know what your problem is?”
“That question feels dangerous.”
“You think being here means proving yourself every second.”
Y/N frowned slightly. “…Doesn’t it?”
“No.” Alexia shook her head once. “You already proved yourself when you got here.”
That hit harder than expected. Alexia crossed her arms lightly.
“One injury doesn’t change the player you are.”
Y/N swallowed hard. The pounding in her head suddenly felt distant compared to the tight feeling in her chest.
“You really believe that?”
Alexia looked almost offended. “Obviously.”
Something emotional twisted painfully in Y/N’s chest then. Because football at this level was brutal. Mistakes got criticized instantly. Weakness got exposed instantly.
But Barça—this team—sometimes felt softer underneath all the pressure. Like family pretending not to be family. Alexia finally pointed toward the car.
“Now sit down before you pass out dramatically in the parking lot.”
“That would build team chemistry.”
“That would give me a heart attack.” Y/N smiled weakly and climbed carefully into the passenger seat.
Her head still hurt horribly. Her nose definitely looked awful. And she already hated the idea of recovery.
But as Alexia walked around to the driver’s side while teammates shouted goodbye from across the parking lot, Y/N realized something important.
Summary: Y/N makes history by being the youngest barcelona scorer in history. But after the Celebrations shes very tired and just wants to sleep.
Please come with requests🤗
The stadium noise still didn’t feel real.Even after the final whistle. Even after the win. Even after the entire bench had sprinted onto the pitch to celebrate with her.
Y/N stood near midfield at Camp Nou staring up at the bright lights with flushed cheeks and shaky hands while the crowd continued chanting her name.
Sixteen years old.
And she had just scored her first senior goal for FC Barcelona Femení. Not just any goal either. The goal. The one that made history. Youngest scorer in women’s professional football history.
The announcers had repeated it so many times she thought she might explode from embarrassment.
“She’s in shock,” Vicky López announced loudly while grabbing Y/N by the shoulders.
“I think my soul left my body.”
“That’s normal,” Clàudia Pina replied seriously.
“It happened to me once after coffee.”
“I don’t think that’s the same thing.”
Nearby, Alexia Putellas was finishing a post-match interview, but she kept glancing over toward Y/N with this proud mother kind of smile that made Y/N emotional all over again.
The goal replay flashed across the stadium screens once more. Aitana’s pass splitting the defense. Y/N sprinting onto it. One touch. Then the finish into the far corner.
The roar afterward had felt like standing inside thunder.
Now every teammate who passed her ruffled her hair, hugged her, or yelled “YOUNGEST EVER!” loud enough to make her want to disappear.
“I’m retiring,” Y/N informed the group.
“No you’re not,” Patri Guijarro said.
“Yes. Peak achieved.”
“You’re sixteen.”
“Exactly. It’s all downhill now.”
That earned a loud laugh from almost everyone around her. Almost. Because Cata Coll just shook her head fondly and tossed an arm over Y/N’s shoulders.
“You’re such a child.”
“I literally am.”
“Fair.”
The locker room afterward was complete chaos. Music blasted from someone’s speaker. Vicky danced terribly on top of one of the benches. Ona threw tape rolls at people for no reason.
Someone sprayed water everywhere after Coach gave his speech about “history” and “special moments.”
Y/N sat in the middle of it all grinning so hard her cheeks hurt. Every few minutes someone reminded her she’d broken a record. Every single time she wanted to hide in a locker.
“This one,” Alexia announced dramatically while walking into the center of the room and pointing directly at Y/N, “is never going to shut up about this now.”
Y/N gasped. “You think I’m annoying?”
“Yes.”
“That’s hurtful after I made history.”
“That’s exactly why you’re annoying.”
The team burst into laughter. Y/N threw a towel at her weakly. Alexia caught it without looking.
Show off.
Coach eventually escaped before the celebration got too insane, which somehow made things worse.
The second adults disappeared, the team got louder. Much louder.
“Speech!” Vicky yelled suddenly.
“No.”
“SPEECH!” Everyone joined in immediately.
“SPEECH! SPEECH! SPEECH!”
Y/N covered her face with both hands. “I hate all of you.”
“Emotionally moving start,” Clàudia commented.
Patri nodded thoughtfully. “Very powerful.”
Y/N groaned dramatically before standing on one of the benches. Immediately everyone cheered like she was about to deliver a life-changing speech instead of panic publicly.
She cleared her throat. “… Shit, I forgot what I was gonna say.”
The room exploded into laughter. Even Alexia had tears in her eyes from laughing.
Y/N pointed accusingly. “This is bullying.”
“You’re doing amazing,” Cata said between laughs.
Y/N sighed dramatically. “Okay. Um.”
She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “Thank you for not letting me die when I got called up here.”
The room softened instantly.
“And thank you,” she continued quieter now, “for believing I could actually play at this level before I believed it myself.”
A small silence followed. Then Alexia clapped once. Which immediately restarted the chaos. Music. Yelling. Water bottles flying. Typical Barça.
______________________________________________
By the time everyone finally made it onto the team bus nearly an hour later, exhaustion hit Y/N like a truck. Adrenaline gone. Body shutting down.
She climbed the bus steps slowly in oversized training sweats, hair still damp from the shower, medal of player-of-the-match hanging awkwardly around her neck because Vicky insisted she wear it “for the vibes.”
The front seats were quieter. Safer. Unfortunately, the loudest people on the team spotted her immediately.
“NOPE!” Vicky yelled from the back. “She’s sitting with us!”
Before Y/N could escape, Ona and Clàudia physically dragged her down the aisle.
“I’m tired,” Y/N complained weakly.
“And your point is??”
“I scored a goal.”
“And now you celebrate.”
“That seems medically dangerous.”
Nobody listened. The back of the bus looked like a sleepover mixed with a football riot. Music from someone’s phone. Half-open snack bags everywhere.
Patri arguing with Mapi over fantasy football. Cata sitting sideways across two seats already looking sleepy herself.
Y/N collapsed dramatically into an empty seat. Immediately she shivered. The post-match cold hit suddenly once her body relaxed.
“Cold?” Patri asked from across the aisle.
Y/N nodded slightly. Without hesitation, Patri pulled off her oversized Barça hoodie and tossed it directly at her face.
“Wear that.”
The hoodie was enormous. Like genuinely ridiculous on Y/N. The sleeves swallowed her hands completely and the hood nearly covered half her face.
The second she pulled it on, the entire back of the bus lost their minds.
“Oh my god,” Ona wheezed.
“She looks FIVE,” Clàudia cried.
“She’s tiny!”
Y/N blinked sleepily at them.
“You’re all very loud.” Patri physically doubled over laughing.
Because Y/N, bundled inside the giant hoodie with messy wet hair and the stupidly proud little smile she kept accidentally making every few seconds, looked painfully young.
And painfully adorable.
Vicky grabbed her phone instantly.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Vicky—”
Too late. Flash. Then another.
“Oh that’s evil,”
Cata laughed.
“She looks so cute!”
“I look homeless.”
“You look tiny,” Ona corrected.
Within seconds, multiple phones appeared. Y/N hid deeper inside the hoodie dramatically while everyone took pictures anyway.
“Smile,” Alexia called from farther up the aisle.
“I hate this team.”
But she was smiling. A dumb, sleepy, happy little smile. Which made the girls laugh even harder.
“Posted,” Clàudia announced proudly while uploading the photo to her story.
“Same,” Vicky added.
“Oh, this is definitely going viral,” Ona said.
Y/N groaned softly and let her head fall back against the seat. The bus lights felt warm now. The noise blurred together comfortably.
Her body suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
“Tired?” Cata asked quietly beside her.
“Mhm.”
“You did good today.”
Y/N smiled faintly without opening her eyes. “Thanks.”
A few minutes later, during some loud argument about music choices, Y/N slowly tipped sideways.
Nobody noticed immediately. Until her head landed gently against Cata’s shoulder.
The goalkeeper looked down. Y/N was completely asleep. Still wearing Patri’s giant hoodie. Sleeves over her hands.
Medal crooked around her neck. Tiny smile still visible against the fabric. The entire back of the bus collectively melted.
“Oh my god,” Vicky whispered.
“She’s actually a baby.” Cata carefully adjusted slightly so Y/N stayed comfortable against her shoulder.
Then quietly: “Don’t wake her.”
For once, amazingly, Everyone listened.
I don’t need you to tell me who I am. @darkstar225 - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
