Stay Humble

blog 18+ / woso / requests open

[softidiotsposts]

Masterlist

Alexia Putellas

I Never Dreamt Before You

All American

Whatever You Want, Whatever You Need

Leah Williamson

Anyone Can Cook

Color Clash

WIPS

Request are open so please leave anything in there! I write for a majority of teams and players :)

[girlgenius1111]

there’s simply no way 💀💀💀💀💀

[mapengen-com]

Two Worlds Collide

The drive to the airport had been uneventful. Ingrid had been too caught up in her thoughts, rehearsing polite small talk and preparing herself for any subtle but cutting comments her parents might make about something. She had gone over everything in her head, their plans, the restaurants she had picked out, the polite ways to steer conversations away from anything too tense.

But as she pulled into the arrivals area and saw her parents and Anders standing by the curb, waving at her, her stomach plummeted.

Because that was the exact moment she noticed the child seat in the back of her car.

She froze, her grip tightening around the steering wheel as her pulse kicked up.

Oh, shit. 

She had forgotten to mention Elisa.

She had told them about Mapi. She had spent weeks preparing herself for their reactions, for their skepticism, for whatever quiet judgment would come – even if she knew they’d probably be okay with it. But she had never once thought to bring up the fact that Mapi was raising a child.

Ingrid’s mind spun, heart thudding against her ribs. Would they assume? No, no, that was stupid. Obviously, she hadn’t suddenly had a secret child. Right?

Before she could do anything about it – throw the child seat into the trunk, drape a jacket over it, something – her mother was already opening the passenger door, her father and Anders loading the luggage into the back.

“Hei, kjære,” her mother said, smiling warmly as she leaned in to kiss Ingrid’s cheek.

“Hi, Mamma,” Ingrid croaked, her voice coming out an octave too high.

She could feel it coming. The moment of realization. The question.

And there it was.

Her mother barely had time to adjust the air vent before she turned and…

Stopped.

“Ingrid,” she started, voice slower now, carefully measured. “Why is there a child seat in your car?”

Ingrid’s stomach clenched.

Shit. Shit.

In the back, her father and Anders were settling into their seats. But at her mother’s question, they both looked.

And there it was again. The pause.

Anders frowned. 

“Uh… What?”

“Are you babysitting?” Her father’s voice followed, puzzled but light. 

A sharp breath lodged in Ingrid’s throat. She could feel the panic crawling up her spine like a cold hand.

What was she supposed to say? She hadn’t prepared for this.

She had been so focused on everything else that she had completely overlooked the part where her parents would inevitably see signs of Elisa’s existence and start asking questions.

They would inevitably see Elisa too.

“I…  Uh,” Ingrid started, voice cracking slightly. She gripped the steering wheel harder, as if it could somehow save her.

“Ingrid?” Anders raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

She was.

Ingrid’s mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out. And Anders, clearly enjoying her suffering, leaned forward between the seats, smirking. 

“Wait. Ingrid… Do you… Do you have a kid?” Their father tried.

She choked immediately.

“No!” She yelped, her voice embarrassingly high. “What? No! Oh my god, Pappa, no.”

Her mother wasn’t smirking, though. She was still looking at the car seat. Thinking.

And Ingrid saw the moment her mother’s brain caught up to what that could mean.

“Ingrid,” her mother said again, carefully now. “Does Mapi have a child?”

Ingrid made a sound. It was supposed to be words. It wasn’t.

Anders, still grinning, sat back. 

“Okay, now I’m actually curious.”

“Can you just explain?” Her father sighed. 

Ingrid could feel every inch of her body heating up. She was sweating.

She had to say something.

“Mapi has a niece,” Ingrid blurted out in a rush, barely stopping to breathe. “Elisa. She lives with her. I, uh, I forgot to mention it.”

She risked a glance at her parents.

“You… Forgot?” Her mother was blinking at her, completely caught off guard.

“I… Yeah?” Ingrid’s voice cracked. “I mean, I didn’t forget forget. I just…”

“You never thought this was important to bring up?” Ørjan asked, voice tight.

“It’s not a big deal!” Ingrid said quickly, throwing a hand up before they could say anything else. “It’s… She’s not mine! She’s Mapi’s niece. It’s just…”

“How old is she?” Her mother turned fully in her seat, eyebrows still raised. 

“Three.”

Another pause.

“And why does she live with Mapi?” Her father was frowning now. 

And that? That was the question Ingrid had been dreading.

Because it wasn’t her story to tell – like Alexia had told her a hundred and fifty times before she and Mapi started dating.

But her parents were staring at her, expecting an answer.

“It’s… Complicated,” she said finally, carefully. “But Mapi takes care of her now,” she scrambled. 

That was the best answer she had. She wasn’t about to sit them down in an airport parking lot and explain Mapi’s family history, the tragedy of Elisa’s parents, or how Mapi had taken Elisa in because there was no one else.

Her mother, thankfully, seemed to sense that pushing further wouldn’t get her anywhere. She sighed, turning back around in her seat.

“So, does that mean Mapi is…?”

“A parent?” Anders supplied his father from the back seat, making Ingrid want to slam her forehead against the steering wheel.

“She’s a guardian,” Ingrid corrected quickly. “Not… Not a parent, really. She’s just… Taking care of her.”

“That sounds a lot like parenting,” her father looked – and sounded – skeptical. 

“Well,” her mother said. “I assume that means we’ll be meeting her.”

“Yeah,” Ingrid nodded, still feeling like her pulse was trying to escape her body. “Pretty probably.”

“Do we get to see you interact with a kid?” Anders was grinning again. “Because I honestly can’t imagine it.”

“Shut up, Anders,” Ingrid groaned, throwing the car into drive. 

He only laughed as they pulled away from the terminal, but Ingrid barely heard him.

She was too busy trying to figure out how she was going to explain all of this to Mapi.

The car ride was suffocatingly silent for exactly forty-five seconds.

That was how long Ingrid lasted before she cracked the windows, pretending she just needed fresh air and not an escape from the weight of her parents’ judgment settling over her like a storm cloud.

Her mother still looked vaguely stunned, staring out the window like she was processing an entirely new reality. Her father had settled into a sort of cautious contemplation, while Anders… 

Anders was still looking far too pleased with himself.

“So,” he drawled, stretching out his legs under Ingrid’s seat. “Is she cute?”

“What?!” Ingrid nearly drove into a traffic cone. 

“Elisa,” Anders said, clearly enjoying himself. “Is she cute?”

“She’s three, Anders,” she gritted her teeth.

“I meant in a ‘charming little kid’ way, not a ‘hot girl at a bar’ way. Jesus. What is going to take you to remember that I’m just as gay as you are?”

“Yes, she’s cute,” Ingrid sank lower in her seat. “She’s adorable. She’s also smart, stubborn, and has a mean left foot, so be careful if she ever gets a ball near your shins.”

“Huh. Like Mapi, then?” He let out a low whistle. 

That startled Ingrid into a small laugh. 

“Yeah. Exactly like Mapi.”

“And Mapi is… Happy? Raising her?” Her mother finally spoke, her voice quieter than usual. 

Ingrid hesitated.

That was the thing about Mapi. She had never complained about taking Elisa in. She had never once hesitated to step up, to wake up at ungodly hours to make breakfast when Elisa got up earlier, to fall asleep in a little bed whenever the kid had nightmares and refused to go back to sleep alone and they didn’t feel like letting her climb into their bed. But Ingrid had seen it, the exhaustion, the grief that curled around Mapi’s edges when she thought no one was looking. The fear she carried every time Elisa got too quiet, the panic that crept in when she worried she wasn’t enough.

But she was also the one who made Elisa’s snacks. Who braided her hair before school. Who sat with her on the floor to play even when she was hurting from practice.

“She loves her,” Ingrid finally said, voice softer now. “She’d do anything for her.”

Her mother hummed again, looking thoughtful. 

“That’s… A lot of responsibility.”

“Yeah,” Ingrid admitted. “It is.”

The silence stretched again, but this time, it was different, not quite heavy, but not entirely comfortable either.

Then, after a beat…

“So,” Anders said, grinning again. “Does this mean you’re basically a stepmom now?”

Ingrid groaned.

Anders laughed. 

Their father sighed. 

Their mother just rubbed her temples.

“God help us all,” Ingrid muttered.

~

When they arrived at Ingrid’s apartment complex, her parents were still eyeing the child seat like it was some kind of puzzle they couldn’t solve.

Ingrid quickly grabbed a couple of bags from the trunk, hoping to keep them too busy to dwell on it any further.

They took the elevator up, and Ingrid could have warned Mapi. Could have sent a text, given her a heads-up.

She didn’t.

Maybe because a part of her hoped, irrationally, that her parents would suddenly forget about the whole thing the moment they stepped inside.

Spoiler: they did not.

The moment Ingrid opened the door to her apartment, she barely had time to register anything before…

“INGI!”

And just like that, Ingrid forgot about everything else.

Elisa threw herself into the Norwegian, clinging to her like she was afraid Ingrid might disappear again.

She barely had time to brace herself, but she caught the little girl easily, lifting her up slightly as Elisa buried her face in her shoulder.

She was so small. And warm. And clinging to the woman with everything she had.

Ingrid felt her heart clench.

“Oh, hey, søtnos,” she murmured as she ran a hand through Elisa’s light curls, pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head “I missed you too.”

“You gone forever,” the kid huffed against her shoulder. 

“Four days isn’t forever. And I went to see you yesterday, but you were already sleeping.”

“Yes, it is,” Elisa pulled back just enough to look up at her, her big hazel eyes accusing as she nodded seriously, like she had just won an argument.

And Ingrid, completely oblivious to anything else, smiled.

And then…

Someone cleared their throat.

Oh. Right.

Her parents were here.

Slowly, Ingrid turned her head.

Her mother and father were watching.

Carefully. Curiously.

Anders looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.

Shit.

Ingrid felt Elisa tense in her arms.

The little girl turned her head, noticing the strangers for the first time.

And immediately, she froze.

Ingrid felt it happen. The way Elisa’s body went stiff, the way her fingers gripped Ingrid’s jacket again.

Her eyes, so wide just a second ago, darkened with wariness.

She ducked her head, pressing her face back against Ingrid’s shoulder.

Oh. Yeah. She forgot.

Elisa was shy.

Ingrid had forgotten how she got around new people.

“Elisa,” Ingrid murmured gently, rubbing circles into her back. “It’s okay, baby. These are my parents. And my brother.”

Elisa didn’t move.

Ingrid could practically feel her holding her breath.

“Do you want to say hi?” Ingrid tried softly.

Elisa shook her head.

Very decisively.

Anders, amused, crossed his arms. 

“Well, that’s fair.”

Ingrid shot him a warning look.

Her mother, to her credit, softened immediately.

“That’s okay,” she said gently. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Elisa stayed pressed against her shoulder, and the Norwegian could feel her tiny hands clutching at her jacket, like letting go would be too much.

And Ingrid, well, Ingrid understood.

So she just squeezed Elisa tighter, whispering softly. 

“It’s okay, baby. You’re okay.”

And slowly, Elisa nodded.

But she still didn’t look up.

“Where is Mapi, Eli?” Ingrid whispered to the kid as she kicked off her shoes. 

The child kept her face hidden half on Ingrid’s neck, half on her jacket, so whatever she murmured wasn’t exactly understandable. But Ingrid was already making her way to the living room, and she heard water running down from somewhere past the hallway. 

“So, are we meeting Mapi before or after the child decides we’re not serial killers?”

Ingrid shot him a flat look.

“Before,” she muttered, shifting Elisa higher on her hip. “Make yourselves comfortable, I’ll be right back,” she said to her family as she padded to the bedroom, catching Mapi just as the door of the ensuite bathroom opened. 

“Hey!” Mapi smiled, leaning in to peck at Ingrid’s lips, not even noticing how Elisa was tense on the woman’s arms. “How is it going?”

“I forgot to tell my parents about Elisa.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” she winced. “They found out when they saw the car seat.”

Mapi stared. Then, slowly, her lips twitched.

“You’re telling me,” she said, voice way too amused, fingertips brushing against Ingrid’s hip. “That you remembered to clean your apartment, make the guest bed, and even buy Norwegian groceries, but you forgot to mention Elisa?”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” Ingrid groaned.

“You must have panicked.”

Ingrid gave her a flat look. 

“Thanks for the support.”

“I mean, I would have loved to see your mom’s face.”

“Oh, she was very confused.”

“Bet Anders was a menace.”

“Of course he was.”

Mapi laughed softly, then reached out, brushing a hand over Elisa’s back. That was when, finally, the kid peeked up at her. 

And then she smiled, because she had both her favorite humans back together. 

“You missed Ingi, didn’t you, bebé?” Mapi teased, poking the kid’s side, earning a small chuckle. 

“Sí,” she murmured, hands gripping tightly the back of Ingrid’s neck. 

“I missed you too, kid,” Ingrid kissed the girl’s temple just before Elisa sighed, sinking deeper into the embrace. 

But as much as all of them wanted to stay there, in their little bubble, forever, both women knew they had to go to the living room, where Ingrid’s family was getting settled.

Ingrid could hear her parents’ voices now, though the tone was lighter than it had been when they first walked in. Anders was speaking, his usual teasing lilt evident, and Ingrid figured he must be the one easing the tension, as usual.

So they walked back there together, Mapi quietly trailing behind Ingrid and Elisa, trying to take a few deep breaths. As much as Ingrid had reassured her that her parents were nice, that Anders was an easy one, she was still nervous. 

When they stepped back into the living room, Ingrid felt Elisa’s small hands tighten around her again. Her family was sitting on the couch, trying to act casual, but she could tell they were still processing.

Anders, of course, wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement. He had his arms stretched over the back of the couch, watching the three of them like he was taking mental notes for future blackmail material.

Her mother, however, looked… Different. As if she was really trying to decipher their dynamic. 

And her father? Well, he still had his serious face on.

Mapi, standing beside Ingrid, didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and gave Ingrid’s parents a small, polite nod as she shook their hands.

“It’s nice to meet you,” her voice was steady, confident, but there was some casualty in it. 

Ingrid felt her chest warm.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mapi,” Gudrun smiled slightly, and Ingrid could feel the tension in her body loosening. 

“Likewise,” her father gave a small nod.

But their eyes kept drifting to Elisa.

Because of course, they did.

A second ago, she had run to Ingrid as her life depended on it. And now, she was hiding against her like she wanted to disappear.

Then, of course, Anders stepped up.

“Hei,” he grinned, offering Mapi a fist bump instead. “I hear you’ve been stealing all my sister’s free time.”

“That depends. Do you want her back?” Mapi didn’t even hesitate before bumping her fist against his. 

“Nah, you can keep her,” he laughed, deciding to go easy on the woman for a while. 

Ingrid felt Elisa's small body slowly relaxing in her arms.

Her mother and father still looked thoughtful, clearly absorbing the fact that their daughter had not only forgotten to tell them about Elisa’s existence but was also so deeply involved in her life.

But before any of them could say something else, Anders was one step ahead.

“So, are you going to tell us how you ended up as a part-time mom?”

“Anders.”

Mapi, standing beside her, chuckled, and Elisa, however, finally lifted her head.

She turned, just slightly, to look at Anders, her small brows furrowed.

“She’s not my mom,” her voice was small but firm.

“No?” Anders blinked, quite surprised. 

Elisa shook her head, her grip on Ingrid’s shirt still tight.

“She is Ingi. And Ma is Ma.”

Silence settled over the room. 

Elisa seemed too sure of what she was saying, as if seven words explained everything. 

For Ingrid and Mapi, they sure did, but the looks from Ingrid’s family indicated that, maybe, just maybe, they needed more. 

But they weren’t going to get that now, so Ingrid settled on the armchair with Elisa still in her arms while Mapi sat on the armrest, content to just stay close. 

Anders, to his credit, didn’t push. He just tilted his head slightly, like he was considering her answer.

Then he grinned.

“Fair enough,” he admitted, but, of course, ruined it almost immediately. “So,” he said, grinning again. “When do I get to babysit?”

Ingrid groaned.

Mapi smirked.

“Never,” Elisa mumbled, hazel eyes running all over his figure. 

Anders burst out laughing.

Like, full-bodied, head-thrown-back kind of laughing.

“I like her,” he declared, pointing at Elisa like she was some kind of undisputed champion. “She’s got standards.”

Elisa simply shrugged, completely unbothered.

And Ingrid, for the hundredth time since the entire nightmare had started, felt the overwhelming urge to just… Stay down. Maybe lay down. Maybe just cease to exist for a moment.

Instead, she sighed and rubbed her temples. 

“Can we not do this right now?”

Mapi, who had been watching the whole scene with a look of pure amusement, leaned slightly closer to her girlfriend. 

“I don’t know, I think it’s going well.”

“Oh, do you?” Ingrid gave her a flat look.

Mapi smirked.

Elisa watched Anders for another moment, as if making sure he truly understood, before she turned back into Ingrid’s embrace, seemingly content with how things had played out.

Ingrid let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

But she didn’t think it was possible for her to suffocate in a room full of people she loved, and that’s exactly what happened.

“Elisa, tell me,” Anders decided to try again. “Do you always tackle Ingi like you did or was it a special occasion?” 

The kid barely moved. 

“...Special occasion,” she whispered, her tiny voice barely hearable. 

Her mother was still gazing at Elisa, though now with a more gentle expression, clearly warming up to the little girl. Her father was slowly but surely getting comfortable with the new dynamic, though the fact that he was keeping a careful eye on Mapi didn't go unnoticed. Anders, of course, was still thoroughly entertained by the whole situation.

But Ingrid? She was a mess. A nervous wreck.

She knew it had to be difficult for her parents to adjust to this new version of her life. It was a lot to take in all at once. And she hadn’t planned for any of this.

Her mother finally turned away from Elisa, glancing back at Mapi. 

“So, how long have you two… Known each other?”

Ingrid felt the blood drain from her face.

Not now. Not this.

Her mother raised an eyebrow, as if sensing the tension in Ingrid’s stiff shoulders. She didn’t push immediately, but her curiosity was obvious.

“We’ve been together for about seven months now,” Mapi said, her voice calm, matter-of-fact. “We’ve known each other longer, but we’ve been together, together, for that long.”

Ingrid couldn’t breathe.

Her mother blinked a few times. 

“Seven months…” Gudun glanced at her husband, who simply nodded, as though filing the information away. “So… I take it you’re serious about this.”

“Yes,” Mapi said, her gaze never wavering from Ingrid’s mother’s. “I’m very serious about it.”

Her mother studied her for a moment longer, then nodded. 

“Good. I just wanted to be sure.”

“Of course,” Mapi smiled, and Ingrid was silently thanking her for keeping such a tranquil posture in that situation. 

Just as they were trying to find something else to talk about, the Spaniard’s phone rang on the coffee table, and Elisa knew exactly what that noise meant. 

So, quietly, she wiggled herself out of Ingrid’s embrace just as Mapi reached to turn the alarm off, the kid rubbing her fists against her eyes. 

“This one has to get her vaccines now, so we should get going,” Mapi stretched her hand to Elisa to grab, which she promptly did, gripping it tightly. 

“Oh, right, I forgot about that,” Ingrid muttered under her breath, eyes wide. 

“Don’t worry,” the Spaniard whispered as she leaned to kiss Ingrid’s temple, her fingers being slightly crunched by Elisa’s tiny ones. 

“You’ll be back for dinner, I assume?” Øerjan asked after a beat. 

“I think so, yeah. Might take her home for a quick shower or something, but we can come back, of course,” she explained, and that was when Ingrid realized the kid was still wearing her school uniform, baby hairs coming out of her now messy ponytail. 

“Then we’ll see you later, Mapi,” Ingrid’s mother smiled, her sight back on the kid for a moment. “It was really good meeting you, Elisa.”

She only gave them a tiny, almost imperceptible wave back before pulling Mapi to the door, whispering-asking if they could get ice cream after it. 

As the door closed behind them, Ingrid let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. The room was silent for a few moments, just the distant sound of the elevator doors closing echoing back.

Anders, of course, was the first to break it.

“So,” he started, his voice dragging out the single syllable. Ingrid didn’t even have time to brace herself before he grinned. “You hate kids,” he said, voice dripping with mock bewilderment. “Like, passionately. I distinctly remember you threatening to never talk to her again when Malin ever so much as mentioned you babysitting Oscar.”

“I don’t hate kids, Anders,” Ingrid groaned. 

“That’s not what you used to say,” her mother hummed. 

“You called them ‘germs with legs,’” her father added dryly.

“I was eighteen,” Ingrid sighed.

“Twenty-two, actually. Which was just two years ago.”

“And very vocal about it,” Anders said, grinning as he leaned forward on his elbows. 

She groaned, already regretting everything.

“You really changed, didn't you?” Her mother tilted her head slightly. “I remember how much you used to complain when you had to babysit your cousins.”

“It’s different,” Ingrid groaned again, rubbing her temple. 

“Oh, I can see that,” Anders laughed, stretching his arms out along the back of the couch. “You look like a whole different person with her.”

Gudun smiled, clearly intrigued. 

“She seems very attached to you.”

Ingrid chewed the inside of her cheek, still a bit flustered from the way everyone was looking at her like she was some strange new creature. 

“Yeah.”

Her father, silent for most of this conversation, simply tilted his head. 

“And you, Ingrid?”

Her stomach twisted slightly.

She hesitated for a moment, unsure how to explain it in a way that would make sense to them. 

“I… Yeah. I am too.”

“So you, the same sister who told me that kids are loud and sticky and take up too much space, is now walking around with a tiny human permanently attached to you like some kind of koala?” Anders raised an eyebrow, eyes gleaming with something teasing but not unkind. 

“Oh my god.”

“You are such a liar, Ingrid. All this time, you’ve been telling us you don’t like children…” Gudrun chuckled, shaking her head in something that looked suspiciously like fondness. 

“Because I don’t,” she huffed.

“Right,” Anders snorted. “And yet, I literally just saw that child hanging off of you like she’s never known another person in her life.”

“She’s different.”

“Oh, of course. She’s ‘Ingi’s kid,’” Anders said, putting air quotes around the words.

“She’s not my kid.”

“She’s not my mom,” Anders mimicked Elisa’s tiny voice in a ridiculously high pitch.

Ingrid grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at him, but he just caught it with a laugh.

Their father sighed, rubbing his temples as if bracing himself for a long night of nonsense, but there was no real irritation in his expression. 

“Alright, let’s give your sister some peace.”

“Fine. But I just want to say, I think it’s kind of cute,” Anders grinned but let it drop. 

That made Ingrid’s head snap up.

“You do?”

“You’re, like, a terrifying robot most of the time, but that kid has you wrapped around her tiny little pinky finger,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “It’s kind of hilarious.”

“That’s not…” Ingrid started, but then her mother joined in.

“It is quite sweet,” Gudun admitted. “She obviously loves you very much.”

“She’s three,” Ingrid pointed out. “She loves people who give her snacks.”

“Maybe. But I think it’s more than that.”

That made Ingrid pause. She thought of how Elisa had clung to her in the hallway, how she had whispered “she’s Ingi” so certainly, as if those words alone explained everything.

Maybe they did. Maybe, to Elisa, Ingrid wasn’t just some person who gave her snacks and carried her when she got sleepy. Maybe to her, Ingrid wasn’t an obligation or just Mapi’s girlfriend.

Maybe she was home.

And that thought settled deep in her chest, warm and terrifying all at once.

Anders broke the silence.

“Still. I’m going to tell Malin about this. Just so you know. Just so she can kill you when you refuse to have Oscar for an hour.”

“You’re a child,” Ingrid muttered.

“A loud, sticky one,” he only grinned.

Their mother sighed, but she was smiling too, something in her shoulders finally easing.

And for the first time in what felt like weeks, Ingrid let herself smile too.

~

By the time Mapi and Elisa returned, the apartment smelled of warm food, the scent of freshly baked cookies mixing with something Ingrid couldn’t quite place. It was comforting, like home, and she knew her mother had taken over the kitchen while she was caught up in Anders’ relentless teasing.

Elisa clung to Mapi as they stepped inside, her fingers curling around the hem of the women's hoodie, one that Ingrid was fairly sure it was hers just a few months before. The little girl’s school uniform was gone, replaced by soft, comfortable clothes, her hair freshly combed, though a few strands were already falling out of place. Her stuffed penguin was also safely tucked under her arm.

Ingrid could tell the vaccines had drained some of Elisa’s energy. Her usually curious eyes were drooping slightly, and she stuck close to Mapi’s side as they moved toward the living room.

“Everything went okay?” Ingrid asked, stepping closer.

“Like a champ,” Mapi grinned, ruffling Elisa’s hair gently. “Didn’t even cry.”

“It was okay,” Elisa only blinked up at Ingrid, nodding solemnly. 

“You were very brave, I assume,” the Norwegian’s lips twitched at the overly serious tone. 

The little girl nodded again, this time more assuredly.

“She got a lollipop for later and a bite of ice cream,” Mapi added, nudging Elisa playfully. “So it wasn’t all bad.”

Elisa’s fingers curled tighter around the fabric of Mapi’s hoodie, but she nodded once more.

“She’s been very polite all afternoon,” she murmured as she pressed a quick kiss to Ingrid’s cheek, before letting Elisa guide her toward the dining area.

Dinner was already set up. Gudrun had clearly gone out of her way to make things welcoming, though Ingrid had no doubt it was also an excuse to busy herself and avoid too many awkward conversations. There were plates of warm bread, a stew of some kind, and even a few traditional Norwegian dishes that Ingrid hadn’t expected. She gave her mother a curious glance, but Gudrun only raised an eyebrow, as if daring her to comment.

Elisa hesitated near the table, looking between the adults. She had been quiet since they got back, which wasn’t unusual, but Ingrid could tell she was feeling a little overwhelmed.

Anders was the first to address her.

“Hey, kid,” he said, his voice gentle but still carrying that teasing lilt. “Did Mapi take you for ice cream after the doctor?”

Elisa’s small fingers curled tighter around Mapi’s hoodie. She hesitated, but after a moment, she nodded. 

“Sí.”

“Good deal. I think I’d only survive vaccines if I got ice cream after too,” Anders grinned. 

Elisa glanced at him, considering, before she nodded again. 

“It helps.”

Ingrid bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

“Do you like ice cream, Elisa?” The older man cleared his throat. 

Again, she hesitated, clearly unsure of how much she was expected to say. But eventually, she nodded. 

“Sí, sir.”

Øerjan blinked, clearly surprised by the formal response. 

“You don’t have to call me ‘sir,’ sweetheart.”

“But… Polite,” Elisa frowned slightly. 

Anders smothered a laugh into his sleeve, and Ingrid shot him a warning look.

“That it is,” he conceded, glancing at Ingrid as if to say what do I do with this tiny, extremely proper child? “But you can just call me Øerjan.”

Elisa nodded seriously, but it was clear she wasn’t entirely convinced.

Just before they could say something else, dinner was apparently ready, so Mapi went with the kid to the restroom to wash their hands, the little stool helping Elisa grow taller so she could wash her own basically by herself. 

It wasn’t that Ingrid’s place was full of meant-for-kids things. It was just that… Sometimes Elisa liked to go to the Norwegian’s. And Ingrid made sure she got everything she could possibly need there too. 

It was just that. 

When they were back in the dining room, everyone was already seated. Elisa quietly climbed to her chair, the one with the booster seat, right next to Mapi’s. 

And after her plate was ready and her food cut into smaller pieces, they all started eating too. 

Elisa stayed mostly quiet. Ingrid’s mother tried once or twice to engage her, asking things like, “do you like school?” or “what’s your favorite food?”, and she answered each question politely, her voice barely above a whisper, but she never elaborated.

It wasn’t rudeness. She was just shy.

And Ingrid could tell her parents weren’t sure how to handle it.

They weren’t used to quiet children.

They were used to Malin and Ingrid and Anders, who had been loud, stubborn, always ready with an opinion – and to fight each other.

Elisa was different.

And her silence was making them carefully, painfully aware that they were still strangers to her.

At one point, Anders, clearly trying to lighten the mood, leaned forward and grinned.

“So, Elisa,” he said, his voice playful. “Do you think Ingrid is the coolest person ever, or just the second coolest, after me?”

For the first time all night, Elisa lifted her gaze fully.

And then, without hesitation, reached for her little cup and drank all of her juice, not bothering to actually answer but keeping eye contact with him.

Anders blinked.

Mapi choked on her drink.

Ingrid nearly burst out laughing.

Her mother pressed a hand to her mouth, hiding a small smile.

And her father? Actually smirked.

Anders sighed, shaking his head.

“She hates me,” he muttered. “This is devastating.”

Mapi, still coughing from laughing too hard, waved him off.

“She doesn’t hate you,” she assured him.

“She just loves me more,” Ingrid added, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy this while it lasts,” Anders shot her a look. 

Elisa, still gripping her cup, peeked out just slightly.

And in the softest, smallest voice, she whispered. 

“… Ingi the coolest.”

“Okay. Now she actually hates me,” Anders groaned, dropping his napkin.

This time, Ingrid couldn’t help it, she actually laughed.

By the time dessert was served, the tension had eased somewhat. The scent of cinnamon and sugar filled the air, and Ingrid caught the way Elisa’s eyes lit up, just barely, at the sight of Ørjan bringing the tray filled with Norwegian cookies to the table, her tiny fingers twitching slightly in anticipation, though she waited patiently as plates were passed around.

“Galletas,” the little girl murmured, almost to herself, as Mapi helped her sit up properly again.

“Ingrid said you liked them,” Gudrun said gently, setting a plate down for them. “I hope they’re good.”

Elisa looked up at her, clearly considering something. Then, after a beat, she nodded solemnly. 

“Thank you.”

Gudrun smiled, a little softer now, before handing her one.

It didn’t take long for Elisa to carefully pick up the cookie, holding it delicately between her small hands before taking a tiny, cautious bite. She chewed thoughtfully, her expression unreadable for a moment.

“Good,” she said with the shiest smile ever before taking another small bite. 

“High praise coming from her,” Mapi murmured, ruffling Elisa’s hair.

Elisa leaned into the touch just slightly, her small fingers still carefully holding the cookie as if it were something precious.

“Would you like some more, sweetheart?” Gudrun watched her for a moment before speaking again, her voice warm but measured.

The kid hesitated, her gaze flickering toward Mapi, almost as if she were asking Mapi’s opinion too, but the Spaniard only smiled, tapping a gentle finger against Elisa’s stuffed penguin. 

“You can have as many as you want, peque.”

That was all the encouragement Elisa needed. She nodded once more, this time with more certainty, and Gudrun placed another cookie on her plate.

Around the table, the conversation resumed, more relaxed now. They talked lightly, mostly about their lives back in Norway or about Ingrid’s and Mapi’s ones in Spain.

And Elisa, content with her cookies, listened quietly.

It wasn’t until the plates were nearly empty that she shifted slightly in her seat, glancing up at Mapi again before turning to Ingrid.

“Can I color?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “While you talk?”

Ingrid shared a glance with Mapi, who gave a slight nod.

“Of course,” Ingrid said. “You know where your things are.”

Elisa didn’t need to be told twice. She carefully slid off her seat, her penguin still clutched in one arm, and padded toward the living room, reaching for her coloring book and her pack of crayons that she had left there once and they just settled on leaving it there for whenever she felt like drawing while they were at Ingrid’s place. 

She quietly got her things from a basket under the TV rack, settling everything on the coffee table. The penguin stayed on her lap while she flipped through the pages, trying to find one she felt like coloring before the room was filled with the sound of crayons scraping against paper. 

From the dining table, Mapi’s gaze lingered on the little girl for a moment, watching as she hunched over her coloring book, completely absorbed in her task.

“She’s always this quiet?” Ørjan asked, his voice softer than before, as if careful not to disturb her.

“No, not really,” Mapi replied, stirring the last of her tea. “She’s pretty chatty, but new people aren’t her favorite.”

“She’s just careful,” Ingrid added, echoing Mapi’s earlier words.

“I get it. I mean, meeting new people can be a lot. And we’re a lot,” Anders smirked as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms with a sigh. “Especially me.”

“That’s the truest thing you’ve ever said,” the dark-haired Norwegian muttered, taking a sip of her drink.

Mapi chuckled, shaking her head.

Gudrun, however, remained quiet, watching Elisa with a contemplative expression. 

“She’s very sweet,” she said after a moment. “Very polite.”

“She is,” Mapi agreed, a small, proud smile tugging at her lips.

Gudrun hesitated before continuing, choosing her words carefully. 

“She seems… Attached to you.”

“She is,” Mapi’s fingers curled slightly around her mug, but there was no hesitation in her voice.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was thick with unspoken things.

Then, Ørjan cleared his throat. 

“How long has she been with you?”

Mapi’s grip on her cup tightened again, and Ingrid could tell she was weighing how much to say. Eventually, the Spaniard exhaled slowly.

“Around two years and a half,” she said, simply. “She started living with me when she was one.”

“She’s cool. I like her,” Anders chuckled. 

“Good,” Mapi said, very surely. “Because she’s not going anywhere.”

That seemed to reignite the tension in the room.

Because, of course, that was the real question hanging in the air, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t just about who Elisa was. It was about what this meant. About how serious things were between Ingrid and Mapi if this was the reality Ingrid was stepping into. Ingrid knew her parents were thinking about it.

And sure enough, her father cleared his throat, shifting his gaze from Elisa to Mapi. 

“That’s… A lot of responsibility for someone so young.”

There it was.

Mapi, however, didn’t even flinch. 

“It is.”

Silence.

“And You’re… What, twenty-eight?” Her father frowned slightly.

“Twenty-seven, yeah,” she nodded.

“That’s…” He exhaled slowly, glancing at Ingrid before looking back at Mapi. “A lot to take on at your age.”

“Maybe. But it wasn’t really a choice. Elisa’s my family. That’s all there is to it.”

Something about the calm certainty in her voice made Ingrid’s chest tighten while Gudrun nodded slowly, taking that in. 

“And her parents?”

Something flickered across Mapi’s face, brief but unmistakable, and Ingrid, knowing where this was headed, instinctively reached under the table, her fingers brushing against Mapi’s knee in silent reassurance.

“Both dead.” 

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. It wasn’t just the words themselves, it was the way Mapi said them. Direct. Final. Like she had spoken this truth so many times it no longer surprised her, but it still cut deep every time.

Ingrid felt Mapi’s muscles tense beneath her touch. She didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. She just let her fingers rest against Mapi’s knee, a quiet reassurance. I’m here.

Gudrun exhaled softly, nodding as if she understood more than she was willing to say. Ørjan, on the other hand, shifted in his seat. He looked toward Elisa, still coloring in the living room, her small frame hunched over the coffee table. The soft sound of crayons dragging across paper was the only thing breaking the silence.

“That must have been difficult. For both of you,” Ørjan spoke again, voice careful. 

“It was,” Mapi admitted, her voice quieter now. “Still is, sometimes.”

A few beats of quiet. Then Anders, never one to sit too long in uncomfortable silences, cleared his throat. 

“Well, she’s lucky to have you.”

“She’s not lucky,” Mapi corrected, shaking her head slightly, though her tone wasn’t accusing or mad. “She lost her mom before she was one year old. Her dad was abusive. There’s nothing lucky about that.”

Ingrid watched as her father pressed his lips together, as if holding back a response. Mapi was right, of course, but she also knew Anders had only meant well.

“She is loved, though,” Ingrid said, glancing toward the living room. Elisa had switched crayons, reaching for a bright yellow one, her small fingers smudged with color. “That matters.”

Mapi finally looked at Ingrid then. Just a flicker of warmth in her eyes, there and gone again in an instant.

Before anyone could speak again, soft footsteps padded toward them.

Elisa.

She was clutching her stuffed penguin against her chest with one arm, the other reaching up to rub at one of her sleepy eyes. But she didn’t head straight for Mapi like she usually did. Instead, she hesitated a few feet away from the table, gaze darting between the adults.

Her expression was small. Careful.

Ingrid’s chest tightened. She had felt it. The shift in the air, the way the conversation had changed.

Children always did.

“Can I have more?” Elisa asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course, Eli. Come here,” Mapi was already pushing her chair back. 

But the kid didn’t move at first. Her small fingers fidgeted against the soft fabric of her penguin.

Then she glanced at Ingrid.

Ingrid felt the weight of that look in her bones. It wasn’t just a question of cookies. It was something deeper. Is everything okay?

“I asked my mom to make these just for you. They were my favorite when I was your age,” Ingrid forced a smile, warm and reassuring. 

It was all the encouragement Elisa needed. She finally stepped forward, letting Mapi lift her onto her lap.

But even as Mapi passed her another cookie, even as Elisa took a small, careful bite, Ingrid could still feel the tension lingering.

And she knew Elisa could too.

She chewed her cookie slowly, her small fingers curled tightly around the edge of Mapi’s sleeve. She wasn’t clinging exactly, but Ingrid knew her well enough to recognize the subtle way she was grounding herself.

She felt it. The way the room had changed. The way the voices had softened but carried something unspoken beneath them.

She always did.

Mapi pressed a kiss to the top of Elisa’s head, her fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles against her back. It was a quiet gesture, one that usually soothed the little girl without a word.

But tonight, it didn’t seem to be enough.

Elisa took another small bite, then shifted slightly in Mapi’s lap, her gaze flickering toward Ingrid’s parents. She was studying them, cautious in a way Ingrid hadn’t seen before.

“Are you sad?”

The question was directed at Mapi, barely louder than a whisper, but it made the entire table still.

Mapi’s fingers paused against Elisa’s back.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she exhaled slowly, carefully. When she finally spoke, her voice was steady.

“No, bebé.” She smoothed a hand over Elisa’s hair. “I’m okay.”

She didn’t seem fully convinced, though. She glanced at Ingrid again, then at Ørjan and Gudrun, then at Anders, her grip on her penguin tightening just slightly as she looked back at Ingrid.

“Is Ma lying?”

Her heart clenched.

“No,” she answered, just as steady as Mapi. “She’s not lying.”

Elisa’s lips pressed together, as if she wasn’t quite sure she believed them. Then, slowly, she reached for another cookie, but she didn’t eat it.

She just held it.

Gudrun, who had been silent for a long moment, finally spoke. Her voice was gentle. 

“We were just talking, little one. That’s all.”

Elisa studied her for a long beat before finally nodding. Then, just as quickly, she turned her attention back to her cookie, nibbling at the edge.

The table stayed quiet for a little while longer.

Then, Anders leaned forward, breaking the silence, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay, well, I think we’ve all been way too serious for a family dinner. Who wants to hear about the time Ingrid fell into a frozen lake?”

“Ingi fell in a lake?” Elisa’s head snapped up, eyes widening. 

The energy in the room shifted, just slightly. Mapi chuckled, and Ingrid groaned, already regretting whatever childhood memory Anders was about to expose.

And just like that, the tension started to ease.

Elisa, however, stayed curled up against Mapi’s chest, listening. And even as she giggled softly at the story, her fingers never let go of Mapi’s sleeve. 

Anders kept no details to himself. He told everything, how Ingrid really thought the ice would be thick enough so she could play football on top of it, even if it was freezing, even if playing football on slippery ice was probably the worst idea twelve-year-old Ingrid had probably ever had.

“Alright, enough about my near-death experiences,” Ingrid muttered, shaking her head as Anders cackled as he told her how funny it was to watch his middle sister freezing all the way back home.

“You’re just mad because you know I’ll tease you about it,” Mapi smirked, nudging her gently. 

Elisa, still nestled in Mapi’s lap, looked between them, her small fingers resting on the cookie she had barely eaten. Then, as if deciding the tension had passed after the story was told, she straightened slightly.

“Can I color again?”

Mapi glanced down, taking in the way Elisa had settled more comfortably against her, as if she wasn’t entirely ready to let go just yet. But she nodded. 

“Of course, yeah.”

Elisa hesitated, her grip tightening around Mapi’s sleeve before she carefully slid off her lap. But instead of making her way back to the coffee table, she walked to the small hallway that led the way to the kitchen. 

Quietly, she opened one of the low cabinets, picking a red small bowl before closing the door – being extra careful to not get hurt her tiny fingers – and walking back near the table. Then, without saying a word, she climbed back to Mapi’s lap, reaching the plate filled with cookies and picking just three before quietly slipping back down to finally get a seat in the living room, back to her coloring.

No one stopped her.

She set the bowl next to her crayons, the penguin back on her lap. She flipped through the pages until she found the one she had been working on before selecting a brown crayon with the same careful thought.

“Let’s move to the living room,” Ingrid suggested, giving Mapi a small nudge. “Might as well get comfortable.”

Mapi gave a nod, grabbing her tea as they stood.

Elisa had already settled herself on the floor, the cookies next to her coloring book, completely back to her own little world, tiny legs crossed under the coffee table. 

Every now and then, she would reach for one of the cookies in her bowl, nibbling on it absentmindedly before returning to her work.

As Anders took the armchair and Ingrid’s parents settled on the couch, Mapi sank into the corner of it, stretching her arms slightly over the cushions, and Ingrid took the spot beside her without hesitation. The closeness was instinctive, comfortable. She didn’t even realize how natural it had become until she caught the way her mother’s eyes lingered on the space between them – or the lack of it.

She held Gudrun’s gaze for a brief moment, but before anything could be said, Ørjan spoke up.

“Is this the coldest it gets here?”

“It depends,” Ingrid huffed a quiet laugh, grateful for the change in topic. “But yeah, compared to Norway, it’s never really cold.”

“Elisa complained the one time it dropped below ten degrees,” Mapi hummed in agreement. 

“That’s not cold,” Anders scoffed, shaking his head.

Elisa, hearing her name, looked up briefly from her drawing. 

“It was cold,” she insisted before immediately returning to her colors.

“She’s dramatic when there’s climate involved,” the Spaniard smiled, playfully nudging Elisa’s hip with her foot. 

“I wonder where she gets that from,” Ingrid teased, bumping Mapi’s knee lightly with her own.

And just like that, the conversation flowed naturally again.

“What are you coloring?” Ingrid asked softly, glancing at the page Elisa had been working on.

The little girl turned it toward her, showing a picture of a bear with a tiny bird perched on its back, both figures surrounded by soft green trees. She had colored most of it in already, but the sky remained blank, as if she hadn’t quite decided what color it should be yet.

“Nice choice, peque.”

Elisa nodded, then looked between the two of them, thoughtful. 

“Do you think the sky should be blue or pink?”

“Blue.”

“Pink.”

Elisa blinked a few times, her hazel eyes flickering between both of them before deciding.

“Both,” Elisa answered. “Sunset,” she argued, reaching for a crayon from the pack on the table.

The living room settled into a quiet rhythm again, with Elisa coloring, Mapi leaning into the couch with a comfortable sigh, Ingrid leaning into her, and Ingrid’s parents watching everything unfold with an unreadable expression.

“Hey, Elisa,” Anders tried, but the kid didn’t even acknowledge him. “I heard you like fútbol?”

That actually got a reaction.

Elisa’s head tilted the slightest bit.

“I bet you could kick my ass at it,” he grinned. 

A beat.

Then, so softly Ingrid almost missed it…

“… Maybe.”

“Yeah? Okay, cool,” Anders lit up. “I’ll let you destroy me in a game later.”

Elisa blinked. And then – barely, barely – a tiny smile appeared.

They all took that as a win, especially as Elisa moved to the other side of the coffee table just so she could rest her back against the couch, pulling the book to her lap and resting her head on the side of Ingrid’s leg. 

It was a small gesture. Maybe even unconscious.

But Ingrid saw the way her mother noticed it. The way her father’s expression shifted just slightly as he took in the sight of the little girl fitting so seamlessly into their space.

Yeah. 

If Ingrid ever really said she hated kids, Elisa had definitely changed that. 

----

Okay, so, id love to hear your thoughts about this bc i'm not sure if its too long or what ?????? the few next ones will be shorter tho lol

anyway, not sure when i'm gonna post another one, but i promise it will be soon <3

[softidiotsposts]

this was so lovely, warmed my heart so much!!

[engens-archive]

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅𝒃𝒚𝒆𝒔 // 𝑴.𝑳𝒆𝒐𝒏 & 𝑰.𝑬𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒏

✨ The Viviana verse ✨

Spanish in italics

The morning air was heavy, filled with an unspoken tension that neither Ingrid nor Mapi wanted to acknowledge. Ingrid’s suitcase sat by the front door, packed and ready, but she hadn’t touched it since setting it down last night. Instead, she sat on the living room floor with Viviana curled into her lap, the little girl’s fine blonde hair tickling her chin as she clung to her.

Mapi stood a few steps away, arms crossed, watching them with a small frown. She’d tried everything -promises of extra playtime, her silliest voices, even an offer of chocolate before breakfast- but nothing had broken through the thick sadness that had settled over their little family.

“Vivi, mi amor,” Mapi tried again softly, crouching down beside them. “We talked about this, do you remember? Mama has to go play.”

Viviana only buried her face deeper into Ingrid’s chest, shaking her head. Her hands clutched Ingrid’s hoodie like she could somehow keep her there just by holding tight enough. If only that was the case.

Ingrid sighed, rubbing slow circles over Vivi’s back. Her eyes met Mapi’s over their daughter’s head, and Mapi knew exactly what she was thinking -this was going to be harder than they thought.

“I don’t want Mama go,” Vivi mumbled, her voice muffled against Ingrid’s hoodie.

Ingrid pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of her head, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I know, lille venn,” she murmured. “I don’t want to go either.”

Mapi reached out, rubbing Vivi’s back too. “But she’s going to come back, honey. Just two weeks, and then you’ll have mama again all day.”

Vivi peeked up just enough to look at Mapi, her eyes glassy. “Long time.”

Ingrid closed her eyes for a second, inhaling deeply before pressing her forehead against Vivi’s. “It is a long time, I know. But I will call every day, and Mami will send me videos of you, and I’ll send them back, and before you know it, I’ll be back home.”

Vivi’s lower lip trembled. “No want videos,” she muttered, hugging Ingrid tighter. “Want Mama.”

Ingrid sucked in a breath through her nose, holding Vivi just as tight.

Mapi exhaled through her nose, shifting closer. “You know what? We can make a calendar together, okay? To count the days until mama comes back. And when she gets home, we can have an ice cream party.”

Vivi sniffled but didn’t respond. Ingrid pressed another kiss to her hair and finally -finally- shifted her slightly, giving Mapi a small nod to go ahead and take her before she ended up never letting go.

Mapi hesitated, but then carefully slid her hands under Vivi’s arms, lifting her away from Ingrid’s chest. Vivi whined in protest, her little fingers reaching for Ingrid even as Mapi settled her on her hip.

“I know, chiquitita, I know,” Mapi soothed, kissing her temple as Vivi clung to her. “But mama has to go now, my love.”

Ingrid stood slowly, her hands hovering for a moment before she cupped Vivi’s cheeks, stroking them gently. “You be good for Mami, okay?” Her voice was thick, accent more pronounced than usual.

Vivi wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “No.”

Despite the ache in her chest, Mapi huffed a quiet laugh. “So honest.”

Ingrid chuckled softly, brushing a final kiss to Vivi’s forehead before stepping back. Her eyes flickered to Mapi’s, and the weight of it all -two weeks apart, the first real time away since they had adopted Vivi- settled between them.

She reached out, her fingers curling around the back of Mapi’s neck as she pulled her in. Their lips met softly, once, twice, lingering just for a moment before Ingrid exhaled against Mapi’s skin, lingering in the warmth of her. “Take care of her. And yourself.”

Mapi nodded, her voice a little rough as she squeezed Ingrid’s hip. “Siempre, princesa.”

Vivi stirred on her hip, shifting to grab at Ingrid again. “One more kiss,” she demanded, her voice pleading.

Ingrid smiled, despite everything, and leaned in to press another kiss to Vivi’s forehead. “One more,” she whispered, before finally taking a step back.

Mapi adjusted Vivi on her hip, rubbing soothing circles on her back as Ingrid picked up her suitcase. With one last wave and sad smile, Ingrid disappeared, the apartment door closing behind her. Vivi stared at the door for a second before turning to Mapi, her bottom lip quivering.

Mapi shifts the little one onto her front, placing a supporting arm beneath her behind as she wonders through to the kitchen. “I know, love. Let’s make some breakfast mhhh?”

A whimper was her only response.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

[softidiotsposts]

the defence is shocking today also shit referring decision with the disallowed goal- i have no clue what universe im on today but i do not like it

[pickledwoso]

if that was offside i’m on fucking mars.

[p0orbaby]

Indexical Reminder of a Morning Well Spent

i sent a little of this to @wosofutbolfan and it apparently passed the test so here it is

-

The goal was fucking beautiful.

A pure, uncut masterclass in footballing telepathy.

Alexia had barely looked before she whipped the ball into the box. You were already moving, already there, like you had a GPS tracker embedded under your skin, waiting for the exact moment to strike. One touch, a ruthless finish, and the net rippled like it was bowing to your greatness. The crowd went feral. Commentators lost their minds. Pundits called it art.

Now, in the changing room, your teammates are still reeling.

“Okay, but what the actual hell was that?” Mapi demands, pulling off her tape.

Pina shakes her head, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “It’s not normal. You don’t even look at each other. It’s like—like she breathes, and you just know.”

Patri squints at you. “Do you practice that at home?”

Irene folds her arms. “Be honest. Do you two have, like, a shared consciousness?”

Kika points at you. “Are you some kind of footballing hive mind? Because I refuse to believe that was just instinct.”

You stretch out your legs, completely unfazed. “It because we fuck all the time.”

Silence.

Alexia, who had been mid-sip of her water, chokes.

Coughs. Gags. Almost dies.

Mapi slaps the locker and cackles. “That explains a lot.”

Pina’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

Patri grips her towel like it’s a seatbelt. “What does that have to do with football?”

You shrug. “Everything.”

Alexia is still spluttering. “No, no, no. Stop.”

You ignore her completely. “When you have sex as often as we do, you develop a kind of… connection.”

Alexia lunges, slamming a hand over your mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

Mapi grins. “Oh, no. She has to.”

Alexia glares at her. “She doesn’t.”

Kika leans forward. “No, I think she should.”

Pina nods, barely suppressing her laughter. “For scientific purposes.”

Patri crosses her arms. “If we’re going to be subjected to your disgusting public displays of on-pitch chemistry, we deserve the full explanation.”

You lick Alexia’s palm.

She yelps and jerks away like she’s been electrocuted.

You wipe your mouth. “As I was saying—”

“No. No,” Alexia pleads.

You continue, unfazed. “I know her body. Every inch of it. The way her muscles shift. The exact moment she tenses before she—”

Alexia actually grabs you. Tries to physically drag you away. “We’re leaving.”

You dodge, side-stepping like you’re evading a stubborn defender. “I just mean, when you’ve had someone clench around your fingers enough times—”

Alexia lunges again.

You bolt, darting around the physio table.

Mapi screams with laughter. “OH MY GOD.”

Kika has tears in her eyes. “Please, keep going. This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Alexia is desperate. “Stop talking.”

You dodge her again. “It’s pure instinct at this point. Like how I know exactly when she’s about to—”

Alexia dives. Misses.

Pina has collapsed onto the floor. “I cannot breathe.”

Patri is crying. “Make it stop.”

Irene wipes her face. “No, keep going, I need every detail.”

Mapi is wheezing. “Wait, wait, wait—are you saying that every time you score a goal off her pass—”

You smirk. “It’s basically an extension of our sex life, yes.”

Alexia grabs you, shakes you like she’s trying to reset your brain. “You. Are. Deranged.”

You grin. “Fong pretend you don’t love it.”

She shoves you. “I’m not pretending, I loathe it.”

Mapi is practically convulsing with laughter. “You’re telling me every single assist—”

“—is just an echo of last night’s activities? Oh definitely.”

Kika collapses onto the bench. “I need an exorcism.”

Alexia physically hauls you toward the showers. “We are leaving this conversation.”

You plant your feet. “Wait, wait, just let me finish—”

“No.”

“I’m just saying, it’s good motivation, you know? The more I score, the more assists she gets, the better the reward.”

Mapi screeches.

Pina is on the floor.

Patri is pleading with the universe.

Kika throws her water bottle at you. “LEAVE.”

Alexia shoves you through the doorway. “You’re done.”

Mapi wheezes. “This is the best day of my life.”

Alexia looks at the team like she’s asking for divine intervention. “This is the worst day of mine.”

[plqnetputellas]

i'm not the one you want - ensoleillé & barça femení (1)

barcelona femení + french teen! reader

please pretend that lucy and keira are here btw | content warnings: mentions of mental health, alcohol problems (please don't read if any of this is triggering, you are more important)

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The task of moving from France to Spain was a tough choice that essentially wasn't yours. You liked the academy at Lyon just fine; all your friends and national teammates were there, and everyone there made you feel comfortable. The offer of moving to bright and sunny Spain was a long-standing one, your agent saying they 'found immense talents in your goalkeeping.'

You didn't really know the talents they spoke of, seeing as these last few months, you hadn't had a single clean sheet. Wendie Renard had even noticed and constantly asked if there was anything going on, to which you brushed her off.

The most daunting thing in your mind was having to move to the new country with no one familiar but Lucy Bronze, who even you barely know from her time at Lyon.

Technically, your contract said that you had to live with family until you turned 18, but clearly, they made exceptions.

Your parents truly didn't care what was happening with you or in your life, and you knew that. But they leaped at the opportunity for you to train with Barcelona. The amount of money they were offering just to be an academy player was immense, which meant more money for your parents to take from your balance.

Life at home sucked in complete transparency, you did all the cleaning, cooked for yourself, and got yourself anywhere you needed to go. Your grades suffered from focusing on the more important things, in your opinion, including football.

Yet here you were, sitting in the airport with your hood over your head and headphones on, trying to sleep in the uncomfortable metal seats. Lucy was supposed to come and pick you up after Barcelona's match, but your flight was early, so you were forced to sit in the airport for 2 hours.

You debated getting a few drinks but then realized that showing up to the person letting you stay with them drunk wasn't the best idea.

The airport was full of people, from little kids to older couples, which led to an array of different sounds that your headphones helped to block out. You kept your headphones on as you walked around the crowded paths of the building looking for a shop to get snacks.

You debated finding a place to sit down and order food from, but one, your Spanish was terrible, even after months of trying to learn from a tutor in France, and two, you were way too tired and annoyed to even attempt trying.

You quickly realized there was nothing that appealed to you inside the airport, so you decided to take your luggage to a corner store that should have been a brisk five-minute walk.

–-----

Dark clouds were building around the one sunny Spain sky when you left the airport so you already knew that you had to hurry. But between the large grey suitcase, your duffel bag on your shoulder, and the bustling sidewalks, you were completely soaked by the time you got to the store.

You could feel the stares of other storegoers basically burning into your shoulders as you browsed the chip section, trying to find anything that looked familiar. After your extensive browsing session, you walked to the front counter with a bag of cheese and onion chips, something that looked like Gatorade, and Kinder chocolate.

"Hello, how much are these?" You asked in what you were sure was a voice that sounded like a timid child instead of a 17-year-old girl.

The woman at the counter gave you an odd look, one that pretty much told you she didn't understand your accented English. Grabbing your wallet, you put money on the sticky counter and walked out of the door with your snacks.

You walked across the sidewalk to a bench that you laid your jacket on before opening the chips and scrolling on your phone. Before you boarded the plane, you had been looking through the Barcelona second team's socials to get familiar with who your new teammates would be.

Your search essentially concluded that you wouldn't find any of these girls at the new school you were put into and that half of them had connections to people on the first team. You turned your music up before pulling your hood back up and feeling your eyes start to shut.

The slight shaking of your shoulders made you bolt up from your place on the now-wet again bench. You got ready to hit whoever was touching you until you saw the face of the woman who was your new guardian standing in front of you.

"Hi, you're Ensoleillé, right? Sorry to scare you, but we couldn't find you at the airport, and someone told me they saw you here." She gestured to the freckled woman in the car with her brown hair in a bun.

You knew that Lucy was living with someone else, Ona, who she said was also on the first team, which all in all just made you a bit more nervous than you already were.

"Oui, uh yes, sorry, I just got hungry, and there was nothing in the airport, so I left, désolée. I should have texted, but I forgot." You mumbled as you grabbed your bags to walk over to the trunk that Lucy opened.

She and Ona laughed at each other as you got into the back of their car, which made your face flush with embarrassment.

"No need to worry, I just didn't want to lose a star goalkeeper on her first day in Barcelona, I think Wendie would kill me." Lucy joked as Ona began to pull away from the curb.

The car ride was calm and quiet, aside from the mix of Spanish and English music playing on the radio. You just kept your head turned out the window, watching the beaches pass by. The thirty-minute ride felt short compared to the trains and buses you took back home.

Ona parked the car in front of an apartment building that you could tell was close to the beach by the smell, and looked cozy and newer than your parents.

By the time you got out of the back seat, both of the older women had taken each of your bags in their hands before Lucy gestured for you to follow them.

You kept your head down all through the walk to the lobby elevators, ignoring the greeting from the probably nice lobby man. For some reason, your dirty sneakers were more interesting than the scenery of people and decorated apartment doors.

"Well, here we are then, your new home," Ona said while opening the door and holding it so.

"We got stuff for you the other week, we know it's not much but it's at least somewhere for you to sleep. We can also take you to the shop for anything else this weekend."

After they showed you around, you were left to your own thoughts in silence in the unfamiliar room. You didn't really know why they went through all the struggles of getting you brand-new furniture. Before you left, your mother pulled you aside and told you not to mess anything up because she and your father wouldn't be helping you pay for any of it.

Lucy and Ona offered you to order takeout with them, but you declined, not wanting to get in the way. You had told them you were fine after the late snack that you had earlier.

You turned on the small lamp on the dresser, admiring the light coming through the colored glass lampshade. You slowly unpacked what was in your suitcase, putting everything in its new proper place.

You took out the last two things, arguably the most important to you, your journal and your pale blue teddy bear, baie. Wendie had gotten you the bear when you first came through the academy at 7. You thought it was stupid but couldn't bring yourself to go anywhere without it.

Hearing the loud footsteps and knock, you quickly hid him under the quilt on the bed.

"Hi, I know it's late but I just wanted to give you your uniform for tomorrow. Ona and I didn't know if you wanted slacks or a skirt, so we ordered both." Lucy described as she hung the blazer on the closet door before placing the rest atop the dresser.

You nodded with a tight smile in her direction, silently thanking her.

"Are you sure you're good? I mean, this is a big change for a seventeen-year-old." The older woman asked, slight concern lacing her voice.

"Oui, bien sûr. I'm just a bit tired, so I'll head to sleep soon. Thank you, though." You thanked Lucy softly, waving to her as she shut the door, leaving you staring at it.

You looked at the screen on your phone realizing just how late it was. Grabbing a shirt and an old pair of sweatpants, you headed into the bathroom seeing a toothbrush and soap already in it, along with a fluffy towel.

You turned the shower on, making sure the water was steaming before stepping under the falling water. A million thoughts ran through your head as you washed the dark hair on your head.

By the time you got out, the room was filled with steam as you wrapped your body in the soft cream-colored towel. You wiped your hand across the mirror so you could see yourself.

You stood in front of the mirror, just staring at your face and pondering everything that had been happening the whole month. Your whole life essentially got turned upside down, and now you were most likely going to get even worse grades than before.

Everything around you was completely unfamiliar, and you didn't understand a single thing. You couldn't understand half of the street signs on the way to Lucy and Ona's apartment, so how were you supposed to understand your work?

Your phone ringing on the bed took you out of your thoughts, making you quickly get dressed and brush your hair before looking at the caller ID.

"Bonsoir Ensoleillé, comment tenez-vous le coup?"

"Bonsoir Wendie, I'm fine. Lucy and Ona are nice, and I already have my uniform for school." You felt relief when the caller ID was Wendie and not your parents.

"Well, good, I just wanted to check on you to make sure everything was okay before tomorrow."

You could hear the questioning and almost interrogative tone in her voice, and you knew she was just checking in on you, but it still made you want to retract back into yourself.

"I promise I'm fine, Wendie, but it's late, and I need to sleep. I'll text you tomorrow after school, promise. Nuit."

"Ok then, nuit Ensoleillé" Wendie spoke one last time before hanging up the call.

You flopped onto your back on the mattress before plugging your phone in and settling under the sheets. Grabbing baie, you tucked him into the crook of your elbow and shut your eyes.

–-----

The smell of coffee woke you from your short-lived slumber, making you rub the sleep from your eyes. You turned to your side, unplugged your phone, and saw the time and the sun shining through the curtain you had forgotten to shut.

You grabbed the white shirt and the awful-looking pleated skirt, but it was decidedly better than the slacks, given the weather. Grabbing everything else that was needed, including the muddy beat-up soccer ball you brought from France, you went to the kitchen.

Both Lucy and Ona were standing in the kitchen dressed in their practice kits while Ona mixed something in a pan atop the stove.

"Good morning Ensoleillé! I hope you slept well. We have coffee if you would like, and Ona is finishing the eggs."

You took the cup that she offered to you and sat down at the small wooden dining table with your bags. A plate of eggs was placed on the mat on the table making you look up and thank Ona for the food.

"And I know you probably remember, but I just wanted to remind you to meet us on the field after your practice gets done so we can drive you home. And you are good with walking to school right?"

"Yeah, of course," You responded with your mouth partially full of eggs.

You finished eating, took the last few sips of your coffee, and rinsed your dishes off before placing them on the rack to dry them. You pulled your grey zip-up over your uniform before hiking your bag up your shoulder and running down the complex's stairs.

The sun shone the whole way you were walking the new private school that Barcelona had chosen for you. You said you would prefer a public one, but they insisted, one of them being that it was so much closer to Barça.

The closer you got to the front of the dark-brick building, the louder the sound of talking got. You could also feel your face getting hotter, which, therefore, meant you were looking as red as can be. You wrung your fingers together before taking a big breath and walking through the doors.

–-----

Relief washed over you as you walked into the locker room for the second team and set your bags down. You had already gotten the key and combination to the locker above your new reserved cubby slot.

You wanted to make a good impression on your first day of school, but of course, that didn't happen. You couldn't find any of your classes around the building, and you were forced to introduce yourself in almost every one of them. None of your worksheets made any sense, and you had forgotten money, so you were forced to eat from the vending machines around the halls.

You also ended up having to stay after school so your new principal could have a 'productive talk' with you, which ended up taking twenty minutes, therefore making you late to the training center.

Now you rushed to put on your new training kit, lace up your cleats, and grab your gloves and water bottle from the floor. You got outside, and for what felt like the millionth time that day, a million pairs of eyes were on you. The new coach walked over and put his hand on your shoulder to introduce you.

"Everyone, this is our new goalkeeper, Ensoleillé. She's from France and is going to be training with us, so everyone be kind and give her a warm welcome."

Even though everyone looked kind enough, except for a few girls in the back of the group, you still felt you had to stare at the ground beneath your feet. You walked over to where the coach gestured to see two girls running drills with what looked like the goalkeeping coaches.

"Hi there! I'm Meritxell Font and this is Meri Muñoz. I'm so happy to meet you and we're glad to have a third keeper!"

"Salut, I'm glad to be training here as well." You were pretty sure your response was not as appreciative sounding as you meant for it to be, but they both looked pleased with it.

By the time training was over, you were practically sweating through your shirt and dehydrated. You knew Spain was hot and sunny, obviously, but you didn't think you would be this exhausted after playing. And the biggest plus to all of this was the fact that you still had to wait another hour outside for Ona and Lucy.

You tried to waste time by showering and braiding your hair and then finally having to put your school uniform back on and take your stuff to the other pitch for the first time. You tried to be discreet and found a place somewhat in the shade to sit down. You tried to spot either Lucy or Ona before finding them, taking your binder out of your bag and finding a pen.

The whole forty-five minutes you sat out on the grass were spent trying to decipher your homework before letting out a sigh of relief when their manager blew the whistle. You followed the group of players, getting Ona's car keys and sliding yourself and your bags into the back seat.

You couldn't help but think about the binder that sat in your lap, practically on fire. You know that it should've been easy and completed with all the time you'd had to do it, but it wasn't. School wasn't your best thing in life, even though you were told constantly by your teachers in France that you had all the potential in the world. They said that if you 'just put in more time and commitment' then it would all work out and your grades would be passing, if not all A's.

The thing was, you just didn't have the energy or the mentality to care that much. Your grades hadn't mattered to your parents, so you never had the inkling to try enough. Plus, in your mind, school grades had nothing to do with your football career. Just because you got inadequate grades now didn't mean you always did.

You used to be able to ultimately tolerate balancing football and school until your parents started making you get two jobs to pack on top of that. It began with you still being able to do your homework and projects with B's until your parents decided that all the cash was going to come from your profits. You still made it your responsibility to show up and get good attendance because Wendie and Delphine made sure of that, but there was too much to do after the school day.

The glaring at your binder and your rambling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of both front doors opening and closing.

"Sorry we took so long, are you ready to go home? Also, we were thinking about having pasta for dinner, are you okay with that?" Lucy questioned while Ona pulled out of the lot, waving at their fellow teammates.

"Oui, it's all good, I didn't even notice. And pasta's good, I like pasta."

"Okay perfect, oh and I forgot. Wendie texted me earlier during the practice to make sure that you got your work done."

"Don't worry, you can tell her I finished all my stuff earlier, and since I know she will ask, yes, I actually talked to people today." Which was a complete lie, but if Wendie knew that you were practically silent at your new school, you'd probably get a fat lecture.

By the time you all got home, you were feeling the effects of the exhaustion from the whole day catching up to you. "I'm going to go to my room until dinner is done." You spoke quickly before turning on your heel and going into the dark room.

You quickly got to putting your bags down and shoving your binder into the desk drawer before heading to the dresser to finally change into more comfortable clothes. You got changed into the same old sweatpants and shirt from the other night and put on socks before hearing the chime of a text coming from your phone.

Unknown: Hi! I really hope that this is the right number, but I'm Martina, and I'm one of the head students at school! The principal wanted me to talk with you and make sure that everything is going okay. If you need anything, just text or call me, or we can meet up. ¡Adiós!

You read the message over and over, trying to think if it was real or why someone not even from your grade was messaging you, about school nonetheless. Lucy calling loud enough for the neighbors to hear made you rise off the bed and head toward the lovely aroma in the kitchen.

"Glad you came to dinner tonight Ensoleillé. We never asked earlier, but how was school, and more importantly, training?" Asked Lucy before getting a hit on the shoulder from Ona and turning to you for the answer.

"Oh, um, it was fine I guess I just got to get used to it. But the two other goalkeepers were nice enough, and I have my own locker, so that's nice," You sat and mumbled, stirring your pasta and trying not to make eye contact.

After the three of you finished, you offered to clean the dishes and kitchen, which was normal for you back in France. Eat dinner alone, clean up, and go back to your room waiting for your parents to stumble through the front doors.

But based on the looks Ona and Lucy gave to you, it was not being expected, but you insisted that it was fine and they should go and relax before bed. When you first started cleaning at home, it almost felt like a burden, just something else to keep you away from football, but then it just became routine and relaxing.

You took the plates to the sink and grabbed what looked like a sponge to start scrubbing the dishes. You got to the drinking cups and cleaned them just the same before grabbing a dish towel and drying them. On the last cup, you must've lost your grip on it because it slipped from your hand, and you could feel the blood coming from underneath the towel in your hand.

"Putain de merde, goodness." You shouted to yourself, taking the towel off and you could feel the tiny stars starting to form in your vision. All you could hear through it was the sound of pounding footsteps and scrambled Spanish.

"Niña, ¿estás bien, qué pasó?"

"Ona, what happened!?"

"I'm not sure, it kind of looks deep and there's a lot of blood on this towel."

Lucy and Ona exchanged looks before nodding at one another. Lucy rushed to grab everyone's coats and shoes before taking the keys out of the bowl and rushing back to the kitchen. You were sat on the ground with a face colored similar to that of paper while Ona had taken your hand in her lap to wrap it tighter. While Lucy could see you nodding and shaking your head toward Ona's questions, you didn't look completely there with it.

That's when Lucy remembered Wendie's long and extensive list of details she sent about you, she wrote how you weren't the best with blood and injuries in general.

"Ensoleillé, we need to take you to the hospital because the cut looks pretty deep. Can you get your jacket on and we will help tie your shoes."

You felt yourself nod as you extended your uninjured arm to grab the black jacket from her arms and slid it up and over your shoulders. The whole scramble down the elevator and to the car felt like a complete blue. Lucy traded places with Ona to keep the towel tight on the cut which made you wince a bit. You didn't fully remember getting to the hospital or walking back, but you sure did snap out of it when the doctor said you would need your hand stitched up.

The only other time a cut was intense enough for you to get stitches was when you were six and went hiking with your parents and cousins on this beautiful mountain. Everyone was hiking up to see the waterfall, which led to a small lagoon at the bottom. All your cousins were jumping off of rocks, and it looked fun, so you begged your parents to let you do it, too.

They eventually got sick of your asking and begging and said to 'just get it over with already' as you eagerly ran to the rock. You took your head start before feeling the slick rock underneath your feet and slipping more than jumping into the water. The feeling of cold water made you go into a sensation of shock before feeling yourself get pulled out by one of your cousins.

Everyone crowding around you made the feeling even more overwhelming, and your parents insisted that you were fine, but your Aunt drove everyone to the doctor anyway. You ended up getting seven stitches on the side of your head and were forced to not play football for three weeks, and you vowed to not get them again.

But now you were here, sitting on the hospital bed, feeling the heat from your nervousness in your body. You sat in fear, anxiously staring at the painstakingly crisp white wall in front of you, basically waiting like a ticking time bomb for the doctor to walk back in.

"Are you okay Niña, you don't look so good."

Hearing the Spaniard's voice brought you out of your trance-like state and made you remember where you truly were. You could feel the worrying gaze of both adults staring at you, and as much as you wanted to brush it off, you just couldn't shake the anxious feeling.

"Wendie told me that you weren't the best with stuff like this, but we'll be here the whole time, don't worry. I know you probably don't want to, but can I sit up there with you?"

Of course, Wendie had told Lucy about stuff like this, and who knew how much more. You softly nodded, feeling the itchy bed dip next to where you sat. The door creaked open and you could hear the squeaking of the wheels on the medical cart.

The doctor carefully unwrapped the towel from your hand and cleaned the excess blood from around the cut, which made your stomach churn more, and you could feel the blood draining back away from your face. You watched carefully as she grabbed the needle and gauze wrap from the cart and stood over your hand, needle ready.

"Baiser."

The feeling of Lucy squeezing your shoulder added distraction, but you could still see the needle getting frighteningly closer to your hand. You couldn't help yourself and buried your face in Lucy's shoulder, feeling her stiffen for a moment from the unexpected movement.

It felt as if the stitching and wrapping took decades before you carefully lifted your now-flushed face, bringing you back to the blinding hospital lighting. You looked down at the intertwined mix of gauze and bandage that went up to your wrist and wiggled the only finger you could see.

By the time the older women signed the papers, that stupidly stated you couldn't play sports for a week, it was pitch black outside other than the lamp posts that lined the sidewalk.

Lucy and Ona whispered to each other quietly at the front of the car and stopped once they got the car parked. Lucy was about to wake you when she realized just how exhausting the whole day, especially the fact that you worked yourself to an almost panic attack, probably was. She settled for getting Ona to open the door so she could hoist you onto her back to bring you back to the apartment.

Lucy was glad you decided to change into what looked more like pajamas earlier so she wouldn't have to wake you. Ona quietly turned the lamp on before lifting the sheet as Lucy placed you down. Under the covers, Ona saw a beat-up-looking blue bear, which she assumed was yours, and placed it between your arm and the pillow you situated your good arm under.

Both of the women took a last glance at the sleeping teenager before quietly shutting the door and heading down the hall.

"I really hope she's fine after that, she looked really worked up." Lucy muttered as the two women got into their own bed.

"I promise she will be, she's a tough kid, amor." Ona softly spoke as she turned the lamp off and grabbed Lucy to slip into a slumber of their own.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

yeah... so in all honestly, i think half of this was nonsense. i was trying to describe a lot since it's the first 'chapter,' i guess. and this is insanely longer than intended... but i hope y'all enjoyed it.

[softidiotsposts]

loved it!

[ankaraalexiafcb]

This is Mariona first time losing to Madrid 😭💀

It’s time to pack your bags and come back home Mario.

[esmeefreckles-deactivated202510]

Ona Batlle injured and out for 2/3 weeks my day is fucked

[wosospacegirl]

teen!Barca player teaching the Spanish players tik tok slang would be so funny 😂😂

Lost in the Slangverse - barça! teen reader

Summary: Y/n pranks Alexia and Olga by speaking only in Gen Z slang and TikTok memes.

Warnings: Chronic online behaviour and TikTok brainrot.

Word count: 2.1k

notes: sorry but I changed it a bit to include Olga

..

“I don't understand why I should do that,” Y/n whispered to Vicky and Jana. “Why don't you do it?”

The three girls were standing in a circle in the corner of the changing room. Training had just ended, and they were all sweaty and gross.

It didn't help y/n's already grumpy mood when Jana pulled her arm out of nowhere when she was getting ready to get in the shower.

Jana had said it was something urgent, and Vicky, who was by her side, had nodded along.

Y/n’s eyes almost got stuck in her skull when Vicky said they wanted Y/n to make a TikTok video with Alexia using gen slang that Alexia most definitely didn't know.

The girls now were arguing but kept their voices low, so the senior girls wouldn’t overhear them behind the lockers.

“Because you're the good kid! An angel! The apple of Alexia’s eyes’’ Vicky said, smiling enthusiastically.

“Me? The apple of Alexia’s eyes?” Y/n asked, confusion on her face as she pointed to herself. “She made me run 2 kilometres last night as a punishment because I talked back to Olga.”

“Well… maybe not the good kid then,” Jana said. “But the best kid between us three, nonetheless.”

“Yeah,” Vicky agreed with Jana. “ if Jana or I do it, they'll know something’s up.”

“Exactly! Plus, you're closer to Alexia, so you can say stuff without it looking suspicious!” Jana added. “You’ll make more content.”

“I'll look suspicious either way,” Y/n said, narrowing her eyes “I don't even stay on my phone that much, they'll notice that.”

“You realise you are a shame for every teenager out there, right?” Jana asked deadpan. “What are you going to say next, that you and Olga knit on Friday nights?”

Y/n blushed because…yes. They did that. She lifted a finger, ready to defend herself, but Vicky interrupted her, disappointment on her face.

“Just..stop being boring for once in your life? Please?” Vicky said. 

Vicky gave Y/n her best puppy eyes.

“Come on, Y/n, we are for lifers, right?” Jana stood next to Vicky with, the same big, puppy eyes.

“Ugh…fine, wherever,” Y/n said, crossing her arms. “I’ll do it, but you're helping me with my homework next week–and the next.“

“Deal!” they both said, grinning, victory on their faces.

“And you are the ones picking up the balls after training,” Y/n added. “I hate doing that…Pina always kicks them far away on purpose.” 

“Alright by us,” the girls agree, almost in a singing tone. 

“And I won't help Cat out of its costume for a month! It will be all you two.”

“O-okay?” Vicky and Jane said, less enthusiastic. 

Now they were wondering how much this TikTok really cost.

“Y/n!” Alexia called from the other side of the room.

“I have to go,” Y/n whispered, but before she could leave their hiding spot, Alexia bumped into her.

 “Oh, there you are,’ Alexia said with a smile" "Let's go ho—wait, you didn’t shower yet?”

Alexia looked at Y/n as if she came back from the sty, when-in truth–she was just a little sweaty. 

Y/n looked up and tried to act casual, leaning on her elbow in one of the lockers. It belonged to Aitana…she hated when people got close to her locker.

“Hm, no I didn't,” Y/n looked around trying to find an excuse. “We were way  too busy talking about–”

“School,” Y/n finally said. Good, a safe choice.

“Football,” Vicky chimed in. Also good, and very convincing. 

“You!” Jana blurted out. Horrible, terrible choice.

The two of them shot Jana an annoyed look, rolling their eyes.

‘What, Jana?’ Vicky mouthed, trying to turn her body from Alexia so she couldn't read her lips. ‘Talking about Alexia?’

‘Tonta,” [stupid] Y/n mouthed back, rolling her eyes, before turning to Alexia, who was still looking confused.

“Sorry, Ale, we were really busy here…socialising,” Y/n said. “I’ll shower when we get home.”

“Mm, okay,” Alexia said, still puzzled. “Grab your stuff. We’re picking up Olga on the way home.”

..

As Alexia and Y/n made their way through Barcelona’s car park, Y/n was happily skipping, heading to the passenger’s seat in Alexia's car.

“Nope, kid,” Alexia said, pushing Y/n’s backpack toward her. “We’re picking up Olga. She’s going in the passenger seat.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” Alexia said, pointing to the back seat. “You go there.”

It was a perfect opportunity. 

Y/n took her phone very stealthily and pressed record, keeping it close to her body so Alexia wouldn't see it. 

“Simp.”

“What?” Alexia asked, turning her head to Y/n. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” Y/n asked, pretending she didn’t know what Alexia was talking about.

“What you just called me.”

“Oh, simp? It means you're a lost puppy when it comes to Olga.”

Alexia blushed. “Hey, I’m not like that.”

“Beta energy,” Y/n added, rolling her eyes.

“Beta? Are you speaking in code?”

“Nah, just speaking facts.” Y/n shrugged. “Are you gonna drive or leave Olga waiting?”

Alexia looked at Y/n weirdly but got in the car and began driving. Y/n’s phone was still in her hand, ready to film the next part of her–or well–Jana and Vicky’s prank.

Olga was working in a modelling event today, but she was already waiting for them when Alexia parked the car in front of the studio.

“Hi, girls,” Olga said, getting in and kissing Alexia on the lips. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” Alexia said, putting her hand on Olga’s tight. “We did some strength training, speed…all of that”

“Yeah, no cap, it was the worst.” Y/n chimed in while looking out the window and humming to the song playing. One direction. Oldie but goldie.

“No cap?” Olga asked, turning to Y/n, a frown on her face,

“Yeah,” Y/n said, adjusting her earbud. “No cap, training was like…brutal.”

“Okay, sure… but why is it ‘no cap’?”

..

When they got home, Y/n went straight to her room, dropping her training bag by the bed before heading to the shower.

After she was done, a notification popped up on her phone from a group chat with Jana and Vicky.

Vicky: hi, how’s it going?

Jana: hi?? @Y/n??

Y/n: Everything’s going according to plan.

Jana: Great! :D send me all the recordings later, and I’ll make a TikTok out of it.

Y/n: 👍

Vicky: why do u always text like a dad, bro.

Y/n closed the chat and went downstairs, sitting at the table in front of Alexia.

“What restaurant are we going today?” Y/n whispered

“I’m not sure yet,” Alexia whispered back, glancing around suspiciously. “It’ll depend on Olga’s mood.”

“I don't know why we insist on letting her cook!” Y/n said, rolling her eyes.

Alexia kicked her under the table. “Be nice!”

Before Y/n could argue, Olga emerged from the kitchen with... something.

She carried a big tray of what looked like ground beef, except the colour was all wrong—like it had spent way too much time in the oven. And the smell... Y/n could swear Olga had chopped up three entire onions and just thrown them in for fun.

Olga served Alexia and Y/n, putting a whole lot of food on their plate. Y/n stared at the plate in front of her. She poked it with her fork as she, very carefully, put her phone on the table and pressed play.

“Olga, you really got no rizz in the kitchen, huh?”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, you’re burning everything, so yeah, no rizz,” Y/n said disappointed. It was another day that they had to eat Olga’s bad food and then go out to eat in order not to starve.

“What? But it’s not that bad!” Olga said, staring at her own…creation. “It’s original.”

“It tastes bad,” Y/n murmured under her breath.

Olga ignored Y/n and turned to her girlfriend, who looked just as scared of the food as Y/n.

“Alexia, do you think I have no rizz?” Olga asked Alexia, giving her puppy eyes.

"Olguita, I’m not even sure what ‘rizz’ means," Alexia admitted, looking confused.

“Me neither,” Olga said. “But if it’s something good, then you think I have it?”

“Oh yeah, definitely.”

“Okay, that’s gross,” Y/n interrupted, grabbing up her phone. “Get a room.”

..

As per usual. The Putellas and the honorary Putella–Y/n– ended up in a restaurant. It was a Chinese one this time, the same one they had gone the last time Olga was responsible for cooking.

Y/n presser record while the waitress came to take their order. She was pretty but way older than Y/n.

“That’s my type, I fear,” Y/n said, as soon as the waitress went to another table.

Both Alexia and Olga looked at her confused.

“Your type?” Alexia asked. “What’s your type?”

Y/n pointed with her chin to the waitress.

“What? She’s your type?” Olga asked, turning from the waitress to Y/n. “So, you have a thing for…waitresses?

“I mean, you’ve seen the way she’s serving us... It’s giving heart eyes.” Y/n said casually.

“Heart eyes? What does that even mean?”” Olga asked. “Why have you been talking weird all day?”

Y/n just shrugged and pretended to play on her phone, but what she was really doing was getting the angle of the filming right to show Alexia’s face.

“Is this a joke? I’m lost...” Alexia said, turning to Olga. “Isn’t the waitress like, fifteen years older than her?”

“Well,” Y/n chimed in. “It’s just like that Kelly Clarkson cover, you know?”  

Y/n knew full well they had no clue what the hell she was talking about.

Alexia opened her mouth, closed it, and then turned to Olga like she was asking for help. Olga just shook her head, utterly lost.

“I feel like it's getting harder and harder to talk to you,” Olga said, clearly stressed. “I should probably buy a book about raising teens.”

“You're not my mom,” Y/n said in a singing voice, looking at the dessert section on the menu.

That petit gateau looked so good.

“Alexia will read it too,” Olga said, more to herself.

“I'll read what?” Alexia asked, looking up.

Y/n pretended she didn't see Alexia's phone playing a Barcelona match live on YouTube. 

Olga hated when Alexia watched football when they were out.

“A book about teen development,” Olga said. “This child is losing herself.”

“Yep, brain rot,” Y/n agreed.

“What?!” Olga asked, completely worried. “What is rotting?!”

Y/n ignored Olga and looked At Alexia.

“Can I please have the petit gateau, Ale?” Y/n asked with a pout.

“Ask Olga,” Alexia said, “You can if she lets you.”

Y/n rolled her eyes. 

“See, beta behaviour,” she murmured.

"Olguita, can I please—"

"No, Y/n."

"Damn."

In the end, Y/n earned her petit gateau after telling Olga she had alpha energy. Alexia didn’t like it, but the compliment made Olga happy enough to agree to dessert.

"Alpha energy? Olga?" Alexia scoffed. "She just told you no."

Y/n took a victorious bite of her petit gateau. "Yeah, and then I got what I wanted."

..

Unfortunately, for Y/n, that little prank she pulled got twisted around after a couple of days.

After a long training session, Alexia and Y/n came back home, and once again, Y/n didn’t take a shower at the training centre. Instead, she was procrastinating, lying on the sofa while watching Criminal Minds.

“Y/n, seriously,” Alexia said, putting her hands on her hips. “For the love of God, go take a shower.”

“I’m not that dirty,” Y/n said “It’s fine, I’ll go after this episode is over.”

“You smell like a sweaty gym sock,” Olga chimed in from behind her, wrinkling her nose.

“Okay, wow, thanks for the support,” Y/n said sarcastically, glaring at Olga. “

I’m just saying. The truth hurts. No cap.” Olga just shrugged, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Did you just say ‘no cap’?” Y/n raised an eyebrow, unable to hide her amusement.

Olga grinned. “Yeah, you heard me.”

“Oh no, where did you learn it?” Y/n said, turning to Alexia for backup. “Did Jana teach it to her?

“I don’t know,” Alexia shrugged."But what I do know is that you’re taking a shower now, bet.”

“Okay…” Y/n narrowed her eyes and turned the TV off. “I’m just going because you two are acting weird.

As Y/n walked toward the stairs Alexia called after her. “Please take a really long shower. We need some peace and quiet around here.”

Y/n ignored Alexia.

Tomorrow, she’d wake up to Alexia saying “no cap” in an interview. She could feel it.

..

Please don't forget to like, reblog and leave feedback!!! plss <3

more of barça! teen reader here

[softidiotsposts]

this is the funniest thing i've read all week!

[softidiotsposts]

Whatever You Want, Whatever You Need

distance makes the heart grow fonder, right? well, what about hate?

{Thank you to the lovely request here for the idea, I hope I did it justice! I actually really enjoyed writing this one so I hope you all enjoy reading it too.}

Warnings: A SITUATIONSHIP!!! suggestive/light smut (build up), angst, fluff, classic enemies to lovers with a side of hating each other, masc!R (dw still wlw), soccer used // word count: 8.1k

masterlist

The universe of professional sport is riddled in great rivalries that are remembered for decades.

Ferrari and Mercedes in F1, the US and Australia in the swimming world, the Williams sisters in Tennis and of course, the El Clásico- Real Madrid V Barcelona, the capital city's best team V Catalonia's pride and joy. Two Spanish football's giants going head to head.

Yet rivalries in sport aren't built on hate, they are created through the urge to beat someone who you think is equal or better. Someone who you know dedicates themselves as much as you.

You have no respect for Barcelona's captain and apparent La Reina of modern football, Alexia Putellas. So maybe you prove rivalry can be born of hate?

Alexia has ground your gears since the moment you had heard of her through Tobin and Christen years ago-

"She's fantastic, making waves in Spain y'know?" Tobin's casual comment sparked a fire under you because who was Alexia and why the fuck was she so special all of sudden?

The media, who had been focused on you for the better part of 5 years, suddenly switched gears. You were old news, apparently. Just some wishy-washy American that's still playing in a closed league with only a handful of good performances, they didn't care if you broke record after record (mostly your own) because all you could do is win the same league title year after year.

The only attention that you actually got was when you'd don a US jersey, of course a great honor that you would never take for granted but... it hurt a little. Hurt that people could care less about you unless it was an international break.

But even that came to a close with the Spanish controversy and ultimate World Cup win. A title that you wanted to win again but couldn't even scratch, not after a penalty shootout against Sweden that left you with a shattered heart and a weak feeling in the knees.

You were washed and used, not special and talented anymore.

Alexia was the new, shiny player with trophies to prove it, where were yours? You could only get second place after second place. And Barcelona was now the best club in Europe after winning back to back Champions Leagues.

You hated it, the US was the place for women's soccer for so long- it was the place where the best of the best played and it was the gateway to professionalism but now, the European way dominates.

It was no longer- Go to the US for college so that you can get scouted. Instead it's to go to a European academy, they'll make a player of you.

That's why you decide that if Alexia wanted to ruin all the effort you'd put in to make your career special, then you'd beat her- time and time again if you must. To prove what? You're not really sure, maybe to say that you haven't lost it.

"Hey, Barry?" You call your agent out of the blue on a Wednesday afternoon practically mid-season, knowing that your contract still has another 2 years on it but you could care less.

"Y/N? What's up?" Barry is a nice guy, a family friend you've known practically your whole life. He's guided you through your career so far- landing you brand deals with brands and promotional opportunities.

He continues, "Listen, if it's about the lack of brand-"

"No, it's not about the deals."

Your brand deals have been slowly dwindling as your career has been but to be honest, you could care less about whether or not a cereal brand that you never ate sponsored you.

"Okay... So... What is it?" Barry's voice is a murmur through the phone and you've learned throughout the years that it only happens when he thinks you have bad news.

"I want to move club," Your tone is serious and not as playful as it normally is when you call him. You hear Barry sigh before he responds.

"There's 2 years on your current contract and you know that Gotham doesn't want to sell you."

Barry is right. Gotham has been doing practically everything in their power to keep you at the club, even raising your salary significantly each contract and you know it's only because you're their top goal scorer.

"I know but you'll get them to mutually terminate, right?" You ask, even though it's not a question and more like a request.

"I don't know, Y/N. They are paying a lot for you to stay and you've won the league comfortably for a few years haven't you?"

You have but that's not the point. You want to beat Alexia and for that you need to play against her, not just at an international level.

"Plus, where do you even want to play? Gotham is winning the league, y'know? There is not a better te-"

You cut him off, "Spain, get me to Spain. Please Barry?"

You know that works on him, it always has and probably always will. Barry knows it's rare for you to actually plead for something- Let alone something related to soccer.

"Spain?" Barry's tone indicates shock and you're not surprised- You have never wanted to play abroad before, you like the comforts of home far too much for that.

"Yes, get me a contract with Real Madrid."

Your words are as final as they can be, there is absolutely nothing else you want.

Barry worked his magic and suddenly you were 'mutually' parting ways with Gotham after 5 long years with them. It was a shock and the media blew up over night, rumors that you were retiring floated about along with different clubs that you might be signing for.

Lyon. Chelsea. Arsenal. Bayern. Wolfsburg and of course Barcelona- People whispering about the potential threat you'd pose with Bonmati and Putellas behind you. Little did they know, you hated the blue and red of the club and hated their Queen.

Your medical with Madrid became public knowledge a few days after it occurred leaving the rumors of Barcelona in the dust. You were confirmed a madridista then and there before you could even sign the contract.

"You did WHAT?" Tobin's voice rang through the phone, very loud and very clear.

You grit your teeth, you should have probably mentioned this earlier- Much sooner, maybe before your move was public knowledge?

"Listen... Tobin..." You start sheepishly, knowing what was coming.

"You ended your contract? AND moved all the way to SPAIN? Spain which is-"

You sigh, "You know why."

Tobin knew, Christen knew and probably the whole national team knew of your strong opinions on a certain Spaniard.

Actually, Christen and Tobin were the first people you'd go to for anything. Advice, soccer or not soccer related, to rant, to just talk to. They are kind of like you bonus parents, a pair that you know you can rely on so they knew the ins and outs of your problems with La Reina.

"Still, you should have given us a warning," It's Christen, clearly calmer than Tobin is- Voice soft and comforting, as it always has been or at least compared to Tobin's.

You'd always liked Christen and maybe that's why you were over the moon when Tobin told you she liked her. Probably also the reason why you added a little pressure of your own when Tobin hesitated asking her out.

"Okay, no need to gang up on me now, guys," You chuckle, trying to somewhat diffuse the situation and you hear a stifled laugh in the background. Clearly Tobin is trying to not seem amused.

"I'm serious," Christen clearly is and a voice agrees from behind her- Tobin- Sounding a little less serious and more amused now.

"Okay, I'm sorry... but I have to go now."

You balance the phone on top of a cardboard box that you've already taped shut. The process of your move is in full swing now.

"I gotta go now, love you."

You hear a shouted "Love you too" from Tobin and a normal one from Christen before the phone is disconnected and you're left alone again.

Different piles of clothes wait to be sorted, although they are mostly all the same- Training gear that you won't need anymore, you figure that if you leave it, Barry will return it to the club. Other stray things also wait, books and various knick knacks that will have a new home in Madrid.

You run a hand through your short hair and sigh. You should probably continue to pack?

Madrid is different to Harrison- The city is overflowing with its culture, eras practically stand next to one another. Buildings combining decades at a time with some looking as though they were sculpted by hand while others looked as though they were built in a factory.

Madrid is grand in the best ways and you decide that this is exactly where you want to be.

The apartment that you managed to secure on the fly is modest by comparison with some. It's a two bedroom with one of them being an office and the kitchen is modern with a touch of homeliness that reminds you of home. The view overlooks some of the city and you fall in love with the fading sky. Pink mixes with orange and red to create a lovely mess, one that you absolutely adore.

El Clásico is almost synonymous with the greats. CR7. R9. Messi. Xavi. Iniesta. You could go on for what seems like ever but the point is that El Clásico is an event, the streets close and people hold their breath until their team scores. The fans don their best and shout the loudest they can, it's an atmosphere anyone would die for. You included.

Your first Clásico is two months after your signing. It's a regular league match except it's not. This is your first chance to prove yourself, in front of the supports and in front of La Reina.

Alexia is not untouchable, no one is and you were going to prove that today. For you, Barcelona's dominance ended today because Real was ready to play for keeps.

You've seen her before, in person and of course on TV but you've never spoken. You matter how many times you finished second behind her in the Ballon D'or (twice) and the few times you've both been selected for best eleven, you haven't dared to speak with her.

Maybe the hate is unwarranted? Alexia hasn't harmed you physically or even said anything about you but it's just her. What is so damn special about her? The media like to pit the two of you against each other in their articles: La Reina and the unlucky, Alexia wins second Ballon D'or, beating rival L/N.

You're so sick of it. That's why you go all out, no mercy, no matter how many points behind you're in the table, even if the game is pointless because it won't change anything.

You press high, practically step on Maria León's toes and each time you get the ball you rush ahead trying your best to break down Barcelona's steel wall defense. It's not easy. You sweat buckets full and practically gasp for air but the first half ends without a goal- for either side.

To Madrid, that's a success. They've managed to keep Barcelona at bay for 45 minutes and possession doesn't look to be Barca dominant either. To you, it's utter failure. Alexia guides Barcelona like a battle fleet, perfect and precise. You, however, are holding on to the edge of a cliff with teammates who you don't know well enough- All chances seem to dissipate the second you pass because Barcelona uses your miscommunications to their advantage.

You listen to the coach but nothing really goes on, you're thinking of Alexia... Weirdly, about how Barcelona seems to fit her as if she was made for the club. Tailor made. It's not something you normally think of and it makes you shiver even though you're boiling hot with various emotions whirling around inside of you.

The second half begins with a goal. A goal for you, the crowd cheers and you revel in it, dropping to your knees with your hands in fists before your teammates slide into you. You celebrate that goal as if it were a Champions League final- It makes you feel as though you're on top of the world, you want to scream from the tallest mountain that you've taken the first steps.

An equalizer comes twenty minutes later in added time, it's the third minute and you're counting down the seconds until full-time. You pray that you don't lose possession but the opposite happens, Alexia lands a perfect tackle in midfield (something you'd see on the highlight reels) and shoots right then and there. She's so close to the half way line that you feel as though she won't make it, you're practically sure of it but instead Misa scrambles back (or tries to) and the ball bounces in the back of the net.

You feel a pain in your chest, it's heartbreak in the face of defeat.

The match ends in a draw, a win in the eyes of the Madrid veterans but an ugly loss in yours. The focus slipped for a millisecond and Alexia took that opportunity without a second though, one gap and the rat had slipped in.

You bite the inside of your cheek as you shake hands with players wearing the blaugrana colors. It's sportsmanship at it's finest and in that moment you decide that losing to Barcelona is the worst, they act humble in their glory and it makes your blood boil.

You get to Alexia at the end. La Reina extends her arm out to shake your hand and you gives a firm handshake, she's shorter than you by quite a bit and you've never noticed up to that point. The handshake is firm and warmer than you'd like it to be.

"You play well," It's a compliment from Alexia, said in a Spanish accent that tickles your ears oddly.

You hum then mumble a barely audible, "You too."

You don't know whether you mean it. Sure, you recognize that Alexia is top of the top but saying it to her face makes your skin claw with something unnamable. 

The next time you run into the proclaimed Queen of football is at an event. A gala of sorts, you could say, for a bunch of different athletes from all other the world of sport. You recognize some of them, mostly the ones from team USA and of course, Alexia Putellas.

She's wearing a gorgeous gown, black with a rather large slit in the back of it. It shows off the various tattoos that she has but also the slight muscle definition on her back, a clear sign of the Barcelona training plan working. The dress is matched with heels with that classic red bottom that make her clearly taller, almost so that she matches your height but your own shoes (albeit not heels) make you ever so slightly taller as well.

You swallow thickly for some reason. You chalk it up to the fact that you're wearing a three piece suit in all black in the middle of Spain, even if it is in the evening and the fact that the glass of whisky that you're holding is your third of the night.

Unfortunately... Or maybe fortunately, Alexia spots you amongst the crowd. You're difficult to miss, with an excellently tailored suit that highlights your lean muscle in the correct way and height that makes you look less like a footballer and more like a basketball player.

She immediately walks over to you and you regret agreeing to go to this thing in the first place. Alexia looks dangerously sexy tonight and you feel the anger fading very quickly- You've always thought that she was hot in a sense, you've seen her in enough dresses in similar events to know this but were sane enough not to act on desperate thoughts. Not with Alexia of all people.

Tonight, though, you feel insane, like a hound let loose.

You lick your lips as she walks to you and bite the inside of your cheeks when she finally reaches you. You don't know what you want, whether you want to dance far too close with her or run away completely.

"Y/N, right? From Real Madrid." It's a question that doesn't seem to need an answer because you know that Alexia remembers you as vividly as you remember her. You can still feel the weight of her small palm in yours after the match from a week ago, it hasn't left and you're afraid that it won't.

"Yeah, Alexia Putellas, right?" You smirk because you clearly know that it's Alexia you're talking to- The same Alexia that made you move to Madrid and the same one that you want to crush.

But tonight is different, hate is half gone and turned into something that sits in the bottom of your stomach, something that makes you nauseous with lust.

She nudges your shoulder with her free hand and you catch it with your own slightly larger free hand. It makes you both pause and stare at each other, it's all hot and your eyes are glazed over with an unspoken desire.

Hate is a strong emotion, one that you've always allocated to Alexia because she has played on your nerves as if they were strings. Dancing along with trophies and words of excellence while you watched from the crowd. It was the Alexia show and you're keen to change that- A change that is being rapidly evoked, the draw last week proving that a new era is on the horizon.

"Maybe..."

Her answer is as sly as her eyes and want pools in your gut. 

"Well... I'm only interested in dancing with La Reina."

Alexia raises her eyebrows before putting her drink down on a table full of half empty glass, clearly a dumping ground for unwanted glasses of alcohol. Then she does something you don't expect, she takes your whisky and places it on the same table and then tugs you on to a dance floor full of random people. Athletes and media, just dancing to electronic music.

You grin, alcohol coursing through your veins when Alexia takes your hands to place them on her hips. Your long fingers fan out over the satin of her dress and you press yourself impossibly close to her, hearing a surprised gasp when you do so.

"So... it's La Reina?" You laugh slowly into Alexia's ear and you feel her hands trail up from the small of your back to your shoulders.

You feel her chuckle and then sway her hips in your hands. The two of you are ridiculously close, so close that you can feel her underwear through the satin. It doesn't look innocent, it doesn't look like two players who oppose each other in almost everything they do.

Alexia leans into you and her breath touches the shell of your ear, it makes a jolt bolt down your spine.

"My hotel isn't far away."

It's a statement turned into a question, will you or won't you follow through? Alexia is challenging you into it. You swallow heavily, your mind is fuzzy and you know you shouldn't but you nod anyway.

Everything else is a blur until you get to the suite. It's nice and classy, something you expect from Alexia and the moment the door clicks shut, she presses you against it. Even though you're taller, Alexia has a certain passion that dominates but you never back down easily.

So you grab her wrists and press her against the wall to your right, it's aggressive and you intend it that way. You want her to know.

She gasps but smirks then thrashes her wrists against your grip testing your strength and when they don't budge from their place against the wall, Alexia groans. It's slow and utterly sexual and makes you want to grind against her.

"You're such a fucking tease," You groan out and then guide your tongue across her neck, lapping like a wild cat and Alexia lets out airy moans with each lick.

You love the way she grinds into your front and you live for this- Power, control and most of all, that it's Alexia here and not someone else.

"You're the tease, not me," She rebuttals and the sentence is punctuated with a loud moan as you bite down on her neck.

"Don't- don't... leave.. anything," Alexia gasps out and you're not stupid enough not to listen to her.

Instead of continuing your assault on Alexia's neck, you allow one of your hands to slip under her dress and onto the inside of her thigh. It's unbelievably hot and Alexia leans into your touch when you give it. Your fingers trace the ins of her thighs and she holds onto your shoulders with an iron grip.

"Joder...Fuck... Please?" Alexia practically begs and you take it as a personal victory.

"Please? Please what? Please stop?" You tease and try to retreat your hand.

Alexia yelps, "No!"

"No... Fuck me, please?"

You moan and peer down at her. God, what a beautiful mess she looks with a flushed face and dress half way up her stomach.

"Well... If the Queen says so."

The next morning a sense of dread filled you. Fucking Alexia was a mistake, a major mistake, a mistake that felt really good but a mistake nonetheless.

You turn to see the other side of the bed empty and you scoff because of course Alexia is a coward. Yet on the clearly slept on pillow lays a sheet of paper with the hotel branding on it, the script is rushed and you can barely make out the words because the spelling is off. The number though, is clear, in bold and underlined.

Alexia wants you to text her... Or at least, text that number.

You sigh deeply, then collapse back into your back. There is no way out when she keeps tempting you deeper into the lion’s den, is there?

The one time stand turns into another one and then another and another before you've lost count of how many times you've slept with Alexia. After each match against each other, you somehow end up in bed at a random hotel room- Sweaty and gasping for air.

You don't know what you're doing but you know it's not wise in any sense of the word. Not wise to be sleeping with the enemy and not wise to be sleeping with someone that you're striving to beat.

It's after another match that you end up in this situation, this time it's an international friendly and not a league match but nevertheless, Alexia and you fall into bed without issue. You fuck and then typically go to sleep but this time you can't, you can't sleep while Alexia's breathing is even on the other side.

So you do what you know you shouldn't, you turn to look at her. The glow of the moon highlights her face, leaving a ghost touch on her face. Her features are relaxed and it makes her look impossibly young.

You reach out with a boney finger and trace down the bridge of her nose and your breathing, as well as your movements, are stilted when Alexia stirs. You don't know why but it feels like you're committing a crime, as if you'd be caught red handed if Alexia wakes up.

But you continue anyway, your pointer finger traces the high of her cheeks and how relaxed her brows are. You commit it to memory, the feeling of soft skin under your callused finger tip.

You decide that at that moment, if you were a painter, you'd paint her. The soft curve of her nose and those sharp cheekbones and of course, those honey-brown eyes that you look with with as much seriousness as they do playfulness in moments.

It's hard to resist Alexia and you never do- Not when you ask with the lightest of voices and definitely not when she demands, voice full of what you think is captaincy.

Then days blend into weeks and weeks blend into a month. A long month without Alexia, you haven't played against the Barcelona captain for a month and you haven't texted either.

You glance at your phone that lays on the coffee table from the comfort of the sofa. It feels... Personal, if you text anything other than the location of a hotel room or an address or a come over.

Too personal.

This month has been a harsh reminder that you're nothing more than two opposing players that occasionally take their anger and frustrations out on each other. You're nothing to Alexia and she needs to be the same to you.

The next time you see Alexia is at an awards event and a sense of nervousness fills you. It's oddly similar to how this entire thing started, you in a suit- this time white instead of black- and her in a dress.

This time it is red, daring. It makes it hard to resist the urge to touch her, let alone talk to her so you make sure you're separated by a crowd at all times. You've gotten to close before and have been burned, you're not doing it this time.

You're nursing a drink in a corner, you truly don't even want to be here if you're honest. It all feels too weird... Seeing Alexia again after a month of radio silence. It's also reminded you that she is nothing but someone you have to beat.

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder and you flitch before whipping around to see Alexia, a sly smile on her face that makes your heart ache and insides turn. Of course, she looks impossibly beautiful tonight and your brain is whirling with excuses to leave before you fall in this trap again.

"Long time no see," Alexia leans forwards to murmur into your ear and you feel your resolve melting the second her breath reaches your ear.

Her body is half pressed against yours and you know the feeling so well that it's become second nature to press back against her. You resist as best as you can, turning your head away from her and drinking bitter alcohol instead.

You feel just as bitter as the alcohol tastes.

Alexia, of course, notices. You've learned that she's rather perceptive when she wants to be and it makes this ten times harder.

"What's wrong, rival?" It's playful and all without bite but you bite the inside of your cheek to resist snapping back.

"Nothing, sorry, gotta go, later," You brush her hand off your shoulder and storm out.

Out of the room and out the event altogether, thankful it was ending soon so your presence wouldn't be missed. You hail a taxi and gnaw at your nails in the back of the car as you get driven to the hotel, anxiety passes over you in fast waves. There is no time to breathe in between, let alone reflect.

Once you make it to the hotel, you've bitten through a cuticle and blood is running down your palm onto your wrist where it meets the cuff of your suit. The blood dyes it red and it looks like Alexia's dress, making your memory float back to her- It hurts to deny her of anything but it hurts just as much to lay awake while she sleeps peacefully after your escapades.

You're lost and there is only one person- well, two- that can help you find your footing.

"Hello?" A groggy voice comes through the muffled speaker of your phone.

"Help me, Tobin?" You're not sobbing, hell, you're not even crying but it comes out in a gut wrenching whisper. Your voice hoarse with unshed tears.

You hear a series of mumbles, clearly Christen, then bed sheets rustle before Tobin is back on the line.

"Are you hurt? Where are you?" A series of rapid questions are fired at you with a worried voice.

"No-no, I'm fine, physically at least, and I'm in Bilbao." 

"What- Why?" Tobin's voice is still panicked, clear worry running through it.

"Awards," You say, all too sullen for it to sound good.

Tobin finally calms down and you can hear it when she asks, "What's wrong, baby?"

You resist the urge to cry or maybe laugh at the question. Alexia floods back into your mind like a tsunami, bulldozing everything else.

"I've... Messed up, badly, Tobin."

"What do you mean?" Tobin's voice is small compared to your heavy breathing and you have to strain your ears to hear her through the phone.

The hotel room is dark, not a single light is on and the blinds are drawn to create a pitch black room. It feels cold and it makes the loneliness more apparent, even though Tobin is on the phone, you feel so so alone- Spain is so far away from the comforts of home and you feel the effect of the rash decision now.

"I've... Slept with someone-"

"You're breaking down over this?" There is a laugh at the end of the question and you crack a little smile before fading back to a deep frown.

"Someone I shouldn't have."

"Oh."

It's small, so you know it's Christen and not Tobin. Then a sudden feeling of embarrassment fills your gut, you shouldn't have said it. Actually, you shouldn't have said anything at all. Should have never called in the first place.

"Who?" You're back to Tobin and hear a heated whisper that belongs to Christen, most likely scolding Tobin for even asking.

"Can't- can't say," Your voice comes out oddly small, like it never has before- or at least never when you're speaking to them.

"Why?"

Tobin presses and it feels as though she's digging her nails into a freshly carved wound. Alexia has been an outlet as much as she's been a support in a country you had no clue about. She would take you out- well, you'd pay- but she'd pick the place, no matter if it were Madrid or Barcelona. Alexia knew all the good spots like the back of her hand. Whether it were ice cream or coffee, there was always a place.

So maybe... Just maybe, she'd become more of a friend than you'd want her to be. A friend that let you fuck your anger out on her just as she would on you- An outlet physically as well as emotionally.

Unhealthy, is probably the correct word.

You're about to answer Tobin with a lie, something you don't normally do but maybe Spain has changed you? You never used to be so meek after all. But then, another call flashes on the screen, Alexia- or Putellas as she is on your phone, there is no picture to accompany it because why would there be?

"Gotta go," You snap and press the green button to pick up the call.

"You ran away from me," It's an accusation that fits the crime. You had run away and Alexia is calling you out on it right now.

You swallow, "No, I just left."

Is it a denial? Probably. It sure sounds like one, your voice smaller than more and tone sadder than ever.

"Where are you?"

The question is fast, like it always is with Alexia. Her life is fast, like a car without brakes. She cruises along, going a 100 miles an hour with everything- Football, training, sex... There probably isn't a single thing that is not done fast and with efficiency.

"Well, my hotel."

"Send me the location."

It's not really a question because Alexia is sure of the answer and she's right because all the resolve you had earlier is somehow gone. You want her here, now and you could care less about how shitty you'll feel later when she's asleep and you're not.

So, instead of hanging up, you send the hotel and room number then call the reception to let her know she's alright to come up.

It's crazy what you're doing. Anyone would tell you that, Tobin, Christen- Hell, even the people who actually know Alexia, people you play with daily would tell you this is a shitty idea.

The shitty idea ends with Alexia on your lap, grinding into you while you kiss on the bed. It's fast, as always and you try to slow her but she's relentless and you decide to just flip the two of you.

You take Alexia by the waist and flip her onto her back so you're suddenly on top of her and this suits you much better. Especially when Alexia smirks and grabs one of your wrists, tugging the hand to her mouth then she separates your middle finger from the rest and closes her mouth around it.

She sucks on the digit, taking the entire length of your long finger a few times before growing bored and adding your pointer to the mix. This sends a hot flush to your stomach and your eyes darken as much as hers do as she traces veins on your hand with her red tongue.

This was about to be a long, long night.

As always, you end up awake. Lying on your back, staring at the unappealing ceiling with thoughts running through your head at the speed of light.

Alexia is next to you, wearing absolutely nothing and you can feel the heat radiating from her- It gives you the urge to shuffle closer to her, wrap your arms around her but you're not given the chance.

"Are you awake?" It's Alexia asking, in a soft sleepy voice and you jolt next to her.

You don't expect it and you're quite shocked that she's awake- She never has been after sleeping with you or at least not that you've realized.

"Yeah..." It's a meek response that has you cringing internally.

Then you hear her shuffle and suddenly she's pressing herself against you, in a gentle embrace that sends flutters into your stomach. Alexia's skin is against yours and it feels like a boiling sensation, in the best way possible, making you hot inside.

"I can't sleep too," Alexia murmurs into your skin and it's so low that you barely catch it.

You take the opportunity to wrap an arm around her shoulders and she doesn't protest, instead you can feel her lean in. Letting you hold her closer than you ever have as your arm is wrapped around her and your face is half buried in her soft hair.

This is different, familiar, close in a way you haven't been yet. You've played against each other, pulled shirts and tackled ankles when you shouldn't have. You've been sleeping together for what feels like forever, whenever you can but this is close, this sharing you're doing in that moment.

Life isn't going at 100 miles an hour right now. You're not in Madrid, Alexia isn't in Barcelona, you're not mortal enemies that are pitted against each other anymore. Instead, you're here and she is too- Really here, in the moment. Not in some distant land dreaming about how to beat you in another match and you aren't doing that either.

It's good, this thing you have, in that moment.

You fall asleep soon after, questions on the tip of your tongue fade into nothingness as dreaming takes over.

You wake up the next morning to an empty, cold bed. Alexia is gone, as she normally is or sometimes as you are, leaving the other alone when they wake up. Usually, you'd feel some sort of resentment or maybe sadness but this time nothing comes, you're sort of content as you lie in bed. Alone.

The Ballon D'or the year your first season with Real Madrid ends is on a Monday in October and you're once again shortlisted in the main competition: The desired golden ball. You know that Alexia is probably shortlisted too and you can already imagine her on stage in a dress that looks beautiful on her, speaking Spanish you don't understand and taking home her third award.

You try not to think about losing for the fifth time as you make your way to Paris, the plane which is thankfully private is stuffy and you wonder briefly whether it's your choice of clothing. You'd opted to wear a suit, dark blue almost black with a sharply cut fit to make your stature pop even more. It's matched with a white starched shirt that is a little itchy and a bowtie in the same navy that looks a little uneven but you'd be in the audience the whole time anyway.

It's raining when you get to the Theatre where the awards are being held and you can't help but see the weather as fitting, after all, this isn't your happiest moment. You're grateful but it's unlikely you'll win, not with Alexia and her teammate, Aitana being shortlisted alongside prominent footballers from other major leagues.

You smile for the cameras, standing alone on the red carpet to get into the event. You hadn't taken anyone with you, Tobin and Christen are all the way in the US and flying them out to only take one of them seems counterproductive. Your parents aren't really in the picture anymore, so they aren't a viable option. Then again you haven't spoken to Alexia since the season had begun in September.

The two of you had seen each other over a couple of free summer weeks but it wasn't anything special. Mostly lazing around at random apartments that you'd rent or hotel rooms and sometimes, when you felt like it, you'd go out decked out in sunglasses and hats to ice cream shops or bars.

It was nice and slow, just like that one night in Bilbao. As if you'd put a pause on everything around the two of you, all the rivalry and seeming hate to just... be.

But ever since the start of the season, you haven't heard anything from Alexia, not even a singular text or dm. You figure that she's cut the breaks and is going faster than the speed of light again, chasing results with a club that she loves. You can't fault her, you're doing the same. Putting the intensity in order to create waves in Liga F for the first time.

The awards start an hour after you arrive, you're sitting in a stiff chair next to a Barcelona player you don't know. She's tatted from what seems like head to toe and the bleach is fading from her hair but you recognize her from some of the matches you've played against the Catalan club.

That must mean that Alexia is close or at least not on the other side of the large hall and you're not sure if you're ready to see her again- See those honey eyes that cut into you without any issues or that grin that disarms you every single time.

"Are you L/N?"

It's the woman next to you, she's speaking in a heavy Spanish accent that is different to Alexia's more practiced one. It's as if she doesn't speak the language often.

"Yes and you are...?" You ask, hoping that the question doesn't come off as rude because you know that she's important, just not actually sure who she is.

You hear a giggle, "Mapi, León- We study you a lot before the Clásicos, Ale insists."

You raise your brows in surprise at the admission. Alexia had been studying you, just like you'd been doing with her for years and a sense of weird... Admiration fills you.

The awards take a similar route as always and you're mostly bored until the women's awards being, with best eleven and then the Ballon D'or- You're sinking into your seat when the different candidates photos are flashed on the screen, yours being an action short in a white Madrid shirt and you recognize it as your debut goal.

There is a hush when the presenter begins to speak, opening the sleek black card to look at the name before leaning to speak into the microphone.

"The 2025 Ballon d'or France football is Y/N L/N."

You let out an audible gasp because you'd expected Alexia to win or maybe Aitana or Hasen but this- You- is unexpected, a shock.

You stand and walk to the stage, heart racing faster than it ever has and you feel unstable on your feet, slightly shaking and you stand in front of the podium with the famous golden ball in front of you.

You lean forwards to speak, something that you hadn't put a single thought into because you'd truly expected to end up as second best.

"I'm extremely thankful to receive this prestigious award," Your voice is a little shaky but you push past it.

"I want to dedicate this to all the people who have helped me get to this point- My coaches at the club who have helped us secure titles this year. Barry, my agent who I have to thank for getting me to this position and of course, I thank my teammates, both club and national, for supporting me in this journey and allowing me the possibility to achieve such an award."

"Thank you all and a good evening."

It feels odd, walking away with an award you've only seen from the sidelines. Something that only the best of the best hold and now you guess that you're one of them too.

The text is short and you read it at the after party held in the theatre,

Outside.

It's Alexia and a sense of dreadful excitement envelops you as you walk outside and see her for the first time that night. She's wearing white and your mouth goes dry when you see her, she's perfect. Absolutely perfect.

The white dress with golden accents that makes her look like an angel sent from the heavens and a grin plastered on her face that lights up the dim alley way you're standing in.

Then a grim reminder sets in. You've heard nothing from her since the beginning of September and you haven't held her since August. You're practically back to square one, nothing but playful fun.

"Congratulations, best player," Alexia smirks and leans forwards to capture your lips in a heated kiss that makes you want to kiss back but you don't.

You push her back gently by the shoulder and look away, towards the ground because you cannot stand the hurt look on her face. Why is she looking at you like that? Like she gets to be angry or sad when she is the one who has been dragging you through the water for a year.

"Don't- Just don't, Alexia," You say it sternly, like there is no room for argument because you don't intend there to be.

"What?" Alexia says, shock apparent in her voice and you're stunned.

Is she joking or being serious?

You wave your hands in the air at nothing in particular and look her in the eye, "I can't do this anymore- This thing."

"I- I... I can't sleep with you anymore, Alexia," It comes out as a whisper when you intend to yell. You're soft and she knows it.

"Why?... why- It's fun and you're fun..."

"I can't! I can't just fuck you everything other time and hold you and feel nothing!" You're yelling when you intend to murmur and it feels like a bad joke- All of this, the award, the weather, Alexia. All of it.

"I- I... I- I just..."

You can't find the right words because there are none. How do you tell Alexia Putellas you're in love with her when you don't actually know her?

It turns out that winning a Ballon D'or isn't that good after all, not as joyful as you'd imagined it would be.

The next time you see Alexia is at a newly renovated Camp Nou in January, at an el clásico that has the people on the edge of their seats. You're neck for neck with Barcelona with a goal each and the clock is ticking, final minutes running out rapidly fast as you dribble the ball up the inside of the pitch.

The Barcelona defense is tight and you know it so you pass it off to Athenea before lapping her, opening the space for her to fill before passing it back. It's a simple move that would have normally not worked but you're in injury time and the fatigue is catching up to everyone.

So your tap in goes into the back of the net somehow and Madrid pulls in front- In all the shock, you just stand there as your teammates crowd you, yelling and screaming praise. It's half a second later that you make history, Madrid wins the first clásico at Barcelona's home stadium in front of a crowd of 96 000.

The rest of the night, you go through the motions- Shock, joy, pride fill you in varying ways but all of those are traded for something else when you see her.

Alexia, with wet hair and a team issue tracksuit standing outside of the away changing room, looking uncharacteristically nervous as she fiddles with the hem of her top. Your graze is hard when you meet her eye, you haven't seen her since October and you'd purposely avoid social media as well because you know she's on there.

So you put your headphones in and try to walk past her but a hand shoots out and grabs your forearm, making you whip around to look at Alexia. Sky blue meets honey brown when you're forced to look at her, all comfort comes flooding in without invitation- You'd been lost ever since you'd walked away from her and here she is now. In front of you with wet hair and Barcelona colors like you never even left.

"Come...Come with me?... Please?" Alexia mumbles and you have to strain your ears to capture the rasp of her voice.

You can feel your resolve breaking by the second. Alexia doesn't sound confident as she normally seems to be, there is no teasing, no bite, no smirk in her voice. So you catch yourself nodding before you can fully compute what has just happened.

The trip to Alexia's is a blur, she drags you through Camp Nou to the parking lot, ignoring your respective teammates' stares by tunneling her vision on the exit. Alexia's car is nice, almost as nice as your BMW you think but you don't say anything- Instead you shove your bag in the back with hers and sit in the passenger seat while she drives.

The drive is silent, the radio is off and all you can hear is your own breathing alongside the murmur of the car engine. The apartment complex is nice and so is the parking garage but you could care less, you drag yourself into the elevator with your duffle on your shoulder and resist the urge to lean into Alexia for a hug.

As soon as the apartment door shuts with a soft click, Alexia drops her bag and turns to you then shoves herself into your arms, making you drop all your things to wrap strong arms around her. You angle from head down to bury your face into her hair, her shampoo is the same as it was and it oddly reminds you of something you haven't felt in forever...Home.

"I-I...I think I love you," Alexia whispers into your jacket and you swear your heart explodes. Bursts into a million pieces from joy.

You toe your shoes off and she does the same then you pick Alexia up without speaking, letting her wrap a pair of strong legs around your waist as you grip onto her back. It feels right, this weird thing you're doing now, feels like home when home is so, so far away.

You find the sofa, lay her down gently before resting on top of her, your feet are hanging off the edge of the shorter side but you don't care. Alexia is here and she's in love with you.

"I'll do whatever you want, whatever you need," You mumble into her neck,

"Because, I think I'm in love with you too."

The world's greatest rivalries aren't born of hate, maybe you just had to learn that the hard way? 

[girlgenius1111]

this is the funniest fucking picture i’ve ever seen in my life

[softidiotsposts]

hey all, posts this week are getting pushed back slightly because they are longer than i expected and i've been experiencing minor writers block :(

[theitaliansalad]

someone looked at Alexia and Pajor's stats and said "Something ain't right, get the antidoping dudes in here" and they found no drugs, only The Goat Essence running through their veins.

the end.

[softidiotsposts]

very angst then fluff enemies to lover story wlw alexia putellas x reader reader is, a masc short hair blue eyes american taller than alexia veiny hands, muscles, lean figure, long fingers striker plays for USWNT and Real Madrid tobin heath and christen press's unbiological adopted daughter kinda thing (meaning they both loves reader so much they are like reader's parents but not real parents. reader's best firend i also tobin. reader is the one who helped tobin to ask christen out. thats just background info) the story line could be anything you like i just want some masc reader stuff and if you can make it very angsty and then fluffy sugesstive at the end

I'm on it! Sounds really good, thank you for all the information, it really helps :)

I'll get started on it today and probably finish it for Thursday!

[didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback]

now with the aftermath of the rubiales trial (mostly being over), we have to talk about the absolute resurgence of jenni hermoso in mexico. 😮‍💨 the question now is whether anyone in spain is paying attention...🤔

from the article mentioned above: "jenni hermoso is experiencing a very different panorama in recent weeks. the year 2025 presents itself with new open paths for the spanish forward, after closing last season with a sour taste. carabanchel has recovered its status with the arrival of pedro martínez losa on the tigres bench. it's untouchable again.

it was confirmed this friday in the tigres match against necaxa. jenni was a starter and played the 90′. she was an active part of the rout of the monterrey team, assisting three of the four goals. it's not something spontaneous. the Spanish international has had four confrontations in the same tone. in the previous clash she gave the assist to lizbeth ovalle for her great goal."