Pairing: Gio Queiroz x Barcelona Girlfriend!Reader
Summary: Where Gio and her girlfriend play on opposite sides in the Copa de la Reina final.
Note: English isn’t my first language!
Warning: None!
▪︎ Woso Masterlist
You were wrapped in your Barcelona hoodie, headphones muffling the stadium noise with a random Taylor Swift song. Your fingers drummed against your thighs, the fast-paced rhythm matching the beat of your heart. This was an important match—not just any final, but the first time you and Gio would face each other in a decisive game.
You sighed, adjusting your cleats before stepping onto the field. The Champions League defeat still stung, but today was a new chance. The other team had potential, of course, but you knew Barcelona was superior. At least on paper.
The Catalan anthem echoed through the stadium, and you stood in position, eyes half-closed, feeling the energy of the crowd. From the corner of your eye, you caught Gio’s focused gaze—her lips slightly pressed together, her stance firm. The Brazilian striker wore that cocky expression you knew so well, the same one she got when she was determined to prove something.
When the two of you crossed paths during the pre-game handshake, you couldn’t resist.
"Good luck, darling. You’re gonna need it," you whispered, lips curling into a half-smirk.
Gio chuckled softly, shaking her head.
"We’ll see who needs luck," she shot back, eyes gleaming with challenge.
That’s how it always was between you two. Taunts, healthy competition—but when you were on the same team, you were a lethal, almost telepathic duo. Today, though, you were on opposite sides.
The game was intense from the first minute. Gio, agile and sharp, kept trying to break through the defense, but you were there, closing gaps, anticipating her moves. You knew every feint, every sideways glance she gave before darting forward.
And then, midway through the match, came the decisive moment. You intercepted a pass, looked up, and launched a perfect ball—a calculated strike that landed at Pina’s feet. The second goal. The stadium erupted, and your teammates piled onto you as you shook your head, trying not to smile too wide—after all, Gio was on the other side.
When the final whistle blew, sealing Barça’s victory, you scanned the field for your girlfriend. You found her in a quieter corner, still catching her breath, her face marked by quiet frustration.
"Hey, darling," you called, walking over.
Gio looked up, and for a second, she seemed to try masking her disappointment. But when you pulled her into a hug, she gave in, burying her face in your shoulder.
"You played well," you murmured, running your fingers through her blonde hair.
"Not well enough, apparently," Gio grumbled, her voice muffled.
You let out a small smile, pressing a kiss to her temple.
"Things don’t always go the way we want, darling," you said, rubbing her back. "But next time, maybe I’ll be the frustrated one."
Gio let out a quiet laugh, finally lifting her head.
"Fine. But don’t expect me to console you so easily."
You laughed, squeezing her hand.
"Fair enough."
And so, even on opposite sides, you kept going—rivaling, teasing, but always finding your way back to each other. Because in the end, football united you, even when it pulled you apart on the pitch.
summary: you feel forced to pick a side during the national break
warnings: swearing, google translated language
this match has been fast-paced.
the stands in this los angeles stadium are packed, the crowd yelling with excitement as the game nears its conclusion. you’ve kept your head down for most of the match, focusing on your role, finding your rhythm, and working to break through brazil’s backline.
the banter on the pitch has been light, even playful at times. you’ve exchanged a few teasing smiles and glances with gio, your girlfriend of eight months, but nothing that would draw attention… at least, that was the plan.
it’s the 87th minute now, and the game feels like it’s teetering on the edge. tied 1-1, neither side is giving an inch. the sun has dipped low, painting the sky a hazy orange as the stadium lights flicker on. the ball pings around midfield, and then lindsey charges in, her presence commanding, as always for someone who needs to fulfill a captain role.
gio had the ball, but lindsey steps in hard on gio, winning the ball but making contact that’s just a bit too aggressive. you see gio stumble back, not falling but she almost did. the brazilian’s face twisting in frustration as she plants her feet.
lindsey straightens, turning to walk away, but gio isn’t letting it slide.
"que porra é essa?" gio snaps, her voice carrying just enough to draw a few heads. you recognize the tone immediately.. sharp, challenging. your eyes widen from forty yards away.
lindsey pauses, pivoting back to face her, jaw tight, eyes narrowing.
"you got something to say?" lindsey shoots back, her voice calm but laced with that signature edge. she’s keeping it together.. for now. you can see her fingers curl slightly, her composure fraying just enough to be noticeable.
gio waves her hand dismissively, a clear gesture for lindsey to back off.
"fuck off," gio mutters, shaking her head. the motion isn’t aggressive, but the intent is clear, and you know lindsey well enough to know it’s like waving a red flag in front of a bull.
lindsey takes a step closer, her head tilting slightly, her voice dropping lower but losing none of its sharpness.
"what’s your problem?"
you instinctively start to move toward them, but trinity’s hand stretches out across your chest before you can take a step.
"don’t," she warns, her voice quiet but firm.
"i think you should stay out of it luv."
you glance at trinity, your brows furrowing in silent protest, but you know she’s right. lindsey doesn’t need you stepping in, and gio doesn’t need you choosing sides.. not here, not now.
that doesn’t stop the unease curling in your stomach as you watch the exchange unfold.
gio plants her hands on her sides, her expression unwavering, meeting lindsey’s glare with equal intensity. they’re inches apart now, voices rising just enough for the crowd closest to the pitch to pick up on the spat.
this is when sonnet, and angelina from the other team start to run up and break things apart before they go too far. your heart pounds as you stay rooted in place, the tension crackling like static in the air.
your position at striker suddenly feels miles away. you can’t hear every word, but the tone is unmistakable.. neither of them is backing down. of course not, gio had never broken down from a challenge. even when you played against atletico madrid in barcelona, your club, she was the last person to accept defeat for the sake of her own ego.
you feel your hands ball into fists at your sides, every instinct screaming for you to step in, to diffuse this before it escalates further.
trinity’s hand presses against your shoulder again, her voice barely above a whisper.
"i know you want to help your girlfriend and linds but it’s not your fight." you nod reluctantly, your eyes flickering between lindsey and gio.
you just hope neither of them crosses a line they can’t step back from.
your hopes go to waste. one second, lynn is stepping in, arms raised in a gesture to calm things down, her voice steady as she tries to play the mediator. the next, gio jerks back, her expression shifting sharply, mistaking lynn’s approach as something hostile or aggressive.
“don’t touch me!” gio exclaims, her voice cutting through the noise, and it’s like a spark to dry grass. the reaction is instant. a few of the brazilian players rush in, their protective instincts kicking in as they misinterpret lynn’s movement.
your eyes widen, heart pounding in your chest as the tension erupts into chaos. voices overlap, sharp and heated in english, portuguese, and even a bit of spanish. players from both teams converge, trying to either escalate or diffuse the situation. you see gabi arguing with lynn, their gestures animated. lindsey steps forward again, her captain’s armband visible as she squares up, shouting something you can’t quite make out.
the ref’s whistle blows, shrill and piercing, but it barely cuts through the commotion. she rushes into the fray, trying to separate players, her face stern and authoritative, but it’s clear she’s losing control of the situation.
you feel rooted in place, torn between stepping in and staying back. trinity’s hand is still lightly on your arm, a silent reminder to hold your position. beside you, sophia jogs up, her brow furrowed in confusion.
“are they still upset about the gold medal game?” she asks, glancing toward the brazilian players who seem particularly agitated.
trinity lets out a soft, almost incredulous giggle, but you shut it down quickly, your voice firm.
“no, they’ve moved on.” you mean it, mostly. gio and the others had congratulated you last year, telling you the better team had won, and there was no lingering bitterness.. at least, none you’d picked up on.
watching the scene unfold, it’s hard not to wonder if the loss still stings, if the weight of that match lingers in moments like this, where tempers flare and emotions run high. your eyes dart to gio, who’s still gesturing animatedly at lynn, her voice raised, though the words are lost in the noise.
a minute after lynn came through and.. attempted.. to break things up, the collective retreat is almost comical, like someone hit an invisible pause button. players from both teams step back, hands raised or resting on their hips, the tension diffusing in unison as if they all silently agreed this wasn’t worth escalating further.
the ref stands at the center of it all, her whistle still gripped tightly, her face a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
you watch as she raises two yellow cards, one in each hand..one for lindsey, one for gio. it’s not exactly shocking. both of them are fiery, unafraid to stand their ground, and, honestly, it could’ve been worse.
still, you can’t help but roll your eyes, letting out a soft exhale as you shake your head. you mutter to yourself, “of course.”
as you jog back to your position, your gaze instinctively shifts to gio. she’s standing about twenty feet away, her expression unreadable at first. then, she meets your eyes, and you see it..a look that’s part curious, part questioning. it’s subtle, but you know her well enough to catch it:
are you on my side?
you bite back a groan, unwilling to let her pull you into whatever narrative is brewing in her mind. instead, you mouth the words, exaggerating them just enough so she can catch them from the distance:
we will talk about it later.
you emphasize the later, hoping she understands there’s a time and place, and it’s definitely not here.
gio smirks faintly, her head tilting as if to say, fine.
the game resumes, but not without a sigh from almost everyone on the pitch. the board goes up at the 90th minute, signaling 8 extra minutes. you don’t even have to ask; you know those minutes are for the chaos lindsey and gio stirred up.
"unbelievable," you mutter under your breath, repositioning yourself and shaking off the lingering tension. this match just couldn’t end quietly, could it?
finally, the final whistle comes which brings a sense of relief for you, the tension melting away as both teams fall into the familiar post-match routine.
players exchange handshakes, some linger to chat with club teammates, and there’s an easy camaraderie between many of the players despite the earlier chaos. you weave through the crowd, smiling and greeting a few friends, like angelina and gabi, catching up briefly before your focus shifts to the stands.
you’re about to walk over to greet the fans when a hand gently catches your arm, stopping you in your tracks. the touch is familiar, as is the soft voice that follows.
“can we talk? i don’t think i’ll be able to wait until we’re back in spain.”
you turn around, meeting gio’s eyes. there’s a softness there now, a sharp contrast to the fire she showed on the pitch earlier. you give her a small smile, trying to keep things light.
“can we swap?” you ask, tugging lightly at her jersey… her lips curve into a smirk, but she doesn’t let you off that easily.
“you’re avoiding the conversation,” she says, the teasing lilt in her voice clear.
“i am,” you admit, not bothering to deny it.
“because that moment was ridiculous, gio.”
she chuckles softly but doesn’t argue as you both swap jerseys, the smooth motion practiced after years of playing. you pull on her green brazilian home kit while she slips into your blue popsicle-colored away jersey, your name standing out boldly on the back.
“i’m sorry,” gio starts, her tone quieter now as she rubs her hand gently on your shoulder.
“i just thought you’d be on my side. you saw how your captain pushed me right before.”
you sigh, meeting her gaze evenly.
“i know. it was a wrong move, but you know it didn’t have to escalate that far.”
gio nods, her head dipping slightly.
“i know, and i’m sorry, baby.”
the corner of your mouth lifts into a smirk, though you try to keep it stern.
“gio…” your tone is warning, but playful. “there’s a time and a place.”
she exhales dramatically, though her smile doesn’t falter.
“again, i’m sorry. i know you’re on her side—”
“i’m not on lindsey’s side,” you cut in quickly.
“in fact, i think she might talk to me about this since, you know, i’m your girlfriend and all.”
gio winces slightly but recovers with a sheepish grin.
“again, i’m sorry.”
“stop apologizing,” you tell her firmly, your tone light but sincere.
“there’s nothing to apologize to me about.”
“fine,” she relents, her smirk growing as she steps closer and pulls you into a hug. the warmth of her embrace melts away any lingering frustration, and just as you’re starting to relax, she leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“i know you’re on my side, as much as you don’t want to admit it.”
oh shit, so it was gio queiroz who allegedly said the racial slur towards fatou! and then afterwards there was a confrontation in the tunnel and lola romero made a reference to call the police.
either way, this needs to be investigated fully. and per the report, the anti-racism protocol had been activated.
there is a three part anti-racism protocol to be followed by the league, which includes stopping the match to investigate.
