“Lee, stop. I have to go” you protested as she placed another kiss to your neck. You were facing her hotel room door as she was trying to drag you backwards towards the centre of the room.
“Five more minutes, please” she mumbled, increasing the volume of kisses being pressed against you.
“Curfew was already an hour ago” you huffed.
“So, what’s five more minutes then?” She smirked.
“And how will you explain if Kei or G just walk in?” You teased, eventually turning around so you could be face to face with her.
“Well firstly, I would remind them we have a curfew” Leah laughed as you pushed her away from you.
“Or maybe I would finally tell them that you are my girlfriend and have been for-” she held the last syllable while she dramatically looked at her watch. “2 years, 11 months, 30 days, 23 hours and 27 minutes”
“I know” you sighed, understanding that she was hinting that you should stay.
It was your three year anniversary and she wanted nothing more than for you to just spend the night in her room, regardless of the rules of camp and her being the captain of the team. The captain, person who was meant to strive for excellence and be a good role model for the other players. But none of that mattered when it came to you.
“Fine, but just tonight, and if we get caught I am telling them you kidnapped me” you rolled your eyes as she cheered quietly.
“Come on then” she smiled, taking your hand and leading you back to the double bed that was placed in the centre of the room.
Kei
Come to my room
Now
G
I’m in bed
Kei
NOW
-
It was the next morning when you woke to Leah’s never ending alarm.
“Turn it off, Lee” you groaned loudly.
You hated that stupid alarm, it was the worst noise in the world. She reached over and smacked her phone, unsure if she’d turned the alarm off or broken her phone, but either way the alarm had stopped.
“Morning” she smiled tiredly and placed a kiss on your lips.
“Happy anniversary” you kissed her back.
“Happy anniversary, love” she mumbled between kisses.
“Have you anything romantic planned?” You teased.
“I was thinking of jetting us off to Paris?” She smirked.
“How convenient” you giggled. It was travel day, you were going over to play France in Paris in a few days time.
“I should probably go and start packing then, should I?” You kissed her cheek.
“I’ll be over in a few minutes to help” she smiled, full well knowing that was a lie.
“Oh my dear sweet Leah, you know I’ll be back in a few minutes to pack up this mess” you moved your hands around the room, reiterating the state it was in as you burst out laughing.
“Yeah, yeah. Well hurry back, bus is in an hour” she smirked as she stretched back into the bed.
You went back to your room, quickly sprinting the few doors down and started packing. It was on your way back to Leah’s room that you bumped into your sister and Tooney.
“Morning” you smiled.
“Good morning” Alessia beamed, wrapping you straight into a hug.
“Where you off to?” Ella asked, looking you up and down. You were just in a pair of shorts and a hoodie.
“Off to help the messiest person alive pack her bags” you rolled your eyes. The pair knew you and Leah were close friends, but not that you’d been dating for three years. Nobody knew that.
“Her shorts would probably be better off in the bag than on you” Ella laughed as you looked down at Leah’s number displayed on your thigh.
“Oh no, maybe she’s rubbing off on me” you groaned, making the two girls laugh. “Are you both packed?” You asked and they both nodded.
“Y/n, can you hurry up?” Leah grunted from her door.
“Duty calls” you saluted them both.
“Morning Lessi” Leah smirked.
“Morning” she smiled back, innocently.
“I wonder what she would think if she knew how I made her sister-” she whispered to you as you got closer and you pushed her into her room before she could finish her sentence.
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You know she’s terrified of you as it is” you laughed, shaking your head.
You began packing her big bag neatly, before you told her to go and get your bag from your room. She wheeled both of them down to the lobby while you were scrolling on your phone. You were now both dawned in matching tracksuits with each other’s numbers on the opposite person, accidentally.
“Maybe just permanently switch numbers” Ella teased as she tapped the printing on your chest.
“I’m the captain now” you done your best Leah imitation as she gave you the finger and went off to leave your bags in the pile before heading to speak to Georgia and Keira.
“Nice number, Russo #3” Georgia laughed at the blonde who punched her softly when she stood next to her.
“Sleep alright?” Keira asked with the slightest upticks of her lips.
“Yeah” Leah smiled. Probably the best sleep she’d had all camp. “You?” She asked as Keira fully smirked.
“Not really” she shook her head. “I was just saying to Georgia actually, maybe if the walls were thicker I would have slept better” her and Georgia’s smirks were growing wider as Leah gulped. She knew Keira was next door to her room.
“But at least none of us were out of our rooms and in someone else’s all night, right?” She asked.
“And none of us have secret girlfriends to have in our rooms” Georgia pointed out with a laugh.
“Can you two shut up?” Leah pleaded as their giddiness was starting to make their voices grow louder.
“Why? Did you have your secret girlfriend in your room all night?” Keira asked, bursting out laughing, making Georgia also fall into a fit of laughter.
“Leah looks annoyed” Alessia pointed out as you looked over. You knew that whatever conversation was going on over there, that she was fit to put one or both of their heads through the closest wall.
“Doesn’t she always?” You joked, trying to lighten the mood and forget what was happening.
“If you two stop laughing, I will tell you everything” Leah huffed as the pair tried to stop laughing.
“We just have one question” Keira said and Leah nodded at them, indicating they could ask.
“Who is it?” Georgia asked quickly, getting in ahead of Keira.
“What?” Leah laughed.
“We couldn’t make out who it was” Keira sighed.
“You can’t both surely be that thick?” Leah frowned before she pointed at the number on her chest.
“Oh fuck” Georgia shouted as she slapped Leah’s chest.
“Ow, G, fucking hell” Leah winced, rubbing her chest.
“You’ve been with her three years and you didn’t tell me” Keira was slapping Leah playfully to the beat of each syllable that left her mouth, making the captain laugh.
“Nobody knows, so can you please keep it down?” Leah asked.
“Not even Less?” Georgia frowned and Leah shook her head.
“Especially not Alessia”
Only one person knew about you and Leah, and that was Alex Scott. Leah and Alex were out one evening in a nightclub, when they’d randomly bumped into you and your friends from outside of football, who had no idea who the pair even were. That was the night you and Leah first kissed, and a few weeks later she asked you out.
“You know Alessia won’t object right? She’s already afraid of you” Keira laughed as Leah rolled her eyes.
“We just don’t know how to tell her” Leah shrugged.
“Ladies can we get a move on? Onto the coach please” a member of staff shouted.
You made your way out to the bus with Ella and Alessia while Leah made her way with Georgia and Keira. It was just a quick trip to the airport but that didn’t stop Leah frowning when she realised Alessia had taken the seat beside you.
“Lessi, don’t leave Tooney all alone” Leah smirked. “Go on, up you get” she said as the younger blonde scrambled to her feet and rushed into the seat beside Ella.
“Lee, be nice” you warned. “You know she gets nervous flying” you pouted, looking back at her anxious little face.
“Less, I was just joking, sit here if you want” Leah called but the blonde shook her head.
“I don’t get why she’s so mean to me all the time” Alessia frowned.
“Probably cause she’s friends with Y/n. It’s harmless Lessi” Ella shrugged.
“Stop being mean to her or I will out you as the little spoon that you are” you whispered with a smirk.
“Baby, you promised to stop using that as a threat” Leah pouted as she sunk into the chair next to you.
“Actually, Keira and Georgia know” she said nonchalantly as she stretched in the seat.
“I’m sorry?” You asked.
“Apparently the walls are stick thin in George’s Park” Leah laughed as you blushed in embarrassment.
“Leah, that’s so humiliating” you groaned. “Why didn’t you deny it?”
“What was the point?” She whispered with a frown.
“We agreed only Alex was allowed to know. What if Alessia finds out?” You anxiously rubbed your hands together.
“So what if she finds out?” Leah shrugged.
“Lee, I’m not arguing with you about this right now” you groaned.
“No, you’re happy to just keep me a secret forever” she huffed as she stood up and moved to sit beside Lucy, who was a few rows behind you with Keira and Georgia down there too.
She walked by your sister who she gave a stern look to before turning away. You swung your head back in frustration before you put your headphones on and pressed your head against the window.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” Niamh asked.
“Sorry?” You took your headphones off as she smiled at you.
“Can I sit here?” She repeated.
“Yeah, of course Niamhy” you smiled.
“You’re normally stuck with Lessi or Leah on these trips” she pointed out.
“Well, I guess you’re stuck with me today” you laughed.
“I wouldn’t call it stuck” she shrugged. “Only if I have to sit beside you on the plane too” she smirked as you punched her arm.
“Is Niamh and your sister flirting?” Ella laughed, as the pair looked over at both of you.
“That’s hilarious” Alessia burst out laughing, which caught Leah’s attention.
She followed Alessia’s eyes, which were drawn on you and Niamh. She got up to go and walk towards you, but just as she did, the bus started moving and Lucy pulled her back into the seat. It was a quick drive, you and Niamh had just chatted the whole way to the airport. You stood up and got your things together as Niamh moved off the seat.
“See you on the plane” Niamh smiled, as she jogged to catch up to Esme and Lauren.
“You’re sitting with her on the plane too?” Leah frowned as she watched you take your bag and shuffle off the bus.
“Y/n” Leah groaned, walking after you.
“Trouble in paradise already” Georgia laughed quietly to Keira.
“Lee, can you just stop? You could have sat with me on the bus but you were acting like a child” you rolled your eyes at the girl who’d just stopped protesting about you sitting with Niamh on the plane.
“Why were you flirting with her?” Leah frowned.
“Get a grip, Leah” you huffed, walking towards the nearest place to get a coffee and a treat for the plane.
It was clear to anyone watching that you were arguing. The only ones that were watching though, was Keira, Georgia and Alessia, although she was stood separately to the other two. You’d eventually gotten away from Leah, leaving her to pay for your coffee, and you started walking towards the gate.
“Here, I can take that” Niamh offered, trying to take your bag.
“It’s fine” you smiled and waved her away.
“No, give me it” she laughed, taking the bag as you both continued to walk. “Do you want a coffee or a smoothie or something?” She asked.
“Here” Leah pushed a coffee in front of you, exactly what you wanted right now. “Do you mind if I steal her for a minute?” Leah asked Niamh who frowned, shook her head and walked off.
“Thank you for my coffee” you smiled.
“I’m sorry for acting like a dickhead” she began. “I’ll speak to Keira and G, but please stop winding me up with Niamh” she huffed.
“Was it because she took my bag?” You smirked.
“Obviously, that’s my job” Leah protested. “Can you sit with me on the plane?” She pleaded as you nodded.
A staff member called for you all to board the plane, when Leah headed over to Niamh. You watched her say something to the brunette who smiled and nodded.
“Sit in your assigned seats. You can move once we’re in flight” the staff member shouted. You shuffled in beside Georgia and Keira who both smirked at you as you sat down.
“Don’t start” you rolled your eyes at them as they both laughed. Leah checked the rows and pushed into the seat beside what she thought was Alex.
“Alright?” Leah asked as Alessia whipped her head around.
“Hi” Alessia anxiously replied. Leah was taken aback that it was your sister she was sitting beside, but quickly got a bit protective as your sister looked a mess.
“You okay Less? You look real pale” Leah whispered, turning to face her.
“I hate flying” she shook her head.
“Yeah, I know” Leah nodded, remembering all the times you’d had to keep her calm on a plane.
“Can I do anything?” She asked as your sister looked at her funny. Leah was never nice to her, always teasing her in some way or another.
“Can you just make sure when we take off to get Y/n or Tooney?” Alessia asked as the captain nodded. As the plane went up, Alessia’s heart dropped and grabbed Leah’s hand to squeeze it tightly.
“It’s okay Less” Leah rubbed her hand with her thumb. Meanwhile, you were completely missing this interaction due to being quizzed by Georgia and Keira.
“How did it happen?”
“Who asked who out?”
“Do you live together?”
“Do you love her?”
“What are your intentions with our Leah?”
“Can you both please-” you groaned and sighed in relief as the seatbelt sign went off. You saw Leah practically jump out of her seat, scanning the plane until eventually her eyes settled on you and she gestured you over quickly.
“Don’t keep her waiting” Georgia smirked as both of the girls fell into a state of laughter again.
“Everything okay?” You asked the girl, touching her fingertips briefly with yours, before looking at the seat she’d just jumped from.
“Oh my god, Lessi” you pushed Leah out of the way and jumped in beside your sister. She had always been awful on flights, even when you were kids you sometimes begged for Alessia not to come on holidays because she would scream and cry for the whole flight.
“Can you stay for the rest of this?” She asked, still pale as a ghost.
“Of course, just try and relax. It will go by so quickly” you smiled, grabbing hold of her hands. “Lee, can you get her some water?” You asked as she went down the aisle to ask the hostess for a bottle.
“Here, kid” Leah handed her a bottle of water as your eyes gestured to the seat next to you.
Leah slipped into the seat, understanding that’s what the look you’d given her meant. It was a bumpy flight, and you thanked the heavens that you’d gotten Alessia settled and she was sleeping comfortably against the window, or so you’d presumed.
“Some anniversary” Leah whispered and playfully rolled her eyes.
“Well, I heard we’re sharing rooms in Paris” you smirked. “And I think you’d like my roommate, she’s just as mean as you” you teased.
“I’m not mean” Leah huffed.
“You know you are” you replied, your tone slightly serious.
Due to Alessia’s eyes being shut, she couldn’t see the smiles or the touches you two shared, she could just hear the conversation. She couldn’t see the smirk on your face and the playful scowl Leah was giving you. She could just hear you and Leah arguing about Leah being mean.
The plane eventually landed and all three of you woke up simultaneously as the plane hit the ground. Alessia was asleep on your back, due to you being turned and cuddled into Leah. Your hand quickly broke free from where it was holding Leah’s as you looked around and sighed in relief that nobody was in the row opposite you. You quickly checked on Alessia and let her cuddle into you while you waited for the plane to stop. You got off the flight and boarded yet another bus, where you went back to sleep against Leah.
“Baby, we’re here” Leah whispered ever so quietly so nobody could hear the pet name. Although, it was just Georgia and Keira behind you. The plan for today was for a light training session and then back to the hotel to chill for the rest of the night.
You and Leah, like usual, paired up together and in typical Leah fashion, she teased the life out of you. She teased you during training, she teased you on the bus back to the hotel and she teased you while you were sitting on the couch in the room that you were all relaxing in. You don’t know in particular what caused it. Maybe it was you rolling your eyes for the 500th time today, or just overall frustration, but Alessia snapped as she watched Leah drive you demented. Leah was so harmless though, you did not mind her teasing at all. It was just the way your girlfriend was.
“Do you ever fucking stop?” Alessia proclaimed loudly, making you almost jump out of your skin.
“Sorry?” Leah turned with a smirk, slightly amused that your sister was riled up.
“Can you not just sit quietly? Or maybe not make my sister the butt of your jokes for a change?” She hissed.
“Less, that’s enough” you said sternly as Leah laughed.
“No, she’s always mean to me too. Why are you even friends with her?” Alessia was furious, but now so were you.
“I was nice to you on the plane” Leah said in a low voice, like she was trying not to ruin her reputation of being stern. You forgot the entire team was in the room as you stared at your sister, who either forgot or didn’t care who could hear.
“I said that’s enough, Alessia” you repeated and Leah knew what that tone meant. You were one more thing out from being pushed to start speaking in Italian.
“Right, maybe let’s just calm it down” Keira stepped in.
Leah’s smirk was still there, but mostly due to how anxious she was about the ongoing heated conversation. She always laughed or smirked uncomfortably when she was anxious.
“Yeah, Less let’s just go for a walk or something” Ella tried to take hold of Alessia’s arm but she freed herself from her best friend’s grip.
“Would you not rather be friends with someone who actually cares about you?” Alessia questioned.
“I do care about her” Leah frowned, now she was furious. It was on the tip of Leah’s tongue to tell your sister the truth and you were so appreciative that she hadn’t just spat it out.
“Well maybe stop acting like a cocky little dickhead all the time then” Alessia shouted.
“Alessia, do not speak to her like that” you snapped.
“Why do you care so much about-”
“Leah’s my fucking girlfriend, that’s why” you cut her off as everyone in the room froze. You heard whispers around the room and that’s when you were brought back to the realisation that the entire team was in here.
“She’s your what?” Alessia stuttered.
“Okay, okay let’s all just take a deep breath” Georgia now spoke, trying to defuse the situation. Leah jumped to her feet, guiding you quickly out of the room and all the way up to your shared room, where you collapsed on the other side of the door.
“Hey, breathe, it’s okay” she cooed as she sat infront of you and held your hands tightly.
“This is all my fault” you sobbed.
“Baby, come on. It’s going to be okay” Leah reassured you as she pulled you against her and let you cry. Keeping Leah a secret had been so hard, but after just one argument with Alessia, you’d ripped off the band aid like it was nothing.
“She’s going to hate me” you cried.
“She’s your sister, she’s not going to hate you. Me, maybe, but not you” Leah laughed. She always knew how to make you smile, even if you were in a bad situation.
“Let’s go talk to her” Leah said, standing up and taking your hand. You took her hand as she helped you up. She tucked your loose hair behind your ears before kissing you gently on the forehead. “Love you” she whispered.
“Love you too” you smiled. She went to grab a bottle of water beside the bed as you wiped your eyes quickly. You opened the door to reveal Alessia, stood on the other side.
“Love?” She asked as you practically yanked the girl in and closed the door. “You’re in love with her? How long has this being going on for?”
“Less, I just didn’t know how to tell you” you softly said.
“How long?” She asked again, a bit more sternly.
“Three years” Leah frowned. “Today is our anniversary”
“You kept this from me for three years?” Alessia pouted. She thought you two were as close as sisters could be.
“You told Keira and Georgia and not me?” Alessia was angry now. You’d started crying again when you felt a horrible wave of guilt wash over you.
“Can you cut her some slack?” Leah grunted.
“Stay out of this” Alessia hissed.
“No, actually. You’re making my girlfriend upset and unless you’re going to stop shouting at her, I’m gonna ask you to leave” Leah raised her eyebrows.
Your sister’s new found confidence for standing up for herself was now lost. Maybe not with you, but Leah could turn serious and intimidating in the space of a few seconds.
“I told Keira and Georgia this morning, the specifics as to why I did don’t matter right now. Your sister decided to keep it between us, and you need to just respect that. You know now” Leah was soft spoken but stern.
“Lessi, I’m really sorry. I know I should have told you. I just- I love Lee so much and I didn’t want anybody to get in between that or any pressure to be on us” you shook your head.
“So, you two are actually together?” Alessia asked, looking a bit stunned.
“Is that alright?” Leah smugly asked and Alessia nodded.
“If you’re not okay with this, please tell me” you pulled your sister’s hands so she would look back at you.
“She can’t tease me anymore” Alessia huffed.
“I can’t agree to that, that’s who I am” Leah argued.
“Leah” you grunted and stared at her.
“Fine, okay, yeah, I can lay off” she shrugged.
“I’ll see you in the morning okay? We can talk then, alone” you whispered as you gave your younger sister a hug.
“I’m not angry, I love you” she smiled as she pressed her forehead against your shoulder.
“Love you too” you smiled sweetly. As Alessia opened the door and left, it was like something clicked in Leah as she ran out after her.
“Two seconds, don’t follow me” she said as she sprinted by you and out the door. Before you could even get her name out of your mouth she was gone.
“Less” Leah shouted after your sister.
“Yeah?” The girl asked as she stopped walking and turned to face Leah.
“I’m sorry if it came across to you like I didn’t care about her” Leah began before clearing her throat. “I really love your sister and I care about her more than anything in the world”
“Well, it’s clear she really loves you too” Alessia smiled before turning away.
“Wait, Less” Leah pleaded as the girl turned back around looking confused.
“I’m sorry if it seemed like I was picking on you. I was just trying to get along with you more and I didn’t know it was upsetting you” Leah pouted. “It’s just the way Tooney is with you, that I didn’t think you minded”
“I’ve known Tooney my whole life, though” she shrugged and Leah nodded.
“I’m sorry, I hope there’s no bad blood and we can be friends” Leah stuck out her hand.
“Come here you big softie” Alessia chuckled pulling Leah in for a hug who immediately wrapped her hands around the blonde forward.
“We’re okay” Alessia added before letting Leah go and walked back to her room. Leah got back to the door, where you were stood in the frame.
“Thank you” you smiled.
“Yeah, yeah, get inside” Leah smirked.
The floor of the hotel was silent, even with girls sharing rooms. Due to flying and training and the dramatic reveal in the chill out area earlier, most people had opted to head straight to sleep.
“You awake?” Leah whispered as she felt you wriggle in her hold.
“Yeah” you replied quietly, turning to face her now, and smiling when you saw her.
“I got you something for our anniversary and I completely forgot about it until now. Do you want it now or in the morning?” Leah asked.
“Now. Obviously now” you giggled as you sat up and she laughed with a shuffle to get to her feet, turning on the light as she left the bed. She dug around her bag, the small one you hadn’t packed, until she eventually got her hand on a small box and pulled it out.
“Here” she smiled, handing you the box and sat anxiously on the foot of the bed, hugging her knees.
You opened the box to reveal a keyring attached to a key. You knew it was the key to Leah’s house that you already had, because you’d drawn a little heart on the side of it.
“What’s this?” You laughed. “You’re regifting me my own key to your house?”
“Look at the key ring” Leah whispered, hugging her knees even tighter. It was a picture of a little house with writing underneath that read:
Y/n and Leah’s
You stared at the keyring before you looked back at her.
“Will you move in with me?” She asked.
“Yes, yes. Oh my god Lee, yes” you squealed as you jumped to hug her.
“Oh my god Georgia, wouldn’t it be so bad for a certain couple if the walls were also thin here and everyone heard them” Keira dramatically shouted from the next room.
“Oh yes Keira, it would be terrible for everyone. And I repeat, everyone” Georgia shouted louder.
“God I hate them so much” Leah groaned.
“We won’t have this issue at Y/n and Leah’s” you smiled and kissed her again.
Summary: Prodigies appear in all areas of football
"Alright," Chloe says as she slips into her seat at the breakfast table, buterring a slice of toast absentmindedly," Who does the kid belong to?"
A piece of bacon hangs from Beth's mouth and someone jokingly gags. "Kid? What kid?"
"She's not a kid." Alex is the one that speaks, slipping into the only empty seat left and placing her plate down.
"Then who is she?"
"She's Sarina's protégé."
Beth scarfs down her bacon, washing it down with a quick swig of water before speaking. "Who...Are we talking about here?"
Lucy, who up to this point, had been silent, rolls her eyes. She jerks her chin over ot the small circle of staff that are sat at one of the far tables. You're wedged between Sarina and her assistant. The set piece coach is leaning over the table to show you something from his mountains and mountains of documents.
"Has she always been here?"
"Obviously not, Beth," Lucy drawls," But she was here when I turned up and I was the first one to arrive."
Leah leans back in her seat, head tilted all the way back to catch a look at you. She frowns as she settles back onto all four legs again. "I spoke to Sarina about her. She's like an intern or something."
"Since when has Sarina had interns?"
"She's not actually an intern, Beth. They picked her up from National League South. She-"
"So she's...what? A player?"
"If you'd let Leah finish," Lucy says with a laugh," You'd find out that she took a team fighting relegation to the top of the table."
"So...She's a coach? I thought she was a kid?"
"Sixteen," Leah confirms with a nod, head still tilted out to peer back at you.
You're leaning over set piece plays and Sarina gently moves your bowl of cereal out the way so your shirt doesn't get covered in milk.
"There was some video on the internet ages ago and, I guess, Sarina was impressed. I certainly was. The team is only semi-professional, of course, but, really, she had them playing like the best of them. Well oiled machine and all that. Sarina tracked her down or something. The FA are playing for her coaching licenses."
Beth's cutlery drops to her plate with a clatter. Thankfully, with all the noise, no one really notices. "Seriously?"
"Special case as well. She's sped through the FA Levels. She worked with the youth teams too." Leah leans closer, voice dropping. "This doesn't leave this table but..." She glances around, clears her throat and drops her voice even lower. "Sarina's had her waiting in the wings for a little while now." She raises her eyebrows pointedly.
"Meaning?"
"I'm pretty sure she's coming to the Euros."
"How-How long is 'a little while'?"
Leah shrugs. No answer. Not because she won't but because she can't.
There's been whispering before and, of course, she watched the video when it first came out. Somehow, you had a cute baby face even if you were screaming in the sidelines like you were Pep Guardiola, all passion.
Leah didn't want to think about how quickly Sarina must have tracked you down and snatched you up. There were talks every time the youth teams were called up about some mysterious kid on the coaching staff but seeing you here, now, and with the senior set up was the surprise of a lifetime.
Especially when she found out that the FA had a vested interest in you. Paying for your licenses weren't something that the FA did often, let alone send a request to UEFA itself asking for special dispensation because of your age and the requirements.
You shift a little and Sarina pushes you bowl back into your view and you scarf it down, still looking through the little book the set piece coach had gifted you.
Leah watches it all, finally dragging her attention back to the table. Lucy doesn't though, Leah notes. Lucy keeps watching you, brow a little furrowed. Perhaps in confusion. Perhaps in shock.
She keeps watching you even when you're dragged to your feet, a half peeled orange in your mouth while you hastily pull your England kit jacket on and follow Sarina and her staff.
"The Euros, huh?" Lucy's words are barely intelligible, low and under her breath like they're not meant to be heard by anyone else. "Must be a very smart kid."
You're everywhere now that Lucy knows to look. You linger during set piece practice, you keep to the edges when the defender's train in a group, when the midfielders practice, when the forwards shoot on goal, when the keepers practice saving shots. You're off to the side when set pieces are called. You're right by Sarina's shoulder when the whole group comes together.
You're silent most of the time, offering up a few questions here and there, even fewer orders when you're prompted to give them. But you're writing. You're constantly writing in your little notepad. Lucy has no idea what but you're always scrawling something down.
Sometimes you linger a bit closer, eyes narrowed. Sometimes, she wonders if you can see something that she doesn't.
When she tells Sarina about her leg, about the break, you're in the room. Lucy wasn't sure whether she'd interrupted a meeting or if this was a weird mentor-student study session because a book of players is open on the table when she comes in.
You give her that odd look again. The one that makes it seem like you're assessing her, like you're factoring her injury into the grand plan you have in place.
"Kid's crazy smart," Georgia says in greeting two days before they fly to Switzerland. She practically collapses into her seat during dinner.
Leah looks up from her phone and Lucy pushes some mushrooms around her plate. "Huh?"
"The kid. Sarina's 'intern'." She uses air quotes when saying it, going along with the team's joke for your position, especially considering no one has ever really said what your role on the staff is. "She's like crazy smart. Insanely smart."
Lucy sighs, finally sitting up in her seat properly. "Alright, G. I'll bite. What do you know?"
"So I was in the lounge, right? 'Cause Less told me they had those biscuits in there I liked and the kid's there. So, like, I'm nice enough and she seems sweet so I went over, yeah? She's writing some crazy stuff in her workbook. All complicated algebra and stuff. Apparently, it's like A-Level stuff. And I was like 'aren't you supposed to be doing GCSEs'? And she's all 'oh! I did them at fourteen!'. Wicked smart."
Sometimes, it was hard to follow along with Georgia but thankfully, Lucy is well practiced at it by this point and actually huffs out a laugh. She flicks a pea across the table.
"She might be the smartest person here then. Might have to put her in contact with my Mum if she's into maths."
"Backup career," Georgia jokes and Leah joins in with the laughter.
The days pass and by the time it comes around to leaving for Switzerland, Leah isn't at all surprised to see you on the bus to the airport.
She swings an arm over your shoulders as you linger in the aisle.
"Y/n, right?" She asks even though she knows the answer," You can sit with me. G and Keira have got us a four seater."
You jump a little, like you're two seconds away from trembling like a fawn. "Oh, er...I-"
"It's no problem," Leah insists," You're like the youngest person here. Wouldn't be doing a good job at being captain if I left you out, huh?"
"I...er...Don't think captaincy extends to staff?"
"Who says?" She winks," I won't tell if you don't."
That's how you find yourself squished between the window and Leah Williamson. There's a small table across from you where Keira Walsh and Georgia Stanway sit.
They're kind of a trio, you know that. Everyone knows that. The whole world knows that. You feel awkward to sit with them, let alone so firmly implanted between them, tucked into the window seat.
You practically jump out of your skin when Keira's foot knocks against your ankle. But all she does is offer you a friendly smile and pushes a cup of something towards you.
"Got you a hot chocolate. Didn't know if you're even allowed coffee."
"Hot chocolate is...good..." You say softly, drinking the scalding liquid just to stop yourself from making a fool of yourself.
"I saw that video of you," Keira continues," As that match."
Your cheeks colour in embarrassment. "Oh...That...Yeah..."
"Strong coaching," She says with that same friendly smile," Looked like an intense match. You really had a go at your striker."
"He's my cousin," You admit," It was his team. Their manager quit unexpectedly. He offered me up for that match."
"Well it looks like that's what he needed. Three goals in the second half from him. He was banging them in so quick almost thought he might beat Lewandowski's record."
Finally, you grin. It pushes through your embarrassment and you laugh. "I'm sure he'd love to here that."
Keira, you decide, is nice. Keira is nice and Georgia is cheeky and Leah is steady. You can see how they mesh together, how well they work, with each other, with others, with the coaching staff.
Keira doesn't press too much. She doesn't prod at things you would rather not talk about. She doesn't go on and on about how special you are like how some of the youth team staff do when you help them out. She doesn't sneer at you like some players on the youth team do. She smiles and she laughs and she slips you chocolate from the emergency stash you know she's not supposed to have.
"I'll take that," She says, hefting your carry on up onto her shoulder, knocking her other against yours as you drag your suitcase out from under the bus," Go on ahead. Less is getting a trolley for her and Tooney's cases. Yours should fit."
"Oh...I..."
"They're not going to bite. Go on, go."
There's a gap between you and most of the squad. There's Michelle, of course, but she's navigating this world in a different way to you. She's part of the team, part of the players. You're just staff. You're not going to hinder that for her.
But the age gap between you and the rest of the team is obvious. In everything. In their references. In their familiarity with each other. In the way your face still clings to your baby fat and you can't quite speak without tripping over your own words.
Your throat bobs awkwardly as your approach them both. They're fighting over whose cases are going on the bottom. "Er...Erm...Keira..." Their eyes snap to you. "Sent me over."
You wait, silent, rocking on your feet. More silence. They keep staring. You're sweating under your collar.
They exchange a look and you're about ready to high tail it out of there before Tooney's hand slaps against you shoulder.
"Of course she did!" She says brightly," Give me that. I've got it. This is incredibly light, you know? What have you got in here? Feathers?"
You wince a little and try to smile. "Something like that." This is your first trip abroad. You didn't want to overpack.
"Tooney can push for us," Alessia says breezily, an arm over your shoulder like Leah's was a few hours ago," So, you ever been to Switzerland before? I haven't. Are your family coming to watch?"
"Er...No and no? They all have work, you know? Busy. Busy."
"That sucks," Alessia says, her face dripping in sympathy," Not even on days off? You can come with my family if you want?"
"Oh, I couldn't-"
"Less' brother just had a baby," Tooney cuts you off smoothly," Or, I guess, his wife did. But there's a new baby. You should meet them."
"Oh, er-"
"My dad's side of the family is Italian," Alessia continues. Her arm migrates from your shoulders to link through yours. "We're all for more people joining. You're a little quiet but don't worry-" She winks teasingly," -Us, Russos are talkers."
You don't know how they get you to agree but somehow you do. You're roped into Russo family days off when you have time and Alessia's already squaring it off with her parents before you can blink.
Tooney and Alessia talk a lot. You're squished between them all the way up to boarding the plane. You finally, finally get respite again when you're sat between Michelle and Esme on the plane, both of them respecting your fraying nerves and need for silence.
You exchange smiles with both and settle in for the trip.
The first match is a bit of a distaster and you can do nothing but sit there and watch, shifting ever so slightly as you scrawl things out in your notebook and make little marks of your thoughts.
You don't speak on the way back to the hotel, trapped in your thoughts and your notebook. One name is circled and starred.
You don't expect an early night. You don't even think you were going to sleep regardless but it's not shocking nonetheless when you're redirected into an emergency meeting of the coaching staff.
You thought you were meant to be here in a purely observational role, out of the kindness of Sarina's heart even if she was the one kncoking on your Dad's door that day with video evidence and an offer.
But here you were, standing in this meeting like you were meant to be here, like this was your actual job.
"Y/n," Sarina says and you have to fight not to jump.
"Yes?"
"What did you think of the match? Any observations?"
"Er..."
Her face softens a fraction and she nods encouragingly at you. You gulp, taking a steadying breath.
"Michelle has to be your super sub." You say the words with conviction, with authority and Sarina's brow raises. "I know everyone's expecting it to be Aggie and I'm not saying she wouldn't be a great choice because she is but..."
"But?" Sarina prompts and there's something in her eyes that you can't name. Like she's proud of you or something. You must be imaginging it.
"But it has to be Michelle. Purely from a preparation standpoint."
"Go on."
"Everyone will be expecting it to be Aggie. Everyone will have been or will be preparing for it to be Aggie. Or, at least, they'd put the most effort into Aggie. Alessia's your number one, people know that, but Aggie's high output at a high level." You reach for your book, tucked into your back pocket and clear your throat. "Everything is must win for us now and the others in our group know that. Our tactics have started to be picked apart and they've been picked apart since the world cup. We need to do something unexpected, something that will unsettle them. Michelle's untested, yeah, I know, but she's got that spark. We need her."
You fall silent suddenly, your voice catching in your throat and going weak.
"Or, you know, that's just my opinion. It's probably-"
"You're saying, if we're in control of the game, we go with Aggie. If we're out of control, Michelle."
"Er...yes..."
"That's a great idea."
"It...is?"
"Good going, kid," The assistant coach claps you on the back," Knew you had the right instincts in you. Maybe this calls for ice cream as a reward."
"I'm not twelve."
He shrugs. "Your loss."
You're still not quite sure what your role is here. No one's really explained it to you other than Leah jokingly calling you Sarina's 'intern' which you know to be a joke but can't quite work out what she means by it.
The joke must have spread to the whole team because that's how Alessia introduces you to her family too. Sarina's intern. Special, apparently.
"Learning under Sarina, huh?" Alessia's father, Mario, seems kind of fun, you think. He's got laughter lines all over his face and he looks at his wife like she hung the moon and the stars. He looks at his kids, Alessia and her brother Luca (the third you think is on Love Island right now, if Tooney's scandalous gossip is to be believed) like they're the sun. "How long have you been working with her?"
"A little over a year."
Alessia presses an ice cream into your hand with a smile, bumping your shoulders with a smile. "Sarina's really been keeping you hidden, huh?"
You manage to return her smile, relaxing only a tad as she rejoins the table. "I've mostly been working with the youth teams."
"You must be doing well though," Mario says. Alessia must have got her smile from him. "You thinking of going into coaching?"
You play with the seam of your shirt. You look at your ice cream. It's melting a little. It's exactly what you wanted though, with the same toppings your dad always get you when you go out with him. "Er...Yes."
"The FA have been paying," Alessia picks up easily," I think...Actually, which one are you working on right now? The C license?"
You've never said it out loud before, even during that meeting you had with Sarina.
"I've got my C license," You say, conviction in your voice that wasn't there before," I'm...er...I'm finishing up my B actually."
Next to you, Alessia's smile melts off her face. Replacing it, is an open mouthed staring as she looks at her, eyes wide in shock. Across from her, Luca frowns, still feeding his baby.
"I thought you had to be eighteen for that," He says.
You wince a litttle. "Special dispensation," You explain," I don't really know but the FA had to submit documents to UEFA and I have permission to do my licenses with less barriers."
"That's impressive, sweetheart." Alessia's mum isn't the only one not staring at you in shock, a smile still on her face as she sets a drink in front of you. Some kind of slushy that you just know will dye your tongue purple after you drink it. "That's a lot of pressure though, isn't it? I hope Less has been helping you relax. I always said, you know, it's a shame Less never got to be an older sister. She has the instincts, you know?"
"Mum!"
"Oh, calm down, Lessi. What about you, sweetheart? Siblings?"
"No." That's a lie but you don't want to put a damper on this day. Your cousin is kind of like your brother, you guess. But he's still your cousin and already an adult so not really.
You don't actually know your brothers. They're a lot younger than you and probably have no idea who you are considering they live with your mother and you don't see her at all.
They were your brothers in blood and that was probably it. Not like Alessia and Luca and the elusive Gio.
"Adopting her, Carol?" Mario teases his wife and she bats at him with no force.
"I'm just saying that Lessi might want to swoop in on that."
"Mum, I don't think that's how siblings work."
"Bah! You're so young, you think you know everything."
"I'm...You know what, whatever. Come on, y/n, I see cookie dough with our names on it."
Four times the ball hits the back of the Netherlands goal. It's what the team needs to still be in with a chance. It might be a blessing in disguise, you muse idly, as you pile onto the bus after the match, to get the most difficult game out of the way first. If anything, it's motivation to keep going on, to keep fighting.
It would be embarrassing for the title holders to get grouped so easily.
You find yourself sitting next to Lucy on the way back this time rather than the four seater with Leah, Keira and Georgia. Still the window seat, still trapped in.
But Lucy smiles at you, leaning over conspiratorally even though you're the only two sitting here. "So, your notebook. I have to know, what even is it?"
Your cheeks grow hot and you're happy for the low lighting because it means she can't see how red they've gone. "Just...observations, you know? Noticing stuff."
"Does mine have notes about how strong I am?" She jokingly flexes," Because I am, you know? The strongest here."
That shocks a laugh out of you, it's barely more than a huff but it's there and Lucy's whole face lights up like a Christmas tree.
"And make sure Georgia's note say she smells. Because she does. Have you taken a whiff of her boots yet? Makes me queasy just thinking about them."
You giggle. "I'll have to write that down."
"And remember to make a note on how Keira snores. Because she does. That's important."
"It is?"
Lucy nods adamantly, that grin still on her face. She peers over the back of her seat for a moment before turning back. "Alex can't work blenders because she says they're too complicated and Tooney might still have her mum doing her laundry."
There's six different goalscorers during the match against Wales, Tooney being one of them. Sarina doesn't actually have to do much coaching. Instead, she sits next to you on the bench and looks through your notebook.
She nods occasionally. Sometimes her brow furrows at what she reads. She laughs at the inclusions you've added about Keira's snoring and Tooney's laundry.
You work with the set piece coach. You work with the assistants and the specialised coaches. You shadow one of the psychologists for a few hours then the nutritionists. You watch endless film. Again and again and again.
And you still feel useless as you watch Sweden score twice. Full time creeps up on you slowly. Nearly seventy minutes gone. You watch the clock. The bench is in disarray.
Sarina's started pacing and you finally stand, hands shaking a little. She hasn't called for you. She's probably forgotten that you're even here but you can't just sit there, sielnt and waiting for the inevitable.
"S-Sarina?"
"Hmm, yes? What is it?"
"I...I think we need to make some subs. Michelle needs to come on. We need to bolster our defence a little but if we want a chance, we need to throw on some more attackers. Michelle needs to be one of them."
"Tell them to warm up. Beth. Esme. Michelle. And..."
You glance at the bench. "Chloe? Maybe? We need another impact sub. We get those three on now and then her?"
"Get them all warmed up."
Chloe assists Lucy's goal and Michelle grabs her own in the dying minutes. The air's knocked out of you as the bench celebrates. Someone, Grace perhaps or Niamh, shakes you brutally at the celebrations and extra time begins. England wrenches control back from the clutches of defeat, forces a penalty shootout that you can't watch but force yourself to.
Now that the team is in the semi-finals, there's not really days off. Just recovery. But you're not a player and you've found yourself truly folded into the staff now. You know your role, kind of...sort of...maybe.
What you do know is that you have a role to play, responsibilities and the like. But Sarina still lets you sleep in after all the celebrations last night.
Which is why it's so difficult to drag yourself out of bed at the insistent knocking on your door. You peel it open.
"What's with the bed head?" Leah laughs, easily slipping through your cracked door," Did you just get up or something?"
Behind her, Keira and Georgia squeeze through too. They're holding snacks that they're definitely not meant to have as they lay about your room.
"Er...yes."
"You know what they say about teenagers," Georgia says with a laugh," Always sleeping."
"Don't be mean, G," Keira says with a laugh and a soft shrug. She pulls you with her over to your bed where Leah's already made herself comfortable, squeezing you between them both and opening a bag of pretzels, waving them under your nose until you take one. "I think this teenager has earnt her rest."
You eat a pretzel.
Leah scrolls aimlessly through your tv channels, brow furrowed half the time before she finds the Netflix app and logs herself in. A mindless movie is put on, one of those movies that follow an exact formula and is the same as a handful of other Netflix made movies that all blend together in your mind.
You didn't usually watch movies at home. Dad was always busy. Always at work. He'd leave the house before you woke up and he'd come back only a few hours before you went to bed. You could count on one hand how many times you'd sat down with him to watch a movie.
They weren't really things either of you were interested in. The tv rarely got put on when the two of you were together. It just wasn't something you really did with each other.
But this is nice, you think. The movie isn't really interesting and it's definitely not a cinematic masterpiece but it's basic and easy and the company is even better.
Leah heckles the screen even though the actors can't hear her. Georgia keeps bursting into laughter at moments that really aren't that funny and Keira keeps cajoling you into taking more snacks from her.
The knock on your door comes halfway through the second movie, some cheesy romcom with an actor you recognise from somewhere but can't name just yet.
"G, grab the door," Keira says.
"Why do I have to get it?"
"Because you're the closest?" You laugh and she waves a teasing finger in your direction.
"You can't defeat me with logic," She says but stands nonetheless and pulls it over. "Alessia?"
"Georgia? What are you doing here?"
"Movies. What are you doing?"
"This is y/n's room, right? I have the right room?"
"Just let her in, G!" Leah hollers just as the main leads have yet another argument that could easily be resolved by communicating properly.
Alessia slips into the room, drinking in everything. The seat that Georgia has returned to, kicking her feet up onto your table. Leah on your left with control of the tv and Keira on your right with a bag of chocolate buttons that are already extended out towards you. You, sitting in the middle of the bed with your hand already buried in the bag.
You're smiling.
Alessia smiles too, hefting a box under her arm and placing it at the foot of your bed. "Mum sent this for you."
"Your mum sent me something?"
"You made quite the impact," Alessia says with a laugh," I voted we kick Gio out the family and let you take his place but Mum said there was enough room for you anyway." She started opening the box, pulling out various snacks and drinks and a pair of fuzzy socks with floppy dog ears. "And I know you have a coat but, honestly, your coat is a little sad looking and I checked the brand and it's not even waterproof."
"It's summer," You point out weakly as Alessia pulls a waterproof jacket out of the box.
"Summer storms are a thing," She continues," So me and Mum went out today to get you a new one."
"You didn't have to do that."
Alessia throws it at you with a grin and it lands right on your head. Georgia laughs as Leah ruffles your hair over the material. You stick your tongue out at her as Keira pulls the jacket from your head.
"I know," Lessi says, settling at the foot of your bed casually," But I did it anyway."
"Thank you."
She shrugs. "Now, what are we watching?"
You only manage to get through the second movie before your alarm goes off and you head off to the staff meeting Sarina arranged last night.
It's a lot of what you expected and you linger in the background in silence, shifting your weight from side to side. You nearly bolt out the door when it's over but Sarina calls you back, waiting until everyone else has filtered out to speak.
"You need to be more assertive."
"I...Huh?"
"Yesterday's match had me thinking," She says," You delayed talking to me about the subs. You waited on the bench even though you clearly wanted to speak up beforehand. You have good ideas, you know that right? But you can't wait until the last minute to tell me them. Alright? If you have an idea or you think I'm doing something wrong, you need to tell me."
You shift awkwardly. "You're...kind of my boss though. Isn't that...I don't know? Disrespectful?"
"I'd find it more disrespectful if you didn't speak up." She sits down at the table with a sigh. "You have great instincts. You have great knowledge and tactically, you're sound. I watched you with the youth teams. When you speak, you're usually right and that isn't something that happens every day. But you need to assert yourself. You need to speak up. With me and with the team. I can't promise to always use your ideas but I do want to hear them."
You sink into the seat across from her.
"I know that I'm asking a lot of you and I know that I've been asking a lot of you since we met. But I keep setting expectations for you and you keep meeting them quicker than anyone has been execting." She sighs again. "Your only weakness is not speaking up more. I want your ideas because they're good ideas. And the team will want your ideas too. So, tomorrow at training, I want you to take the reigns for a few drills. The team will respect you regardless because that's who they are but tomorrow, I want you to give them a reason to keep respecting you."
You don't remember the person that recorded that video of you last year. They'd posted it as an attempt to tease you as a 'look at this shitty club so bad they've got a kid managing them, hahaha' but it didn't actually have that effect on the internet.
It wasn't even a proper league game, just a little tournament set up that had an actual reward other than bragging rights, an all expense paid dinner and drinks at the pub that had randomly hiked its prices up out of nowhere so practically none of the locals could go anymore.
It was your cousin's team and he had been adamant about getting it, something about wanting to be able to take his girlfriend (now fiancé) out at the place they had first met before proposing. He had asked and you had agreed.
You don't even know why it went viral. All you really knew was a week later, Sarina Wiegman and a represenative of the FA were knocking at your door and offering you the chance of a lifetime. They saw something in that little clip. They saw something in you.
Your Dad was worried about the cost. They offered to pay for everything. The cost of the courses, the cost of your travel, bed and board during international break when they wanted your services.
After that, it was weeks of paperwork and special permissions and then suddenly you were folded into the youth team's staff, bouncing between the teams every so often as you were awarded your C license.
Sarina appeared and disappeared at will during your time in the youth set up, talking to other staff members about young players, about you. Then, she had called you up at the start of the year. She wanted you to stay with the U-23s for the time being but she was prepared and willing to bring you into the senior team setup for the Euros.
Now, here you were, yelling out instructions to the senior players like you used to do for your youth players. Giving instructions and making corrections and pretending that your heart wasn't beating out your chest with every word you spoke.
Lucy claps you on the back during the drinks break, a grin on her face. "Congrats," She says with that cheeky smile that says she's about to say something that you're not expecting.
"For...what?" You ask warily and Lucy wiggles her finger in your face, tapping your nose.
"Wouldn't you like to know?" She teases before her arm is thrown over your shoulder and she dramatically pretends to go weak-kneed, leaning her full bodyweight on you. "I mean, it seems like it was just yesterday you were struggling to grab your suitcase off the bus!" A dramatic hand presses against her forehead. "So young. So innocent."
"Laying it on thick, are you, Lucy?" Is Keira's dry response. She stands in front of you both, arms crossed over her chest but a small smile on her face at Lucy's absurdity.
"Don't tell me you're not proud too, Kei? This little sweetheart's moving up in the world!"
"Of course I'm proud, Lucy," Keira says with an eye roll," But that doesn't mean you're not laying it on thick."
You glance between them, brow furrowed. "What's...going on here? What do you know that I don't?"
Keira and Lucy exchange a look that you can't decipher as Lucy ruffles your hair.
"You'll see."
And you do see but only after the rest of the day. A day full of people grinning at you and nudging you and congratulating you. Leah ruffles your hair like Lucy did and Georgia breaks out the biscuits she swore she wasn't going to open until after the match against Italy.
Alessia practically lifts you into the air and spins with you in her excitement. Of course, she almost trips over her own feet while spinning and would have fallen with you in her arms had she not gone careening into Tooney, who had the unfortunate job of keeping you both upright.
The day gets even stranger when the whole team practically stalks you to Sarina's office. Beth's the one that gets them caught but only because she tries to peer at you from behind a wall and falls flat on her face, pulling both Grace and Hannah down with her, and the team abandons all pretence of doing this secretly.
You're beaming when you step out of Sarina's office, face flushed with pride and you give a shriek when someone (either Chloe or Niamh) pops a party popper right as you step through the threshold.
Sarina laughs behind you. "Alright, girls," She says warmly," Let's not get too carried under with these celebrations, alright? We've got a match coming up. I don't want tired legs on that pitch."
Later, when everyone else has calmed down and you're just heading to your room to turn in for the night, Alessia grins at you.
"We'll have to celebrate when we get home," She says to you, nudging your shoulder with her own," A B license is unheard of at your age. Me, you, my family and yours. We'll have to find a way to celebrate."
Your face flushes a little in embarrassment. "We...really don't need to," You say weakly," I mean, it's probably going to be expensive for all of us, right?"
"I'm paying," Alessia insists," You're not going to pay on your special night."
"Are you...sure?"
"Positive."
Somehow, England is in the final.
A two-one victory over Italy with Michelle and Chloe scoring the goals and Sarina clapping you on the pack with pride at how much more assertive you've become with her.
Spain are the other team in the final but you had kind of been expecting that. They'd been in form ever since their world cup win. You knew they weren't going to be letting this opportunity pass them by.
But before all that, you have a rest day. Or, kind of a rest day. The team has a rest day. You have half a rest day and a meeting before dinner to get to.
But most of your day is spent outside in the hotel garden, splayed out on a patio chair around a little table with some of the others playing cards.
There's a lull in the game as Leah reshuffles the cards. She was adamant earlier that Georgia was cheating somehow, something about a false shuffle and card counting so she's taken over the shuffling now even though Georgia kept denying it.
They're across from you with Lucy squished between them as if she was the barrier that kept Leah lunging at her friend.
You're wedged between Keira and Alessia, staring down at your phone. It's lit up, your screen full of the groupchat with your dad, uncle and cousin. Your Dad sent a picture of the three of them watching the semifinal, thumbs up and smiles wide.
"They can't make it?" Keira asks gently and you look up at her in shock, wincing for a moment.
"Yeah...Couldn't get the time off. I'm not...you know."
"Sad? It's okay if you are. You are part of this team, you know. You're allowed to want your family there."
"They're busy."
Leah starts dealing the cards.
"I'm sure they would be here if they could," Alessia says from your other side," And I'm sure they're all feeling terrible that they can't be."
You make a non-committal noise and reach for your pile.
You do the pitchwalk the day of the final with the rest of the team. You don't really know why you're doing it considering you won't actually be on the pitch but it's kind of fun so you do it anyway, clearing your mind of any nerves that infect you.
Lucy captures you the moment you come out of the tunnel, arm draped over your shoulders as she steers you directly towards a group of the Spanish girls.
You recongise them, of course. Mainly because they're all famous but also because you've been studying their film for hours until it made it feel like your mind was melting.
"Y/n, this is my girlfriend, Ona. Ona, this is y/n. She's Sarina's intern."
Ona Batlle cocks her head to the side in momentary confusion. "I didn't know managers could have interns."
"I'm not an intern," You grouse good-naturedly and Lucy laughs, squeezing you a bit tighter as she does so.
"And this is," She dismissively waves her hand," Everyone else. I'm sure you know who they are already."
"Feeling the love," Patri Guijarro mutters and Lucy rolls her eyes. They twinkle with mischief.
"Well, you know, Ona's the important one here."
"Bah!" Patri jokingly bats at her and you smother down your laugh.
You make the completely wrong move of turning your head to look at the rest of the circle. Both Putellas and Paredes are watching you with narrowed eyes like they're trying to place you somewhere so you look away quickly. Aitana is, of course, Aitana Bonmati and she greets you politley while Mariona Caldentay beams at you just as Leah and Alessia appear behind you, exchanging a hug with her.
Suddenly, Paredes snaps her fingers. "I know where I've seen you before." You wince, your mind immediately going to that video that everyone knows you from. "You help coach the England youth teams. I've seen you in the back of highlight reels." She frowns. "You look a lot younger in person."
Lucy laughs. "She looks her age in person," She corrects," Sixteen."
"Sixteen?" Paredes' whistle of awe is low and long.
"Sixteen and with her B license." Lucy brags like she's your Dad or something, puffing out her chest and ruffling your hair.
Putellas, who had been silent up until this point, perks up. "Really? Already?" She looks at you a little differently now that Paredes has placed you.
"Special dispensation because of her age," Lucy continues to explain," After the Euros is over, the FA are paying for her A license. Then her Pro license after that. If everything keeps on track, she'll be fully qualified before she's nineteen."
"You've kept this one hidden then."
"Funny, we said to the same to Sarina during camp. She really blindsided us with this one."
In faux-casualness, Putellas looks at you. "Have you thought about your future as a coach? National team? Club?"
"Hey! No poaching!"
"It's a genuine question!"
"A genuine question if it came from anyone but you, Ale! You cannot poach my future manager."
Putellas laughs at that. "Are you still going to be playing when she becomes a manager?"
Lucy puffs out her chest. "You know I will."
"I might decide not to call you up," You mutter dryly and that shocks laughter out of Putellas. She holds her hand out to you. You shake it.
"I like you," She declares," I'll have to look up your coaching resume before warmups. You must be good if exceptions have been made for you."
"I...Thanks?"
She grins at you. "Don't thank me. Lucy was right. I am trying to poach you."
Spain score first in the match. You'd expected that. They had some of the best players in the world and they'd dominated practically the whole competition. You'd expected them to score first. But you couldn't just let them run away with the game now.
"The medics are worried she can't continue," Sarina whispers to you and her assistant coach when LJ goes down and struggles to get back up again.
"Sub her off," You say," Chloe can go on in her place."
"Or we can wait?" The assistant coach offers," Let them treat her off the pitch and see if it resolves itself?"
"And put us down to ten against a Spain thirsty for that second goal? They'll find an opening quicker than we can patch it. Sub LJ off. Put Chloe on. We can't afford to let them get that second."
Sarina nods. "LJ off. Chloe on."
Your knee bounces incessantly on the bench during the second half and breath a sign of relief when Chloe gets the assist for Alessia's goal.
"Right choice," You mutter," It was the right choice. Right choice."
You mark the Spain's coach decision to sub Putellas off for Pina as a terrible one. Not even a bad decision, a terrible one. If you had been in control of Spain, their lineup might have been slightly different and there was no way in hell you would ever be subbing Putellas out for Pina, not when you knew how dangerous their linkup play could be.
A terrible decision for Spain might have just cinched the England win.
The penalty shootout makes it feel like your heart is in your throat even though you had literally done this drill with the team just yesterday, when you had sat with the penalty takers and described their strengths and weaknesses at taking penalties, when you had explained what way they tended to go and which way the Spanish team would be most expecting.
You stand between Sarina and her assistant coach just as Chloe's ball flies into the top left corner.
The noise that comes out of your mouth sounds like you're underwater. You can barely hear it over the rush of blood in your ears, the cheering from the crowd, the eruption of emotion from the rest of the staff.
At some point during the celebration, Chloe crashes into you, waving a fake stern finger in your face. "Top left," She laughs," Top fucking left! Just like you said!"
Somewhere along the way, Lucy grabs a hold of you. She ruffles your hair and throws you over her shoulder to spin you around until you're light headed.
Keira and Georgia share you at one point, one hand in each of yours as you jump up and down to the music, shouting out the lyrics with the crowd.
"England manager!" Leah yells over all the noise," Alright? You're going to be my fucking manager in a few years, alright?"
You laugh. "I don't think that's quite your decision."
"Why the hell not? Why do you think the FA's been paying of your courses, huh? They're lining you up for when Sarina steps aside. Mark my words, you're going to be the England manager and I'll be playing for you."
"Oh, come off it, Leah."
"Just you see."
It takes a while for Alessia to find you after the medals are handed out and the trophy lift. Somewhere between all of the celebrations, Alessia helps you up to the stands where her family sits.
You'd tried to hang back, to give her that time with them herself but she insisted on dragging you along.
You greet her brothers warmly, recieving claps on the back from them and smiles you can't even begin to understand. Then comes her parents. They both give you a hug and then...
Her family parts and you burst into tears.
"Dad?"
"Hey there, sweetheart. You didn't think we would miss this, would you?"
Over his shoulder, you can see your uncle and your cousin and you nearly fall over your feet to hug them.
"The Russos really went to bat for us, you know," Your Dad says as he holds you close and you sob into his shoulder," They weren't taking no for an answer. As if we wouldn't find a way to support you wherever we are."
"Dad," You whisper.
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"We won."
"I saw."
"No, like, we won. And I helped to do that. Like, I actually did help. I didn't just sit back and let things happen. I...I helped."
Your Dad chuckles as he holds you just a little tighter. "Of course you did. That's why you're going to be the best manager in the world."
You wipe your tears away with a weak chuckle. "You're getting ahead of yourself."
"Nah, you're just not putting enough faith in yourself."
"You think so?"
"You just helped England win the Euros. At sixteen."
Sarina, you think, has a similar thought because she pulls you away from the celebrations before you walk in, fresh faced from your shower and in a new set of clothes.
"Here you go. Straight from the FA themselves. I told them I wanted to be the one to deliver it."
You stare at the paper in shock. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. "I...Didn't think I was qualified for this. My age, you know?"
Sarina just shrugs. "It's a split role, of sorts. I want to keep you in the senior setup. You can't be my assistant coach properly without your A license. The FA won't budge on that. That being said, I told them I want to keep you on my staff and they've compromised."
You stare at the paper in your hands. A dual role.
"You'll remain....The assistant to my assistant for the senior team as and when we need you. When we don't need you..."
"The under-seventeens."
"They have a need for a new assistant coach," Sarina shrugs," You think you're up for the challenge?"
You grin. "I think you've more than prepared me for it."
Hi. So if anyone has watched The Artful Dodger on Disney+, this is inspired by the scene between Jack and Belle outside the hospital. Also thank you to @lyak12 for the help/inspo
(not so) Scary
Leah Williamson x Reader
Description: Leah can come across as rather terrifying.
You had known Leah for years, that balancing act of professional and personal. Of course you knew of her. The budding centre back at Arsenal and England’s soon-to-be captain had been popping up in your life since you were kids. The thorn in your side at tournaments that somehow always ended up marking you for a corner kick.
You knew she must have been lovely at some point. Lucy had told you all about her blonde friend when you were at Lyon together, Georgia following suit during your brief spell at Bayern.
You had met her a few times for awards or the occasional get-together.
You knew when you accepted the contract with Arsenal that you wouldn’t get much playing time. It was a stacked squad and you were my no means the superstar that some of the others were. But, you were dependable. Quietly ticking along in the background. Steady, like a beating drum.
You hadn’t expected Leah to be the one to greet you at the door on your first day. It was chucking it down, typical introduction to London really. But she had on one of those giant overcoats, arms folded over her chest, scowl etched on her face.
“Leah,” she nodded at you, not offering a hand.
“Hi, um, I’m Y/N”. She just nodded at you again.
She hated you. You had barely said 4 words to the woman.
It had continued like that for months, the entire first half of the season was instructional grunts and huffs. It was strange really, you knew she could be lovely. You had seen it. How her guard fell with Beth and Katie, how she smiled and chatty away amicably to Jordan or Jen.
And then there was you.
“Beth, I don’t get it.” You huffed, flopping down onto your bed. It was an away match, you were cramped into some random hotel room.
“What don’t you get, pet?”
“Leah.” You would be lying if you didn’t find her incredibly attractive. But there was something about the scowl that seemed a permanent feature whenever you were around.
You had just come back from dinner. She had been chatting along perfectly fine with Viv and Daan, laughing and joking around. And then you appeared, putting your plate down and she froze up like a snowman. The conversation screeching to an uncomfortable halt. You don’t know if it would be more awkward to leave and save face or just stick it out.
“What about Leah?”
Beth knew all about Leah. Her propensity to become mute whenever you were around. Her very obvious and incredibly funny crush on you was only confirmed to the striker after she had managed to get her drunk and confess a month earlier.
“She hates me.” You whacked the bed beneath you for emphasis.
“She doesn’t.”
“She does.” You lifted your head, making eye contact with the blonde.
“She most definitely doesn’t hate you.”
“Oh so she just ices me out and glares at me ‘cos she’s just likes me so much?” You rolled your eyes, flopping back down.
“Something like that.” Beth smiled. “Why?” You knew that Beth was a shit-stirrer when she wanted to be, loving to be in the middle of all the gossip in the changing rooms.
You swallowed. “N-no reason.”
“Mm-ok.” Beth let the situation drop with too much ease.
Training the next day felt like running through wet cement. You’d barely slept, thoughts of Leah’s frozen expression at dinner looping in your brain like an annoying highlight reel. Beth had snored happily beside you, blissfully unaware of your 3 a.m. staring contest with the ceiling.
Leah was already on the pitch when you arrived - of course she was. Hair still damp from a shower, sleeves shoved haphazardly up her arms, pacing in that way she did when she was already three steps ahead of everyone else. She glanced up when you walked out.
And promptly looked straight back down.
You clenched your jaw. Brilliant.You were back to being a shadow she pretended not to see.
Warm-up runs were uneventful until a wayward pass from Jill sent the ball bouncing toward you and Leah at the same time. You went for it. She went harder.
Your shoulders collided, hard enough that you stumbled but caught yourself.
Hard enough that Leah’s eyes snapped to yours, wide, startled.
“Sorry,” you muttered, even though she’d definitely hit you harder than necessary.
“No, I-“ she cut herself off. “It’s fine.”
But she kept staring.
You could feel it, a weight between your ribs, too heavy and too light at the same time.
Throughout drills she was sharper with you than usual. Not unkind, just… keyed up. Touches too precise, challenges too firm, instructions rushed out like she was chasing something she didn’t know how to name.
At one point, when you moved past her in a possession game, her hand brushed your waist. A nothing touch. Barely there.
You felt it for minutes.
By the time training ended, your nerves were frayed.
You were tugging your jumper over your head in the changing room when Jordan called that tubs were open. Most players trickled out, chatter fading down the hallway. You lingered, fishing for your phone in your locker.
When you finally turned around, Leah was still there.
Alone.
Leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed, pretending to scroll her phone. Badly pretending. Her foot tapped the floor, too quick, too agitated.
You froze.
She looked up immediately.
Your breath caught in your throat.
You weren’t sure why.
“I, um,” she started, then stopped, lips pressing together like she’d lost the rest of the sentence on the way out.
You should’ve left. You should’ve given her an out, pretended you didn’t see the conflict on her face. But something in you tightened—some thread pulled taut from months of dodged glances and clipped words and that awful scowl she only ever reserved for you.
So you stayed.
“Did you… need something?” you asked carefully.
Leah sucked in a breath like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. “No. Just … making sure everyone’s out.”
You raised a brow.
“I’m still here.”
“I know.” she said before she could stop herself.
Silence shook between you.
You could have sworn your own heartbeat echoed off the tiles.
She looked away first, staring at the floor. “I’m not—I don’t—” Her hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know how to talk to you.”
That startled something loose in your chest. “You talk to everyone else.”
“That’s the problem.”
You blinked. “How is that a problem?”
Her eyes met yours then, really met yours. And suddenly you understood why people called her captain before she’d ever worn the armband. There was an honesty in her gaze that stripped you down to the bone.
“Because when I talk to you,” she said quietly, “I forget how to be normal.”
Your breath hitched.
The room felt too small.
Too warm.
Too something.
“I don’t hate you,” she added, almost painfully. “I just … get weird. Around you. And then I make it worse. And then you think I hate you even more.”
You didn’t realise you’d stepped closer until her eyes flicked to your feet. She didn’t move away.
More silence.
Tighter this time.
Charged.
You swallowed. “You get weird around me?”
Her cheeks flushed a shade you’d never seen on her. “Apparently.”
A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You’re telling me that I scare you?”
“…. Maybe.”
“I’m the scary one out of us two,” you giggled nervously. She was closer now, her hand almost touching yours.
Slowly, like she had all the time in the world, she lifted her hand, letting her fingers skin lightly over your cheek bone as she pushed some hair out of your face.
“Are you afraid of me?” Leah’s hands moved back, cradling the back of your head, her fingers twisting in your roots. She angled your head back, forcing you to look at her. You swallowed your eyes never leaving her lips.
“Yes.” you whispered back. Leah couldn’t help the slow smile that spread lazily across her face. “You are the most terrifying woman I have ever met.”
“Is that a good thing?” She was impossibly close, her smell flooding your senses.
You blinked. “Depends on how you define good,”
Leah tasted like honey. Like happiness. Her lips were rough yet perfectly soft as they slotted against yours.
Leah pulled back slowly, her hand still resting against the back of your head. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with unspoken words. You could feel your pulse in your throat, in your fingertips, in the way your lungs seemed to hesitate to take in air. You had kissed her. And she had kissed you back.
She was the first to break the silence.
“Did that… was that…” Her voice was low, almost like she was trying to convince herself of something. “Did that feel weird?”
You chuckled softly, your breath still shaky. “Weird?”
“Yeah. Like… bad weird,” she said, her brow furrowing as if trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit.
You shook your head, your hand coming up to touch your lips, feeling the residual warmth where she had just been. “No. No, it didn’t feel weird at all.”
Leah’s gaze softened, and she seemed to exhale for the first time since everything had shifted. She glanced down at her shoes, her fingers still gripping your hair just a little too tight, as if she wasn’t sure if she should let go.
You could feel the heat between you still, lingering, but now there was something else. It was as if the walls that had kept you apart for so long were finally crumbling, and neither of you knew exactly what came next.
Leah took a step back, but you didn’t let her go too far. Your hand reached out instinctively, brushing her arm, a silent plea for her to stay.
Her eyes flicked to yours, vulnerability evident in the way she held herself. "I’ve been… I’ve been wanting to do that for a while, you know?” she said quietly. "Or maybe I was hoping that maybe you would … figure it out, or whatever this is." She laughed awkwardly, clearly not entirely sure how to finish the sentence.
Your heart thudded in your chest. Hoping?
“Hoping for me?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah, I-” She stopped, exhaling a deep breath. “I’ve been acting like an idiot for months. Trying to keep you at arm’s length when I was really just…” Leah clenched her jaw, her hands fidgeting at her sides. “I was terrified.”
“Of me?” you whispered, incredulous. You couldn’t understand it. She was this intimidating, confident woman, a captain, a leader, someone who seemed to have everything under control. And yet, here she was, telling you she’d been scared.
She nodded, her gaze avoiding yours. “I’ve never been scared of anyone before. Not like this.”
Your heart gave a little lurch in your chest. You reached for her again, this time more gently, brushing your thumb over her knuckles.
“Leah, you don’t have to be scared,” you said softly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Leah’s gaze lifted, meeting yours again, this time with a depth that made everything else feel distant. The noise of the world outside the locker room, the rush of people still in the building, the ticking of the clock on the wall, it all faded into the background.
She let out a small, relieved laugh, and this time it wasn’t nervous. It was real. “I guess we’re both pretty good at hiding what we really feel, huh?”
You smiled, your fingers curling around hers. “Seems that way.”
Leah moved closer, her hand coming up to rest cup your cheek, her touch steady, grounding. “I never wanted to hurt you,” she said, her voice thick with sincerity. “I didn’t know how to… how to do this without making everything weird. I thought if I kept pretending like I didn’t care, it would just be easier.”
“I get it,” you said quietly. “I get why you did it. But, Leah…” You paused, taking a breath. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
Her eyes searched yours, almost as if looking for reassurance. She finally nodded, her thumb tracing the line of your jaw. “I think… I think I’m done pretending.”
You couldn’t help but smile, your heart swelling with something you couldn’t quite name.
“You think?”
She leaned in, brushing her lips against yours once more, just a soft, lingering press, like a promise.
“I know.” When she pulled away, her eyes were still locked on yours, a mixture of awe and something deeper. Something more. “I don’t know what this is yet,” she murmured, “but I want to figure it out with you.”
You smiled again, pulling her back into a gentle embrace. “Me too.”
After a few seconds, Leah cleared her throat, suddenly sounding a little more like her old self. “So… what now? You wanna go grab a drink or…?”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Are we really going to pretend like we’re not both exhausted from training?”
She raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Well, I mean, we could always go for a takeaway?”
“Now that’s the Leah that I see with everyone else.” You grinned, feeling lighter than you had in weeks.
She winked at you. “You’re not getting out of it. Some chinese and a drink. My treat.”
“No ham sandwich? Or potato smiley?” you laughed. She just groaned, falling into you slightly, her frown returning.
“Hey,” you whined, reaching up to smooth out the crinkle. “No frowning. You’re not allowed to be scary anymore.”
——
“I don’t get it,” Katie said, her eyes tracking you and Leah from across the room, clearly intrigued by something she wasn’t understanding.
Leah had her signature frown plastered on her face, a look that made it seem like she was constantly deep in thought or ready to pounce on anyone who dared to interrupt her concentration. Her blonde hair was pulled up messily, a few strands falling out of place, but it only added to her tough-girl vibe. She was standing slightly in front of you, her posture rigid, but her focus was entirely on Steph, who was chatting away enthusiastically. Leah’s attention was unwavering, and you could tell she was listening closely, her jaw set in that familiar, slightly intense way that made everyone around her a little bit on edge.
You stood beside her, equally focused, though your body language couldn’t have been more different. You leaned a bit toward Leah, your shoulders relaxed and your gaze soft. Your expression mirrored Leah’s concentration, but where Leah had an edge to her focus, you gave off more of a calm, grounded energy. You were the calm to her storm, and it was something that those who knew you both had learned to appreciate over time.
“What don’t you get?” Lotte asked, trying to figure out what Katie was thinking as her eyes shifted between Leah and you.
“Leah and Y/N,” Katie said, her voice curious, the confusion still lingering in her tone. “They’re together, right?”
The two of them watched in silence as Leah, without missing a beat, maneuvered behind you in the queue for food. She slipped her hands onto your hips, pulling you closer as she rested her chin lightly on your shoulder. You leaned back into her, your body relaxing into the familiar warmth, while your eyes drifted over the wide selection of food laid out before you.
“Yeah, have been for years,” Lotte said with a casual nod. “Since before I came back from the States, actually.”
Katie’s eyes widened slightly. “But Leah’s so… scary,” she said slowly, as if trying to reconcile the image of the fearsome Leah she knew with the softer version she was seeing now. “And Y/N… isn’t.z”
Michelle, who had been listening quietly, joined in, her voice dripping with amusement as she kept watching you both. “Right? Like, Leah looks like she could break someone in half just by looking at them. And then there’s Y/N, all calm and chill. It doesn’t add up.”
The older girls laughed collectively, a deep, knowing laugh that didn’t poke fun at Leah’s reputation but embraced it. They knew exactly what Michelle meant - Leah had built a name for herself in the locker room as someone who demanded respect, who played hard and expected the same from those around her.
“What’s so funny?” Leah’s voice cut through the conversation, sharp and direct, as her eyes narrowed, scanning the group like a hawk. She’d clearly caught wind of the laughter.
“You’re scary,” McCabe said, grinning widely as she took a swig of her drink. “And your missus is not.”
“Oi, no I’m not!” Leah said immediately, her eyes flashing in indignation as she turned to face the group. She folded her arms across her chest, clearly not pleased with the direction the conversation had taken. “Tell them I’m not scary.”
Kim chuckled, her hand reaching out to pat Leah gently on the shoulder in a way that was both affectionate and teasing. “Yes, you are, Leah,” she said with a laugh. “And Y/N? Definitely not.”
Leah turned back to you, searching your face with exaggerated intensity. “Bubs, tell them I’m not scary,” she said, her tone dropping to a near-whine, the tough exterior cracking just a little bit.
You sighed softly, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips as you turned to face her. The affection in your eyes was undeniable as you met her gaze. “Baby,” you said with a soft shake of your head. “You’re terrifying.”
The group erupted into laughter again, the sound warm and familiar. Leah, though still wearing a scowl, couldn’t help but soften at your words. She knew it was true - knew that she had this intimidating presence that was hard to shake off, no matter how many times you told her she wasn’t as scary as she thought. The truth was, you loved that about her, even if it made the others wary.
Leah rolled her eyes but gave you a quick, tender squeeze around your waist. “I’m only terrifying if you’re on the wrong side of me,” she muttered, but there was a hint of a smile playing at her lips.
“Oh, we all know who wears the pants in this relationship,” Caitlin teased, leaning back in her chair, looking more than satisfied with the playful exchange. “Leah may be scary to the outside world, but Y/N’s the one who keeps her in check.”
You glanced at Leah, raising an eyebrow and shrugging.
Leah let out a dramatic sigh, clearly pretending to be exasperated. “Alright, alright,” she said, her voice carrying a of exasperation. “You all win. I’m terrifying. But don’t forget, I’m also the one who keeps Y/N from getting too wild.”
You smiled at her, leaning in for a quick kiss on the cheek. “Sure, baby. Whatever you say.”
pairings ━ misa rodriguez x reader, barca femeni x teammate!reader
word count ━ 5.5k
summary ━ you go back to the day you first met real madrid’s goalkeeper
notes ━ this is circa 2016/2017 so a throwback! THIS IS 18+
read more masterlist series masterlist
collab with @maeshoneyles!
You watch as the water in the small pond ripples upon the impact of the rock you skip, relishing in the soft plip-plap echo that reverberates in your ear. It skips once, twice, three times before sinking, and you track each ripple until it disappears completely.
You crouch a little lower at the edge, selecting another stone carefully from the dirt. This one is smoother, making your lips twitch up briefly.
You run your thumb over its rough surface six times. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. You pause for a moment. Seven. Eight.
Your shoulders loosen as you skip it across the water with ease. You watch as it dances longer than the last.
“Oye, nena,” a familiar voice draws you out of your trance.
You blink, startled, turning your head just slightly instead of your whole body.
Jenni stands a few feet away, hands on her hips, a crooked grin on her face. Beside her, a few steps back, Alexia finishes a serious-sounding phone call, her brows knitted tight.
“Las rocas van a contraatacar algún día si sigues lanzándolas,” Jenni teases with grin. [The rocks are going to fight back one day if you keep throwing them.]
You glance back at the pond. “They don’t have arms.”
Jenni snorts. “That’s not the point.”
Alexia ends her call and strides forward, slipping her phone into her pocket. “¿Dónde estabas?” she demands, worry bleeding into irritation. “We’ve been looking for you. This isn’t Barcelona.”
You flinch at her tone, shoulders instinctively tightening. You stand up too quickly and brush invisible dirt off your palms.
“Sorry,” you say, quieter than you meant to.
Alexia exhales sharply. “You can’t just disappear.”
“Ale,” Jenni cuts in gently, stepping closer to you, “she’s an adult.”
“She just turned eighteen!”
“Exactly. An adult.” Jenni rolls her eyes before turning to you and offering her hand. “Come on. It’s almost time to get ready. And if you’re late, Ale will actually combust.”
“I will not combust,” Alexia mutters, though she doesn’t deny it fully.
You take Jenni’s hand and let her pull you up the rest of the way, dusting your jeans off in precise strokes. You glance once more at the water before following them.
The three of you walk in silence for a moment, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You keep your eyes on the ground, counting your steps without meaning to. Eight per breath—inhale, exhale.
“Where did you even find this place?” Jenni asks, bumping her shoulder lightly into yours.
You shrug. “I asked the front desk lady.”
Jenni falters, her smile dropping. “You asked the—” She turns to Alexia. “We could have asked her if she had seen you.”
Alexia’s lips press into a thin line. “We were too busy worrying.”
“She was,” Jenni corrects, nudging you playfully. “I was calm. Completely relaxed. Zen, even.”
“You were not,” Alexia deadpans.
You hum mindlessly at their bickering, the sound low in your throat as you slip into the backseat of the rental car. You sit directly in the middle, despite how uncomfortable it feels. It feels symmetrical that way.
Jenni slides into the driver’s seat. Alexia gets in beside her, twisting slightly to look back at you.
“What’s wrong?” Alexia asks quietly now, her voice softened, stripped of its earlier edge.
You look down at your interlinked fingers. You wiggle them slowly, feeling the familiar stretch between your knuckles. You avoid her eyes at first, focusing instead on the seam of the seat in front of you.
“I guess I’m nervous,” you say. You pause, recalibrating. “I think.”
“You think?” Jenni echoes gently as she starts the car.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “My stomach feels tight. And my head keeps replaying training. I missed two shots yesterday. One should’ve been near post.”
Alexia sighs, turning fully in her seat now. “You scored four.”
You brush it off. “That’s not the point.”
Jenni glances at you in the rearview mirror. “You are going to do great,” she says softly. “You are one of the best forwards I’ve seen developing at this pace.”
You shake your head almost immediately. Your thumb begins tracing the outline of your opposite fingernail. “But it’s not enough.”
“Not enough for who?” Alexia asks.
“For… for this,” you gesture vaguely. “For the expectations.”
Alexia’s jaw tightens. “It is more than enough, nena.”
You swallow. It doesn’t feel like it, you can’t help but think.
Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and the vibration makes you jump slightly. You pull it out to see notifications from the England group chat, but you lock the screen without reading it fully.
Jenni notices, hearing the custom group chat buzz. “They’re excited for you.”
“They expect things,” you reply.
“They expect you to be good,” Jenni corrects. “Because you are.”
You look out the window as the hotel comes into view, the building looming taller than you remembered.
“I don’t want to mess it up,” you say, barely audible.
Alexia’s expression softens in a way she rarely allows others to see. “You will mess up,” she says simply. “Everyone does.”
You blink at her.
“And then,” she continues, “you will fix it. That’s what makes you different.”
Jenni nods. “You train like the world is ending every day. That’s why you’re here.”
The car jolts as Jenni pulls into the parking lot, parking quite awfully across the line. She doesn’t notice but you stare at the crooked angle.
Jenni turns and pats your knee, pulling you out of your trance. “Mira,” she says firmly, making you lift your shiny eyes to meet hers, even though it feels overwhelming. You hold eye contact for three seconds, almost four before you look at her chin instead.
“You are a generational talent,” she continues. “I know that. Ale knows that. The team knows that. Even the media knows that. Only person that doubts you is you.”
Your throat tightens instantly. Bile rises up your esophagus, leaving a burning trail and a harsh taste in your mouth. Compliments feel like pressure, like a god awful weight you can’t shake. You reach for the door handle, ready to escape.
“Hey,” Alexia calls gently. You pause but don’t look back. “Breathe,” she says.
You inhale for eight counts then exhale for eght counts.
“I am breathing,” you reply quietly.
Jenni sighs as you step out of the car a little too quickly, adjusting your hoodie sleeves over your hands. You smooth your shirt down twice then an extra time when your hands twitched.
Alexia watches you walk toward the hotel entrance, posture straight, shoulders tight.“She’ll understand one day,” Alexia murmurs, resting her hand briefly on Jenni’s arm.
Jenni keeps staring at the space you’d occupied in the backseat, at the perfectly aligned imprint you left behind. “I’m not too sure about that,” she says softly.
Misa sits in her cubby, music booming through the locker room speakers. Someone had connected their phone to the Bluetooth the moment they walked in, and now the bass rattles faintly through the metal benches. Laughter echoes off the wall as boots scrape against tile and tape tears somewhere across the room. But somehow it all fades into the background.
She plays mindlessly with the wraps around her wrists, tightening them, loosening them, smoothing the fabric down with slow, practiced movements. Her fingers are quick, methodical with years of repetition.
Across the room someone shouts about shin guards. Another player complains about the referee from their last match. Someone else starts arguing about whether Barcelona’s midfield is overrated, but noise blends together for Misa.
“Barcelona today,” Ivana, her captain, speaks up from the cubby beside her. Her voice cuts through the rest of the room easily. “Are you nervous?”
Misa snorts softly, not even looking up. “Never,” she replies without a thought.
Ivana glances at her. “You didn’t even hesitate.”
“Why would I?” Misa shrugs, still focused on the tape around her wrist. “They’re eleven players. We’re eleven players.”
Ivana hums like she’s not entirely convinced but doesn’t push.
Across the room, someone speaks up. “Have you seen their number eight?”
Several heads lift.
“La niña?” Ivana clarifies, raising an eyebrow. “The English one?”
“That’s the one,” a defender says from the far bench, tying her boots aggressively. “She’s a beast.”
Another player scoffs immediately. “Please. She’s easy to read,” she claims. “She’s not as talented as Barça and England want her to be.”
“Exactly,” someone else chimes in. “Media loves a prodigy story. Especially a foreign one.”
“I know, right?” another voice adds, leaning back against the lockers. “I was watching film the other day and she’s an open book. Makes the same runs. Same body shape before she shoots.”
Misa’s hands pause for a second on the tape. Across the room the conversation keeps rolling.
“And she’s weird,” the defender continues, lowering her voice like she’s sharing something confidential. “Never celebrates her goals.”
A few girls laugh.
“Maybe she thinks she’s above it,” someone says. “Like scoring is just expected.”
“Or maybe she’s trying to look cool,” another teammate shrugs. “You know… mysterious superstar energy.”
Ivana smirks faintly. “You all sound jealous.”
“Jealous?” the defender scoffs. “Of her?”
Ivana just shrugs.
Misa finally lifts her head slightly, her gaze drifting down to the tiled floor between her boots.
Number eight. The English golden girl. She’s seen the clips of all the goals. All the slow-motion analysis on sports shows and commentators talking about “vision” and “instinct” and “generational potential.” You are just another privileged, manufactured forward who thinks they run the game. Exactly the type of player Misa despises.
“Oye,” Ivana says suddenly, leaning slightly toward her. “What are you thinking about?”
Misa’s fingers tighten the tape one last time around her wrist before she presses it flat.
“Number eight,” she replies simply.
Ivana waits for Misa to continue.
Misa finally looks up, her dark eyes sharp now.
“I want to break her down,” she says calmly. “I will break her down.”
Ivana blinks, momentarily rendered speechless by the quiet certainty in the younger goalkeeper’s voice.
Across the room someone overhears. “Ahí! ¡Ese es el espíritu!” a teammate laughs, walking past and clapping Misa hard on the back. [That’s it! That’s the spirit!]
Another girl whistles. “Careful, Misa. Sounds personal.”
“It’s not personal,” Misa mutters. “I don’t knwi the girl.”
But she doesn’t look away from the floor. In her mind she’s already building the game.
The angle of your runs, your body positioning, your foot preference. Where you look before you shoot, where you don’t look.
She wants to win. And if that means crushing you—some system-made, Barça-built prodigy who the football world keeps crowning before she’s earned it—so be it.
Her jaw tightens slightly as across the room - staff member calls for them to start warming up.
Boots slam into lockers and jerseys are pulled on, spiking the energy in the room.
Misa pushes herself to her feet slowly, rolling her shoulders once.
“Hey,” Ivana says quietly as she stands too. “Don’t underestimate her.”
Misa smirks faintly. “I don’t underestimate anyone,” she replies.
Then she grabs her gloves. “But I do enjoy proving people wrong.”
You have an odd pregame routine. It has been the same since you were a kid, with only minimal tweaks over the years.
You sit quietly at your cubby, the stadium noise filtering faintly through the concrete walls. The locker room hums around you—teammates talking, boots knocking against tile, someone laughing too loudly at a joke you didn’t quite catch.But you focus on your process.
First, your hair. You pull it back slowly, carefully collecting it into a tight bun before securing it into a slick back. Not a single flyaway is allowed. You smooth the sides with gel again… and again… then once more for good measure then it’s perfect.
Next come your boots. You place your right boot on first and then your left. But you tie the left boot before the right. You always have. You tried reversing it once when you were thirteen and played terribly that match. Since then, the order has never changed. You tighten the laces firmly, tugging twice on each knot.
After that comes the granola bar, your favorite one. You break it exactly in half. No crumbs scattered and no uneven break. If it is, you have back up ones and Ona usually eats the defects. Half of the bar goes into your mouth while the other half stays wrapped in the foil. You chew slowly, counting each bite without realizing it.
Then you wash it down with orange juice—pulp, no added sugar. The texture settles your stomach in a way nothing else does.
A few lockers down, Jenni watches you with a fond sort of amusement.
“You’re eating half again?” she asks.
“Yes,” you reply simply.
“You know you could just eat the whole thing.”
You glance at her. “That would be incorrect.”
Jenni laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Fair enough, nena.”
Next comes the book. You pull it from your bag carefully, sliding the bookmark back one page. One chapter. No more, no less. Your eyes move steadily across the page, absorbing the words even though your brain keeps drifting back to the film you’ve watched. When the chapter ends, you close the book immediately.
Finally, you slip your headphones on and scroll to the same song you have listened to before every game since you were eight. Get’cha Head in the Game from High School Musical. You know it is strange, but also know it is necessary.
Your teammates never questioned it. At least not seriously. They cared about one thing: your performance on the field.
And when the whistle blows, routine complete, nerves buzzing under your skin, you jog onto the pitch.
The stadium is loud, bright, and alive. But once the ball starts moving, the world narrows.
You receive the ball just outside the box. For a moment, you have a clear view of the goal.
You swing your leg back and propel it forward, striking the ball cleanly. The instant it leaves your foot, something feels wrong.
You know it. The angle paired with the timing was far too rushed. You just didn’t expect it to go straight into Madrid’s goalkeeper’s hands.
Across the box, Misa catches it easily, the ball settling securely into her gloves.
Her eyes snap onto your figure immediately. The intensity of her stare is sharp enough that you feel it before you fully process it.
You look up and for a brief moment your eyes meet. Her gaze is unwavering while yours falters almost instantly, dropping to the grass.
“Better luck next time, superestrella,” Misa says, her voice dripping with condescension, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
You don’t seem to hear her. Or at least, you don’t react. You reset your position slowly as your thoughts begin spiraling. I should have angled it. Or waited half a second. Or gone near post. Or—
“Hey.” Alexia appears beside you, her voice calm and steady. “It was just one shot,” she says quietly.
You nod, though the words pass through you more than they settle. “I will get the next one.”
Alexia studies your face for a second longer before jogging back into position.
And then, lo and behold, your next opportunity arrives.
From across the field, Leila sends a long pass slicing through the air. The ball drops perfectly at your feet and you don’t waste a second, taking off.
Your defender reacts a beat too late as you accelerate forward, boots digging into the grass as you close the distance to goal.
The world narrows again and you glance up once. Only once this time, then you strike. It was a soft, controlled this time, only striving for accuracy and precision.
You tap the ball into the net, rolling it cleanly past an unprepared Misa who dives a split second too late in an attempt to save it.
The net waves at you just as the Barça crowd explodes. Chants erupt from the stands as your name mixed with the club’s anthem being chanted.
You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You turn away from the goal immediately.
Behind you, Misa remains on the ground, propped up on one elbow, staring at you with burning intensity.
Your teammates swarm you before you make it three steps. Jenni sweeps you up into her arms with a loud laugh.
“¡Vamos!” she shouts, squeezing you tight. “That’s how you do it!”
You let a small smile grow on your face, brief and shy.
“You see?” Alexia says as she pats your head once. “Next one.”
Meanwhile, Misa pushes herself up slowly, jaw clenched. She stays there longer than she needs to just watching you.
You aren’t some lucky, goody two-shoes player. You can actually play. And for some reason, that realization makes her blood boil.
Later, when you score a second time—another precise finish that slips just beyond her reach—Misa feels like her skin is on fire, burning with fury.
How could someone like you score on her twice? And then again, like the superstar everyone claims you are, you don’t celebrate.
You just let your teammates clamber around you, laughing and shouting as they drag you into another group hug.
She hates it.
You single-handedly break through Madrid’s defensive line again and again throughout the match, forcing Misa to throw herself into risky saves just to keep the score from climbing higher.
By the final whistle, her gloves are slick with sweat and grass stains.
Misa rips them off the moment the whistle blows, tossing them down beside the goalpost before turning away.
She’s sweaty, irritated, and, though she’d never admit it out loud—honestly intrigued. You are supposed to be an arrogant pain in the ass. The kind of golden girl she loves knocking down a few pegs. But you are the exact opposite. And somehow, that bothers her even more.
“Just go without me,” you insist, lying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling like if you stay still enough the night will pass without you.
“Not an option,” Patri, your roommate for the weekend, replies from across the room, already half dressed and fixing her earrings in the mirror. “Everyone is meeting downstairs in twenty minutes. If I don’t come down with you, there are already talks of Jenni coming up here herself and dragging you out.”
You groan loudly, dragging your hands over your face before throwing the duvet off of you.
“She wouldn’t actually do that,” you mutter.
Patri turns, raising an eyebrow. “You want to test that theory?”
You sit up immediately. “…No.”
“There we go!” Patri cheers, clapping once as you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shuffle toward your suitcase.
You unzip it carefully, pulling out something simple and familiar, jeans and a nice top.
Patri watches you for a second. “You know this is a club, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re dressing like we’re going to dinner with Alexia’s family.”
You pause, looking down at your outfit. “This is appropriate.”
Patri snorts. “You’re unbelievable. Don’t worry, we bought you something early and you will be wearing it, or else.”
The next hour or so is a blur with numerous taxis to fit all of you and voices overlapping, including Jenni yelling something from one car to another through an open window.
You sit pressed against the door, counting streetlights as they pass by. Eight… sixteen… twenty-four.
By the time you arrive, the music is already thumping through the walls of the club. You often forget that you are technically celebrities, so it catches you off guard when the bouncer immediately recognizes the team and waves everyone through with a grin.
“Buenas noches, chicas.”
The owner practically beams at the sight of you all, greeting the team like honored guests and ushering you toward a reserved section.
Purple and red lights flash as the bass resonates in your core You sit awkwardly on the couch, shoulders slightly hunched, with Ona and Laia next to you, both deep in an intense debate.
“Stracciatella is objectively the best,” Laia insists.
“No, pistachio,” Ona counters. “And it’s not even close.”
“It tastes like grass.”
“It does not taste like grass!”
You blink between them. “I like mango,” you offer quietly.
They both turn to you, incredulous looks on their faces.
“That’s not even in the conversation,” Laia says as Ona pats your shoulder.
You nod. “Okay.”
“Drink?” a bottle girl asks, leaning close so she can hear your order over the music. You visibly gulp at the proximity, shoulders tensing as you lean back slightly.
“Uh, just a Shirley Temple for me, please,” you say. “Sin alcohol.”
The woman smiles warmly. “Claro,” before turning away.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, shoulders dropping.
“Aww,” Jenni smirks from the side, leaning forward with a teasing glint in her eyes. “El primer pánico gay del bebé.” [Baby’s first gay panic.]
You glare at her. “Quit it.”
Jenni raises her hands in surrender, laughing as she grabs another shot from the table. “I’m just saying, you looked like you were about to combust.”
“I was not.”
“You were,” Ona mutters under her breath.
“I was not,” you repeat, more quietly this time.
“Welcome to the party!” Patri suddenly shouts over the music.
Your head—along with several others—whips toward the source of the commotion. Numerous Real Madrid players filter into the club.
Some of the Barça girls cheer, greeting familiar faces. National team overlaps blur the rivalry just enough for nights like this.
You stay seated, your eyes drift across the group until you accidentally meet hazel eyes that are already on you.
Misa’s gaze is steady and intent, holding something reminiscent of amusement.
You flinch instinctively, looking away too quickly, focusing instead on the condensation forming on the table.
Misa smirks to herself before turning her attention to Patri, slipping into easy conversation like nothing happened.
Later in the night, you realize, with a sinking feeling, that you are going to be babysitting your extremely drunk teammates as you watch Jenni drunkenly sing along to the song playing that didn’t have any lyrics. That alone makes you crave another Shirley Temple.
You slide off the couch and make your way to the bar, weaving through people carefully, avoiding unnecessary contact.
You stand there, hands clasped in front of you, staring at the bottles lined up behind the counter.
The lights are too bright and music is too loud. There’s much too many voices and movements to allow you to feel calm. You focus on your breathing, trying to ground yourself.
“You’re quieter in person, you know.”
The voice from beside you makes you flinch for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
Your head snaps toward her—towards those same hazel eyes, studying you up close now.
“My name is Misa,” she says, extending her hand casually.
You hesitate for half a second before taking it, your grip polite but brief. “Misa?” you repeat, eyebrows furrowing slightly.
After all your years in Spain, nicknames still confuse you. Hell, your own nickname confuses you.
“María Isabel,” she clarifies. “But everyone calls me Misa.”
You nod once. “Nice to meet you, María Isabel.”
“Misa,” she corrects immediately.
You cringe slightly. “No.”
Misa’s eyebrows lift in surprise, a slow grin spreading across her face.
“Alright,” she says. “Keke.”
You squirm almost instantly at the nickname. It’s what the fans chant sometimes—pulling from the first sounds of your middle and last name.
You don’t like it and immediately Misa notices, though she pretends not to.
“You don’t celebrate,” she says instead.
Your face scrunches. “You mean drinking? I don’t drink. I’ve taken the job of making sure everyone gets back safely.”
Misa huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
“No, no es de eso de lo que estoy hablando,” she says. “Tus goles. No celebras.” [No that’s not what I am talking about. Your goals. You don’t celebrate.]
You accept your drink from the bartender with a quiet, “Gracias,” before turning back to her.
You shrug, taking a small sip. “Es mi trabajo anotar.” [It’s my job to score.]
Misa hums, watching you carefully. “Parecías bastante decepcionada cuando anotaste,” she says. “¿Sabes?” [You looked rather disappointed when you actually scored, you know.]
Your jaw tightens immediately. “Because I missed the first shot,” you reply, like it’s obvious.
Misa tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to solve something. Or rather like you’re something to figure out.
“Well,” she says casually, leaning a little closer, “instead of staying here, drinking your very red drink and taking care of your teammates… why don’t you come with me to mine?”
You blink. “It’s called a Shirley Temple,” you say automatically. “This one is ginger ale instead of Sprite, which I don’t mind but—”
You stop yourself. “…Wait. Like your house?”
Misa smirks. “Where else?”
Your eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Um—I don’t think—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupts, already straightening up, nodding toward the exit like it’s already decided. “Let’s go.”
You hesitate, glancing back toward your teammates. No one is looking at you, all too distracted in the moment.
You look back at Misa and she’s already walking. For some reason beyond you—you follow.
The drive back is a void, filled with a charge you can’t quite name. Misa is silent, her focus on the road absolute, leaving you to drown in the echo of your own heartbeat. You don’t remember her parking. You don’t remember the walk up to her loft. You don’t remember your dress slipping off, a silky pool on the floor.
All you remember is the weight of Misa on you on the sofa, the heat of her body pinning you into the cushions, and the taste of her her lips was a cooling mint, clashing with your bright, citrus lip gloss. Her hands, rough from years of goalkeeping, find your waist, pulling you flush against her until your hips align, until you could feel the hard line of her thigh pressing into your core.
Misa’s mouth is relentless. It moves from your lips, down your jaw, tracing the frantic pulse in your neck, then lower, across the slope of your breast, her teeth grazing your nipple in a sharp shock. You gasp, your hands fumbling at her shoulders, unsure whether to push or pull. She doesn’t give you time to decide.
Her lips travel down your stomach on a slow, devastating conquest. You are trembling and your mind a blank screen of sensation. And then Misa’s there, between your legs, her breath hot against your damp skin.
She looks up at you, from that intimate vantage, her usual bemused smile replaced by something focused, almost reverent. Then she lowered her head.
The first touch is a soft, open mouthed kiss against your inner thigh, teasing you. Then her tongue finds you with a slow, deliberate stroke, from bottom to top, a flat, wet pressure that makes your entire body jolt. Your back arches off the sofa. Her hands tighten on your hips, holding you down for her.
Misa works with a methodical intensity that steals your breath. Long, languid licks that coat you in her saliva, followed by focused, circling attention on your clit. Misa’s very thorough, intently learning the shape and response of you with each movement. Her tongue flicks, presses, rubs in tiny, devastating circles. The pleasure built in a steady, mounting wave, a tension coiling deep inside your belly.
You are panting, your fingers now tangled in her long, dark hair as if she were the only solid thing in a spinning world. Your eyes are shut tight, the dim light of her loft a distant concept to you. All that existed was the wet, slick sound of her, the smell of your own arousal mixed with her perfume, the overwhelming rightness of her mouth on you.
Misa shifted, one hand left your hip and you instantly feel the blunt pressure of a finger, probing, testing your entrance before it slid in without resistance, a smooth, full intrusion that made you cry out.
She doesn’t stop her tongue, and keeps working your clit while her finger pushes deeper, then curls, sending a sharp spark of sensation that ripped a moan from your throat. She curls her finger again, pressing up into that spot, and her tongue presses down on your clit simultaneously.
The duality is unbearable to you. The internal fullness, the external friction. The pleasure wasn’t a wave anymore, but rather a crackling current of electricity inside circling within you. She maintains the rhythm, finger curling, tongue circling, her breath coming hard against your skin.
“Misa—” You manage to choke out something in between a warning and a plea.
She hears it, as her movements became more urgent and more insistent.
You are hit with a white hot burst of release floods out from that curled finger, washing over every nerve. You shudder, your legs clamping around her head, your hips bucking against Misa’s hold as her tongue softening to gentle, soothing strokes as you come down, trembling and spent.
Misa slowly withdraws her finger before rising from her position. Her face glistening, looking utterly satisfied, her cocky smile back on her lips as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Superestrella,” Misa murmurs, her voice rough. “You taste like victory.”
You are still dazed, floating in the aftermath. She airs back on the sofa, legs spread, an open invitation in her posture. The look in her eyes was a challenge. Your turn.
A spike of pure anxiety pierced the haze. You move clumsy, sliding off the sofa to kneel on the floor between her legs. The reality of the moment crashes into you. The musky scent of her arousal, the confident way she watches you.
“I’ve… I’ve never done this before,” You whisper, looking at the floor between her knees.
There’s a beat of silence. Then Misa’s hand comes down, right to the back of your head. Her fingers threads through your curls, a firm, grounding grip. “I know,” she says, simple, direct. “Just follow my lead.”
You press your face against the inside of her thigh first, a mimic of Misa’s own start. Then you look up to meet her heavy, imploring gaze. You find her center, starting tentatively, with a closed mouth kiss. Then you open your lips, let your tongue extend to taste her.
You copy what Misa did to you: a long, slow lick from base to tip. She exhales sharply, a hissed “Fuck.” Her fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding.
You repeat the lick, then focused on her clit, tracing the firm little bud with the tip of your tongue. Misa groans, her hips shifting. You find a rhythm, alternating broad strokes with tight circles, listening to the sounds she makes, feeling the way her thighs tensed.
Her guidance becomes more active. She pushes your head slightly when she wants more pressure, or tilt it to change the angle. “Right there,” she grunts, and you obey, locking onto that spot.
You lose your nervousness in the mechanics of it, in the feedback of her body. You experiment, sucking lightly, then flicking faster. Her breath becomes ragged, her grip in your hair almost painful.
You double your efforts, tongue and lips working in concert, driven by a sudden, fierce desire to win this, to make her fall apart. Her thighs began to shake. A series of short, sharp gasps escape her.
Then she freezes, her whole body locking for a second before a deep, guttural cry tore from her throat. Her back arches off the sofa, her hand still clenched in your hair, holding you firmly against her as she convulses. You feel the pulse of her climax against your mouth, the hot rush of it, and keep gentle, lapping motions until her shuddering subsided.
She collapsed back, breathing heavily. Her hand fell from your hair, sliding down to cup you cheek. You look up, lips wet, and your heart pounding.
She stared at the ceiling, a faint, stunned look on her face. “Estoy corregido,” she breathed. “You are a prodigy.” [I stand corrected.]
You crawl back onto the sofa, lying down beside her. You don’t touch, just breathed in the quiet, dark room. You stare at the ceiling, the textured plaster blur in your vision.
Blue in Red DNA || Leah Williamson x Little Sister! Reader x Aggie Beever-Jones
In the world of professional football, loyalty is everything, and for Y/N, the younger sister of the legendary Leah Williamson, DNA can only be one color: Arsenal red. However, what began as a complicit friendship during England national team camps turns into a dangerous secret when an undeniable spark ignites with Aggie Beever-Jones, Chelsea’s rising star.
Based on this request, here, I hope you like it!!
Masterlist
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Being at an England camp always felt somewhat surreal.
It wasn’t exactly a break, but it wasn’t the club routine either. It was a kind of bubble where time moved differently, where rivalries were put on pause—or at least, that’s what they tried to tell themselves.
That’s where it all began. Not with anything obvious. Not with a dramatic spark.
But with small moments that, in that context, were all too easy to ignore.
At first, just coincidences.
Training in the same group. Shared laughs in the gym when you both failed the same exercise. Casual remarks at the dinner table that started to linger a bit longer than necessary.
Aggie had this way of talking that made everything sound light, even when you were tired or frustrated. And you weren't exactly the type to open up so quickly, but with her, it was different.
Not forced. Not calculated.
Simple.
And that, in the midst of the constant pressure of football, was dangerous. Because when something feels easy, it’s much harder to ignore.
To everyone else, it made perfect sense that you and Aggie got along and had become practically inseparable; you were the same age, shared the same chaotic energy, and felt that same pressure of being the "future" of the Lionesses.
At first, it was hard for both of you to admit what you felt for one another, because even though feelings had already developed, you each thought the other didn't feel the same way.
But soon, that came to an end.
It was just an ordinary night. One of those nights where exhaustion weighs heavier than protocol, and everyone ends up scattered around the hotel, occupying spaces where they don't belong just to avoid being alone.
Your room was dark, illuminated only by the phone screen resting forgotten on the bedside table, playing a playlist the two of you had created. Aggie was lying on the other side of the bed, and even though there was plenty of space, she had decided to stay very close to you.
The brush of your shoulders through your sweatshirts felt like a silent confession. Aggie, who always had a quick comeback and a joke on the tip of her tongue, was unusually quiet, watching the shadows that the phone's light projected onto the ceiling.
"What are you thinking about?" you whispered, breaking the silence, almost afraid of breaking the moment too.
It took Aggie a second to respond. One that felt longer than it should have.
She barely turned her head toward you, just enough for her eyes to find yours in the dim light. You saw her open her mouth and close it so quickly you thought you’d imagined it; she pressed her lips together slightly, as if she were debating whether to speak or not.
"Um... I, you know, speaking hypothetically," she finally said, breaking the silence, "there’s this person..."
She left the sentence hanging. As if finishing it would make it too real. Even so, you didn't look away.
"Hypothetically?"
Aggie let out a short laugh, more nervous than you had ever heard her. "Very hypothetically."
"Right." You nodded slightly, the silence reigning once again after that.
The music was still playing softly, but now it seemed too distant, as if the world had shrunk down solely to the space between you.
Aggie turned her body a bit more toward you, propping herself up on her elbow.
"And… hypothetically," she continued, more slowly, "this person can’t stop thinking about someone."
Your breathing grew heavier without you even realizing it. "Oh, yeah?"
"Yeah, and she doesn't know what to do with that," she added. "Because… it wasn't in the plan."
That drew a small exhale from you. "Sometimes not everything goes as planned."
Aggie nodded slightly before continuing. "But this person is too afraid of ruining their friendship, because, well, you know... she doesn't know if the feeling is mutual."
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable. It was thick. The kind that feels full of words that neither of you dares to say first.
For a moment, you looked at her. Really looked at her. Not as a teammate. Not as a friend.
You looked at her as if, for the first time, everything clicked.
"That person…" you began, your voice lower than you intended, "sounds pretty foolish."
Aggie frowned slightly, surprised. "Foolish?"
"Yeah," you murmured. "Because she’s assuming things without asking."
Her eyes dropped for a second to your lips before flicking back up. "Well… maybe she’s afraid of the answer."
"Or maybe," you added, firmer now, "the answer isn't what she fears."
Aggie held your gaze. This time there was no nervous laugh, no quick remark to escape the moment. Just her. Just you. Just that thing that had been growing between you for days, maybe months.
"And what do you think she should do?" she asked in a whisper. "Hypothetically."
You took a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear before speaking again. "I think that person… should stop overcomplicating things and should take the risk."
Aggie let out a long sigh, as if she’d been holding her breath since she walked into the room. The space between you vanished without either of you being able to pinpoint the exact moment it happened.
It was subtle. Natural. Like everything had been with her from the start.
the first touch wasn't a kiss as such. It was more like a doubt being resolved in the air. A shared breath that finally fit together. Almost as if you were both testing the waters.
But once she seemed to gain confidence, Aggie took your cheek and deepened it. It was a soft, slow kiss, heavy with everything you hadn't said to each other for a long time and had been longing to do.
When the England camp ended, you both returned to your respective clubs. The world split apart again: you to Arsenal red, she to Chelsea blue.
However, while you waited to see where the relationship would lead, you decided to keep it a secret from everyone.
Especially from Leah. Your sister.
You didn't know how she would react to the growing relationship between Aggie and you. Because for Leah, the world could be many colors, but in London, only red existed.
"Your sister scares me, Y/N," Aggie confessed one night over FaceTime. "I’m afraid her reaction won't be what we want."
You couldn't help but let out a low laugh, leaning your head against your headboard. "Come on… she’s not a monster."
Aggie looked at you through the screen with one eyebrow slightly raised.
"She’s Leah Williamson," she replied, as if that explained absolutely everything. "She literally breathes Arsenal."
"That’s not a lie," you admitted, letting out a sigh. "But she’s my sister. She’ll process it."
" 'Process it' is a very optimistic choice of words," Aggie countered, running a hand through her hair. "I feel like as soon as she finds out, she’s going to put a padlock on Colney and ban me from all of North London."
You couldn't help but let out a laugh at her growing concern, though deep down, you were just as scared as she was.
You loved your sister with all your soul, and you knew she felt the same way. She had always been there for you and had taken care of you; if you asked anyone who knew you both, they would say without hesitation that Leah was fiercely protective of you.
"We can’t hide it forever," Aggie said finally, her tone more serious.
"I know."
"And I don’t want her to find out from someone else."
That made you frown slightly. Because she was right.
In your world, secrets didn't stay secrets for long. There were always cameras, glances, whispers. There was always someone who saw more than they should.
"Then we have to tell her," you whispered, feeling a knot in your stomach. "But let’s find the right moment."
"Hypothetically," Aggie joked, though her smile couldn't hide her anxiety, "that moment doesn't exist."
Days went by, and the "right moment" still failed to appear. Because with Leah, there was never a middle ground. It was either absolute calm or a storm that leveled everything in its path.
And unconsciously, you began to postpone it. One more training session. One more day. One more match. As if time could stretch just enough to give you an easy way out. And without realizing it, that was your biggest mistake.
Because the moment of truth arrived without warning on a Friday afternoon. You had invited Aggie over, taking advantage of the fact that Leah had a late physio session and a meeting with the marketing team. Or at least, that’s what you thought.
You were in the living room, sitting on the sofa with a bag of popcorn between you. The TV was on, but neither of you was paying attention.
Too focused on your conversation, you didn’t hear the front door open, nor did you notice when Leah was suddenly just steps away from you.
Aggie was the first to notice.
Her gaze shifted just over your shoulder, and within seconds, her expression changed. It wasn’t exaggerated. It wasn't dramatic. But you knew her well enough to understand it.
Something was wrong.
"What—?" you started to say, turning slightly.
And there was Leah. Standing in the doorway of the living room. Silent. Not interrupting. Just watching.
There was no surprise on her face. No immediate anger, either. Just a calm that was starting to make you uneasy.
Her gaze dropped to your hands, where Aggie’s was resting on your thigh and yours was on top of hers—far too intimate to be "just friends."
"Hi, Leah," Aggie managed to stammer, her voice about three octaves higher than usual. "You’re... you’re home early."
"The meeting ended early," Leah replied, dropping her training bag on the floor with a dull thud that echoed through the entire room.
You jumped to your feet, letting go of Aggie’s hand so quickly it only made the situation look ten times more guilty.
"Leah, I..." you started, but the words got stuck in your throat.
Because Leah wasn't looking at you. Her eyes were fixed on Aggie.
And it wasn't just any look. It wasn't just the Arsenal captain evaluating a Chelsea player. It was your sister. It was that version of Leah who had always been one step ahead, protecting you even when you didn't ask for it.
"How long?" she finally asked.
Too direct, no beating around the bush.
Aggie blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Sorry?"
"Don't make me repeat myself," Leah said, crossing her arms. "How long has this been going on?"
Your heart began to race. "Leah, it’s not what—"
"No," she cut you off, looking at you this time. "Don’t do that. Don’t try to downplay it."
Aggie stood up slowly beside you. She didn’t take a step back. She didn’t move away. And that small gesture did not go unnoticed.
"A few months," she finally answered, her voice much firmer than you had expected.
Leah let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"Of course. Months," she repeated. "And in all that time, you didn’t think that maybe… I don’t know… you should tell me?"
"We wanted to," you cut in quickly. "We were just waiting for the right moment."
Leah arched an eyebrow. "And did that moment include me finding you in my house?"
That left you speechless. Because no. Clearly not.
Silence fell again, but this time it was different. Tenser. More fragile. Leah ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply before speaking again.
"Of all people," she murmured, more to herself than to the two of you. "It had to be someone from Chelsea."
"Don’t be dramatic, Leah. This has nothing to do with that."
"It has nothing to do with that?" she repeated in a low voice.
"No," you insisted, trying to stand your ground. "This is about us. About how we feel. Not about Arsenal or Chelsea."
Leah let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"Of course it has to do with it," she replied. "It matters because I know how this works. I know what happens when you mix everything together."
"I know I’m from Chelsea, Leah," Aggie said, maintaining eye contact with a bravery that made you admire her even more. "And I know that to you, that’s like being from another planet. But I’m not here for the badge, or the team. I’m here for her."
Leah’s eyes remained fixed on Aggie, as if she were trying to decide whether to believe her or not. It wasn’t empty mistrust; it was something more complex. It was calculation. It was protection. It was fear disguised as toughness.
"That is exactly what worries me," she said finally, quieter but no less firm.
"Leah…" you started, softer this time, "we’re not kids. We know what we’re doing."
"I’m not going to hurt her," Aggie interjected, with a calm that contrasted completely with the tension in the room. "The last thing I want is for this to end badly."
Finally, Leah let out a long, loud sigh, letting her shoulders drop.
"It’s a betrayal of the bloodline, Y/N," she murmured, though this time the tone was more of resignation than anger. "I put an Arsenal shirt on you before you could even walk. You have red DNA. This is… it’s a conflict of interests of biblical proportions."
For a second, the comment hung in the air. And if it weren't for the lingering tension, you probably would have laughed.
"'Biblical proportions'?" you murmured, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Aggie, beside you, made a visible effort not to smile.
Leah looked at both of them, narrowing her eyes as if she had just realized she had said that out loud.
"I don't see what's so funny," she added, though her tone no longer held the same hardness as before. "This is serious."
"It is," you replied. "But it’s also… a bit dramatic."
"A bit?" Leah repeated, placing a hand over her heart in mock offense. "Do you have any idea what this does to my reputation?"
Aggie couldn't help herself this time. She let out a short laugh, which she tried to disguise as a cough.
Leah slowly turned her head toward her. "You find this funny?"
"No, no, of course not," Aggie said quickly, raising both hands in surrender. "I’m fully aware that this could collapse the balance of London football."
Leah huffed and turned toward the kitchen, but before she did, you noticed a smile beginning to tug at the corners of her mouth.
You visibly relaxed, letting out the breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Before she disappeared completely, you spoke up.
"So… is this an 'it’s okay'?" you asked cautiously.
Leah ran a hand over her face and then leaned both hands on the kitchen counter, turning her back to you for a moment. When she turned around, her expression was that of the same older sister she’d always been—the one who had patched up your scraped knees.
"It’s an 'I accept it because I love you,'" Leah admitted, narrowing her eyes at Aggie. "But listen closely, Aggie. You’re young, you’re talented, and I like you when you’re wearing an England tracksuit, but that doesn't give you immunity." She pointed a finger at her. "If you hurt her, it’s not going to be a club-level problem. It’s going to be personal."
Her voice wasn't raised, but it was clear enough for the message to be perfectly understood.
Aggie nodded once. No jokes. No looking away. "I know."
There was something in the way she said it that lowered the tension in the room even further. It wasn't an empty promise. It was firm. Direct. Real.
Leah held her gaze for a second longer, as if weighing every word, and then sighed.
"Fine," she murmured, turning back to the counter. "I guess I have to start accepting questionable decisions in this house."
"Hey!" you protested, crossing your arms and opening your mouth to defend your judgment, but Leah cut you off with a wave of her hand as she opened the fridge.
"Not a word, Y/N. My loyalty has a limit, and you just crossed it with a blue uniform."
"Actually, you’d look great in blue," Aggie murmured, giving you a playful nudge with her elbow.
Leah froze with her hand on the fridge door, closing it slowly with a click that made Aggie regret her boldness in less than a second.
"What did you say?" Leah asked.
"Hypothetically…" Aggie began, taking half a step back toward you, "that blue is a very primary color. Very… elegant."
"Aggie, stop," you whispered, trying to hold back a nervous laugh.
You took her by the hand and headed toward your room.
"Love you, Leah!" you shouted before closing the door.
Both of you collapsed onto your bed, letting out a sigh that seemed to empty your lungs of all the built-up tension as your laughter began to fill the silence.
"We survived!" she exclaimed dramatically, burying her head in the crook of your neck.
"I told you she wasn't a monster," you laughed, intertwining your fingers with hers. "She’s just... very protective."
Aggie propped herself up a bit, resting her head on your chest. The afternoon light filtered in through the window at an angle, giving the room an almost surreal feel, as if you were still in a bubble.
"I get it," she said, more serious now. "I’d want to protect you from someone like me, too."
"Someone like you?" You arched an eyebrow, amused.
"You know. Someone incredibly charming, with a bright future and impeccable taste in teams."
You threw a pillow at her face, but she caught it mid-air, pulling you toward her. The kiss that followed was unhurried; there was no longer any need to hide from cameras, teammates, or even your sister. It was a kiss that tasted like victory and a peace you were both only just beginning to savor.
Outside, in the kitchen, Leah made noise again—louder this time, as if she needed to remind you she was still there, that not everything was perfect, that there were still rules, boundaries, and an older sister keeping watch.
But inside that room, for the first time, it didn't matter much.
✧ summary; the tension between you and lucy comes to a head after a particularly eventful game
✧ tags; heavy smut with plot, friends w benefits (to lovers), chelsea!r, jealous dom lucy, oral/fingering, strap-ons, breeding kink, dirty talk, rough sex, aftercare + fluff, casparij makes a brief appearance
my favourite x reader I’ve ever done, enjoy and read tags! oh and dt @museanddream and @vixwritesagain because this post sparked the inspo
Most of the time Lucy could look you in the eye with nothing but respectful intentions. Most of the time you could do the same.
Most of the time you could talk over Cobham's canteen food, and not get overly distracted, or get a blood-hot flashback to something she said to you months ago while your back was planted against a mattress.
But sometimes, sometimes you watch her in training, and die inside. Because she is the best you've ever had. And you can't deny it.
And sometimes, you need her more than you need the breath she pulled from you with a single look. Or the strength she disarmed from you with the lightest touch.
Lucy is confidence and grit personified, but it's her sickly-sweet interior, her choice to be gentle, that really makes your heart soar.
It wasn't like you were dating. It wasn't like you needed to date her to be sure of how you felt, either. But now you're back in her space more often, a forgettable flame has become monstrous. Dangerous, even.
It shifts with a text.
L.B—Caught you looking today x
It was too late at night not to be something incredibly flirty. Lucy was up, most likely in bed, thinking about the fact that you were watching her.
At what?
You reply, feet shifting beneath your duvet. Lucy didn't intimidate you, not anymore, but God—she had a way.
L.B—My hands.
Your breath comes sharp. She wasn't wrong. You wouldn't pretend to deny it. The pause prompts Lucy to message again.
L.B—Nothing to be ashamed of
You answer back with less of a smirk. More of a tremble, more of a spiked hit of desire. The hungry kind, that comes on quick and hard and overwhelms you, taking you from nothing to everything.
Then I'm not ashamed. You know I think you're hot
L.B—You're sweet. I'm not ashamed to say I've been thinking about you either
L.B—I know you stopped seeing the girl. What happened?
Haha who told you. It just didn't work out, no chemistry. No banter.
L.B—Hard to contend with us I suppose, on both fronts
What prompted this?
L.B—Thinking about you letting someone else touch you. Doesn't feel right.
And how many times have you touched me?
L.B—Enough times to know I'm hard to beat
You leave it there. Leaving her with the anticipation couldn't possibly have a bad outcome, right?
You end up on the grass, laughing with other girls, muddying your hair and flushing your cheeks. Lucy can only sit on the sidelines, ice-pack to her shin, Nat stood with arms crossed and a faintly amused smile beside her.
Maybe it was the playful slap of your ass from another girl, the mention of your ex's name in conversation, or the distant sound of you discussing your type later on in the day, but Lucy can't draw her eyes away from you, or what you have to say, or what you want to do.
Lucy could be quiet about it, respectful, but never subtle. She laughs with you in the gym, critiquing your form, any excuse to put a hand on your shoulder. It stifles your laughter, and she doesn't break eye contact. The tension only made this game more worthy of playing.
It was surely close to an open secret that you two had slept together more than once. Not many times. But a small handful. Two or three. But it felt glaringly obvious when you two went from friendly to inseparable this time around. Whether it was you or Lucy who felt the switch first, you aren't sure. But it happens. Oh, it happens.
Sitting on the night coach to Manchester beside her hadn't been intentional. Luck of the draw, or of Sio deciding to leave you for Hannah.
Lucy approaches you with an indifferent smile, wired headphones in, effortlessly hauling her bag onto the overhead. "Put yours up." She extends a hand for your bag.
"I'm fine with it here."
"No, give it."
You roll your eyes, taking your laptop out before handing it to her. Only after does she finally settle beside you.
"...Can you be still for one moment?" You complain, watching her unbuckle her belt for the third time before even departing.
"Can you be grateful I indulged you?" She grins a bit, turning on her music.
"Indulged by getting to have you fidgeting next to me for four hours? No thanks." You half-scoff, but the smile gives it away. Lucy nudges you with her shoulder.
Her voice gets quieter, leaning in just enough to be intentional. "Don't know why it matters anyway, when you're a baby. Who will be out flat as soon as we get going."
"Some sleep would do you good." You reply, thigh lightly pressed up against hers.
She leans in just enough to make your stomach flutter. "Only if you ask nicely." She mutters, before sharply averting her attention to her phone, texting someone, and you glance over twice in hope that she has more to say. No, she stays quiet. But she knows you're waiting on her. She too, was no stranger to this game.
The coach is dark, quiet, and there's nothing better to do than rest. Lucy doesn't question when your head drops to her shoulder.
After you shift a few times, trying to get comfortable, she unbuckles your belt and slips her arm around you, pulling you closer. You settle against her, softened by the tenderness, shutting your eyes with your nose pressed to her shoulder.
You swear she kisses your forehead more than once as you linger in a half-sleep—still disoriented when you quietly look for her on the walk into the hotel. But she's gone.
Your face scrunches in disgust, pulling up from the muddy turf and coughing. You spit out the bitter taste, before lifting your chin to see bodies surrounding you, voices unintelligible, followed by a mixed roar from the crowd when the referee pulls a yellow card.
Sio hauls you up, rubbing your shoulders a few times. Nothing hurt, not that badly, you just remember an ankle getting caught in your foot and your body giving in a rather twisted way.
Lucy shadows your fouler a few yards ahead, in her face with the expressive hand gestures that come out when she's particularly impassioned. For how poised and gentle she was off the pitch, she could really let the heat get to her.
You don't see what Casparij says in return, only that it was enough to prompt a scoffed huff of laughter from Lucy as she walks away.
A faint smirk plays on your face, even through the adrenaline overwhelm. Kerstin pats you absently on the back when she runs past, but it's not her you get distracted by.
You're taken off at half-time.
Your eyes and reflexes run everywhere, anxiously calculating the game and praying down to your last breath that the defence can bring it back.
But something in the back of your mind keeps giving way to less productive thoughts. Thoughts, distractions, about how tense your body is, how your adrenaline is making you tremble—for more than just a release of energy. For something more complete, more exhilarating, to be shattered in the best way possible.
You shouldn't be on the benches thinking about when the last time you had mind-breaking sex was. But you are. Hormones were...unpredictable, at best.
Then there's Lucy. Still playing, forceful and strong as ever. Knocked down, getting back up. Throwing herself at every opportunity to make a difference in the game. Watching her was maybe more anxiety-inducing than the match itself, because she seems perpetually on the edge of a disastrous move. But somehow, she drags herself through it by the skin of her teeth. Every damn time.
You couldn't take your eyes away from her even if you tried. Her legs, arms, flashes of defined torso when she lifts up her shirt or hits the ground. The expressions that you've memorised from months of knowing her, years of watching her. And now, what feels like a force of wanting her.
You tease Kerstin for the foul after the match, which leads you to swap jerseys for a photo. It's purely friendly, you know this, because you know Kerstin.
But even beyond the humiliation of losing to City, someone wasn't so happy that you were cosying up to another right-back.
You only catch her subtle glare as you head back to the demoralised team, but it was enough to tell you things had worked well in your favour. Even if by pure luck, and maybe a streak of sore-loser bitterness from a usually mellow Lucy.
L.B — Tired tonight?
You had been waiting until Lucy got to her room. Sure enough, it's only a couple of minutes before she sends you a text.
Nothing had to be said; you could read each other well enough to predict the outcome of this bout of flirtation.
Not really! I could go another 90
L.B — 45 while we're down a hat-trick and then some isn't enough?
L.B — How are you feeling? Head okay? x
Yeah, all good, better than you probably.
What did you say to Kerstin after I went down?
L.B — Can't even remember tbh, ref and manager did me right in. You're lucky to come away with nothing seriously hurt
I came away with her shirt though, how'd you feel about that
Lucy goes silent. You weren't wearing the City jersey, but you were in some skimpy nightwear. You eye the shirt across the room, and a flush of heat cuts through you at the prospect of Lucy being jealous.
L.B — Don't tease, I'm being serious
Oh I'm sure!!
L.B — Two things can be true
L.B — I can be disappointed with the game and result
L.B — And I can be petty for the girl who fancies me
But do you fancy me back?
L.B — Of course I do, gorgeous
You don't answer right away. Instead, you pull the City jersey back on, snapping a quick photo of your thumb and pointer holding the embroidered crest.
It takes Lucy a few moments to reply.
L.B — Haha
L.B — If you wanted my company tonight, you could have just said
L.B — I prefer you in black
So I'm welcome?
L.B — Nah, go see your dutchie
Your legs feel shakier than they did coming off the pitch as you frantically pull on a hoodie, quietly making your way through the corridor to Lucy's room.
You blush scarlet at the sight of her. A cropped black t-shirt hanging just an inch or two above the waistline of some grey shorts.
But there's no swooping you into her arms and having her way with you. Nor backs against walls, or bruising kisses. Instead, she's almost...timid.
You perch on the end of the bed while she sits against the headboard, inevitably discussing the game that sits at the forefront of both of your minds.
"Why're you sitting there?" She says when you both get a bit bored of unpacking the mistakes and frustrations.
You pause. "Am I not allowed?"
"I'd prefer you here."
Her arms are strong and warm, body even more so as you lie against her, thigh draped over her lap, letting yourself be held for a few silent minutes.
It seems to comfort Lucy too, and her breath softens. It's all you can hear besides the faint hum of the temperature unit—but her breath is closer, hotter, like a brail to her thoughts. Her thumb moves back and forth on your arm in slow, gentle motions.
There are no looks, no trembling touches, no unreciprocated feelings left hanging in the air. You're close and relaxed, but the tension bites nonetheless. The quiet kind, that nudges instead of forcing.
So when you can't take it any longer, you tilt your face the small bit needed to find her lips and kiss her. Lucy meets you easily with reciprocal softness and caution, her hand coming to your cheek to keep you steady. The exchange is unhurried, and thick with unmistakable intimacy. Someone who understood you, without saying a thing.
"What do you want?" Her voice drops when you finally part for breath, sultry yet patient, lips wet from the kiss. Your heart picks up in the flash of a moment, lifting your gaze to hers.
"You."
Your mouth closes into a shy smirk after, and Lucy cups your face as she speaks, quietly, through a grin. "I need more than that, sweets. Come on. Tell me what you've been thinking."
Her accent flicks and ebbs the words in the most perfect, tantalising way. Simply melting your mind. Air catches in your lungs—her gentle demeanour and sweet smile do little to help your case of her being effortlessly, unbearably attractive.
You lean into her weight more, every pulse of wordless silence compounding the need you both feel. "Been thinking about the last time we were together." You finally admit, unable to look her in the eye.
"Yeah? What about it?" Lucy answers softly, all while shifting your leg off so she can get above you instead. Her hands clasp yours, holding them just above your shoulders. Her strength, your favourite physical attribute of hers, and this position, a perfect reminder of that.
You can hardly form a response. You just want to whine. But you don't—your knees close in on her hips, urging her closer. You remember now, like a reflex; Lucy had gone wild when your legs had wrapped around her during sex.
"I liked how rough you were. And how intense it was. And how good you made me feel." You huff, before watching her patience break when she leans down to kiss your jaw, then to your neck in careful, languid motions.
"Mhm." She hums into your skin. "I liked that too. You took me well." She sinks her lips back more passionately, the pleasurable tingles flooding you with warmth.
"Need you again." You mutter, laced with desire, arms wrapping around her back as she kisses and nips with building passion on her way down.
Your eyes open when she stops abruptly. Lucy lifts a tad, wide eyes and an incredulous expression.
"Are you serious?"
She tugs the light blue jersey fabric up from beneath the collar of your hoodie.
You blush. For a few moments you'd forgotten you were still wearing it.
Lucy tries so hard to be cool about it, and it's so endearing to watch. Her fingers keep a firm grip on the shirt, before she finally speaks, slow and measured.
"I'm gonna be nice to you. You'll sit up and let me take this off for you, or you'll go back to your room and do it yourself."
The desire to provoke her further taunts you. And you come so close to doing it, but Lucy wins. Like she always does. Just with the way she looks at you, shifting from sweet to savoury with a bat of her lashes.
"You can take it off." You mutter, half ashamed, half dismissive, but Lucy nudges your chin back up.
"You made the right decision." She smirks playfully, landing a quick kiss on your lips.
She takes great pride in sitting you up, pulling the hoodie off and pursing her lips into an amused grin at the sight of the jersey. She pauses on that, and you wish you could read her thoughts.
"You're really something." She says finally. Her fingers hook around the hem of the fabric, and she roughly pulls it up, making you gasp from the switch in demeanour.
She moves a little more carefully as it's pulled over your head, but when done, she balls it up and leans over to stuff it in the empty bedside drawer.
You're left in a flimsy night top. Lucy takes it all in, no shame in her eyes.
"You can have it back. But I don't want to see it while I'm with you." She teases with nonchalance, playing up her bitterness a tad. You push yourself further onto her lap, arms circling behind her neck.
"You're so cute when you're jealous." You say smoothly, cheeks lifting in a smile.
"Am not." She mumbles, eyes glittering as she looks up at you reverently, firm hands on your waist.
"Cute or jealous?" You bring yours forward, feeling the expanse of her strong shoulders beneath the loose collar of her shirt.
"You're the cute one between the two of us. And I'm not a bit jealous." Lucy grins back.
"You're a bad liar." Your nose presses to hers, enjoying the slower moment, before tilting down so she can take you in a passionate kiss.
"No. Not jealous. Just protective." She answers, before bracing a hand on the small of your back to keep your body close, and taking your breath again by kissing you hard.
At first it's measured, just enjoying the way you work together and finding a rhythm that feels good. Lucy's tongue is careful, until you grab her chin and force her deeper. Needing her in that heavy, dizzying way that you've been thinking about for weeks now.
It was only a matter of time until she had you like this. Until you had her like this. Forgetting about the game, the fact you're well past exhaustion on a cold evening in a foreign room—it all becomes nothing.
You tellingly lose your breath, heart thrumming against your chest and a hot ache antagonising you between your legs. Lucy notices your squirming, kissing you messily as she carefully lets you down onto the mattress, staying rigid above you.
"You know what I've been thinking about." Lucy murmurs, her focus on kissing firmly down your jaw and neck.
"Mhm?" Your arms circle her back again, adoring the reminder of how she felt above you. Your hands splay, feeling across her toned body more intentionally, beneath her shirt to get her hot skin on your fingertips.
"How much you liked it when I strapped you." She smirks a little, laving her tongue over your pulse before sucking on it just enough to make you gasp and lose your thoughts entirely.
But your hand is firm on her exposed waist, moving beneath to feel her abs. She twitches at first, but sinks into it, letting you memorise every ridge and dip of her ridiculous muscles. You'd say you'll give her an ego, but she's probably already got one from the way she knows how to treat a girl.
"I did." You finally croak, losing any reservations to tease and deciding you're comfortable enough to just let her know what you want. Lucy was very giving in that way. "Can't stop thinking about it."
"I'm good with my tongue too, don't you think?" She grazes her teeth down your neck, a hand gripping your shoulder like she just can't help but keep you where she wants you.
"Yeah...but sometimes I need..." your words go empty, distracted by the way her kisses and love bites are making you squirm. It was exhilarating in the way a new lover always is—still little gaps in your understanding of each other, just enough to keep it thrilling, and the touches unexpected. But you trust Lucy irrevocably, as everyone does. So it's easy to let go, and want a little more than something soft.
"–Need to get ruined." She finishes your thoughts in a low voice, uncharacteristically relaxed as she takes her time in worshipping every inch of your skin.
You nod, once but sure. "I know." She says softly, a hand coming down to still your hips and slip one of her thighs between them instead. "Good thing I thought ahead and brought it."
Your heart stops.
"What? You brought the strap?" You say beneath your breath, Lucy's heat overwhelming you as she finally lifts her face, looking a mix of proud and weakly desperate.
"I knew you'd end up here. And I knew what I'd want to do to you."
You run your hands through her hair, biting your cheek as her weight closes in on you further and you make small, needy movements against her thigh. "I can't believe you."
"Believe it. If you want it, that is. Or there's a multitude of other ways I can please you, my girl." She drops a soft kiss on your cheek. Then the other.
"Of course I fucking do." You almost laugh, practically trembling with adrenaline.
"And you want me to be rough?" Her thigh presses into you harder in search of yours against her heat, making you groan and seal your lips in sudden pleasure.
"You make me very proud. All the time." She presses a few more kisses to your jaw, but her hand is possessive as it grasps your chin and dissipates any residual strength from your muscles.
Your stomach elicits a flutter from her praise, sweet, deepening into something more provoking.
Your lips find each other again, and a few minutes lose you while bucking into each other, swallowing down Lucy's soft moans as she grinds into you more purposefully. A guiding hand finds her firm ass—something you've only dreamt about having for yourself.
"Touch me." You rasp, and Lucy wastes no time in regretfully untangling your legs, letting your hips fall back down.
She rubs her hand across your stomach a few times, cupping your hip, calloused fingertips deliberate in their teasing.
She smiles with proud excitement when you take her tattooed wrist and push it down, her fingers slipping past the hem of your shorts. You inhale sharply, holding onto her bicep with one hand while the other clutches a ball of the duvet.
"Christ." She chuckles beneath her breath, a little red in the cheeks when her confident touch finds heat and slick. Your hips jolt at the initial sensation, every muscle tensing up.
"Relax. I've got you." Her breath ghosts your ear, and your thighs part further instinctively.
Lucy is so gentle at first, tracing through your folds with a vague precision that grows in certainty. Her body grounds you, overpowers you, and drives you mad.
You pull her head down for a heated, filthy kiss, a moan stifling into her mouth when she circles your clit a few times. "That's it." She whispers between a shaky pause for breath, then she's back on you.
You try to remember what she likes. You try to remember what you like, and what you need right now.
No...you need to stop overthinking it. Beneath her sweet and playful demeanour, beneath the poised control and unending concern for others, Lucy is as filthy as you. How could she not be, when she knows she's sexy and can treat a lover right. Sure, she can be shy about it, but damn if she wasn't eager when she had you like this.
"Luce," you whine, knees raising. She adds a second finger to her movements, dragging and rubbing with the perfect amount of wet friction.
"What, baby girl?" She murmurs low, nipping beneath your ear.
"Can't think when I'm touching you like this, can ya'." She smirks as her fingers flatten, drawing a firm path up and down the length of your sensitive cunt. It makes your hips jerk, nails digging into her shoulder. You hated to feed her ego, but in truth, there's nothing left for her to take. She knows, you know, she just wants to do. To prove that this is real.
"You did this to me." You say, rocking into her. "Made me this wet."
Lucy huffs a vague chuckle. "By doing what?"
You pause with an inhale of pleasure, settling eventually on "Everything." But it doesn't surmise the feeling. The need. "Bringing the strap, too. You're dirty." Your sharper words come quiet enough for only her to hear, but she hears you alright.
She pauses. Grinning now against your skin—but the grin fades like her inhibitions, you hear it drop in her tone as she speaks. "I'm not the one in training thinking about getting fucked stupid into the mattress by my older teammate, am I?" She sucks down on an already sensitive spot, certainly leaving a mark. It makes you whine—the feeling of it, the possession behind it, the words coming from her tongue and the perfect circling rub of her fingers on your clit all make your jaw hang open.
"That's what I thought. You're the dirty girl here." The back of her hand strains against the crotch of your shorts as she establishes the right angle to circle your entrance with her fingertip, amounting the pressure until she's easing inside.
"Let me know if it hurts." She mumbles, softer, keeping her intrusion controlled and slow, following the curve of your muscles expertly. You nod with an Mhm of affirmation, before her mouth is pressing deep into yours once more. Slower, heavy with passion.
You're so wet you hardly even notice when she pushes in to her knuckle. "That's good." You whisper to assure her.
"Yeah?" She answers with a scratch of cockiness, tilting into your fingers in her scalp. "Keep digging your nails in. And on my shoulder. Drives me mad." She groans, the kind of low and private voice that you could only dream about in hotel rooms alone.
"I remember–." You stammer, bucking into her slowly thrusting finger, which is carefully joined by a second, causing you to momentarily stiffen. Breathe she whispers. "–You practically came when I scratched your back raw."
Lucy has to bite back a wild moan. She was always a bit wild, but you get the sense that even she is struggling to handle herself right now. She burns hot from the way you clench around her, drawing her in harder with each deep thrust of her fingers.
It takes her a moment to find her voice, and when she does, it's ragged and feverish. "Too right I did. And you're going to do the same tonight. While I, well, fuck you silly into the mattress." She grins a little, and you cup the back of her neck for some sense of stability as the flexes of her fingers drag against you with almost cruel precision.
"It's what I need." You whine against her lips, wondering how this all feels so familiar, yet sharply new. You even felt a bit jealous that she had this intrinsic ability to break down people's walls, have anyone and anything she wanted. It would make you bitter, if you weren't so impassioned by her.
"Hard? You want me hard?" Lucy's elbow braces beside you, hand inching across your collarbone towards your neck to rest there. No threat of her thumb and fingers closing in, just control as she fingers you like it's a second thought.
"Hard. Want to be full of you." You groan as the pressure deep inside becomes more intense with every stroke, each motion sending a pang of bliss. Shuddering and mindless.
Her arm flexes with the effort of ignoring the fabric restrictions entirely—a quiet reminder that she'd have you. No matter what tried to stop her. Lucy wasn't demanding and greedy beyond what you would give, but it was fun to imagine that she could be. That she might be tonight, if you just say and do the right things.
"Think you're pretty eager to make me feel better after the loss. Are you wanting me to take my frustrations out on you? It's been a while. Since someone let me do that."
Her words send your mind scrambling. You know from both logic and the grin on her lips that she hadn't thought twice about the loss. Still, she has you blushing hard with the threat. And close. Heat is creeping up, orgasmic pleasure too. Embers of it, that spark that threatens to burst.
"Fuck Lucy, I can't–" your tone heightens, and she fucks you faster, filling you deep with every certain stroke and hard press of her fingertips inside. Her palm comes down onto your clit, wet enough that the rub makes your body jerk and cling to her frantically.
"I can claim you. If that's what you want." She slows down to your displeasure, just firming the drags. Her thumb closes in low on your neck, every inch of your skin now burning with passion.
"Get it, Lucy. I don't wanna—come like this. Only with you inside. Properly."
"I'll get it, darling." She answers quickly, her heavy breath warm against your numbed lips. "Only because you asked so nicely. But can you do as I say while I'm getting ready?"
"Yeah." You croak, panting still.
"Fingers down here. Don't be shy."
She carefully pulls out and away, letting the waistband of your underwear snap against your stomach. Her other hand roughly grasps your wrist, pinning it beside your head before taking you in a sudden, languid kiss.
"Can I take this off?" She whispers gently when she finally parts from your lips, instead tugging at your top. You merely nod, and she is surprisingly careful in taking it off for you.
Then she sits up. You only catch the glimmer of a smirk as her own thin tank top comes up and off in one graceful movement—and you swear you've never needed someone more.
"Do as I said then." She tosses the command leisurely as her weight leaves the bed. Your shorts come off first, tossing them to the side as Lucy rummages in her suitcase.
You awkwardly stretch your legs, catching your breath, until the desire to touch yourself comes naturally. Especially with Lucy out of view, if you distract yourself enough, you could easily imagine that you're alone.
The ease with which your own fingers can fill you up is alarming to say the least. Still sensitive and ready, it prompts a small whine, stifled by the back of your hand.
You tremble slightly, with timidity and a need that can't quite surface when Lucy's weight isn't steadying you. You catch her in the reflection of the mirror, tightening the thin harness, thick toy and a smaller bottle of lube held easily between the fingers of her other hand.
Lest you make her self-conscious, you wait for the bed to dip and her eager presence to overpower you once more. Her leg swings over, and you shudder from the faint sensation of the toy brushing between your bodies.
Then you look. Gorgeous, sparkling smile and only slightly-tired eyes bearing you like you're the prize she'd waited all season for. Incomparable to any failure or success.
With as little of a bashful edge as one could have in this position, she glances down at your hand as it trails shyly out from between your legs.
"My god. You're so good." She says it in earnest, a much softer look commanding your attention— genuine and warming.
Her hand reaches to gently wrap around your wrist, guiding your fingers into her mouth. She's close enough that you hear the sound it makes, and her sultry jade eyes don't leave yours.
There's something incredibly raw about the way she lets you watch her—not over-zealous in showing off and being crude, because she knows you can feel all the laving swirls of her tongue and the hollowing of her cheeks with intimate detail. She tastes, swallows, leaves no trace of you behind.
"Just so gorgeous." She mutters sweetly, dropping a kiss to the side of your mouth after cleaning off your fingers. "Thank you for letting me do this."
You cup the back of her neck, drifting up to grip her hairline. "Course, Luce...you're so good to me." Your nose nudges her cheek softly, pressing your lips into hers. "Trust me when I say I can handle it, okay?"
"Okay." She nods once, her hand caressing your abdomen. "And you'll tell me. If something isn't right."
"Absolutely." You answer with certainty, prompting a smile from Lucy. Her mouth lowers to yours, kissing you sensually and letting her tongue make easy work of breaking you down. Showing you just how much she wants this.
The hand on your abdomen gets firmer. Pressure on the spot she knows will make you writhe, clench around nothing, moving until she has purchase over your hip to pin it down.
"I have good mind to put you in my jersey." At first she speaks with caution, but when your face melts into a plea for more, overcome by the switch in tone, she starts to grin. "Would it be so bad if I just..." Her hand presses again, intentional over your stomach. "All in here. Fill you up. Make sure it takes." She rasps lowly.
"Lucy," You practically gasp in erotic disbelief, your pulse rapidly inclining. It was a risky suggestion on her part, but it does more for you than she even realises.
Her face is a little modest in its pride, yet her tone tells no shame. "Yeah? Stake my claim over this pretty girl? Make sure everyone knows who drives her mad?" She leans down to nip beneath your ear, and the action itself isn't that intense, but she has set you on fire. Everything feels heightened. Hazy yet heavy.
"Feel it." She demands crassly, taking your hand to the toy between your bodies.
Your fingers wrap gingerly around the thick length, and Lucy's ass raises to give you room to experiment with your strokes. Her eyes meet yours when you look up, begging and twinkling with lust.
"So hard. And big." You murmur, and Lucy jerks into you, like her muscles gave way for a split-second. Her cheeks bloom rosy, and you grin, pulling her down for a kiss.
"I'm always hard for you." She mutters fiercely, lowering to your neck, teeth nipping across in a way that sends flutters of pleasure through you.
It also, quietly, sparked something gentler in your heart to see her so comfortable and confident, so eager to please you and to let you please her.
You speak with a hiss as she tugs your skin harder between her teeth. "I knew you had this side to you, but getting off on the idea of breeding me really is something."
Lucy chokes on her breath from your glimmer of coy bravery, her hips fully stuttering.
You squeeze her cock, smirking with gratification, tugging it for good measure to make sure she feels it that time. "That's what this is. You're possessive. And jealous. And won't admit-"
"I'll admit it. I so want to knock you up tonight." Lucy's fingers bear down, low on your throat, a single pulse that stifles and breaks your gasp. "And you missy, are far too wet to be talking back." Your underwear comes down sudden and rough, pulling a small sound, something between shock and absolute desperation. Lucy's stern face has you mindless, speechless.
"Calm, baby. I'll give you what you need." She whispers softer, as if pleased with the fear she evoked in you.
Her body inches away to help you lose the underwear properly, before attacking you with a heated kiss, her lips plump and wet and making yours tingle with intimate passion.
One hand grasps your jaw steadily, the other dragging the tip of her cock teasingly through your centre. With a teasing look lifting her freckled cheeks, she circles it over your clit, making you stifle moans into the kiss.
Your hips cant up indignantly against her, arms flung desperate around her once again. The kiss distracts you from the brief lack of stimulation while she coats the toy in lube, before the bottle is tossed on the floor, her sights set elsewhere.
"You ready for me baby?" Lucy would draw this out for hours if she had any ounce of patience left. But it was late, you were both still buzzing with adrenaline from the game, and making the poor soul in the room next to you throw on their noise-cancelling headphones is about Lucy's only goal. You nod, more than enough for her to know.
The tip of her cock slips inside without warning, forcing your blunt nails to dig hard into her shoulders. "Fuck, Luce..." you whine, pulling her closer still. The intimate gesture contrasts the burning stretch—a foreign feeling in the beginning, yet the need for it was primal.
Lucy's voice comes to you softer again. "I've got you. I know it's a lot," she slides in deeper, finally letting go of the toy, freeing up her hand to grasp your shoulder instead. With a smooth grind of her hips, her skin meets yours, as full as she can get you.
The feeling is aching and sharp, while your chest feels wound tightly in the space where control once resided. She has that now. She has you.
Only balm softening it is the belief in her promise—that she'd never hurt you.
You watch the slow rise and fall of her chest as she glances down to where you're connected. She stills for only that moment. Your rapid pulse hammers in your throat, and Lucy eyes it up like she wishes to bite.
"Move." You beg quietly, clenching tight around her and senselessly bucking up to find friction when the need becomes unbearable.
She pulls a loud, broken sound from your throat with the first hard thrust. "You won't ask. You'll take."
Lucy subtly gauges your expression, pulling out and slowing back in when you wince. She leans down to kiss you messily, as you scratch down her back to let the tension out on something.
She builds up a rhythm, taking you deep with every grind at the base, stimulating every vivid nerve that runs through you. She gropes your breast, moving her thumb around your firm nipple.
Lucy was always so considerate—perhaps it was for that reason you so desperately needed her to break you. Or more aptly, you wanted to break her. Make her so horny she can't help but lose her mind in fucking you.
"Good? You like this?" She mumbles when she begins to rock into you harder, pressing the full length in but letting it drag out slowly. The pressure of her hand, her thick cock, her taut muscles, it's all unbearably intense and mind-numbing.
"You could be rougher." Strands of her hair tickle your cheek, in fact, there are so many sensations that it borders on overwhelm. The good kind. "Stop being careful." It's said with a breathless tease, hardly any conviction to your breaking voice.
Lucy just chuckles crassly in return, squeezing your shoulder. "Don't test me." Her hand moves to force your hip into the mattress, and you could have sworn she got more scarlet as her fingers tighten and she yanks you down onto her cock roughly.
You squeak with a mix of surprise and excitement, and the angle she finds makes air knot in your lungs.
"Can't do nothing but moan now, can ya' sweets. All for me. Dirty girl." Her voice is jagged at the breathless edges, almost a growl, setting a quickening pace that has your knees raising.
"Little slut thinking about my cock instead of her game." She lets the snarky words linger, settle in your mind, and when you bite into her shoulder with a groan, she knows she'd said the right thing.
"Your slut, Lucy." You affirm direly, making brief eye contact before her panting mouth meets yours. You feel rushes of heat each time she bottoms out, the pressure turning into pleasure faster than you can manage.
"Say things like that and I'll put more than one load inside of you tonight." She whispers as her strong hand finds your neck again, pushing up to grasp your jaw. "Lift your thighs. Let me get closer. And watch me. Watch me when I fuck you."
It strikes you just how few times you've witnessed a side of Lucy even remotely like this. So focused, so raw. Breathless, not for a lack of stamina, but from the way she's crumbling with desperation. The closest time is on the pitch, in the most heated moments of a deciding game, but this was far better.
Your ankles hook around her lower back, half by her request and half from pure reflex. She slams her cock to the base, grinding into you and making the sound of your own shameful moans reverberate in your ears.
"Taking it so good, aren't you my girl?" She praises hungrily when she sees you writhing, your vision blanking each time her heavy cock drags through you.
"I need to come." You sob more than state, whining louder when she starts to rub your clit. "Let me come."
"Only if I can hear you." Without a hand on your hip, she keeps you pliant and open with brute force, her thighs stronger than every ounce of muscle on your body combined. You are overwhelmed by the realisation that you're truly helpless—but that threat, that thrill, pushes you quickly to the edge.
You clench hard around her as the pleasure tumbles together, shaking, spilling incoherent words and resounding strings of 'Yesyesyes...' into the hotel room.
"Fucking hell babe, look at you." She drawls in fervent awe, settling higher above you as she drives into you callous and sharp, thumb still pressing firm into your throbbing clit. Her lips are parted with the feverish effort, muscles tight with the control she maintains.
Your eyes close, and your heart stutters when her hand unexpectedly finds yours. You clutch it, tenderly, viciously, so close to breaking in two.
"I'm gonna come, fuck—God, Lucy, I-" you gasp until the words cave into a filthy, static moan.
Lucy says nothing. Perhaps speechless, perhaps taunting. Just watches your body as she fucks into you while rubbing your clit quick enough to have you shaking with pleasure. The first wave crashes through, shattering every ounce of tension and making orgasmic relief flood your senses.
"That's it, God, I can feel you, baby," her voice trembles high when she admits it, each throb around her thick cock making you jerk with a mix of sensitivity and euphoria.
Lucy lowers her face again as your pleasure evens out, knuckles still white from the hard grasp of her hand. She lets it go to hold your face instead, her hips stilling.
"Such a good girl for me. Such a dirty girl. You can take more though, can't you? I'm not done with you yet." There's only a soft hint of demand in her voice as she delicately brushes a strand of hair from your cheek, lips pressing against the scalding skin instead.
You heave for breath, your weak legs falling against her back as she lowers to suckle and kiss high on your breast. You quickly gather she's leaving a trail of intentional hickeys, and you whimper quietly against her dark hair.
"Lucy, baby," you plead breathlessly. The heat and overdrive of senses is almost too much, but equally, her closeness feels dire to your heart continuing to beat.
"My pretty slut. I love how you say my name." Lucy coos, dropping a quick kiss to your lips when your hands drift down to her biceps.
She peels away from your skin, her cock slipping out and making you whine. She's thinking momentarily with a quiet but obvious stare, before grabbing a pillow and setting it beneath your ass.
Lucy shuffles back onto her knees, her face beautifully flushed and completely taken by the sight before her. There's a vulnerability to it, because you know deep down she doesn't do this for just anyone.
She watches your swollen cunt, before wordlessly leaning down to taste it. Her firm hands hold your thighs apart, dragging her tongue steadily up with no hesitation.
It makes you jolt—the sensation lush and soft, almost tender, a stark contrast to the rough pleasure of penetration. She laps you up eagerly, dragging through your sensitive folds.
Your hand flies to grasp her loose bun, the other her broad shoulder, guiding her through you until you're breathless again, grinding up into her wet mouth.
Her tongue rubs flatly over your clit, making a show of swallowing every so often.
Before you can encourage otherwise, she takes you between her supple lips, sucking gently for a long, euphoric minute. Your vision scatters—the feeling is far too good to even find the words of praise she deserves.
"Good girl." She sighs between contact, taking her time to build you back up, intently focused, and soothing a hand over your stomach when you start to squirm.
All thoughts of the game have given way to lustful need. In a swift motion, she lifts back up, pressing her tongue into your mouth before you can even think. All tongue, this time, and the intention to have you taste yourself doesn't lose you.
She cups your chin with her hand, eyeing the way your expression shatters when her cock slides back in.
"Love watching your face when I fill you up." She encourages, and you avoid her firm gaze, for the raw humiliation of it all. But she catches it—forcing you with a punishing grip to watch her. "My babe. You'll give me what I need, won't you?"
The way she speaks with such effortless confidence in bed is either an attribute you've forgotten since the last time you slept together, or you've brought something out in her that even she was unforeseen to.
You nod, small but sure. "Yes, anything," you affirm, mouth shifting each time she angles her cock just right. But the grinding rhythm she finds isn't just for you. It's for her.
"Are you close?" You whisper, slightly awed by the idea that she was able to come just from wearing the strap.
Lucy's chin drops to your shoulder, her hips stuttering against you as she rides the base of the harness, in turn making her cock shift and jolt inside of you.
"How could I not be. You feel amazing baby." She practically whines.
Lucy settles heavily against you for a few long moments until her panting breath hitches, breaking into a staccato of filthy moans.
"Fuck, oh my god, " she rocks messily into you, her whines only getting filthier when you pull her hair firmly from the scalp. She liked a bit of pain, and you'd certainly play with that fact at any opportunity. But fuck you, Lucy orgasming might just be the hottest thing you've ever witnessed.
You attempt to nudge her into a kiss afterwards, but she has other ideas.
"On your tummy. Present for me." She demands lowly, shocking you still for a moment—until she's pulling out, grabbing your hips, and flipping you into position. An obvious, cocky display of stamina and strength.
You arch laxly, face crumpled against the smooth pillow as you try to find any semblance of thought.
The lack of focus earns you a hard spank, enough to snatch your attention, before she's hoisting your hips higher, legs separated and ass up. "Still so tight for me, even when I've wrecked you." She runs her fingers through you twice, wiping the slick on your ass before pressing her cock back inside, easily filling you to the hilt.
Lucy breathes raggedly, her hand splayed across your lower back. "The gym's done you good." She compliments between huffs of air, beginning with a deceptively gentle rhythm.
"Really unreal. So pretty like this," she murmurs, tugging you closer with impatience.
"Need it harder. It feels so good." You groan, half muffled by the pillow, delirious with lust. Lucy disregards your request, her fingertips slowly teasing around your entrance, up to your clit.
"What's that baby?" She answers softly, her thumb bearing into your hip possessively. She sharpens her thrusts, yet still painfully sporadic.
"More." You whimper.
"D'you need something? My cock not enough for your needy cunt?" Her tone strides into degradation, and you almost feel choked from the whiplash of trusting and knowing her, and wondering where her dominance ends. If it even does.
"I-It is. But I want you to– need you to come inside me. Just- more." You whine, groaning lewdly when she palms your ass harder, slamming her hips into you.
She scoffs a chuckle. "Gonna be hard not to. When I've got you beneath me like this." She huffs. "So fucking slutty, and gorgeous, begging for me to breed you." she starts to pull your ass back against her with every hard thrust, quickening to the pace you need. Wildly intense, making every muscle weak to the point of exhaustion, but you can't stop craving it.
"So hard to not cover you with my marks. Or fill you up, ‘till you're dripping with my cum." Her voice tremors with heavy breath and desire, saying things she could never imagine outside of this moment.
Your mind? It short-circuits entirely.
"I'm yours. Please. Do it, ‘till I'm full of you," you beg incoherently, grasping either side of the pillow.
"I'll give you what you need." Lucy rasps in simple promise after a second of thought. She pounds into you harder, the angle creating a biting friction with each drag of her thick cock.
"So much, Luce, don't stop." You cry out as the room fills with the obscene sounds of her thighs meeting yours.
"You'll never wear someone else's name again. I'll mark you up, get you on my cock every night if it means you behave—for me." She breaks with ragged breath, groaning high upon each tremble of your body.
Mine. The prefix she spoke resounds in your head, and perhaps in your heart too. You can't reach the warmer, gentler feelings right now though. Only the primal, dirty ones.
You reach beneath to rub your own clit in desperation to come, your other hand flying out to seize hers as she drapes herself closer.
"Yes baby, fuck," Lucy gasps louder than she's been all night, rubbing herself on the base of the toy again and feeling the heat fog her mind beyond salvation.
"You want my cum, don't you," she hisses, stuttering off into a breathy moan.
"Yes Luce, please, need it so badly." you beg, and Lucy's hips jerk into you more frantically, using you for her own pleasure, but still letting her cock stimulate you deliciously.
"I am," she groans, trembling as her own climax builds. "Gonna cum so hard inside you. Make–you mine." She slams into you a final time, and collapses forward, grinding her clit weakly into the strap as her orgasm crashes through her.
Your heady moans are stifled by a bite into her forearm, sobbing as your own hits you sudden and sharp. The erotic resonance of Lucy's voice promising her possession over you destroys any sense you have left, leaving you throbbing around her cock and burying your face into her arm as each convulsion wrecks you beyond what you thought was possible.
For a long moment, you both find nothing to say.
Lucy catches her breath, emotionally twisted and sinking deeper against you in a plea for intimacy. You find her in that space, clinging to her arm and then her hand, lacing your fingers, urging her closer.
"Well done, my good girl," you hear her murmur after the long pause, her still laboured breath sounding above you.
She leans her face down against yours, faintly kissing your cheek, then your lips. "You did so good. Best girl." She coos, settling her weight above you when your other hand presses down at her hip.
"Can you pull out?" You mumble softly, the pressure inside suddenly becoming too much.
Lucy nods just from the sound of your voice. "Of course," and lifts to slowly pull herself out of you, squeezing your hand tighter when you wince. She brushes hair out of your face, before impatiently unsheathing the toy from its ring, dropping it on the bedside table with a vaguely triumphant thud. She exhales heavily.
You turn to your side, making tender, trusting eye-contact before she settles into the new position and pulls you into her chest. You both collapse deep into the mattress, muscles weak and loose. Still, you intertwine your fingers again, pulling them close to your face.
The emptiness—not just between your legs, but of the tension that dropped in a moment's time, feels striking. But her warmth soothes it, replaces it with something far more permanent in its comfort.
"That okay? Everything okay?" She whispers, gently caressing your face and beginning to stroke your hair with blunt nails. Your nose presses into her warm chest, eyes closed contentedly.
"Of course. I loved it." You mumble, dropping a tender kiss to the skin, then to her knuckles.
"Good..." she sighs, her strong thigh coming over your body to tangle you impossibly closer. With a weak timidity, she mumbles, "I hope it wasn't too much. I know I was a bit rough and maybe..."
You shake your head, craning to glance up at her. "No chance. That was mad. In the best way." You smile softly, leaning in to kiss her grinning, swollen lips. Seconds pass by you slower and slower, wrapped up in the lazy, comfortable movements.
You can tell she holds some weight of guilt for letting go so intensely, so you try to provide ample reassurance that it was all exactly what you wanted and needed.
Lucy cups the back of your head for some time, just enjoying the warm and slightly sticky intimacy. Dare you speculate—she was tired.
It takes every ounce of strength left for you to haul yourselves up after some time.
"You're not going back, right?" Lucy asks, wide-eyed, finally taking down her hair and running her hands through it.
"Of course not." You say with an incredulous disposition, because it truly was unfathomable to imagine sleeping alone tonight. Lucy just grins, and something warm tugs deep in your chest.
Heading to the bathroom with the spirit of a wearied dog reminds you that you have actually over-exerted yourself today. Your legs ache, and the weight of exhaustion pulls you down with each step.
Upon re-entering the modestly lavish room, Lucy had also taken it upon herself to get back into her pyjamas. It wasn't like you couldn't sleep naked, but a hotel doesn't feel the most ideal place. She had dimmed the lights in your absence, looking the picture of comfort as she glances up at you from the bed.
"Do you have a hairbrush?" You ask.
"Yeah, give me a second," Lucy jumps out of bed at an alarming rate, rattling through her suitcase until she finds it.
"Come, I'll do it for you." She offers sweetly, pulling back the covers enough to crawl into the middle of the bed. You sit up in front of her, breathing out all the stresses that have accumulated over the past few days as she gently brushes through your hair.
"Thank you." You mumble with your eyes closed in bliss when she approaches the last section, holding it delicately in her hand to avoid hurting you with any tangles.
"Anytime." She answers softly, before dropping the brush on the table. You lean back into her, and she hugs you tightly. "Thanks for tonight." She kisses your temple, her thumb stroking over your ribcage.
"Anytime." You repeat her answer with a grin, before pausing—ultimately going through with the sharing of the cheeky thought. "Just...didn't expect you to be so possessive."
Lucy giggles bashfully into your shoulder. "Well...don't go telling anyone else that."
"Why? Does it mean something?" You turn around to lie against her chest, and she positions the pillow down so you can both lay properly. Then, you settle against her, leg draped across hers, held close by her protective arm.
"Like what?" She answers finally.
"Like...you meant it when you said you wanted me. And not just...like this." You feel overcome by a sudden rawness to your throat, fearful that your tired state will prompt you to say the wrong thing. The sudden pressure of the conversation that had lingered in your mind for weeks, months. Maybe since you saw Lucy for the first time, and had to accept the fate of being irrevocably attracted to her.
"Is it not a bit obvious I also have a crush on you?" Lucy replies, an equal level of nerves to her otherwise gentle tone.
"Yeah but...I don't know if you wanted to keep it like this. Casual."
"Baby...I don't do casual. So you'd better tell me if that's what you want, so I can go and cry myself to sleep." She grins, and you almost scoff with disbelief.
"No. Definitely not casual. Definitely want you. Very much."
"Good," Lucy says quickly, tilting your face up with her finger so she can appreciate your blush. "Very good." Her grin spreads adorably. You can truly appreciate her freckles now, and the crinkle by her eyes when she smiles, or the unadulterated longing in the way she gazes at you.
"Yeah. Very good. We should talk about this more tomorrow." You say, content with those answers for the present.
Lucy nods with a tired sigh. "Yeah." But within moments, you're scrunching your nose as she starts to pepper kisses across your face, making you giggle and squirm excitedly, especially when her grip tightens into an imprisoning hold. "Luce!"
"Right calm down, Sonia will kill us if we're uncontactable in the morning." She huffs the last of her laughter, still smiling. It's well past two in the morning, so the chances of being fresh as daisies at breakfast is long gone either way.
"You started it."
You pull down the other pillow, flick off the lights, and cuddle up tight in her arms. The bedsheets may be crisp, cold, and slightly unwelcoming, but nothing feels more like home than the sound of her slowing breath...and the warmth of her skin, treasuring you close.
aww don’t i love a happily ever after! as always comments/anons are appreciated and encourage me to write more. also of course casparij was the one, ms ‘hot girls read smut’ would definitely be honoured to know she was a special guest
can someone let me know if this fic will affect my employability
Enemy colours | Aggie Beever-Jones x Arsenal fan!Reader
Where Aggie tries to get you to wear her Chelsea hoodie
Woso masterlist | Words: 1.2k
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“Another win for the Arsenal!” You cheer as you lift your PlayStation controller. “Another? That was our first game.” Your lips curled up in an evil smirk, and Aggie knew instantly she wasn't going to like your answer.
“Oh, because I'm counting the real life derby from last weekend.” Aggie rolls her eyes, "You're insufferable." She laughed.
“You chose this life when you decided to date an Arsenal fan.” Aggie chuckles, “That I did.” She leans in and kisses your lips.
When she pulls away she holds your eye contact, the rivalry gone for a moment, until she exclaims, “Rematch!” And you're right back to where you were before the kiss, ready to beat her Chelsea team.
By some miracle from the universe, you're able to beat Aggie again with a last minute goal to break the tie. As the final whistle blows you turn around with your lips pursed, wanting to make a London is red comment, but knowing you are pushing your limits on rivalry jokes with your girlfriend.
“This game is rigged.” She puts her controller down in disappointment. You put yours down as well and turn her way. Instead of making another joke, you climb onto her lap and kiss her. Her arms snake around your back, instantly forgetting she'd just lost twice as she pulls you closer and kisses you back.
Eight months ago, you'd never imagined you'd end up dating a Chelsea player. Now eight months later, somehow, you'd learned to live with the rivalry. At least most of the time.
Your family had strongly objected to the idea of you dating a Chelsea player. Then Aggie showed up with flowers, charmed your mum within ten minutes, and spent the afternoon helping your dad carry things into the shed. They'd reluctantly decided she was the exception.
“Wanna play another?” Aggie asks as you move off her lap again. You smile, “Yeah, sure, if you want to lose to Arsenal again.” She shakes her head and rolls her eyes playfully. “No way in hell.”
Aggie goes to set up the next game, but sees you shivering beside her. “Hold on, let me grab you a hoodie first.” You smile as she rushes off, Aggie had a talent for noticing the little things, and you loved how she instantly took action.
She rushes back into the room, as though it were a matter of life or death that you needed that hoodie. She holds it out to you. “Thank-” you stop yourself when you see the blue Chelsea badge peeking out. “No way.”
Aggie moves the hand that's holding the hoodie down in confusion, “What’s wrong?”
“Seriously Ags?” Your girlfriend looks genuinely confused so you keep talking. “That’s Chelsea.”
“I swear that was unintentional.” She moves the hoodie. “But it's mine, see? It has my number.”
You look at her, trying to figure out if she's messing with you or if she is being genuine.
“You wear my clothes all the time. Especially my football stuff.” Aggie was still staring at you in confusion, which was enough to tell you she genuinely didn't understand.
“Your England football stuff, not your Chelsea stuff. That is different. England is my country too, I support England. Chelsea not so much.”
Aggie nods in understanding. “Okay, well I will grab you another hoodie then.” She pauses for a moment as she looks at the screen, her smirk grows when an idea pops into her head. “If you win the next match.”
“What?” You look between her and the screen. “If you win, I will grab you another hoodie. If I win, you will wear this one.”
You think about it for a moment. You have won both games so far, and your track record overall is also slightly in your favour. Aggie knows you like a challenge and don't like backing down from one, so her chances of you agreeing are high.
“Fine.” You say, already regretting your competitiveness not knowing when to back down from a challenge.
Aggie puts the hoodie down beside her and settles back onto the sofa to start the next game.
It was looking like you were going to bring the match into extra time, but this time it was Aggie scoring a last second winner.
“Rigged you said, right?” You say instantly. “We can't use a rigged game for a challenge.”
Aggie simply takes the hoodie and holds it out in front of you. “A deal is a deal.”
You roll your eyes and reluctantly take the hoodie from her. “Fine, but I want to make another deal.” You put on the hoodie, because, as much as you hated having to wear it, a bet was a bet.
“We play again. If I win, I get to exchange this hoodie for a non-Chelsea one.”
“What if I win?” Aggie asks. “Then I will have to keep wearing this awful thing.” She laughs at the clear disgust written on your face. “Deal.”
“So, how do I look?” You ask with the hoodie now fully on. Silently cursing how ridiculously comfortable it was.
“Perfect.” Your girlfriend answers with a proud smile.
“Wrong.” You say back instantly. “I look like a traitor.” Aggie laughs and you can't help but smile a little, but you quickly compose yourself again. “No pictures.”
“No pictures.” Aggie repeats.
“I mean it. If my dad finds out I am wearing this, he will disown me.” Aggie looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Dramatic much?” You shake your head. “This is deeper than just you and me, and you know it.”
“No pictures, I promise.” She grabs the front of your her hoodie, and pulls you in for a kiss. “But I at least have to kiss you while you're wearing this.”
“Let's just play the game so I can get this off.”
You fight hard during the game, but Aggie gets an easy win this time. You drop the controller next to you with a deep sigh. “This is Sock Gate all over again.”
Aggie knows not to comment on her win. Having to wear her Chelsea hoodie is probably already too close to the rivalry limit. But the Sock Gate mention cements that, so she just turns off FC26.
“How about a movie?” You nod, clearly still annoyed at the loss. She lets you pick the movie, hoping to smooth things over a little.
It doesn't happen often that you're on opposite sides of the sofa watching a movie, and Aggie didn’t like the distance between you one bit, but luckily you gave in quickly. Shuffling closer to her already after ten minutes of the movie, and leaning into her side within the first fifteen.
Aggie looks down at you curled up into her side and smiles to herself when her eyes land on the Chelsea badge on your chest. You might be wearing it because you lost the bet, but you were still wearing her hoodie, and she loved it when you wore her clothes. Especially when it was her personalised clothing.
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it's been 5 years since the first time you met misa. you've yet to figure out your own mind, and its time for your first euros.
✢ pairing: misa rodriguez x reader, barca femeni x teammate!reader, lionesses x teammate!reader
✢ wc: 6.0k
✢ a/n: set during 2022 euros. pls dont hate me for how long this took...and s/o mani for dealing w my ass
collab w/ @holyblonded !
5 years had gone by since that night in Madrid.
You’ve had 5 years to work out your feelings towards that night, and you’ve yet to make any progress.
Mainly because, by the time you think you’ve moved on, or carefully folded up any memory of the Spanish goalkeeper and placed it in an isolated corner of your brain, another Clasico is looming on the horizon. They seemed to multiply in number every season.
It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to meet up in the years directly following the first night. Recently, though, you were lucky to get a text.
The lack of physical interaction and conversation didn’t make it any easier to see her, though. Phantom touches burned on your neck and thighs, stealing your focus as you watched her adjust her gloves, those few nights stuck in your memory like you were a branded cow. Branded by Misa, by her touch.
No one knew about any of the nights you shared. You had convenient excuses every time you disappeared in Madrid or denied plans after a home Clasico.
And you thanked the stars every chance you got that you had been able to keep the secret.
Jenni liked to tease. Jenni liked to tease you, and even Alexia could only do so much to alleviate it. You once went on a date with a boy you knew from La Masia. It went fine, you think. You don’t remember much of what he talked about, just that he didn’t shut up and you were too focused on not chewing on your straw and keeping your legs from bouncing to listen to any of it. He had dropped you off at your door with a kiss on the cheek. You had closed the door in his face.
The next two weeks at training were relentless, and you hadn’t even kissed that guy. You don’t even want to know what would happen if anyone found out what you’d done, with a Madridista, with Misa of all people.
So, even as you felt her eyes burning in the back of your skull every time you scored on her–which was a lot, you counted your blessings.
Atleast no one else knew.
Atleast you didn’t have to deal with Jenni’s teasing.
Atleast you didn’t have to explain it to your parents.
Your parents.
Your mom was born and raised in the heart of London, as traditional and conservative as they come. Your dad had grown up in Kailua, a coastal town on Oahu. You weren’t sure how your dad ended up in England or how they met. You never asked. Though, even you could see that they didn’t get married because they were in love. You knew that your dad slept in his office most of the time, and that on the rare occasion you spent time with them, they were never around each other for long.
They both worked within the British government. Again, you didn’t ask, and they didn’t talk about it. All you knew is that they made enough money to sign you up for the fanciest academy in London, to send you to all the best personal trainers, and to buy you new boots every Christmas, even if you didn’t like how they always felt different from your old ones.
And when the offer from La Masia came, just a few weeks after your 15th birthday? They couldn’t get you on a plane quick enough.
You were alone, off to a country where you didn’t speak the language, didn’t know a single soul, and your parents were probably at some cocktail party bragging about their daughter playing football in Spain.
It didn’t get easier for a long time.
The football was amazing–of course it was. It was La Masia. It was Barcelona. Barca’s playing style was just an intricate series of the same patterns again and again. You liked it, and you fit in on the pitch fairly easily. Off the pitch, you had a lot more trouble. You didn’t understand anyone. The bed in your dorm didn’t feel right under your back, and the socks they gave you as part of the kit felt wrong inside your boot. Everywhere you turned there was a new person, introducing themselves in a language you didn’t understand, expecting a handshake or atleast a polite greeting. You managed it, because you didn’t want to be an outcast, but it drained you. Some days you could make it back to the dorms and under your covers before you exploded or shut down. A lot of days you barely made it out of the locker room, darting around the building and finding a spot in the back where the grass came up to your knees and you were sure you wouldn’t be seen before letting the dam burst.
No one ever saw you. Or at least that was what you thought.
What you didn’t know yet was that just around the corner from your spot, on the side of the building you didn’t come from, was a walking path that the first team often used to get from their parking lot to some of the farther training pitches.
You were having a particularly bad day, chest heaving and hands shaking as the emotional and mental exhaustion of masking hit you with full force.
“Ale, escuchas eso?” [Ale, do you hear that?]
“Hm?”
“Parece que alguien está… llorando? Espera aquí!” [It sounds like someone’s…crying? Back here, wait!]
Jenni peered around the side of the building and saw you, crouched down in the tall grass, training top still on, sobbing into your hands. Her heart shattered, immediately.
“Qué pasa?” [What’s going on?]
“Shhh! Es una de las chicas de Masia… pobrecita.” [Shh! It’s one of the Masia kids…poor thing.]
“Cuál? Estaba viendo un vídeo de la sub-16 y-” [Which one? I was watching some film from the under-16s and-]
“Ale, shhh! Creo que es una nueva internacional inglesa. La delantera?” [Ale, shh! I think she’s a new international from England. The striker?]
“Oh, es muy talentosa! Recuerdo haberla visto. La ayudamos?” [Oh, she’s really talented, I remember seeing her. Should we help?]
Jenni knew she probably shouldn’t disturb you, but she just felt horrible. She couldn’t imagine being so young, practically a baby, being so far away from home, and still being expected to perform well.
“Nena? Are you okay?”
Your head whipped up, your feet immediately moving to try and run away, but the overload of cortisol and adrenaline had you stumbling instead.
“Wait, it’s okay!” Jenni waded into the grass and weeds, trying to look as unintimidating as possible.
“I- uh-” You racked your head for any Spanish word to say, but you got nothing. It only made another sob rip from your chest.
“Nena, it’s okay. Come here?”
You stopped trying to get away, because even mid-panic attack, you were inclined to listen when Jenni Hermoso asked you to do something. Tentatively, you took a step closer, eyes downcast, arms wrapped around your torso, trying to control your breathing and quiet your hiccups; the distraction had temporarily distracted your overactive nervous system.
“That’s good, it’s okay. Do you want a hug?”
You shook your head no. Jenni chuckled to herself.
“Okay, that’s okay. Let’s breath together, si?”
She made a show of taking a deep breath in, holding for a few seconds, and breathing out.
“In for 8 seconds, vale?”
You nodded. In for 8 seconds, out for 8 seconds. It was nice, and it calmed you down alot. Whether it was the eights or the breathing, you weren’t sure. Either way, it worked. You managed to look up, make eye contact for a few seconds before focusing back on the ground. There was a bee on one of the weeds and you watched it.
“That’s better, good job nena. Do you want to talk about what happened?”
You shrugged. “T-tough day…that’s all.” You tried to make your accent less obvious; you already felt enoguh like an outsider without even opening your mouth.
“I get that, I’m sorry. You train with La Masia, si?”
Your tongue wanted to say no, wanted to explain that you played for an academy based in London, the same one you always had. But that wasn’t the crest on your shirt anymore. You weren’t even in the right country. So, even though it felt all sorts of wrong, you nodded.
“I heard you were new. It’s really tough, moving away from home. Have you talked to your mami recently?”
“On Sunday.” That was the rule your mother had decided on. One call per week. Every Sunday afternoon, right after church. You liked the routine of it all, so you did it.
“Sunday? That was 4 days ago. Why don’t you call her tonight? It might make you feel better.”
“Can’t,” you shook your head, “Only on Sundays.”
Jenni was more than perplexed, but she didn’t want to argue with you. “Oh…okay then. Well, have you had dinner? Me and Ale were just headed to grab something, neither of us feel like cooking tonight.”
You played with the hem of your top, twisting and untwisting again and again. You usually went to the cafeteria, sat at the same table.
“It won’t take too long! We’ll have you back in your dorm with plenty of time before curfew.”
You weighed your options, but you ended up nodding. Jenni was nice, and she was speaking English.
That dinner was the first time you had properly laughed since you touched down in Spain. Alexia’s English wasn’t great, and it made for some funny moments. Jenni didn’t stop talking the entire time, whether it was translating or telling some insane story, and she had you constantly laughing into your bowl of outrageously spicy curry.
From then on, Jenni and Alexia made sure you were okay. Jenni helped with the language barrier, speaking in a weird kind of Spanglish that helped the words feel more familiar in your head. Alexia helped in other ways, making sure you always had food or offering to have a kick about after training.
They became something familiar, safe, and constant in a world where nothing seemed certain to you anymore. Football got easier as well; your teammates seemed like nice people, though you weren’t sure you would call any of them your friends yet. Except maybe Ona. She sat with you during lunch and didn’t talk, just let you exist in silence. It was nice, and you sat with her again the next day too.
A few Sundays after the first time you met Alexia and Jenni, you mentioned them to your mom on the phone.
“And I went to Alexia and Jenni’s place and-“
“Alexia and Jenni? Who are they?”
“They play for the first team. They’re really nice.”
“So they’re adults? And they’re roommates?”
“Well, they’re roommates technically, but they’re dating.”
“What? You’re hanging out with lesbians?”
“Mum-“
“Isla, do I need to bring you back home? I didn’t know they had lesbians in Spain..”
“No, mum, it’s fine. I- I won’t talk to them anymore, okay? I’m sorry.”
“You better not, young lady.”
That was the last time you mentioned any of your new teammates to your mom.
You didn’t mention your drunk night out in Madrid to your parents. You didn’t mention your text chains with the keeper. You definitely didn’t ever mention your plans after a Clasico. Your conversations were kept to football, match results and training milestones you hit. Not that she really cared about any of that, just that you were doing well in training and not embarrassing her and the family name.
But you remembered that one conversation with your mother, low in your chest, whenever you were with Alexia and Jenni, or listened to Ona talk about the girl she had went on a date with.
The pressure of her words made it hard to breathe when you thought too long about what you were doing with Misa.
…
The mechanical whirring of the recovery boots filled the air of the room, inflating and deflating in a perfectly recurrent cycle. You counted 8 runs, then 8 more. The Lioness crest was plastered on the wall behind you, on your shirt, on everyone’s shirt, actually. You felt the weight of it, right over your heart where the decal was placed on the vest top.
You played your first ever European Championship Quarterfinal tomorrow. After a light session in the morning, everyone had been ordered to recover their bodies as much as possible; for you, that meant the boots. Every other recovery tool was a stimulatory nightmare, but the encompassing pressure of the boots was a sensation you were actually quite fond of. It ever-so-slightly quieted the anxiety that had been ever-present since you were named to the roster. England was set to play Spain, and everyone knew it wasn’t going to be an easy match, even with the absence of Alexia Putellas courtesy of her ACL. For you, it was eerily familiar and extremely terrifying. You knew better than most how good most of those players were. Though, your experiences gave your team a much deeper insight than any scouting report could ever provide.
You knew from hours of finishing practice how Pina angled her hips slightly differently when going for a high-driven shot, giving the England keepers an extra half-second to get a jump on it. You could teach them the Catalan terms for different things, so they were all on the same page when Irene dictated play out of the back line.
You could also tell them how their backup keeper’s fingers felt inside of you, what she smells like after sex, and what scent of shampoo she uses, but you kept that to yourself.
Well, she was their backup keeper.
“Keke, translate this, will you?”
You had a second to react before Ella Toone’s phone was flying into your lap. On the screen was an Instagram story from Spain’s account. Medical Release.
It took you a few seconds to read over and translate, then another few to process what you had read.
“What’s it say kid?” Leah was interested now. You shook yourself out of it to answer your skipper.
“Um, Paños is out. Ankle injury in training.”
“No shot, their keeper is injured? Now?”
“Who’s gonna start?”
“This is good for us, hope she’s not too badly injured though..”
Your teammates voiced their opinions, wondering out loud how this would effect our game plan for the next day, and what this meant for Spain’s defense. Your thinking was done inside your head, though. Because now all you could think about was that you were going to have to face Misa.
You had never played each other at the senior national level. Misa had just recently broken into the senior team, and had only made a few appearances. You knew it had to piss her off, always being on the bench, but you also knew that being a goalkeeper demanded a kind of patience and acceptance of second place that you didn’t possess.
Tomorrow would be a different form of the same rivalry that had always defined your relationship with Misa. The kits would be different, but it was all the same in what mattered. You needed to score on her, and score on her alot. You needed to make sure this match ended just like it always did when you faced eachother: Misa full of rage, and your name on the scoresheet.
You suppose the stakes were a bit higher than usual this time, the Eurocup being a bit bigger deal than the Spanish Supercopa. Although every Clasico felt the same to you, if not more intense each time you played one. Alexia said it was the Culer in you growing to take up more space in your brain, but you knew it was actually Misa squirming her way into every free crevice of your body.
“Well, Keke knows her pretty well, don’t you?”
“What?”
Georgia snapped you out of your thoughts and back into the real world.
“I said you know Misa well, you’ve played against her a bunch, right?”
“Oh, um, yeah I guess I have.”
“Yeah, and she’s scored on her like a million times!” Lucy and Keira high-fived from the ice bath.
“You’ve scored in every El Clasico you’ve ever played in,” Beth added from the massage table.
“I have? How do you know that? Why do you know that?”
“No reason.”
“Alright, alright. Keke, you know how to score on Misa, right?”
You shrugged at your captain, but you suppose your record spoke for yourself.
“Good enough. Strikers, get together tonight and get Keke to share her notes on her, alright?”
A resounding chorus of “yes ma’am”s sounded among the room, and the pit in your stomach grew. Now you were responsible for the entire attack unit? Having to recall every detail of your teammates’ lives in earlier meetings was bad enough, and now you’re tasked with deconstructing the playing style and forming the offensive strategies against your…Misa…
You weren’t one to ignore an instruction from your captain, though, so you complied, pulling a whiteboard into one of the lounge rooms and sketching notes and diagrams. It wasn’t difficult; all you ever thought about was football, and you’d spent a considerable amount of time analyzing Misa, whether in a productive manner or otherwise. So you spat out your jumbled thoughts onto the board, offering haphazard explanations when your teammates couldn’t decipher your handwriting.
“I thought your handwriting was good, Keke? It was always neat in your film notebook.”
“Brain’s going too fast, my hand is too slow.”
“Oh, got it.”
Alessia shut up, having learned quickly to not try to understand your brain too much. You preferred it that way, usually. You wished Lucy was in the striker’s group. She always understood your football brain. And your brain in general. It was refreshing.
You talked about her tendencies in the box, how she set up her defense for a free kick, how she moved during a corner. You broke apart the way she created play out of the back. You even spent some time discussing her tendency to be a hot head, and how you could use that to your advantage.
Misa was on your mind when you went to sleep, when you woke up, while you ate breakfast.
You took your pre-match walk, taking a few minutes to say hi to your teammates and friends, made eye contact with Misa once, twice, three times before you went off on your own, music blasting loud enough in your headphones to block out the rest of the world.
Like most game days, pregame and warm ups were a blur of the same routine it always was. Suddenly you were at center pitch and the referee’s whistle pierced through the air, signaling the start of 90 minutes of your personal hell.
The match was everything you expected. Heated, fast-paced, high level football between two world class teams with too much personal interconnection.
Halftime came with no score, not without a lack of trying on your end. You, Beth, Hempo, Lessie, all had been doing everything you could to break through Spain’s defense. You had gotten a few shots off, but nothing that Misa couldn’t handle. You were impressed that she was able to keep a clean sheet thus far, but you knew you couldn’t let her keep it. You knew you needed to find another gear and send them home.
10 minutes into the second half, Esther Gonzalez opened the scoring for the match. It shook the squad, a stark reminder of how easily things could go. To you, it doubled your expectations for yourself.
Deep breaths, 8 in and 8 out as you walked back to center position, and you were ready to go. Ready to break through Spain’s press, through their backline and right through their keeper. At this point, it wasn’t personal. It wasn’t your friends, teammates, mentors, or your…Misa…on the other side of the pitch. It was just your enemy.
It took until the 84th minute for Ella Toone to make it happen. And it took you 10 more minutes to cement your name in history as well.
Extra time was ticking down, and no one wanted to go into overtime. A last ditch effort, a final run, and a shot that contained all the power left in your exhausted body.
You weren’t going to celebrate, but you were thrown around so much by everyone else’s chaos that you didn’t even need to try. And maybe a smile grew on your face for a second or two, but you didn’t know anything about that.
Although your happiness was short lived. It killed you to see the teammates that had become your family so gutted about being eliminated. You made your rounds, skipping out on the celebrations with your team to make sure your people were okay. You pulled Ona and Laia up from the grass, tackled Aitana in one of your rare hugs that she loved, and let Leila ruffle your hair without complaining. And then you ended up face to face with Misa.
“Buen partido.” [Good game.]
“Eres un peligro.” [You’re a menace.]
“Lo siento. Que tengas que volver a casa.” [I’m sorry. That you have to go home.]
Misa scoffed, and fought the urge to roll her eyes. “De todas formas, el clima es mejor allí.” [The weather is better there anyways.]
You nodded. That was true, even if it was summer in England.
Misa’s eyes held onto yours. The eye contact lasted longer than you could usually handle and then stretched another few seconds. You didn’t feel the pull to look away like you always did.
You both got pulled away by your respective teammates, and you weren’t even 20 feet away before you felt the pit in your stomach and the weight on your chest.
After successfully bypassing media and getting back into the changing room, your hands moved without input from your brain, tapping her contact and typing without thinking.
Can I see you before you go back to Spain?
Celebrations raged around you. You had just won the Euros, after all. Sprays of champagne and beer splashing your face, screaming on someone’s Instagram livestream, sweaty bodies of your teammates constantly in contact with your skin in hugs and arms thrown around shoulders–it was all mud in your brain though, every neural connection leading back to the goalkeeper that has infested your mind.
You checked your phone ever 5 minutes for the next three days to see if she would text you back.
You didn’t. She had left you on read.
…
You were a European Champion.
You lifted the trophy on your home soil, taken all the pictures, watched everyone get too drunk at the afterparty, and yet all you could think about was the Read on 7/20/2022 in your text thread with Misa.
Moreso, you couldn’t stop thinking about why you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Why the pit in your stomach hadn’t gone away since you had broken eye contact after the match.
Why her eyes haunted your dreams and woke you up in the middle of the night, keeping you awake until you satisfied the ache she left behind yourself, soft whimpers of her name escaping into the darkness of your room.
The lingering craving kept steady through your summer break, although you wouldn’t exactly count it as much of a break. You didn’t like to take vacations. You were forced to spend a few days with teammates in Ibiza before gratefully settling back into a routine in London for the few free weeks you had before preseason.
You trained with Lucy–who you were thrilled would be joining you in Spain, by the way–and whoever else you could convince to join you, took long walks around the city, and avoiding your mother at all costs.
“You know, I think it’s time we start looking for a husband for you, dear.”
“Mom! Ew.”
“What? You’re not getting any younger, and your father and I have received plenty of offers from our friends. There are lots of nice boys willing to court you, even with the football nonsense you insist on.”
“Mom, I- I don’t want to be sold off like a cow.”
“You aren’t being sold, dear. You get to pick.”
“I don’t want any of them,” you mumbled, standing up and making sure to push in your chair before storming out of the dining room.
You wanted to throw up at the mere thought of the boys you had grown up around, snooty and spoiled and used to getting everything they wanted–including women and their bodies.
It was the unfortunate reality of higher society. Assault, rape, harrasment, it was all disturbingly normal behavior both for the business and politicians who ran the state and their sons that you shared a school with.
Thankfully, your interest in football and clear disinterest in any of them had deterred them for most of your life, although there had been an increase in attempts once you became a professional athlete.
Even the thought of those boys was enough to make your stomach turn most days. The thought of being made to marry one though? It made your skin crawl.
That was a truth. Well, part of the truth.
Your nausea didn’t just have to do with the idea of being used as a wife to a rich London boy. It had everything to do with the image of Misa’s face that crossed your mind every time your mother mentioned a boyfriend or a husband. You checked your messages again. Still on read.
You sighed, falling back onto your bed and covering your face with your hands, only fantasizing Misa’s long, thick fingers spread over your skin instead.
…
It wasn’t until November that you saw Misa again.
You were over it, atleast that’s what you told yourself.
Even you, and your very limited knowledge of healthy relationships, knew that whatever was going on wasn’t sustainable or healthy. Especially after the months of radio silence between the two of you.
And the fact you hadn’t stopped dreaming about her.
So you were done with her. And there was no reason in particular that the air before the first Clasico of the season seemed extra charged. You couldn’t have been more excited to score on her. And you did, along with Patri, Aitana, and Frido.
Needless to say, Misa was thoroughly frustrated by the ending whistle.
Post-match formalities ensued as usual. You weren’t planning on talking to Misa, but she found you in the tunnel, pulling you away from your conversation with Pina.
“My place, tonight. You still have the address?”
It took your brain a few seconds to catch up to the whispered words. Once it did, you didn’t hesitate. You nodded once and walked away.
“What was that all about?”
“Stupid banter. I hate Madrid.”
“Tell me about it.”
…
Your leg bounced uncontrollably as the Uber took you closer to the address that you couldn’t help but remember.
The team had started the drive back to Barcelona that night. You made some bullshit excuse about having a last minute sponsership meeting in Madrid the next morning, and promised to catch a flight that would have you home in time for the late afternoon recovery session. No one asked too many questions.
You didn’t need to knock. Misa was already at the door when you arrived.
Without a second spared to exchange casualties, her lips were up against yours. Her perfume invaded the air around you, making you drunk off her scent. She was everywhere, all at once. Her lips, incessant on yours. Her hands, mapping your curves like she was trying to quickly reacquaint herself with your body. Her breath, her weight, her heat. The thump of her heartbeat against your chest.
All your senses, consumed entirely by Misa Rodriguez.
She seemed determined tonight to ruin you, if her unforgiving grip on your hips was anything to go by. Stumbling, she blindly led you back to her bedroom, her lips never ceasing their attack on your face. Your fingers found the nape of her neck, trying desperating to keep yourself grounded. You were ridiculously turned on, the slick, uncomfortable feelings between your thighs already threatening to pull you out of the moment.
Luckily, Misa’s apartment wasn’t huge and before you knew it, your back was connecting with the plush comforter that covered her bed. She was on top of you immediately, hands pushing underneath your t-shirt and quickly removing the offensive article of clothing.
You pulled away from her hungry mouth, only because you felt faint from lack of air, and helped her in removing the rest of your clothes. Only when you were bare did you remember that Misa needed to be undressed too, and you hurried to correct that.
The sigh you let out at seeing her body didn’t go unnoticed by either of you, based on the cocky smirk that took over Misa’s face.
“Missed me, Keke?” she murmured, close enough for you to feel her breath on your lips, but not closing the gap.
You didn’t trust your words, so you pulled her down by the back of her neck and tried to show her how much you missed her.
Her wandering hands didn’t stop, moving to carefully knead the flesh of your breasts. She shifted her weight so her thigh slotted carefully between yours. The first touch of friction against your soaked cunt was electric, sending sparks through your body. Your strangled gasp made Misa smile against your mouth, as you fumbled to keep your hold on her shoulders.
Your hips worked in tandem to match the gentle rocking motion she set. She flexed her quad and the pleasure multiplied; your kisses became sloppy as you struggled to split your focus. The victorious spark was obvious in her eyes when she pulled away. It seemed that she had achieved her goal of taking you apart, and you had only been here for, what, 20 minutes?
“Mari-” you choked out, feeling the now-familair tightening in your lower belly. You whined when she pulled away.
“Come on, superestrella, we both know you don’t like to come like that. And how many times I gotta ask you to call me Misa?”
You had to admit she was right, the one time you had come grinding on her ridiculously sculpted thighs hadn’t been a great orgasm, even if it was hot. As for the other thing, you shook your head. You liked Maria Isabel just fine.
All you could do was pout as she shifted from being on top to the side.
“Don’t look like such a kicked puppy, bebe. You know I’m going to make you come.”
“You better.”
“I better? Who told you you could start ordering me around?”
“Maria,” you whined, leaning over to kiss her, immediately allowing her tongue into your mouth to resume its explorations.
“Shh, I know,” she pulled away, far too soon for your liking, but the serious look on her face had you sitting up slightly. It was different than you had ever seen her. Her normal intense, confident gaze had fallen away, and she seemed almost nervous?
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah…yeah, all good. I want to try something tonight, thought. You can say no, of course, but I’d really like to fuck you with my strap.”
You had yet to get used to Misa’s crude mouth, and you were left speechless for a few moments. Misa misread your surprise as hesitation, and immediately started again.
“If you aren’t comfortable with it, we don’t have to do it, obviously. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, Keke, never-”
“I want it. Please.”
“Y-you do?”
You nodded. Sure, it would be your first time with something like that, but the mental image of Misa on top of you, snapping her hips and keeping herself up on her forearms, breathing heavily and never breaking eye contact, overruled any reluctance you may have had.
“Shit, okay. I wasn’t expecting you to say yes, honestly.”
“How come?”
Misa shrugged, swinging her legs off the bed and heading for the closet. In the few minutes it took her to strap up, your mind wandered a bit, some of the initial doubt creeping back in. It had been months since you had last seen her, and yet it felt like no time had passed. You two seemed to have this natural rhythm whenever you were together. Everything felt correct, and you didn’t remember to panic like usual. You breathed in and out for 8 seconds, getting through 2 rounds before Misa returned.
You couldn’t stop your eyes from bugging out of your head at the sight before you. The harness seemed to accentuate the chiseled lines of her abdomen, drawing your eyes to her groin and the ridiculous piece of silicone attached to her hips.
“See something you like?”
Even in the dim light of the room you could see her amused smile as she approached the bed again.
“It’s, uh-”
“Big? You think so?”
She crawled onto the bed, gently pressing back your shoulder so you were laying against the pillows and she could crawl on top of you. Her lips found yours, then your cheek and your jaw. They lingered, contemplating, before retreating. No marks allowed.
You jolted at the first swipe of her fingers through your folds, the amount of accumulated slick bordering on ridiculous.
“Joder, you’re soaked.”
Misa’s ring and middle fingers slid in without resistance, immediately setting a considerable pace and curling forward, searching.
You stuttered out her name, hand shooting down to her wrist, not to stop her, but to try and ground yourself.
“You wanna come before I fuck you?”
How inconsiderate of her to ask you a question while putting you in this state, but alas you managed an answer.
“N-no, no wanna c-come on you-”
“Wanna come on my cock, superestrella?”
All you could do was nod, her fingers only speeding up. Your mewl was her warning to pull out, ripping a whine from your throat before you could stop it.
“Maria- please-”
“I got you Keke, breath for me, okay? In, and out. Good, again. In, and-”
On your exhale, she lined up the plastic sunk in just the tip. You cursed, already feeling more of a stretch than Misa’s fingers had ever been capable of.
It was agonizing, how long Misa took, pushing in just an inch at a time. She just wanted to make sure you were comfortable, she said, but your brain was fried with anticipation after Misa had already edged you twice that night. All you felt was a deep, animalistic urge for Misa to fuck you until your brain leaked out of your pussy.
As soon as she bottomed out, she looked you in the eyes, searching for signs of discomfort, but all she saw was hunger. She knew she had been a little mean with the edging, and knew it was time to give you what you wanted.
Being a professional athlete came with plenty of perks that you were already familiar with. You learned a new one that night: Misa’s stamina with a strap.
She clearly knew was she was doing. She wealded the silicone like a professional, ramming the tip into your sweet spot over and over, overloading your brain with pleasure.
You came apart, your vaginal muscles spasming around the silicone no less than 3 times before you both tapped out. You managed to give Misa one of her own with your tongue before collapsing into the blankets wrapped around her, the sun already peaking above the horizon.
“That was awesome,” the keeper breathed out, gently tracing patterns on your bare back.
“I have a flight at noon,” you managed to croak out before succumbing to sleep, head pillowed on Misa’s lap and at the most peace you’d felt in months.
