Summary: Patri is tough and strong. She'd never let anyone see her tears. Well, but deep down your girlfriend is also a sweetheart that needs hugs and cuddles. And you're the only one she shows her soft side to.
Warnings: mentions of an injury
Masterlist
Morning drills at Ciutat Esportiva were in full swing, the sun already hot enough to make the grass shimmer. Patri was her usual self. Her touch on the ball was sharp and confident, calling out directions between touches.
“Claudia, move wider! Cata, faster on the reset!” She barked, voice cutting through the noise. There was something magnetic about her when she took charge like that. You assumed it was the posture, the focus, the certainty that everyone would follow her lead. She wasn't the captain yet, but she was one of the Vice-captains and you knew she would one day make a great captain. She was just so amazing and you were very proud to call her your girlfriend. That also meant you were the only girl on this earth that was able to make Patri Guijarro blush.
You were jogging past with your group when you slowed down just enough to fall in step beside her. “You know.” You said lightly, keeping your tone warm. “You look really pretty when you’re bossing everyone around like that.”
Patri blinked. “Pretty?” She repeated, like it was a foreign word.
“Yeah.” You said simply, smiling. “All confident and serious. You don’t even realize how hot you look when you’re in your element.”
Her mouth opened and closed, then opened again. But all that came out was a faint “You’re ridiculous.” and a cute pink blush on her cheeks. She clearly had melted a tiny bit inside as you had complimented her.
You laughed, bumping her shoulder gently before jogging off again. “Maybe.” You called over your shoulder. “But I’m also right.”
Behind you Patri tried to refocus, but her next pass went just a bit too far, forcing Aitana to sprint after the ball.
“Oi! Guijarro, you losing your touch?” Mapi called, smirking. “Shut up, Mapi,” Patri said quickly, trying and failing to sound composed.
When the group paused for water, you drifted by again, offering her your bottle. She took it with a quiet thanks, eyes darting anywhere but at you.
“You okay?” You asked softly, leaning close enough for only her to hear. “You seem distracted.”
Patri’s voice came out smaller than she meant it to. “I’m fine. Just… you can’t say stuff like that in the middle of training.”
“Like what?” You teased gently, brushing her hand as you took the bottle back. “That you’re pretty?” Her blush deepened. “Exactly that.”
You chuckled, a soft, genuine sound. “Can’t help it. You’re my girl.”
She exhaled, eyes fluttering shut for a heartbeat before she forced herself to look away. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” She muttered, but there was no bite to it. Just affection and that helpless smile she only ever gave you.
The dressing room buzzed with post-match energy. Laughter echoing off the walls, the sound of boots dropping and the faint hum of music from someone’s phone. Barcelona had just sealed another win and spirits were high.
Cata was halfway through an off-key victory song while Mapi argued over who had the best assist. Alexia was perched on the edge of a bench, grinning like a proud older sister, towel draped loosely around her shoulders, but not being as excited as the younger players anymore.
And in the middle of it all sat Patri. Calm, confident, perfectly composed. At least on the outside.
You slipped down onto the bench beside her, close enough that your knees brushed. Her hair was still damp from the shower, little curls clinging to her temples. She looked tired but radiant, that steady fire in her eyes still flickering from the match.
You leaned in slightly, your voice low enough that it melted into the background noise.
You were incredible out there, my girl. Controlled every inch of the pitch like it belonged to you. You have no idea how proud I am.”
Patri froze. Her hands, busy fiddling with the edge of her towel, stilled completely.
Her head ducked immediately, eyes dropping to her lap as a slow blush crept up her neck. She tried to hide it. Brushing her hair forward, pretending to dig in her bag, but it was useless. The red was unmistakable, blooming across her cheeks.
You didn’t say anything else. You just watched her with that quiet kind of admiration that always seemed to undo her. Eyes soft, a small, knowing smile playing at your lips. Even if to her it might feel like teasing you loved seeing her like this, all soft and blushy in a way only you could get her to.
Cata glanced over and frowned. “Why’s Patri hiding her face like that?”
Mapi leaned in and announced, grinning. “Probably plotting how to boss us around even more next match.”
Patri’s reply came out too fast and way too high-pitched. “I’m not hiding! I just… ’m tired, that’s all.”
You bit back a laugh and reached out, brushing your fingers briefly against her knee. Patri glanced up and caught your gaze. That was all it took, she melted. Her shoulders relaxed and a tiny, secret smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
No one else noticed. To everyone else, it looked like Patri was just catching her breath after a long match. But you saw it. That softness she saved for you alone.
The team breakfast was its usual chaos. Mapi was complaining about the eggs being “off.” Aitana was scrolling through her phone with one eye open and Cata was already on her second plate of pancakes. The air was full of chatter and the low clatter of cutlery against plates.
Patri sat across from you. Her hoodie pulled over her head, chin propped on one hand. Her eyes were half-lidded, hair still damp from the shower she’d barely been awake for. Even exhausted, she looked beautiful, though she’d never believe it if you told her.
You smiled softly and reached for the toast in front of her. “Here.” You murmured, taking her plate. “You look like you can barely function.”
“I can.” She mumbled, but she didn’t stop you. “Just… give me a minute.”
You buttered her toast slowly, spreading the butter to the very edges, then added the drizzle of honey she liked. You pushed the plate back toward her with a little grin.
“There. You can be my sleepy princess today.”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “What did you just call me?”
You leaned your elbow on the table. Your chin resting in your hand, smiling at her like it was the most normal thing in the world. “My sleepy princess. You’re allowed to have a slow morning once in a while.”
Patri blinked rapidly. The faint red of the blood rushing to her cheeks was blooming across her face. “You can’t just…” She gestured helplessly, words failing her. “Not in front of everyone.”
“Not in front of everyone what?” Mapi said, instantly suspicious. “Nothing,” Patri blurted a little too fast.
Aitana snorted. “You’re so red. Did you spill the coffee on yourself or what?”
Patri glared. “I’m just warm.”
You hid your smile behind your mug, pretending not to notice the way she fidgeted with her spoon or avoided everyone’s gaze.
After a few seconds, you slid her toast a little closer again. “Eat.” You whispered, voice gentle. “You’ll feel better.”
Patri sighed, picking it up. Her hand brushed yours for a moment. The touch was soft, warm but didn't linger for more than a few seconds and you saw the tiniest smile tug at her lips. She ducked her head again, biting into the toast just to have something to do with her mouth.
Alexia, sitting two seats over, glanced up briefly. “Everything okay over there?”
“Perfect.” You said lightly, never taking your eyes off Patri.
The final whistle blew across the stadium, the roar of the crowd echoing like thunder. Barcelona had won, but while the team celebrated, one pair of eyes told a different story.
Patri’s movements were slightly off, her usual smooth stride replaced by a faint limp. You saw it immediately. Every step made her jaw tighten, though she masked it with her usual composure. She was barking orders, clapping teammates on the back. Nobody else seemed to notice or maybe they simply believed her usual “I’m fine” act.
She waved off the physios, waved off Alexia’s concerned glance, waved off yours most of all. “It’s just a knock.” She muttered. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
You didn’t argue. Not here, not with the cameras and the crowd still watching. But your chest ached as she forced herself through the post-match routine, that proud little tilt of her chin betraying the effort it took to keep it steady.
The moment the team stepped into the locker room and the door clicked shut behind you all, the air changed. The noise of victory faded, replaced by the quiet buzz of showers running, laughter echoing, the sound of boots being kicked off.
And then came the sound that broke your heart. A soft, choked whimper from the bench.
Patri sat there, still in half her kit as she was trying to untie her boot. Her fingers shook and the laces refusing to cooperate, her ankle looked so swollen. When she finally yanked too hard and hissed in pain, you were already kneeling in front of her.
“Hey, hey?” You whispered, touching her knee gently. “Let me help.”
She didn’t even try to argue this time. Her hands dropped to her sides, shoulders trembling. You carefully slid the boot off and saw the swelling and bruising already blooming around her ankle. “Oh, Patri…” You breathed.
Her eyes met yours for half a second and then the dam broke.
She launched herself into your arms so fast you almost fell back. The impact was all warmth and shaking and muffled sobs against your chest. Her fingers curled into the back of your shirt as she buried her face in your shoulder. The entire room went silent.
You didn’t hesitate. You wrapped your arms around her. One hand at the back of her neck, the other was rubbing slow steady circles into her back. “Shh.” You murmured softly, lips near her temple. “You’re okay, my love. It’s over now.”
“I tried.” She whispered between uneven breaths. “I tried to keep it together, but it hurts so much, and I didn’t want to look weak…”
“You’re not weak.” You said firmly, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You’re one of the strongest people I know. But even strong people need a place to fall, especially when they get hurt like this.”
Her lip trembled and she collapsed against you again, hiding in your chest like the world outside didn’t exist. You could feel her heartbeat racing under your palm, her breath still catching in hiccups.
Across the room, the team looked frozen. Wide-eyed, confused glances were exchanged not sure whether to speak or stay silent.
“Is… she crying?” Cata whispered, her voice barely audible.
Aitana, caught between concern and disbelief, murmured. “I didn’t even know she could cry.”
Mapi crossed her arms, trying to play it cool, but her eyes were soft. “Well, damn.”
Then Alexia exhaled, quiet but certain. “We all know it’s a lot of pressure?” She said, keeping her tone calm. “It’s good she has someone she can let go with. Everyone needs that. Now don't stare at her.”
Her words settled the room. The tension melted away, replaced by something gentler. A common understanding and gentle care for each other.
You brushed your hand along Patri’s hair, whispering against the top of her head. “We’ll get that ankle looked at and then we’ll go home, okay? We can take a bath together, watch that silly sitcom you love, and snuggle until you fall asleep. You don’t have to be tough anymore today, baby. Not with me.”
Patri let out a shaky laugh, the sound damp and quiet. “You always say the right thing.” She murmured, voice still thick with tears.
“That’s because I love you.” You said simply.
Her hands clutched your shirt tighter. “Promise you won’t let go yet?”
You smiled into her hair. “Not a chance.”
Behind you, Mapi whispered as she held Ingrid close. “That’s… really cute.”
Cata nodded slowly. “Didn’t think Patri had it in her.”
Aitana gave them both a look. “Don’t ruin it.”
Patri didn’t even hear them. She just leaned into you. Breathing your scent in, letting every bit of tension drain from her body.
You stroked her hair one last time, whispering, “Come on, princesa. Let’s get you home.”
summary: you go absolutely wild for the photo of Patri in glasses.
warnings: oral sex (r receiving) face riding, cursing, Patri in glasses
word count: 1.3K
It’s rough and unedited, but please enjoy my spiral of seeing Patri in glasses 🩵
It was a single photo.
A single picture was all it took for you to unravel entirely.
A picture of your girlfriend, Patri.
In glasses.
In the elevator with Clara, Vicky and Kika.
Yet all you noticed was Patri and all of the unholy thoughts that filtered through your brain.
Not to mention the way her hand showed and the way she gripped the key card.
You went absolutely feral.
You lost all ability to think of anything else but the need to have her under you. Her face between your legs wearing those fucking glasses.
You were in agony.
A horny agony, one you needed her to take care of the second she got home.
Literally the second she got home.
***
You were anxiously waiting for her now, the clock getting closer and closer to when she said she would be home.
You: baby, are you home soon?
The message turned to read immediately. A blessing of having a chronically online girlfriend.
The texts came in quick.
Patri 🩵: I’ll be home in 10, is there something wrong?
You: I just miss you that’s all ❤️
Technically, that wasn’t a lie, you had missed her.
But you’d missed her mouth on you even more.
Finally, after what felt like ages. The front door opened and Patri came inside.
Bag dropped on the floor, the shoes kicked off and her jacket hung. Her keys clattered in the small bowl beside the front door.
“Guapa?” She called and you grinned, rushing over to her.
“You’re home!” You leapt into her arms, legs locked securely around her waist, face buried in her neck as she held you tightly, pressing kisses everywhere she could reach.
“I’ve missed you so much,” She breathed and you positively melted, pulling back just enough to kiss her. Hotly and desperately.
It was a sweet enough kiss at first, but it quickly turned needy when Patri pushed her tongue along the seam of your lips, deepening it.
“Bedroom,” you mumbled in between kisses, holding onto her tighter when she started walking blindly to your bedroom. Her grip on your ass tightened and you sighed contentedly, rubbing against her front.
“Fuck I need you,” you breathed, falling onto the bed flat on your back, pulling Patri with you. One by one, pieces of clothes came off until you were left naked and throbbing. Hands roaming Patri’s body whilst her lips moved along your neck, sucking bruises into the soft skin there.
Your pulse jumped when her teeth grazed the sensitive spot there.
“Patri,” you arched your back, tugging on her hair to keep her close. To feel the weight on her on you for as long as possible.
“Yeah guapa?” A sharp cry fell from your lips when she fondled your tits and you had to squeeze your thighs together when she began teasing and tugging on your nipples.
“I– oh god, fuck, I need your mouth, I need to sit on your face,” you were fighting a losing battle with the way her hands were toying with you.
She stopped.
You whined.
“Sit on my face?” The hunger in her eyes was unmistakable and you felt your stomach clench.
“Please,”
A wicked smirk formed on her face as she rolled off you and laid down on the bed, eyes never leaving yours.
She was just about to remove her glasses when your hand shot out to stop her.
“Don’t you dare.”
Her eyes lit up with recognition, “You want to ride my face– because I’m wearing glasses?”
Your cheeks burned at being caught red-handed. “Yes,” your voice full of confidence you didn’t know you possessed at this moment in time.
She laughed throatily and the noise alone sent shivers racing up your spine.
“Come take a seat then,” she guided you onto her face and you held your breath once you got situated.
Your thighs on either side of her face, straddling her face seeing the hunger and the excitement that shone in her eyes. You held your breath glancing down at her. Those thick black-rimmed glasses that were slightly too big for her face, that had kept slipping down the bridge of her nose making her push them up over and over.
So hot, and the fact that she was right between your legs? It made you want to memorialise this moment forever by snapping a picture.
Vaguely, very distantly, you knew exactly how stupid that was, but the thought was enough that you were dripping onto her face.
“Smell so good,” she hummed and before you had the chance to respond, her tongue darted out.
Wet, warm and so filthy in the best way possible as she licked into you.
One hand gripped the headboard for leverage, the other ran through her hair to have something to hold onto whilst Patri’s hands landed securely on your ass, keeping them there to help rock and move your pussy over her lips.
Your head lolled back as Patri kept fucking her tongue in and out of you.
“Patri! Fuck!” You cursed, tensing up as her tongue dove deep, stimulating you from within in such a way that had the hair at the back of your neck stand.
“Mmhm, taste so fucking sweet,” she moaned, slightly muffled by your weight. Nothing was going to deter her now though.
“Right there! Fuck yes!” You whimpered, grinding your hips harder onto her face, as the noise of your wet pussy and moans filled the room. An especially loud moan ripped from the back of your throat when her lips created the perfect seal and suction on your clit that had you climbing high in matter of seconds.
“I– don’t stop! Don’t you fucking stop!” Your voice came out frantic and with a slight, desperate edge to it, feeling your orgasm build and chasing it.
“There you go, fuck yes, you look so pretty for me,” she coaxed, knowing your body better than her own by now.
She knew you like the back of her hand, so she sucked just a little harder on your pulsating clit, only to feel the tremor in your thighs.
“Come on guapa, come for me,” she moaned and the vibrations of it sent you off.
Your hips stuttered, a wrecked moan fell from your parted lips as your body trembled, but Patri kept going. She wouldn’t stop until you had to physically remove yourself from her.
This was the best thing she knew, eating you out.
“S-stop,” you protested weakly, feeling the oversensitivity hit and you mewled at the harsh suck before she removed her lips, but not before pressing a kiss against your swollen clit.
It melted you.
With shaking legs, you got off her and snuggled into her, curling up at her sides only to feel her wrap her arms around you securely.
This time, you took a moment to fully look at her.
Face shiny with your slick, her glasses crooked and foggy from eating you out. But the smile on her face said it all.
“That’s not a bad way to come home,” She smirked cockily. It made you want to slap her and kiss her at the same time.
“I don’t think you realise just how fully affected I’ve been since Kika posted that picture of you in those glasses,”
Patri turned to look at you now, amusement shining in her eyes. “I think I very much do, or did you miss what we just did?”
You snorted, “You can never take them off now, I refuse it.”
She just lifted an eyebrow, “Even in my sleep?”
You relinquished, “Okay, you can take them off for sleeping,”
She hummed, “What about when I play football?”
“Fine, then too. But at home you’re not allowed to take them off,”
“You’ll have to pry them off of my corpse if it means I get to do this every time I wear them,” she winked.
The first thing you say is "Sorry," but it isn't actually about being late.
Author's Note: Inspired by "Sorry in Advance" by Marielle Kraft. Not a lyric fic—just a story that grew from the feeling of the song. If you haven't heard it before I would suggest giving it a listen.
You’re late. Which is almost impressive considering this was your idea. Patri checks her watch for what might be the fifth time and immediately tells herself to stop. This isn’t training. There’s no schedule to keep. No one’s counting reps or minutes or efficiency. She agreed to this knowing that.
She just didn’t expect to be standing outside a closed ceramics studio on a Thursday night, hands tucked into her jacket pockets, wondering how she ended up saying yes to a first date that involved clay and an instructor named Marta who had definitely looked at her funny when she asked if five minutes last was still late.
You’d pitched it like it was nothing. It’s kind of random, you’d said. But it’s fun and low pressure. Worst case, we make something ugly and laugh about it.
Patri doesn’t usually do random on first dates. She does coffee, maybe dinner. Something contained that she can leave easily if it doesn’t feel right. This had felt different, not risky — just unfamiliar. She’s surprised herself by agreeing without overthinking it. Honestly, she’s still surprised.
“Sorry.” Your voice cuts through her thoughts as you jog up the sidewalk, breathless and smiling like you’re not even slightly ashamed. You slow when you reach her, hands braced on your knees for half a second.
“I know. I know,” you say quickly. “Five minutes late is basically on time for me, but I swear it wasn’t intentional. I ran into – actually, no, that’s a lie. I lost track of time.”
Patri watches you with the same focus she used on the pitch, cataloguing details without meaning to: the flushed cheeks, the way you talk with your hands even when you’re apologizing, the complete absence of nerves.
“It’s fine,” she says automatically.
You straighten, grinning like you don’t quite believe her but accept it anyway. “You say that like you mean it.
“I do,” Patri says. Realizing a beat later that she does.
The class ends up being exactly what you promised — messy, unstructured. Marta corrects your hands twice and gives up. You laugh too loudly when your bowl collapses in on itself and insist it has character. Patri’s hands are steady and precise, but she doesn’t mind when you bump her elbow or smear clay where it doesn’t belong.
It’s not what she would’ve chosen, but it’s exactly what she didn’t know she needed.
By the time you’re heading back to your place, shoes dusted and fingers still smelling faintly like wet earth, Patri realizes something else — she hasn’t checked her phone once. Not for messages, time nor an exit.
First date. No backup plan, No urge to leave early. That alone feels new.
You talk the entire way, jumping between stories like you’re tracing constellations only you can see. Names she doesn’t recognize. People she hasn’t met. You don’t pause to explain any of it. You don’t check to see if she’s following. You just assume she will. And she does. You only stop talking when you both reach your front door.
“Well,” you say, glancing at the door, then back at her. “For a first date, that went…shockingly well.”
Patri huffs a quiet laugh. “Is that your professional assessment?”
“I don’t usually pick something like that for a first date,” you admit. “And I definitely don’t usually rul late to my own ideas. So year, I’d call it a win.”
That catches her off guard — not because it surprises her, but because it mirrors something she hasn’t said out loud.
“Yeah,” Patri says. “Same.”
You tilt your head, curious but not pushing. “Yeah?”
“Yeah”
You smile like that answers more than one question and the thought comes to her uninvited, unfiltered; settling low and certain in her chest. You are going to quietly ruin the way I’ve been doing life. Patri doesn’t know yet whether it’s a warning or an observation.
You hesitate at the door, keys already in your hand like you’re deciding something. Patri stays where she is, giving you space she doesn’t feel particularly good about offering.
“I had a really good time,” you say. Causal. Honest. “Which is not something I say lightly on a first date.”
There’s a pause — not awkward, not searching. Just quiet. The kind that stretches because neither of you rushes to fill it. She’s already aware of it, the unspoken rule you both seem to share. No rushing. No first-date kisses. Too much weight too soon, usually. Too many expectations wrapped up in something that should still be light. So when you step closer, it takes her a second to register it. Not because it’s sudden — because it’s deliberate.
Your hand brushes her arm as you lean in, warm through the fabric of her jacket, grounding in a way that makes her chest tighten. The kiss itself is soft and brief, more certain than urgent, like you’re checking something rather than claiming it. Your lips fit easily against hers, familiar in a way that makes absolutely no sense.
For a heartbeat, she forgets to think. She just feels — the warmth, the steadiness, the quiet rightness of it — and then it’s over. You pull back first, just far enough to give her space again.
You pull back just enough to look at her, eyes bright, words tumbling out before you stop them. “Wow,” you say, half-laughing. “Okay, cool, so that’s either the last first kiss I ever have or I’ve officially ruined my own rules.”
The sentence lands crooked. Unpolished. Honest in a way you probably didn’t mean to be.
You blink like you’ve just heard yourself. “Sorry,” you say immediately, smiling like you’re half-expecting her to call you out. “I don’t usually —”
“It’s okay,” Patri cuts in, quicker than she means to. She clears her throat, grounding herself. “I don’t usually either.”
Your smile softens at that, something quieter settling in behind it. “Good.” The word lands heavier than it should. You step back then, easy and unbothered, like the kiss didn’t demand anything further from either of you. Like it was just something that happened — something allowed.
“Text me when you get home,” you say, already opening the door.
“I will,” Patri says, even though she usually hates being told that.
You give her one last smile — bright, familiar, entirely yourself —and disappear inside, the door closing softly behind you. Patri stands there for a moment longer than necessary, pulse steady but mind loud, replaying the exact shape of the kiss like it might change if she thinks about it hard enough. It doesn’t.
Patri doesn’t make it out of the neighborhood before her phone rings. She glances at the screen and exhales a quiet laugh when she sees Alexia’s name. Of course, like she’s been summoned.
She considers letting it ring for half a second then answers.
“Hola,” Patri answers, pulling out of the neighborhood.
“Well?” Alexia says immediately. “How did it go?”
Patri opens her mouth to answer and nothing coherent comes out. “It was —” She exhales, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “I don’t know. Fine. Not fine. It was a first date.”
Alexia hums. “That’s a lot of qualifiers.”
Patri snorts despite herself. “I’m driving. I can’t — I keep replaying it.”
“That sounds promising.”
“It’s not,” Patri says quickly. “I mean — it shouldn’t be. It was just one night.”
“And yet,” Alexia prompts.
Patri turns the radio on without thinking. Music fills the car too loudly and she immediately turns it back down again, the quiet rushing in like its been waiting for her. “I can’t stop thinking about stupid things,” she admits. “Not even the kiss. The way she laughed. The way she didn’t hesitate about anything. She picked the date, ran late to her own idea, and somehow that didn’t bother me at all.”
Alexia laughs. “That alone is concerning.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” Patri replies. “I keep telling myself this is ridiculous. I know how first dates go. I know how to keep things contained.”
“And yet,” Alexia says again, smiling into the word.
“And yet my chest feels…busy,” Patri says, the words slipping out before she can stop it. “Not tight. Just — full. Like something moved in without asking.”
There’s a pause on the line. Not judgemental. Interested.
“She kissed me,” Patri adds. “Which I don’t do. Not on first dates.”
Alexia’s tone softens. “And?”
“And it wasn’t dramatic,” Patri responds. “That’s what’s messing with me. It was soft. Brief. And then she stepped back like she trusted me not to disappear.” She shakes her head even though Alexia can’t see it. “I turned the radio on. Turned it off. I said out loud that this was ridiculous.”
“And did that help?”
“No,” Patri admits. “It made it worse.”
Alexia chuckles. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You absolutely are spiraling,” Alexia says fondly. “You never talk like this.”
Patri falls quiet at that, the city slipping past her in blurred shapes. “She texted me,” Patri says after a moment. “Said she made it inside. Said she’s blaming me if she can’t sleep.”
“And?”
“And I smiled. I don’t do that either.”
Alexia doesn’t hate this time. “She’s bringing chaos into your life.”
Patri grimaces. “That’s not —”
“In the best way,” Alexia finishes. “You sound alive, P.”
The words land heavier than they should.
“I keep thinking she’s going to ruin the way I’ve been doing life,” Patri says quietly. “Like everything is about to get rearranged and I didn’t agree to it.”
Alexia’s voice gentles. “Did you pull away?”
“No.”
“Did you want to?”
Patri exhales, long and steady. “Not even a little.”
Alexia smiles — Patri can hear it. “Then maybe it’s not ruining anything.”
Patri stays in the car longer than she needs to. The engine is off now, the quiet settling around her in a way that feels heavier than it should. Her phone rests face-down in her lap, Alexia’s words still echoing faintly in her head. You sound alive.
She exhales slowly, staring out through the windshield at nothing in particular. The is usually the part where she regains control. Where she files the night away, categorizes it, decides what it means later — when it’s quieter, safer, contained.
This isn’t happening. Instead, the moments keep resurfacing out of order Your laugh. The way you didn’t linger. The kiss that didn’t ask. The chaos you brought with you without even trying. And then your voice again, too fast and half-laughing, like you hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all. Okay, cool, so that’s either the last first kiss I ever have or I’ve officially ruined my own rules.
Patri’s mouth curves despite herself. She’s spent so long living by rules she didn’t remember agreeing to — first dates that stay light, feelings that stay contained, a life that stays ordered enough to manage. She thinks, suddenly, that there may not be rules anymore. Or maybe there never were.
The realization doesn’t send her into panic. It doesn’t even feel like loss. I feels like possibility.
Her phone buzzes softly in her hand, the vibration gentle enough that it feels more like a reminder than an interruption. She looks down.
You
Just making sure you got home okay.
Something in her chest loosens at the simplicity of it — the lack of urgency, the absence of expectation. She types back before she can think better of it.
Patri
I did. Thank you.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Then appear again.
You
Good. Sleep well.
Patri smiles, small and private, and sets the phone face-down again. You are going to quietly ruin the way I’ve been doing life. She lets her head fall back against the seat, eyes closing for just a second. She doesn’t reach for her phone. She doesn’t make a plan. She doesn’t try to get ahead of it.
For the first time, she lets the feeling exist without containment. And somewhere beneath the anticipation, there’s something steadier beginning to take shape. Not fear. Not urgency. Just the quiet understanding that whatever comes next, she doesn’t want to put away.
She picked up her phone one more time, smiling to herself as her thumbs hovered over the screen.
Patri
Maybe some rules are worth breaking.
Sweet dreams.
She watched the message sent before slipping her phone into her pocket and stepping out of the car, walking inside with a smile on her face.
Summary: Patri's love language might be slightly bullying the person she loves.
It started like most of their mornings; sun on the training pitch, the hum of laughter, and Patri Guijarro finding yet another excuse to make Y/N blush before breakfast.
“Y/N, your laces,” Patri called across the field, grinning. “You planning to trip today or just keeping it for special occasions?”
Y/N groaned but knelt to fix them anyway. “You’d miss it if I stopped giving you material to tease me with.”
Patri tilted her head, that familiar mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, absolutely. Watching you get flustered is the highlight of my day.”
Alexia, passing by with her water bottle, muttered, “You two are ridiculous,” but she was smiling. Everyone on the team was used to it by now, Patri’s relentless teasing and Y/N’s half-hearted protests. It had become a sort of daily performance that neither seemed eager to end.
What no one knew, or so she thought, was that Patri’s jokes hid something real.
Every smirk, every sarcastic comment, every nudge during drills, all of it was her way of covering how fast her heart raced whenever Y/N smiled back at her.
After practice, Y/N lingered to work on her finishing. She’d been missing easy chances lately, and it frustrated her more than she liked to admit.
Patri stayed behind too, stretching near the goalpost. She watched quietly as Y/N lined up another shot, her brow furrowed in concentration. The ball flew over the bar.
Patri whistled. “You aiming for the moon or the net?”
Y/N turned, sweat glinting on her forehead. “You’re hilarious.”
“Thank you,” Patri said easily, walking closer. “Want help?”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.” She plucked another ball off the ground and set it down. “Try again. But this time—” she stepped up behind Y/N, gently touching her elbow, “—don’t lean too far back when you strike.”
Y/N froze. Patri was close enough that she could feel her breath against her neck. For a moment, all she could think about was how warm Patri’s hand was through her sleeve.
She cleared her throat and nodded. “Right. Don’t lean back too much.”
Patri stepped away, biting back a grin. “Exactly. Unless you want to send it to Madrid.”
Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re insufferable.”
“Your favourite quality about me,” Patri shot back.
Y/N didn’t deny it.
She took the shot again, this time, clean and low into the corner. Patri clapped once, genuine and proud. “See? Knew you could do it.”
Y/N turned to her, smiling despite herself. “Maybe you’re useful after all.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Patri said, mock-serious. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
They shared a laugh, the kind that comes easy, the kind that lingers.
By now, teasing Y/N had become part of Patri’s daily routine; as natural as lacing her boots or jogging warm-up laps.
She told herself it was harmless fun. She definitely didn’t tease Y/N because her laugh made her stomach flip, or because watching her blush was better than scoring a goal.
Definitely not.
“Y/N!” Patri’s voice carried across the pitch. “If you take any longer with those laces, training’ll be over!”
Y/N glanced up from where she was kneeling by the cones, already glaring. “I’m making sure they’re tight so I don’t fall this time.”
“Aw, I’ll catch you if you do,” Patri called back with a grin.
A few teammates snorted. Y/N tried to hide her smile, tugging on her laces harder than necessary. “You’re impossible.”
Patri jogged past, voice dropping just enough for only Y/N to hear. “You secretly like it.”
The way Y/N’s cheeks turned pink was almost too easy. Patri bit back a laugh and jogged off before she could respond.
“Alright, girls, five-a-side!”
The coach’s whistle cut through the morning air, and instantly the pitch was filled with chatter and shuffling boots. Patri stretched her shoulders, eyes already flicking toward Y/N on the opposite team.
Game on.
Patri lived for this kind of thing; high energy, quick touches, little battles that had nothing to do with points and everything to do with pride. Especially when it involved teasing her.
As soon as the scrimmage started, Patri drifted close enough to make sure Y/N never forgot she was there.
“Careful, estrella,” she called as Y/N received a pass. “Don’t mess up in front of your biggest fan.”
Y/N turned, shielding the ball, trying to hide her grin. “You? My fan? Please.”
“Oh, I am,” Patri said, poking at the ball, forcing Y/N to spin away. “I just show my support by stealing possession.”
“Very supportive,” Y/N said, flicking the ball past her.
Patri jogged backward, smirking. “You like it.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. That was the problem.
The game picked up intensity, laughter mixing with competitive shouts. Every time Y/N got near the goal, Patri was right there, pressing, crowding her space, muttering little things that got under her skin.
“Left foot, Y/N... show me that ‘perfect technique’ you bragged about.”
“Don’t miss, no pressure.”
“Need me to take the shot for you?”
“Need me to shut you up?”
“Oh,” Patri grinned, “please try.”
And she did.
When the next pass came her way, Y/N feinted one direction and burst the other, leaving Patri half a step behind. One touch, two... and then, before anyone could blink, she rifled the ball into the top corner.
The net rippled. Aitana whistled.
Patri froze for half a heartbeat, mouth open.
Then she clapped slowly, dramatically. “Okay, estrella. I see you.”
Y/N turned, breathless but smug. “Told you I didn’t need your help.”
“Maybe not,” Patri said, walking over, “but that celebration could use work.”
Y/N laughed. “You want me to bow or something?”
“No, just—” Patri stepped close, her tone dipping low, teasing and soft all at once. “Maybe point to me next time. You know, for inspiration.”
Y/N smirked. “Oh, right. Because that goal was all you.”
“Obviously,” Patri said, bumping her shoulder lightly. “You’re welcome.”
Y/N nudged her back. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, still your favourite.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“I don’t need to,” Patri said, voice warm, eyes glinting. “You're looking at me right now like I’m right.”
Y/N blinked, the words hitting closer than they should. Patri’s grin didn’t waver, but there was something softer under it now, something that made Y/N’s heartbeat jump.
Thankfully, the coach’s whistle blew again, breaking the moment.
After practice, Patri lingered in the locker room longer than usual, pretending to stretch. In reality, she was waiting for Y/N to finish showering.
When Y/N finally emerged, towelling her hair, Patri smirked. “So, what did we learn today?”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “That you talk too much.”
“That teasing improves performance,” Patri corrected, leaning against the locker with exaggerated confidence.
“Oh really?”
“Mhmm. You scored your best goal right after I made fun of you.”
Y/N laughed. “So now you’re taking credit for my training?”
“Obviously.” Patri flashed a grin. “I’m basically your secret weapon.”
Y/N shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. “You’re something, that’s for sure.”
Before Patri could reply, Aitana’s voice cut in from across the room: “Hey, Guijarro! You planning to flirt all day, or are you coming to recovery?”
Patri shot her a look. “It’s called banter, Bonmatí. Look it up.”
Aitana smirked. “Sure. ‘Banter.’ Right.”
Y/N’s face was red again, which made Patri’s grin widen.
Before training the next day, the locker room was filled with the usual chaos; Mapi blasting music, Alexia pretending to ignore everyone, and Aitana scrolling through TikTok.
Y/N sat on the bench, tugging her jersey over her head, chatting easily with Bruna. Patri caught herself watching again, eyes softening before she looked away.
“Okay, that’s it,” Mapi announced suddenly, tossing her phone onto the bench. “Guijarro, we need to talk.”
Patri blinked. “About?”
“You. And your little crush.”
The room went quiet. The locker room quickly started to empty, players starting to head out and warm up, a few remained.
Patri froze. “What crush?”
Aitana didn’t even look up from her phone. “On Y/N.”
“I... what? No!” Patri stammered, voice an octave too high. “I don’t... that's- that’s ridiculous.”
Alexia sighed, shutting her locker. “Patri, we’re not blind. You act like a schoolgirl around her.”
“I do not!”
“Really?” Aitana said, finally glancing up. “Who spent twenty minutes helping her ‘perfect her corner kicks’ yesterday, even though the coach already told her she was fine?”
“That’s called teamwork,” Patri protested.
“Who gave her your hoodie last week when it wasn’t even cold?” Mapi added.
“She looked slightly chilly!”
Alexia crossed her arms. “And who nearly tackled Ona when she said Y/N was cute?”
Patri opened her mouth, then closed it again. “That was a misunderstanding.”
“Sure it was,” Aitana said dryly.
The others burst out laughing, and Patri slumped against the locker. “You’re all insufferable.”
Mapi grinned. “Maybe. But you’re worse. You’re clueless.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have no idea she likes you back.”
Patri blinked. “She doesn’t.”
“Patri,” Alexia said gently, “have you seen the way she looks at you?”
“No?” Patri said, genuinely confused.
Aitana rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, this woman is hopeless.”
Mapi sighed dramatically. “Alright, fine. We’ll spell it out. Y/N likes you. She’s just too shy to say it because you spend every day teasing her into oblivion.”
Patri’s brain short-circuited. “She... she likes me?”
Alexia shrugged. “Pretty sure everyone except you figured that out weeks ago.”
Patri sat there, stunned. The teasing, the blushes, the way Y/N always lingered to talk after practice... she’d thought it was just… Y/N being Y/N. Everyone reacts like that to being teased, right?
Now, the memory of every smile, every shared laugh, hit her differently.
“Wow,” she muttered softly. “I’m an idiot.”
“Welcome to the club,” Mapi said cheerfully. “Now go tell her before she starts thinking you’re just messing with her for fun.”
Patri ran a hand through her hair, flustered. “What if you’re wrong?”
Aitana smirked. “We’re never wrong.”
Later that training session, Patri found Y/N sitting on the edge of the pitch, tying her boots... again.
Some habits never died.
“Hey,” Patri said, walking up. “You training for a world record in shoe-tying?”
Y/N looked up and smiled. “You’d miss it if I stopped.”
Patri laughed, sitting beside her. “You might be right.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The late sunlight stretched long shadows across the grass.
“You were pretty quiet in the locker room,” Y/N said after a beat. “Mapi didn’t get to you, did she?”
Patri blinked. “Why would you say that?”
“She was teasing you about something earlier.” Y/N smiled. “You get that exact same face when you’re pretending you’re not embarrassed.”
Patri chuckled. “You know me too well.”
“Kind of hard not to,” Y/N said softly.
The words made Patri’s heart skip. She turned to look at her. “Yeah?”
Y/N shrugged, fiddling with her laces. “You’re not exactly subtle, Guijarro.”
Patri’s breath caught, half panic and half awe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Y/N said quickly, cheeks pink. “Just… everyone knows you love teasing me.”
Patri hesitated, watching her. “What if I told you it’s not just teasing?”
Y/N blinked, eyes darting up. “What?”
Patri swallowed hard. “Mapi says I’m clueless, and maybe she’s right. I didn’t realise until today how obvious I am.”
“Obvious about what?”
Patri exhaled slowly. “That I like you.”
Silence. Then Y/N laughed nervously. “You’re joking.”
Patri smiled faintly. “For once, I’m not.”
Y/N stared at her, then smiled, slow and bright. “You really are clueless.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve liked you for months,” Y/N said. “Everyone knew that too.”
Patri blinked. “Wait... what?”
Y/N nodded, laughing. “Aitana told me to tell you ages ago, but I thought you just enjoyed torturing me and you wouldn't like me back.”
Patri groaned. “Oh my god. We’re both idiots.”
“Completely,” Y/N agreed.
They sat there for a moment, the tension dissolving into quiet laughter.
Patri finally leaned over, bumping Y/N’s shoulder. “So… what now?”
Y/N smiled. “You could start by not teasing me all the time.”
Patri grinned. “No promises.”
Y/N laughed. “Figures.”
Patri looked at her and for the first time, didn’t hide behind jokes or smirks. “But maybe I’ll balance it out with some compliments.”
“Oh?” Y/N said, teasing now. “Like what?”
Patri’s voice softened. “Like how you’re the reason training feels like the best part of my day.”
Y/N’s smile faltered for a heartbeat, not from doubt but from the weight of it. “You’re really bad at this whole pretending-you-don’t-like-me thing.”
Patri chuckled. “Guess I don’t have to anymore.”
And when Y/N reached for her hand, just a small, quiet gesture, Patri squeezed it gently, her grin returning.
“Finally,” she said with a laugh. “Now I can tease you for real.”
texts with your best friend Patri, who you may or may not have a crush on ⋆˚꩜｡ tags: bff!Patri, teammates, fluff and some angst
a/n: i felt bad with leaving u guys upset over the last part of 2hands that i posted so i whipped something quick real fast! since patri won my last poll, i decided to make something short and cute. just a little christmas gift to all my lovely followers. thank you for all ur support! pls stay tuned for my next fics ♡
Summary: Three years after being betrayed by her former captain and abandoning football, YN works as a sports journalist, keeping everyone at arm's length behind professional walls. When Barcelona midfielder Patri Guijarro shows genuine interest in getting to know her—and somehow remembers exactly who YN used to be—those carefully constructed barriers begin to feel less secure. Patri's warmth and persistence challenge everything YN thought she knew about trust, while YN's guarded heart poses the greatest challenge Patri has ever faced. Can Patri's unwavering softness break through three years of protective ice?
Chapter 1: The Wall
The rain hammered against the windows of the small sports journalism office in Barcelona, each droplet echoing the rhythm of YN's fingers against her keyboard. She'd grown to love the sound—it drowned out everything else, including her own thoughts.
"YN, you've got the post-match interview with the Barcelona Femení squad," her editor called across the cramped office. "Stadium's expecting you in an hour."
She nodded without looking up, saving her article about La Liga's rising stars. Three years of keeping her head down, doing her job, staying invisible. Three years of watching the sport she once lived for from behind a camera and a press badge.
The Estadi Johan Cruyff buzzed with post-victory energy. Barcelona had just demolished Real Madrid 4-0, and the players were still riding high. YN adjusted her recorder and notepad, falling into the familiar rhythm of professional detachment she'd perfected.
"YN! Over here!"
She turned toward the voice, her practiced smile already in place, only to feel it falter slightly. Patri Guijarro was waving her over with an enthusiasm that seemed to radiate from every fiber of her being. The midfielder's hair was still damp with sweat, her face flushed with victory, and she was looking at YN like she was the most interesting person in the room.
"You're the one from Sport Catalunya, right?" Patri asked, bouncing slightly on her toes. "I loved your piece on youth development programs. Really insightful stuff."
YN blinked. Most players barely acknowledged journalists beyond the mandatory pleasantries. "Thank you. Shall we begin with the match?"
But Patri was still beaming at her, seemingly oblivious to YN's professional distance. "I've been hoping to talk to you for weeks! You ask the good questions, not the usual 'how does it feel to win' nonsense."
"The match," YN repeated, clicking her pen with perhaps more force than necessary. "You scored the opener. Can you walk me through that moment?"
Patri's smile softened, but didn't disappear. "Of course. Sorry, I just—you're different from the other journalists. In a good way."
YN's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. Different. She'd heard that before. Usually right before someone tried to use that difference against her.
"I'm just doing my job," she said coolly, holding up her recorder. "The goal?"
For the next ten minutes, Patri answered every question with thoughtful detail, but YN could feel those warm brown eyes studying her face between responses. It was unnerving. Most people had learned to read her signals by now—the clipped tone, the professional smile that never reached her eyes, the way she kept conversations strictly on topic. But Patri seemed immune to the subtle barriers YN had spent years perfecting.
"One more question," YN said, already closing her notepad. "What are your goals for the rest of the season?"
"To get you to smile," Patri said without missing a beat, then immediately flushed red. "I mean—for the team. Champions League, obviously. But also..." She paused, meeting YN's startled gaze. "I'd like to know what made you stop playing."
The words hit like ice water. YN's pen slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers, clattering to the floor. Around them, the post-match chatter continued, but everything felt muted, distant.
"I don't know what you mean," YN managed, her voice steady despite the way her heart was suddenly pounding.
Patri's expression gentled. "YN Santos. Three years ago you were captain of Athletic Bilbao's reserve team, tipped for the senior squad. Then you just... disappeared. I remember thinking it was strange that someone with your talent would just vanish."
"You remember wrong." YN bent to retrieve her pen, using the moment to rebuild her composure. When she straightened, her professional mask was firmly back in place. "Thank you for your time today."
She turned to leave, but Patri's voice followed her.
"I score goals for a living, YN. I know what it looks like when someone's aiming for an empty net."
YN didn't turn around, didn't acknowledge the words that cut deeper than they should have from someone who was essentially a stranger. She walked through the stadium corridors with measured steps, nodding politely to other journalists and staff, maintaining the perfect facade she'd built.
But Patri's words echoed with each step. Empty net.
As if she didn't know that already. As if she hadn't chosen the emptiness specifically because it was safer than hoping for something that could be taken away.
By the time she reached her car, YN had already decided she'd request to cover different teams. Barcelona Femení was off-limits now. It had to be.
Because Patri Guijarro looked at her like she still believed in something YN had buried three years ago, and that was the most dangerous thing of all.
a dream is a wish your heart makes. or a wish you make for your humble and talented girlfriend / wc: 1492
She can hear you before she sees you, down the hallway and into the living room, your voice traveling through the apartment, getting louder as you walk to find her.
“Patriii, como se dice “psychic” or whatever Raven Baxter was in “That’s So Raven” in Español, because I need to tell you about the dream I just had! Where are you?”
“In the kitchen!”
Patri’s at the blender, putting together a protein shake to end all protein shakes when you come into the room. You’re still in your sleep clothes while Patri is already in her training joggers, but she thinks you look so sweet, rumpled and warm from sleeping in her bed. However this morning, instead of sleep, you have excitement in your eyes. You head right over to her and wrap your arms around her waist, making Patri laugh.
“Hola, amor. Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” you say into her shoulders. You stay attached to your girlfriend as she pours the shake into her travel cup and even when she shifts to rinse the blender in the sink. When you still don’t let go of her, she twists her body in your arms. You hum subconsciously when she wraps her arms around you, pressing a kiss onto your temple.
“Sí? And what was your dream you were screaming about?” she asks. You finally let her go when her question is processed in your brain. Your eyes light up again.
“Oh yeah. I had a dream you won the Ballon D’or!”
Patri scoffs.
“Hey! Don’t scoff! Everyone is talking about it. Even at my job, I overhear your name. This could be your year!”
“To win the Ballon D’or?”
“No, to fly to the moon.” You deadpan.
“Sooo funny.”
“You were nominated last year. And you’re gonna win this year. What - Don’t - You - Get?” you simultaneously tap the side of her head to get the point really across.
Patri shrugs. “I’m just being realistic. There’s a lot great players this year —“
“Including you.”
“Including me, sí, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself.”
You roll your eyes at her humble argument.
“Whatever, I’ll tell Alexia and Aitana about how you are talking and they will straighten you out.”
The two older girls do in fact scold Patri for being negative on herself during training later in the day, you having followed through with your threat.
Months later, you go to the awards as Patri’s plus one. Wearing an extremely silky suit that Patri adored on you, only three buttons and a low cut in the front. Patri’s tailored suit fit her so well you actually bit your fist when she showed off her look to you at your apartment. Patri made sure to wear your favorite perfume of hers and you made sure to thank her immensely in the car ride to the venue.
You follow after Patri as she goes through all the steps as one of the nominees. Carpet pictures with the other girls, the show runners, then she takes a few with the other Barcelona players, followed by the Spanish ones. You shadow her with Olga and the other partners, just off to the side of the cameras but in sight of each other.
After all the formal pictures were taken, Patri gestures towards you, wanting to take a picture with just both of you. You try not to show your nerves in front of the cameras as you walk over to her. You couldn’t see any of the people behind them, the lights creating a blinding barrier.
Patri feels your body tense up when she wraps her arm around you.
“Mi Vida,” she whispers. “It’s okay. breathe for me, please.” You follow her instructions and relax enough to look normal for the cameras and crowd. Olga and alexia are getting photographed together next to you and Olga reaches out to briefly squeeze your hand in comfort once you're done. Patri takes a hold of your other, using it to guide you into the auditorium. You find safety in the other Spanish and Barcelona girls again. As everyone settles into seats, you squeeze Patri’s hand in thanks when she lets you go into the aisle first.
The ceremony flows through all the scripts that award ceremonies always do and soon people in clean black attire comes up and asks all the nominees to sit near the front of the stage.
You press a quick good luck kiss to Patri’s lips and sit back down next to the other nominees’ plus ones. Olga grabs your hand and squeezes it. You don’t even realize that you’re following Patri down to the front of the stage with your eyes until Olga squeezes your hand again.
“Vida, you are more nervous about this than Patri is!” she whispers loudly. You and those nearby laugh because it’s true. Ever since the nominations were announced, you had been so sure that she would win because you had a dream about it. It may seem ridiculously to an outsider but to you, it was like a manifestation. You were so proud of Patri and you wanted everyone to know it. You even posted an Instagram pic of you wearing your Patri shirt, with a link to the official Ballon D’or website treated like a cited source.
You don’t have to grip onto Olga’s hand in anticipation for very long. The Ballon D’or montage is playing on the big screen. You see so many familiar faces flashing by. But you had a physical reaction when Patri’s highlights came on.
The presenters, with bright smiles on their faces, went through the list of nominees. You waited impatiently for the end.
“And the winner of the Ballon D’or is…… Patricia Guijarro Gutierrez.”
You’re up clapping before they finish speaking, everyone around you are also up, giving Patri a standing ovation as she climbs the steps and accepts the Ballon trophy. The presenters lead her to the microphone so she can be heard.
“Uh, hello, everyone… I’m going to be honest, I did not believe that I would win this tonight. All my fellow nominees are some of the greatest football players in the world and to even be considered alongside them is an honor. I don’t want to bore you with a big speech, so I’ll go to my Thanks. Thank you to my teams. Being able to play alongside you as a career is more than a dream. You all teach me in so many different ways. Thank you to my friends and family. For putting up with my football obsession all these years. Sorry, not sorry. A special thanks to my partner, because I wouldn’t be here without your support. And I mean that both in general and on this stage. Dreams do come true… Finally, thank you to the fans, to the supporters. To the people who come to the games, watch them at home, and everyone inbetween. We play for ourselves and for you.” Patri finishes. She picks up the trophy and holds it up higher, then speaks again into the microphone. “Thank you. Thank you from my heart, immensely.” She steps back and the presenters help her leave the stage while the crowd is clapping for her again.
You’re not crying but you are supporting goosebumps on your arms from Patri’s speech. It was perfect and so her. Her line about your dream made you giddy. What a subtle line that only a few would understand.
Patri and the other nominees eventually make it back to your original seats. Everyone congratulates Patri on the way back. When Patri stays standing while the others sit, you raise an eye brow in question.
She gestures you to come to her. “Vida, come with me. I still have a few things to do. But I want you there with me.” You hurry to make sure you didn’t drop anything while sitting, side stepping until you’re out of the row. Patri takes your hand. You use your other to squeeze her bicep.
“I am so proud of you! I cannot explain it in any language, so you’re going to have to trust me,” you tell her.
She smiles so sweetly at you. “Thank you, mi Vida.”
She leads you out of the auditorium into the foyer. Right outside are all the media outlets and photographers waiting for Patri to show her Ballon D’or to them.
You kiss the side of her mouth, now very aware of the cameras around you. She pulls you closer to her body and grins at you. You smile back.
Suddenly your remember the line in her speech. “Dreams do come true, eh? Finally believe that I’m a psychic?” You ask.
Patri hums, contemplating. “You might need more proof for the psychic powers but you were definitely right about it.” She wraps her arm over your shoulder.
“You know what? I’ll take it.”
a/n: MY 5TH PATRI FIC!!!! HIIIII GUYS!!!! i love these two so much!!! if anyone wants to hear more about patri and vida lemme know! i have headcanons 👉👈
shoutout to the anon who requested this <3 i love you! thanks for the idea 💗 💗 💗
