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a-pute11as · 17 days ago

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a taste of us - patri guijarro

word count - 5.8k | summary - after bumping into her on the streets of london you assume you'll never see her again, little do you know she's one of your closest friends teammates.

“fuck fuck fuck, i can’t be late, not today.” you muttered to yourself, running around your apartment as you tried to quickly gather everything you needed to see one of your closest friends for the first time in months.

you often lost track of time even when the world kept spinning. so occasionally when you had to leave your cosy apartment, you’d be rushing until the very last minute, no matter how much time you tried to give yourself. today’s reason being your mum who refused to cut your facetime call short even when you told her you needed to go, several times.

you picked up your phone quickly, your fingers typing away as you formed a message for ellie.

you - gonna be 5 minutes late! i’m so sorry, blame my mum xx

ellie 🩵 - she loves a good talk, it’s okay, i’ve ordered your drink x

you and ellie had been friends since her grassroots days. the two of you grew up playing for your local team on fields that were pure mud with a single patch of grass. whilst ellie excelled in football, to the point where she had won the golden glove at 20, you left your footballing days behind early on with the dreaded injury and no recovery plan. yet your friendship never wavered, even with the endless england tournaments that sent her everywhere, you’d still be sat on facetime whilst she did her recovery every night.

locking the door behind you, you rushed out the flat, your bag slung over your shoulder as you held a small gift bag containing a small present you had seen that immediately reminded you of ellie.

you weren’t even looking where you were going, your feet were moving without much effort as you stared down at your phone, trying to message ellie that you wouldn’t be long.

it wasn’t until you turned a corner that you realised staring down at your phone as you walked wasn’t a great idea.

you stumbled, your body meeting someone else’s as your bag slipped off your arm and the small gift bag topped onto the pavement.

“i’m so so sorry.” you practically shouted, being caught so off guard but the sudden force that you weren’t even sure where to look, your things sprawled across the london pavement as you internally scolded yourself for not looking where you were going.

it wasn’t until you looked up at the obstacle that you saw her.

she was taller than you, not by much but a good few centimeters that put her at an advantage. sunkissed skin that gave you the impression that she certainly wasn’t from around here, probably from somewhere with a beach. soft straight brown hair that was pulled back into a ponytail, that allowed all her features to stand clear. her jaw was sharp, you could’ve swore it would’ve cut you if you touched it. her brown eyes reflected the spring sun so much that they looked like a bar of melted chocolate.

she was breathtaking.

“lo siento, es mi culpa.” she shook her head profusely, reaching down as she gathered the few things of yours that fell on the floor, putting a few of the fallen objects back in their rightful bag before standing straight. (i’m sorry, it’s my fault.)

“estamos en inglaterra, habla inglés.” the girl next to her scolded, hitting her arm slightly. (we are in england, speak english.)

“sorry, she said she’s sorry, and that it was her fault.” the other girl spoke.

“it’s okay, uh i was looking at my phone, i should’ve been paying attention.” you smiled politely, yet your eyes were only focused on the girl in front of you. your hands outstretched as she handed you the two bags you had practically thrown on the floor.

“esta bien- it’s okay, i wasn’t looking either.” she smiled back, your hands brushing slightly as she handed you your things, her touch was electric.

“thank you, for uh, picking my things up.” your cheeks flushed a deep red as you swung your bag over your shoulder, partially from the embarrassment but also from the way she was looking at you.

“no problem,” she shrugged, “lo que sea por una chica guapa.” she added, her voice lower yet you could still make out every word. (anything for a pretty girl.)

you didn’t even ask her what it meant, your gcse spanish only helping you understand ‘pretty’ and ‘girl’. instead you stood there looking at each other, smiles etched onto both of your faces, whilst her friends stood beside you, their eyes switching between the two of you.

one of the girls coughed quietly, snapping the both of you out of the gaze you had fallen in. you looked between the three of them, only just noticing the matching tracksuit they were all wearing, you couldn’t put much thought into it before you looked down at the watch on your wrist, your eyes widening automatically, you were really fucking late.

“i’m so sorry. i’m meeting a friend, i need to go,” you looked up at her, “thank you, again. have a good day.” you had to fight yourself to tear your eyes off her, to turn around and keep walking, to not run back and ask for her number, yet you knew ellie was waiting for you in a cafe just round the corner.

“vale, have a good day, guapa.” she nodded, a small playful smirk across her face. (okay… pretty.)

you hesitantly turned around, continuing your rushed walk as you saw the sign for the coffee shop in the distance. your head turning back briefly for a moment as you caught one last look at her, before stepping through the door and away from her entirely.

the café was tucked into a quiet corner just off the high street, steam fogging up the windows and the smell of fresh espresso drifting into the street. you spotted ellie through the glass before you even opened the door, slouched in a booth, cappuccino in hand and a hot chocolate ready for you across from her.

“i was starting to think you’d stood me up,” she said as you slid into the seat opposite her.

“i told you it was my mum’s fault,” you huffed, pulling your coat off and setting the gift bag on the table between you.

ellie’s grin widened, “classic, you know she once kept me on the phone for twenty minutes asking if i drink oat milk now, and then asked me to explain how oat milk is made.”

you both laughed, and for a moment, it felt like no time had passed between you. the comfort was instant, the kind that never really fades, that was the beauty of your friendship with ellie.

but then your eyes dropped to ellie’s outfit, a tracksuit with a barça crest stitched on the chest. the same tracksuit your collison victim was wearing. your brows shot up.

“is that what players wear?” you asked slowly, the look on your face curious.

“uh, this?” she pointed to her tracksuit, her eyebrows furrowed as you nodded, “yeah it’s only for the players, we tend to wear it before matches on away days.”

your eyes widened, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you leaned back in your seat, covering your face with your hands, “oh for fucks sake ellie,” you muttered, shaking your head slowly, “i think i might’ve just bumped into one of your teammates, and sent all my stuff flying.”

ellie practically snorted, her laughter so loud that you knew everyone was looking, “you’re lying.” she managed to choke out.

“no ellie, i literally physically collided with her.” slowly dropping your hands, “like i walked straight into her with no care in the world.”

“that’s hilarious, what did she look like?” ellie asked, her chin now resting on her hand as she wiggled her eyebrows.

you gave her a look, lips twitching like you were already regretting telling her. “brown hair. pretty like, stupidly pretty. tallish. had an insane jawline, and she wore the tracksuit better than any human should be allowed to.”

she giggled slightly, reaching for her phone as she tapped through her pictures before turning her phone to show you. “this one?” she asked, a picture of the girl clear as day, your eyes practically lighting up.

“yes! it was definitely her.” you nodded, your mind replaying the spanish the player had previously used, still trying to piece together her words.

ellie sat back, lips curling into a grin, “patri.”

you blinked, “that’s her name?”

“yep. patri guijarro, one of the best midfielders in the world.” she nodded.

you groaned, leaning back in your seat, hoping it would swallow you whole. “she probably thinks i’m a complete idiot.”

“she helped you pick your stuff up, didn’t she?”

“yeah, but she said something in spanish right after. something i didn’t fully catch, except guapa and chica, but you know i was never good at spanish.” you shrugged.

ellie froze for a second, as if she was trying to translate in her head, then gave a soft smile and nodded, “she said guapa?”

you squinted at her, “what?”

“nothing. just patri doesn’t usually say stuff like that to random girls on the street.”

you furrowed your brow, “what do you mean?”

“she’s not the type to be calling strangers pretty unless you’ve really caught her attention.” ellie said, almost casually, but with a glint in her eye.

you blinked, “oh.”

ellie tried not to smirk. “i’m just saying. it’s a beautiful coincidence.”

you shook your head firmly, “she said it under her breath, though. like maybe i wasn’t meant to hear it.”

ellie shrugged. “maybe, but now you’re here, talking about her five minutes later.”

“i’m not-”

“you are.”

you rolled your eyes, sipping your hot chocolate,“it’s not a thing.”

“no, of course not,” ellie shook her head, fighting a grin. “she just happened to knock the air out of your lungs and call you beautiful, but i will be telling her at training, but she is single by the way.”

your jaw practically dropped as she simply laughed, “i swear to god ellie.”

you and ellie sat there for a good while, she opened the small gift you bought her, a plant pot that was covered in beautiful shades of blue, the same blue the two of you would wear in your grassroots football days.

most of the time you were catching up on everything you had missed in the last few months, which was really just ellie saying how sunny barcelona was and how fun it would be if you visited. the two of you had been attempting to plan a weekend trip since she first made the move, yet every time you two got close to picking a date, something always popped up.

“you know, if i had to introduce you to anyone i played with, it would definitely be patri.” ellie said casually, sipping the remnants of her cappuccino.

your eyebrows furrowed, “don’t you play with two of the best players in the world, two balon d’or winners, fifa best winners?” you questioned.

“well obviously, but i mean as like someone who i think you’d get along with. i think she’d be good for you.” she shrugged as if it was the most simple sentence in the world, as if she wasn’t trying to play matchmaker with someone you had bumped into for 10 seconds.

“i think you might be jumping ahead of yourself, just a little.” you shook your head with a small laugh.

ellie had been playing wing women since you first came out to her at 13. when she signed for city she was practically begging you to go out on dates with her teammates, some which were definitely better than others. it took years for her to learn you had a type, which halted the suggestions ever so slightly, but when she found another footballer that fit your description, the matchmaking would start again.

“maybe i am, or maybe she saw a picture of you on my instagram and has been asking when she gets to meet you,” she smiled softly, far too casually, “either way, you’ll see her at the match today.”

“so this was never about me coming to see you, this was you setting me up all along?” you questioned, raising your eyebrow.

“seeing me was the main focus, this is just a little bonus on the side.” she grinned at you, as innocent as anything, which did have you laughing slightly.

when you and ellie finished up, you made your way to your apartment, you had a few hours to wait until you were due to watch ellie play, so you were mostly keeping yourself busy. yet you found yourself on ellies instagram, finding a picture patri was tagged in, your fingers instinctively clicking her account as you scrolled through it.

her profile was clean, lowkey. mostly matchday shots, some group photos with teammates, the occasional artsy coffee or beach post that made her seem so effortlessly cool. it wasn’t even like she was trying to be that captivating, it seemed to come naturally to her.

you scrolled a little further, then stopped.

there was a photo of her mid-conversation with someone, sitting in a restaurant with some kind of abstract art behind her, yet you could only focus on the smile across her face.

then you scrolled a little more. a picture of her on international duty, her anthem jacket cleanly pressed, her hair slicked back into a smooth ponytail and an impressively serious look plastered across her face. your breath hitched slightly. god she was something else.

you couldn’t lie, your stomach did that annoying little flip, one that made you shake your head dramatically. you shut off your phone with a sigh.

“this is absurd,” you muttered to yourself, standing up and pacing toward the kitchen for a glass of water like that would somehow reset your brain, “we collided for thirty seconds, i dropped my bag, this cannot be some cheesy romance movie.”

and yet, you’d somehow managed to find her account and now you couldn’t not think about how her smile could light up a room, or how that serious look on her face could easily make your heart skip a beat.

when you got to stamford bridge the atmosphere was incredible. it was a champions league semi-final, a match up that seemed to repeat itself every year. chelsea were already 4-1 down on aggregate, so needed a big effort to get themselves back in the game. however, the barca crest that sat on your chest, from the t-shirt kindly gifted by ellie, meant you were going into this game with a lot of hope.

you had those special family and friends tickets, the ones that required a lanyard and a security check like no other. you had made your way to your seats just before warm up had started. none of this was unusual for you, even when you stopped playing football, your love for it never stopped, and watching ellie play was the cherry on the top of the cake.

barca players started filtering their way onto the pitch. bouncing on their toes, doing side shuffles, passing short balls with that kind of perfection that only comes from years of repetition.

then your eyes found her.

patri.

a slightly more stiff posture but the same no-nonsense focus. she glanced up towards the crowd, doing that quick scan players always do.

and then she saw you.

there was the smallest pause, like she was buffering slightly. then a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, it was subtle, but it was definitely there. she didn’t wave or do anything dramatic. just met your eyes, her expression was soft and familiar, as if she was replaying the moment from this morning.

your cheeks instantly warmed, before you reached for your phone, typing a message to ellie quickly.

you - tell your teammate to stop staring, i’m fragile

a few seconds later, you spotted ellie jogging in, grinning when she caught sight of you. she lifted a hand in a small wave, then subtly pointed toward patri, who was a few paces behind her, jogging up the pitch.

patri didn’t look. she already knew where you were.

instead, ellie jogged past her and bumped her shoulder lightly, clearly teasing, patri just rolled her eyes, the faintest smile across her face, before casting another quick glance in your direction before the warm up really started.

watching the girl you grew up with playing at the highest level with one of the best teams in the world had a smile permanently fixed to your face. but every now and again your eyes couldn’t help but flicker to patri, even just from the warm up you could see the pure skill she possessed at her feet and the control she had over the ball.

the warm up passed by pretty quickly. your eyes never failing to leave the pitch, to the point where you could’ve sworn patri glanced up at you once than once. even a subtle point to one of her teammates that you were sure was pointed in your direction, a point that made your stomach drop and cheeks flush.

you watched as the team filtered back into the tunnel, using that as your sign to grab yourself a drink before the game really started.

it didn’t take long until your phone light up, ellie’s name flashing across the screen.

ellie 🩵- she said you started it first, but now there’s a few people wanting to meet you.

oh and i heard her telling one of the girls you had a pretty smile

she also said ‘i want to speak to her later’ so best be prepared x

this girl clearly had an effect on you when it came to making your body react, because as if it was clockwork your cheeks warmed up and your heart skipped a beat at the thought of her.

barcelona came out with fire from the first whistle, pressing high and moving the ball with fluidity. patri anchored the midfield with controlled passes through the chelsea lines like it was second nature.

by halftime, barça were up 3-0, three beautiful goals that perfectly defined barcelona’s champions league journey. chelsea pulled one back late in the second half, barely a minute after salma rocketed one into the back of the net. yet it wasn’t nearly enough. the game finished 4-1 to barcelona, not that there was ever a doubt in your mind.

you watched as the teams shook hands, sharing pleasantries, brief conversations and smiles shared proudly across the barcelona players knowing they had made it into the final of the champions league for another year.

it didn’t take long for ellie to beckon you down from the stands, carefully walking the few rows down to the barrier, being extra cautious to not trip in front of the whole team this time.

“glad you made it down the steps without falling over again.” she teased, nodding at your graceful descent down the steps.

“proud of me?” you smirked, leaning slightly forward over the railing.

“always,” she nodded firmly, “but i’m not the one who wanted to see you.” before you could ask, she nodded over her shoulder.

“hola,” she said smoothly, her voice deeper up close, “i’m glad ellie got you to come”

“of course,” you smiled, a little breathless under the sun, but mostly under her gaze, “would’ve been rude not to.”

“bueno,” she grinned, “because i would’ve come looking for you either way.”

you blinked, thrown slightly, but impressed at just how smooth she really was.

before you could reply, she stepped in close, closer than you'd expected, and wrapped her arms around you in a quick, warm hug. not overly long, but not shy either. the kind of hug that had your stomach doing backflips as her touch lingered on you, her hand resting on your lower back just slightly longer than it needed to.

as she pulled back, her eyes didn’t leave yours, “you smell better than i do right now,” she murmured with a slight grin.

you blinked, how did this woman continue to keep you on your toes, “i think you’ve earned it.”

“you didn’t play,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “why do you look like you’ve just run a marathon?”

you let out a short breath of a laugh, embarrassed, “probably some nerves. it was a good game, but you kind of caught me off guard earlier.”

patri tilted her head, playful, a little teasing, “i thought i was the one who got tackled.”

“that’s not how i remember it,” you returned with a playful smile, your eyebrows raising slightly.

she grinned, tongue briefly passing over her bottom lip, before switching back to spanish, low and deliberate. “no pasa nada, i kind of liked it.” (it’s nothing.)

“you liked me crashing into you?” you sent her a confused look.

“i liked the part where you looked at me after i started speaking spanish to you,” she said, nodding slightly toward you, “like you kinda understand, but not really.”

“are you going to tell me what it meant then?”

“i guess i can, if you meet me for an ice cream after.” she shrugged, yet her eyes lit up with a slight hint of mischief.

you tried not to laugh, or blush but failed at both when your cheeks practically lit up and you couldn’t stop the nervous laugh that escaped your lips, “you don’t waste time, do you?”

“i don’t like wasting chances,” she said casually, eyes steady, her gaze fixed on you, “and I don’t want to leave london wishing i’d said more.”

“you’ve got a point,” you nodded slowly, as if you were thinking about her offer, as if the answer wasn’t already yes, “and it’s a nice day today, so we might as well take advantage of that.” adding a shrug onto the end of your sentence.

patri’s smirk softened, a grin appearing in place, “perfecto, give me your phone.”

without any hesitation you handed her your phone, the contacts app already open. you watched carefully as she typed away, before handing your phone back. a comfortable silence falling between the two of you, just easily smiling at each other.

from a few paces away, ellie gave the most dramatic, exaggerated gag you ever heard, “god, just kiss already or go get your ice cream.”

you both let out a small laugh, but as she turned back to walk through the tunnel she sent you one final smile. one that had you more than excited for your ice cream date later.

as soon as patri and ellie disappeared from your sight, you tapped on her contact. your fingers stilling for a moment, trying to think of the perfect message that would start a conversation, even if you were seeing her in a matter of hours.

you - you have to get a different flavour ice cream to me, just so i can try some of yours.

you didn’t pay much mind to your phone until it vibrated in your hand as you slowly made your way out of the stadium.

patri ⚽️- should i get used to you stealing my food?

you - depends if you want to keep me happy

patri ⚽️- good thing i’m incredibly generous… en muchos sentidos (in many ways)

meet me at my hotel in an hour, then you can have a taste 😏

you - you’re dangerous.. i’ll see you then x

you busied yourself for an hour, taking an incredibly slow walk around the area before finally reaching the hotel where the barcelona team had been stationed.

you always loved london in the spring. the leaves on the trees finally starting to turn green, the sky and air seemed lighter and it was as if everything wasn’t as stuffy as before. it was your favourite time of year. and nothing compared to being able to spend a beautiful spring day with a pretty footballer that nearly toppled you onto the pavement.

as you walked through the hotel doors, there she was. standing near the hotel café, changed into fresh clothes, hair still damp from a shower, scrolling her phone with the kind of casual posture that still felt intentional.

that’s when she looked up at you, her face lit up. it was subtle, yet undeniable, and your face automatically matched hers. with matching smiles on your face, patri pocketed her phone and took a step closer, eyes scanning your body.

“you came,” she said, her voice quieter now, reserved just for you.

you shrugged, teasing. “i was promised ice cream.”

patri rolled her eyes, matching your teasing energy, “and apparently you’re stealing mine too.”

“get used to it.” you nudged her arm playful, before the two of you headed out onto the streets of london.

she led you out into the soft, warm evening, the golden light clinging to the sky just a little longer than usual. the walk was easy, it didn’t feel rushed or as if you had a time restraint. just the two of you walking together, no pressure, just a few nerves. patri’s hand brushed yours now and then, not quite holding it, yet her presence never pulled away.

“i know a place that does really good ice cream, last time we were here we had ice cream from this place like 6 times.” patri stated confidently.

“you’re practically a local.” you agreed sarcastically, acting impressed with her words.

“dios mio, you’re just as bad as ellie.” she shook her head, pushing your shoulder lightly. (my god.)

it was only a few minutes before you reached the famous ice cream shop. it was small, but bright, and as soon as you walked through the door you could smell the mixture of flavours that were on display.

"can i get one scoop of chocolate and one scoop of strawberry in a cup, please?" you asked, grinning, no attempt to even try and hide your excitement. patri had talked up this ice cream shop the whole walk, and your expectations were now sky-high.

"seriously? you’re so boring," patri teased with a dramatic sigh, before turning to the person behind the counter. "can i have matcha and white chocolate, please?" she said with a smirk, tossing you a smug look over her shoulder.

once your ice creams were handed over, you both made your way to a small table by the window. the sunlight poured in gently, casting a warm glow across her face. you sat opposite her, knees brushing slightly under the small round table.

patri took one bite, humming in satisfaction. “see? i told you. best in the city.”

you tasted your own, then made an overly dramatic face. “wow this is life-changing.” you added an over the top satisfactory moan that had patri roll her eyes before sending you a glare, causing you to giggle.

“cállate, mine’s just better than yours,” she said with a smug shake of her head, the corners of her mouth lifting in challenge. (shut up.)

“matcha is a drink, not an ice cream flavour.” you insisted, taking another bite of your very safe, very delicious ice cream.

patri gasped, mock-offended. “but when you mix it with white chocolate, es delicioso.” she scooped up a swirl of both, then held the spoon out toward you. “just try it.”

you reached for the spoon, but she pulled it back with a quiet, teasing click of her tongue. “nope, open,” she said simply, her voice dipping slightly as she leaned in.

your eyes flicked to hers, heartbeat quickening, cheeks instantly blushing, but you obeyed, parting your lips slightly as the spoon neared. her other hand came up to rest lightly beneath your chin, thumb brushing against your jaw in soft, slow movements as she fed you the ice cream.

and to be fair, it was good. creamy and rich, surprisingly balanced. but your brain barely processed the flavour, not with her eyes locked on your mouth and definitely not with her hand still cradling your face long after the spoon had pulled away.

“bueno?” she murmured, her voice soft but undeniably amused. (good?)

you swallowed, nodding slowly, “mhm.” your breath was hitched in your throat, you knew an actual response wasn’t coming even if you tried.

a satisfied smile spread across her face, like she’d just won something. “por supuesto. i knew i was right,” she said, finally letting her fingers trail away from your skin. (of course.)

you glanced down at your own half-melted ice cream before looking back up at her, arching a brow. “so what else are you always right about?”

patri leaned back in her chair, spoon tapping lightly against the rim of her cup. “todo.” she grinned, like it was a fact carved in stone. “food, music, people…” (everything.)

“people?” you echoed, slightly amused.

she nodded, tilting her head slightly, eyes locked on yours, “i like to think i’m good at reading people.”

“oh?” you smiled slowly, unable to stop the warmth rising to your cheeks. “what can you tell about me then?”

her eyes flicked down to your lips again, just for a moment. “you’re someone i want to spend time with.” she said simply, her voice playful.

you laughed, shaking your head, pretending to focus on your ice cream again just to calm the growing flutter in your chest, “you really don’t hold back, do you?”

“not when i like someone,” she said, so casually it made you pause.

you met her gaze again. the look on her face made you curious, a look of mischief, yet there was a hint of something more, something that felt open.

“so what do you want to know?” you asked, nudging her foot lightly under the table. “since you’ve clearly decided i’m not a waste of time.”

the two of you sat there for a couple hours, ice cream long finished as you learnt about each other inside out. you brushed past the small talk questions, instead talking about your families, aspirations and favourite places in the world. it felt like you had covered years worth of knowledge right until the moment the cosy setting was about to close.

you walked out into the streets of london, the sun just about set as the street lights started to flicker on. your gaze fluttered towards patri, her hand brushing against yours lightly as you walked in time with each other, your conversation never missing a beat.

it didn’t take long for patri’s hand to hook onto yours. small and subtle. her pinky reaching out, and wrapping around yours, pulling you ever so slightly closer.

you kept walking like that for a while, eventually reaching the hotel she was staying at, a natural end to your date.

“me lo pasé muy bien, chica guapa.” patri smiled, her hand falling from yours as it moved to rest on your hip. (i had a really nice time, pretty girl)

“my spanish really isn’t that good patri.” you furrowed your eyebrows, trying to break down what she was saying but it was useless.

“i had a really good time, oh and i called you pretty again.” she smirked, her grip tightening slightly.

your whole body stuttered, your mind short circuiting completely as you tried to think of a response, “y-yeah i had a really good time too.” you nodded, still struggling to deal with her forwardness.

“you should come see me, in barcelona.” she stated, taking a step towards you, closing the space just slightly more.

“i would really like that, maybe we could go to another ice cream shop.” you teased, melting into her touch more and more as the seconds went on.

you stood there in silence for a moment, the confidence building as your hand moved to rest on her jaw. your sudden confidence shocking her slightly, yet she relaxed into your touch quickly.

“i really want to kiss you right now.” she muttered, her eyes trailing from your eyes to your lips for a few seconds before she looked back up.

“then kiss me.” you whispered, her hand pulling you closer as she began to lean in.

“PATRI, AQUÍ ESTÁS!” someone shouted, both of your heads turning as you were met with two people in matching barcelona attire. your hands dropped from each other and you both took a step back. (patri, there you are!)

“lo siento amor, i’m so so sorry.” patri mumbled, her cheeks visibly turning red with the embarrassment of her friends turning up at the very moment you were about to kiss her. (i’m sorry love)

“ellie no nos dijo donde estabas.” the other person said, as the two of them walked over. (ellie wouldn’t tell us where you were.)

“joder, ustedes dos tienen terrible mal momento.” patri sighed, rolling her eyes as she bought her hand up to her temple. (fuck, you two have terrible timing.)

suddenly you felt incredibly awkward, you felt incredibly out of place as the two girls' eyes focused on you as they got closer, “uh- i should go, i’ll text you.” you smiled briefly.

“no no stay, they don’t mean anything bad.” patri said, quickly turning to you, her hand reaching out to stop you in your track.

“it’s okay, it’s late,” you leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before stepping back, “goodnight patri.”

you started walking away, sending a small smile to the other two girls as you started your walk back to your apartment, alone.

you had done your best to ignore the few buzzes from your phone as you got ready for bed, needing some time to think through every thing that just happened, before settling on your sofa and finally picking up your phone.

patri ⚽️- i’m so sorry amor, i’m so so sorry. my friends are so bad at taking hints.

i really enjoyed myself with you, it was like you saw me for more than just football.

i want to take you on a proper date, not to replace today, but i want to make it better.

you looked at your phone for a few minutes as your mind replayed your ice cream date, how easy it was to be around her and the pure joy you felt from being close to her. it was a no brainer.

you - when do you travel home?

you knew it was in the morning, you knew there was absolutely no time for anything to happen before her flight or before you had work, yet it was like you had to see her say it for that to sink in.

patri ⚽️ - tomorrow morning.

but i meant what i said.

you - what was it?

patri ⚽️ - come to barcelona for a weekend, i want to show you everything.

you didn’t hesitate, you didn’t even pause for a second to breathe, your fingers simply typed out the word and pressed send.

you - okay.

a/n - thank you for reading <33 as usual, my inbox is always open for any feedback/requests!

#woso #woso x reader #fcb femení #woso imagine #woso oneshot #patri guijarro #patri guijarro x reader #barcelona femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #futfem

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idontknowwfc · 1 day ago

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Lia gets taken down by a referee. Mariona takes down the referee😅😂

#mariona caldentey #lia wälti #sefutbolfem #espwnt #suiwnt #swiwnt #swiss wnt #spain wnt #switzerland wnt #weuro 2025

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didalexiabreakupwitholgaisback · 7 days ago

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what are your thoughts on Nanclares? Obviously she isn't Cata but I thought she did quite good against Portugal and could also handle Belgium and Italy. ��‍♀️

I just hope they could help Cata in the hospital and that she'll get better soon (hopefully they don't rush her back though) 💪🏻

nanclares is a good keeper, but she didn't have much to do against portugal, so it's hard to rate her. i don't think i could agree or disagree with your assessment given the match was played almost exclusively in portugal's half 🤷‍♀️

the main problem is that she has no experience with the national team. it's another fault on montse. instead of playing cata in weaker nations league games, she should have given minutes to both sullastres and nanclares.

anyway, here are her stats from athletic club bilbao from the last two seasons:

100% the swedish grandmas 👵, who have quite the excellent overachieving record at international tournaments.

#adriana nanclares #athletic club bilbao #sefutbolfem #espwnt #sweden wnt #fandom enemies #futfem #woso

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p0orbaby · 2 months ago

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What’s It Take to Be a Star?

summary: after the biggest loss of the season, alexia shuts down, so you remind her she doesn’t have to deal with it alone.

warnings: abit raw, sex but not explicit

a/n: i’m back? maybe. i dunno i haven’t decided yet, we shall see how this goes

word count: 1.9k

“You’re sulking.”

You don’t say it to press a bruise. It lands like a reminder—quiet, observational. The same tone you’d use to point out the tap’s been left running again, or that your charger’s vanished into the Bermuda Triangle gap between the mattress and the wall for the third time this month. A soft touch on a fault line, not enough to widen it, just enough to say: I see you.

Alexia doesn’t answer. Not with words.

She’s curled inward on her side, back to you, facing the wall like it might offer answers you can’t. Arms tucked into herself in that specific, compact way people do when they’re trying to contain something already leaking through the seams. She’s wearing one of your old T-shirts—black, faded, stretched at the neck until the collar sags. The kind of soft cotton that remembers every hand it’s passed through. It slips unevenly over her frame, twisted, loose, slipping off one shoulder as if even gravity is trying to reach her.

You don’t even remember where the shirt came from. A merch table after too many negronis. A friend’s failed start-up. Something passed down, not purchased. But she always reaches for this one when she’s unraveling, when she wants to retreat inside something neutral, familiar, unspeaking.

The shirt she wore to the team dinner is still in the hallway, crumpled near the mirror like a discarded version of herself. Inside-out. The fabric still holding the shape of her body. One sleeve is caught beneath the heel of her trainers, frozen mid-fall. Her suitcase is unzipped but barely touched, like she couldn’t decide whether she was arriving or leaving. The room smells faintly of transit. Airport hand soap, hotel shampoo, something citrusy meant to mask fatigue. The stale echo of Lisbon lingers in the air like a loss unspoken.

“I’m tired,” she says, eventually. Flat. Like it’s the only shape of language she has left.

“Yes,” you reply, not unkindly. “But you’re also pissed off.”

There. The words drop like a coin in a deep well. You watch the ripple.

Her shoulders tighten. Barely perceptible. But you see it. You always see it. The smallest tells in her body. A blink too long, a breath that hitchhikes on a thought. She knows you’re right. She just doesn’t want to be known right now. Not in the raw way. Not in the way that costs her anything.

You sit down on the edge of the bed, spine straight, palms flat on your thighs. Her image wavers in the glass of the window. Dim, doubled, haloed by city light. Barcelona flickers around her reflection like the afterimage of a match strike. Bright. Distant. Beautiful and unknowable. A thousand apartments lit with other lives, other rooms, other people who don’t know her name—or worse, do, and still misunderstand it.

You reach out. Your fingertips graze her thigh, tentative, not hesitant. A hello without punctuation.

She flinches.

Not dramatically. Just enough to register the cost of contact. The sting of it.

But you don’t pull away. You let the touch settle. Her skin is still warm, damp in places, the kind of heat that lingers when someone hasn’t fully dried off after a too-fast shower. She didn’t dry her hair either. That, more than anything, is your metric. Her tells aren’t loud—they’re small, domestic things. Intimacies in negative space.

You feel the pressure inside her, drawn tight and trembling like metal pulled to its limit. She’s not composed—she’s barely holding the line, muscle memory doing the work her heart can’t right now.

“I came, I watched you lose,” you say.

There’s a silence that immediately follows. Deep. Structural.

She swallows. The movement is visible in her throat, her jaw, like her body is bracing against something sharp. Still, she doesn’t look at you.

“And I’m still here,” you add, your voice dropping a shade, not softening but anchoring. “That’s worth something. Isn’t it?”

She doesn’t recoil this time. Doesn’t shift. But you feel it—subtle as a seam splitting. Something giving under the pressure, but not fully yielding. The beginning of a bend.

You let your hand slide up to her hip. Her body is taut beneath your palm, like she’s been held in this shape too long and forgot how to uncurl. She folds like this when it gets bad, when things spill past her hands and there’s no way to order them back into line. Her instinct is containment. Shrink to reduce the surface area of pain.

Not fragile. Never fragile. But afraid, sometimes, to be large when she feels small.

“Turn over,” you say. Not commanding. Not coaxing. Just a hand on the door, left open.

She hesitates.

Then, movement. Slow. Considered. Like unfolding a letter she’s not sure she wants to read.

She rolls onto her back. Her arms stay clutched to her ribs for a beat too long before they fall to her sides, as if giving up on a defence she knows won’t hold.

She looks at the ceiling like it’s accused her of something she can’t refute.

Her face is stripped of anything performative. No mascara. No camouflage. Just bare, flushed skin and the residue of feeling she hasn’t let herself feel yet. There’s pink at the corners of her eyes. A faint split in her lower lip. Not from crying, she hasn’t given herself that grace. This is wear and friction. Teeth worrying against flesh. Thought grinding against bone.

The mattress hums with tension. Like her body is vibrating at a frequency just below audible.

“I’m not in the mood,” she says. But her voice is thin and easy to see through.

“I didn’t ask.”

You shift, slowly, deliberately. Move forward. One leg swung over her hips. You settle there, like a question that’s already answered itself.

Her body recognises yours before her mind does. You see it in the subtle tells. Her hands twitch, once, then go still. Her chest rises slightly faster. The primal intelligence of skin and limb saying: safe. Even before she can believe it.

Up close, she looks like something precious that’s been dented. Not ruined, just real. The flush along her collarbone, the way her mouth is drawn tight at the corners, the strength behind her stare that’s beginning to strain. Her armor is elegant but makeshift. Designed for visibility, not protection. You can see where it’s cracking.

“You don’t have to do anything,” you say, voice quiet enough to settle into the space between her ribs. “Not tonight.”

Her eyes close.

And there it is. The first breach. The way she turns her face just slightly to the side, not quite away, but not toward you either. As if the permission to let go is heavier than the effort of holding on.

You lean in and kiss the angle of her jaw. Her breath stutters—one of those caught, uncertain things—and her fingers tighten in the sheets like they need something to grip besides herself.

You know this version of her. Not the one who leads press conferences or sets tempo from midfield, not the one who carves through defenders like breath through glass. This one. The one who doesn’t want to captain, doesn’t want to calculate, doesn’t want to carry. The one who just wants the noise turned down to something human. The one who’s tired of being mythologised when all she wants is to be met. To be touched like a fact, not a figure.

She told you once, in the drift between dreaming and dawn, voice half-threadbare, that there’s a difference between being admired and being understood. That most people confuse the two. But you, you’ve always known the gap. You’ve lived in it.

You kiss the column of her throat. Then the curve where her shoulder softens into neck. You map her like you’re returning to a coastline after storm season—familiar, but changed in small, unspoken ways.

Your hands follow, not with hunger, but reverence. Not searching. Offering. A sort of reverent study. You lift the T-shirt, slow. She lets you. Wordless assent.

Her arms rise. The fabric pulls free. Her skin, lit only by the ghost-glow of the city, feels like something sacred. You know it, yes. But now, here, it feels like she’s offering it differently. Not like a gift. Like a surrender she’s been hoarding all day.

You take your time.

Not gentle like someone scared of breaking her, gentle like someone who understands weight. The weight of being known. The weight of being held in a moment without being expected to rise to it.

She smells like eucalyptus soap and the trailing echo of her perfume. Neroli, white musk, that hint of something sharp and clean you’ve never quite placed, like rain through leaves. It’s the kind of scent that lingers on your collar hours after she’s gone.

Her breathing shifts. You feel it more than hear it. That tilt into awareness. That loosening. Her limbs don’t move, but they don’t resist either. They yield in that deliberate, practiced stillness. The kind she’s mastered in places where control is currency.

“Just stay there,” you murmur. “You’re allowed.”

Her nod is almost imperceptible, more echo than motion. But you catch it. You always do.

You trail your mouth down her stomach, slow enough that time seems to slip sideways. You’re not asking anything from her. You’re anchoring her. Returning her to something quieter. Truer.

Her legs part. Just a little. Not like an invitation. A white flag.

You move between them.

Everything you do is slow. Intentional. Mouth. Tongue. Hands that hold but don’t demand. Each movement precise, nothing rushed, nothing wasted. She’s somewhere else at first. You can tell. Lost in the static. But you don’t chase her. You wait. You stay.

And when she finally starts to tremble, when her back arches and her breath breaks on a whimper like she’s surfaced from something deep and heavy, you ground her. Your mouth soft. Your hand steady. Your presence unshakable.

She doesn’t say anything. There’s no need.

You don’t move right away. You stay pressed to the inside of her thigh, listening to the way her body remembers how to breathe. You close your eyes. Memorise this quiet.

Eventually, you make your way back up, settle into her side. You press a kiss just beneath her ear. Her hand finds your ribs, delicate, hesitant, then firm. Not asking. Just being. Just there.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks, voice frayed like the end of a thread, soft enough that you feel it more than hear it.

“Because I love you,” you say.

She looks at you for a long beat—eyes shining, jaw caught in the struggle between disbelief and want. She wants to doubt it. You see that. But some part of her can’t. Not entirely.

You smile. Not wide. Just enough to say: I’m still here.

“You’ll say sorry tomorrow,” you add, brushing her hair back with two fingers. “Over coffee. Probably while you pretend you didn’t cry in your sleep.”

She laughs—short, choked. It snaps on the inhale.

“I hated every second of that match,” she says, finally. “Even the warm-up. I felt like I was dragging something behind me. Something too big to carry and too stupid to put down.”

“You don’t have to carry anything now.”

“I know,” she says. And this time, she means it. “That’s why I let you.”

You lie beside her. She folds into you. One arm across your waist. One leg tangled with yours. Her head tucked beneath your chin, like she’s anchoring herself to the only part of the day that didn’t ask for anything back.

You stroke her spine. Not to soothe. Just to say: I’m still here. I’m still here.

She breathes. You listen.

And when she finally sleeps, you don’t. Not right away.

You stay long enough to be sure she makes it through the night in one piece.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso community

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alotofpockets · 1 month ago

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In case of emergency | Ona Batlle x Paramedic!Reader

5k celebration prompt: "That's a lot of blood."

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.6k

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Today you would be giving a first aid training session at the Joan Gamper training ground, the staff of FC Barcelona had requested a course on the basics for some of their new employees. For the club it was very important that everyone knew the basics, even while they have trained medical professionals on their team.

As your partner started on setting up the CRP dummies that had been delivered earlier by some of your coworkers, you let the station know you’d be on location giving a training session. While this was a planned session, it was during work hours, so the possibility of being called to an emergency was always possible. You didn’t expect it for today since the schedule today was jam packed with personnel, but still you clipped your radio to your belt as you stepped out of the ambulance.

“All set up, Pedro?” You asked your partner as you watched him check something off on the clipboard. “Yeah, all ready to go.” He gave you the clipboard for a quick double check. “Looks good, let’s open the doors and get started.” You said after looking at the list. The two of you had given many training sessions, so the division of tasks came naturally for you by now.

A group of ten people was waiting out in the hall as you opened the door, “Come on in.” You told them with a smile. They walked in and took their seats. Pedro started on some basics, he taught the theory, while you focused on the practical teaching.

You listened to him teach from the sidelines, as you heard the door next to you open quietly. When you looked over your shoulder you saw someone who didn’t look like the rest of the people in the training. They were all office personnel, but she looked to be one of Barcelona’s players. Wearing a sleeveless training top, training shorts, and by the looks of it some quickly thrown on trainers.

“Sorry I’m late.” She whispered. “Training ran a little long.” Confirming that she was one of the players. “It’s okay, happy you still wanted to join. Take a seat.” You said with a smile. Usually the players didn’t attend the first aid training sessions, so you were intrigued to see her wanting to be part of today’s session. You let your eyes linger on her a little longer as she quietly took a seat in the back row. Instantly listening to Pedro, while quickly tying her shoe laces.

“Now that you know those basics, I think it’s time we put your knowledge to practice. For that, my coworker will take over.” You stepped up, and asked them to follow you to the dummies.

“If you could all sit down at a dummy in pairs, I will show you here up front how CPR works.” The group filled out over the floor, you watched as they each sat down next to a dummy with the person standing next to them. The football player looked around, realising everyone was partnered up. “Over here, you can be my partner.” You said with a smile, gesturing for her to come to the front with you.

You quickly unclip your radio from your jacket and reclip it to your shirt, as you take off your jacket and lay it down in the corner. Once you’ve laid it down, you turn back to the class and kneel down next to your dummy.

As you sit down besides the footballer, you send her a soft smile. “Thank you for joining, it doesn't happen often that players come to a session.” The footballer nodded her head with a smile, “Yeah, you never know when you might need it.”

“Smart thinking. You would be surprised how many people wait to learn until it’s too late.” Her joining voluntarily instead of having been signed up by the club impressed you. The more people knew CPR the better people could be taken care of. “Would you mind helping me show the class?” She agreed instantly and you turned to the rest of the group.

“Alright, let’s get into the basics of CPR. It is the best tool to use when someone is not breathing and has no pulse. This is how you can keep someone alive long enough until help arrives.” The group listens to you intensely, nodding along as you show them how you can check for a pulse, and some tricks to check if someone is breathing. Then you show them the proper way to intertwine your fingers and the position you should be in to give CPR.

“In this position you will start giving compressions. Your elbows should be locked, that way you’re using your upper body and not your arms.” You watch as they all copy the position. “Yes, exactly like that.” You say as you look around the group. “Now, Pedro will sing us a song. It’s called Staying Alive" by the Bee Gees, the song ironically has the exact right amount of beats per minute to follow the rhythm to do CPR to.”

The group chuckled at Pedro singing, and you smiled at his commitment to the bit. “Alright everyone, I will show you how to do it properly, and then you can follow my lead.” You started doing compressions to the beat that Pedro was singing, before telling Ona to take over and try.

“Like this?” She says as she positions herself above the dummy. “Yeah, perfect. Now just use your upper body to push hard on the dummy's chest.” You watched her do five perfect compressions in a row. “You’re a natural, keep it up.” She smiled at you as you got up to walk around the group. You stopped by everyone to give bits of advice and tips.

“Alright, next up I want to show you all how you can switch with a partner.” You looked at her realising you never asked for her name, so you quickly asked her. “To show you how this is done, Ona will start doing compression and I will take over.”

“Sometimes when compressions need to be done for an extensive amount of time, it is best to switch, since CPR is heavy work. So, Ona, could you start the compressions again? Pedro will continue humming the song, and I will count the compressions. Once you’re at thirty, I will take over.”

She nodded and started the compressions back up, softly humming the song along with Pedro. You smiled at the way she was picking it up so quickly. Under your breath you counted, “-twenty eight, twenty nine,” you positioned yourself on the opposite side of the dummy. “Switch compressions.” You said and continued where Ona left off. As you counted to thirty again, you saw Ona getting ready to take over again. You watched with pride as she copied what you did before, “-twenty eight, twenty nine, switch compressions.”

You let Ona take over again as you addressed the group on the rotation of compressions and how it would benefit both the patient and yourself. As you were about to tell Ona that she could stop your radio beeped.

"Ambulance 4866, Ambulance 4866, respond priority one to Avenida de Cornellà. Multi vehicle collision. fire department requesting an extra ambulance.” The dispatcher called out. "Control, this is Ambulance 4866. Responding priority one to Avenida de Cornellà.”

Pedro was already telling the group that you needed to respond to the emergency and that you’d be in contact for the continuation of the training another day. “Sorry, we have to leave.” You yell as you run outside to where you had parked the ambulance.

The call was a tough one. An arterial bleed in the field was never easy. Your hands, arms, and shirt were covered in blood, but you hadn’t taken a second to look at that. You got the patient to the hospital alive, that’s all that mattered.

Pedro drove the ambulance back to the station, what you didn’t expect to see once you got out of the ambulance, was to see a familiar face from the CPR training earlier. “Ona?” You call out to the brunette standing to the side with one of your coworkers.

The footballer turned around with a smile but her smile faltered when she saw you. “That's a lot of blood.” She said with eyes widened. “Don’t worry, it’s not mine. And the patients whose blood it is, made it.” She sighed in relief for both statements. “That’s good to hear.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you again, but what are you doing here?” She opened her bag and pulled out your work jacket. “You left your jacket, I thought you might need it.” You smiled at her kindness and thoughtfulness. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.” She chuckles, “I think that quite literally is you and not me.”

“Let me know if this is overstepping, but could I get you a coffee or dinner as a thank you?” You asked her nervously. “I don’t need a thank you.” She said, and you let your head fall slightly, thinking you did overstep. “But I would love to have dinner with you.” You lift your head back up and smile.

“I’m done with my shift if you want to go now?” You look down at your clothes again, “Well, after a quick shower of course.” Ona looked down at her own clothes, still her Barcelona training gear. “How about I pick you up in an hour? Then we can both take a shower and get changed.” You smiled, “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan.”

You exchanged numbers and texted her your address. Who would’ve thought that a CPR training interrupted by a call would have turned into a date? Definitely not you when you stepped out of bed this morning, but you were excited to meet up with her.

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#pockets 5k celebration #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #ona batlle #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #barca women #fcbfemeni #fcb femení #espwnt #spain wnt #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine

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cupofteatoyou · 3 months ago

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Dreaming in Blaugrana pt2

You didn’t move for a long time.

Not after the door closed. Not after her footsteps faded down the hall. Not even when the buzzing in your ears quieted enough for your own heartbeat to feel loud again.

You just stood there. Half-in, half-out. Of the suit. Of your lie. Of everything.

The silence wasn’t empty—it was full of everything she didn’t say.

You peeled the rest of the suit off slowly, like maybe if you did it gently enough, the shame would come off with it. It didn’t.

The Cat Culer head still sat on the desk beside you, grinning like it didn’t understand what it had done. Like it hadn’t broken something.

You wanted to shove it in the duffel. Hide it. Burn it.

Instead, you slumped into your chair and stared at the empty doorway, Like maybe she'd come back.

She didn’t.

And even if she did, you weren’t sure which part of you she’d be looking for—the mascot, or the lie.

You thought the worst part would be her finding out. The embarrassment. The exposure. But it wasn’t.

The worst part was knowing she wasn’t upset that it was you.

She was upset that it was you the intern.

Because that version of you—the one who ran cables, clipped mic audio, nodded silently while she barked directions—wasn’t someone she’d ever let close. Wasn’t someone she’d let in.

It wasn’t about the secret.

It was about where you came from.

You were staff. And in her world, that meant something. It meant distance. It meant professionalism and protocol and polite nods that never cracked into anything real.

You weren’t just behind a mask. You were behind a camera. Behind a badge. Behind everything she kept herself safe from.

Because around staff, Alexia had rules.

Around staff, she wasn’t a person—she was a product.

An image. A brand. A checklist of the right words and the right smile and the right lighting.

She gave interviews like a machine. Took direction without flinching. Let the boom mics dangle inches from her face without ever acknowledging the person holding it.

To staff, she was the captain.

To staff, she was untouchable.

And she liked it that way.

Because being “Captain Putellas” meant she didn’t have to be anything else.

She could shut the door behind her eyes and coast through every interaction on muscle memory. Professional. Polished. Distant. Safe.

And you broke that.

Not just as the mascot—but as you.

Because the whole time she’d been opening up to Cat Culer—laughing, venting, offering pieces of herself she didn’t give to anyone else—she hadn’t realized it was someone who already saw her when she didn’t mean to be seen.

Someone who’d filmed her on her worst days. Caught her quietest moments. Chosen what parts of her got shown to the world.

You weren’t a stranger.

You were staff.

And to her, that was the same as betrayal.

Because you weren’t supposed to be real.

You weren’t supposed to matter.

Not outside the suit. Not in her world.

And now?

Now she couldn’t figure out where you ended and the lie began.

You blurred the line.

And for someone like Alexia—who lived her life inside clean boxes, perfect soundbites, and tightly managed control—that wasn’t just uncomfortable.

was terrifying.

Because if she admitted the intern could be someone she’d fall for...

Then what else had she gotten wrong?

Then maybe the walls she’d built weren’t really walls at all.

Maybe they were windows. And she’d been seen this whole time.

You still showed up.

Not as often. Not with the same spark. But enough that no one questioned it.

The suit still fit. The paws still bounced. The tail still swung when you needed it to. But every time you pulled the head over your face, something in you flinched.

It wasn’t comforting anymore. It wasn’t safety. It felt like a lie.

And not the fun kind—the kind with pranks and silent jokes and wide-eyed kids tugging at your fur. No. It felt rotten now. Like wearing someone else’s skin. Like stepping into a character that no longer belonged to you.

Because being Cat Culer used to feel like freedom. Now it felt like hiding.

And the worst part? She didn’t even look for you anymore.

After that night, after the mascot head on the desk and the silence that felt too final—Alexia never brought it up again.

You saw her in passing. On the pitch. In hallways. In media rooms filled with lights and noise and tension so thick it held everyone hostage.

She nodded, sometimes. Once, maybe, she said hi. But it wasn’t for you. It was for the space you filled. The staffer. The silhouette. The role.

You weren’t the one she confided in anymore. That person didn’t exist. You weren’t you, either. Not really. Just something in between.

Because Cat Culer still danced at halftime and hugged kids and made Mapi snort-laugh on the sidelines. But every cheer felt heavier now. Every high five, more hollow.

You'd become a ghost wearing fur.

And the truth clawed at you more every time you put the suit on.

That you’d once meant something to her. That she’d laughed with you, shared with you, trusted you—not because of who you were, but because of who she thought you were.

And now? Now even pretending felt disgusting. Because she wasn’t falling for the mascot anymore. And she definitely wasn’t falling for you. It wasn’t just the silence.

It was the way things changed in small, invisible ways. Quiet shifts only you seemed to notice.

Alexia didn’t come to you during warmups anymore. Not to sit beside you. Not to nudge your shoulder. Not to talk about drills or bad boots or long days.

She used to look for you. Now, she looked through you.

Sometimes, she arrived early, trained hard, and left before you even zipped up the suit. Other days, she stayed late—but the second you stepped onto the pitch, foam paws flopping, tail bouncing like always, she’d suddenly remember a meeting. A lift. A stretch.

You could count the number of words she’d said to Cat Culer in the last three months on one hand.

And none of them had been for you. Not really.

Once, you joined Mapi and Patri on the grass for a mock drill—the kind where you were the “opponent” and everyone took turns sliding in to tackle you like chaos gremlins. The girls were cackling. Patri tried to fake a red card. Ingrid filmed the whole thing for Instagram.

You glanced up, heart flickering.

Alexia stood near midfield, arms crossed, watching. For a second, you thought maybe—just maybe— But when you tripped dramatically over a cone and flailed backward in your usual slow-motion death fall, she didn’t smile.

She turned away.

Walked straight toward the bench and didn’t look back.

Another time, you heard her on the sideline. Mapi was complaining about losing a passing game to the mascot, and Alexia—without missing a beat—just muttered:

“Stop letting the cartoon outplay you.”

Not “they’re good.” Not “they’re funny.”

Not you.

Just the cartoon.

Like you were nothing more than fur and foam and a dumb tail flopping in the wind.

And that stung more than silence.

Because at least silence could pretend it didn’t know you.

This? This was cold. This was careful.

And maybe worst of all—this was what boundaries looked like. Rebuilt. Reinforced.

You didn’t know what hurt more— That she couldn’t look at you the same way anymore Or that maybe she never would again.

It wasn’t just you who noticed. Mapi saw it too.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just started watching a little more closely. Her eyes would flick to Alexia whenever you entered a room. She’d go quiet when Alexia walked past without a word. Without a glance.

One afternoon, you were sitting on the edge of the grass in full costume—legs stretched out, paws resting in your lap—when Mapi jogged over and dropped beside you with a sigh.

She didn’t say much. Just passed you an energy drink and pulled her sweatband off with a wince. Her knee was taped again. Same as always. You bumped her shoulder lightly with your foam arm. She smiled, distracted.

Then her eyes drifted across the field. Alexia was walking off. Alone. No wave. No playful jab. No shoulder bump. Just... gone. Mapi watched her for a beat too long.

“You notice it too, huh?” she muttered finally. You didn’t move.

Mapi didn’t look at you, just twisted the cap off her drink and stared straight ahead. “She doesn’t talk to you anymore. Not like she used to.” You stayed still. Silent.

“I mean, I get it. She’s not good with... this kind of thing,” she added, gesturing vaguely. “Feelings. Shit that doesn’t fit into her little system. Especially when it comes from someone she wasn’t expecting.”Another pause,Then, softer: “But still. It’s shitty.” Your chest tightened.

Mapi leaned back on her palms and exhaled hard. “She used to look for you, you know. Like, before anything started. I'd catch her scanning the field, waiting for the cat to show up. Like it made her day better.” She didn’t say it to be cruel. Just honest.

“But now?” she continued. “Now she sees you coming and turns the other way.”

You dropped your foam head into your hands, mask hiding your face even though she couldn't see it.

Mapi nudged your foot with hers. “Whatever happened… it’s eating both of you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. And she didn’t push.

She just sat beside you until the sun dipped low enough to paint the pitch in gold again. Until the others filtered off the field. Until you were the only ones left.

Then she stood, brushing grass off her shorts. And before walking off, she said it—low and certain: “She’s mad. But not at you.She’s mad that she let herself care.” And you just sat there, head in your paws, heart somewhere it couldn’t reach her. Not anymore.

You lasted a few more weeks. Not because you wanted to. Because you didn’t know how to stop.

You kept showing up like muscle memory. Like the act of being there might make something inside you feel right again. You filmed interviews with shaking hands. You sorted clip reels until your eyes blurred. You stood in the media room with your hoodie pulled tight, trying to shrink small enough that even the silence wouldn’t see you.

You laughed when Mapi joked. Nodded when Carla gave instructions. Played the part. But it was all mimicry now. Hollow.

Even the mascot didn’t feel like yours anymore.

Every time you reached for the suit, your chest clenched. The fur felt heavier. The paws, stiffer. The Cat Culer head, once something like safety, sat on its shelf like a stranger. Its smile looked smug now. Cruel.

You still wore it sometimes. But only when you had to. And every time, it felt a little more like punishment. Because no matter how good you were at pretending, she never came back.

Not like before.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you weren’t here for her. That this was still your job. But the truth was... it used to be more than that.

Cat Culer had given you belonging. Had made you feel like someone. Had carved out a space where you could breathe, even if it was through mesh eyeholes and three inches of foam.

Now it just felt like pretending to be a version of yourself that no longer existed. And being you—just you—wasn’t enough to stay.

So one quiet Friday, when the team was away for an away fixture and the office was nearly empty, you cleaned out your locker.

You didn’t leave a note.

No email. No message. No goodbye. Just silence. Because there wasn’t anything left to say. Not to the club. Not to the staff. And definitely not to her.

You didn’t want to explain yourself. Didn’t want to answer questions or sit through awkward sympathy or worse—understanding. You didn’t want to hand over a flash drive or leave behind a letter. You didn’t want to wrap it up in closure.

You just wanted it to stop.

So you walked away.

One morning, you packed your things from the locker flat you’d barely had time to decorate, and by the afternoon, you were gone. The uniform stayed in the locker, untouched. The duffel with the mascot suit still zipped and heavy in its corner. The lanyard probably got deactivated without anyone noticing.

And that was fine. That was the point.Because you didn’t want to be remembered. Not as the intern. Not as the mascot. Not as the girl she used to talk to. You wanted to be no one again. It was easier.

Now you made coffee.

Six-hour shifts behind a corner café bar, pressing espresso and wiping down counters while your coursework blinked at you from a half-broken laptop in the backroom. It was quiet, mostly. You liked quiet now.

There were no jerseys. No cameras. No mascots. No her.

You could breathe here.

No one cared who you were. No one stared. No one expected you to smile or perform or hold yourself together just long enough to get through another shoot.

Here, you were just another face in an apron. Another student trying to make rent. Another girl watching strangers walk past the window and wondering what it would feel like to be unafraid again.

And some nights, when you closed the shop alone and the world felt still in a way it hadn’t in months, you wondered if she even noticed you were gone.

If she’d said anything. If she missed the silence beside her. If she missed you—even if she know who you were.

But most nights, you didn’t think about her at all. You couldn’t. Because if you did, the ache would come back. The one that told you she almost saw you. And then chose not to.

You didn’t expect anyone to reach out. Not really.

You’d vanished so quietly, it felt like erasing yourself. Like closing a door behind you and pretending the room never existed. You assumed that once you were gone, life at the club would move on—faster than you did. Cleaner.

And mostly, it did.

Except for Mapi.

She found you a week later.

Not through some big dramatic search, but through the most Mapi way possible—an Instagram story.

You’d posted a blurry photo of your cappuccino art, not even thinking. No caption. Just foam and sunlight and a chipped ceramic cup. You barely had ten followers.

But she saw it.

Two hours later, she walked into the café like she owned the place. A hoodie pulled over her curls. Sunglasses. Casual as ever.

She didn’t say hi. Didn’t say I missed you. She just leaned on the counter, popped a piece of gum into her mouth, and said, “So this is where you’ve been hiding.”

You blinked at her. “How did you—”

She held up her phone and tapped your post. “Amateur mistake. Next time, don’t geo-tag.” You laughed before you could stop yourself.

And just like that, she made herself a regular.

She started showing up every couple of days. Never in team gear. Always in that deliberately under-the-radar way that screamed don’t recognize me while still somehow drawing attention anyway.

She’d sit at the corner table by the window and call it her spot after the second visit. Always asked for the same drink—iced coffee, no sugar, oat milk—and always insisted she wasn’t here for you.

“Free coffee,” she’d say with a shrug. “That’s the only reason I show up. You owe me for years of emotional trauma.”

And sometimes, she’d stay for hours—sunglasses pushed up into her hair, ankles crossed, flipping through a magazine she didn’t read. Other times, she wouldn’t even order. Just walk in, ruffle your hair behind the bar, and walk out again with a smirk and a wave.

It was stupid. Pointless. Quiet. But it meant everything. Because she didn’t ask what happened. She didn’t ask about the club. Or the suit. Or Alexia.

She didn’t ask why your hands still trembled when you steamed milk. Or why you sometimes went quiet when certain songs came on the speaker.

She just kept showing up.

And that told you enough.

She wasn’t there for the coffee. She was there for you. Even if she’d never admit it out loud. And for the first time in months, you let yourself believe it—Maybe someone had seen you after all.

Late afternoon. Slow shift. You were wiping down the espresso machine when your phone buzzed in your apron pocket. You almost ignored it. Probably spam. Probably nothing. But something made you check.

It was a picture. No words, no explanation—just a glitter-covered digital flyer with Mapi’s face photoshopped onto a unicorn mid-gallop, a party hat tilted over one eye, confetti raining from the sky behind her. It said “MAPICHELLA – You’re Invited (Not Optional)” in Comic Sans.

You blinked. Then the second message came through:

MAPIII: "My birthday. You're coming."

Just like that. No greeting. No room for debate. You stared at it for a long time, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Your first instinct was to say no. To type something polite. Gentle. A soft excuse.

“Can’t make it.” “Busy that night.” “Hope it’s fun.”

But before you could craft your letdown, another message arrived.

MAPIII: "Don’t even think about saying no. I know where you work, remember?"

Of course she did.

You smiled, despite yourself, even as something tight coiled behind your ribs.

"I’m not really good at parties."

There was a pause. Not long. But long enough to feel the weight of it. Then…

MAPIII: "Good thing I didn’t invite you for your party tricks. I invited you because I want you there."

Simple. Blunt. Real.

And you hated how much it made your chest ache. Because it had been months. Months of you slipping away, letting the city swallow you, rebuilding your world with silence and coffee beans and textbooks. You hadn’t asked anyone to look for you.

But Mapi had. And she never stopped.

You stared at the screen, unsure what to say. Part of you wanted to ask who would be there. To calculate your risks. To figure out how much proximity to her you could survive.

But you didn’t. Because deep down, you already knew. And even deeper—you knew it wouldn’t matter.

"Won’t it be… weird?"

You didn’t specify. Didn’t say her name. You didn’t have to. Mapi replied almost instantly.

MAPIII: "You being not there is what’s weird.You showing up and eating cake like a half-functioning human? That’s normal. You’re my friend. Come."

Your throat tightened. You started typing another excuse, fingers shaking just a little.

But then the last message came in.

MAPIII: "If you don’t show up, I’m sending someone to drag you there. In your apron. With a to-go cup glued to your hand."

That got a laugh out of you. The kind you hadn’t felt in weeks—sharp, involuntary, genuine.

You didn’t text back. Didn’t say yes. But you didn’t say no either.

And that night, when your shift ended, you lay in bed with the party flyer still open on your phone, thumb brushing over the glitter filter like it might tell you what the hell you were supposed to feel.

Because part of you wanted to forget. Part of you wanted to stay buried. But part of you—stupid, fragile, stubborn—missed something.

Not the job. Not the mascot. Not even the past.

You missed belonging. And maybe—just maybe—you missed her, too. Even if you weren’t ready to admit it. You didn’t even want to come.

You’d told Mapi that. Twice. Maybe three times. She ignored you every single time.

So now here you were—pressed into the corner of someone’s apartment you didn’t recognize, wrapped in the softest hoodie you owned like it might shield you from the noise, the lights, the memories.

The party was loud. Overfull. Bright. Glittered with birthday balloons and half-empty bottles and a playlist that jumped between club bangers and chaotic throwbacks no one ever admitted to knowing all the words to. People moved like water—shifting, laughing, clinking glasses—and you were doing a decent job of blending in.

Until you weren’t.

“—and this one,” Mapi’s voice cut through the crowd like a spotlight, and your stomach dropped. You turned just in time to see her grinning like a troublemaker on stage, her drink raised, one arm gesturing straight toward you.she was drunk, no she was wasted. You know she didn’t meant to outed you, not like that.

“Faceplanted so hard in the Cat Culer suit during halftime once. I swear, if we’d had that on video, it would’ve gone viral.” The words hit before you could duck.

Someone turned.

Then another.

And then—

“Wait... you were the mascot?”

A few eyes widened. Jaws dropped. One hand literally slapped another person’s shoulder.

“No way.”

“Shut up. That was you?”

“Yo, I knew it. I knew you had to be an athlete under there. You were too good.”

“Okay, but like... you’re actually stupid hot. Why the hell were you hiding in a giant cat costume?”

You laughed—awkward and soft and not quite real. “Bad decisions. Mostly.”

Someone from the far side of the kitchen shouted, “Y’all, we’ve been tackled by a supermodel this whole time and didn’t even know?”

The teasing kept rolling.

“I swear, you danced better than half the squad.”

“You were better at interviews too, honestly. You had the drama down.”

“You did that backflip at the open house! I thought that was a stunt double!”

Compliments wrapped around you like confetti—bright, silly, kind.

But beneath all of it, something sharp pressed against your ribs.

Because not one person said, “Wait, weren’t you the intern too?” Not one, “You filmed that Barça documentary, right?” Not “Didn’t you do all the graphics during the Liga campaign?” Not even a faint, “Weren’t you the girl holding the mic at the tunnel?”

They didn’t remember that version of you.

The one who stayed late, edited their highlights, clipped their press quotes.

They remembered the cat. The chaos. The costume.

Not the person.

And you tried not to let it show, but your smile wavered. Just a little.

That’s when Mapi appeared beside you, like she felt the shift without needing to hear a word. Guilty was shown at her face.

She leaned in, voice low so only you could hear. “Hey. I’m sorry it’s just slipped” You looked at her. Didn’t trust yourself to speak.

Her smile faded—still warm, but quieter now. “You okay?”

You nodded, even though your throat was tight.

She didn’t push. Just stood there with you, shoulder to shoulder, holding space like it was second nature.

“They’re not trying to forget,” she said gently. “They just never knew where to look.”

Your eyes burned for a second too long. You blinked it away. And then—

You felt it.

That pull. That static in the air. The weight of someone’s gaze settling between your shoulder blades.

You turned.

And there she was.

Alexia.

Near the hallway, half-shadowed by a flickering string of fairy lights. Drink in hand. Still. Composed. And looking directly at you.

Your breath caught.

Not from fear.

From recognition.

Her expression didn’t change. Not much. But her eyes—they were quietly wrecked in a way that no one else would’ve noticed.

Just you.

Because you’d seen them soft before. Lit up with laughter, with trust. You’d felt her shoulder brush yours in a silent joke, watched her smile like it belonged only to the cat who couldn’t speak.

But now?

Now she didn’t smile.

She didn’t come closer.

She just looked at you.

And in that one look—without a single word exchanged—you felt the full weight of the distance she’d built between you.

Not cold. Not cruel.

Just… unreachable.

And then she blinked.

And looked away.

And left.

Like she hadn’t been staring at the version of you she couldn’t quite face.

You swallowed hard and turned back toward the crowd, where the laughter hadn’t stopped. Where the music kept pulsing like nothing had broken.

But something had.

Not publicly. Not loudly. Just… quietly. Inside your chest.

Mapi was still next to you. She didn’t say anything this time. Just placed a hand on your back and left it there.

Warm. Steady.

And you didn’t have to say a word for her to understand. You were grateful And you were hurting. At the same time.

You were cornered by the snack table, balancing a plastic cup and a half-full plate of chips, when Patri appeared beside you like she’d been summoned by the scent of your awkwardness.

She leaned a forearm on the counter, too casual to be casual, and looked you up and down with a grin that didn’t hide what it was.

“Didn’t recognize you without the fur,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

You laughed, nervous but polite. “Yeah, I get that a lot tonight.”

“Right,” she said, eyes still on you. “It’s just… weird. You were funny as hell in the suit. And now you’re just…” She tilted her head, her grin sharp and easy. “Kind of stupidly cute. Unfair, really.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

She chuckled at your reaction. “Relax. I’m not trying to marry you. Just saying—if I’d known it was you under there, I’d have started flirting months ago.”

You smiled, the practiced kind. Friendly. Harmless.

“That’s sweet,” you said, trying not to sound like you were dodging it, even though you absolutely were.

Patri leaned a little closer. “Is it working?”

You laughed again, the sound light but distant. “You’re very charming.”

Once again, you felt it.

A gaze.

You didn’t have to look—you knew.

But you looked anyway.

Alexia stood by the far wall, pretending to be in a conversation that wasn’t holding her attention. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes weren’t.

They were on you. On Patri.

#woso x reader #barca femeni #barca femini x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #alexia putellas #espwnt #barca women #fcbfemeni #fcb femení #mapi leon #patri guijarro

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wosonabutbetter · 3 days ago

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Comfy girls

#woso #ona batlle #alexia putellas #fcb femení #barca femeni #espwnt

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skipper1331 · 6 months ago

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I love you (?) // Alexia Putellas

Love

L-O-V-E

A word with a lot and heavy meaning. It wasn't something you just said randomly every day - maybe some people did, but not Alexia. Love meant a lot to her. She came from a well-educated household where love and solidarity were a priority. Her family meant the world to her, she loved her family.

Football meant a lot to her too, she loved football and the friends she had made through it.

Alexia was known to be stern, someone of few words and someone who chose her words carefully. She’s a known person - it came with the business. So she certainly didn't say the words "I love you" carelessly or to everyone.

The only two people who heard it regularly were her mother and sister. All the other people just knew by her actions and caring nature.

And then there was you.

You had crept into her heart with your shy smiles, big grin and addicting laugh.

She wasn’t sure at first if she should ask you out - it took a lot of convincing (thanks to Mapi) to do so.

It surprised her when you agreed but it was obvious to anyone in the Barcelona squad - she was head over heels for you while you also were totally smitten for the captain.

Fast forward, 6 months into your relationship the words "I love you" lingered in the back of Alexia‘s mind. She hadn‘t said those words yet, neither had you.

You knew Alexia was careful and shy, sometimes even scared - it took awhile to break her walls down, so you respected her pace. The feelings also new for you.

The pace was perfect for both of you, nothing rushed or hasty.

But as the days went by, Alexia‘s feelings grew stronger and stronger. At night she thought she‘d explode at some point because she didn’t express herself to anyone.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, all day, everyday.

She wanted to say them.

She really did.

But it was a big step in your relationship. Would you say it back? Did you even feel the same way? What if not?

You meant a lot to her, she didn’t want to ruin anything - everything she had with you was so so special and precious, innocent even.

At the perfect moments, she remained silent, as she had so many times before. It wasn't just an "I love you" it was so much more. Love didn't even come close to what she felt yet it was the closest thing to describe what she felt when she was with you. It was weird.

It was chaotic in her head, her thoughts not organized or structured. It annoyed her. Order was very important to her, especially in her head - after all, that and her talent had made her the best football player in the world. So she didn't like the fact that there was now a lot of chaos.

Normally, she would have talked to you about it, but since it involved you, she couldn't do that.

A different solution had to be found as quickly as possible.

In the next few days, she asked herself what to do. Who could she confide in?

1. you

2. Mami (+ Alba)

3. Alba (+Mami)

4. Mapi

That was the list of people she could always talk to, even if it was often difficult for her - like now.

And that‘s when it hit her.

If she could tell her mother, sister and best friend that she loved you, she could tell you too.

Step by step.

telling her mother

Alexia stood in the kitchen with her mother, preparing dinner while Alba and you set the table. Ale‘s eyes lingered on you, a love sick smile plastered on her face, eyes screaming hearts. She loved the bond you had with her sister. Alba often joked that you were also her sister, which in the future you definitely would be as her sister in law.

The older Putellas watched the scene in front of her, her heart bursting at every laugh she heard. You fit in perfectly with her family - everything was so harmonious, loving and caring, almost too perfect to be true - the most important people united.

Deep breaths, "I love her" she admitted to her mother. It was the first time ever she said that out loud. Her cheeks were bright red.

She didn’t look at her mother, neither at you because suddenly the vegetables in her hands were very interesting.

"Oh, I know" Eli chuckled, the footballer dropping the knife and turning towards her mother.

"You know?"

"I can see it in your eyes"

her sister

The Putellas sisters sat in their local coffee shop for their weekly catch up. Since their teenage years they had the tradition to at least sit together for a coffee once a week. Sometimes it was just for 5 minutes, sometimes for hours, sometimes early in the morning, sometimes in the evening, depending on the schedule.

"Ale, are you listening?" Alba waved her hand in front of her sisters face.

"Que? Lo siento, what did you say?" she stated, her mind had drifted back to you.

Alexia knew you were waiting in her apartment, probably still on the couch where she had left you with a kiss. Or maybe you were in the kitchen? Getting a snack? Or in bedroom reading a book?

I love you

"Thinking about your girlfriend, hm?" the younger Putellas raised a brow while taking a sip of her coffee.

"Sí, lo siento. Please tell me again what you were saying?"

Alba started once again but quickly realized that her sisters mind was somewhere else.

"Come on, Alexia. What‘s going on?" this time Alba flicked the footballers nose to get her attention, "absent again" she explained when the midfielder grumbled confused at her little sister.

"What‘s on your mind?"

"I love her"

"okay…?"

Alexia furrowed her brows, "I love her" repeating her words.

"okay…? I know" Alba repeated her words as well, questioning what the problem was.

"You know too?"

"hermana, you talk about her all the time, like non-stop" she laughed, "it‘s quite obvious that you love her"

telling Mapi

Just a few hours ago, the team had won the champions league trophy - it felt euphoric, everybody high on the adrenaline and joy.

Mapi and Ale watched Ingrid and you dancing on the dance floor, medals around your necks, singing to the song that‘s blasting through the club.

"I‘ve never seen you so happy" Mapi stated as Alexia took a sip of her drink, her own medal still around her neck.

"I love her"

"Oh, I know"

"why does everyone know this?" Alexia furrowed her brows, a frown displayed on her features.

Mapi laughed at her friend, throwing an arm around her shoulder.

"Ale, seriously? You look at her like she hung the moon. You talk about her all the time. You follow her around like a lost puppy. You sulk the whole day when she‘s not there. You beam from ear to ear when she‘s holding your hand. You-"

Alexia cut her off with a hand covering her mouth, "I get it!" her cheeks crimson red as she shied away from the defender as soon as she had stopped talking.

"You‘re the same way with her, like I’m with Ingrid. We‘re both lucky to have such sweethearts in our life. So, don‘t fuck it up"

"Don’t mess up either" Alexia laughed. Mapi was absolutely right: The captain was head over heels for you, totally smitten and unconditionally in love with you. She had never been so happy before - with you, she felt lightheaded and free, something that was rare in the life of a professional athlete.

She loved you.

And was so thankful to have you in her life - being able to call you hers, hers only.

"I wouldn’t dream of it" Mapi agreed, feeling the exact same about Ingrid, raising her drink.

"Salud"

telling you

"Amor!" Alexia belly laughed, running after you as had thrown multiple paper balls at her to get her attention, her attention too focused on the tv. You ran around her apartment, the girl close behind, almost catching you in the kitchen.

Though, she did caught you in the bedroom, where she quickly wrapped her arms around your middle and tackled you onto the bed.

"Amor, that wasn‘t very nice of you" she stated firmly yet you could see the smile she was trying to hide.

"I was only concerned about your well-being!" you defended yourself, trying to wiggle out out of Alexia’s grasp which Alexia denied as she straddled your waist, pinning your arms down. "I was afraid that the wrinkle on between your brows would stay permanent if you had kept that look on your face any longer" you stated innocently - the same expression plastering her face once again, causing you to laugh.

"Laughing at me, hm, amor" her fingers slid along your arms before they suddenly started to tickle you.

The room was filled with laughter, yours (which was music for Alexia‘s ears) and her own.

"I give up! I give up!"

"You shouldn’t mess with me" the midfielder giggled.

Silence followed, both of you staring in each others eyes with so much love and adoration.

Slowly, Alexia leaned forward, her hands cupping your cheeks while your hands rested on Alexia’s thighs as you met in the middle.

Both of your minds went blank as you kissed one another, hearts racing, skin tingling, cheeks burning.

Pulling back, Ale still had her eyes closed, taking in and appreciating the moment.

"I love you"

it was whispered yet loud and clear.

The midfielder looked at you - the way your face lit up, smile wider than she‘d ever seen before, eyes full of happiness looking at her.

"I love you too"

The older girl matched your expression, hardly hiding her emotions.

"Say it again, por favor"

You happily did, "I love you, Alexia."

Sighing contently, she leaned her forehead against yours, "again, por favor" and that‘s what you did, your girlfriend repeating your words each time.

Because she really did love you.

Ps. She had practiced it more often than she liked to admit in front of the mirror.

"I love you"

"I love you“

Because practice makes the best, right?

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia x reader #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso #fc barcelona femeni #barca femini x reader #barca women #barcelona femeni x reader #barca femeni #barça femeni #barcelona femeni #barcelona women #fc barcelona women #espwnt x reader #espwnt

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mapileonxputellas · 3 months ago

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A Blast From The Past (Part 2)

Thank you for all the love on the first part. I hope you enjoy x

Part 1 can be found here.

TW: mentions of surgery, car accident

2.5k

Unknown Number: Meet me tomorrow at 7.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t expecting a message from her. What you wasn’t quite expecting was for it to come within mere hours of your meeting.

She didn’t need to put a location, the two of you had a place all those years ago, somewhere you hadn’t been since. You’d walked past it many times, the cute little bar where the two of you met sat on a little quiet street not too far from where you live. In fact you’d contemplated going in, no-where else in the city quite made your favourite drink like they did. But it was too much for you to handle, too many good memories tainted in sadness.

At least now you could close that door from your past, the two of you were ancient history and this would confirm that.

….

“Ale. Alleeee. ALEXIA!” Friday night had been family night for as long as Alexia could remember. Providing she didn’t have a game, it was spent with her mum and sister and tonight was no different. “ALEXIA!”

Her mother’s voice broke her out of her thoughts, “Sorry. What were you saying?” Tonight though was not like any other night, in just under 24 hours she would be meeting you again.

She couldn’t help herself having sent that text, for years afterwards she’d carried some mixture of anger, sadness, loneliness whenever she thought of you. That soon turned solely to longing and now, well it was something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“What’s the matter with you tonight? Your head is somewhere else.” Eli questioned her eldest daughter as they shared her famous pasta bake. “Is it training?”

“No mami, everything it fine.”

“Well is it the game tomorrow?” Eli pushed further.

“No, no. I’m just thinking.” The sigh that followed let everyone know that it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows in the footballer’s mind.

“That’s never a good thing.” Alba teased. “What’s going on?”

“Do you remember Y/N?”

Had Alexia not been so far in her own head she might have noticed the look shared between Eli and Alba, both their eyes portraying a hint of panic at that name being brought up. “That girl you were with for a few months?” Eli tried to mask any sort of memory she had.

“Yeah, I saw her today.”

“Where?”

“She’s a surgeon now, she’s part of the team working on Kika. I went to a meeting with them and she was there.” Alexia explained.

“Wow, she always took me for quite a free person. I never thought she’d stay in Barcelona.”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen her before today and that was the team that worked on my ACL. Maybe she hasn’t been here.”

“Good for her.” Eli told her daughter. “Young love is a funny thing, 13 years you’re probably two very different people now.”

“Yeah.” Alexia had always been close to her family about everything but for some reason she felt like keeping this private – plus at the moment she was true. They were very different people. “I guess it’s not like I’m ever going to see her again.”

“No.” Eli breathed out a sigh of relief. “Lets have some desert.”

….

Everything had gone wrong today.

You’d woken up full of apprehension about your meeting with Alexia that night but then the rest of the day was meant to be clear. Your plan was to go and do some shopping, go for a walk. Anything to take your mind of it.

Instead you found yourself scrubbed up and in theatre. Your mind focused only on the job at hand.

At 11 you got a call that a serious trauma had been brought into hospital, multiple broken bones, internal bleeding, a head injury. Spanning across five people. The conclusion of a truck on car collision.

That meant they had to put an extension surgical team together and who were you to say shopping was more important than saving a family.

By 12 o’clock you were stood in theatre, passing on instructions to a surgical team and about to operate on a 17-year-old. In orthopaedics you often performed surgery on young people, those in sport who often came in with broken ankles or arms. This felt different, there was a panic to this one. Not least because you and your partner in the surgery would be operating on multiple limbs, whilst down the hall their other family members were also fighting for their life.

“Let’s get started then.” You instructed the team, looking down at the patient on the operating table as you always do. “We’ll get you sorted.”

Surgery was a long process, it was tiring and mind-numbing. For over six hours your mind had been filled with all the information you could occupy. The processes you had to complete, the numbers you’d been told as they deteriorated and then eventually improved, what came next. In the end it had been a success, a lot would depend on their recovery but you’d done all you could for them.

It wasn’t something you could just switch off from either. You always made sure the patient was settled in the ward, checked in with the team and gave them a debrief before completing all the paperwork.

That’s how you found yourself sat in the office staring into space, suddenly remembering you had plans tonight.

“Shit.” You whispered, your head whipping round to find the clock at the opposite end of the room. It might have been dark but it was light enough to show it was already past 8. “Shit. Shit.”

The hospital and bar were a good fifteen-minute drive apart, not to mention parking. Panic built as you quickly logged off your computer, just about managing to grab your keys and phone before practically running to your car.

You probably broke every speed limit trying to make it across the city, parked on double yellows and then it was only when you were walking up to the door that you remembered you were still wearing the sweats and hoodie you pulled on this morning. It definitely fulfilled the brief of shopping attire more than ‘meeting with your ex for the first time in over a decade’ attire.

“Fuck it.” You sighed, it wasn’t like you could turn away now. She might not even be here at this point, you were already nearly 2 hours late.

But there she was, she may have had her back to you but you knew it was her. Sat at your table, a glass of presumably water in her hand with a glass of wine opposite. She was still here.

She hadn’t noticed you were there yet as you snuck up behind her, noticing the phone stuck to her ear.

“It was stupid – I thought if I made the effort then maybe I might get some answers. But she didn’t show….” Alexia told whoever it was she was on the phone to. “Nothing. I mean she could have at least text…… No I’m going to go-“

“Don’t.” You rounded the table stealing her attention. “Give me five minutes and I’ll explain.”

“I’ll call you back.” She didn’t give the other person the time to answer before putting the phone down, her eyes not leaving yours as you sat down. “You’re late.”

“I’m really sorry about that.” You answered, taking what can only be described as a large gulp of wine. The bitter taste of the red calming some of your nerves.

“It feels like this is becoming a habit now.”

“What is?”

“You leaving me stranded.”

You’d be lying if you said that one didn’t hurt. It was true – at least superficially and to her. “I’ve been in surgery all day.” There was no point in sugar coating it – you would never have left her stranded otherwise. “I was planning on being here on time but when you get the call it’s not exactly something you can avoid. I didn’t realise what time it was but I came straight from the hospital when I realised.”

She wasn’t heartless, you knew Alexia and you could see the relief on her face even now. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. But as soon as I realised the time I raced here, I wouldn’t have left you hanging otherwise. I obviously also didn’t plan on wearing this.” Your sweats were nothing in comparison to the turtleneck and blazer Alexia was sporting.

“You look beautiful.” She always had a way with words – there was no doubt in her voice as she complimented you. “I do need to go though.”

“Alexia – just…”

“Not because of you. I have a game tomorrow, it wouldn’t be a good look for me to stay out this late the night before. If any fans see….”

“I understand.” Maybe it just wasn’t your day, nothing was going right.

“I don’t want to be too forward but how about you come back to mine.” Before you could protest she shut you up. “We can talk without being seen. It doesn’t have to be weird – we’re just old friends.”

You worried if you didn’t agree then you would just have this conversation hanging over you for the next few days and for your own sake you needed for everything to be over with. That’s how you found yourself agreeing and driving over to Alexia’s – the two of you taking your own cars after she provided you with her address.

The drive was nowhere near long enough before you found yourself parking up outside the gated house, her car though nowhere in sight. You genuinely thought you’d been the one ditched this time before her car came in sight maybe ten minutes later, opening the gates as you followed on foot.

“I thought you’d given me the wrong address.” You tried to break the awkward tension as she got out of her car. She didn’t exactly give you any answers before reaching behind her, her hands revealing a paper bag and extending it to you. “What is it?”

“Food – I figured you hadn’t eaten and I don’t feel like cooking at this time.”

You looked in the bag to find three polystyrene boxes – the smells suggesting a burger and chips must have been the contents of at least two of them. “But you can’t have any.” You might not have been a nutritionist but you know enough that it wasn’t exactly night before a game’s food.

“It’s a good thing it’s all for you then. You always did like greasy food after a shift.”

“Thank you.”

Your words went unanswered as she opened up the door to reveal what could only be described as the sleekest house you’ve ever seen. Everything was black and white, the majority of the space open plan as she led you into the kitchen.

“Would you like a drink?”

“A water please.”

The whole house was silent as she pulled out a plate for you, indicating you could plate your food up as she got the drinks and led herself over to the sofa. You plated up the burger, half of the chips and a mini garlic bread not quite realising how hungry you were until this point. The last thing you could remember eating was your porridge this morning.

The tension was still in the air as you sat down, practically gulping down the burger before turning to the footballer, her eyes already on you.

“Why did you ask to meet me Alexia?” You had to ask her the question, her answer would lead this conversation.

“Why? I turn up to a meeting expecting to find an old surgeon and I find the girl who broke up with me 13 years ago and never bothered to even give me an explanation. I need answers.”

“Alexia it was 13 years ago.” You hadn’t been in this house too long and already you’d noticed that the majority of the picture frames dotted around contained either Eli, Alba or both of them. “It’s not worth it.”

“It is to me. You left without a word – I loved you and all I got was this text spouting about how you ‘couldn’t do it anymore’. What about me?” When you were together you loved Alexia all the time, but you especially loved her when she was passionate about something and even now as she raised her voice you couldn’t help but admire her. “I deserve answers.”

“I wasn’t good enough for you.” You admitted, not daring to look at her and instead focusing on the food. “Our lives don’t mix. You’re the best footballer in the world and I spend my life either sleeping or working.”

“We were making it work.”

“No you were spending every weekend watching me in that café – you could have been spending it with your teammates.”

“Because I loved you.” The tears building in your eyes spilt over the edge as you took in her words. “I might have loved football but my highlight of the week, every week, was sitting in my car after training with you or spending your lunch break eating those soggy chips.”

“You said you loved those chips.”

“I did.” Why did you have to fall in love with someone so perfect? She was everything you wanted, even now and yet you couldn’t have her. “Then you left and I was left wondering if I even meant anything to you.”

“Of course you did.”

“Then why leave?”

“Because I loved you more than anything.” You shouted this time. “Because the thought that I could have been distracting you was too much for me to handle. You spoke every day about being the best Alexia and I couldn’t be the reason that didn’t happen.”

“It didn’t have to be one or the other.”

“Didn’t it? You did it, you became the best.”

“And I did all of it being lonely. I’d watch my teammates fall in love, celebrate with their partners and I was alone.”

If your heart wasn’t already broken it was then. “Alexia….”

“I was angry at first, I hated you for not saying it too my face. But I never stopped loving you. In Turin I looked for you, in Eindhoven you were the first person I thought about. When I had my ACL surgery I wished more than anything for you to appear.” The two of you were a sobbing mess on that sofa and without realising you’d gravitated towards each other, your hands intertwined and shoulders pressed together. “I wanted to be the best but I also wanted to be loved.”

“I-“ But before you could answer you were stopped by the sound of the door opening.

“Alexia! I bought your favourite…”

And your world came plummeting back down.

#woso #woso imagines #barcelona femeni #espwnt #woso x reader #woso imagine #asks #request #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine

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