#and particularly spaniards

[amaliaofnassau]

what are your thoughts about the drf and them showing of well known luxurious brands?

[umbrace-rambles]

Waugh I caught up with reading dance dance danseur... another manga to add to the pile of sadly having to wait for new updates rip

I really never expected to Actually get Junpei meeting and LEARNING!!!! under Nicolás Blanco, it's so emotional to me it gave me the same intensity as Luffy learning under Rayleigh during the timeskip okay </3 that's my little guy finally meeting and learning under his idol, who may no longer be the person whose performance he fell in love with but IT'S STILL HIM.....

and then you have Blanco slowly falling in love with ballet again because of Junpei.... Nakamura was so right let your bad feelings about dance get exorcised through that kid, he's the perfect target

[sol-y-yam]

Not getting over this. I'm still like recoiled in my own skin... it SUCKS IT SUcks it sucks it suuuuccckkksss.... LIKE WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DID MOUTH TO MOUTH ON MY STILL CONSCIOUS, STILL BREATHING GIRLCRUSH AAGGHHNNNN CHINGADO ITS SO FUCKING BAD!!!!

And like sure! It's been a day. We've chatted, we even went and got dinner at this Kantonian place, and it was nice! And we had a great time!! But i cannot bear to bring myself to meet her eyes!! Or even look at her face!!! ARC IM SO FUCKING DUMB!!! AAAAAGHHGG !!!!!

WHAT HAPPENED?????

We were down at the lake and Isra was swimming and I was wading by the shore and suddenly I see her head slip beneath the water and I panic and go drag her to the beach where I try to resuscitate her right so I start giving her mouth to mouth and I come up for air and she grabs my face before I come back down a second time and is like "Sol I'm okay it's okay." And I turn bright fucking red and aaaAAAGHHAGAGHHH IM DROWNING MYSELF IN THE LAKE IM GOING TO DO IT I SWEAR !!! GAHHHHHHHHHGGH ITS NOT FAIR ITS NOT FAIR WHY DIDNT I NOTICE SHE WAS FULLY AWAKE AND CONSCIOUS WHY DID SHE LET ME GET THAT FAR !!! FUCK !!!!!!! ITS SO OVER FOR ME!!!!!!

I haven't spoken to her since and she's still out there swimming and I'm sat here on my little towel LOSING MY FUCKING MIND !!!! WHAT THW FUCK!!!! GHAHAGGHHHHHGGH ARCEUS SMITE ME NOW !!!! I'm never going to recover from this ... it's all over ...

[bluewriteswoso]

Actions have consequences: part 1

Alexia Putellas x reader

Alexia has 2 rules, don’t come without permission and don’t touch what’s hers, when she leaves you high and dry one morning you decide to break both and send it to your girlfriend

Warning: smut 🔞

There aren't enough words to describe what sex is like with Alexia, she knew your body better than yourself, rather than edging you she loved me make you come again and again until you're begging her to stop.

The only exception would be if you broke one of the few rules, no touching yourself what is hers or no coming without permission, which is why when she had got you so hot and bothered this morning without a release before she left smirking, telling you she would be back later and reminding you of the rules, you decided to break them, which is something you'd rarely do.

You had tried to go back to sleep, tossing and turning but you couldn't ignore the wetness between your thighs, huffing you threw the covers off your barely covered body, stripping yourself of your underwear to leave you completely bare.

Shuffling around until you sat slightly against the headboard, you hands tentatively exploring your body, nails lightly tracing your hips as your bring a hand to your chest to your breast, pinching your nipple lightly between your thumb and pointer finger.

A small sigh leaves your lips and you continue your movements, head falling back as you close your eyes, imagining that the hands were Alexia's.

Thinking of Alexia had reminded you of her teasing this morning, you were determined to make her pay, not really caring for any consequences. You grabbed your phone, setting it on your bedside table so your full figure was in frame, the angle showing you more from a side view with the only part of you not visible being your face.

Clicking record you went back to your earlier movements although you brought both hands up to your chest, fondling your breasts as your hips raise slightly from the bed, hips rocking slowly into nothing. A particularly hard pinch had your back arching slightly as you moaned Alexia's name.

Deciding that was enough for the first video you stopped it, before texting it to the blonde along with a warning.

Make sure you're alone before you watch Mami 😉

When you saw the delivered symbol you were filled with excitement but when it was followed immediately with a read symbol you got slightly nervous. She didn't reply for 5 minutes, in that time your nerves were slowly getting worse but with the sound of your phone pinging you were brought back to reality.

Don't test me puta asquerosa.

Smirking to yourself, any ounce of nervousness washing away. You decide to start your second video, flipping to the back camera and filming your body up close, your free hand making its way to between your legs, you used two fingers to swipe through your folds for the first time, coating them in your slick as you dragged them across your inner thighs, arousal coating the skin.

You stop the video but still lazily circle your clit, the pressure enough to feel good but not good enough to come.

Sending the video to Alexia, you decide not to add a follow up text as you eagerly wait for her reply.

You weren't waiting long, merely minutes, the Spaniard sending a flurry of texts.

You are in so much trouble.

So much.

Couldn't even wait for me to get home, had to break the rules and touch yourself.

Your pussy is mine, and I will remind you zorra.

Nothing turned you on more than Alexia claiming your body, you didn't even reply as your finger sped up, quickly and precisely circling your clit. Your phone fell on the bed as your now free hand joined the other between your legs, gathering up your slick on your finger as your let it dip slightly in before removing it.

Working your finger into you, rocking it in and out as your fingers are still toying with your clit.

You continue to ignore the constant pinging from your phone, adding another finger as you fuck yourself with purpose, not caring about the consequences that will definitely follow suit.

You're so lost in pleasure, back arching off the bed and you move your hips to meet the thrusts of your fingers, you're so close to finishing, heels digging into the soft mattress below you, the room filled of sounds of you furiously fucking your fingers in and out of your cunt and your loud moans.

It doesn't feel as good as Alexia's fingers, not hitting the same spots as when she would have you pinned down and pounding you with your favourite strap but it's enough to make you come, you feel the knot in your stomach tightening, you angle your hand so you can curl your finger, hitting the right spot repeatedly until your legs are shaking and you finally let go.

You take a second to recover from the high and regulate your breathing, removing your hand, wincing when you accidentally touch your clit which is sensitive due to your orgasm.

You grab your phone to see loads of texts and missed calls from Alexia, not even having to see her to know she is not happy. Deciding to put the final nail the the coffin you take one last selfie, it cuts off just below your eyes so your mouth down to your breasts are in full view, putting you slick covered fingers in your mouth and clicking send.

Once again it was read instantly but she didn’t reply, you were kind of hoping she would because it made you feel slightly guilty for disobeying her.

You were not left pondering for long when you heard a car pull into the driveway, then a car door slam and moment later your front door slam.

Hurried footsteps made their way to your bedroom and the door was thrown open and there stood Alexia, jaw clenched as she observed your naked form in bed having just broken her rules.

You were so in for it..

[mapengen-com]

Lazy Creatures

Even though Elisa knew a lot about animals, she definitely didn't expect them to be so… Lazy. Nor that penguins wouldn't wear hats.

Elisa had been buzzing with excitement about the zoo trip all week. Ever since Ingrid had casually mentioned it over breakfast on Monday, the idea had lodged itself in her brain like a catchy song she couldn’t stop humming. From that moment on, animals had dominated every conversation: what she wanted to see, what she hoped to feed, whether Bagheera could come (“absolutely not,” Mapi had said, without looking up from her toast), and several enthusiastic animal facts she’d memorized from books or made up entirely.

So by the time Saturday finally arrived, the anticipation had reached a boiling point. Elisa was practically vibrating in her car seat, clutching her slightly worn stuffed penguin against her chest like a prized possession. Her little legs kicked at the air and her eyes sparkled with giddy energy.

Mapi, in stark contrast, was slouched in the passenger seat, clutching her coffee as if it were the only thing keeping her alive. It was, in her opinion, far too early for a day off. She had on sunglasses even though it was barely bright outside. Ingrid, calm as ever behind the wheel, hummed along to the quiet music on the radio, casting sweet, gentle glances toward the backseat whenever Elisa launched into a new animal fact without warning.

They reached the zoo not long after opening, and for the first hour, the morning was nothing short of magical. Elisa was utterly entranced. Her jaw dropped at the sight of the elephants, she giggled uncontrollably watching the otters chase each other through the water, and she laughed so hard at the monkeys’ antics that Mapi nearly dropped her coffee again. Her tiny yellow camera was in a strap around her tiny neck, and every other second she took some crooked, off-focus photos.

After thirty minutes, the Spaniard carried her on her shoulders for a better view, and Ingrid walked alongside them, explaining why flamingos were pink, how snakes used their tongues to smell, and answering a barrage of very specific, sometimes bizarre questions.

And then they arrived at the giraffe enclosure.

Elisa’s eyes went wide as saucers. Giraffes. Real ones. With long legs, impossibly long necks, and tiny little horns. Her excitement tripled as she spotted the feeding platform, where people were holding out leaves of lettuce and the giraffes were gently reaching down to pluck them from the usual tiny outstretched hands.

She ran up as soon as Mapi let her get down, her penguin still under one arm, and stood on her very tiptoes, stretching her hand as high as it would go. 

But no matter how she reached or waved the lettuce around, the giraffes didn’t seem to notice her.

Other children, mostly the ones slightly taller than her, managed to get a nibble from the giraffes. Adults had no problem at all. 

But Elisa? She may as well have been invisible.

After two minutes of waiting, her enthusiasm began to crumble. She let out a dramatic huff, her cheeks puffed and flushed pink with frustration. Mapi, standing nearby, could already sense the storm brewing.

“They’re not listening to me!” Elisa declared, stomping her tiny foot with all the fury a four-year-old could muster.

“They’re not really listening to anyone,” Ingrid said gently, ever the calm and reasonable one. “They just go for whatever’s closest.”

“But it’s not fair,” she grumbled, glaring at a particularly smug-looking giraffe. “I want to feed them too.”

“You’re tiny,” Mapi pointed out, crouching beside her with a teasing grin.

“I know,” Elisa snapped, the scowl deepening.

“Want a lift?” The Spaniard offered, already holding out her hands.

Elisa hesitated just for a second, but then gave a grumpy little nod. Mapi lifted her up easily, raising her higher than any of the other kids. Elisa stretched her hand again, this time with a slightly less grumpy face.

And it worked. One of the giraffes spotted the lettuce and bent down, curling its long tongue around the leaf with practiced ease.

Elisa gasped. Her entire face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. 

“It ate it! Did you see? It ate it!”

“Yeah, I saw, peque,” Mapi chuckled, her arms secure around her small, wriggling form.

Elisa beamed and slumped against Mapi’s shoulder, now totally pleased with herself. Ingrid reached over to brush a stray curl out of her face, the warmest smile on her face.

“Feel better now?”

“Yeah,” Elisa nodded. Then, after a pause, she kept going. “But next time, I wanna be taller.”

“Good luck with that,” Mapi mumbled under her breath.

Elisa narrowed her eyes at her, but she was too happy to stay annoyed for long. She bounced back to the ground as soon as they moved on, grabbing Ingrid’s hand and swinging it with purpose.

As soon as they left the giraffe area, she was already dragging them toward the next exhibit.

“Lions!” She exclaimed, pointing eagerly at the sign with a dramatic flair. “I wanna see the lions!”

“Why are you always running?” Mapi grumbled as she trailed behind. “Your legs are, like, five centimeters long.”

Elisa ignored her entirely. She was already too busy explaining how lions roared super, super loud, right before taking a giant breath and letting out the most theatrical, not-even-remotely-scary roar either of them had ever heard.

“Very scary,” Ingrid said, biting her lip to hide a smile.

“Terrifying,” Mapi snorted.

Elisa frowned at them, then pointed solemnly at the sign beside the enclosure.

“They also sleep a lot.”

“They’re your spirit animal,” Ingrid teased, nudging Mapi with a smirk.

“I don’t sleep that much,” Mapi muttered defensively.

Both Ingrid and Elisa gave her the same unimpressed look.

“Okay, maybe I do,” she admitted, rolling her eyes. “Let’s just go see the lions.”

But as they reached the glass wall, Elisa’s excitement quickly deflated. The lions were there, but entirely uninterested in their audience. They were sprawled lazily across the rocks, eyes closed, unmoving, and completely ignoring the crowd.

Elisa pressed her face against the glass and waited.

Nothing happened.

She tried stomping again. Still nothing.

“They’re boring,” she declared, arms crossed.

“What happened to scary and loud?” Mapi asked, barely hiding her grin.

“They’re just lying there,” Elisa complained. “They don’t even care.”

“They sleep twenty hours a day,” Ingrid offered. “It’s kind of their whole thing.”

“That’s too much,” the kid said with a disgusted look.

“Tell me about it,” the Norwegian murmured, giving Mapi a side-eye.

“You’re so annoying,” the Spaniard nudged her with her hip.

“You love me.”

“No, I…”

“Elisa, tell her she loves me,” Ingrid cut her off.

Still slightly grumpy about the lions, Elisa only shrugged. 

“She does. But she’s like the lions. Too lazy to say it.”

Ingrid burst out laughing while Mapi groaned.

“That’s it. No more animal facts for you today.”

“Noooo,” Elisa whined. “I still wanna see the penguins.”

“You just called lions boring, and you want to see penguins? They don’t do much either,” Mapi gave her a look.

“Take that back,” the little one gasped, pointing an accusatory finger. “Penguins are the best.”

“Nope,” she said with a smirk.

“Ingiiii!” Elisa turned to her with a gasp of betrayal.

Ingrid, now completely used to that routine, just calmly placed a hand gently on Mapi’s shoulder. 

“Say it.”

“I’m not scared of you two.”

“Say it,” Elisa crossed her arms with all the intensity of a tiny general.

“No.”

“Okay,” Ingrid shrugged. “Then no cuddles tonight.”

“Wait,” Mapi froze.

“Nooo cuddles,” she repeated sweetly.

Mapi stared at her like she’d been personally betrayed. Elisa mirrored Ingrid’s smug expression.

Finally, Mapi gave in with a theatrical sigh. 

“Fine. Penguins are… Okay.”

“Say they’re the best.”

“Oh my god,” Mapi muttered. “They’re the best, okay?”

Elisa beamed, completely satisfied, and grabbed Ingrid’s hand again. She marched toward the penguin exhibit with the authority of someone who had just won a small war. Ingrid followed, looking far too pleased with herself, and Mapi trailed behind grumbling under her breath about how she was hopelessly outnumbered in her own home.

But when they reached the penguin exhibit and Elisa’s face lit up with pure, unfiltered joy, Mapi couldn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

Elisa pressed her face against the glass again, eyes wide as she watched the tuxedoed birds waddle and dive and dart through the water.

“They’re so fast!” She gasped, watching one zoom through like a tiny black-and-white torpedo. “Did you see that?!”

Mapi and Ingrid stood behind her, arms touching, smiles soft.

“They’re cute,” Ingrid admitted.

“Fine. They’re kinda cool,” Mapi added with a long-suffering sigh.

“Kinda?!” Elisa turned to her, scandalized. “They’re the best!”

“I already said that,” Mapi grumbled, holding up her hands. “Don’t push your luck.”

But then Elisa grew quiet. She stood there with a pensive frown, arms crossed again, staring hard at the glass.

“It’s not fair,” she muttered.

“What’s not fair?” Ingrid asked gently.

“They don’t even have hats,” she said, her voice small.

“Hats?” Ingrid blinked.

“Pingu wears a hat when he wants. And sometimes he asks for his scarf when it’s cold,” Elisa explained. “But the real penguins don’t have anything.”

“That’s because real penguins don’t wear clothes, baby,” Ingrid said, trying not to laugh.

“But what if they get cold?”

“They live in the cold. Their feathers keep them warm.”

“Pingu still looks warmer,” Elisa mumbled.

Mapi returned just in time with a water bottle and caught the tail end of that sentence. 

“Why does she look like that?”

“She’s worried the penguins are cold,” Ingrid said, biting back a laugh.

“What?” Mapi blinked.

“They don’t have hats,” Elisa repeated.

Mapi stared. “That’s it. No more zoo trips.”

“Noooo!”

“I can’t do this again,” Mapi groaned.

“You don’t understand,” Elisa huffed.

“No, I don’t,” Mapi agreed.

“Maybe next time we’ll try the aquarium,” Ingrid said, passing Elisa the bottle so she could take a sip too, a pink straw in it.

“Will the fish have hats?” Elisa asked, eyes hopeful.

Mapi dropped her head down.

“We’ll see, baby,” Ingrid said, laughing softly as she rubbed Mapi’s back.

Elisa, satisfied with that answer, happily munched on the straw, blissfully unaware that Mapi was silently questioning every life decision that had led her to this moment.

And despite herself, Mapi couldn’t stop smiling.

“I think the zoo made a mistake.”

Ingrid pressed a hand over her mouth, trying not to burst out laughing. Mapi, less subtle, just grinned.

“They should get better penguins,” Elisa continued.

“Better?” Ingrid choked out.

“Yes,” she nodded firmly. “Ones like Pingu.”

“So you think the zoo should only have penguins that look like your stuffed animal?” Mapi crouched down in front of her, resting her hands on her knees. 

“Yes.”

“That’s insane,” Mapi smirked. 

“You’re insane,” Elisa huffed. 

“Great comeback, champ,” she ruffled her hair, but Elisa was still clearly frustrated.

“Baby, just because these penguins don’t look like Pingu doesn’t mean they’re not real penguins,” Ingrid crouched beside them. 

Elisa thought about this, then looked back at the exhibit. The penguins were still waddling around, completely unaware of her disappointment. She sighed very dramatically. 

“Fine. I still like them.”

“Very generous of you,” Mapi patted her back. 

“I’m still gonna tell them they made a mistake.”

“You’re gonna complain to the zoo about their penguins?” The Spaniard barked out a laugh. 

“Yes.”

Mapi and Ingrid exchanged a look, both barely holding it together. Ingrid was the first to recover. 

“Okay. But maybe we do that after lunch?”

Elisa considered this, for a moment before she started walking again. 

“Okay. I want nuggets.”

“Of course you do.”

As they left the penguin exhibit, Elisa looked back one last time, still holding Pingu tightly. 

“Next time, they better have better penguins.”

“She’s really your kid,” Ingrid wrapped an arm around Mapi’s shoulders as they walked. 

“Tell me about it,” Mapi glanced down at Elisa, who was still mumbling to herself about how someone needed to fix the zoo. She sighed. “Yeah, okay. It’s kinda cute.”

They made their way to the zoo’s food court, where Elisa wasted no time demanding nuggets. Mapi went to get their food while Ingrid stayed with the kid, who was still deep in thought, staring off into the distance.

The Norwegian only watched her quietly for a few seconds, resting her chin in her hand. Elisa was sitting on the edge of the bench with her knees drawn up and her penguin on her lap, staring so intensely at a nearby soda machine that Ingrid wasn’t even sure she was blinking.

“Penny for your thoughts?” She asked softly.

Elisa didn’t answer right away. Then, very solemnly, she murmured.

“Do you think penguins get sad when people don’t like them?”

“What?” Ingrid blinked. 

“I like them,” she clarified quickly, squeezing Pingu’s flipper as if he needed reassurance. “But some people didn’t even stop at their exhibit. They just walked right past.”

Ingrid’s heart gave that warm little squeeze it always did when Elisa said something completely unexpected and a little too insightful for a four-year-old. She reached out and brushed her fingers through the girl’s curls.

“I think they’re okay,” she said gently. “They’ve got each other. And cold water. And lots of fish. And you like them. That’s more than enough.”

Elisa nodded slowly, mulling that over.

“But they still should have hats.”

“Of course,” Ingrid agreed immediately, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Just then, Mapi reappeared, juggling a tray with chicken nuggets, fries, and what might have been three different dipping sauces because she hadn’t decided which one they'd like the better.

“Okay, here we go. Gourmet zoo cuisine!” She slid the tray onto the table with a flourish, then raised an eyebrow at how quiet Elisa was. “Why do you look like you just solved world peace?”

“She’s thinking about penguin emotions,” Ingrid said.

“Obviously,” Mapi deadpanned.

“I’m going to be a penguin scientist when I grow up," Elisa reached for a nugget and popped it in her mouth. 

“Oh?” Ingrid smiled.

“Yeah,” she said, chewing thoughtfully. “And I’ll teach them how to wear clothes.”

“God help us,” Mapi laughed as she leaned her face into her hands. 

“But only if they want to wear them,” Elisa added quickly, already imagining a penguin fashion show. “Some might like capes. Or boots.”

“That’s very considerate,” Ingrid said.

“Maybe I’ll sew them myself,” she continued. “Pingu could help.”

“Peque,” Mapi said slowly. “Pingu has no hands.”

“He has spirit,” Elisa countered.

Ingrid laughed so hard she almost choked on a fry. Mapi shook her head in disbelief.

“She’s gonna start a penguin clothing brand,” the Norwegian whispered, leaning into Mapi’s shoulder. “We’re gonna be the parents of a penguin stylist.”

~

By the time they finished lunch, they all had somewhat recovered from the penguin-hat conversation. Mapi stretched her arms over her head, exhaling like she had just survived a battle. 

“Okay, where to next, little boss?” Mapi asked, standing and stretching with a dramatic yawn.

“Hmm…” Elisa tapped her chin, considering with utmost seriousness. “Can we see the turtles?”

“Finally, an animal that won’t make you question the laws of nature,” Mapi muttered under her breath as she ruffled Elisa’s hair. “Lead the way, Eli.”

Elisa beamed and grabbed both their hands, tugging them toward the reptile section with the confidence of someone on a mission. 

The turtle exhibit was outdoors, warm and sunny, with a big pond and a few logs and flat rocks scattered around for the turtles to bask on. A faint trickling of water sounded in the background, and a few ducks waddled nearby, uninvited but clearly at home.

As soon as they got closer, Elisa pressed herself against the railing, eyes wide.

“They’re so slow,” she whispered in awe.

“They’re supposed to be,” Ingrid said, standing behind her. “That’s how they move.”

Elisa turned her head to look at Mapi, who was taking a sip from her water bottle. 

“You’d be a turtle.”

“Excuse me?” Mapi choked.

“Because you’re slow in the mornings,” Elisa said matter-of-factly.

Ingrid burst out laughing, pressing her forehead against Mapi’s shoulder to muffle the sound. Mapi looked deeply offended. 

“I am not slow. I’m just... Conserving energy.”

“Like the turtles,” Elisa said sweetly, returning her gaze to the pond.

Mapi stared at her for a long second before letting out a long, defeated sigh. 

“Fine. I guess I’m a turtle now.”

That made the kid look smug, like she'd won something. Then she pointed eagerly at the water, eyes narrowing. 

“Can they swim?”

“Yeah,” Ingrid said. “They’re actually really good swimmers. Especially the ones with soft shells.”

“Like penguins?” Elisa gasped, as if she’d just made the most important discovery of her life.

“Yes,” she nodded. “But slower.”

“I wanna see them swim,” she squinted at the water.

“Well,” Ingrid said gently, crouching beside her. “They'll swim when they feel like it.”

“But I wanna see it now,” Elisa said, voice full of urgency.

“What do you want us to do? Ask them nicely?” Mapi raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” she nodded seriously, as if that were the obvious solution.

“Baby, I don’t think they’ll listen,” Ingrid bit her lip, hiding a smile. “They don’t speak Spanish.”

“Or Norwegian,” Mapi added helpfully.

“Then I’ll just look at them really hard,” the kid declared, squaring her tiny shoulders and planting her feet like a superhero about to save the day.

They watched in amusement as she stared at the turtles with all the intensity she could muster. Her eyes narrowed, her brows furrowed, and she leaned forward slightly like that might help her focus her psychic turtle-commanding powers.

The turtles, blissfully unaware, continued to do nothing.

After a full minute of stillness, one shifted its leg. Slightly.

“It moved!” Elisa gasped and pointed, but then they all stilled again. “Ugh!” She threw her arms in the air. “Why is everyone at this zoo so lazy?!”

“You’re so dramatic,” Mapi cackled. 

“First the lions,” the kid said, completely ignoring her. “And now the turtles…” She turned to Ingrid, pure betrayal on her face. “Are all the animals broken today?”

“They’re not broken, baby. They just do things on their own time,” she said patiently, crouching again.

“But their time is slow,” Elisa insisted, face scrunched in frustration.

“That’s just how nature works,” Ingrid said. “Animals don’t do things just because we want them to.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” Elisa muttered, arms now tightly crossed.

“Yeah, well, that’s life, peque,” Mapi leaned on the railing beside her. 

“I liked the otters more,” Elisa huffed. “They actually did stuff. They didn’t just sit there like they forgot what legs are.”

“Do you wanna go see them again?” Ingrid offered gently.

Elisa considered it, then nodded. 

“Yes. But first, I want ice cream too.”

“Of course you do,” Mapi said, already pulling out her wallet. “You know, I think this entire trip was a ploy for snacks.”

They started walking toward the nearest snack stand. Elisa, back to holding Ingrid’s hand, looked up at her. 

“The turtles are still cute though,” she admitted quietly. “Just... Disappointing.”

“They’ll recover,” Ingrid said with a soft smile.

At the stand, Elisa picked out a chocolate ice cream with sprinkles, her mood fully restored the moment the cone was in her hand. Mapi and Ingrid grabbed theirs too, and the three of them found a shady bench near some trees.

Elisa sat swinging her feet, completely absorbed in her ice cream. Mapi leaned back with a long sigh, pulling her hair up into a loose bun.

“You know what?” Elisa said suddenly, as if they’d been in the middle of a conversation.

“What, bebé?” Mapi glanced at her.

“I still think the penguins should have hats.”

“She has a vision,” Ingrid said through a laugh while Mapi groaned and dropped her head back against the bench.

They had spent a few more hours at the zoo, Elisa regained her enthusiasm once she was reunited with the otters. By the time they made their way back to the car, she was tired but still chattering away, her ice cream-sticky fingers clutching Pingu while she sat in her booster seat.

As Mapi started the car, Ingrid stretched in the passenger seat, sighing contentedly. 

“That was a good day.”

“Yeah,” Mapi agreed, adjusting the mirror. “Except for the part where every animal refused to cooperate with her demands.”

“They were all lazy,” Elisa argued from the back seat. 

“They were just living their lives, baby,” Ingrid said, turning to smile at her.

“They should live their lives faster,” she grumbled.

“You need to learn patience, peque.”

Elisa ignored her, staring out the window, already plotting her next visit to the zoo.

“She’s a menace,” Mapi whispered to Ingrid as soon as she noticed Elisa was too distracted singing the song that was playing on the speaker. 

“She’s adorable.”

“She’s a tiny dictator.”

“She’s our tiny dictator,” Ingrid laughed.

That, Mapi couldn’t argue with. She sighed, gripping the wheel.

They both looked at Elisa again, who was now gently fixing Pingu’s tiny hat, deep in concentration, while still murmuring the lyrics. 

After a moment, she finally spoke. 

“Ingi?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Can we make hats for the penguins next time?” She asked in her most serious voice.

Mapi groaned. Ingrid laughed again.

Yeah. This was definitely their life now.

[verstappenf1lecccc]

heyooo could you write a long one shot where Fernando is readers mentor when he “retires” teaches her everything she needs to know.: however then he returns to F1 and can’t mentor her anymore is instead a rival but pushes her off the track accidentally he thought it was ocon.. and he retires the car .. because along the way he’s fallen in love with her… again lots of angst and fluff I’m down for it ahah

comments are always appreciated:)

Red Flags and Green Lights

When Fernando retired he himself thought that it was the end of his career especially towards Motorsport. His last season was gruesome and frankly disappointing. McLaren had let him down big time it was almost as if each race was a joke. Poor strategy Poor performance Poor car.

At the end of the season Fernando knew he couldn’t take it much longer and had decided to draw the curtains up towards his impressive career.

To get away from the cameras and the journalist Fernando had decided to seek refuge in a small Spanish town just off the cost. The salty Spanish air made the Spaniard thrive. He had no intention of ever going back to anything related to Motorsport.

Beginnings

The first time Fernando Alonso had seen you on track, he had raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t the usual dismissive look he gave young drivers—those hungry, wide-eyed rookies trying to make a name for themselves. No, you weren’t like them. You were different.

You had come from the junior ranks, a rising star in a new generation of drivers, but there was something about you that intrigued him. Your precision, your ability to adapt to a car almost too quickly. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way you handled yourself off the track—there was a steeliness to you, a quiet confidence that made him think: This one, she’s got it.

Fernando had never been a particularly warm person, but he’d learned the hard way that talent alone wasn’t enough to succeed in Formula 1. Mentorship—that was the missing ingredient. He’d had great mentors, but his relationship with them had been less than ideal. He was determined to be better. To be the mentor that you didn’t know you needed.

And so, he took you under his wing. At first, it wasn’t obvious what he was doing. He wasn’t the type to sit down and give long speeches about racing. Instead, it was in the small moments, the subtle lessons.

“Don’t overdrive the car,” Fernando would say, tossing you a casual glance during a debrief. “The car doesn’t care about your ego. It’s about balance.”

At first, you’d bristled at his bluntness. But as you spent more time together, you realized he wasn’t being harsh—he was just pushing you in the only way he knew how. And you respected that. In a world of flashy trainers and corporate personas, Fernando was real. He demanded nothing less than your best.

But there were softer moments, too. When he’d see you frustrated, or exhausted after a long race weekend, he’d quietly hand you a bottle of water with a knowing smile. “You’re getting better,” he’d say. "But don’t burn yourself out. It’s a marathon, not a sprint."

Sometimes, after a race, when you’d sit on the pit wall, Fernando would join you. The two of you, silent, watching the crowd disperse, the paddock buzzing around you. He’d stare into the distance, and you could see the weight of his years in the sport, the regret, the battles won and lost.

“You’ll be in my shoes one day,” he’d say, almost absentmindedly. “Just... don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

You’d always chuckle. "I'll try not to." But deep down, you knew exactly what he meant.

You were learning not just the technical side of racing, but the psychology of it—the mental toughness that could make or break a driver. How to handle pressure. How to handle failure. Fernando was a master of that.

The Return

It had been a year since Fernando had “retired.” You were now racing for a mid-tier team, working your way up. You had started to gain attention, but it wasn’t easy. Racing was still a brutal sport, and no one cared how much potential you had if you didn’t win.

It was late in the season when the rumors first started. Fernando was coming back. You tried to ignore it, but it was everywhere. You told yourself it was just gossip. He’d never actually return.

Then, one afternoon, you were sitting in the debrief room, eyes glued to the telemetry, when your phone buzzed. It was a message from your PR manager: "Fernando's back. Announced this morning."

The room around you seemed to close in. It hit you harder than you thought it would. Fernando Alonso, your mentor, your friend, your rival. You had always admired his fiery passion for racing, but this—this felt different. He was coming back *to take your spot.*

The news hit you hard, but you swallowed it. You had worked too hard to let it defeat you. Yet, the sting of betrayal wasn’t easily ignored. He hadn’t told you. He hadn’t warned you. He was coming back to take the very thing you had worked so tirelessly for.

For days, you were a mess. Racing weekends became a blur of frustration. Every time you saw Fernando’s name on the timing sheets, every time you heard the roar of his engine in the distance, something inside of you twisted.

Rivals

The first time you went head-to-head with Fernando on track was at the Monaco Grand Prix. The streets of Monte Carlo, narrow and unforgiving, had always been a playground for him. You had grown up watching him win here, his aggressive style perfectly suited to the challenge. But now? Now, he was your competition.

The tension in the paddock was palpable. You hadn’t spoken much to Fernando since his return—an awkward, strained silence had settled between you both. He was now racing for Aston Martin, and you were still with your current team, fighting for every point.

Race day arrived, and as you suited up, your heart pounded in your chest. The press had been relentless, comparing you to Fernando—asking if you were nervous, asking if you felt the pressure. You couldn’t let them see you break.

As you lined up on the grid, your eyes drifted to Fernando’s car. He was in his familiar spot, just a few rows ahead of you. When his eyes met yours, you felt a twinge of something—regret, longing, but also something else. The rivalry. You had to put it all aside now. You weren’t his protégé anymore. You were his equal. And that meant you had to beat him.

The race was a blur of tight corners, full-throttle accelerations, and the constant threat of losing grip. Fernando had a knack for reading the race, for making late-breaking moves that left you on edge. Lap after lap, he pushed you, forcing you to respond with everything you had.

But it wasn’t just the pressure on the track that had you on edge. It was the way his presence haunted you. Every time you braked too late or took a corner too aggressively, you could almost feel him beside you, his voice in your ear.

Don’t overdrive the car. Control your emotions.

And then, it happened.

It was the final lap, and you were battling for position. You had the inside line heading into the chicane, the tires on your car worn and your concentration slipping. Fernando, pushing hard from behind, wasn’t giving an inch. You could feel his car getting closer, so close that his rearview mirror almost felt like it was inside your helmet.

You took the corner too sharply, trying to block his line. And that’s when it happened.

Fernando’s car clipped your rear tire. The next thing you knew, your car was spinning, the track blurring around you, the world upside down.

In an instant, you were off the track. The gravel crunched under your tires as you skidded to a halt. For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

"Shit! Are you okay?" Fernando’s voice crackled through your radio, panic in his voice.

You gripped the steering wheel, a lump in your throat. He didn’t mean to do that. It was an accident. But it didn’t change the fact that it was him the man who had once mentored you, the man who had taught you everything you knew, the man who had now put you in the gravel.

You sat there for a long moment, trying to regain your composure. The race was over for you. But it wasn’t over for Fernando.

You heard the engine roar as his car raced past. And then, as he crossed the line into the pits , he was the one who had retired without any reason to.

The Apology

The days after the incident were heavy. The press had made their usual spectacle of the crash. But you were quiet. You kept your distance, kept your head down. Fernando had won, of course. The car was still fast, even if he had been a little too aggressive.

He didn’t come to you right away. It wasn’t until the next race in Austria that you finally saw him, walking through the paddock, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. His eyes met yours, and for the first time since Monaco, you both stopped.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, almost apologetic. “I thought it was Ocon.”

You blinked, trying to hold back the flood of emotions rushing to your chest. The apology wasn’t much, but it was enough to make the walls you’d built around your heart begin to crack.

“Fernando,” you said softly, “I know. I know it wasn’t intentional. but” You cut yourself off, swallowing hard. “You could’ve hurt me. You could’ve ruined everything we worked for.”

His gaze softened, and for a moment, he wasn’t the driver who had taken your spot. He was just Fernando the man who had shown you how to drive, how to fight for everything you wanted.

“I didn’t mean for it to go like this,” he said quietly. “I’ve been a fool.”

You were silent, looking at the ground, feeling the weight of the last few years crash down on you.

And then, finally, you looked up at him. “You taught me how to race. But you also taught me how to let go. Maybe... maybe it’s time for it for us to let go.”

Confessions

Months had passed since the Monaco incident, and the tension between you and Fernando, once thick and palpable, had slowly faded into a quiet understanding. The rivalry had not diminished the bond you shared, but it had forged a new dynamic. There were moments when you'd catch him watching you, his gaze steady, his usual cocky demeanor softened by something deeper.

It was after the Italian Grand Prix, a race that had been as unpredictable as the season itself, that everything finally came to a head. You had managed to finish in the points, a small but significant victory for you and your team, while Fernando had taken a step back from the podium, frustrated with his own performance. As you made your way through the paddock, you saw him standing near the garage, his eyes distant. You walked over, unsure of what to expect, but the warmth in his gaze when he saw you took you by surprise.

“Not bad today,” he said, his usual teasing tone absent, replaced by something genuine.

“Could’ve been better,” you replied, glancing at his tired eyes. "But you, you’re still a threat on the track, Fernando. Always will be."

He chuckled softly, then fell quiet. The noise of the paddock, the usual chaos of post-race analysis, faded as the two of you stood in that small, private bubble. It was strange, how it had always been with him. Every time you were around, you felt seen—truly seen, in a way that no one else could.

“You’ve come so far,” he said, his voice unusually soft. “I don’t think you even realize how much you've changed, how much you've grown since I first saw you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk pulling at your lips. “It’s all thanks to you, isn’t it?”

He looked down at the ground, almost as if hesitating. The silence between you stretched, and then Fernando looked up, his eyes locking with yours. “Maybe... but it’s not just that. There’s something I need to say to you.” He took a deep breath, his hands gripping the edge of the pit wall.

You felt your heart skip a beat. "What is it?"

“I never meant for things to get so complicated between us,” Fernando started, his voice low but clear. “I’ve been trying to convince myself that it was just the rivalry, that it was all about racing. But the truth is I’ve been holding back for so long. Holding back from telling you what I really feel.”

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew what he was about to say, and yet, hearing it aloud made the words seem more real than ever.

“I care about you," he said, the words tumbling out, raw and honest. "Not just as a driver or a mentor, but... more than that. You mean more to me than I’ve let on."

For a moment, all you could do was stand there, staring at him, your heart racing. The past few months had been a whirlwind conflict, growth, understanding but now, in this quiet moment, everything felt clear.

“I care about you too, Fernando,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “I’ve been so focused on proving myself, on being the driver you helped me become, that I never realized how much you meant to me until now.”

There was no dramatic confession, no grand gesture. Just two people, who had been through so much together, finally acknowledging the feelings that had been there all along.

Fernando smiled, a warmth in his eyes that you hadn’t seen before. “So, we’re not just teammates anymore?”

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Definitely not.”

He stepped closer, his hand gently brushing against yours. It wasn’t a rush or a need to act on anything. It was just a simple, unspoken connection—one that had been building for so long, and now, at last, it was out in the open.

“You’re incredible,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration. “I’ve always known that. But now I get to see it up close. I’m lucky to be here with you, to be a part of your journey.”

You smiled, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. The competition, the doubts, the uncertainty—it all melted away in that moment. You were no longer just a driver fighting for recognition. You were someone with a future. A future that, for the first time in a long time, didn’t feel quite so lonely.

“We’ll see what happens next,” you said, your heart lighter than it had been in years. “But I’m ready for it. Whatever it is.”

Fernando nodded, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, a silent promise between the two of you.

The next race came and went, and although the rivalry remained on track, it had transformed into something deeper something that was no longer just about the competition. And when the season came to an end, it was not just your achievements that filled your thoughts, but the quiet moments shared with Fernando: the conversations after races, the supportive glances across the paddock, and the realization that you were no longer fighting alone.

In the end, it wasn’t the checkered flags or podiums that defined your journey. It was the person who stood beside you, someone who had seen you for who you were and who you could be. And for the first time, you weren’t just racing for yourself. You were racing for both of you.

[copper-16]

She Feels Safe With You

Ingrid comes to a realization about her wife as a mother after a particularly hard day with a fussy, upset baby.

(a/n: this was requested by someone on ao3! It's honestly half coherent but life I am riding the struggle bus a tad bit ust wanted to write something soft and sweet about these three, hence this!)

Mapi never really considered herself a crier, not just as a general rule. 

She did not cry when she got hurt, or when she was frustrated, or when she watched a sad movie. 

She cried occasionally, sure, but it wasn’t a daily, or weekly, or even monthly occurrence. 

The Spaniard had cried when Ingrid had walked down the aisle, when she had resigned from the national team. She had cried when she got the notification that Spain had won the World Cup, an event she was not present for. 

When they found out they were pregnant, Mapi cried. Ingrid had been in too much disbelief to cry at first, not truly believing that it had worked, not after two failed transfers. 

But the center back had cried instantly, fat, bumble bee like tears rolling down her cheeks as she thought about the fact that they were actually going to be having a baby. 

It probably should have been a sign of what was to come, in the future. 

Mapi cried at nearly every ultrasound, tears springing to her eyes whenever they simply wheeled the doppler in, practically. Ingrid had begun to joke that her wife had turned into Pavlov’s dog, except it was listening to their baby's heartbeat at the appointments. It earns her a withering glance, as Mapi roughly shoved her tears away. 

“Are you going to cry every time you hold her? What is going to happen when you hear her heartbeat when she is no longer inside of me?” Ingrid sassed, though Mapi does not dignify her with a response. 

The Norwegian has a relatively easy pregnancy, thank god. She keeps waiting for the wild emotional highs and lows, or the cravings, but neither really come. She had her moments, sure, but in the large percentage of the time, she felt normal. 

What had been more fun, honestly, was to watch her wife turn into a complete and utter pile of mush, emotionally. 

She had never seen Mapi cry as much as she did in the lead up to Elena’s birth. Sometimes she would walk out of their bedroom to see Mapi sitting on the couch, tears running down her face as she looked straight ahead, not even really looking at anything in particular. 

“What are you crying about?” Ingrid had asked, her head cocked to the side in confusion. The Spaniard looked back toward her, her brows furrowed in confusion as she shook her head. 

“I’m not really…I’m not really sure?” Mapi asked, her words a question rather than a statement. She took Ingrid in for a second, the swell of her stomach, and couldn’t help the fresh wave of tears that overtook her once more. 

“We’re having a daughter,” she breathed out, her words slightly gasping over the wavering of emotion in her voice. Ingrid made her way over to the couch, settling next to her wife as she curled into her. 

Mapi moved to wrap her arms around Ingrid, as she usually did, but the dark haired woman stopped her, softly. Instead, she took her wife's hands gently in her own, pressing a kiss to each of her palms before she placed them over her belly. 

Ingrid relished in the way that her wife let out the tiniest little sigh of relief, even as more tears dripped down her face. 

“That’s your daughter in there,” Ingrid insisted, her voice soft. A tiny kick pressed against the center back’s hand, as if to punctuate the defender’s point. Mapi closed her eyes, even more tears leaking out of her eyes as she nodded. 

The Spaniard was terrified that she wouldn’t be connected to Elena, because she wasn’t the one who carried her. She was terrified that she wouldn’t love her daughter, or be a good parent, that she wouldn’t do or say the right things. 

It was easy for Ingrid to know that Mapi was going to be a good parent. Because the reality of the matter was that her wife cared, deeply, and that already made her a hell of a better parent than a lot of people out there. 

But Mapi still struggled to see that, no matter how much she was reminded. 

————

Mapi cried when Elena was born. She cried as she held her little baby, as she pressed the pad of her pointer finger to her little nose. Elena stayed firmly asleep when she was in Mapi’s arms, never once fussing until she was passed around. 

It became a bit of a theme, their daughter sleeping on Mapi. 

Ingrid didn’t notice it at first, not when she was a baby. She was so little after all, all she did was sleep, practically. 

But still, Ingrid snapped a million photos of her daughter, and so she got a fair bit of Elena sleeping against Mapi. It was where her daughter always seemed happiest, and as much as the Spaniard panicked and turned to Ingrid when the baby was fussing, it was her who was the best at calming Elena. 

It was only when Elena got a little bit older, that Ingrid finally pieced it together. 

The baby was a little bit older, a little bit more alert. She was nearly a year old when she began to resist sleeping, not as easy to put down, waking up early, becoming fussy. 

Ingrid had been at her wits end all morning. The baby wouldn’t stop crying, and her head hurt, and she was tired. 

She wanted nothing more than to go into her bedroom, curl up with her wife, and sleep for more than two hours at a time. But she couldn’t do that, not with her baby here, not when Elena needed her. 

When the doorbell rang, the Norwegian honestly wanted to scream. Elena looked as though she was just about to fall asleep, but the baby jerked awake as soon as the doorbell rang, her nap forgotten. 

The crying was back, and Ingrid held the baby to her chest as she ripped the door open, lashing out at whatever was closest. 

The culprit just happened to be Frido. 

“Fridolina Rolfö I swear to GOD–” Ingrid started, only to be cut off before she could say something she truly regretted. 

“Ingrid.” 

The voice was soft, and probably shouldn’t have been audible over the crying of their daughter, but Ingrid would never not hear her wife. The defender turned around, finding Mapi standing behind her with a sympathetic look on her face. 

The Spaniard had just gotten off the phone from a brand meeting, just a few minutes prior. But she had called Frido before the meeting started, telling the Swede that she needed to come steal Ingrid for a bit. Feed her, let her nap in peace, get away from the house for a bit. 

The Norwegian looked back at her wife with confusion. She hadn’t made plans with Frido, and she knew that she couldn’t leave Elena like this. 

But the Spaniard reached for the baby regardless, taking her from Ingrid. The dark haired woman looked over her wifes face. There was exhaustion present, lines written into her face, bags under her eyes. 

But there was also understanding there. Some nerves, but understanding nonetheless. 

“I called Frido to come take you back to her house for a bit, to have a little bit of a break. Eat a proper meal. Get some sleep without a crying baby around. Rest for a while, princesa. We will be here when you return,” Mapi promised, leaning forward to kiss Ingrid’s cheek. The Norwegian panicked, looking from Frido to her wife. 

“But–” Ingrid started, knowing how nervous it made Mapi to be left alone with the baby. 

Still, even all these months later, she worried that she was struggling to connect with her daughter. All of Ingrid’s movements seemed so natural, so perfected. And somehow still, hers felt awkward and stinted, never quite right, never as maternal or as easy as she wanted them to be. 

She wanted to do better, though, for her daughter and her wife, who was clearly exhausted. Not that the center back wasn’t equally as tired, she just couldn’t very well do anything about it right this very second. But she could do something about Ingrid’s exhaustion. 

“No, we will be fine, Ingrid. Take a few hours, amor, you are exhausted,” Mapi soothed, gently pressing the Norwegian out of the door with a soft hand, allowing Frido to lead her away. 

It turned out, Ingrid needed it more than she thought humanly possible. When she got back to the Swede’s house, there was Sodd waiting for her on the table, and she practically collapsed into the bowl she ate so quickly. 

She napped in Frido’s guest bedroom, sleeping for four straight hours. 

When she awoke, she felt like a new woman. She emerged from the bedroom with a small, sheepish smile. 

“I am SO sorry for snapping at you this morning,” Ingrid apologized, even as Frido held up her hand. 

“Ingrid, you were exhausted and carrying a screaming baby, if I had been you I would have been roundhouse kicking someone,” Frido admitted, and the defender couldn’t help the tiny laugh that she released at the thought. As she came back to herself, she couldn’t help but straighten, a thought racing through her mind. 

“Oh my god, Mapi is still home with the baby…can you take me back?” Ingrid asked in a slight panic, and her Swedish teammate quickly sprung into action to grab her car keys. 

“She is still so worried that she is not doing a good job with Elena,” the Norwegian admitted as they drove, her heart punctuated with worry. 

“Still?” Frido asked, well aware of the struggles that the center back had during the first few months of Elena’s life. 

“Not as much now, but still. It does not come as naturally to her as she wants it to be, but she still does such a good job, somehow. I do not know how she doesn’t see it, really,” Ingrid revealed, and Frido let out a small, sad sigh. 

“She is so hard on herself,” the Swede commented, and Ingrid could only cringe as she nodded, her agreement weighing on the car heavily. 

Frido parked the car in the car park of their apartment building, coming up with Ingrid to check on Mapi and Elena. They were both expecting to still hear crying as they unlocked the door, but the house was…quiet. 

Ingrid looked toward her teammate in confusion before they walked into the house, both of them searching for the Spaniard. 

“Mapi?” Frido called out softly as she checked the kitchen, only to hear the Norwegian call out to her in the living room. 

When the blonde walked into the room, she stopped next to Ingrid, surprise coating her expression. 

Mapi was fast asleep on the couch, with Elena curled into her chest. Mapi was only in a sports bra, her shirt discarded on the floor. The baby was stripped down to her diaper, pressed into her Mami’s chest comfortably, completely asleep as well. 

Frido looked from the Spaniard to the Norwegian, her eyebrow raised. 

“I don’t know, looks pretty natural to me,” she shrugged, and Ingrid softened as she nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight. She pulled her phone out, snapping a photo and placing it in an album on her phone that she was well acquainted with. 

Ingrid left the two of them, seeing Frido out before she returned to the living room. She sat on the floor, simply staring up at the two of them as they slept. Elena was completely safe, engulfed by Mapi’s arms. 

How Mapi could keep her daughter so safe and secure, and still question whether she was a good parent, Ingrid sometimes did not know. It seemed so blatantly obvious to the dark haired woman, that her wife was an amazing parent. 

She only wished that the brunette could see it herself. 

It was only another half hour before Elena began to fuss, and Ingrid quickly plucked the baby from her wife’s arms, going to feed and change her. The Spaniard was dead to the world, and Ingrid decided to simply let her sleep. 

Lord knows the woman could use it, just as she had needed it. 

But even after Elena was fed and changed, she continued to fuss. She cried softly, not very loudly or in a grumpy way, but as though she was not completely happy. 

Ingrid tried everything. She bounced the baby, she walked her around, she made faces at her, she covered her in blankets, she laid her down. 

Nothing seemed to appease her daughter. Not even when Ingrid stripped her own shirt off, wondering if maybe she just enjoyed the skin to skin contact. 

But still Elena kicked her little legs, letting out a weak, tired cry. The defender held her baby out in front of her, her eyebrows furrowed. 

“What do you need?” Ingrid asked aloud, though she wasn’t really expecting an answer. Still Elena let out a frustrated cry, wriggling slightly. The Norwegian paused for a moment, before turning around and heading for the living room to test a theory that was beginning to form. 

And sure enough, as soon as the baby was laid on her Mami’s chest, she quieted instantly. 

The brunette shifted in her sleep, wrapping her arms protectively around Elena, mumbling incoherently as she snuggled into her. Ingrid sat down on the couch next to her, cuddling into her wife as she slept, and helping to keep their daughter held securely as she slept. 

Mapi awoke when Elena started fussing again, waking gently as she wrapped her arms around her daughter, her attention completely on Elena even as she woke up. 

“Shh shh mi sol, esta bien, esta bien,” Mapi murmured, picking Elena up and going to sit up, at which point she registered Ingrid next to her. 

“Oh, hello princesa,” the Spaniard murmured, settling their daughter in her arms before she leaned over to deposit a kiss on her wife’s cheek. She paused though, when she found Ingrid crying, her phone in hand. 

“Ingrid? Is everything okay?” Mapi asked softly, her voice thick with sleep but still filled with concern. The Norwegian nodded easily, running her hand over Elena’s back as she set her phone down on the couch. 

“You are the best Mami,” she replied simply, watching as a flicker of doubt overtook the Spaniard’s face before she nodded, trying her hardest to look encouraged. The Norwegian looked at her wife for a moment before she reached for their daughter. 

“Here, give me Elena,” Ingrid said gently, taking the baby and going to put her down for an actual nap. 

When Ingrid returned, she found the center back sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest. 

“I realized something, when I came back from Frido’s,” the defender began as she sat back down, reaching for her phone once more. Mapi turned to look at her, quiet and more than a little curious. 

“Ever since Elena was born, I’ve kept an album on my phone that is just pictures of her sleeping on you. And whenever I feel sad, or upset, or I just need a little pick me up, I always look at it. It’s my two favorite people in the world, after all,” Ingrid explained, and her words are so gentle that Mapi can’t help but smile shyly, even after all these years. 

“She’s always loved sleeping on you, María. You are the best at calming her down, you are the first to get her to sleep. She feels safe sleeping on you, amor,” Ingrid argued softly, though Mapi looked immediately posed to disagree. 

“Look,” Ingrid insisted, pressing her phone into the hands of her wife. The album is already pulled up, simply waiting for the Spaniard. 

Hundreds of pictures. 

Thousands of pictures, even. 

All of Elena snuggled into her Mami, fast asleep. They started when she was a newborn, so tiny that Mapi had struggled to even hold her without feeling fear. 

As the little girl grew, so did the Spaniard’s resolve to be there for her daughter. Her confidence grew as well, her worry subsided a little bit. 

But more than anything, over the last year, her love for the little girl grew immensely. Tears slid down her cheeks as she scrolled through the album, through the actual, physical proof that just served to show how much she had come to care for their daughter. 

The brunette still had no clue how she could hold so much love for someone so incredibly small, but she did.

The Spaniard stood suddenly, handing Ingrid’s phone back to her before she walked back into their apartment. It was the number one rule, not to move a sleeping baby, but Mapi did not care, not right now. 

She picked Elena up from her crib, tucking her daughter into her arms tightly, praying that she could always protect her from the world as much as she could right now. 

The baby stayed fast asleep, little hot puffs of air hitting her in the chest, where Elena was positioned. Mapi bowed her head downward, her tears dripping from her nose and onto her daughter's perfect little head as she pressed kiss after kiss to the crown of her head. 

“Te amo mucho,” Mapi murmured, as she wondered if finally, finally, she was enough. 

“She feels safe with you,” Ingrid commented from her spot leaning against the doorway of the nursery. The center back looked up for a moment, her eyes thick with tears. “She is always falling asleep with you, always soothed by you. She feels safe with you, amor. She feels safe with her Mami, and that is enough, you are enough,” Ingrid emphasized, and Mapi struggles to keep her composure as her lungs spasm, burning from the effort of keeping her cries quiet. 

Elena opens her eyes carefully, blinking up at Mapi with sleep ridden eyes. 

“Mami,” she rasps, reaching out for the Spaniard. Mapi cradles her daughter close to her, pressing her face into Elena’s skin as the little girl giggles lightly, reaching out to pull at a lock of brunette hair. 

The Spaniard cannot bring herself to care as she pulls the little girl back, looking her firmly in the eyes. Elena smiles back at her, content and happy, safe and secure. 

“Te amo tanto. No puedo vivir sin ti,” Mapi murmured to her daughter, as she felt a part of her heart settle. 

Maybe it hadn’t always been the most natural thing to her, to hold a child or change a diaper or play with a baby. 

But what she made up for in lack of skill in the beginning, she had made up for with an entirely overwhelming amount of love. Because no matter what she did not know, there was absolutely nothing that Mapi would not do for her little girl. 

And maybe, at its core, that had always been enough. 

Maybe all they needed for everything to make sense was a little love, and a very long nap. 

[woso-dreamzzz]

Secret II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You come to training

Ingrid will forever remember the look of shock on everyone's face when she walks into the locker room with you on her hip.

They all wear varying looks of shock on their faces as Ingrid waltzes in, refusing to act like anything is out of the ordinary.

Your head swivels around as you take in everyone looking at you before you grunt.

Ingrid knows that sound well as she places you on the floor, taking that god-awful ladybug toy out of her bag. You slam your hand on the button and it starts singing its jolly tune, the sound echoing around the otherwise silent locker room.

You clap your hands in amusement as Ingrid turns around to change.

"So you finally brought her then?" Frido teases and Ingrid rolls her eyes.

"I was convinced."

She looks meaningfully to where you've now been joined by Mapi on the floor. The Spaniard has no qualms about sitting with you, oohing awwing over your toy as you babble at her.

She nods along like you've imparted the truth of the world onto her and she presses the button on your ladybug when it stops again.

"Really?" She coos at you," That's so interesting! You're so smart!"

The rest of the locker room is completely silent until Jenni speaks.

"I think I speak for everyone when I say...What the hell?!"

"It's a baby," Mapi says before Ingrid can speak," Isn't she cute?" She lifts you up under your armpits. You sag in her arms like baby Simba as Mapi proudly presents you to the others. "She's so cool. She can push buttons all by herself!"

Frido laughs. "I think lots of babies can do that, Mapi. Ingrid's Skatt isn't special."

"Don't say that!" Mapi gasps," You can hurt her self-esteem!" She turns you around so she can look at you. "You're very smart! So, so smart! Pushing buttons and singing all by yourself!"

Ingrid's made peace with the fact that she's probably not getting you back this entire training session. She thinks the coaches have also made peace with the fact that there will be no training being done either.

This training session has been highjacked by you and Mapi. Even the more standoffish girls have been won over by you.

Frido isn't much help either, constantly bringing up things like she had known you for years and not the five months you had been alive.

"Show them the bumblebee outfit! Show them the bumblebee!" Frido cajoles as everyone sits in the shade together on the pitch. "Come on, Ingrid! She looks so cute as a bee!"

You're sat happily in Mapi's lap as Jana and Bruna coo over you. You're particularly interested in the fact that they have fingers, tugging and pulling on them before forcing them to touch the button on your ladybug.

"Bumblebee?" The words catch Mapi's attention who sits up fully as Ingrid goes through her camera roll.

"My mother sent it when she was still little."

She flips the phone around so everyone can see you wearing your special bumblebee sleep suit. You look completely peaceful in the picture and Ingrid scrolls along to show you dressed as a spider and an ant.

"This is the most recent one."

It's you sitting in front of your ladybug, dressed like a ladybug too. You've got your fingers in your mouth and you're staring at your toy with such concentration that it's kind of funny.

"She's adorable," Irene coos," My wife is pregnant. I know it is different but...the club...they are good with you needing to be with her?"

"They pay for her babysitter," Ingrid replies," They're perfectly happy with her. Isn't that right, skatt?"

You turn your head to look at her at the call of your nickname. You stare for a moment before grunting and going back to clapping along to your ladybug.

"She seems very smart. She knows her name," Marta continues.

"Ingrid's got her trained," Frido teases," She whistles and Skatt stops exactly what she's doing to listen. She likes a little dog."

Ingrid swats at her. "Stop calling my daughter a dog."

"Yeah, Frido," Mapi butts in," You're going to ruin her self-esteem."

"I don't think you'll let anyone do that. Is Ingrid getting her kid back or are you keeping her forever?"

Mapi shrugs. "I don't mind keeping this little cutie. She and Ingrid can move into my place. I'll take good care of you, skatt. Yes, I will."

Alexia rolls her eyes. "I think you need to prove you can take care of yourself first, Mapi."

"That's why Ingrid's moving in too, obviously. I can't separate this little beauty from her mama. That would make her sad!"

"Sure," Ingrid hears Leila mutter," That's the reason you want Ingrid to move in."

You whine a little as your ladybug stops singing and Ingrid instantly knows what that means.

"Give her here," She says," Someone needs a nap."

You're passed from Mapi to Ingrid and you conk out fast asleep on her chest almost as soon as you're settled there. Your soft puffs of breath tickle Ingrid's collarbone and she gently runs her fingers through your soft, downy hair.

"Oh!" Mapi says.

Her cheeks go a little red as she digs around in her bag.

"I know she likes ladybugs and I'm sorry if this oversteps boundaries or anything but here. For Skatt."

Ingrid tucks the little ladybug plushie under your arms and you instantly curl into it.

"It's beautiful, Mapi," Ingrid says, pressing a soft kiss to Mapi's bright red cheek," Thank you for thinking of her."

[unforced3rr0r]

ALWAYS THERE || CA

————————————————————————

summary: As Carlos’ childhood best friend you’ve been by the side since the beginning. While Carlos insisted he only saw you as a friend you couldn’t help as your feelings for him grew.

pairing: carlos alcaraz x fem!reader

warning: angst, fluff

a/n: been thinking about this plot for a while.

MASTERLIST

The first time you met Carlos, you were four years old. Meeting when your parents move a few houses down the road.

You had approached the door holding onto your mother's hand, and when it opened, you saw a short boy with messy brown hair and large brown eyes gazing at you from behind his mother's legs.

You were too young to remember clearly, but Carlos's mother and yours loved to tell the story of you two cuddled up on the floor of his room when they came to take you home.

From that moment it seemed you were inseparable. You sat through each of Carlos' early tennis matches, encouraging his passion and indulging in his dream of being one of the great.

While he was on the court, you were in the studio. Painting and drawing with every chance you got and for every art show you attended Carlos was there ready to wrap his arms around you and tell you how proud he was.

Every memory from your childhood has his big brown eyes as the prominent feature, and he’d engraved himself within your soul.

When Carlos was 16 and told you he was making his ATP debut, you had screamed, he lifted you into the air wrapping his strong arms around you.

You’d placed your hands gently on either side of his face and pulled his forehead to yours. Uttering over and over again how proud of him you were.

You had sat in his player's box for that match with your hands sweating and legs shaking as you analysed every movement and hit the Spaniard made.

Your head cutting from one side to the other watching carefully every micro movement made by both Carlos and his opponent.

With the final shot in Carlos’ favour, you couldn’t hold back the tears. You couldn't help but rise to your feet, clapping and screaming with pride.

He had beamed at you from the court, and you knew that he would be part of you forever.

...

You had always thought Carlos was attractive, you were his friend - not blind. But for the longest time it had never phased you, laughing off every comment that people made about the two of you ending up together.

But something changed after his professional debut. With him travelling, you spent more time alone in hotel rooms around the world together.

After a particularly gruelling tennis tournament for Carlos you had retired to his hotel room. He lay beside you as a movie droned on in the background. His hand tracing absent minded patterns across your arm.

Completely content in each other company, your whole body at peace with the state of your lives, you had turned to him and asked about the future.

“Do you think you’ll ever get sick of me?” You had quietly muttered, your eyes avoiding his questioning gaze instead watching his eyebrows as they knitted together.

Gently he reached his hand up brushing a stray strand of hair from your face and smiled sweetly, “I couldn’t live without you, even if I wanted to.”

You closed your eyes and sighed, nodding as Carlos’ hand settled on your cheek. “plus, I plan on being your biggest pain in the ass for a long time.”

You laughed, playfully shoving the Spaniard away from you. He rolled back underestimating the space left on the bed and he plummeted to the floor with a thud.

Your laughs turned to wheezes and Carlos gasped in mock anger grasping his heart dramatically. “Laughing at my pain, I can’t believe you.”

Through torrid giggles you managed to collected enough composure to speak, “for a tennis player you aren’t very graceful.”

Carlos bolted up, a scream came from your lips as you rushed in reaction dashing out of the room as quickly as possible. The Spaniard followed, his long legs reducing your escape attempt to a measly ten steps.

His arms circled your waist pulling him tight against his chest as he lifted you off the ground. You’d spun round you push him away but his grip remained firm, his large hands settled just under your t-shirt setting your skin ablaze.

Your eyes met his big brown gaze, watching you with a look of something that you couldn’t quite place. Your stomach flipped and a wave of something akin to nausea hit you.

Suddenly it felt as though you’d forgotten to breathe, electricity buzzing in his watchful gaze. Your heart raced as Carlos began to close the gap.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you thought for a second he was going to kiss you. You could’ve sworn you watched his gaze fall to your lips but just before that vital point of no return he pulled you in for a hug.

the tension from the desperate moment before dissipated, replaced with tender appreciation.

But as his lips brushed your ear and shivers rushed down your spine. “I’d be no where without you.”

Your arms slid around his shoulders holding him close, fingers running softly through the hair at the back of his neck.

“And I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” You held him close, soaking in each other’s presence.

He nestled his head in the crook of your neck and with every brush of his nose against you had your heart racing.

He pulled away, his lips sweetly meeting you cheek as he made his way back to the bedroom, calling your name.

You stood in the hallway, your breathing ragged as you ran your hand over your face. Your body was tense and you could still feel the ghost of Carlos’ hand on your waist.

You stared silently at the open bedroom door, trying to ignore the looming feeling that something had changed.

From there, something was ignited within you. You wondered if you'd always harboured these feelings for the man who you'd grown up with.

You'd never really been in a relationship, struggling to find a man that measured up to Carlos. At first you thought it was just because Carlos had shown you how you deserved to be treated - not to mention he rarely approved of the men you liked.

...

In your final year of school before heading off to University, you had a big formal to celebrate. The excitement had been building over the year and as the months drew closer your friends urged you to find a date.

A date hadn't particularly interested you, with none of the guys you knew ever giving you butterflies, or making you nervous. You travelled a lot with Carlos and it meant you struggled to find time for an active love life outside of the boundaries of school.

But your friends had laughed when you suggested going alone, sending you a list of guys who would love to take you to the dance. You resisted as much as you could but they refused to let up.

One of the guys suggested was a guy who you'd been friends with throughout school. He was sweet, funny and could hold a conversation. You were doubtful you'd leave the dance with the love of your life but he seemed like he'd be fun to spend the dance with.

Carlos should've been at the dance but the commitments of his professional tennis career called him away.

He demanded you have the best time and call him to debrief after. You laughed and agreed, wishing him luck for his tournament.

Your date had arrived promptly, bringing flowers and shooting you a charming smile with a slew of compliments at the sight of you in your dress.

The evening had started well, with drinks and laughs filling the hall where the Formal was held. Your date had been a dream. Being respectful and beaming at you when you made a joke.

You danced with your friends and giggled your way through the night until the music shifter to being more romantic. The tune slowed and the groups dancing on the floor morphed into pairs.

Your date asked if you wanted to dance, extending his hand to you. taking his hand you moved to the dance floor and settled with your arms on his shoulders and his hands tentatively reached for your waist.

You both laughed and talked as you swayed to the music. You fell into a comfortable rhythm. His hand moved to the side of your face and he leaned forward.

Panic flooded your body as you realised what was about to happen, the characteristic gaze in his eye that you’d seen before in men. Your body went rigid and your mind went to the tall Spaniard who was in a hotel somewhere winding down from a day of playing tennis.

Before you let his lips meet yours you turned your head, shifting the almost kiss to your cheek. Unease settled in your stomach and you suddenly felt the need to get away.

You politely excused yourself from the dance floor, making your way to the exit in desperate need for some fresh air.

You stormed through the hallways pushing open the doors and letting the cool air hit you. Your lungs gasped for breath and you doubled over, hands finding your knees to support yourself.

Your head was pounding, your heart was racing and as you pulled yourself up. You could still feel the boy's hands burning into your side, your face alight from his touch. But you didn't find comfort in it, instead, it sent a sick feeling through you.

You sat down against the wall, your hand finding your phone in your bag. Silently, you dialed his number, putting the phone to your ear, and waited as the phone rang.

He picked up after just two rings. "Hola amor." (Hi love). His raspy voice signified you'd just woken him up, but you couldn't help the pang of warmth rushing through you when his words hit you.

He’d been calling you love since you were children. An innocent nickname which you would laugh off when people questioned. “We’re just friends” would echo through your mind every time that boundary felt as though it was shifting.

But if the nickname was so innocent why did it feel as though your heart was being ripped from your chest as the words. The quiet mumble of his voice, knowing he was on the other side of the planet while you’re here in the cold.

This wasn’t how friends felt about each other. Maybe you’d always known that, but you were just too afraid of what reality meant for you to face it. Too petrified by what a life without Carlos would look like if he didn’t feel the same.

You sat on the floor in your expensive dress as Carlos coaxed you from the ledge you felt you were sitting on. His soft tone burrowed deep into your soul, and a sense of calm flooded you.

Despite him clearly being exhausted, holding on to any slither of being awake to talk to you, he managed to rouse his consciousness. All because you'd called.

It was only when you finally left him, letting him get the sleep he so clearly craved, that you found your mind racing. You couldn't deny the feeling you felt anymore. But you sure would try.

…

Things changed after school. You went off to university, and your workload quickly increased, while Carlos flitted around the world, growing adoring fans everywhere he went.

You knew things wouldn't stay the same forever, and just a year after you had called him from your prom, he was slipping away from you rapidly.

Nightly calls shifted to weekly, then monthly. Soon, you heard from him sporadically usually in the middle of the night at whichever timezone he was in.

Quickly, the boy who you had grown up attached to, had turned into a man that you were beginning to not recognise.

You held on to the tethers of your friendship with every part of you. When you could, you would fly out and watch him play, organising your calendar carefully around the ATP tennis schedule.

Staying up late, texting him after a good game, calling him after bad ones. Sometimes he picked up, other times he didn't.

Then you saw her. The tall, drop dead gorgeous, must-be model draped off of Carlos' arm after one of the matches. His lips me there cheek in a video captured by a fan and you felt a pang of something you reluctantly recognised as burning jealously.

He had a girlfriend. A stunning, famous girlfriend. Who he hadn't told you about. It had been about a month since the two of you called, a five-minute conversation about the Spaniard's last tennis match.

He hadn't mentioned this girl then. Did that mean it was new, or just that he hadn't thought to tell you?

After seeing one photo on your phone, it was like you couldn't escape it. Every slide and swipe revealed more fan photos of Carlos, your Carlos, with this random girl.

You knew you were overreacting, he was 19 year old and one of the 'up and coming' tennis players. Of Course, he was going to find himself swarmed with beautiful women.

But the more you saw his hand around her waist or her hand draped across his chest. You couldn't help that the fire raged beneath your skin.

You reached for your phone desperately. The time was 8pm, and for once, Carlos was in a similar timezone, so you knew he should be awake. Your phone was ringing before you even had time to stop yourself. The phone rang mindlessly, and you waited.

After what felt like an eternity, you heard a gruff voice on the other end. "Y/N?" His questioning tone cut into you more than you'd like to admit.

Just 12 months ago he'd welcomed random calls, your nickname had fell so easily from him lips and you would slipped into conversation that harboured no specific topic.

But now, just you calling him had to have a reason. You sighed, "¿Tienes novia?" (Do you have a girlfriend?) He laughed, but you couldn't find it in you to find it funny.

"Que?" (what?) He was in disbelief. After being all over this girl on Instagram and twitter and every social media you opened, and HE was in disbelief. Over the girl he hadn't even deigned to tell you about.

"¿La chica? ¿por todo Instagram?" (The girl? All over Instagram?) your voice was lined with aggravation. You knew he could sense it as he paused, carefully thinking on where to step next.

His voice was quiet. "Ella no es nada. Ella es casual." (She's nothing; she's casual.) You scoffed,

¿Entonces ahora eres uno de esos tipos? (So now you're one of those guys?) Your words were laced with something vicious. You weren't mad at him. I mean, you were on the surface, but beneath that basic level of irritation, you were clearly mad at yourself.

While you had been sitting around waiting for Carlos to notice that you had been right there the entire like like an 80s rom-com, he had been forgetting you even existed, falling into some other woman's bed.

"Ah, de verdad Y/N" (Oh really, Y/N) He was annoyed, you weren't surprised. "No necesito esto de ti." (I don't need this from you)

Your blood boiled, your tone became increasingly sharp and distant from the soft mannered person Carlos knew so intimately.

"¿Y eso qué significa?" (And what does that mean?) You were acutely aware of every small sound coming from his side of the phone.

"¿Por qué te importa? No eres mi novia." (Why do you care? You're not my girlfriend.) It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over you, which pulled you back down to reality. Why did you care?

He was right. He owed you nothing. You weren't together, and he'd made it clear in every passing comment and mistake friends made. That he saw you only as a friend.

Meanwhile, you found yourself moving further past the point of no return with every interaction. Unable to hide the way you searched for his brown eyes in every crowd, even when you knew he wasn't there.

The way your heart raced with every phone call and you found yourself counting down the minutes till you would next see him. You were well and truly in love with your best friend and he had no idea.

His tone had cut into you, his soft demeanour replaced with a sharp and vicious manner. It hurt. Even beyond your newly realised feelings you had first and foremost been friends.

Sure, maybe in the last year, you had let the distance infiltrate the once disgustingly close relationship you two held. But you were still friends, and friends were supposed to tell each other things.

Your voice lost its edge, and the hurt manner came through, "Tienes razón. Pero se supone que somos amigos." (You're right, But we're supposed to be friends.)

You heard him call your name before your finger slid to the red button, but you didn't want to hear anything more.

You fell back onto your bed, your phone slipping to your side as you took a deep breath, desperate to clear the weight that felt like it had settled in your lungs.

Your eyes burn with tears, and you rub your hands harshly against your eyes, trying to displace the violent urge to cry. Your phone rang next to you, Carlos' goofy smile shining on your screen, but you couldn't bring yourself to pick it up.

…

It had been months. Without a single message, call or letter sent between you two. Carlos had been having the best season in his career so far, and you were trying to block that out.

For the first few weeks after the tense call, Carlos texted and called you daily. With profuse apologies and begging you to talk to him. But you stayed strong.

You needed space, not just to deal with your emotions from the argument but also to get over him. You couldn't be his friend when every glance he gave you made your heart race.

You still watched every match he played, shouting at the television for every slight misstep or mistake and cheering for every point won..

You couldn't help but wonder if maybe this was your destiny. Watching Carlos from the sidelines as he succeeded and outgrew you.

You had always assumed that you'd always be by his side, there to celebrate his success and wallow in his failure - it wouldn't matter if you were together.

But he had her now, and you had the hope of what could've been.

It came to a head at the US Open. Carlos had an incredible start to the tournament, breezing his way into the quarterfinals. You'd watched all the games from the comfort of your home and fought off the urge to message him daily.

Then he won the quarters. It was far from easy; Jannik Sinner had put up a fight, dragging Carlos into two tie breaks. You'd sat on the edge of your sofa, pleading to gods you didn't believe in for Carlos to win. When 'game, set, match' was called, you were flooded with relief.

Your parents called you the next day, announcing that they would be flying out to watch Carlos play and that you should be going too.

Your chest constricted at the thought, but you forced out, "Él no me quiere allí" (He doesn't want me there.) Your parents scoffed in disbelief at the current state of the relationship between you two.

"Sí, cariño. Probablemente seas la única persona que quiere allí." (Yes, he does, honey. You're probably the only person he wants there.) Your heart picked up at the idea of Carlos wanting you there. But you knew it wasn't in the way you wanted it.

If he wanted you there it was the same way it always was. As his childhood best friend, who he kept around because he always had and not because he couldn't imagine a world without you.

"No puedo ir, tengo clase." (I can't go I have class) You heard a sigh through the phone, but you wouldn't let your resolve crumble. You helped your parents pack and fielded more pleas to watch the match before they left to go to the airport.

You sat down in your silent living room inhabited by just the sound of the tennis commentary to watch Carlos' semi-final game. It was another grueling five-setter, with Carlos conceding tie breaks once again.

When the game had started, you felt solidified in your choice to stay home, but with every point won, you watched as Carlos' gaze flitted to his box, over the faces of his family and yours. He wasn't smiling and cheering; he was...looking or searching.

You mother knew you'd be sitting at home watching the game no matter how much you had pretended to move on. Which is why halfway through the match, she sent you a text that broke your heart.

Mama: "Te está buscando. Le preguntó a Virginia si vendrías antes del partido." (He's looking for you. He asked Virginia if you were coming before the match)

Carlos took the final point, confirming his place in a grand slam final and putting himself on the brink of making history. But he didn't celebrate as much as you'd expected.

His eyes watched his family, a smile beaming on his face, but as someone who knew Carlos intrinsically, you could see the way the smile didn't quite reach his eyes and the way he seemed deflated rather than on the top of the world like he should.

Your heart plumeted to your stomach. You wanted to be there, wrapped up in his arms, celebrating his achievements.

You wanted to stay up that night to discuss the grand slam title on the horizon and remind him that no matter what happened, the results wouldn't change how you felt.

Before you knew it, you were booking a flight. Even if Carlos didn't feel the same way and couldn't love you the way you loved him, this was bigger than that.

This was the same Carlos who was always there for you when it mattered, even with the distance that had grown between you. This was your way of fighting for him and the friendship that had seen you through your entire life.

...

You arrived at the stadium with nerves coarsing through you. Though you had told Carlos's family and yours that you were showing up so they could get the right passes for you - you'd kept it from Carlos himself.

The crowds swarmed towards the stadium, but you made your way towards the locker room where you knew Carlos would be getting ready.

You knocked on the door, and you heard the voice that had followed you for 19 years calling you into the room. He had his back to you, talking to Juan Carlos as he stretched out his hamstrings.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, clearing your throat as the nerves started to find you again. What if he didn't want you here?

"Alguien me dijo que tal vez necesitas algún apoyo extra. (Someone told me that maybe you need some extra support.) Carlos's head immediately snapped around to face you, getting out of stretches and closing the distance between you before you could process it.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him, burying his head into your neck. It was like coming home. The warmth that blossomed in your chest as you felt the Spaniard's stubble brush your neck.

Your arms slid around his neck, holding him close to you. One hand slid up to his head resting in his hair. He sighed against your neck, and you smiled as you whispered, "Lo siento, no vine antes." (Sorry I didn't come earlier.)

He shook his head against your neck, his voice coming out as a murmur, "Es todo culpa mía. Me alegra que estés aquí. No puedo hacer esto sin ti." (It's all my fault. I'm glad you're here. I can't do this without you.)

He pulled his head from your shoulder, his hands finding rest on the sides of your face. He rested his forehead against yours, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

His touch burned your skin, every word sending shivers down your spine. "No quería hacerlo sin ti." (I didn't want to do this without you.)

You couldn't stop the words from leaving your mouth as Carlos's gaze bore down on you. "Te amo, más de lo que un amigo debería" (I love you, more than a friend should.)

Confusion darted through Carlos's face as he took in your words. His hands fell from your face, and you took a step back, your heart shattering at the look on the Spaniard's face.

He opened his mouth to speak, but you stopped him. You grabbed his hand and ran your thumb gently over his hand. "Ve a ganar y podremos hablar más trade." (Go win. We can talk later.)

He beamed at you, wrapping you up in a final hug that left you smiling. His lips met your cheek, and his mouth rested by your ear, "Nos vemos allí" (See you out there).

You nodded, fighting against the urge to move your head slightly and kiss the man who had plagued your mind for so long. Instead, you stepped back turning and headed toward the court.

You gave Carlos a final glance as you let the stress of the match begin to build.

The match was tense. You could feel the atmosphere drowning the crowd. The precipice of history being made calling.

Carlos played phenomenally. Every point was careful, precise and planned out. Casper Ruud never stood a chance. With every win, Carlos would turn to you, meet your eyes and cheer.

Your hands began to sweat and the nerves reached their peak in the final set. Every mistake moved you further the the edge of your seat but Carlos refused to lose.

One break and then the second, and before you knew it, it was a championship point. The crowd was silent. The tension was palpable, but as Carlos reached up for his serve, you felt a wave of calm rest over you.

He had it. You saw the gleam in his eye as he hit the ball, the grunt escaping his mouth with the hit. He darted across the court, each movement perfected.

Then it hit. The crowds screamed and Carlos fell to the floor. The screams rang in your ears as you watched him. He sobbed on the hard court, and your hand reached to your mouth.

It was only as your hand touched your cheeks that you noticed you were crying. The sight of Carlos blurring through the streaming haze of tears.

You felt his family and yours wrap their arms around you, bringing you back into the present. Looking back to the court, you could see the Spaniard beginning to climb through the audience towards you.

His mother by your side was whispering, "El lo hizo" (He did it.)

You grabbed her hand, laughing and smiling, and you spoke, "él realmente lo hizo" (He really did it). She wrapped you in a hug and told you how happy she was you were here and you couldn't help but agree.

You couldn't imagine not being there to celebrate this moment with Carlos. When you turned back to look for Carlos, he was climbing into the box, immediately being attacked by his team.

They cheered, and his shoulders shook with sob,s but he didn't stop moving. He found his family letting them shower him in praise but his gaze fixed on you.

He moved towards you, and your heart rate picked up. The look in his eyes was the same unidentifiable emotion you had seen before.

But before you had a moment to consider what it meant, Carlos's hands were on your face, connecting your lips.

You froze at first, shock radiating through you at the feelings of his lips on yours. But as Carlos went to pull away his hands slipping from your face, your hands found purchase on his neck pulling him closer.

You kissed him like he was oxygen, and you had forgotten how to breathe. The way his hand found your waist and the other slid into your hair.

The kiss was messy and desperate, but it was 19 years in the making, and you needed him like you needed water. The world around you disappeared as he pulled you impossibly closer to him.

It was out of a movie, like fireworks inside your chest and under the surface of your skin.

He groaned into your mouth but reluctantly pulled away, resting his forehead against yours, matching your deep breaths. His smile split across his face, and he sighed, "Por cierto, yo también te amo." (By the way, I love you too)

You laughed loudly, taking in the cheers from the audience around you and the unadulterated smiles from your family and his team around you.

You glanced at the screen to see you and Carlos projected on it, your cheeks immediately turning red at the realistation that everyone had seen that moment.

You turned back to Carlos, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, which elicited another cheer from the crowd. Your hand rested on his face, and you beamed, "Te amo campeón" (I love you, Champion).

————————————————————————

This got away from me a bit, actually. I'm sorry/you're welcome.

[samkerrworshipper]

exhausted | barca femeni/alexia putellas x reader

reader has insomnia… but doesn’t tell her teammates alexia begins to figure it out though

was gonna make yall wait till tomorrow butttt i rlly can’t fucked lol

Sleep is something that has never come easy to you.

No matter how hard you try, no matter how much melatonin or herbal teas or meditation you tried, none of it worked.

You, quite simply, could not sleep.

It was fine when you were just a student, when you could dip out of your morning classes or sneak in a nap here and there between classes, when you didn’t have to make it through full days of work.

It was fine when you were playing for London City, when nobody cared about what you were doing, only if you could stop other players from getting past.

It had all changed though when the Barca offer had come in though.

It was known to every single footballer in the women's league that Barca had major injury problems, specifically in their backline, injuries that wouldn’t be resolved until long after the season was over.

You’d never thought though that some absences in Barcelona’s star squad would crate an opportunity for you, but for whatever reason, the Barca selectors had seen something in you, and even though it was mid season, had been desperate to sign you, it was a big move to go from England to Spain, but one you were more than happy to make for the sake of your career.

You’d never thought that the move from home would be so much more detrimental to your sleep schedule, but slowly you’d found yourself becoming more exhausted as you struggled to keep up with your new life.

There were a lot of things that were different about Spain, or more specifically the Barcelona Women’s team. When you were playing in London, training every couple of days and playing once a week, you could afford to miss some hours of sleep during the night, especially considering that nobody in London was concerned about making school a priority over there. You could take some naps during the day, laze around as much as you wanted and go to school whenever you could be bothered.

Barca was different, and not in a good way.

It was good for your football, internationally and just in general. Before Barca, you’d been more of a bench player then a starter for the England under 17s, but your game had lifted and you’d been a consistent starter in every tournament and friendly since.

You were exhausted, more than you’d ever been in your entire life, and you were sure it was starting to show.

It was hard enough being 16, in a foreign country, getting hardly any hours of sleep, training at least three hours a day as well as gym sessions and playing twice a week. Trying to be a full time student as well, it was completely unrealistic and it was starting to show.

“Nena, do you want to slow down on the energy drinks? Someone so itty bitty and young like you shouldn’t be consuming any caffeine, let alone two red bulls before noon, we’re lucky you aren’t pinging off the walls yet.”

Mapi’s hands are on your cheeks, pinching and squeezing them as if you are a baby. Instead of paying her any kind of attention you keep your eyes fixed on your laptop screen and lips pressed to the can of red bull that you’ve been tirelessly sipping at for the past couple of minutes.

Integrating into the team had been hard, but you’d actually become far closer with the crew of injured girls, mapi specifically, as well as her girlfriend Ingrid. Frido had also been one of the first people to welcome you, accompanied by two familiar English faces, Keira and Lucy.

Mapi particularly, had taken you under her wing, or had sort of adopted you in an older sister type fashion. It was sort of annoying, the older Spaniard was constantly talking, to the point where you’d learn to pretty much drown out everything that left her lips.

“If you keep touching my face then it won’t just be your knee that’ll be injured, your hands will be broken as well.”

Mapi frowns at you, her pinching fingers moving to brush loose hair from your face and rub at your temples, trying to rub away the frown lines deeply ingrained on your forehead.

“Wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning did we, nena? You know you’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that, it’s not good for your little baby face.”

You shake your head in an attempt to get Mapi’s hands off of your face, it partially works, but not fully.

“María I am serious, you’ve got three seconds before I tear this can in half and use it to cut off your fingers, don’t you have rehab to do or something more entertaining than bothering me?”

Mapi’s hands fly up in surrender, something you are infinitely grateful for.

“Fine, you want to be grumpy then you can be grumpy by yourself, don’t come looking for me later when you’re bored of school and looking for some fun.”

You don’t bat an eyelid as Mapi retreats from your table.

You take another sip of your drink, praying that it’ll somehow make it easier for you to read the words on your laptop screen, even though it does absolutely nothing.

You’ve read the same page, over and over again and yet it’s done absolutely nothing to make you understand what it is you are supposed to be learning. It’s a mess of consonants and verbs, jumbled up words that just can’t seem to resonate in your brain.

Whilst Mapi has left, unbeknownst to you, you aren’t completely alone in the recovery room.

Alexia has been sitting on one of the massage tables, doing her exercises for the last hour, watching as you’ve gradually been getting far more frustrated with your work.

Alexia’s relationship with you so far has been… rocky.

The captain had made it clear from day one that whilst the club needed you, that your studies were going to be a priority alongside football. If you had known that you’d be going from doing as much school as you liked, to hours of online school everyday, you probably would have reconsidered your move to Spain, but you were here now and struggling more than you cared to admit.

Alexia knew something was up, beyond your clear hatred for school, she just wasn’t sure what yet but she was determined to find out why.

“Everything alright pequena?”

You practically jump at the sound of Alexia’s voice, hand clutching at your heart as you suddenly become aware of a presence in the room that you were unaware existed.

“Perfectly fine.”

You do well to recover from the shock, your eyes darting straight back to your screen almost as quickly as they had left it.

“You’ve been staring at the same page for the last twenty minutes.”

Alexia notices that your hands are shaking slightly, most likely due to the insane amounts of taurine that your body is processing.

“There’s a lot of writing on one page.”

You take another sip, finishing off the can and sliding it across the table.

“Mapi’s right, it’s not good for pequena’s like you to be drinking stuff like that, it’s bad for your brain cells, and don’t get me started on what it does to your body.”

Alexia moves to take a seat beside you at the table, her concern for you growing even more when she took a look at your face and realised how exhausted you looked.

“I don’t need the lecture, I’m poisoning my body, I’m aware of it, now can I please have slime peace so I can finish this off before training starts?”

Alexia isn’t anywhere near satisfied with your answer, she wants you to argue with her, not admit your wrongdoing like it’s nothing.

“Yes, you are, you aren’t an adult, you don’t need energy drinks, you will do perfectly fine without them.”

Your eyes leave the screen to look at Alexia for a second, a little exhale huffing out between your lips.

“Okay, whatever.”

Alexia can’t get past just how tired you look, so tired that you’re seemingly agreeing with her just to avoid conflict.

“Pequena, how about you take a break for a couple of minutes, go get some fresh air, I’m sure you can finish this up later.”

Alexia’s never let you finish school early, you don’t understand why she’s deciding to today.

“I need to get it done.”

Your body is so tense, Alexia’s scared that you’re going to pull a muscle just from how tight your body looks.

“I’m sure it can wait till later, you’ve been sitting here for two hours now, you need a break.”

Your hands are still shaking, and you’re as hunched over as possible without being asleep on top of your laptop.

“Alexia, I’m fine, I’ve just got to finish this and then I’ll be done.”

Alexia’s hand reaches up to meet your shaking one, somehow hoping that it’ll stop the frantic tremors.

“You’re taking a break, just go and spend some time in the team room, or go for a walk, just take fifteen minutes and I’ll next you when you need to be back. Go, now, I’m not asking.”

You slam your laptop closed with more aggression then Alexia’s seen from you all morning, your body dragging itself out of the room without any regards for your captain whatsoever.

Alexia begins to get worried when twenty minutes later, after multiple text messages, you are yet to return.

She knows you’re stressed, that school isn’t what you want to be focusing all of your energy on. But Alexia knows from personal experience how easy it is for somebody of your age with your kind of talent to disregard things like education, something that she believes is so crucial to any adult's life. You need options, Alexia is trying to give you them, even if you seem to hate them with every single fibre in your body.

Alexia decides to go looking for you once twenty five minutes have passed and you are nowhere in sight and have ignored every single one of her messages.

It doesn’t take her long to find you, although she does almost miss you.

Alexia peeks her head into the locker room, simply to ask if anyone has seen you, the room is silent and empty though.

She almost leaves, but just as she’s about to close the door, she spots your body, tucked up inside of your locker, your head tucked into your knees.

You look frightfully unrestful, you don’t look like most people look when they’re sleeping, most people look peaceful, you look bothered, like your body is fighting against the sleep that you so clearly need.

Alexia walks over to you, now more than ever she’s certain you’re sick, that you’ve caught some kind of cold that’s causing this exhaustion and the short tempered mood you’ve been in.

She brings the back of her palm up to your forehead, an action that has your eyes snapping opening immediately.

Alexia’s sort of surprised when she realises you’ve got no fever whatsoever, although she’s well aware that not all sicknesses result in fever, something about it is putting her off.

“Hola pequenita.”

It takes you a few seconds to realise where you are and what’s happening, but as soon as you do you are shaking Alexia’s hand from your face and pushing yourself out of your cube.

“Sorry, time completely slipped past me, I’ll head back now.”

Alexia’s hand grabs your forehand before you have the opportunity to slip past her, tugging you backwards until you’re standing directly in front of your captain, forced to look at her.

“Are you sick?”

Alexia isn’t sure what’s wrong, but it’s clear something is up and sickness is the clearest option. She knows that you are no stranger to energy drinks, she spends most of her time heckling at you to try and put down whatever drink you’ve got in your hands. She’s never seen you down two in such a short amount of time though and sickness would be a good explanation.

“No, I’m fine.”

Alexia can’t find any deceit in your words or mannerisms, it appears that you are being completely honest with her, something that makes Alexia even more confused. None of the tell-tale signs are there, you are telling the truth.

“I know you aren’t a stranger to a midday nap, but it’s unlike you to be so tired.”

Alexia’s arm moves from your forearm up to your face, gently tracing the deep purple bags that are sitting below your eyes. Her thumb is soft, it feels like she’s mending all of the fatigue that lies there, but as soon as her thumb moves it all comes back.

“I’m fine Capí, just stayed up a little bit later last night.”

Alexia can tell that’s a lie, a cover up from whatever it is that you’re hiding from her.

“Well see to it that you get into bed earlier tonight. The team is out on the pitch, I told Jona that you’d join them once finished up with your work that you’d head out but I think you need some fresh air. Better get moving.”

Alexia’s voice is ridged and your body reacts to it, reaching into your locker with more speed then she’s seen you work with all day, you grab your cleats and before Alexia has the chance to speak anymore you are marching out of the rooms and out towards the pitch.

It’s perplexing to Alexia, she hates being lied to, especially when it’s clear something is wrong. She waits in the locker room for a few minutes, trying to piece together the mystery yet she comes up with nothing.

Eventually she makes the decision to go out and watch the training, pitchside, maybe you’ll have perked up now that you’re out doing something you enjoy.

The first thing Alexia notices is how frantically you are playing, it’s unlike you to be sloppy and yet as she watches you it’s all she can observe.

You are sloppy, messy and uncalculated, something that you are normally the opposite of.

You are a technical player, something that has helped you settle into the Barcelona squad with ease, you adjusted to the Spanish way of playing without much fuss.

What Alexia is watching though, you look like a completely different player. You’re practically passing the ball directly to Salma, goal after goal being put through your legs and around your body. It’s embarrassing, and she’s certain other people are picking up on your abnormal behaviour, multiple people, specifically Ingrid coming to check on you and make sure everything is fine.

You shake all of them off, even though it’s clear that something is up and whatever that something is, it’s big and it’s affecting your game and mood majorly.

Alexia’s not surprised when Jona drags you from the field, already yelling at you and sending orders your way, what she is surprised by is the way that you don’t even flinch as he throws never ending criticism your way.

You just stare at him, neither nodding or trying to reply to him, Alexia’s not even sure if you’re hearing him, if you’re present enough to be listening to the words that are leaving his mouth. For a second she considers the possibility that you’re violently hungover or acting under the influence of some kind of substance, it would explain the drowsiness and weird behaviour.

The idea makes Alexia instantly filled with anger, you are 16 and she will take you to the grave if you’ve been touching any kinds of substances. She’s mad enough as it is over the energy drinks, and she’s going to express that when the two of you are in private later on, but the chance that you’ve consumed something illegal for someone of your age, it sends shivers down her spine.

Jona has you back out on the field before you can even begin to respond to his critiques, back into defence where you are brutally humbled time and time again by the likes of Aitana, Salma and Caro.

Alexia cringes every single time, she knows that you are struggling, what she’s completely unprepared for is for you to fully collapse on the field.

Caro volleys another ball over your head and for a second Alexia doesn’t even notice you crumpled up on the ground of the pitch, she’s too busy watching the sight of Caro’s ball perfectly managing to slot in behind Cata. It’s a truly beautiful goal, and truly there isn’t much you could have done about it.

She only notices you when Cata doesn’t turn around to grab the ball, instead, she rushes forwards, leaving the ball long forgotten beside the bottom right post. She’s rushing forwards, down to her knees, directly beside your crumpled up body.

Alexia jumps up from her spot immediately, running faster than she should considering the current state of her knee, it doesn’t matter to her though, seeing your tiny little body all clumped up against the grass terrifies her.

Cata’s smart, and apparently fast acting because before Alexia is sitting down next to you, Cata’s already got her shirt off, drenched it with her drink bottle and has it folded up over your forehead. The cold water seems to bring you back a little bit, your head jerking upwards in reaction to the sudden change of temperature across your skin.

Just as Alexia’s crouching down next to you, the medics are pushing everyone out of the way, kneeling down next to you and doing the same as Cata had done, placing wet towels across your skin. They’re treating it like you’ve got heat stroke and whilst Alexia is aware it’s a warmer day, she knows that whatever is wrong with you, it most definitely isn’t heat stroke.

One of the medics squirts some water onto your face, something that Alexia doesn’t like the look of, but it seems to bring you back awake, your eyes bursting open and blinking furiously as you take in your surroundings.

Alexia can see you panicking immediately, your eyes flashing to the multiple faces that are crowding your vision.

“Everyone take a step back, give her some space.”

The medics and your teammates take a step back, leaving Alexia to skoot herself closer to you. Her hand comes to rest on your face, gently brushing the water residue off.

“Hola nena, stay calm for me, you had a little fall, we’re going to get you inside now, do you think you can get up for me?”

You nod at Alexia, you can’t remember what happened but you don’t want to be on the floor any longer than you have to be.

Alexia helps you up and off the pitch, the medics leading the two of you inside.

Alexia immediately gets you situated on a table, the medics immediately getting their hands all over you.

“Test her heart for me please, and her caffeine and sugar levels. I’ll be right back nena, I’m just going to grab something from my locker, text me if you need anything.”

Alexia is inexplicably angry and she knows that if she spends any more time in a room with you she’s going to yell, or say something that she’s going to regret. If it wasn’t for all the doctors, she probably wouldn’t care but she doesn’t need to air out private situations in front of people who have no business in your private life.

So she stomps her way to the locker room, set on trying to detangle the mess of emotions that has developed deep in her gut ever since this morning.

It’s been longer than this morning, Alexia’s noticed oddities in your behaviour, ever since you’d arrived. The energy drinks, the constant eye bags, power naps whenever you could fit them in. You live by yourself, something that Alexia deeply disapproves of and after today she doesn’t think it should continue on like this. You’d requested your own apartment for two reasons, privacy and because you didn’t want to disturb the private life of your teammates.

Alexia wanted to punch a wall, or throw something. That was all that was running across her mind as she paced back and forth in the locker rooms.

All Alexia could think about was your body, crumpled up on the pitch and she had no idea why and no idea how to help you.

You were sitting in the medical room, by yourself, beside the many doctors and physios who were poking and attaching you to different things.

You were exhausted, you were finding it hard to keep your eyes open. You’d felt the same way all day, hitting the pitch had been too much, too hard, too much energy for your exhausted body.

You wished that you’d feel the same every night when you tried to go to sleep every night, but alas, it felt like as soon as you got into bed, or as soon as you tried to close your eyes sleep just avoided you.

Alexia was probably two laps of the locker room away from throwing her phone at a wall when Mapi walked in, weirded out by the sight of her best friend grinding her feet into the floor as she walked back and forth in the locker rooms.

“Ale?”

Alexia’s pacing doesn’t stop, but she does take a second to look up at María and for some reason the concernedly smiley face of her best friend seems to help the anger bubbling up inside her simmer down slightly.

“Alexia, what’s wrong?”

Alexia’s hands are fidgeting wildly in front of her, her fingers clicking and toying with each other.

“Somethings wrong with Nena, she’s exhausted and frantic and she looks like she hasn’t slept and she’s downing all those energy drinks and maybe they’re getting to her heart? Maybe that’s why she collapsed or maybe she’s sick but somethings wrong and I don’t know what and she collapsed right in front of my eyes.”

Normally, out of the two, Mapi is the one who confides in Alexia the most. Alexia isn’t an openly emotional person and when she is it’s with Olga, because for some reason that woman can get everything and anything out of her. Here though, it’s clear Alexia needs someone to de stress with and Mapi is happy to take up that role.

“It’s just her Alexia, she’s always tired and drinking energy drinks, it’s how the kids these days do it.”

Mapi’s words are supposed to soothe Alexia, honestly they do the complete opposite.

“But she shouldn’t, she’s an athlete, she shouldn’t need them. Mapi, I am telling you, something is seriously wrong, I can feel it. I know she’s always tired, but she looks like she hasn’s slept in weeks and I don’t know why.”

Mapi, for the sake of trying to calm Alexia down, decides that instead of trying to invalidate her worries, it’s best to just try and reason with Ale.

“Ale, how about we go see her, if somethings wrong I’m sure she’d tell us.”

Alexia nods at Mapi, taking the extended arm that her friend gives her and allowing the Zaragozan to lead her back to the physio room she’d previously been in.

When she returns, she’s relieved to see that you look a lot better than how you had on the pitch. There are still grass stains across your face, but you’re less pale than you were before and you’re sipping on a gatorade which somehow makes Alexia feel less guilty about the whole situation.

“Hola pequena.”

Your eyes manage to meet Alexia’s, something that kind of shocks her, considering just how weighed down your eyes seem to be by the deep purple bags underneath your eyes.

“Bon dia.”

Alexia would not call this a good morning, she couldn’t even call it an okay one.

“What’s wrong?”

Alexia’s focus is on the physios, not you, she’s saving you for later.

“Luckily, not a lot. I checked her heart and I couldn’t find any abnormalities, it’s clear that she’s tired, she’s told me she woke up a little bit earlier than normal this morning which paired with the warmer weather and some minor dehydration is probably the main cause. She’ll take today off, rest up, but I can’t find anything that would indicate any serious underlying problems so there isn’t any reason why I would say she couldn’t be back on the pitch tomorrow.”

It’s a positive sign, but not what Alexia wants to hear, she wants something to be wrong, so that she can get to the bottom of whatever is happening to you.

“Good, thank you, do you think you could give us the room for a couple of minutes, por favor?”

The physio smiles at Alexia, giving her a nod before leaving the room discreetly.

As soon as Alexia is certain he is no longer within hearing distance, she pivots on her heel, so she’s facing you directly.

“What are you hiding?”

It’s so ominous, even Mapi thinks it’s a little bit far-fetched, as a 16 year old, Mapi was probably hiding more than she was sharing, it’s not really a fair question.

“What am I hiding?”

It sounds like you're even struggling to get words out, your voice is just so tired, like it’s taking up so much energy for you to speak a few simple words.

“Somethings wrong, you’ve been drinking all these energy drinks, which are not only far too caffeinated but also extremely bad for you and you look like you haven’t slept properly in weeks.”

You want to tell Alexia that she’s right, you aren’t sleeping properly, you haven’t been your whole life, but she wouldn’t be the first person who tried to help you and has failed miserably in the process, it’s quite simple, sleep and you just simply do not work.

“Anyone from England would tell you that I just drink energy drinks, it’s not that deep Alexia.”

Mapi is teetering on the edge of having to hold Alexia back from causing you bodily harm.

“Deep? Collapsing on a pitch is not deep? It seems pretty deep to me amor, you can hardly talk, you could hardly read this morning, it’s clear something is wrong and I want to know what.”

You don’t know how to tell Alexia that something isn’t wrong, this is just you, or the new version of you in Spain. Your insomnia had always affected you, moving to Spain had seemed to make it worse but you’d always lived like this, ever since you could remember, sleep was just something that you could never have consistently.

“Nothings wrong, I am fine, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.”

Alexia’s jaw sets and for a second Mapi does truly worry for you.

“I want you to not lie to my face.”

You visibly flinch at those words, you don’t want nor mean to lie to Alexia, but you figure you are saving yourself from a merry go round of painful conversations.

“I’m not lying.”

Alexia knows you are, she’s not stupid.

“Right, well you’ve got the day off, you’ll be coming home with me and staying with Olga and I until you look less like you are on the brink of a coma. María will go get your things.”

Mapi nods quickly at Alexia, walking out of the room as quickly as she can manage, leaving just you and Alexia.

Even though Alexia is mad, she begrudgingly helps you up from the bed, draping your arm over her shoulder to give you somebody to lean on as she walks the two of you out to her car. She’s just gotten you seated in the passenger seat and closed your door when Mapi pops up with your things. Before Alexia can hop into the car and get going, Mapi stops her.

“Be easy on her, si? She’s going through something and I know you want to know, I know you want to help her but whatever is wrong, she’s not talking about it for a reason. Maybe she doesn’t need you questioning her, just take a look, a proper look at her and see if you can get a better idea. For me?”

Alexia knows that Mapi won’t let go of her shirt without some kind of acknowledgement that she’s going to agree to her.

“Okay, I’ll go easy on her.”

It’s a half truth, Mapi seems to accept it though, letting go of Alexia’s shirt so that the Catalan can take her seat in her car and begin to drive the two of you home.

The car ride home is eerily silent, Alexia keeps her eyes focused on the road, her knuckles whitening from the grip she has on the steering wheel and her jaw so set that you begin to worry that her teeth must hurt from the constant clenching.

When the two of you pull up to Alexia’s house you’re feeling a lot better, your head is clearer and you don’t feel as broken as you had earlier.

You clamber out of the car, walking your way slowly to Alexia’s front door. Alexia bothers around with the keys, twisting them in the hole before opening up the door for the two of you.

“Ale? You’re home early.”

Olga’s voice filters in from the kitchen, the two of you making your way through until you spot her.

“Nena, is that you? I didn’t know we were going to have company, if I had I would have cleaned up a little bit for you.”

You shake your head at Olga, giving her a small smile that you’ve reserved just for Alexia’s partner.

“Go sit down on the couch, get your feet up.”

Alexia’s voice is stern, it immediately makes Olga frown at her.

Alexia allows her girlfriend to drag her from the kitchen and into their pantry.

“What’s with the mood?”

Olga’s happy space is her and Ale’s house, it’s supposed to be the one place that the both of them can get away from football and stress.

“Nena is hiding something, she collapsed at training and we don’t really know why but she does and she won’t tell us.”

Olga nods her head, the somehow younger but wiser woman putting on her thinking hat and trying to rationalise what Alexia is telling her.

“Don’t you think it would be smarter to try and be nice to her? I know that she’s fucked up, but it’s clear she just needs some love right now, maybe you should be giving it to her.”

Alexia thinks that Olga doesn’t understand the whole situation, she doesn’t see you everyday, doesn’t see how ragged you are and how deep this issue stems, but she also can’t not listen to her, the woman somehow tends to always be right and she can’t see why that would change now.

“Okay, okay.”

Olga smiles at her, getting up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Alexia’s jaw before pushing her out of the pantry and back into the kitchen.

Alexia is unsurprised to find you dead asleep on her couch, your head lulled against one of her couch pillows. She’s glad, and decides to pocket the inevitable conversation she is going to have to have with you, instead opting to help her girlfriend make lunch.

You sleep for a total of 40 minutes, something that Alexia is less glad about. As soon as she notices you’re awake she’s forcing a bottle of water into your hands and two aspirins. You take them before she shoves them down your throat, taking multiple gulps of the water so Alexia didn’t have another reason to be mad with you.

To be fair, she looked a lot less mad than she had earlier, you wouldn’t even really describe how she looked as mad, more concerned.

Alexia sat down in front of you on the couch, taking a deep breath before she started speaking.

“I’m not going to force you to tell me anything, I understand that you are going through a lot, I just need you to know that I’m here for you, anything you need nena I am here to support you and try and help you however I think best.”

Alexia’s words cut deep for you, it’s a struggle for you not to break out in tears, as much as you really want to.

“I know Ale.”

She nods at you, holding back her own tears, there’s some kind of understanding between the two of you, that you aren’t going to cry or speak, just acknowledge each other for now.

“Olga’s made up the spare room for you, you’ll stay here until you’re in a better place. You’re welcome here and you’ll be no bother for the next couple of weeks.”

You nod your head, biting down on your tongue to stop yourself from arguing back to her.

The rest of the afternoon is fairly similar, you are fed by Olga and then spend the majority of the rest of the day lounging on the couch, occasionally falling asleep, but as Alexia notices, never for longer than 40 minutes. It’s like your body refuses to properly rest.

When dinner comes around you look just as exhausted as you had this morning, you just look a little bit less dead.

After dinner, you head off to bed, alexia’s glad, she’s hoping that you’ll have a nice long proper sleep and that all of this will be solved.

She’s wrong.

Instead of hopping into bed, you pull out your laptop, knowing that if you stand a chance at getting even two hours of sleep it’s not happening any time soon.

You work at your school work, completing the things you hadn’t finished earlier. When 12 o’clock rolls around, you force yourself away from your laptop and underneath the covers of alexia’s extremely comfortable spare bed.

You stare at the roof, every now and again you’ll twitch and for some reason it’ll hurt your brain. You play your favourite song over and over again in your head, praying that it’ll somehow lull you to sleep, it neves does. You stare at the ceiling and try to focus on the sound of the fan. You stare at the ceiling and wonder if the swirl pattern in it is mobing. You think about your favourite film and how the characters used to provide you so much peace. When you remember how much they meant to you, you let a few stray tears fall.

You stare at the ceiling.

Every once and a while, you’ll roll over and press your face into the pillows and pull the covers over your head and hope that if you hide somehow you’ll fall asleep.

Eventually, you’ll fall asleep.

Sometimes it takes hours, all for you to wake up half an hour later feeling as unsatisfied as ever.

It’s how you live, it’s the same routine every night, it’s your normal.

When 4am rolls around and you’ve managed to get a measly twenty minutes or so of sleep, you climb out of the sheets, annoyed that your glass of water is empty. Your eyes are dry and itchy with the feeling of needing to cry, you push that feeling deep into your gut, ignoring the desperate need to ignore your feelings in favour of keeping a strong face.

You try to be as quiet as possible, filling up your glass and taking a seat on Alexia’s couch, looking out of the window of her lounge room at the Barcelona skyline that lights up along her back fence.

“Nena is that you?”

You nearly jump out of your skin.

Alexia is standing in the kitchen, leaning up against the island, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and staring at you inquisitively.

“What are you doing awake?”

The words trigger something in you, it’s probably the half dazed state you’re in, the complete exhaustion and annoyance you’re experiencing at your inability to sleep, but all of a sudden, tears are dripping your face and you don’t know why or how.

Alexia freezes for a second, she’d expected something obviously, but crying was not one of those things.

She’s never seen you cry, she’s never had to deal with a teenager who is breaking down right in front of her eyes. She doesn’t know what to do, or how to help you, all she knows is that you are crying a lot and she is just standing and watching.

The problem solver in Alexia tells her that she has to do something, so she paces her way over to the couch, sitting down beside you and tentatively wrapping an arm around your shoulder. She doesn’t know whether or not it’s the right way to go, but it seems to pay off when you immediately relax into her, your head craning into the pocket of her neck and shoulder. Fresh, warm tears drip down onto Alexia’s skin.

Alexia is tense, her back as straight as a board. She doesn’t normally have to deal with this kind of thing, she doesn’t have to try and sympathise with feelings. She’s not an emotional person herself, she cries once a year normally and that’s on the anniversary of her fathers death.

“Nena, it’s okay, I’m here.”

Alexia’s words are calculated, strategic, like she’s reading them off of google or something. Truly, she doesn’t intend for them to come off that way, but it’s kind of just how they do.

Alexia waits for the tears to stop coming, she figures it has to happen, you can’t just cry forever.

The two of you sit like that, crisscrossed on the couch until you manage to compose yourself, until you’ve cried out all the annoyance and grievances over your current predicament.

In the past, your insomnia would stop you from sleeping for days, but eventually the exhaustion would catch up with you and you would get a good night or a few of sleep, but it had been weeks now of you living in Barcelona and sleep had been avoiding you the whole time.

“Nena, what’s wrong?”

Right now, it feels like everything is wrong, it feels like your whole world is upside and you want it to be normal, you want to just be able to close your eyes and get some fucking sleep.

“I can’t sleep.”

Alexia’s brow furrows.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have had so many energy drinks, no?”

It’s the kind of reply you should have expected.

“No Alexia, I can’t sleep, I have insomnia.”

Alexia struggles with the translation in her head, in-som-ni-a?

“Sorry, what?”

You take a deep shaky breath, pulling your head away from Alexia’s chest so that you can rub the tears from your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

“Insomnia, I can’t sleep, medically. I have a condition that stops me from being able to sleep regularly.”

Alexia’s head all of a sudden starts working, she’s a little bit behind, it’s 4am after all and she’s struggling to keep her eyes open.

“You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, Alexia wants to tell you that you’re being silly, but when she sees the pure heart break and exhaustion in your eyes she knows that you can’t be lying. You look so young, tear tracks all over your face and body caved in on itself.

“I can’t sleep.”

It makes more sense to alexia now, all the energy drinks, the exhaustion, the power naps.

“Have you talked to the team doctors about it, I’m sure they could give you medication or something that could make it better, this can’t go on forever, nena.”

You shake your head at Alexia, your exhaustion turning to fear.

“No and you have to promise you won’t either. I’ve been through it, the sleep tests, all of it. I won’t take drugs, you can't make me and I refuse to.”

It’s like you go from being a mellowed out version of yourself to an attack dog.

“Nena, you need help, you can’t keep playing when you can hardly keep yourself standing.”

You shake your head, so fast that Alexia worries you might pass out from the sudden and frequent movements.

“I’m not taking drugs, you can’t make me, I won’t do it.”

Alexia doesn’t know where this sudden defensiveness has come from, but she knows two things. She needs to make sure that you understand that she can be there for whatever you are going through whilst also trying to figure out what is your random refusal to not take medication.

“Wouldn’t it help some?”

It’s hard to explain your complete hatred for any kinds of drugs. You’d grown up in a household where your mom might as well have been a druggie with how little she was invested in your life and where your dad was a legitimate druggie.

You struggled to take paracetamol, let alone any kind of prescribed drug.

You were scared shitless that somehow, you would turn out like your father and that was the last thing you could ever want.

You didn’t come from a loving home, you didn’t come from a place where you got the newest cleats every year and the best training. You came from a home where grocery money was spent on cocaine and any football money was spent on heroin. You’d been lucky enough that you were good enough for England teams to notice you, for academies to notice you. You were always good enough that you didn’t have to fork out the extra money and if you did it was your own money.

That’s why you’d been so eager to get out of England, to come to Spain. It saved you from the lifestyle that you had been so desperate to get away from.

“I’m not going to take medication Ale.”

For a long time, you’d blamed the insomnia on the constant partying that happened at your house as a kid. Your dad was a revolving door house kind of person, there were always people inside of your house, women, druggies, sex workers, partiers. It was never ending, and for a logn while you’d just thought you couldn’t sleep because of the constant noise inside of your house. When you went away for your first camp at 11, you realised that just simply wasn’t it, you had a serious problem. Maybe it was a byproduct of always being in a house full of noise, or maybe it was just your fucked up ness, you just knew that somewhere along the way, everything in your brain started working backwards.

“Nena, you don’t have to take medication, but can you tell me why?”

You figure that you’ve already told Alexia too much, why stop now?

“My dad has drug problems, always has, probably always will. My mom was never really home as a kid, when she was it wasn’t pretty. I don’t want to turn out like them. That’s why I didn’t go home over the break”

Alexia’s heart drops. She’s been through her own problems with her family, her fathers death and so on. But she’s always had something and that is a safe place to go if she ever needs it. Her parents loved her, they did everything to protect her as a child, Alexia grew up in a space where she could be whoever she wanted and her parents would support her. You, to some extent, clearly didn’t and it explained a lot to her. It explained why you were so hesitant to accept help from anyone, and why you were such a lone wolf, you had to be for survival.

Alexia suddenly wraps her arms around you, all of a sudden feeling an overwhelming sense that she has to protect you, that you need her to keep you safe.

You’re crying again, it hurts less this time, it comes more from a place of exhaustion than annoyance and anger.

“I just want to rest Ale, I just want some peace.”

Alexia’s grip tightens, she’s compressing your bones in the best way possible.

“It’s okay nena, I’ve got you, it’s going to be okay.”

Alexia just holds you, until you exhaust yourself so much from the crying that you fall asleep.

She doesn’t want to wake you, not after everything you’ve just confessed to her, so she lays herself down on the couch, keeping you pulled tight to her chest as she drapes a blanket over the two of you and rests down against the pillows, deciding that she might as well get a few hours in for herself.

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and the smell of bacon and pancakes.

You feel better than you have in weeks, blinking the sleep away from your eyes and slowly sitting up as you adjust to your surroundings.

Alexia and Olga are in the kitchen, talking hushedly as Alexia cooks over the stove and Olga rocks with her from behind. It feels and looks intimate and you are so tempted to sneak out of the front door to leave them to their peace and avoid all the obvious issues that are going to have to be unpacked with your captain.

You’re seriously considering, but your plotting is stopped when Olga turns around to grab something and she spots you on the couch, conscious and awake.

“Bon Dia, nena.”

Alexia pivots as well, sending a smile towards you.

“Good morning, what time is it?”

Olga detaches herself from Alexia, moving towards the fridge.

“It’s just past six.”

2 and a half hours of sleep, that’s not bad at all, it’s better than you’ve had in weeks.

“Breakfast is almost done, if you want to take a seat at the table.”

You nod at Alexia, standing up from your spot on the couch and walking over to the dining table, taking a seat at the table and trying to tame your bed head whilst Alexia plates up the food.

The plate she hands you is full of food, bacon, toast, pancakes, sausages, fruit. It reminds you of home in a weird way, it’s not a truly traditional Spanish breakfast, more English and it seems like Ale’s done it for a reason.

She waits until you’ve started to tuck into your food before she starts speaking.

“I’ve scheduled a meeting with Jona and the medical team this morning, for you.”

Your boyd goes from relaxed and at peace to tense, Alexia knows it’s breaking your trust in a way, but she also knows that she’s now obligated to protect you.

“I told you I don't want doctors or drugs.”

Alexia takes a deep breath, looking over at Olga and being reminded that sometimes she has to do hard things.

“I know nena, and i’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to, I don’t think I could if I tried, but this can’t keep going. I did some research, there are some really good drugs for people that struggle like you, that aren’t addictive and can help lots. I’m not a doctor and neither are you. We don’t know about these things, it’s not our job, but there are people who do know about this stuff and they can try to help you, really help you. You can’t live like this, it’s not sustainable in any way, we need to find some way to fix this. Whether it’s therapy or medication or resting, you need something and you can’t provide it yourself.”

Alexia words are a punch to the gut, but they also make sense, she knows what she’s talking about.

“You promise that I won’t have to do anything I don’t want to?”

Alexia nods her head, she’s shocked that you’re already sort of agreeing with her.

“I promise nena, I just want to help you somehow, however that may be.”

You take a big bite of your food, and a gulp of the orange juice that Olga has set down next to you.

“I slept better than I have in months last night, because of you, I don’t know how or why but something you did made me sleep and if you think that I need help, then I can’t really argue with that. It needs to be on my own terms though.”

Alexia nods, this is so hard for you, accepting help, accepting that you have a problem that needs fixing.

“Of course nena.”

You nod, drawing all of your thoughts together.

“I think I need help Ale, I want help.”

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Charles Ethan Porter (1847-1923) "Untitled (Cracked Watermelon)" (c. 1890) Oil on canvas Located in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, New York, United States

Porter was among the first African American artists to exhibit his work nationally and the only one to specialize in still lifes. The painting's subject—originally an African gourd brought to the New World by seventeenth-century Spaniards and cultivated by colonists—is significant. Porter chose to paint a watermelon, an earlier symbol of American abundance—and during the Civil War period one particularly associated with free Blacks—when it was increasingly defined by virulent stereotyping. By reclaiming the subject in artistic terms, Porter challenged a contemporary racist trope.

[mirrorofliterature]

PSA: Alenoah fanfic writers

Stop using epithets reducing Alejandro and Noah to their ethnic, racial or national identities.

Stop referring to Noah as 'the Indian' or 'the Tamilian' or Alejandro as 'the Spaniard' or 'the Latino' or 'the Peruvian'.

Firstly, epithets are inherently dehumanising. They are used when a character is unfamiliar with someone, not their boyfriend.

Secondly, it is deeply uncomfortable and, however unintentionally, reduces these characters to their ethnicity, race or nationality. Most writers probably do not do this in bad faith - but that does not erase its objectively wrong nature.

It is Noah and Alejandro, two men of colour, who get consistently reduced to their ethnicity/background by writers. No white characters get the same treatment. Owen isn't 'the White Canadian' and Gwen isn't 'the White girl'. It is treating characters differently because of their ethnicity and is essentialising - it is not good writing as it breaks people out of the story. It is not good writing because it reduces characters to their ethnicity/race/nationality, which is what not to do when writing characters of colour 101. It others them, particularly Noah, who is as Canadian as any of the other teens. I don't know where this trend started, but it is not on.

Do better, Alenoah fandom. Cut out the ethnic, racial and nationality epithets. Dropping the whitewashing would also be nice.

[12woso12]

No Control - Part 5

Written without the use of social media! Enjoy, I'll be back with more parts involving the use of social media soon!

Part 4

You were nervous. Disgustingly nervous. As much as Laia had tried to reassure you, you couldn't seem to shake the apprehension of meeting with Renee. You knew the meeting wouldn't guarantee you anything, and maybe that was the terrifying part. Since Barcelona had let you go to Arsenal your future had seemed secure and final, you would sign for Arsenal and work your way back into the England squad.

You would show the world you were more than the drugs.

You would finally get your act together.

You would live up to the world's expectations of you.

But now, as the future was suddenly upon you, uncertainty rattled your goals. What if Renee decided you weren't a good fit? What if you spent the entire season on the bench? What if they asked you about the drugs? What would you say?

When the pictures had been released by the press, you were taken by surprise with the lack of confrontation by your teammates. Even Alexia, who was incredibly protective, had shown you nothing but love and understanding. She hadn't raided your apartment in an attempt to confiscate any drugs you were hiding, she hadn't shouted or screamed or sent you to rehab.

The first thing she did was give you a hug.

The kind of hug mothers might give their child.

The kind of hug you want to live inside forever.

Alexia had sat with you at your apartment for the evening and cooked you dinner. She didn't once ask you about the drugs. Part of you thought she already knew everything she needed to anyway, Alexia wasn't a stranger to the horrifying stories about your childhood that you let slip when drunk or feeling particularly vulnerable.

You were a bit of a mess and Alexia took that in her stride. Admittedly, you had tested her limits by going to Ibiza amid the news that Barcelona weren't prepared to keep you on. But what's a girl going to do except party her feelings away?

Although you'd been expecting it, the England news hit you the hardest. What killed you the most was how you didn't hear from any of your lioness teammates - Leah had only gotten in touch because of her captain duties. You had expected a text from Grace or Aggie at least but nothing had come to fruition. Keira had taken you out for coffee a few days after the news broke but when the FA advised her to keep a distance until media attention died down it became clear that you were being isolated.

It sucked. But you understood. The trajectory of woman's football was precarious and disjointed, your use of drugs wasn't exactly doing the Lionesses' image any good.

So now you were sharing a house with Laia in a boring English town waiting for the most important meeting of your life. It was about now that you could really use a hit of a certain something.

'You ready Kiddo?' the older spaniard brought you back from panicked thoughts and into her living room. 'Vamos!' She ruffled your hair and led you outside into the cold cruelty of British weather.

'Is the drive long?'

Laia shrugged '20 minutes. Now come on and get in the car, I promised Ale I'd get you to the meeting on time'

Laia was right. The drive was easy and before you could even comprehend it, you were parked at the Arsenal training ground and following Laia like a sheep inside. Colney was something quite spectacular, the history of the club clung to its walls like a moth to a flame. The faces of legends took up the main hallway accompanied by trophies and stories of the invincibles that made your jaw drop in awe.

'I had the same reaction' Laia grinned at you 'Arsenal is worth the cold weather, trust me' She pointed to a door at the end of the corridor and gently shoved you forward. 'That's the meeting room, good luck!'

Palms sweaty and mouth dry, you slowly approach the door and feebly knock. It only takes a second for the door to swing open and the welcoming face of Renee Sledgers to appear, she paused for a second and you squirmed under her intense gaze before she reached for your hand.

'It's good to officially meet you, Y/N'

'Yeah you too. Thanks for inviting me' You let her pull you inside the room and direct you to a seat across a round table. Once Renee is settled opposite you, she smiles at you reassuringly.

'So, we've got a lot to talk about. I've been given permission by our development manager to start some early contract discussions with you. It's clear that you're a fantastic player, Y/N. I'm not sure if i've ever seen a player with as much natural talent as you'

'Thanks'

'And that's why you're here today. Because if i'm being honest, your life style outside of football isn't something that we particularly want to bring to the club and its taken a lot of convincing to even set up this meeting today'

You were shocked at the woman's bluntness but appreciated it all the same. You were lucky to have a fantastic left foot. 'I know, i really appreciate being here'

'If you were to sign with us, there would be specific rules and guidelines you'd be required to stick to. Is that something you would be able to do?'

'Depends'

Renee sighed. 'That isn't the enthusiastic answer that i was hoping for Y/N'

You pinched yourself at your unwillingness to show even an ounce of committal. What the hell were you doing? Just say yes.

'Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. Just... what type of guidelines would you be referring to?'

'Well, we don't have anything ironed out just yet but you would need to provide a monthly negative drug test. The rules will only be in place to benefit you, you're hoping to get recalled to England no?'

'Yeah of course' You said

'Then these rules will help you get there.'

For a second, you heard the cries of Wembley infiltrate the room. You could practically feel the way the crisp pitch would slide beneath your boots in front of a sold out crowd. You could smell the sweat, blood and tears of your teammates as they gave it their all on the pitch. Nothing in the world compared to that feeling. Nothing.

And to get it all back? Well that would mean everything.

'I want to get back to England' you whispered

Renee nodded sadly 'I know. So let us help you and in return, you help us. Bring your talents to Arsenal, we want you but only if you're willing to do the work.'

'I am' You confirmed. 'What happens now?'

'Well i'll recommend to the board that we go ahead with the transfer then our team will send you a mock-up contract. It'll contain all the normal legal jargon alongside those rules we talked about. Then, once all the specifics are ironed out, we'll get you in for an official signing. How does that sound?'

Daunting, you thought. It sounds fucking scary. 'Good to me'

Renee broke out into a smile. 'I'll be in touch tomorrow and until then, enjoy a few days rest'

'I will, thanks Renee' As you got up to leave the Arsenal manager caught your attention a final time.

'Y/N? Don't do anything to put yourself in jeopardy, ok?'

[dearinglovebot]

discussing all things arab in jwct s2e05!

first off, that is shish tawook (chicken kebab), not beef. but overall a pretty good representation of fast food in the arab world. white rice is an extremely common side dish with kebabs (alongside grilled vegetables like tomatoes, onions, peppers) and that little container is garlic which is common to put on meats. particularly pita bread wraps/sandwiches.

and she really didn't need to say "beef" kebab. only chicken kebab really gets singled out. really outting yourself as a foreigner there, brook. broadly, the default for all meat-based dishes will either be lamb or beef. and no menus will not clarify which it is 90% of the time. they force you into russian roulette.

moving on to the few lines of arabic they speak, this is probably the MOST fascinating part. arabic is not like english. there is universal language which is derived from the qur'an and regional cultural language. modern standard arabic is basically "formal" arabic that is used in international business, government documents, the news, etc. this is the kind of arabic you'd learn in the united states from a textbook. however, native speakers have regional dialects. regional dialects are SO expansive that it's argued that many of them might actually be qualified as separate languages. even the same country might not be able to understand each other because of things like rural vs urban language developments.

why does this matter? soyona speaks egyptian arabic. this is the dialect you'd use to communicate in places like cairo. egyptian is ALSO the "film" language. egyptians completely dominated the arabic speaking film industry meaning it's widely understandable to arabs who grew up in the age of television. but it's also famous for having a thousand unique words that make you go "what the fuck does that mean".

as someone who lives in dubai, soyona should actually be speaking gulf arabic on a daily basis. gulf arabic is the common dialect of lower saudi, the UAE, most of oman, etc. it's also famously not spoken any where near cairo. it'd be equally understandable if soyona spoke MSA to brooklynn as that's likely what she'd speak with trading partners. i must stress that arabic dialect isnt like americans talking to british people. it's closer to spaniards talking to french people. you kind of get the gist but only kind of.

while meta-wise we know this wasn't something the crew intended, it adds an interesting layer to soyona's canon lore. while egyptian is something somewhat *understood*, it is NOT the common language of where she's doing business OR the common dialect overall. meaning she almost certainly has to have some major base of operations in cairo, too, and it likely happened before moving to the gulf.

brooklynn ALSO speaks dialectal arabic! for her, it makes a lot of sense with the previous mention of egyptian being the "film" language. she could've honestly picked this up by watching a few shows on the way over. and fun fact, it's also dialectally what yaz would say as a lebanese since the same words are used in levantine. however, again, this is definitely NOT msa meaning it's extremely unlikely she picked it up from a textbook or any kind of formal language learning platform.

moving on, we have fashion: brooklynn, dear. you look like such a tourist. no wonder she caught you so easily. the tight, ripped pants and short sleeved, close fitting t-shirt give her away instantly. while yes you'd be allowed to dress like this, everyone knows you're an american vacationer instantly. you might be able to get away with this in the levantine cities, but the GULF? her ass is NOT the delivery woman.

soyona actually hits the nail pretty well for what a local would dress like. she's got a bit of a "western" influence to her, but honestly that's how a lot of the upper business class dresses in the modern era. her sleeves are long and to the wrist, her pants are long, and she's got a loose overcoat. she looks very much like she shops designer which is exactly how a local would display wealth. the only thing she's missing is gold jewelry honestly.

lastly, there's the elephant in the room... the gulf. we call people from this place khaleejis. everyone outside the gulf hates khaleejis. even non-khaleejis in the gulf hate khaleejis. the kind of rich opulence you see in this apartment is exactly what you'd expect from a khaleeji.

one of the worst places of the animal wildlife trade is in the gulf. while certain regulations have since been put in place, being at the center between africa and asia with some of the wealthiest people in either region makes it prone for animal trafficking. big cats are seen as one of the ultimate status symbols for the ultra wealthy. dinosaur trafficking moving to dubai is about as realistic as it gets.

the only unrealistic part is the lack of visible indentured servants. to put it frankly, the cultural norm is to have a pseudo-slave (90% of dubai is made up of a non-khaleeji slave class. i'm serious. and westerners like soyona make up a significant portion of the slave-owning class. the building brooklynn was staying in was 100% actively being built by slaves) who lives in one of your guest bedrooms. it's actually weirder and more sus if she doesn't have one. pair that with soyona wanting to sell militarized dinosaurs which will be used exclusively on the areas exploited by the dubai elite and umm... well, lets close that can of worms before this gets really awkward

[natailiatulls07]

Could you please do part two of first impressions, some other drivers reactions?

Formula one grid x female!driver!reader Male!OC x female!driver!reader

Summary - Being youngest on the grid meant that Y/n was heavily protected by many other drivers so when she gets a partner it's mixed emotions all around

Warning - Pushing someone into a wall??

Reader drives for Mercedes

Part one

-

Climbing up the stairs on the parade truck, Y/n heard someone just behind her calling out her name. Instantly recongising the voice, she turned to Charles with a smile.

Only to be met with a awkward smile in return. "Uh Y/n, so I heard from Carlos" Her eyes went wide, realisation evident on my face. "Noah huh?"

Nodding my head excitedly, suddenly feel really happy. "Yeah, he's my new boyfriend" The younger of the two blushing softly, only now feeling giddy and shy about the topic of the conversation.

Charles bursted into laughter, finding Y/n's giddiness hilarious. "Oh I have to meet him, Carlos said that he scared the poor thing" Laughter broke out between the two when they heard shout from down the stairs, it was the spaniard with a guilty smile.

"I'm sorry about that!"

The mercedes driver just waved him off, before replying to Charles. "Yeah he met Max after that so he was eager to prove himself" There was a pause where the two driver started to waved in to the fan in the crowds before Y/n spoke again. "But yeah of course, I'd love for you to meet him! He's a real gentleman!"

With a playfully shocked look on his face, the Monégasque turning to face his friend. "A real gentleman? I'll be the judge of that" A smirk on his face. "We only want the best for the sassiest and pickiest driver on the grid!"

-

They had finished the race just over a hour ago and most of the drivers were hanging around the paddock, most being told to stay back for media purposes.

Y/n was sat at the front of the Mercedes hospitality waiting and eating with Adam. The race was hard for her and hadn't been her best one yet. Leaving her disappointed that this was Adams first race.

"I'm sorry I wasn't the best today..." She took a pause to pick at her plate of food, avoiding any eye contact. "I wanted to be better for you"

The man sat across from her sighed before reaching forward gently grasping her chin. Forcing her to look into his eyes, the eyes that looked at her lovingly.

"Baby...you have to understand that coming seventh is great! And also I came here this weekend to see you do your passionate, I didn't come here particularly to see you stand on the top of the podium"

He brought their lips together in a sweet and delicate kiss. It was a sweet moment, there weren't many in the hospitality and it felt somewhat private. Until-

"Oh merde! I'm so sorry!" A familiar accent once again interupted. Charles, again.

The couple separated quickly, blush coating their cheeks after being caught in an intimate moment. Almost like two awkward teenagers being caught giggling together by a parent. "Am I interupting something?"

Laughter broke through Y/n and Adam, leaving the Ferrari driver scared and confused. It was only when she shook her head that he relaxed.

"No don't worry Charlie" They calmed themselves down before she introduced the two. "Adam meet Charlie and Charlie meet Adam, my new partner..."

Shaking hands, Charles decided to tease the younger man a little bit. "I heard you've been eager to prove yourself and been a gentleman to our little Y/n!" He paused as he smirked cheekily. "What's your intentions Adam? What's your five year plan? And how do you feel about classical music?"

"Charlie, stop it! You're just like Carlos!"

-

Charles was sat in the media centre waiting for his turn when Oscar approached him. The two had a media session together.

"Everyone saw you go to the Mercedes hospitality the other weekend, the press think you might be moving to Mercedes when Lewis leaves..." Oscar starts up a conversation

Turning to face the Australian boy, Charles almost gave himself wiplash. "What?! Really?" He was shocked by the assumption of a move from Ferrari. Shaking his head, he started to laugh as he realized how they came to that conspiracy.

"No! Gosh no, I was just meeting Adam" But only then did he notice how the Mclaren driver was now the one confused. Had he not known about Adam?

Oscars eyebrows frowned, genuine confusion on his face. "Adam? Who's Adam?" That's when Charles started to smirk, making him scared. "Charles, why are you smirking?"

"Adam is Y/n's new partner..." It was as if they were middle school again, and they were all very giddy and immature when it came to the topic of romance.

"Oh, she's finally found someone to handle her sarcasm and sassiness? I'll honestly say that I am surprised" Oscar know smirking, much like the Ferrari driver.

Once again, Charles nodded his head. Agreeing with the Australian. "Yep, I think we were all very surprised"

"Surprised? About what?"

The two drivers turned to see a confused Lando Norris approaching them. They were both unsure if they should tell the Brit but knew he wouldn't stop until he get the gossip.

After taking a deep breath, Charles told him. Soon the confused look on his face turned to one of fierce protectiveness. "Where are they?" Not wanting to get on his teammates bad side, Oscar pointed to the Mercedes hospitality and within seconds Lando was gone.

-

"This is your fault, I'm so fucking tired!" Y/n complained, resting her head on Adams shoulder whilst he had his hand gently resting on his thigh. "Totally your fault..."

He just laughed and playfully rolled his eyes, casting his mind back to the night before. "You wanted to try out those chocolate and you knew the consequences darling..." Paused thinking through his next words. "I'm glad we ate them, I had fun..."

Y/n gasped before lightly smacking his chest. "Adam! Shh we in the middle of my work place!"

She was about say something when Adam was ripped from her and he was pushed into the wall. Only then did she notice an angry looking Lando Norris staring him down.

"So you want to date her huh? What is it that you really want? To get into her pants? Her money? Fame? Gossip huh? What's your real intentions?" Everyone in hospitality were stood watching on in shock.

Continuing on, Lando kept shouting at him when he felt two people pull him back from Adam. Charles and Oscar were pulling him away and restraining him.

Rushing over to her partner, Y/n was quick to check if he was okay. And once she felt like he was okay, only then did she realise her anger towards Lando.

"What the hell? Lando! What was that?" She felt Adam rubbing up and down her arms, trying to calm her down. "And I thought Carlos was harsh, you fucking pushed him into a wall before he could even make a proper impression!"

After hearing how angry she was at him, Lando had realised what he had done. He was too focused on protecting Y/n that he didn't even give her partner a chance to prove himself.

So when he slumped softly, Charles and Oscar knew it was okay to let go of his arm. He brush a hand through his messed hair, sighing shamefully. "I'm so sorry, I just don't trust many new people. I've seen Y/n and other driver get hurt and used before"

Adam stepped forward towards the Mclaren driver, he had a small sympathic smile on his face. "Don't worry about it, I just want you to know that I love Y/n so much and I will continue to treat her the why she deserves to be treated" Sticking his hand, hoping that Lando will shake it and believe his words. "I promise"

A proud smile replaced the frown on Landos face as he started to shake the other hand. "You still have to prove yourself mate, but I'm sure you'll get there in no time"

Quietly behind Lando, Oscar turned to Charles whispering to him. "He's the one for her, I know it."

-

[unsolvedjarin]

omg after reading part two of the mentor!seb x ferrari driver!reader fic i NEED something where he actually tries to play matchmaker for reader and mick😭 Like him giving so many hints but reader is just oblivious and Seb decides to take matter into his own hands yk?

Only if you’re open to it ofc! 🥰🥰

BEES, AMONG OTHER THINGS.

pairing: (mick schumacher x driver! reader) (mentor! sebastian vettel x reader)

note: HEY. i havent written anything in weeks and its been KILLING me. ive been so burnt out lately its crazy, but seeing seb in suzuka did give me a bit of motivation (although this is more of a mick-centric fic, my boy deserves it.) anyways sorry for letting this stew for so long anon, hopefully i can write more soon ive missed it tbh

summary: suzuka finds itself not only an interesting spot for bee hotels, but for reunions and confrontations as well.

content warning: none, except its a little all over the place and once again i havent grammar checked this im so sorry it’s three in the morning

previous part, but can be read without <3

When Sebastian invited the grid to his bee hotel opening, he expected maybe five or six people to come, but not this.

Everyone was coming.

And by everyone, I mean everyone. The drivers, the reserves, even the team principals, had all confirmed their appearance for the event. Sebastian knew he was loved by the grid, but the thought of all of them coming together for him still made his heart swell.

It was one in the afternoon, just thirty minutes before they were about to actually start the event. While the participation of the drivers were confirmed, they were still coming in one by one, some later than the others. Sebastian was in a particularly interesting conversation with Fernando about flowers when a poke to his shoulder captured his attention.

He turned around to find you, standing there behind him, waiting for him to finish his conversation with excitement you couldn’t contain. It was the first time you’ve seen each other since Silverstone, and even then you barely had time to talk to each other.

Before he could say anything, you jumped into his arms and hugged him so tight that Sebastian thought he would lose oxygen— but he still hugged you back with equal enthusiasm.

“Sebastian!” you screamed, being spun around once by the man. He missed you so much. Sebastian wasn’t particularly the greatest texter, and calling wasn’t something you were fond of, so besides the occasional visit you barely talked.

“Y/N, I thought you’d never come,” he says with a grin. He knew you were coming, of course. You would never miss out on this. You give him a playful shove, before giving Fernando a quick hug as well. In the year Seb has been gone, you had gotten closer with the Aston Martin driver who replaced him.

Fernando excuses himself quickly after, knowing you and Sebastian had some catching up to do. “Don’t tell me you’ve replaced me with him,” Sebastian jokes the second the Spaniard was out of earshot.

“Why, are you jealous?” you teased. He scoffs in reply, but you could hear the hint of jealousy in his tone. “Don’t worry Seb, while I love his talk about flowers, you talking my ear off about bees still appeals to me more.”

That makes him smile.

“I’m glad you prefer my infodumping, then.”

The fact that you taught him that term makes your grin even wider. “Anytime.”

You wanted to talk with him more, to tell him how you’ve been doing the past few months, but before you could, some PR person swooped in to film some videos with him.

“Ah, sorry liebling,” Sebastian sighs. He leans in and whispers in your ear, “One thing I haven’t missed are these media hungry people.”

You stifle a giggle, before nudging him away from you. “Go on, it’s your event, this is your own doing.”

He rolls his eyes but walks away nonetheless, following the person from the media. Before he moves out of earshot, however, he shouts, “Oh by the way, Mick is here! Don’t be shy, go talk to him.”

Oh the bastard.

Half the grid must have heard that. You look at him with shock and a light blush on your cheeks but are met only with a cheeky grin from the man before he turns around to fully walk away.

Admittedly though, he was right. You hadn’t been talking to Mick much. You had a few lunches with him after Seb retired but without his third wheeling company, it just felt awkward to go out with the reserve driver one on one. You started thinking he just ate with you because he felt bad for you or something of the sort.

“Penny for your thoughts?” A voice snaps you out of your thinking.

“Jesus! Lewis, don’t give me a heart attack like that.”

The Mercedes driver laughs before replying, “Sorry, you just looked tense. Thinking about the race?”

“Not really, just some other stuff.”

“Like what? Like Mick?”

You almost choked on your own saliva right there and then. “Wh- what? What would— haha— make you think that? No that’s crazy, I’m just thinking about the bees! Yeah, because like the bee hotel and stuff I love b—”

“Sebastian wasn’t really quiet talking to you just then, you know.” He comments, cutting you off.

“Oh I’ll kill him.”

“Doubt it, you’ve missed him too much these past months to kill him immediately.”

“Touché, maybe I’ll wait a few more then.”

“Stop avoiding the question, why’re you thinking about Mick?” Lewis asks, not giving the topic up. Oh what the hell, Sebastian trusts him right? So you could trust him.

Thinking of how you could word your thoughts properly, you start, “I kinda— I dunno— I mean he’s a nice guy, he’s pretty sweet, and we’re friends obviously so it’d be—”

“You like him don’t you.” Lewis cuts you off for the second time in a row.

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” he sighs, letting it linger for a moment. “That’s crazy.”

A beat of silence passes. “You’re not gonna say anything else?”

“Say anything else about what?” Sebastian butts in your conversation, clearly just having finished his short interview. He takes his place beside you, scooching in between you and Lewis instead of taking up the free space on the other side.

“Oh, Y/N was just talking about how she likes Mick.”

“Was not!” You exclaim.

“Was too,” Lewis retorts. His teasing never ceased to amuse and annoy you at the same time.

“I think I’m going to believe Lewis on this one. After all, you did tell me, and I quote, you ‘sorta have a little maybe crush’ on Mick.”

You hang your mouth agape incredulously before slapping Seb on the arm, “I told you that in confidence!”

Seb laughs before defending himself, “Well Lewis knows now! Besides, it’s not like you’ve been that discrete about it.”

You look at Lewis who shrugs in reply, “It’s true. Pretty obvious when a Ferrari driver keeps hanging around the Mercedes garage, mate.”

Oh well, cat’s out of the bag. There’s no point in keeping it secret from Lewis now, you think. Putting your head in your hands, you groan, “That’s the problem! I’m always at the Mercedes garage talking to you or Toto or even George but never him!”

“Well why don’t you…talk to him?”

“Great advice Sherlock, gee, got any more good ones for me?” You ask Sebastian sarcastically. While you and Seb banter though, Lewis recalls a conversation he had with Mick one late night back in Singapore.

“Hey Lew, was Y/N here earlier?”

Lewis, who was packing up to go home, redirects his focus to the only remaining guy in the garage save for a few engineers. “Yeah, she visited right after the race to congratulate me. Why’re you looking for her?”

“Oh nothing, just asking.” Mick replies, fiddling with his hands. Even in his tired state, Lewis could tell that there was more the young driver wasn’t saying.

“C’mon, spit it out.” Lewis says, taking a seat on a random chair and patting the one beside him for Mick to take a seat. The younger driver hesitates for a moment before sighing and sitting down. “Can you keep a secret?”

“Better than anyone. Do you know what happened when Alonso crashed his McLaren back in 2015?”

“No, what?”

“Exactly,” Lewis replies with a grin. “So what is it?”

“I…” Mick sighs, unable to find the right words for what he was trying to say. “I think I like Y/N.”

There, it’s out in the open, he thinks. Mick waits for a reply from Lewis, but gets none. “Hello?”

Another beat of silence.

“Okay, this is starting to scare me.”

Lewis finally snaps out of his trance-like state, before getting up and continuing to pack up his things. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“Well I thought it’d be something more secretive,” he says, putting up bunny ears.

“It is secretive,” Mick replies, mocking Lewis’ bunny ears. “No one knows.”

“Eh, I’m not so sure about that mate. I mean if you exclude Sebastian, Fernando, Toto, and myself, then sure, no one knows.”

Oh shit. Was he that obvious? “How- how did you all figure it out?”

“Well for one, if constantly tailing Sebastian and Y/N last year was your attempt at being discreet, then it was a horrible attempt. Second, you need to stop turning red and running away whenever she’s at the garage giving out food and what not. I can’t keep asking her for extra donuts for you forever, you know?”

Mick blushed slightly at the comment, not realizing how every time you came around to the garage he’d been unwillingly avoiding you out of fear you wouldn’t want to talk to him.

Lewis pats Mick on the back, getting ready to leave. “Listen man, if I were you, I’d make a move. That opportunity won’t last forever, plus, it seems like they like you back. Didn’t you guys go out together just the two of you a couple of times?”

Mick shrugged, “I don’t know, I mean I think she did that just because she felt bad for me being alone in the grid and because she missed Sebastian.”

Lewis internally rolled his eyes. He’s seen the way you look at Mick, there’s no way you didn’t like him too. “You have to stop doubting yourself. I mean the worst she can do is say no, right?”

“The worst she can do is avoid me for the rest of my life because I misread all the signs and she actually hates me.”

“That’s the spirit!” Lewis replied sarcastically, before murmuring a goodbye and leaving the garage.

That was weeks ago now, but the conversation was still stuck in Lewis’ head. He’d been right all along, you did like Mick back.

“Hey Seb, can I talk to you in private really quickly?” He speaks up, making you and the retired driver stop your bantering for a moment.

“You can say it in front of Y/N, it’s fine.” Seb replied. He trusted you completely with anything and everything.

“Well not if it’s about her.”

“Hey!” you complain. “Are you openly gossiping about me?”

“Listen, if you want our help, then let us huddle for a minute.”

Rolling your eyes, you sigh and nod at them. You really really liked Mick, but you were too much of a pussy to do anything about it. So if these two old twats could help you, then so be it.

Lewis pulls Seb to the side for a moment, inhaling deeply before talking softly so you couldn’t hear. “Okay, so here’s the thing. Mick told me he likes Y/N.”

Sebastian whips his head to face Lewis, “Holy shit, I knew it. I knew he wasn’t going out with us all the time last year for no reason.”

“Yeah, he’s not so discreet. Here’s the problem though, he firmly believes Y/N may hate him, and you know that Y/N believes Mick only likes her as a friend.”

“So what you’re saying is they’re both hopeless?”

“Without our help, basically yes.”

“God I can’t believe they haven’t caught a clue,” Sebastian sighs. “I even excused myself from multiple meals so I could leave the two of them alone even for a few minutes.”

“You’re telling me mate, I basically had to shove Mick towards her whenever she was at the garage or in hospitality.”

Meanwhile, while the two men were devising on their own, you were getting antsy. What could they possibly be coming up with? You didn’t really want to think about it too much, so you decided to take a walk around the track. After all, the event was about to start, so you might as well familiarize yourself with your surroundings.

You went through the unpainted bee hotels, admiring their woodwork and the effort it must’ve taken to make them. Sebastian had sent you a text at three in the morning yesterday saying “Finished! :-)” with a picture of the bee hotels attached, so you knew he put hard work into this project. You were happy that he was doing something he loved while retired, but at the same time you missed him terribly on the grid. It was lonely, you will admit, without him by your side. Sure you had your teammate Charles and the support of your fellow drivers, but it never felt like anyone truly knew you on the track besides Seb.

Stuck in your thoughts, you failed to notice the man who was walking up behind you mustering the courage to strike a conversation. You turn around to check out another bee hotel when you bump straight into Mick walking up to you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“Ow—” you hold your head in pain, which you bumped into the bee hotel roof when you recoiled backwards from the hit. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Great, Mick thought. Now what?

You’ve made a fool of yourself, congratulations, you thought.

Sebastian was about to walk over to see what all the commotion was about, when Lewis put a hand out and stopped him. “Look who bumped into her.”

Sebastian squinted a little— his eyesight had gotten worse but he refused to get glasses— and grins when he realizes who it is. “Best leave them to it then, I have an event to organize anyways.”

Meanwhile, Mick had no clue what to do. You were holding your head in pain, with your eyes closed trying to regain stability from the dizziness, and he was just standing there awkwardly trying to figure out what the right move was. Should he ask you again if you were alright? Should he hold you to stabilize you?

Well, why not both. Without thinking, he holds your shoulders, crouching down a little to look you in your eye, and asking a simple “You okay?”

You open your eyes, squinting because of the sun, and are met with a set of beautiful blue ones staring at you. Holy fucking shit. Now you don't know what to do.

“Uh— yeah, just hit my head. No biggie honestly, all good here,” you reply awkwardly. God, was it this hard to talk to him when Sebastian was around?

Mick lets go of your shoulders— you miss his touch already— and straightens up, nodding. “Good. Sorry for hitting you, I thought you heard me walking up.”

“No, it’s my fault honestly. Was stuck in my own thoughts. Nice that you pulled me out,” you joked, praying to whatever higher power was listening that it stuck.

Thankfully it did, and Mick let out a small giggle at your quip. It was enough for your stomach to do flips. And even though you had no clue, you joking around with him made his stomach do the same thing too. The simple interaction was enough to make him think that maybe you weren’t just hanging around with him before because you pitied him.

“You know,” Mick starts, before he loses confidence to breach the topic. He was here anyway, so might as well. “You’re always at the Mercedes garage but I never see you. I am sorry about that.”

You raised an eyebrow at him in confusion. Why was he sorry? You were the one who avoided him out of nervousness whenever you were there.

“You don’t have to be sorry about that, honestly, that’s my fault anyway. Same with our lunches before, I’m sorry we did those less and less. I guess I got too caught up in the races. We should have another one here in Japan!” You add the last part haphazardly, not really thinking about what you’re saying because if you do you’ll lose confidence.

It was too late when you realized what you said, and terrified to see Mick’s reaction to the invitation, you stare at anything but him. Wow, the sky was blue today. How interesting.

Mick, on the other hand, was frozen on the spot. Did he hear that correctly? Were you inviting him to lunch for the first time in months?

Before the reserve driver could get his hopes up, however, he realized what was different this time. Sebastian was around.

Oh. Maybe that was the only reason you invited him this time around. Because, again, like before, you felt sorry for him being alone and you had the confidence to ask him because Sebastian was here.

“Would…Sebastian be coming?” He asked. He wasn’t a religious man by any means, but he begged God at that moment you would say no. He had nothing against the retired driver of course, he was like an uncle to him, but it would determine— for him at least— if you were going out with him out of pity or because you actually wanted to.

You, on the other hand, had a completely different interpretation of that question.

Did Mick not want to have lunch with you without Sebastian because he didn’t want to spend time with you? Did he feel like you were too awkward? Too weird? You stopped yourself before you could spiral even more.

“I mean, do you want him to?”

“Honestly? No.” Mick hears himself say without thinking. His eyes widened a bit at the fact that he said that aloud, making you giggle. It lifts the tension a bit and the air feels freer talking to him.

“Tsk tsk, I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“Please don’t, I’ll never hear the end of it. I just meant—” Mick pauses for a second, finding it difficult to word his thoughts.

Oh fuck it. Fuck it all. “I want it to be you, just you.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Oh.” Before Mick can regret saying anything and repeatedly apologize for the implications of what he said, you tug on his shirt a little to get him to look at you. “Me too.”

He lets out a sigh of relief, laughing a bit at himself. “Thank god, I thought I made the wrong move there.”

“God no,” you laugh out. “I’m glad you said that honestly, I thought you just hung out with me before for Sebastian.”

Mick raised his eyebrows in confusion. Was that what you’d been thinking this whole time? “I thought you were just hanging out with me because you felt bad I was alone without Seb.”

This time you both look at each other, confused. You had both gotten it completely wrong.

The absurdity of it all makes you burst out laughing, and you try to cover it up with your hand but to no avail. “I’m sorry I just— ha!— I can’t believe I’ve been reading it wrong this whole time! I even avoided you in the garages because I thought you felt awkward around me.”

“I hid whenever you were at the garage because I thought you didn’t wanna talk to me,” Mick replied bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “In hindsight, that was pretty stupid, I suppose I wouldn’t ever know if you liked talking to me or not if I kept avoiding you.”

“Hold on, is that why Lewis always asked for extra food when I came around?”

“Yeah,” he answered, feeling embarrassed. It all felt so foolish now.

“That was stupid,” you tease. “So…what now?”

“I suppose we can just,” Mick gestures aimlessly with his hands. “Restart.”

You smile at him, liking the simplicity of the idea. After dancing around each other for a year, this is exactly what you wanted. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“What you were saying earlier, lunch? I know a good place. It’s pretty far from the track, but they have the best ramen and— hello Seb…?”

Unbeknownst to you, Sebastian had slowly inched himself closer to where you two were standing, trying to overhear your conversation. He was now stood a few meters away from you, pretending to be taking care of his bee hotel.

“You sneaky bastard!” you exclaim, slapping him on his shoulder for the second time that day. “How long have you been eavesdropping on our conversation?”

“I just got here!” Sebastian replied, trying to defend himself. He’d actually been standing there for a couple minutes, but if none of you had noticed, then it was better for him to not bring it up. “Anyway, I came to say we’re starting the event. Charles is looking for you at the Ferrari station, Y/N.”

Sebastian moves to leave, but turns back around, standing beside you. “And Mick, if it’s no bother, you could come with me and Y/N to Disneyland on Tuesday. Only if you’d like, of course.”

“We’re going to Disneyland?” You ask, but a quick glance at Sebastian's expression and you realize what he was trying to do. “Oh! Yeah, we totally planned on going to Disneyland. You should come with us.”

“Yeah! Sure, I have nothing to do anyways. And lunch on Monday, Y/N?” Mick replies. You give him a soft smile and nod in response.

Seb looks at you in confusion, “Am I part of these lunch plans?”

“No.”

“Great to know. Anyways, to the Ferrari station liebe, chop chop,” Seb retorts, putting his arm around you to pull you towards the station. As much as he wanted you and Mick to talk more, he also wanted his event to get going.

“Talk later!” you shout, being practically dragged by Sebastian. Mick laughs at the sight, waving a goodbye to you and the retired driver. He felt like he won the lottery. You might not like him the way he liked you, but this was a start. This meant that you hung around him for him.

“Was the plan you and Lewis came up with simply inviting Mick to go to Disneyland?” You ask, the second you were far away enough from Mick.

Sebastian shrugs, “Yeah, basically.”

“Oh you pricks. Thank God I didn’t rely on you two then.”

“Hey! We tried,” Seb remarked. “But we saw you two getting along without our help so we decided to leave you two to it. What did you even talk about?”

“Our shared hatred for you,” you replied with no hesitation. You look over at Sebastian with a grin, watching him roll his eyes, smiling.

“Well if that’s what it took for you two to talk, then I’d happily be the butt of your conversations.”

God. Why did he have to be so nice about it? “I’m just kidding Seb, we just cleared up some misunderstandings. Honestly we should’ve talked sooner, it was such a relief to find out I’d just been overthinking our interactions.”

“Like you do with half of all things, schatz,” Sebastian says softly, smiling at you. He was right, you did overthink too much.

“I know,” you sigh. “I’m trying to change.”

“That’s great, but you know what you should try first before that?” Seb asks with a playful look on his face. He comes to a stop in front of a bee hotel and grabs a paintbrush from beside it, putting it in your hands. “You should try participating in the event.”

“Cheeky bastard,” you mutter, grinning. You didn’t even notice you had walked all the way to the Ferrari station until then. You greet Charles, who was already there, before facing Sebastian again. “Still can’t believe you and Lewis’ plan was just Disneyland. Remind me to never trust you ever again.”

“Love you too,” Seb retorts sarcastically, grinning as he walks away to assist the other drivers. You shake your head with a smile, before facing the bee hotel again. Cheeky bastard.

Sebastian and Lewis had planned more than just Disneyland of course, they weren’t stupid. But the first phase of their plan was complete. Sebastian smiled to himself as he watched Mick talking to Lewis at the Mercedes station, ready to operate the second part of their ‘genius’ plan.

It was going to be a long, interesting week for all of them.