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pulisicsgirl · 1 year ago

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breathe, you're okay (pt. 2) - mason mount

summary: the anticipation of the impending UWCL final puts a damper on Mason and Y/N's budding relationship

pairing: Mason Mount x footballer!reader

word count: 4.3k

warnings/tags: descriptions of anxiety, mutual pining, supportive Mase, brief mention of panic attack, description of a UWCL final that's probably a bit over the top, fluff, two lovesick idiots

requested: yes!! here

notes: thank you all for all of the support on part one!! I hadn't planned a second part, but this actually flowed really easily! I really hope you all enjoy it! bonus points to anyone who guesses what the American football movie is

read part one here

Just over a month had passed since your encounter with Mason. Just over a month since the beginning of your budding friendship. Just over a month since the UEFA Women’s Champions League Semifinal.

The Manchester United women had scored early in the first half—a goal that you had assisted on. With that goal, the aggregate score was tied, which had done wonders to calm your nerves and settle your focus for the rest of the game.

After a full 90 minutes and two more goals for your team in the second half, the final aggregate score was 3-1, and you advanced to the Champions League Final.

Though you were relieved to have advanced from the semifinal, you didn’t allow yourself to slack off or back down from your work in training. You were still giving your best effort each day, often putting in extra hours after the rest had gone home to ensure you were at the top of your game.

You were kept in check, however, by Mason. He had continued checking in on you for the week leading up to the semifinal and he was the first person you wanted to text after your win (though when you went to do so, you found that he had already messaged you his congratulations and to give him a call when you had left the stadium).

But he recognized that your relief from winning the semifinal leg would not be overpowered by your nerves for the final. So, he kept a watchful eye on you, checking in to make sure you were feeling okay, ensuring you were getting the proper nutrition that your body needed—a couple of times he’d had to nearly drag you by the arm to eat lunch, refusing to let you train through another meal.

More and more frequently, Mason would stop by the field you were working on alone when he had finished training, taking a moment to chat, check in, and make sure you weren’t running yourself ragged. Then, more and more frequently, he would join you, running drills with you, having crossbar competitions, and teasing each other as you worked. You had to admit that having someone else there was helpful for numerous reasons—another perspective to suggest improvements and small tweaks to your game, better competition than a stationary piece of plastic in the shape of a defender, and it definitely boosted morale and made you more motivated to work. Mason had even noticed improvements in his own skills and endurance the more he worked with you, and he was impressed by the regimen that you had come up with for yourself.

At the beginning, he would always claim that he trained with you so that if you were pushing yourself too far, he would be there to talk you into going home. But you suspected, the more he stopped by, that he was just doing it because the two of you were having fun. And you couldn’t say you minded one bit.

The two of you began to settle into a comfortable routine. The women’s training tended to wrap up about 30 minutes earlier than the men’s, so you would set up the cones and begin running your drills before Mason would join you a short while after. Depending on how rigorous your training had been that day, the two of you would work for one or two more hours before calling it quits.

Then, you began extending your time together to reach beyond just your extra training hours. Mason had suggested one evening that you both hit the showers and then go over to his place to watch a movie that he had thought looked interesting. It didn’t take much convincing for you to agree. Then, that became a part of your routine.

Train. Showers. Movie night.

You watched anything and everything, from superhero movies, to comedy, to romance dramas. Each night the two of you crept closer and closer to one another, starting out on opposite end of the loveseat, then shoulders brushing, then your head on his shoulder, until ultimately, he would lay across the seat, head propped up on a pillow with you lying on his chest.

The routine became comfortable. So much so that any night that you weren’t at Mason’s and he wasn’t at yours felt wrong. Mason had even “forgotten” a change of clothes at your house, and when you mentioned it to him, he had just sort of shrugged in response, saying nothing further. You had simply washed them and tucked them into a drawer for whenever he may have needed them when he was over.

The two of you were comfortable, but no label had been put on the two of you yet. Frankly, you hadn’t even spoken a word about the unspoken arrangement you had, both of you afraid to pop the bubble you seemed to be living in.

Mason, however, was itching to say something to you, but he didn’t want to overwhelm you with the UWCL final fast approaching. He had sworn himself to wait until after the final to say something, no matter how much it tore him to pieces to not kiss you when you were laying on his chest, eyes slipping closed as you slipped into sleep only minutes into the movie.

And so your routine continued. Training together, filling the time with flirtatious comments and teasing gestures. Movie nights each night, alternating whose place you went to. Spending each night curled into each other, often falling asleep in the comfort of one another’s touch. Stolen, lingering glances and longing stares.

Everything felt perfect.

But Mason noticed a shift in you as the final drew near. You had gotten so swept away in whatever it was you had going on with Mason that you hadn’t noticed how quickly the match was approaching. It wasn’t that you had forgotten the date or anything, you just hadn’t realized it was so soon.

He had caught you staring at the calendar you had on your refrigerator door one night as the two of you were about to curl up on your couch to eat your Chinese takeaway and watch some movie about American football that you swore up and down was the best movie you’d ever seen. Your expression was unreadable as your eyes just darted over the calendar. Mason slowly approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist—something that had become very typical for the two of you as you spent more time together. He pressed his chest up against your back, holding your waist firmly, but you didn’t react at all.

“What’re you looking at, darling?” he asked, having to restrain himself from calling you baby.

“The final…” you trailed off, speaking at a whisper. “It’s only 10 days away…”

The two of you fell into silence as Mason gave you a moment to process your own statement. Then, with his hold on your waist, he turned you around so you were facing him, back to the calendar.

“You okay?” he asked cautiously. He was nervous about the expression on your face—worried that all of the work that you had done to overcome your anxiety related to this match would come undone in mere moments.

You were quiet for a second, just looking over his face. “Y-yeah… yeah, I’m good.” You pressed a smile to your lips, but Mason could tell that it was forced, only meant to make him feel better.

You were restless that night as the two of you settled down for the movie. You barely ate your food and you couldn’t seem to find a comfortable position until nearly an hour into the movie.

The next day, you didn’t seem any better, and the shift in your personality continued in the days following. Mason still made sure you went to lunch, but you put up more of a fight to the idea. You began staying at the training ground for longer in the evening, not satisfied until you had almost completely exhausted every muscle in your body. You were completely exhausted once the two of you reached the home of whoever was hosting that night. You were fidgety and restless until the moment you lay down on his chest, when you fell asleep almost immediately from the sheer exhaustion you were putting yourself through.

He even had to talk you down before you had another full-blown panic attack one afternoon on the training field. He had put his foot down, telling you that you needed to call it a night, despite only training for less than an hour after everyone else had left. You had resisted for several minutes, but finally gave in. You were short and snippy with Mason for the rest of the night, and he did his best not to take it personally, knowing it was the stress wearing down on you.

Then, at long last, the day of the final arrived. Earlier in the week, you had asked Mason to be there, in the stands, and he had assured you that he wouldn’t miss it for the world. It meant everything to you to have him there, as you would have no family there with you, either to celebrate the win with you or pick you up after a loss (however, you tried desperately not to think about the second possibility). Plus, he had been your rock throughout the last weeks, and there was no one else you would rather have there, supporting you.

He had already been planning on going before you had talked about it with him, arranging to go with a few of his teammates under the guise of wanting to support the female half of their club. He was sure they knew his real reasoning, having noticed the countless hours the two of you seemed to be spending together, but they didn’t bring it up.

Sooner than you would have liked, warmups were over, and you had entered the locker room, standing in front of your cubby and staring at the jersey that hung before you. Your last name and number stared back at you, the white lettering contrasting the vibrant red material of the kit. Donning your jersey had never felt so dramatic until this day.

One of your teammates patted you on the shoulder as they passed behind you, snapping you out of your daze. You quickly took the jersey off of its hanger, pulling it over your head, and smoothing the material over your abdomen.

The moments seemed to pass quickly but also dragged on at the same time, leading up to kickoff. The team huddle. The pep talk from the coach. Before you knew it, you found yourself lined up in the tunnel with the rest of your teammates, awaiting the walkout.

The familiar feeling of dread settled low in the pit of your stomach. Your heart was pounding in your ears, and you closed your eyes, shaking your head to try to snap yourself out of it. You rocked back and forth on your feet, trying desperately to picture Mason in front of you, cradling your face with his forehead pressed to yours while he reassured you that you were safe and capable. Steadily, your heartbeat seemed to slow, but the feeling of dread felt only a fraction lighter.

A tapping on your shoulder caused you to snap your eyes open, and you realized that the rest of the players had begun walking out onto the field. You jogged forward, able to catch up with the teammate in front of you before you exited the tunnel, out into the bright, roaring stadium.

You lined up with the rest of the girls, facing the stands as the Champions League anthem rang out through the stadium. You searched the VIP area around the benches for Mason’s familiar face, but you were quickly overwhelmed by the number of people staring back at you. You closed your eyes, dropping your chin to your chest as you tried to keep yourself focused on the game ahead of you as you waited out the rest of the anthem.

“You’re safe. It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you.”

Mason’s words from your first encounter with him rang through your head, settling your nerves. The anthem soon ended, and your eyes snapped open, a renewed sense of determination and focus washing over you as you followed your teammates down the line. You shook hands with the refs and the opposing players as you held an unreadable expression on your face.

You entered a quick huddle with the starters on the field, and then assumed your starting position, bouncing on your toes and getting some last-minute stretching in before the whistle.

And then the game began.

The first 90 minutes passed by in a blur. Sprinting across the field from end to end. Volleys, headers, through balls, crosses. Nothing landed until the opposing team scored just moments after halftime. Your heart had sunk in your chest, afraid the momentum would drive them to another goal. Instead, 15 minutes later with a cross from you, your teammate put the ball in the back of the net to tie the game.

And that’s how the score remained. One to one. And so extra time began.

Again, the opposing team score only a few minutes into extra time, and you spent the rest of extra time playing from behind. You noticed that your extra training had paid off, significantly improving your endurance as you weren’t wearing down alongside your teammates.

With two minutes left, your teammate passed a well-timed ball through the defensive line. You broke away from the defense, praying that you timed your run well enough to remain onsides. Settling the ball at your feet, you set into a dead sprint downfield, carrying the ball with you. You had left the opposing players far behind you. Only the keeper stood between you and the goal that would send the game to penalties.

You dribbled and ran as fast as your legs would carry you. The growing roar of the crowd sounded muffled and distant in your ears as you only focused on the space in front of you. The keeper ran out from the goal, crouched low and arms wide as she attempted to cut you off from a shot.

Planting your foot, you time your kick well, curling the ball just barely beyond the fingertips of the keeper as she dove. The ball curved, and time seemed to slow down as it rolled toward the net.

The crowd erupted as the ball rolled over the line, crashing into the back of the net for a goal. The game was tied.

You didn’t even have it left in you to do a grand celebration, standing in place, panting, until the rest of your girls surrounded you, cheering and shouting excitedly.

You breathed a short sigh of relief, happy to have tied the game, but your mind turned immediately to the penalty kicks that would soon come.

Everyone lined back up on their own sides and the opposing team kicked off the ball. It was mere moments before the whistle was blown, signaling that extra time had ended.

The game would go to penalties.

After a short break, both teams were lined up at the centerline awaiting the first penalty. You were repeatedly running through the order for penalty takers in your mind—you were to go last, and you prayed that you wouldn’t have to take one at all.

The opposing team took their penalty first. You watched carefully as she placed the ball on the spot in the box. The ref spoke briefly with the player and the keeper before backing away from the scene. A long moment. The whistle blew. You held your breath as she took three steps toward the ball.

The ball swished in the back of the net as the opposing team made their first penalty.

Your first teammate in the lineup stepped up to take her shot. The same routine followed. And your team had converted their first penalty.

After the first penalty for each side, you were tied 1 to 1.

And so it continued. A shot. A goal. Another shot. The keeper blocked the third penalty for your team, leaving you lagging behind, 2 to 3. The opposing team missed their next penalty. Your team made yours.

And so it came down to the last penalty, tied 3 to 3. The final shots would decide the game.

The opposing player stepped up, and, though you felt a little guilty about it, you silently hoped she would sail the ball completely over the goal.

The whistle blew. The player made her approach. The shot was good—a fast ball to the lower left corner.

But the keeper had read her approach perfectly. She dove in the right direction, extending her arms above her head. You once again held your breath as the ball soared toward her, and…

It was saved.

The stadium erupted again in celebration of the save. Meanwhile, the frenzy of nerves settled in the pit of your stomach.

Once again, the dreams of the Manchester United Women all came down to you.

You stepped away from your teammates at the centerline, beginning the long walk toward the goal. You passed the opposing player who had just missed her shot, but you kept your eyes focused straight ahead, refusing to let her get into your head.

From the stands, Mason watched as you strode across the field. His hands were placed on top of his head, and he was rocking back and forth on his feet. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this nervous. It’s not that he doubted your abilities—not even for a second. He’s just pleading, in his mind, that you don’t get in your own head and let it interfere with you doing what he knows you’re capable of.

You take the ball from the referee’s hands and place it down on the penalty spot.

All you need to do is make this. Make it, and the game is over. Make it, and you win the Champions League for your team.

You take four steps back from the ball, following the same routine you’ve practiced thousands of times before. From your childhood, all the way to the recent weeks, practicing with Mason as your hopeless keeper.

You bounced on your toes, eyes flashing between the ball and the goal as you weighed your options.

The whistle blew.

You stepped forward, leaning into the movement. Three steps and then you planted your foot next to the ball. You swung through the kick, twisting your hips to give it more power.

The ball soared high through the air, toward the top right corner of the goal, and a hush fell over the crowd.

Time seemed to be moving in slow motion as the ball flew, end over end.

The keeper read your movement, diving in the direction of your shot.

Her fingers narrowly missed contact with the ball as it crashed into the top corner of the goal.

You made it. You made the shot.

The emotions of the last month or two came crashing down on you all at once. You dropped to your knees, a loud cry leaving your lips that was completely overpowered by the roaring of the fans.

You had won the Champions League.

You dropped your head in your hands as you sat on the grass, sobs wracking your body. The crowd was deafening.

In an instant, your teammates were surrounding you, their cheers and yells overlapping. They surrounded you, hugging you, piling on top of one another. Some of them were crying, too.

You couldn’t put into words what you were feeling. Relief, elation, pride. All of that and more.

Eventually, you untangled yourself from the dogpile of your teammates, and you had to take a moment in the tunnel to compose yourself.

The next hour passed by in a blur. You lost count of how many people you hugged. Cameras flashed in your face everywhere you looked. Awards were presented and your heart swelled with pride as they handed you the Golden Boot for your achievements in the tournament.

Finally, you stood on the stage, medal around your neck, crowded by your teammates as the captain approached with the trophy. The moment the trophy was lifted into the air, the entire team erupted in a chorus of cheering and screaming. In that moment, all of the stress, hard work, pressure, and anxiety of the last few months finally felt worth it.

With the trophy in hand, numerous more photos were in order and, after the exertion and stress of playing 120 minutes, the exhaustion was beginning to wear down on you.

At long last, the family members of the players were allowed on the field, and the grass slowly began to grow more crowded.

But there was only one person you were looking for.

You moved slowly through the crowd, eyes shifting back and for as you searched for Mason’s familiar face. Someone had taken your golden boot, putting it somewhere for safe keeping so it could be sent to your home.

When you finally set eyes on him, it felt like time stopped. He hadn’t spotted you yet, standing on his tiptoes and leaning to try to peer through the crowd, wearing a red jersey that matched your own. You froze, for a moment, admiring his side profile—the soft curve of his nose, the way his lips were slightly parted as his eyes searched for you, the way his hair fell softly against his forehead.

You were finally seeing him in a way that you hadn’t allowed yourself to for these last few weeks.

Your heart fluttered when he turned away from you and you noticed your last name printed across his shoulders.

He turned back in your direction and you knew instantly when he had spotted you because his face lit up, a smile spread across his cheeks. You immediately took off running in his direction, and he did the same to meet you in the middle.

When you finally reached him, you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping yours tightly around his neck. He held you tightly around your abdomen, spinning you in a circle as he lifted you off of your feet.

“You did it, Y/N!” he exclaimed, and you could hear the smile in his voice. He set you back down on your feet, pulling back to look at your face. “You showed everyone what you’re capable of, just like I knew you would. I’m so proud of you.”

In that moment you were overcome by so many emotions—excitement about your victory, gratitude for everything he’d done for you in the last month, and your head was spinning from how close his face was to yours.

“You were absolutely incredible out there! I couldn’t believe—”

You did the only thing your brain could think of in that moment and placed both hands on the collar of his shirt, pulling him down so you could press your lips to his in a long-overdue kiss. Your fingers moved to thread through the hair on the back of his head, pulling him in closer, if that was even possible. His arms squeezed more tightly around you as he kissed you back, moving his mouth against yours.

After a few moments, you pulled away. You were both breathless and panting for air. Mason pressed his forehead to yours, and it reminded you of that first day when he did the same thing.

The realization of what you had just done dawned on you, and you felt the blush rushing into your cheeks. You tucked your head into Mason’s neck, but you could feel his chest shake with a laugh, clearly just as surprised and pleased by the kiss as you were.

After a moment, you mustered the courage to lift your head, looking up at Mason’s face. His cheeks are pink and the biggest grin is plastered on his face.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” you struggled to string your words together. “I’ve been thinking about doing that for weeks and—”

“It’s okay,” he cut you off, running his hand soothingly up and down your back. “Me, too.”

The two of you stood there, mulling over the implications of your actions and your words. He continued to hold you close, your arms wrapped around his neck, faces pressed close together.

“Thank you, Mason,” you spoke softly, feeling like you were the only two people in the whole stadium. Mason raised his eyebrows in question. “For being here tonight. For everything you’ve done for me these last few weeks. I wouldn’t have made it without you. Tonight would have gone a lot differently.”

Mason shook his head at your words. “I was happy to do what I could to help, but you did this entirely because of your own talents and hard work. I’m just glad I got to be here to see it all take place.”

You blushed again at his words of admiration.

“Everyone is gonna go nuts when the media outlets get a hold of this—of us,” you whispered.

“Let them talk. I couldn’t care less,” he smiled down at you. “I just really want to kiss you again.”

So with a hand on the back of his neck, you met his lips with yours, feeling like life couldn’t possibly be more perfect than in this very moment.

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wosowrites · 1 year ago

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Kissing Strangers (Jessie Fleming x Reader)

Warnings: s3xual content

A/n: based off this request here

Prompt: In which jealousy leads to anger, leads to hurtful words and leads to a revaluation of your friendship with jessie fleming.

"Well fuck you! Fuck you for saying that Jessie because I cannot keep kissing strangers and pretending they’re you!"

4 hours earlier

You hadn’t been doing well lately. At all. Your mental health was in the pits, your confidence was low and your only solution was clubbing. Which was a horrid solution considering you were a pro football player and you had a big game in 20 hours. The second leg of the UWCL quarter final would be crucial to say the least. You needed to keep the advantage in your favour. Which meant you, star winger, top league goalscorer could most definitely not come over there with a hangover.

But you drank anyways, alone, at a bar. And despite your intense lesbianism, you were letting men hit on you to buy you drinks. That was the source of this all, in fact. Being a lesbian. Being a lesbian who was head over heels for Jessie Fleming.

That woman was complicated. She has never been into dating, having always been hyper focused on sports, and then school, and then her career. So despite knowing her since you were 14, and despite being in love with her since you were 16, you had never gone anywhere. Not even a kiss, only teasing flirting that she could never return as it would have her blushing and stuttering furiously, at a loss for words.

The club was loud. It smelled like sweat, alcohol and bad decisions. Your latest bad decision being a 5 foot 6 blonde with a knack for dancing. You danced with her for a while, letting your hands ghost her sides. One thing led to another and you had her pressed up against a wall, making out with her.

She was the fourth woman tonight.

You weren’t proud of it, even less proud when you stumbled out of the bar, needing a lift home. You had lost your wallet but you were too drunk to realize the gravity of that situation.

You had your phone though, so you opened it and scrolled through your contacts. Magda? No way, captain mom would not be happy at all. Pernille? Captain moms girlfriend, nope. Jessie…? Fat chance, you didn’t want her to see you like this.

No money for a cab, no Chelsea player to call, scared they would tattle. You didn’t know what to do. You slouched down on a bench and then remembered. Sabrina D’angelo now was a Gunner. You played together for Canada, she would understand your Jessie situation and she wasn’t connected to any of the Chelsea girls. Perfect.

You pressed her contact and let the phone ring. After a couple seconds, she answered. You knew Sab stayed up late, so her voice didn’t seem one bit tired. "Hey y/n!" her voice said. You could hear music playing in the back. "Hey, Sab. Listen, can you come pick me up? I’m at a bar and… I’m drunk and I just-" you started saying. "Say less. I’ll be there in ten. Send me your location," she said.

Sabrina was reliable. She was there in exactly ten minutes, driving a fiat you knew wasn’t hers. "Whose car is that?" you asked, slurring your words and you stumbled towards her. "Leah’s," she answered, grabbing your arm and guiding you to the front seat. "Oh. You didn’t tell her anything, did you?" you asked. "Was I not supposed to?" she asked gently as you sat down. "Urgh. It’s fine just tell her not to say anything else, okay?" you said.

Sabrina nodded and then got into the drivers seat. You drove in silence for a while after giving the keeper the instructions to get to your apartment complex. "What is this about? This isn’t you. Getting drunk… going out when you have a crucial game in less than 24 hours… what’s going on?" she asked you.

You thought for a bit. What the hell were you supposed to tell her. No one knew about Jessie.

"I’m in love with Jessie and she’s never gonna love me back. So I was stupid and got drunk and I’ve been… I don’t know, Sab… I’ve been going around hooking up with people at bars to try and get my mind off of her," you confessed, leaning your head against the cold window. "Ah, so you’ve finally decided to admit it," she said to you, stopping at a red light. "What do you mean?" you asked her. "Come on now. We all know. Everyone knows you’re in love with her."

Sabrina dropped you off at your apartment complex and you were hoping to god that no one was out in the hallways. You had a good reputation. You were the neighbour that brought the groceries in for people and gave people cookies when you made too many. You didn’t want them to see this side of you.

So, you did your very best to summon any inch of you that was slightly sober to take over. It was 12:00 after all, so you doubted anyone would roam the halls. But still.

You made it to your apartment safe and sound and scanned your key card.

Stumbling into the appartement, hoping she wasn’t awake, you placed your phone on the counter and then kicked off your shoes. You opened the fridge to pull out the water pitcher in hopes of sobering up.

"Where the fuck were you?"

You groaned before you saw her. You closed the fridge door and then turned around. "Out," you said.

"You can’t go out! Especially when we have the most important game of the season tomorrow. You do know that it’s all our dream to win that championship, right?" the Canadian yelled. "Shut up," you groaned, pressing your head into your hands. "What did you say?" she spat back.

This wasn’t like her to get mad, and that’s when you knew that she wasn’t mad, but worried. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Jessie. I don’t know what happened…"

That was a lie. You knew exactly what happened. She had happened.

But Jessie was Jessie after all. And although she was a little angry, she still came up to you and laced you into a hug, which meant a lot because she was not one for hugs.

"Go sit on the couch. We need to make you the less hungover possible," Jessie said.

And that’s when she saw it.

That’s when her eyes landed on your neck which was covered in hickeys.

"Did you hookup with someone at the bar?" Jessie breathed out.

Now that, that was just jealousy. Her heart ached. Her mind raced. "So I was wrong, she’s not in love with me," she thought to herself.

Once you answered her, it was the alcohol talking. "One person, two, four… what’s the difference?" you laughed, stumbling to the couch.

Jessie felt like she had been punched in the gut.

"Four people? Jesus christ, y/n!" she said, a little louder than she wanted. This was not like her. Jessie was calm and collected, sweet, caring. She was not like this. "Calm down. It’s fine. It was just making out and touching. No actual sex," you rolled your eyes, lying down on the couch. "Sit up! I’m talking to you!" she said, towering over you. You sat up and looked at her with wide eyes. "You’re mad?" you said, question marks in your own eyes. "Yeah! You fucking bet I am, when did you start kissing random people in bars? When did you get so desperate? Are your standards that low? So low that you’ll choose a random girl at the bar over me?"

You hadn’t registered her last sentence. Your drunken mind only taking in her insults.

"Well fuck you! Fuck you for saying that Jessie because I cannot keep kissing strangers and pretending they’re you!" You yelled at her, making your head throb.

Tears were streaming down your face and you had never felt more helpless.

"I pretend- I pretend they’re you. I kiss random girls at bars and hope that when I open my eyes it’ll be your eyes looking at me, your lips that had just kissed mine and your freckles on YOUR cheeks. I want you. But clearly I’m too much of a fucking slut for you," you growled.

That was the last thing you said to her until 9:00 PM the next day.

Jessie woke up at 7:30 and went out to get bagels. She was hoping to do something to make it up to you. She wanted to tell you she loved you back, but she was sure all feelings you had for her were gone. Despite having said she wanted to be the one you were kissing, she knew you hadn’t heard that part. And then it hit her that you had been so drunk that night that you probably remembered nothing from the night before.

You woke up at 10:00, your eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying, but you didn’t really know why.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and passed your hands through your hair. "Jesus," you groaned. You could recall a screaming match with Jessie, but about what you had no clue. It would come back to you eventually. You just assumed that if you couldn’t remember what happened, it wasn’t importent.

You walked out of your bedroom wearing grey sweat shorts and a tight cropped grey tank top, showing off your abs and arms.

You walked into the kitchen and made a hangover smoothie, hoping for the pain to be gone by 3:00 as that would be when you would leave for Stanford Bridge.

Jessie walked into the apartment twenty minutes after your wake, just as you poured the smoothie into a cup.

"Hi!" she said nervously, placing a bag of your favorite bagels on the table. "Hey," you smiled at her. "Listen, about last night, I was drunk, I didn’t mean anything I may have said. I literally don’t even remember anything I said but i guarantee you it was all bullshit. I’m sorry for getting drunk but i’m more sorry for yelling at you whatever it was about. But if I can’t remember it wasn’t important right?" you said, smiling and being light and calm.

Jessie felt as though she would throw up. You didn’t remember your confession to her, or her confession to you, or anything. It was all just forgotten.

"Yeah. Not important at all…" she said quietly, "I got bagels though!"

And then you were talking about Bagels and Lyon instead of the conversation you had stating you wished to be kissing each other.

You got into game mode the second you finished breakfast which meant your special game day routine with Jessie, the one you had been doing since you were 16. You first put on grey sweatpants with a grey tank top and put on some silver jewelry (your game day fit) and then filled up two huge water bottles full of ice for you and Jessie to drink before leaving. She walked out wearing her yellow and blue shorts with a cropped black tank top, showing off her sleeper build. You would only know how strong Jessie was when she flexed, which she never did, humble as she was.

And then you deep cleaned. You took on the kitchen while she tackled the living room.

Cleaning was therapeutic before games because if you lost, at least you wouldn't come home to a clustered and messy house, but if you won (especially big games like these) you could host your friends for drinks. So you scrubbed, dusted and decluttered every inch of the kitchen followed by your own bedroom and then hers. "Okay, Rock Paper Scissors on the washroom," you told her once you were both done. "I'll do it," she said. "But-it's the washroom," you said in confusion. "Its fine, I got it." So, you went into your room and tied your hair into a high ponytail and then into a braid.

By the time the washroom was clean, it was time to leave.

Everything happened in a blur. One minute you were in the car, and then in the changing room, then warming up, then playing, and then it was halftime, then suddenly the referee had awarded you a penalty kick. And thats when everything went right... and wrong.

Jessie hadn't started the game on the field but she came on when it went to added time. It was the 120th minute in which you stood in front of the ball, knowing that if you scored this, all would be right in the world. Or at least thats what you told yourself.

You kicked it... you scored, and you ran to the fans, you saw Jessie, and you remembered kissing 4 girls, and you jumped into Sam's arms, and you recalled telling Jessie you pretend the strangers you kissed were her, and you yelled 'fuck yeah' at the top of your lungs, and you remembered Jessie telling you she loved you back.

And then it was a penalty shootout.

You could barely watch. You only opened your eyes once you knew the shot had been taken, and of course when you scored your own penalty. And then Jessie scored hers, and before thinking, you rushed to her and kissed her head.

You wanted nothing more than to tell her you remembered everything, but you settled with putting your arm around her shoulders as Lyon took their penalty.

And then one thing led to another and Ann-Kat had just denied Lindsey Horan of her penalty, and you were going to the semis.

The atmosphere in the changing room was insane. Screaming, singing, crying, people were ecstatic. But the only thing on your mind was Jessie. While people started singing Take Me Home, Country Roads, you found the freckled midfielder. "Jessie," you said into her ear, making her turn away from Magda and Niahm. "Yeah?" she asked. "Can we talk?" you asked her.

She nodded and you dragged her into the washroom connected to the locker room. The second the door closed, things felt more silent. "I remember," you said quickly. "Not everything but the part where... Where I told you about how I kissed strangers and pretended they were you. And the part where you said something about me choosing random girls over you. Well... I choose you. I want you. I've always wanted you," you said to her, looking down at her with soft eyes.

Jessie’s eyes filled with tears. She had been wanting to hear those words for ages and the combination of the emotions of winning against the previous UWCL champions and your confessions had her tearing up.

But soon her tears turned full on sobs. Her head was in her hands as her body shook with tears.

Your eyes widened in worry as you asked yourself what you had done wrong. "Jess- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to upset you I just-"

Your words were cut off, however, because Jessie’s hands were around your neck and her lips were pressed against yours.

You could feel the wetness of her teary cheeks on your own and it took you a couple seconds to snap out of your daze and put your arms around her waist to pull her in impossibly closer.

Once you needed air, you leaned your forehead against hers and looked into her eyes. "Are you okay?" you asked her gently. "I’ve never been better. I promise you. I’m just emotional. I’m happy we’re going to the semis, i’m so so happy I finally kissed you because i’ve been wanting to do it since I was 15 but im also just really homesick and I miss Elysse," she said to you.

You looked into her eyes and pressed another kiss to her lips.

"I know, but hey, we’ll have something good to tell her once we get home?" you said. "Yeah, not good though. Amazing," she whispered to you, giving you a stronger, more dominant kiss.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #chelsea fcw #jessie fleming #canwnt

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redhairedwolfwitch · 1 year ago

Text

On The Pitch With Her Goalie - Clàudia Pina x Reader

A/n: the next part of the Score A Goalie universe... yes it's a universe... enjoy!

///

The remaining five league matches were your last five possible chances to show everyone what you could do in goal whilst at Barcelona.

You were still waiting on a reply from Lola, but you shoved it all down, knowing that she and Atleti were in Seville for the away game against Real Betis. Ending in a draw due to a penalty from Lola’s yellow card offense. A draw that had ended Atleti’s UWCL qualification chances. You knew she would be blaming herself, so your messages were left unanswered.

Cata was selected to start against Sporting Huelva, but you were the goalkeeper on the bench, getting the opportunity to warm up with her before sitting down next to Patri, who greeted you with a raised eyebrow.

“Did you have a nightmare last night or something?”

“Kinda.” You shrugged off her question, but you knew she’d heard you yell out into the darkness for Lola.

“Shush, don’t distract me, Clàudia is captain.” You shushed Patri, who had no shame smiling and laughing at your demeanour.

“Probably why you didn’t start, you have heart eyes every time Pina is in your view.” Patri didn’t see the look on your face after she said that, or how you faltered, staring at the ground for a moment before returning to watch the game in silence.

Sitting forwards in your seat, your elbows rested on your knees as you watched the game intently. You clapped when Laia got her first goal of the season, the only goal as half-time arrived and you were grimacing at the choice of songs they were playing in the stadium. The second goal for Barcelona came from a defender too, this time Jana scoring as the bench and crowd erupted in cheers.

You couldn’t help but grin at how energised the crowd became when Alexia went to warm up, not even noticing how Patri had stood up from next to you to warm up because Alexia had removed her orange bib, making you realise it was getting close to being time.

Time for the return of Alexia Putellas.

You grinned as Clàudia sat down next to you, quickly kissing her cheek because you knew nobody would be watching the bench. Everyone would be watching captain Alexia Putellas return to the pitch after ten months.

Emma and Ingrid eventually joined you and Clàudia on the bench, your leg bouncing up and down as you watched the game, Clàudia’s hand resting on your thigh to try stop the jiggling as she watched the game too.

The weather caught your attention as a drop of water hit your knee, glancing up during stoppage time to see the incoming downpour.

“The skies cry in celebration.” You whispered, hearing Clàudia chuckle from besides you at your poeticness.

Running onto the pitch at the end of the match, hand in hand with your fiancee, the two of you joined the chaotic celebrations of the Barcelona team. With this victory, Barcelona had enough points to win the league, the rain not dampening anyone’s spirits.

Clàudia looked away from you for a moment to hug Alexia, turning around to spot you hanging from the crossbar of the goal.

“Do not climb that in the rain!” Clàudia joked as she ran over, pausing as she recognised where you were stood as you jumped down.

“Te amo.”

“Yo también te amo.” the two of you ended up running after the rest of the squad as they made their rounds around the field. Clàudia wrapping a Barcelona flag around her waist and then a Barcelona scarf around your neck as Fifth Harmony blasted through the stadium.

The rain was coming down heavily but everyone continued to celebrate, “I wish I could kiss you right now.” you confessed to your fiancee, who smiled knowingly at you in response. She felt the same way, the rain coming down, on the pitch where the two of you first properly met.

“I still feel like a traffic cone in this orange!” You pointed out as Alexia went to get the league trophy, the entire team gathering for photos, including you this time. Barcelona Liga Campeonas 2023.

Marta and Alexia lifted the trophy as everyone cheered, your ears ringing from the excitement in the stadium and your face ached from smiling so much.

“Wait, come here!” you laughed, pulling down the back of Clàudia’s Liga Campeonas 2023 shirt that had rolled up as she pulled it on, on top of her jersey. Fabric hit the side of your head, one of the Campeonas shirts crumpled up on your shoulder as you turned to look at Mapi in confusion.

“You get one too!”

“Me?” Your face crumbled up in confusion at the idea, even when each of the squad staff had a shirt too, holding the shirt in your hands as Alexia being given a microphone.

“Are you crying?”

“It’s the rain.” You bluffed, making Caro raise an eyebrow but you shook your head, wiping at your face hurriedly. The rain had simmered down a while ago, making your excuse bogus but Caro didn’t call you out on it, instead pulling you into a side hug as you all walked around the pitch, Clàudia far ahead in front with Alexia and the league trophy.

“This team is magical.”

///

“What are you watching?” Patri enquired, finding you sat on the couch watching the television intensively.

“Second leg semi, Arsenal versus Wolfsburg. Sold out Emirates.” You explained, running your left hand over your face for a moment, but that moment caught Patri’s attention.

“In German- Ey! You’re wearing it! Pina finally gave it to you!”

“Yes, Patri. My fiancee finally gave the ring she picked out to me, after I got hers in New York last year.” You deadpanned, brushing off Patri pointing out you were listening to German commentary, and struggling. Most of your memory of the German language was gone, whilst Dutch had been kept alive through Merel’s lessons. Spanish and English remained your most fluent in that moment in time.

“Fiancee? I- You and Pina are engaged? ENGAGED?”

“What is this game?” You exclaimed as VAR was put into use for the second time since the game started less than fifteen minutes ago.

“What did you think the ring was for?” Clàudia teased as she walked in, wearing her ring. You blanked out the commentary of the match, listening to Clàudia and Patri talking in Spanish about the rings and how you two had gone from promising each other to biting the bullet and going for a full on engagement.

“Wolfsburg final!” You shouted loudly as the match came to an end in extra time, feeling bad for the Arsenal players but you knew the final in Eindhoven would be magical with this Barcelona team.

///

The away game against Real Sociedad had you sitting on the bench with Cata, your mind getting the best of you as you began to doubt everything. Atleti had finally rotated Lola onto the bench to play Paula, with Carmen as captain but they had lost 1-0 against Levante Las Planas. A glance over the squad list left your eyes widening as you realised a slight issue. Atleti only had three forwards listed. Three yellow cards for Atleti and three yellows for Levante Las Planas later, and you were doubting more than just your own skills as a goalkeeper. You were doubting whether you would grow from going back to Atleti.

“¿En qué estás pensando?” Cata enquired, wondering what you were thinking, but the hiss you made as the Real Sociedad goalie saved the shot created from Barcelona’s corner.

“Demasiado.” Too much. You hummed as you watched Mariona get a yellow card, before zoning out. Clàudia and a chunk of the Barcelona squad were resting instead of playing this match.

“Demasiado?” Cata frowned, but you shook your head, remaining silent until Patri scored the first goal of the match, which you clapped and cheered at, before you were clapping and cheering again as Asisat scored four minutes later. Four minutes later, you were clapping again, this time Aitana scoring. Three minutes later, Caro headed the ball in, taking the score up to 4-0 before it was 35 minutes in.

The clean sheet didn’t last much longer though, as Real Sociedad’s Jensen scored in the 38th minute, taking it to 4-1.

Post half-time break, Caro sent the score up to 5-1 after Real Sociedad made three substitutions but mentally you had checked out of the game, drafting up a conversation in your head to have with your management.

An own goal from Patri sent the score up to 5-2, with substitutions on both sides including the likes of Alexia, Vicky and Bruna for Barcelona left you and Cata quietly talking about goalkeeping techniques until the game was over. Barcelona had won 5-2.

///

The rescheduled away game against Sevilla had a shuffled squad list, with the plan for Gemma to start going out the window as she was injured during the warm-up. With Sandra back in Barcelona with the others who were being rested, this match was yours, plus Paredes with the captain’s armband.

Sevilla were fumbling their own chances without the requirement of you getting in the way of their attempts of goal, whilst Barcelona’s attempts at goal were fruitless in the first 15 minutes as well. The wind remained almost booming in your ears as debris was blown around the pitch in the flurry.

“I felt like I was going to blow away in the wind.” You confessed later on when you returned home from Sevilla, home to your lover.

Sevilla’s attempt at the 26th minute went directly into your gloves, the ball heading back up the other end of the pitch but Geyse’s goal attempt went wide. Eventually at the 30th minute, the thirty degree celsius heat had both teams going for a cooling break.

You shrugged at Paredes as she glanced at you, a Sevilla player having gone down in the box that Paredes was dealing with, but no penalty was given, or yellow card. You weren’t even sure Paredes had clipped her, but you were in no mood to deal with the ref.

Halftime and it was 0-0.

Spotting the incoming cross, you didn’t slide forwards to try to stop the ball or the player incoming with it, instead shuffling back to slam your body onto the ball, barely stopping Sevilla’s goal attempt, something that Sandra or Gemma may have failed to do.

You let out a breath as you spotted the three Barcelona substitutions lining up, Alexia, Asisat and Mapi entering the game at the 65th minute.

A cooling break at the 75th minute left you able to sip your drink, listening to tactics and how it was almost 1-0 to Sevilla. But it wasn’t, thanks to you.

“Thank fuck.” You murmured as Ana managed to get the ball into the goal in the 80th minute, watching intently from your goal as the Sevilla goalkeeper was a lot busier than you were, until the last minute of stoppage time, but Sevilla’s shot went wide.

The full time whistle was eventually blown, a 1-0 win to Barcelona. Deep down, in another universe you knew the game would have ended 1-1, but you bite your tongue, making a beeline for the Sevilla goalie instead.

///

“Hey, which photo do I post for Medina’s birthday? Wait this one has the rings in it… better not upstage anything with an accidental engagement announcement…” you trailed off, removing the photo that could reveal the engagement too early.

Technically speaking, Barcelona were in the dark about the engagement but Patri. You weren’t entirely sure how, since you knew Alexia suspected something, but the two of you kept it to families. So Clàudia’s family knew, and your family did. Your little Atleti family. Lola, Carmen and Andrea, even though you joked you were a child of divorce through Lola and Carmen, resulting in Lola almost picking you up like a baby, but you hid behind Andrea.

“Don’t hide behind your baby sister.”

“Don’t be rude to your firstborn.” You retorted, sticking your tongue out at Lola who raised an eyebrow at you in challenge.

“Our firstborn who ran away to Barcelona and got engaged?” Carmen joked, pulling you into her side as you tensed up, pouting.

“I didn’t run, I got a flight… and I didn’t want to leave.”

Shaking off the memory, you picked out the Atleti family photo you wanted, a group photo where Lola had Andrea in a hug/headlock, whilst Carmen had you on her back in a piggy back, nobody aware of how you had stuck two fingers up in the air behind Lola’s head but the photo had been taken mid-laughter for the birthday girl.

///

Ten changes had been made from the starting XI of last match against Sevilla, with your remaining the only player who played both matches, starting against Athletic Club at home, the Estadi.

Your fiancee still wasn’t 100% after her injury, so she was in the stands with Lucy and Rolfö, and you think you saw Gemma up there too. Atleti were playing against Villareal at the same time this game was kicking off, the ball coming back to you quickly, and you had to be quicker to get it away as you spotted the red and white Athletic Club jersey clad player running right at you.

Even without their captain on the pitch due to an injury in a clash against Asisat, Athletic Club were fierce but Barcelona were better. But Athletic Club’s captain was down again, forcing the club to substitute her off.

The results of Athletic’s free kick went straight into your gloves, allowing you to send the ball back in, watching as it headed back up the pitch for another goal attempt to go wide.

The ball at your feet at the 37th minute, you sent the ball back in, glancing at Engen across the pitch who had gone down moments before.

“Fuck!” You grunted, jumping up to punch the incoming ball away from the free kick, but the corner for Athletic Club was fruitless.

Marta’s incoming ball made you grimace, sending the ball away to almost hit an Athletic Club player in the head, letting out a breath as it ended up away from both, and the halftime whistle was blown.

0-0 at halftime, whilst Atleti were down 1-0 to Villareal.

Barcelona were stacking corners as you watched from your goal, but it took an hour for Barcelona to score, Caro striking the ball into the corner of the goal to take it to 1-0.

Letting out a breath, you observed as Laia went off for Irene, Ingrid off for Keira and Nuria off for Ana in the 63rd and 64th minutes. A header from Irene doubled Barcelona’s lead moments after the previous goal attempt was too unclear, no aerial camera to check if it had passed the line. Making the score 2-0.

The Estadi lit up with cheers as Alexia and Mariona were subbed on for Patri and Aitana, but you didn’t acknowledge it, instead swiping the incoming ball up into your arms easily.

A long ranged shot at your goal went flying over, you watching as it went wide, retrieving a ball for a goal kick.

The last touch of the match was Salma’s goal, the game ending 3-0 and the final game at the Estadi Johan Cruyff before the UWCL final in Eindhoven was done.

“Atleti finished 1-1.” Gemma informed you as she and the other injured players who had watched from the stands, including your fiancee who made her way over to hug you, but you could see the sadness in her eyes as you removed your gloves and tucked them into the waistband of your shorts.

“What’s wrong, mi amor?” Your thumb stroking her cheek, completely ignoring how the Estadi was full of fans who could see.

“I wish I was playing on the pitch with you, before you have to go back to Atleti.”

“Atleti will probably loan me somewhere else next season… I don’t want to leave you, I want to marry you, and be by your side.” You confessed, your voice quieting but she heard, pulling you into a hug where she could discreetly press a kiss to your neck.

///

“Vamos! Vamos!” Patri’s shouting made you want to hurry up the call, but you felt like Atleti were dragging you around in circles. It went from an update about your training and performance in the latest Barcelona matches, but as soon as next season was brought up, you got no definitive answer.

“Am I really that bad? Is that why they won’t play me? Yet they keep my hands tied with my contract- please… I can’t sit on the bench for a whole season, not again.” Your voice broke as you hung up the phone with your manager, moving from sitting at the edge of the bottom of the bed to the floor with your back against it.

“Mi amor? We have to go for the parade.” Clàudia walked over, her feet perpendicular to yours as you pulled your knees to your chest.

“You two should go, I don’t even think I’m supposed to be there-”

“Come with me.”

“That’s what she said.” You whispered, wiping away a stray tear as Clàudia passed you the campeonas shirt you were given at the Sporting Huelva game.

“This is yours-”

“Fiancees share clothes too.” Clàudia replied, smirking as she revealed she was wearing her engagement ring.

“We’re telling the Barça squad today? What are the odds that none of them even notice our engagement rings in all the chaos?” You raised your eyebrows, noticing how Clàudia’s fingers trailed up your arms before she met your eyes.

“Te amo, bebé.”

“Yo también te amo. Siempre.”

///

The excitement of the crowds of Barcelona fans for the parade dedicated to both teams immediately washed away the horrid feelings you had felt after your phone call. Staring out over the crowd with your hands on the rails, you tensed up as an arm pulled you into a hug, before realising it was Sandra as she grinned at you.

“Hola!” You grinned back, chatting to one of your goalkeeper mentors now in your career, not seeing how Clàudia was being teased by Patri for something, or how the approaching Barcelona captain had spotted a particular piece of jewellery on Clàudia’s left hand.

“I knew it.” Alexia smirked, pulling Clàudia into a hug and kissing the younger player’s head with pride, “pancake flipping accident… you two thought you were subtle, trying to keep it quiet!”

“They are not quiet at home!” Patri added, making Clàudia’s ears burn, but she laughed, shoving off Patri’s teasing as she looked over at you, in a deep conversation with Sandra and Ana before Irene was involved too. Your arms were folded in a way that hid your hands, meaning your ring hadn’t been seen yet.

Only Clàudia’s ring, which you obtained in New York, had been spotted at that moment.

It was only when you went to adjust the bucket hat all but shoved on your head that your ring caught some people’s eyes.

“Wait a minute-”

“What? No! Who- who proposed to who?” Sandra looked between you and Clàudia, who was trapped in a hug with Alexia who started to bring the younger girl over.

“Nobody asked for my permission!”

“Technically the ring was a promise ring but I let Clàudia choose-”

“We are engaged! No more questions, I want to dance with my fiancee!” Clàudia replied, taking your hand and guiding you away from the chaotic older Barcelona players, the two of you dancing on the rooftop of the bus without a care in the world.

“They grew up so fast.” Sandra smiled, wiping away a tear as Alexia hummed and nodded, remembering the days when you were hiding behind Lola, Carmen and Vir, whilst Clàudia was hiding behind Jenni and herself, before the parade took over everyone’s thoughts, long into the night after it had ended.

///

Virginia ringing you the day after the parade wasn’t something you expected, but you didn’t expect her to break the news she was leaving Atleti after the final match of the season, against Granadilla Tenerife.

“They were fools not to give you any minutes.” You murmured, an anger in your voice that Virginia recognised. The two of you had experienced the troubles first hand of not getting next to any minutes for an entire season.

“What will you do?” Virginia enquired, but you shook your head, not realising she couldn’t see you do that over the phone, leaving you to explain.

“I raised hell, my manager knows Atleti and Barcelona have played with my self-esteem so much. I want to be the first choice goalie. The only person who puts me first is my fiancee. Atleti won’t swap out Lola, and Barcelona have Sandra, Cata and Gemma. Atleti have me on contract for another year but I’m going on loan to get minutes. My management is specifically arranging something apparently. Guess I’m doing a lot of travelling next season… I’m not sure how we’re supposed to plan a wedding if I’m in a different country for each transfer window but… enough about me, where will you go?” You replied, wondering if Virginia would be moving from Madrid, or even Spain entirely.

“Vir… no matter where you are, you’re family. You deserve the world.”

///

Atleti’s final league game of the season was Friday night, whilst Barcelona’s game was Sunday at noon, and with a little bit of persuasion, you were able to leave after morning training for your flight to Madrid. Your fiancee was staying behind as she was fully fit and able to be in the squad list for the final Barcelona league match, an away game against Madrid CFF. This meant you would be meeting up with the Barcelona squad on their arrival to Madrid on Saturday.

You hadn’t worn your Atleti jersey in half a season, but there you were, sitting in the stands watching Atleti play against Granadilla Tenerife, clad in your Atleti home goalie jersey.

Medina spotted you first, after she got her yellow card in the 28th minute, but you just grinned, waving at her. Banini spotted you next when she was subbed off for Eva, about to divert from the bench to run over and hug you, but she was stopped by security.

Ajibade and Cardona spotted Banini’s antics, spotting you talking to security before you were being guided from the stands.

“Did they just kick our goalie from the game?”

They did not. You ended up being guided by one of the assistant coaches from behind the scenes to the pitch, in time for Eva’s goal, and the final substitution of Virginia Torrecilla onto the pitch for Atleti.

Vir spotted you as she approached to be substituted on, about to run over but she was being urged onto the pitch, and you were swooped up into Maitane’s arms.

Your teammates had missed you.

The match ended with four goals for Atleti, Latorre, Cardona and Eva all scoring plus an own goal from a Granadilla Tenerife player. The focus went to Virginia, as Lola and Carmen presented her with her shirt, framed. Not a dry eye in the stadium as everyone took the opportunity to high five her in the line then hug her later, and you were able to present her with the flower bouquet. Red and white flowers of course.

Wiping at your eyes with the neckline of your jersey, you were swooped up into the chaos of everyone throwing Virginia in the air, reminding you of the Supercopa game against Barcelona, back when Vir was returning to play after dealing with her brain tumour.

The team hug warmed your heart as you held onto Merel, who quietly asked about your Dutch lessons, but you gave her a nervous smile. Merel playfully rolled your eyes, but murmured about what you would do if you were ever called up to play internationally. You shook your head instead, having thrown that idea out the window a while ago.

It didn’t take too long for the photos of the farewell to be uploaded to social media, but Vir didn’t expect the post you put up as you slept on Carmen’s couch for the night. Photos dating back from when you first arrived at Atleti, before you met Lola, and before you met Medina. The photos including you, Carmen and Vir, before ones also featuring Lola, then also featuring Medina surfaced. The final image consisted of you, Virginia, Carmen, Lola, Medina and Pina, with the caption ‘Mi familia. Siempre.’

///

You spent the time before the Barcelona players arrived in Madrid at Atleti’s training centre, a laptop set up for a zoom call as you went over exercises with the assistant goalkeeper coach at Barcelona on the call.

After that, you went to head to the hotel that the Barcelona players would be arriving at soon, talking to fans and signing jerseys or whatever else they wanted to be signed. One fan asked a question that kept bugging you though.

Were you staying at Atleti?

You had a year left on your contract, but Atleti squandered their chances. Barcelona had no need for you, and it wasn’t like there were many clubs close to Barcelona in the league besides Levante Las Planas. Atleti were sending you on loan next season, sending you away from your fiancee, but she knew you couldn’t take being on the bench for another season.

Staring into space with the hotel staff waiting for Barcelona’s arrival, you were taken off guard as a hand wrapped around you in a side hug, but this time by a Barcelona player, not an Atleti one.

“You okay?” Alexia enquired, raising an eyebrow at the far away look on your face.

“Existential crisis.”

“Pina?” Alexia began to frown but you immediately shook your head.

“Football career crisis. Loving Clàudia is the only thing that is stopping me from going into a full on crisis. I want to be with her and marry her, but you guys don’t need another goalkeeper, and Atleti benched me for half a season… it wrecks my self-esteem and I know I wouldn’t do this to my goalkeepers if I was in charge of it all. I can barely be a second choice goalie right now and... it makes me want to quit, but also I don’t really want to be reduced to a WAG.” You explained, moving further into the hotel lobby as you spoke.

“I don’t want you to be my WAG. You’re my goalie, who I’m going to marry.” Clàudia added, looking at you lovingly until her team mother, Alexia butted in.

“You two are not rooming together. But you should talk to your management-”

“Ay dios mío!” Clàudia spluttered, “we are engaged!”

“I have, they’re fighting Atleti, and I have the number for a sports psychologist too… and y’know, my future wife who is apparently not allowed to see me until the match tomorrow because we can’t room together. We literally share a bed every night in Barcelona… We’re engaged!” you rambled but Alexia still raised her eyebrows, shaking her head.

“We don’t need to find out how thin the hotel walls are.”

“Oh my god!” you grimaced at that, grimacing even more as Patri walked past with her suitcase, trying to avoid looking at you and Clàudia, and refusing to look Alexia in the eye.

///

You weren’t originally going to start in the final match of the league, but with Sandra experiencing some sort of muscle discomfort during the warm-up, you were the suggested substitution since it would be your final match with the team and Sandra had faith in you.

Taking the minutes given to you, you didn’t look at the stands throughout the warm-ups with Cata, but if you had, you would have seen some of your Atleti teammates waiting to watch the game.

Madrid CFF were fifth in the league, but had been a thorn in the sides of Levante and Real Madrid.

“Jeez.” You murmured as you watched Marta’s shot go straight into the feet of a Madrid CFF player.

Kundananji’s shot went over, not requiring you to make a save, but the Madrid CFF striker had gotten past Mapi and Paredes.

Kundananji was coming back though, as you hurried forward to block the ball, before it was sent back at you, making you huff as the ball went back down the pitch.

“Is that- baby goalie is louder than you when you’re captain, Lola.”

Lola turned her head to acknowledge her teammate, but she couldn’t help but agree. You were loud in sorting out the formation of your defensive line, sick of it falling apart already but Kundananji’s next attempt was ruled offside.

The ball returned back to you after the free kick from Geyse’s yellow card, allowing you to send it further down the pitch. The ball kept coming back to you, but this time Mariona sent it out as Asisat was down. Asisat was set to continue however, but the UWCL final was in just over two weeks.

Sending the ball away before Kundananji could get to it, you were ready to argue with the assistant referees as Mapi was sent to the ground but Asisat being subbed off for Salma happened instead of a foul being called.

If you were Sandra, you would have ran forwards to stop Kundananji, but you weren’t, lingering back, you launched yourself onto the ball, almost winding yourself in the process. Mapi and Paredes barely had time to catch up as you let out a breath, laying on the ground for another moment with the ball clamped in your arms.

A hand patted your back as you got up, unhappy with your defensive line but you were more happy that it hadn't ended up being 1-0 to Madrid CFF, sending the ball back down the pitch. Madrid CFF’s goalkeeper was good as you saw the save she managed to make in the game highlights later on.

Kundananji was coming back though, making you shuffle and lunge to the side, blocking the ball from deflecting from the post and into the goal, but your ribs hated you for the action, you were slower to get up but without your efforts, Barcelona would have been down 2-0.

Salma’s goal wasn’t counted as half-time was called in the same final seconds, leaving you to shake your head confusedly, heading to grab your drinks bottle then make a beeline inside to the locker room, not realising that your Atleti teammates were trying to get your attention. Your attention though went to your fiancee, who held out an ice pack to you, concern in her eyes as you began to ice your side temporarily.

Your drive was different, you weren’t on the Barcelona squad list for the UWCL, so this was your last match of the season. Your last chance before you opened Pandora’s jar with Atleti.

Half-time was over, the final 45 minutes of league football for Barcelona and Madrid CFF this season had started. Araya’s attempt on goal went over, but even with your attempts to sort out the defensive backline, Madrid CFF were still getting through.

Bonsegundo managed to get right in front of goal, much to your dislike, but even with the offside flag going up, she managed to scoop the ball over onto the net, leaving you to jump up and knock the ball down from where it was stuck on top of the net.

Mapi somehow didn’t get a second yellow as Alexia, Ingrid and Jana were all subbed on, not taking long for a Barcelona corner to turn into Alexia’s first goal since returning from her ACL injury. Taking the score to 1-0 Barcelona, but in another universe, it would be 2-1.

Your fiancee running up and down the sidelines warming up caught your attention momentarily, but Salma sending the ball flying towards you stole your attention back, sending the ball out to Paredes quickly.

“What is this game?” you murmured to yourself, watching as Alexia going down in the penalty box got only a free kick, but your fiancee being subbed on for Mariona was enough to try to bring some calm to the very messy game.

Until you spotted your fiancee getting a yellow card, dragging your gloved hands down your face, you waited for the game to resume.

Paredes awkwardly sent the ball back to you, allowing you to relay it back to Jana, but Patri’s chance went wide, the score remaining 1-0 to Barcelona into the 87th minute.

Five minutes of added time were thrown into the mix, Barcelona determined to try to get another goal, but Madrid CFF were determined too.

Your stomach dropped as Patri was sweeped to the ground in a sliding tackle, wincing in pain and slow to get up. Pina’s shot went wide thirty seconds into the end of stoppage time, but the final whistle went and you dropped to the ground.

Sitting on the goaline, you glanced towards the stands to observe the Madrid CFF fans and the Barcelona fans, but you didn’t expect to spot Atleti players in the stands.

Pina, Patri and Ana all paused as you sprinted past them all, Ingrid and Mapi barely able to get out the way as you reached the stands, jumping up and climbing to reach Carmen first, Andrea and Lola both next before you began to reach the rest of your Atleti teammates who had come to the match.

“You did so well!”

“How are your ribs?”

“Sore. But I needed to make those two saves, it could have been 2-1. I didn’t want to be blamed for Barcelona losing their streak.” You admitted, before water was poured over your head.

“Thanks for that.” You deadpanned, wiping the water from your eyes with your jersey neckline as Andrea grinned, the two of you beginning to laugh as you realised Lola and Carmen were trying to hide their laughter too.

///

“Ey! Pina! Where are they hiding? Are they okay?” Sandra began to question Pina at the team barbecue. You were nowhere in sight but nobody seemed to be too worried.

“Atleti called. We are saving a plate.” Your fiancee explained, gesturing to how there was a spare plate being passed along the line, with no suggested owner.

“A good call or a bad call?”

Pina sighed at Sandra’s question, not sure how much you wanted the others to know, but a notification on her phone revealing you had posted on instagram caught her attention.

The sun on her phone screen made whatever you had posted hard to see, but when the brightness adjusted, she couldn’t help but smile at the reel you had uploaded.

A reel of your best saves at Atleti and Barcelona, before a photo of when you were revealed to have signed with Atleti back in 2020 was shown, followed by a photo of you at training with Barcelona. Pina’s stomach twisted as she spotted the caption ‘the journey continues’ but it didn’t feel like a goodbye message.

You had reassured her that you would fight for her, and fight for your career however you could, and she supported that, and supported you like you supported her.

‘Gotta catch em all’ with a heart and a football emoji.

Probably overkill, but you understood the reference, and Pina had knowledge of Pokemon, the franchise having reached Spain before she was born. But the catchphrase also worked as a goalkeeper reference, supported by the heart eyes emoji you replied to your fiancee’s instagram comment.

“Don’t they have another year on contract at Atleti? Also, who edited that? They can barely use photoshop!” Patri asked, raising an eyebrow at Pina, who looked down at her plate in thought.

“Atleti are loaning me for experience. It was that, or terminate my contract.” You explained, walking over after a detour to be given the plate of food from the team barbecue.

“Any idea where?” Sandra enquired, trying to hide her sadness at the goalkeeper union decreasing in numbers, but it was easier to hide her smile when you kissed Pina on the head as you sat down.

“Multiple places.” You were ambiguous, but your fingertips drawing patterns on your fiancee’s leg soothed her. The two of you were aware that you would tell Pina later, at home in bed together. The two of you would cherish it, because even with your ambiguity, Clàudia knew your time in Barcelona was coming to an end, for now.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #claudia pina x reader #claudia pina imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #atletico madrid x reader #barcelona femeni imagines #atletico madrid imagine #barcelona femeni imagine #atletico madrid imagines #woso imagines #claudia pina imagines

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