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copper-16 · 1 month

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Scary

Several things go amiss during an El Clásico, but it is nothing that cannot be fixed with a little love and bravery.

(a/n: This might be a stretch to the imagination, but let’s just pretend that all the RM/Barcelona games are played at bigger stadiums in this universe. Also Marta Cardona still plays at RM in this as well, because I said so <3)

Ingrid and Mapi had made a small list of rules regarding their daughter when she was born. Some of them included things like:

4. She would not attend any games at stadiums bigger than Johan Cryuff until she was three years old.

7. She would never go to a Spain camp or a Spanish national team game unless situations change drastically.

12. She would take turns being their mascot, unless it was a big event for one of their teammates, and they wanted Elena as their mascot.

All of them had been good additions to the list, and they had stuck to their guns on it. They were made for her safety, to make sure that she wasn’t overwhelmed or overstimulated as a young child, or put in situations that could negatively affect her as such a young child. They did not regret their choices, but it did lend itself to an interesting situation just a few weeks after Elena’s third birthday.

Ever since she had been born, all of the Barcelona vs. Real Madrid games had been played at large arenas, beyond the capacity that they wanted Elena to experience at such a young age. And just as they said, the toddler had never been to a Spain national team camp or game. She readily came to the Norwegian camps and games, but Mapi strictly forbade her from coming to Spains.

When the Spanish defender had made the decision to go back to the Spanish national team, it wasn’t something she had taken lightly. But Pina and Patri wished to go back, and the brunette both wanted to protect her friends, and play for her country again.

But hell would freeze over before she let her baby anywhere near that environment, near the coaches and structures that had played a hand in so much abuse, both physically and mentally.

It was better for Elena this way, and Mapi preferred it that way. But it also meant that several of the Real Madrid girls who Mapi wasn’t necessarily as close with, had never met Elena.

So when El Clásico is scheduled for early January at Lluís Companys Olympic Stadium, the mothers realize that it will be their first time getting to bring Elena to such an event. She had just turned three a few weeks ago, and they figured it was as good of a time as any to introduce her to the environment of a larger game, still safe with the two of them.

And as it turned out, Mapi was the one who got Elena as her mascot that day. Which meant that early in January, the center back stood in the starting eleven lineup with her daughter on her hip, bouncing her lightly as they waited to walk out onto the pitch.

Elena was slightly overstimulated, the roar of the crowd outside of the tunnel and the sheer size of the place around her slightly overwhelming for the young girl, so she was happy to cling to her mother’s side. She looked around at everything for a while, before settling on waving back at her Mama, who was standing in line behind her, holding the hand of another little boy.

Mapi waved forward at Misa Rodríguez and Marta Cardona, who were both pointing at Elena with excitement. The Barcelona defender smiled, rubbing her daughter’s back up and down softly as she nodded - confirming that the two players would get to meet the little girl today.

But it’s an exchange Elena misses entirely, only focusing fully back on her Mami when the players begin to walk out to the stadium properly.

It’s an early evening game, the sun just beginning to set as Mapi tickles Elena’s stomach as they walk out, pointing at all the fans and explaining everything to her daughter. The little girl tucks herself into the smaller defenders side, happily pressed up against Mapi as she takes everything in, curious if not a little anxious.

It’s the biggest environment she’s ever been in, but Mapi finds that their daughter settles quite quickly, waving at all the people as they stand in a line.

“Hola!” Elena calls out happily, and the brunette smiles as many of the fans wave back, well aware of who was in the defender's arms.

“I love you mi sol,” Mapi murmurs, pressing a kiss to her daughter's temple before she passes the little one to Irene, who would not be playing in the match, but rather resting. Ingrid comes over to kiss Elena’s forehead once before she runs toward the backline, leaving Mapi to jog after her, still looking at their daughter.

“Adios Mami, good luck!” Elena called out as Irene carted her away, remaining happily placed in the older defender's arms for the remainder of the game.

The game doesn’t end up being too hard of a match for Barcelona, with a scoreline of 5-0 in their favor. Ingrid had even scored one of their goals, a header off of a corner set piece they had played.

When the final whistle blew, Irene released Elena and watched carefully as she ran straight to Ingrid, who was closer to the little girl than her wife. The Norwegian turned easily, opening her arms as she crouched down, scooping the toddler up into her arms and pressing kisses all over her head.

“You won!” Elena cheered as she giggled, and Ingrid nodded, sweaty and tired but excited nonetheless. It had been a good match, and the crowd was rowdy and roaring around them, clearly equally as elated with the win.

“We did!” Ingrid responded happily as she bounced her daughter on her hip, clapping her hands together as best as she could as she held her daughter, looking around at her teammates with a big smile on her face.

The Norwegian headed toward the bench, intent on getting some water, when she was intercepted by one of the staff members.

“They need you for media,” she explained with a grimace, her voice urgent, and the dark haired woman nodded her head in understanding as she looked quickly toward her wife. The Spaniard was standing off toward their bench, talking to some teammates.

“Of course, let me just do a hand off real quick,” Ingrid explained, rushing over to place Elena down a few paces from where Mapi’s back was turned to them, as she hears her name being called more urgently. “You go over to Mami, okay Elena?” Ingrid explained as she brushed the little girl's sandy blonde curls back, and she received a small nod in response from her daughter.

“María!” Ingrid called out as she turned around, running over to where they needed her for media. But just as she called out and turned away, Mapi started walking forward, away from her daughter as she was called to meet with one of the staff members. Ingrid’s call for her wife is lost in the crowd, and suddenly Elena is left standing on the sidelines of the pitch, with neither of her parents really in sight.

The little girl looks around, hoping that someone in her Mami and Mama’s team will notice her standing all alone, but everyone is distracted. And the loud, rambunctious crowd that she didn’t mind so much when her Mami was by her side, suddenly seemed much scarier than it had a minute ago to the toddler.

Elena doesn’t know this stadium like she does Johan Cryuff, but there are similarities. She turns around, eyeing the tunnel that she finds similar to the one in Johan, and she makes a run for it, weaving through legs in her quest to get to somewhere a little more quiet and contained.

Once she gets there, she realizes that she’s maybe made a bit of a mistake. Because suddenly nothing really looks familiar, and the young girl struggles with what to do. At Johan, you turned right to get to the Barcelona changing room, so that’s exactly what she does.

The little girl is near close to tears, and desperately hoping that she’ll stumble across the locker room, or one of the Barcelona players that she knows. She’s simply kept walking, going down hallway after hallway, trying to find something or someone familiar. By the time she decides that she should turn back around, she’s so lost she doesn’t know how to get back out to the field, and there are tears beginning to brim in her eyes.

Elena comes to a halt in one of the intersections of a hallway as she realizes that she just wants her Mami and Mama, and she doesn’t know what to do. She isn’t the type to wander off, and she’s never been lost like this before. Armed with exactly no experience or skills in coping with such overwhelming feelings, the little girl can do nothing but burst into tears, which stream down her cheeks at a rapid pace as she stands there helplessly.

Misa had been pacing up and down an abandoned hallway in Lluís Companys, staving off tears of her own, her face red as tears brimmed in her eyes. She was frustrated with her performance, with her team's performance, and she needed a second to calm herself down before talking to her teammates or the press, she had decided.

What she didn’t expect, however, was to hear someone else burst into tears, in what sounded like the hallway down from her. Misa pauses, confused by how high pitched and small the noise sounded. It didn’t sound like one of her teammates, and when she rounds the corner, she is entirely unprepared for what she finds.

There is a toddler, a little girl standing alone in the completely empty hallway, her shoulders heaving with the force of her cries, her hands covering her face. She has a little Barcelona kit top on, with the number 23 on it but the last name León across it. The Madridista immediately knows who it is, but what she doesn’t quite understand is why Mapi León and Ingrid Engen’s daughter is sitting in the middle of a hallway on the away side of the stadium.

“Niña? Elena?” Misa calls out softly, walking toward the little girl, who looks up at her when she hears her name called.

Elena looks up, finding a woman she doesn’t know walking toward her, and the first emotion that pours through her is fear. The woman is tall, like Mama, but her face is flushed and she’s wearing an alarmingly bright red jersey and shorts that the young girl doesn’t recognize. Her hands are large, considering that they are encased in goalkeeper gloves, but Elena doesn’t quite realize they are just gloves in her stressed state.

All she registers is that there is a large, unknown woman walking toward her with big, scary hands, and if she was panicked before, it was nothing compared to now. She lets out a fearful squeak as she cowers from Misa, taking several unsteady steps back.

“Hey, it’s okay, I am not going to hurt you niña,” Misa promises, even though she herself is cringing at her words. She’s never felt more like a child predator than in this moment, despite her intentions being more than pure. The goalkeeper had been excited to meet Elena, even more so after the loss, honestly. All of the girls often spoke about how much they adored the little girl, how smiley and kind she was. Misa felt like she could use just a little bit of that energy after the frustrating loss.

And here the smiley little girl was, trying to get away from Misa because she was scared of her. It cracked the Spaniard’s heart right in half, and if she wasn’t upset before, she most definitely was now.

Elena looked behind herself, finally and thankfully spotting a familiar face that had just turned toward the hallway toward the two of them. The Spaniard and Norwegian’s daughter ran as fast as her little legs could carry her, beelining for the Barcelona player who had just turned the corner with Marta and Olga next to her.

Salma had just been coming back to talk to Misa with Marta when all the sudden she felt something slam into her legs, nearly sending her toppling over.

“What the hell—o Elena!” Salma quickly corrected, trying to take in the scene in front of her with complete confusion. The little girl was cowering behind Salma’s legs, holding onto the forward for dear life, practically shaking. Salma instinctively placed her hand over the little girl’s hair, smoothing her curls as she looked up to see Misa walking slowly toward them.

“Elena? What’s going on?” Salma asked helplessly, lost on what to do as she looked between the three Real Madrid players for some semblance of guidance.

Elena had always loved Salma, from when she was a baby. The forward never knew what to do with the little girl, especially when she was younger. She had no experience with children, and she found herself often stunted and awkward in her interactions with Mapi and Ingrid’s daughter, but Elena’s love for her transcended any superfluous worries or awkwardness Salma expressed.

“Scary,” Elena whispered as she pointed toward Misa timidly, her grip on Salma tightening as she tucked her head behind the young Barcelona player's legs. Salma looked up with a heartbroken expression, watching as Misa bit her lip to keep from crying, keeping her distance.

The goalkeeper knew that some people thought she was scary. She got it, she really did. She had an RBF that could probably win an award, and a very intense personality. But it was one thing for a conscious adult to call her scary, and another for a little girl who she had been so excited to meet to call her that. The goalkeeper's heart sank at the realization that this was how Elena was always going to remember her, as the scary woman who tried to kidnap her when she was three years old.

Salma looked between Olga and Marta, silently begging for help. She still had no clue what to do, and appeared to be rather paralyzed by indecision.

It’s Olga who crouches down so that she’s level with the little girl, her voice soft and kind.

“Are you lost niña?” The defender asked gently, and Elena poked her head out from its spot against Salma’s calf, nodding slightly. Her lower lip wobbled heavily, but she wasn’t actively crying, so they all took it as a win.

Elena regarded Olga kindly, if not a bit shyly. The two women with Salma were wearing white, nowhere near the angry red that the other, larger woman was, and the little girl didn’t find them nearly as frightening, all things considered.

“Come on, why don’t we take you back to your Mamis,” Olga decided, holding her hand out for the young girl. Elena took it carefully, but not before reaching for Salma’s hand, making sure that the forward was still holding onto her.

Salma sent the little girl what she hoped was an encouraging smile as they began to walk out toward the pitch. The Barcelona forward wound them down the confusing hallways, with Olga holding Elena’s other hand while Marta carefully wrapped her arm around the goalkeeper. Misa was fighting to keep it together as they all ventured back out to the stadium pitch together.

After a few minutes of walking, Elena let out a small whine, looking up at Salma with big, wet eyes.

“Carry?” She asked, letting go of Olga’s hand in favor of staring up at the tall forward hopefully, tugging lightly on her kit top. Salma looked around at the other girls, terrified and scared of disappointing the little girl. They all looked back at her expectantly in that moment, and she was struck with the fact that she was the one with the most experience with Elena, of the group. It both calms her and terrifies her at the same time, somehow.

“Uh…sure!” She laughed nervously, reaching down to pick Elena up, gripping her under her arms. The forward was used to dealing with the toddler when she was planted firmly on the ground, and she hadn’t carried the sandy blonde girl since she was a baby. She had been so scared to drop the baby that she had shook anxiously the whole time, until Mapi took pity on her and took her daughter back.

But she tries to remember how Mapi and Ingrid do it, settling Elena on her hip as she clings to the little girl for dear life. She would never forgive herself if she dropped her, and she knew she would never hear the end of it from the rest of the team if she did. They were all highly protective of her, a fact that they all prided themselves on.

As the five of them walked out toward the pitch, they had no idea the chaos that was awaiting them out on the field.

—

After her interview had ended, Ingrid had walked back over to her wife with a pep in her step, still overjoyed at the win and the goal she had scored.

Mapi wasn’t hard to find, standing with the assistant coach, discussing a few tactics from the game after he had called her over to talk about some of their defensive lapses. Their daughter was nowhere in sight, so the Norwegian assumed that Mapi had passed her off to one of their teammates, but when she looked around, she couldn’t see Elena anywhere.

“Who did you give Elena to?” Ingrid asked, a crease appeared in her forehead as her eyebrows furrowed together. Mapi looked back at her with equal confusion, shaking her head.

“You have Elena, not me. She went to you after the game,” the Spaniard insists, now beginning to grow confused. Ingrid’s eyebrows flew into her hairline at that statement, shaking her head.

“I gave her to you ten minutes ago, I sent her your way and called out to you,” Ingrid explains, and Mapi pales at the realization that she had never received her daughter.

“I did not hear you, and she never came over to me!” Mapi cried, looking around wildly for her daughter. When she cannot see her anywhere on the pitch, her worry only balloons. “Oh my god, she is lost. She is not here!” The brunette cried out, panic washing over her in waves as she realized what this meant.

The ironic thing was that generally, Ingrid was the anxious one between them. She was the one who worried for Elena, the one who baby proofed the house and took first aid classes and sat in the back of the car with her when she was the baby.

But Ingrid was also exceptional in a crisis, and this was no different.

Mapi, however? Not so good in a crisis, at least a non-football related crisis, that was.

“Oh my god, Ingrid, she could be anywhere!” Mapi pitched as she clawed at her chest, her throat tightening with anxiety as she whipped her head around, looking for any sign of the little girl.

“Do not panic Mapi, she has to be here somewhere. Come on, let’s go find her,” Ingrid insisted, forcing herself to remain calm as she pulled her panicking wife with her as she began to inform people, everyone scrambling to begin looking for the young girl.

They alerted security, sent people all over the stadium to look for her as the Norwegian drug her wife back toward the Barcelona bench.

“This was the last place I left her, so we should stay here. She’s around here somewhere, we just have to find her!” Ingrid insisted as she turned to Irene, who had come over as she got wind of the situation. Hot on the tails of the older defender is the Barcelona captain, looking close to tears herself.

“Is Elena really lost? Where could she have gone? We must find her!” Alexia cried, baby hairs escaping her ponytail as she looked around, clearly frazzled and stressed at the news of the curly haired little girl being lost.

“Yes she is gone–” Ingrid began, only to be cut off before she could even really start her sentence.

“Well we must search for her then!” Alexia interrupted, looking around wildly, her own panic growing.

“Alexia, this is not even your child! If anyone should be allowed to panic, it should be us!” Mapi interjected, her stress seeping into her tone as she gestured wildly with her hands. Alexia let out a huff of disapproval at that, clearly in disagreement.

“She is my goddaughter, I love her too!” Alexia insisted, the two squabbling uselessly as Ingrid watched on with an unimpressed expression.

“If I were not more aware I would assume that these two were the mothers, and not me,” Ingrid mumbled under her breath to Irene, who couldn’t resist letting out a small peal of laughter that she quickly masked as a cough when Mapi and Alexia looked toward her pointedly.

“Who knew that all it took to reduce La Reina and the fearless Mapi León into a puddle of stress was losing a toddler one singular time,” Irene joked back, where she was promptly met with more unimpressed looks from her teammates, and a chuckle from Ingrid.

But even the Norwegian, who was generally cool in a crisis, was beginning to grow worried as time stretched on. Her eyebrows remained furrowed together, her foot beginning to tap nervously as she looked around, letting out a nervous sigh.

“She’s going to be fine, Ingrid. She’s just wandered off somewhere, kids do it sometimes. We lost Mateo in the store once, and found him in the freezer aisle cuddling with some old lady's little dog,” Irene soothed, and Ingrid sent her a grateful smile, even if she didn’t look convinced. She knew the stories, she knew it was normal, but it didn’t make it any easier when it was her own child.

She just wanted Elena back in her arms, proof that she was safe and sound, and to not let her daughter out of her sight until she was twenty seven years old.

“How about we go check the locker room again?” Irene suggests, and the dark haired woman jumps at the opportunity to do something, nodding insistently.

“That’s a good idea,” Ingrid confirmed, and she was just about to head back with her fellow defender when she heard it.

“Mami! Mama!” Elena called out from her spot in Salma’s arms, and both Ingrid and Mapi were booking it toward their daughter as soon as they heard it. The forward was entirely unprepared for both the Spaniard and Norwegian to plow into her, raining kisses down onto her head as they plucked her from Salma’s arms. Mapi hugged Elena tightly to her, as Ingrid pressed into her space, both of them crowding their daughter with an abundance of love and relief, the panic washing off of them at the sight of their precious little girl back safely in their arms.

The forward flipped her braids over her shoulder in relief at the hand off, nearly stumbling over when Ingrid stepped away from her wife and daughter, pulling her younger teammate into a tight hug as Mapi cradled Elena to her chest.

“Thank you so much Salma,” Ingrid murmured in the space above the forward’s shoulders, and despite accepting the hug, the younger woman shook her head.

“It was Misa who found her,” Salma promised, and the dark haired woman wasted no time in moving toward the Real Madrid player, stepping into her space and immediately hugging the goalkeeper, regardless of the fact that they hardly knew one another. Elena looked up from her spot against Mapi to see her Mama moving toward the scary woman, and she let out a whimper as she turned, burrowing her face into Mapi’s sternum with fear.

As the panic subsides from her chest slowly, Mapi takes stock of the whole situation. Elena seemed scared of the Real Madrid players, cowering into her arms as Ingrid hugged Misa tightly. Everyone else seemed focused on Misa, with Salma, Olga, and Marta watching her wife and the Real Madrid goalkeeper. The goalkeeper seemed on the brink of tears, something that the center back assumed was because of the game.

She was informed otherwise when Marta approached her carefully, her voice soft as came close to the Barcelona defender.

“Misa found her in the hallway, but I think she caught the little one in a bad spot, and now I think she’s a little scared of her,” Marta explained, looking toward the Spanish goalkeeper with worry before looking back at the Barcelona center back. Misa was getting a pep talk from both Ingrid and Irene, to what appeared to be little avail, if the tears in her eyes were any indication.

Mapi nods slowly, rubbing her hand soothingly over Elena’s back, up and down softly. Her daughter is already a hundred times calmer, having regulated herself well in her Mami’s arms. That being said, Mapi knew they needed a few moments to regather themselves before they reintroduced her to Misa, if they could.

“Okay, thank you for letting me know. Give us a few minutes?” Mapi asked gently, and Marta nodded before leaving, heading back to her teammate's side.

It was just a few moments later that Ingrid appeared at her wife’s side, the Spaniard wordlessly passing her daughter to the Norwegian, who held her close and rained kisses down on her.

“It’s okay, we’re right here Elena,” Ingrid promised, her own worry and stress evaporating at the content little sigh their daughter let out as she was held tightly to the Norwegians side. It was after a few minutes of holding her that Elena leaned back, looking calmer, if not a little more worried.

“‘M sorry, got lost,” Elena explained gently, her lower lip wobbling as tears brimmed in her eyes again. Ingrid shook her head slightly, her words soft and soothing.

“You do not have to be sorry, Elena. Just try to stay close to me or Mami next time, or someone you know, si? We do not want you to get lost where we cannot find you, because that would make us very scared, okay?” Ingrid explained carefully, and when she finished Elena nodded, a small smile finally appearing on her face as she settled in her mothers arms, back to the happy little girl she normally was. That was something wonderful Ingrid and Mapi both loved about their daughter being so small, how resilient she always was in situations like this.

Mapi looked back over toward Misa, her heart breaking when she saw that the tears had broken through finally, her head buried in her hands.

Elena looked from her mother to the Real Madrid goalkeeper, her little eyebrows worried together at the sight.

“Mami, is she okay?” The sandy blonde girl asked as she looked toward Misa, recognizing the signs of someone crying. Mapi looked toward her wife for a moment, and after receiving a nod of approval from the Norwegian, the Spaniard took her daughter into her arms from her fellow center back.

“That is my friend Misa,” Mapi explained to her daughter, her words slow and gentle. She stays where she is, but tries to convey her warmth to the woman regardless. “She has had a bad day, and I think she is just expressing that by crying, like you do sometimes too when you are upset,” Mapi continued, watching as her daughter stared at the goalkeeper with concern painted in her small face.

“Friend? Tía?” Elena asked curiously, clearly trying to work everything out as Mapi nodded.

“Yes Tía Misa, she is one of my very good friends. She is very kind and funny, just like you!” The Spaniard tried, and Elena looked over at her skeptically, but she chose to believe her Mami.

“Maybe we cheer up?” The little girl asked, and Mapi raised her hand to run it over Elena’s cheek gently, in a soothing manner.

“Are you sure, El? You do not have to, I know you thought she was scary earlier. I promise she is not though, she is one of Mami’s friends,” Mapi promised, not wanting to pressure her daughter to do anything she didn’t want to.

“Cheer her up,” Elena decided, wriggling her body slightly to signal her mother to move. She stiffened suddenly as she looked from Misa to Mapi, with some fear clearly still present in her tone. “You come too,” she checked quickly, relaxing back into the Spaniard when Mapi nodded her agreement to the statement.

Salma, Olga, and Marta had led Misa over to the Real Madrid bench, which was where Mapi brought Elena over to. The goalkeeper was sitting on the bench, her head in her hands as silent sobs wracked her shoulders.

Marta looked over at Mapi with a hopeful expression as the Spaniard placed her daughter on the ground, taking Elena’s hand as she led her over to Misa.

The young girl held her mothers hand carefully as she made her way up to the woman who had been wearing the angry red jersey. She was now wearing a white jacket over her kit top, and something about seeing her when Elena was in a calm state, and the lack of such an aggressive kit top helped to soothe the little girl’s initial concerns.

“Hola,” Elena said softly, her voice small but fierce in its kindness as she stopped a few steps from the goalkeeper. Misa paused, looking up carefully, unable to keep the surprise off her expression when she realized who was in front of her, looking at her carefully.

The goalkeeper looks up at Mapi in shock before she is wiping the tears from her eyes, offering a watery smile to the toddler.

“Hola,” she responded, unsure of what else to say. Elena took another step toward her, offering a small smile.

“My name is Elena,” she expressed quietly, watching as Misa rubbed the tears from her eyes.

“Hi Elena, I’m Misa,” the goalkeeper repeated, trying not to burst into more tears. There was no fear in the little girl's eyes, only curiosity and kindness. Misa feels hope flying into her chest at the little girl's face, at the thought that maybe this whole situation was salvageable. Elena looks at the spot next to Misa, her eyebrows furrowing together in curiosity.

“What are those?” Elena asked gently, pointing to the abandoned goalkeeper gloves that were sitting next to the Madridista. The Spaniard reached for them, holding them out to the little girl softly.

“These are my goalkeeper gloves. Would you like to see them?” Misa asked gently, her voice hopeful. The little girl looked back at her mother for a second before releasing Mapi’s hand, nodding as she walked over to Misa, right up to where she was sitting, placing her hand on the goalkeeper's knee.

“Here, you can put them on,” Misa said softly, everyone watching with relief as the goalkeeper slid her giant gloves onto Elena’s little hands, holding them on to help to keep them from falling off.

The Real Madrid player was absolutely positive that Elena healed something within her when she giggled, leaning into Misa as she moved her hands with the gloves still over them, laughing happily at the sight. It was the goalkeeper's first real smile of the day, and her heart leapt into her throat when Elena climbed into her lap, beginning to talk her toddler nonsense to Misa, who held onto every single word she said.

The Madridista carefully held Elena to her, making sure she was secure with no chance of falling. She looked up when the toddler gasped, seeing Pina and Jana still out on the field, passing the ball listlessly back and forth as they spoke about something.

Elena turned back to Misa with excitement, the goalkeeper gloves falling off her hands in excitement.

“Come play Tía Misa?” The toddler asked hopefully, her eyes big and filled with joy at the prospect of getting to play with all of her friends. Misa looked toward Mapi, who nodded her head in agreement before she smiled brightly, agreeing with Elena.

“Come on!” Elena cheered as she took Misa’s hand after being set on the ground by the goalkeeper, and dragging the taller woman toward the younger girls.

Ingrid had come over to join Mapi, Salma, and Marta, as the right winger shook her head in disbelief. Misa was sitting criss-cross applesauce on the ground, rolling the ball toward Elena, cheering when the toddler tried to kick it.

When Elena finally managed to hit the ball back with some semblance of accuracy, Jana and Pina immediately cheered loudly. Elena giggled at both of them, smiling before she ran over to Misa, collapsing into a hug as she wrapped her arms around the goalkeeper, who hugged her back just as fiercely, a huge smile pulling at both of her cheeks.

“What is it about children that just…heals any wrongdoing?” Marta asked wistfully, and Ingrid chuckled as Mapi shook her head.

“You can’t not love them,” she acquiesced, letting out a final sigh of relief as they all moved to join the girls in playing with the toddler, who happily giggled away at all the attention raining down on her.

#mapi leon #ingrid engen #ingrid x mapi x daughter #woso #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas #olga carmona #marta cardona #misa rodriguez

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copper-16 · 6 months

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You Can't Talk No Sh*t Without Penalties (Misa Rodriguez x Marta Cardona)

A/N: I had a request to upload this on here from ao3 and thought why not...so here it is!

To the rest of the world, Misa is absolutely terrifying.

Marta doesn’t really get it.

Until suddenly, she gets it.

That one trope where the intimidating person is soft but only for the sunshiny person.

———

Marta was making her rounds after the first international friendly that Spain played when it happened. The team had won their first game of the break against Sweden, 2-1. Marta hadn’t played much, only the last twenty minutes of the game, but she made sure to make her way around the stadium as thoroughly as she could, trying to sign every jersey and take every picture asked of her by the fans.

She’s just reached a young girl, maybe around 10 or 11, who looks up at her with big, anxious eyes. She’s trying to say something to the winger, and Marta leans down so that she can hear the girl over the roar of the crowd.

“Uhm…could you…uh, well I was just hoping that…” The girl trails off, her face red and her nerves clear. Marta looks her over carefully, noticing the goalkeeper gloves in her hands. The winger looks up and back over at the group of her teammates standing on the sidelines, where the girl is looking.

The Real Madrid goalie is standing there speaking to Alexia and Irene, and Marta smiles without even really thinking about it or realizing it.

“Misa? Were you trying to get her attention?” Marta asks gently, her voice soft.

“Uh, I was wondering if you could call her over?” The girl asks bashfully, and Marta’s smile only grows, her eyebrows furrowing just slightly in confusion.

“Why don’t you call her over yourself?” Marta questioned, knowing that Misa was close enough to hear the girl if she had called her name out at a normal volume. The girl flushes, ducking her head for a moment before she answers.

“Well it’s just…she’s quite scary!” The girl stammers out, and Marta takes the opportunity to look the goalkeeper over. She was currently talking to Irene, and Marta supposes that objectively she could look a little bit intimidating. The Spaniard stood tall in the white goalkeeper kit she had on, her arms crossed over her chest as she appeared deep in discussion. Her lips were set in a thin line, her eyebrows furrowed in what some would perceive as a scowl, but Marta knew was simply the Spaniard conveying her focus. Her biceps bulged against the sleeves of her top as she shifted to the other foot, and Marta could feel a flush coming over her own cheeks as she averted her eyes, looking back to the girl as she swallowed roughly.

“She’s really not, I promise,” Marta conveyed, but she raised her arm and called for Misa regardless, wanting her to meet the sweet young girl.

Misa had been in the middle of an intense discussion with Irene about the La Liga strike when she heard her name, and suddenly, just like that, her attention was shifted to the call that she knew had come from Marta. The goalkeeper's head immediately swiveled to find her, her conversation with Irene completely forgotten. Irene rolled her eyes as a smile spread on Misa’s face, her whole expression softening at the sight of the winger, who was looking at her with an open expression, clearly trying to call Misa over.

All of the girls knew better than to try to hold Misa’s attention whenever Marta was around. The brunette had a unique ability to melt the usually terrifying and harsh Misa down into someone of incredible softness.

It was almost sickening, considering that neither one seemed to get the hint that they were both in love with the other, instead doing this strange dance around one another where neither admitted their true feelings.

“Sorry, I just–” Misa stammered out, a half excuse on her lips as she’s already moving toward the brunette, but Irene just shooed her away and toward the shorter woman, knowing that she had lost the Spaniard’s attention the minute Marta opened her mouth.

Misa made her way over to Marta quickly, her heart squeezing when she saw that the winger was speaking to a young girl, who was looking between Marta and Misa with a nervous expression.

Marta smiled at the goalkeeper as she drew near, and Misa knew she should be looking at the young fan but she really only had eyes for the brunette. She would give anything to just stare at Marta for hours and have it be considered societally appropriate, to memorize the curve of her jaw and the lift of her cheekbones, every fleck of green in her hazel eyes, every freckle that dusted over her face.

But Marta wasn’t hers, and the brunette had never shown Misa in any way that she had interest in being more than friends, so the goalkeeper pined after her silently, and (if you were to ask her teammates), quite obviously.

“Yes?” Misa answers softly, finally forcing her eyes away from Marta and to the young girl she’s with.

“This is Anna, she’s 10 and from Malaga,” Marta explained, and the little girl, Anna, nodded carefully as she listened to the brunette’s words, looking back at Misa with hopeful eyes.

Misa smiled at the kindness in Marta’s words, nodding along as she looked between the two.

“Well it’s lovely to meet you Anna,” Misa exclaimed, delighting in the way that the little girl smiled brightly back at her, clearly thrilled at Misa’s words.

“It’s really nice to meet you too! I was wondering if you could maybe sign my gloves?” Anna asked, holding up the little goalie gloves she had, along with a pen. Misa happily took them, signing them with her loopy signature before she looked behind the girl, to see her mother watching the interaction with a smile.

“How about a picture too?” Misa suggested, and the girl’s mouth dropped open, surprise taking over her whole face.

“Really?” She asked, awe in her voice and Misa nodded once, letting the girl turn and wrapping her arm around the girl’s shoulders.

Once the picture had been taken and they had said goodbye, Misa walked back toward the group shoulder to shoulder with Marta. The winger shook her head slightly, looking over at Misa with a grin on her face.

“You’re always so sweet with the kids,” Marta commented, and Misa had to fight to keep a stupidly big smile off her face at the compliment. She shakes her head slightly, looking over at Marta, her smile full of mirth.

“I’m nothing like you. You’d make time for every person in here if they asked,” Misa acknowledged, her heart skipping a beat at the blush that twinged Marta’s ear as the goalkeeper looked down at her. The winger knocked her shoulder into Misa's arm affectionately, and the Spaniard blushed at the action, a light flush covering her cheeks.

Irene and Esther watched the exchange with unimpressed expressions painted across their respective faces.

“I’m giving it a month,” Esther announced suddenly, and Irene scoffed beside her.

“Please, a month? At this rate I’m giving it a week,” Irene exclaimed with an eye roll, and Esther couldn’t help but laugh as she headed for the tunnel to go shower and change.

—

Marta walked out of the locker room alone, after Misa got called away to discuss something with the trainer. She fell into step with Lola, who waited for her teammate so they could head to the bus together.

“This little girl I talked to today was so scared of Misa she made me call her over for her! Isn’t that crazy?” Marta observed with a laugh, and Lola looked over at her with a brow raised, clearly confused at Marta’s words.

“Marta, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Misa is objectively quite an intimidating person. To people who don’t know her she’s definitely scary,” Lola explained gently, but Marta looked over at the goalkeeper with clear confusion on her face.

“What are you talking about? It’s Misa, she’s not like that at all!” Marta exclaimed, but her teammate just let out a chuckle at the pure cluelessness that Marta had.

“Marta, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re the only one she’s like that around. You’re the only one that she lets drag her around to fans or who talks her into stuff she doesn’t want to do. You’re the only one who can calm her down when she gets really upset, you are the one she wants to be close to all of the time. She’s not like that with anyone else,” Lola pointed out, and Marta was completely dumbfounded that the goalkeeper told her exactly what she had wanted to hear, in such concrete terms. The winger is quiet for a moment, opening and closing her mouth several times before she finally speaks.

“I…why do you think she’s like that?” Marta asks with carefully constructed uncertainty, almost afraid that Lola won’t answer in the way that Marta thinks she will.

She just needs one person to say it. One person to point it out to her, for her to maybe believe what she so hopes is true. Lola groans next to her, slapping a hand over her face with frustration.

“Marta,” Lola groans, and suddenly like an arrow it hits the brunette straight in the chest, nearly knocking the wind out of her lungs.

“Oh…OH,” Marta stutters after a second, her eyebrows nearly disappearing into her hairline when she realizes that Lola means exactly what she thinks Lola means.

“Yeah…” Lola replies, and she can’t help but feel slightly relieved that Marta finally sees what’s right in front of her face this whole damn time. “Do you think you might feel the same?”

Marta thinks about Lola’s question for a second before she answers, her voice holding more uncertainty than anything else. She doesn’t want to answer completely honestly, give anyone more of a reason to tease her than necessary.

Yes.

“I don’t…maybe? I’m not sure, I hadn’t really thought about it,” Marta lies, and Lola seems to accept the answer easily, not pressing the issue further.

When Marta finally tucks herself into bed later that night, her mind is filled with nothing except for Misa. She had known that she liked Misa months ago, and for months she’s simply sat on that information, never planning to act on it.

It had never occurred to her that perhaps Misa felt exactly the same way that she did about her.

Marta isn’t really sure what to do with that information, so she decides to do what she does best, and investigate this potential hypothesis.

—

Marta wakes up the next morning with a mission.

She has one thing on the agenda (aside from the very real, actual things she has for her camp schedule).

And that one thing: watch Misa and see if Lola is telling the truth. Not that Marta inherently thinks her friend is lying, quite the contrary really, but she just isn’t sure.

She’s curious, that’s all. And she isn’t about to walk up to Misa and profess her feelings for the goalkeeper with absolutely no concrete evidence that the goalkeeper at least might feel the same way.

So she walks into the locker room with her head on a swivel, looking for the Spaniard as soon as she walks in the door. And luckily for her, Misa looks up to nod her greeting to Mapi, who had walked in before her, before she sees Marta, and a smile breaks onto the goalkeeper's face as she greets the brunette.

“Morning!” Misa calls cheerfully, and Marta can’t help but reply with her own smile, her heart surging at the difference in greeting from her to Mapi.

Hm…strike one, Marta thinks, realizing that this was just the kind of thing she was looking for. It’s not enough on its own, but perhaps if there are other signs, she can really be sure.

And as they’re getting ready, Marta realizes the more she watches Misa, the more she understands how the goalkeeper could be perceived as scary. She doesn’t speak a lot, her resting face isn’t exactly one filled with kindness, and while she’s not exactly the tallest person in the world, her height combined with the sheer amount of muscle mass she holds makes her very presence more intimidating than most.

Marta looks down at her lithe, short body and then back up at Misa, swallowing as she realizes just how much she dwarfs the goalkeeper, both in muscle and size, considering that Misa is a good half foot taller than she is.

She doesn’t let herself think about it any longer, all but running out of the room and heading for the film room, which is where the team will start their day.

The winger is one of the first in the room, and she settles in a chair near the middle, waiting for her teammates to file in. Everyone walks in, taking their usual spots. Alexia is sat up front with Jenni, the couple looking at one another with sickeningly in love expressions, while Aitana and Ona both head for the back, and still the winger waits for Misa to come in.

The goalkeeper trails in after Sandra, her eyes already gazing around the room, clearly looking for someone. When she spots Marta her face softens into a half-smile, and she quickly steps over to sit down next to the winger, who is looking at her with big eyes.

“Hey, did I miss anything?” Misa asks quietly before she actually looks over at the brunette, and she takes in her surprised expression. “Everything okay?” Misa asks, her eyebrows furrowing together in clear concern.

“Fine!” Marta squeaks, and Misa’s eyes narrow at the high pitch of her friend’s tone, but she chooses not to comment on it as Marta’s eyes almost plead with her not to.

“Totally fine…cool, great, good, yeah,” Marta continues, the words simply tumbling out of her mouth with little thought behind them. Misa looks the winger up and down with a raised brow before she nods slowly, letting Marta get away with her strange response.

As they turn toward the front to start the film session, Marta only has one thought pinging through her mind.

Strike two.

—

Strike three happens when they all least expect it to.

Honestly Marta wasn’t even looking for a third strike, she was simply sitting with the information that there might be a chance her feelings aren’t as unrequited as she had always assumed that they were.

The team had gone out to scrimmage at the end of practice after doing some light strength training. It had taken everything in Marta to not stare at Misa as she lifted with the other goalkeepers, but if she had taken the time to at least look in the Spaniard’s direction she would have found a pair of russet brown eyes intently on her the majority of the time.

But she didn’t, and still Misa didn’t say a thing, and instead they all headed out to scrimmage.

Misa wasn’t even playing when it happened. She was on the sidelines watching the teams, with Sandra in goal for one and Lola in goal for the other. Marta was on Sandra’s team, playing up front with Aitana and Lucia.

The brunette had just gotten the ball from Alexia when it happened. She shifts her body around to turn toward the goal, but not fast enough. Not fast enough to register that Athenea is going in for a tackle, and an incredibly poorly timed one at that.

And just like that the winger is down on the ground, the ball completely forgotten as she clutches at her ankle hopelessly, a yelp of pain escaping her lips at the crunching tackle.

She can do nothing but breathe for a second as the pain shoots up and through her leg, and she tries to catch the breath she had lost in the fall. She can feel someone crouch beside her, but she can’t quite tell who it is.

“Marta? Marta, tell me where it hurts.”

The winger recognizes that voice. She can’t reply, the words won’t leave her throat, but she does manage to tip herself over, falling to the side and looking up at Misa. Misa, who had been on the opposite side of the pitch from her just a second ago. The goalkeeper is at her side, looking down at the winger with panic in her eyes, her hands on the brunette’s arm and side.

“Ankle,” Marta manages to huff out, and Misa’s eyes widen as she looks down at the appendage, before she looks back up at the winger’s eyes, clocking the tear that had begun to gently fall down her cheek.

Misa brings one of her hands up to cradle Marta’s cheek, brushing the lone tear away before she leaned back, straightening herself slightly and calling out for the medic.

“Misa…” Marta cries gently, and suddenly the goalkeeper goes from looking absolutely lethal to the gentle person that Marta knew her to be, her whole face softened into one of concern as she looks the winger up and down once more, her hands placed steadily and comfortingly at Marta’s side. The winger tries to focus on the warmth radiating from Misa’s hand, the scent of vanilla from Misa’s perfume rather than the pain in her ankle.

“Hey, hey, I’m right here. You’re gonna be fine,” Misa promises, and Marta nods as she shoves the tears away. The pain is starting to fade from her ankle, and she moves to sit up, an action that Misa is quick to support, her hand comfortingly on the brunette’s back as she watches her closely.

“Sorry, can you move out of the way?” One of the medics asks Misa as they run over to help Marta, and the look on the Spaniard’s face can only be described as murderous at the audacity of this person to ask her to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Misa growled, and Marta can’t help the slight surprise she feels at hearing Misa’s tone, low and threatening. The medic cowers back slightly, clearly more than a little afraid of the woman.

“No…I mean I just…uh we need…space to work and all,” the medic stammers out, and Marta places her hand on Misa’s knee with a tight smile.

“It’s okay Mi, let them work, it's alright,” Marta hums out as she tries to keep the pain out of her voice, and Misa’s eyes rove over the wingers face for a long moment before she nods, standing and moving out of the way, but only moving to stand behind the brunette and next to Esther, who has also been there since Marta went down.

“Yeah down girl!” Esther jokes from beside the goalkeeper, but she’s quickly silenced with a punishing look from the Spaniard.

“Sheesh, someone can’t take a joke today,” Esther mutters, but Misa hardly even hears her, too focused on Marta to care what anyone else said or thought.

Marta looks back up at Misa, at the way she’s looking over at Athenea, her arms crossed over her chest and a harsh expression on her face. It’s perhaps one of the first time’s she’s really registered the ‘intimidating’ person that Lola had referenced before. Even when they’d first met, Misa had never been anything but kind to Marta.

But now, with Misa standing over her like a guard dog, protecting her from what exactly, Marta isn’t really sure, but she might be starting to get the goalkeeper’s reputation.

She tries to ignore the fact that Misa’s scowl is insanely attractive, and the way she glances down at Marta every few seconds with a protective glint in her eyes makes the wingers heart stutter in her chest.

The medics rotate her ankle for a few minutes, but despite the initial sharp pain, the discomfort in her foot is subsiding quickly enough that Marta isn’t particularly concerned. She lets them work though, not wanting to brush it off too quickly and risk reinjury.

“Okay, it looks mostly okay, it’s probably just a sprain, but we want to take you back to the med room to check just in case,” the medic explained, and Marta nodded as she started to push herself to stand.

As if on cue, the goalkeeper who's been watching her like a hawk is there with her hand under Marta’s arm to support her. The winger isn’t entirely sure she even needs the help, but she’s not going to turn it down, not when it’s from Misa.

The Spaniard helps to wrap Marta’s arm over her shoulder before she loops her arm around the winger’s waist, helping her walk toward the med room.

And for once Marta, who is arguably one of the more chatty people on the team, is completely silent. Misa’s body is pressed up against hers, the warmth from her side seeping into Marta as they walk toward the room quietly, with Misa shouldering a fair amount of her weight.

“Are you sure you can walk?” Misa asks after they are off the field, and Marta’s stomach swirls with unhelpful but not entirely unwanted thoughts as she imagines Misa’s strong arms around her, carrying her somewhere…anywhere.

She shakes her head slightly, both as an answer and to ward off the thought.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine Misa, you should get back to practice,” Marta insisted, and despite everything screaming in her not to, she gently pushes the goalkeeper's body away from hers.

Misa looks down at her with nothing but concern and worry written in her expression, clearly not convinced.

“Are you sure? I can come with you–” Misa starts, but Marta interrupts her with a hand on her arm. The winger tries her absolute hardest to ignore the hard muscles of Misa’s bicep she can feel under her fingertips, the way that she can feel Misa relax under her touch.

“Mi, I’m okay, I promise,” Marta assures, and Misa’s eyes rove over the brunette’s face once more before she nods curtly, her jaw set in a tight line. She checks to make sure that the medics are next to Marta before she steps away, heading regrettably back toward the field. The goalkeeper only glances back once, her heart clenching at the sight of Marta slightly limping down the tunnel.

But Marta told her to go, and if there’s one thing Misa will do, it’s follow Marta’s instructions. So she returns to practice, even if her mind stays down the hallway, where half of her heart remains in the med room.

—

Misa is the second member of the team on the bus, having practically ran there after the medics had told her that Marta was already on the bus.

The winger is sitting in the middle of the bus, looking at something on her phone.

“Hey,” Misa announces her presence breathlessly, and Marta looks up at her with a wide smile, taking in the flushed cheeks and sloppy bun that sat atop the Spaniard’s head.

“Hey you,” Marta answered easily, patting the space next to her for Misa to join her, if she would like. The goalkeeper takes the offered spot, shifting to look Marta over wholly.

“How's your ankle?” Misa asks carefully, hoping only for good news. But Marta seems perfectly relaxed, picking up her foot and twirling it around carefully.

“It’s alright, I just twisted it a bit. I’ll do light work tomorrow and I should be back fully the day after next. Not as bad as it seems or felt on the field,” Marta explained, and Misa’s body relaxes next to her, a rush of gratitude flooding her chest that it’s not a more serious injury.

“That’s good, I’m really glad,” Misa replies happily, and Marta just smiles at her before turning back to her phone. Misa settles in next to her, and she ends up falling asleep by the time the bus leaves.

They’re only five minutes into their journey when Misa shifts in her sleep, her head tipping over to Marta’s shoulder as her body snuggles into the wingers smaller one. It’s amazing to Marta how the large goalie can make herself so small to tuck herself into Marta’s body, but she would never dare complain.

Strike three, Marta thinks as Misa’s nose brushes against her throat, sending a shiver down the winger’s back at the tiny gesture.

Marta carefully looks down to check that Misa is asleep before she unlocks her phone, opening her messages. She carefully types out a message to Lola before she presses send on it, despite the hesitance she feels.

Marta Cardona: Do you really think it’s possible that Misa likes me? As more than a friend?

Marta clocks movement from above her screen, and she looks up to see both Lola and Mapi rise out of their seats like cartoon characters they’re so in sync. The duo is sitting two rows in front of her, and they turned around in their seats to look back at her. The goalkeeper's expression is unimpressed, and she raises her eyebrow as though to say really? Mapi lets out a silent laugh when she looks over at Lola, rolling her eyes at the brunette for good measure.

The defender looks between Marta and Misa with big eyes, gesturing between the two of them. Marta rolls her eyes before she types out another message, pressing send more forcefully than she needs to.

Marta Cardona: Okay, okay, I get it! But seriously you two, I need you to tell me that I’m not just being delusional.

Lola Gallardo: You aren’t being delusional - Lola and Mapi <3

Marta Cardona: How are you so sure? Did she tell you?

Lola Gallardo: She didn’t have to. She talks about you all the time, she constantly seeks you out, and she looks at you like you single handedly make the sun come up each morning. You make her happy Marta, I can promise you that it’s you she wants. Nobody else.

Marta Cardona: Why hasn’t she ever said anything?

Lola Gallardo: I’m pretty positive that she’s not sure you feel the same way.

Marta Cardona: Oh…

Lola Gallardo: Nothing a single conversation can’t fix. Sooner rather than later please, because I might have to rip off my own ears if I have to listen to her pine after you one more time.

Marta Cardona: Oh can it Gallardo, we all know you’re ten times worse when you talk about Cristina.

Lola Gallardo: No comment.

Marta can’t help but let out a snort of laughter at the text, and Misa shifts under her but doesn’t wake up, instead simply pressing more into the brunette’s body. Marta snuggles down into the feeling, completely content to let the goalie sleep against her for the rest of the journey back to the hotel.

—

Marta stands outside of Misa’s hotel room, shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot as she works up the courage to knock on the goalkeeper's door. She’s suddenly grateful they all have their own room this camp, because then she’d have to deal with not only her romantic declaration, but also getting Misa by herself to tell her said feelings.

Marta had been hyping herself up for the last hour to do this, and her stomach is nothing but twists of nervous knots. She knows that no matter what, whether this goes well or badly, at the end of the line this conversation will likely change their relationship.

She can only hope that it isn’t going to go horribly, because she isn’t sure she’d be able to handle the embarrassment of rejection in a graceful manner.

All she can think in her head is of the possibility for error here, all the possible ways that Misa could reject her. There seem to be a million different bad scenarios, the possibilities are really endless.

So despite the fact that she is standing here at Misa’s door, she can’t quite bring herself to lift her hand and knock, even though she knows that she needs to.

But she also knows that she can’t go back to her hotel room, back to this holding pattern that she and Misa have. Someone needs to address this, and apparently it isn’t going to be Misa.

The winger lifts her right arm, knocking sharply three times against the wood door before she steps back, letting out a rattling breath.

It takes just a few seconds before the door flies open, revealing Misa in the doorway of her hotel room. She has on shorts and a t-shirt, her hair still drawn up lazily in a bun atop her head, a few strands of hair coming loose, falling down and framing her face.

She looks down at Marta with a soft smile, her head cocked to the side in a silent question. She’s clearly more than a little surprised to see the winger on her doorstep later at night, though Marta could never possibly be unwelcome in her space.

“Hey,” Misa greeted, a half smile pulling at her lips as she watched the winger stand at her doorstep. Marta looked visibly nervous, and she swallowed roughly as she looked past Misa, over her shoulder and into the Spaniard’s room.

“Hey, could I come in?” Marta asks, and she’s hardly finished her sentence before Misa is nodding, stepping back to allow Marta to step past her and into the room.

The winger stands facing away from Misa for a moment, wringing her hands together before she turns back to Misa, who is still standing by the now closed door, her confusion evident in her expression.

“Everything okay?” Misa inquires softly, her concern clear in her tone. Marta softens at the words, and she’s opening her mouth to assure Misa that everything is fine.

Except, that isn’t what ends up coming out of her mouth.

“You’re a really scary person,” Marta blurts out, her own eyes widening when she realizes what she said, and Misa’s confusion grows at the winger’s words, her eyebrows furrowing further.

“Uh…thank you?” Misa answered, unsure of what Marta was really getting at. The goalkeeper was more than aware that some people found her intimidating, but she wasn’t sure what that had to do with Marta. Marta shook her head gently, cursing herself at having managed to fuck this up straight from the get go.

“No, no, that’s not what I mean…I mean you’re really scary, but not to me you aren’t. Like everyone else is really intimidated by you but I’ve never thought of you that way,” Marta explained, and Misa’s eyebrows rose in surprise as she nodded slowly, still not really following Marta’s train of thought.

“Oh…well that’s good. I don’t want you to think of me that way,” Misa replied slowly, and Marta wants to groan, because the goalkeeper is clearly not getting what she is saying.

“No Misa I’m trying to–I like you!” Marta huffs out, and Misa freezes, her whole body tensing as she stares at Marta.

“You…do?” Misa asks gently, and Marta nods, bringing her hand up to chew on her thumbnail nervously.

“Yeah, like…as more than just a friend…you know like in a uh…romantic way. And if you don’t feel the same way that’s fine but I just wanted you to know so that we were on the same page and well I didn’t want to just be dishonest about my feelings cause that isn’t fai–” Marta rambles, and Misa carefully cuts her off after a moment, her own cheeks twinged pink.

“I like you too,” Misa admits, and Marta’s rambling comes to an abrupt stop. The winger can do nothing but blink for a few seconds, not quite processing Misa’s words.

“You…you do?” Marta questions after a second, and Misa nods easily, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“Oh…well that makes things a lot easier than I thought it would be,” Marta offers with a weak chuckle, and Misa’s head tips back in laughter at the clear surprise that is laced in the brunette’s tone.

“Did you expect me not to say that? Cause if so, I’ve done a bad job of making it incredibly clear that I’m a little obsessed with you,” Misa teased lightly.

“Just a little?” Marta volleyed back, and Misa could only smirk in response, delighting in the way that Marta’s face instantly flushed red, the winger ducking her head as she bit her lip.

Oh god, the things Misa would do to feel those lips on hers.

Marta looks back up at Misa after a second, at the distance between the two. She’s only a few paces into the room, but the goalkeeper is still standing back at the door, unmoving.

“Well…what should we do now?” Marta asks, swallowing roughly as Misa’s gaze roves over her, down her figure and back up again, her intent quite clear.

“I could think of a few things…” Misa drawls, and Marta’s lips quirk up in a smirk as she saunters forward, her steps agonizingly slow.

She walks right into Misa’s personal space, forcing the taller woman to step backward until her back hits the door, and she lets out a breath at the feeling. Misa’s eyes jump from the brunette’s eyes to her lips and back again, and Marta smiles as she presses up on her tiptoes.

She stops just before her lips are on Misa’s, close enough that their breath mingles, and when she speaks, her lips just barely brush against the goalkeepers, teasing.

“Oh really? And what would that be?” Marta asks, and just like that the last of Misa’s self restraint snaps at the brunette’s words, and the goalie crashes her lips against Marta’s.

Despite the fact that she knew she was egging Misa on, the brunette can’t help but gasp into the kiss, surprised by Misa’s eagerness.

Her lips are soft against Martas, and she tastes like peppermint chapstick and a hint of chocolate as she insistently presses her lips to the winger’s. Marta wraps her arms up and around Misa’s neck, pulling the goalkeeper into her even further.

Marta teases her tongue at the entrance of Misa’s mouth, and the goalkeeper is more than happy to allow her entrance, her throat making a desperate noise when Marta’s tongue swipes along the roof of her mouth.

Misa takes advantage of the fact that she has her hands at Marta’s hips, and she’s stepping forward and all but shoving the smaller brunette against the door with a huff. When she looks down, Marta is looking at her with hooded eyes and swollen lips and want buries itself deep in Misa’s pelvis, something hot and needy swirling around in her stomach.

Misa bends down just slightly, wrapping her arms wholly around Marta’s abdomen and lifting slightly. The winger understands her action almost as though she could hear Misa’s thoughts, wrapping her legs around Misa’s waist as the goalkeeper's arms anchor themselves on the brunette’s ass.

Marta has her arms still woven around Misa’s neck, and she brings her hand up to the bun sitting atop Misa’s head. Marta works her delicate, nimble fingers around the hair tie, removing it and smoothing Misa’s hair down with a smile on her lips.

The goalkeeper is struggling to control her breathing at the sight, and her breath hitches in her throat as Marta tugs at her scalp dully, anchoring herself in the dark strands of Misa’s hair as she reattaches her lips to Misa’s mouth.

Marta’s lips on hers are bruising and insistent, and their kisses have descended into something sloppy and hot and wonderful. A haze has settled over Misa, and all she feels is Marta around her, the feeling of the brunette in her arms. Marta weighs almost nothing, and suddenly all of those extra gym sessions feel as though they’ve paid off as the winger arches into the goalkeeper when Misa’s hands gently knead at her ass.

Marta’s head is thrown back slightly at the action as she lets out a whimper, and the creamy, soft skin of her neck is just staring Misa right in the eye. Misa can suddenly think of all the times that she found herself staring at Marta’s neck in the same exact way, whether it be during practice, or while they’re eating, or when they’re lifting.

The only difference is that now Misa can do something about it, and so she wastes absolutely no time in leaning forward to attach her lips to the delicate skin there. Her heart skips a beat at the soft, surprised whine that leaves Marta’s lips at the action, and she simply doubles down on her efforts.

Misa nips and sucks her way along Marta’s neck as she turns them around, heading blindly for the bed. She only pulls back when she feels the bedframe pressing against her knees, and she places a final open mouth kiss to the brunette’s rather sensitive neck before she carefully places her down on the bed, immediately coming to crawl up and over her.

The breath feels like it’s been stolen from Misa’s lungs as she looks at Marta, her hair fanned out on the pillow and looking up at the goalkeeper with hooded eyes, her pupils blown and a damn smirk across her lips.

Misa can’t help but crash her lips back against Marta’s, relishing in the way that suddenly Marta’s hands are everywhere. The brunette runs her hands over the goalkeeper's broad shoulders, then down her front, before she slips them under the taller woman’s shirt, running them up along Misa’s abs. The goalkeeper sucks in a breath at the feeling, her body shuddering more involuntarily than anything, and she can feel how Marta smiles into the kiss as a result.

Misa simply leans back, ripping her shirt up and off of herself as Marta leans up to do the same. Neither of the women are wearing a bra, and for a second Misa can only stare at the winger’s body, nothing in her brain except for how insanely attractive the winger is. Marta might be tiny compared to her, but that didn’t mean that the brunette was any less fit, her body lithe and completely toned.

Misa is so distracted by the line of muscles that are littered down the curves of Marta’s body that she doesn’t realize what is happening until she’s on her back, the winger looking down at her with a smirk after she had flipped them.

Marta leans in slowly, until her lips are resting gently on the shell of Misa’s ear, their chests pressed together.

“Much better,” Marta husks, and Misa’s back arches into the brunette’s chest as she lets out a groan, one that has Marta’s smile growing. The winger attaches her lips to the column of Misa’s throat, sucking deeply at the skin behind her ear that has Misa a whimpering mess under her.

Marta works down the goalkeeper's throat, sucking at her collarbone and down to her chest. Misa can hardly breathe she’s so overcome with pleasure, and she doesn’t even bother to be embarrassed at how loud she’s being when Marta wraps her lips around her nipple, her other hand coming to play with the other side of her chest.

Marta flattens her tongue against Misa’s peaked nipple as the goalkeeper arches into the feeling, keening whines and groans tumbling from her lips at the brunette’s careful ministrations. Misa has one hand fisted in the sheets and the other holding the back of Marta’s head, keeping her pressed to her chest as her head is thrown back in pleasure.

Marta works her way down, sucking deep red marks into the underside of Misa’s chest before she lets herself work even further downward, running her tongue along the lines of the goalkeeper's abs, which ripple under her touch.

“God, I’ve thought about doing this an unhealthy amount,” Marta breathes out as she splays her hands along the tanned, muscled skin of Misa’s stomach as she scratches down her abs, and the corresponding moan that Misa releases is music to the brunette’s ears.

Marta presses a kiss to each individual ab before she continues even further south, stopping when she reaches the goalkeeper's waistband, a silent question on her face.

Misa doesn’t even bother answering with words, she simply lifts her hips off the bed with urgency, allowing for Marta to pull her shorts and underwear off quickly, leaving the dark haired woman completely bare on the bed. Marta takes the chance to rid herself of her own pants and underwear as well before she turns her attention back to Misa.

The brunette brings her lips to the inside of Misa’s thigh, pressing a kiss to the skin on the inside of her knee before she works her way up, her breath ghosting right over where Misa wanted her the most before she repeated the action on the other leg.

Misa is practically vibrating under her as Marta fans out, kissing up and over the goalkeeper's hip bone as Misa lets out a frustrated groan, her hips canting up as her grip on the sheets tighten.

“Please,” Misa urged, and Marta decides to take pity on her, quitting her teasing.

The first run of Marta’s tongue through Misa has both women letting out a moan, Misa of relief and Marta of want. Marta brings her tongue back to the apex of Misa’s thighs as the goalkeeper's hips roll down to meet her mouth.

Marta is as precise in bed as she is on the football pitch, and it hardly takes her any time at all to work Misa up, the goalkeeper a bumbling mess under her careful ministrations.

Marta circles her tongue over Misa’s clit with a smooth rhythm, letting the Spaniard’s hips roll down into her as her breath comes out in gasps. It’s when she’s close that Marta finally inserts not one but two fingers into Misa, smiling as the goalkeeper lets out an unabashedly loud moan that sounds suspiciously like Marta’s name.

It only takes a few more minutes of both Marta’s mouth and fingers, quirked in just the right way, for Misa to be screaming out her name, her whole body going rigid against Marta. Misa lets out a guttural groan as her thighs tighten around the brunette’s head and hand, holding her in place as her eyes stay squeezed shut and her body shudders through orgasm.

It takes her a few moments, but after a small period of time Misa’s whole body relaxes back into the mattress as she lets out a deep sigh, releasing Marta from the grip she’s had on her.

The brunette brings her fingers up to her mouth, swirling her tongue around to clean them before she releases them with a pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Marta leans in cheekily, kissing her way back up Misa’s body, all the way to her throat before she shifts to the side, collapsing on her back on the mattress next to Misa. She has absolutely no expectation of the goalkeeper returning the favor, she’s enjoyed getting to have Misa under her finally far too much, but it seems that the prospect of having her way with Marta is actually the only thing on Misa’s mind.

“Oh no you don’t,” the goalkeeper husks as she wraps her arm around the winger’s waist, pulling her back up and settling the brunette against her lower abdomen, right above her hip bone.

Marta lets out an involuntary harsh breath as her bare center settles against Misa’s abs, and her breath stutters in her chest at both the display of strength that Misa could pull her up here so easily, and at the smirk that Misa currently has painted on her lips.

“You’re wet,” Misa observes as Marta shifts above her, and it’s the wingers turn to smirk as she nods coyly, a wry smile on her face.

“Only for you,” Marta promises quietly, and Misa lets out a harsh breath as she grips the brunette’s waist just a hair too tightly, pulling the winger forward and rocking her hips against Misa. Marta sighed in relief as she rocked her hips back and forward against Misa’s abs, understanding what the goalkeeper was trying to get her to do. It becomes easier for her to rock back and forth as her wetness coats Misa’s abs, giving her a slick surface to slide against as Misa’s hands help keep her movement steady.

The goalkeeper tightens the muscles in her abdomen with ease, giving Marta a harder surface to grind down against. The pressure isn’t enough to fully get her off, it’s not specific enough, but it still sends waves of pleasure down her spine with each rock of her hips, each brush of her clit against the hard ridges of Misa’s abs.

Especially as Misa watches her, her pupils blown and her cheeks flushed as she stares at the brunette unabashedly, her eyes dark and filled with want. Marta’s hair flows down her back, her chest arched up as she grinds her hips down again and again and again until Misa’s stomach is a complete mess, not that she gave a flying fuck. The air is thick with sex and sweat and the winger’s hips are jumping erratically as she presses even further into Misa, and the goalkeeper can tell that the brunette is starting to grow frustrated, her breathing becoming more labored as she gets more and more worked up, unable to actually finish.

Misa removes her dominant hand from Marta’s hips as her nondominant hand slows the rocking of Marta’s hips. The brunette’s head snaps to Misa, only for her to understand when she feels Misa’s hand tease at her center. Marta has her knees on either side of Misa, and she rises up so that Misa can snake her hand between the wingers legs.

Misa runs her fingers through Marta once experimentally, her fingers sliding easily through the brunette, who lets out a ragged sigh at the feeling.

But Misa isn’t cruel, and as soon as she’s done that does she slips a finger inside of the winger as Marta’s hips rut down at the feeling, a whine tumbling from her lips. Misa smiles to herself as she curls her finger deep in the winger.

“Misa please – oh fuck!” Marta cries out as the goalkeeper quietly adds a second finger, and the brunette’s hips roll down on it with reckless abandon, chasing the high that she can feel curling in her lower stomach already.

The brunette is barely saying anything coherent as she chases her orgasm, and she’s all but chanting Misa’s name as the goalkeeper's fingers curl inside of her, the rhythm demanding and everything that Marta needs right now.

The thing that finally pushes Marta over the edge is when she opens her eyes, tipping toward as she presses a hand onto Misa’s sternum, and the change in angle of her hip pushes the goalkeepers fingers inside of her even further as her eyes rove over that gorgeous fucking smirk that tugs at Misa’s lips.

The coil deep within Marta snaps, and her hips push down harshly as she shudders, her body taught as her eyes slam shut and her head snaps back, a moan wrenching itself out from deep within her chest.

Marta can hardly breathe from the strength of her orgasm as it rips through her, and if it wasn’t for Misa’s hands that brought her down gently she probably would have simply flopped down onto the goalkeeper, her limbs suddenly feeling like jelly. But Misa would never let that happen, simply tucking the brunette into her neck as she wrapped her arms around her back, their bodies relaxing into one another.

Misa peppers kisses to the crown of Marta’s head as the winger catches her breath slowly, and it’s a few minutes before the brunette can pull her head back to look at Misa properly. The taller woman brings her fingers up to tuck a stray strand of hair that fell into her face behind her ear, and Marta leans easily into the action with a tiny smile.

The winger simply tucks herself back into Misa’s neck with a happy sigh, leaning forward to press a kiss to the smooth, sweaty skin she finds there. Misa simply rubs her hand up and down Marta’s back, tracing small shapes into the warm expanse of her back with the pads of her fingers.

“Shower?” Misa asks softly, and Marta nods but makes no move to go anywhere. After a few moments Misa shifts under her, but the brunette simply grips onto Misa more tightly, refusing to let go of the goalkeeper.

“Mmm…don’t wanna leave you,” Marta mumbles into Misa’s neck, and she relishes in the soft rumble of laughter that Misa lets out, a noise that the winger both hears and feels from the goalkeeper's chest, her whole body still pressed against Misa.

“Well luckily for you, I have a solution,” Misa whispers with amusement, engaging her core as she sits up, adjusting Marta in her arms before she stands, the brunette held in her arms bridal style. Misa couldn’t wipe the grin off her face for anything when Marta squeals happily at the action, her arms wrapping around Misa’s neck as she laughs lightly, a huge smile on her face.

One of Marta’s hands slides around to gently cup Misa’s cheek in her hand, her thumb brushing up and down the soft skin of Misa’s cheek, and she watches as the taller woman’s eyes flutter shut, a soft puff of air leaving her chest at the feeling as she presses her forehead against Misa’s.

When she finally opens her eyes, Marta is looking at her with nothing but deep adoration in her eyes, clearly completely enamored with the goalkeeper, same as she always has been.

Misa can do nothing in return but lean forward to press her lips against Marta’s, soft and secure and everything she could have ever hoped for it to be.

#misa rodriguez x marta cardona #misa rodriguez #marta cardona #woso fanfics #woso #woso one shot

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