"I think you'll get along just fine here," your new manager told you, leading you through the tunnel. You had just signed for Real Madrid's women's team that was debuting this year. You were American and after your performance in the World Cup and Olympics they had signed you. You were excited for your new team, never having left America before. Walking out of the tunnel, you followed your manager over to a group of woman crowded around the center of the field. This team had been working together for the last eight months, a routine you hoped to not upset. "Ladies! Meet your new teammate," your manager called.

The group of women jogged over to you and your manager. One girl stepped forward and extended her hand. "My name is Alisha, I'm the captain of this team," Alisha introduced.

You shook her hand, "I'm (Y/N)," you replied.

"Well, welcome to the team, what position do you play?" Alisha asked.

"I usually play center midfield—"

"—But, she'll be playing forward for us. That's enough introduction, get back to training," your manager ordered. You followed the other girls on their laps around the field. The girls seemed nice and you got along well with the coaching staff. The first practice was hard, but it wasn't insanely hard. Chugging your water, you followed your teammates into the locker room.

Opening your locker door, you grabbed your other clothes and began to change. "Are you going to the game tomorrow?" Alisha asked you. Looking up with confusion, you shook your head no.

"I didn't think we had a game," you replied.

"Oh, not us, the men's team. They're facing Barcelona, our biggest rivals," Alisha answered. Shrugging your shoulders you agreed to go to the game with the rest of the girls. Driving home that night, you decided to look up more about this Barcelona/Real Madrid rivalry. La Liga wasn't largely televised in America but you had heard about how the matches between the two had turned into battles between the two clubs.

After a hot shower, you walked over to your computer, looking up facts and rosters on both teams. You recognized most of the players and watched a few clips of how the matches had gone sour. The next day after practice, you went home and changed before carpooling with Alisha to the match. Getting out of the car, you noticed how crowded the stadium was.

Alisha led the way through the stadium, showing our passes and finally making our way into the VIP section of the stadium. Seeing a few of our teammates already here, we made our way over to them. The VIP section was divided sharply between white jerseys and red and purple/navy blue. Turning your attention to the game that was about to start, you recognized most of the players.

Barcelona had the ball first. The match went smoothly until about five minutes in. Cards were flying and there was so much flopping it should have been a diving competition. Barcelona scored first but Madrid came back and scored two. With two minutes left, a Barcelona striker you didn't recognize got the ball and dribbled down the field quickly and scored. The match ended 2-2, a bitter draw. "Damn that Neymar!" Alisha swore, getting up.

"Neymar?" you asked.

"Yeah, Barcelona sighed him a few months ago. We would've won, dammit," she cursed again. The cameras focused on Neymar. He looked about your age with a Mohawk like haircut. Not to mention you found him attractive. You pushed down those feelings after you noticed how the rest of your team was glaring at the Brazilian.

Walking down the stairs of the stadium, you followed your teammates to a long hallway. "We'll wait for the boys then we go out, El Clasico tradition," Alisha informed you.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom first, do I have time?" you asked. Alisha nodded and you walked to the bathroom. Walking back, you turned a corner and bumped into somebody. Falling backwards, your eyes met the brown/green eyes of a certain striker. "Lo siento," you replied.

He stood up and offered you a hand, which you gladly took. "No problem," he responded. His eyes focused on your Real Madrid shirt and frowned. "My bad," he stated, about to walk away.

"That was an amazing goal you scored today," you stated. Turning to look at you with curiosity, he raised an eyebrow at you.

"Neymar, and you are?" he asked, extending his hand.

"(Y/N), I play for Real Madrid's women's team."

"So I take it you're a Madrista, right?"

"Well, I hope my team is successful, yes. But, I don't hate Barcelona or any other team just because they're good." Your phone dinged and you looked down. "Sorry, I have to go." You turned around and ran down the hall unaware that Neymar's eyes stared after you with amazement.

The women's season had begun shortly after. Your team had had five matches so far and you played in all of them, quickly rising to the top scorer position in the league. Your next match was in two days against Real Madrid. You were pumped and a little nervous. Training mainly consisted of team bonding and getting pumped for the next match.

Match day had come around and you stood in the tunnel, your Real Madrid jacket over your jersey and your hand clutching the hand of a small girl. She chatted excitedly to you how Real Madrid would come out victorious and you hoped that that would become a reality. Both teams started to move and you followed them out of the tunnel.

Standing in line, you shook hands with the Barcelona girls, smiling at them in greeting. They didn't return them. Shaking it off, you huddled with your teammates. "Ok girls this is what we have been training for. Remember, we work as a team and we win this match!" Alisha told us. Nodding, I walked to the center of the field. Real Madrid was kicking off and you passed the ball backwards.

Like the men's match, the first five minutes were calm but afterwards, things got intense. You avoided dirty conflict with the Barcelona girls as best you could, never having ever to want to start a fight between the two sides. The first half ended 0-0 with six yellow cards total. With another pep talk from Alisha and your manager you walked back onto the field.

Barcelona started with the ball and you moved into challenge your opponent. She ran down the side of the field and you kept up with her. She passed the ball and you ran after it. Well, you would have if she didn't trip you. "Hey!" you shouted to the ref who didn't even notice. Cursing, you got back up and continued to play.

Further on in the match, you had the ball and was dribbling it towards the goal. About to shoot, you were slide tackled. Your ankle hurt and you looked to the ref, especially since the foul occurred in the penalty box. He wasn't moved and you got up, wincing as you put pressure on your left ankle. Pushing through the pain, you continued to play again.

After the match, you were severely pissed off. The match had ended in a draw but the amount of penalty kicks that should have occurred is what really pissed you off. The ref was blind, and that one stupid defender had taken a liking to tripping you. "Maybe you should go see the trainer, you ankle looks bad," Alisha stated.

Looking down at your throbbing ankle, you nodded and went to look for the trainer. Instead you found a certain Brazilian. "Have you seen the trainer?" you asked.

"Yeah, why what's wrong?" he questioned.

"Tweaked my ankle a bit, just going to get it looked at," you replied.

"I'll show you to the trainer," he obliged, leading you down the tunnel further. Wincing as you walked, Neymar quickly fell ahead of you. Noticing your lagging, Neymar turned back to look at you. "Do you need help because you're walking about the same pace as a snail?"

"I'm fine," you insisted. Rolling his eyes at you, he swept you off your feet, literally, and started to walk towards the trainer's room with you in his arms. "Really, I'm fine."

"Hmm, girls usually swoon by this point," he smirked at you.

"Yeah well, sorry if I'm not incredibly moved by your Brazilian charm," you responded.

"Don't worry, you will," he smiled, walking into the trainer's room. "Until next time," he concluded, pressing his lips to your cheek before walking out the door.

"Damn that Neymar," you cursed under your breath as you tried, and failed to suppress the blush creeping up your cheeks.