୧ 𝓑 ＡＲＣ̧Ａ ＢＯＹＳ

DAUGHTER OF THE BOSS, darling of the dressing room — that was you. not officially. but when your last name was Flick, and your dad ran the training sessions, the lines blurred real quick.

you weren’t just allowed at Ciutat Esportiva you belonged there.

— summer break meant no school, just early mornings tagging along with your father and sinking into a world that felt like home. and the players? they stopped calling you “coach’s daughter” a long time ago.

you were theirs. their sunshine. their favorite little distraction.

— “otra vez aquí?” gavi grinned. dani ruffled your hair. lamine flicked a ball at you — on purpose. fermín laughed when it bounced off you. “ten cuidado!” pedri smirked. “she should sub in.”

you sat on the grass, oversized barça tee slipping off one shoulder. marc casadó dropped his jacket over you. toni and guille brought snacks. pau gave you his cap, backwards. héctor rolled a cold bottle down your back — you screamed, they laughed.

lewa saluted you. frenkie called you la princesa. raphinha offered to paint your nails blaugrana — again.

your dad pretended not to notice. but even he knew — this was your turf too.

— no cameras. no noise. just the hum of drills and sun on your skin. you in the center, always. held like something fragile and golden.

“for you, little one,” jules said, tossing you a jersey with your name stitched in the back.

you were barça’s princess. and they were yours.

@𝓜𝐑𝐒𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒𝐒