It Gets Better, And Better ✨

dumb and dumber: babysitting | blue stars

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: against her better judgement, olga leaves you and azulita to babysit valerie

notes: in estrella’s pov this time!!

“Okay, now remember that Val needs to be in bed by 7:00. 7:30 at the latest. Sometimes, just sometimes we go on to 8:00, but only if she’s had a nap, and you have to make sure she’s had the nap first, don’t just assume. And no, rubbing her eyes isn’t enough, she has to actually close them, because she fake-naps sometimes. She’s sneaky like that.”

You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, Valerie tucked between your knees and currently trying to fit her entire fist into her mouth. Across from you, Azulita’s letting the baby stack squishy blocks on her head. Neither of you are listening. Not even a little bit.

Olga’s pacing back and forth behind you with the binder. The sacred, terrifying, overly annotated Baby Binder of Doom. Color-coded tabs. Page protectors. Laminated bedtime routine chart. You swear it has footnotes.

“She gets her bottle at 6:30, but not too hot! Shake it and test it first, on your wrist, not your tongue, because that’s not sanitary. Bath starts at 6:45, but only if she didn’t eat too slow. If she eats too slow, you can adjust the bath to 6:50, but no later than 7:05 or the whole schedule gets thrown off. I swear to God, if you throw off the schedule—”

Valerie lets out a shriek of joy as Azulita sticks out her tongue and pretends to sneeze. You grin and toss a stuffed giraffe at Azulita’s face. It bounces off and hits Val in the arm. She’s delighted. She kicks your thigh and drools in victory.

“She needs the bunny,” Olga continues, flipping a page like she’s briefing you for combat. “The bunny, not the bear, not the raccoon, not that weird dog Estrella got her from that random shop in Portugal. She needs the bunny or she won’t sleep. If the bunny is missing, I swear—”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, offering Valerie a crinkly octopus. She throws it at Azulita’s head.

“Storytime must be one book. No more. She will manipulate you. Don’t fall for the pouty face. That’s how we ended up reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear six times in a row last week. We all suffered.”

“Totally,” Azulita says, balancing a plush cow on her forehead. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Olga doesn’t even pause. “No TV before bed. She only has 30 minutes left of screen time anyway. No fruit after six. And don’t let her near the remote. She knows how to change the channel now and she keeps turning on Spanish soap operas and mimicking the crying.”

You clap once. “Iconic.”

Then comes The Silence. You glance up. Olga is no longer talking. She is staring.

You and Azulita both look up slowly, like maybe if you don’t move too fast she won’t attack. She’s standing there, binder to her chest, face pure exasperation. She looks like a woman who is desperately trying not to scream.

That’s when Alexia walks down the stairs. She looks stunning, hair done, blazer over a fitted shirt, matching slacks. If Olga looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown, Alexia looks like she wants the breakdown to happen so she can laugh at it.

“Everything alright?” Alexia asks, sauntering up behind the couch.

Olga doesn’t answer. She just continues to glare at the two of you. You start sweating. Azulita stops breathing. Valerie throws a block and says, “Taaa!”

Alexia leans forward, taps the back of both your heads like she’s knocking on a door. “Hey. Idiots. Pay attention.”

“Hey,” you say with offense. “I am a professional athlete.”

“You drooled on her sock ten minutes ago.”

You scowl.

Olga takes a deep breath. She sets the binder down with a finality that shakes you to your core. Then, she steps around the couch, stands over you, and says in a tone you’ve never heard before:

“Listen to me very closely. I am ten months postpartum. I have not left my baby alone for more than two hours since she was born. And tonight— tonight I am trusting you two, Dumb and freaking Dumber, to take care of the child I carried for nine months and pushed out of my vagina.”

You flinch. Azulita flinches. Valerie freezes mid-foot chew.

“You are all I have,” Olga says. “And if anything, and I mean anything, happens to my child, you will not be able to hide. I will find you. I will ruin you. You will wish for death. And then, after you wish for death, I will hit you with the binder.”

You nod. Azulita nods. You nod again. You can feel sweat sliding down your back. Your mouth is dry. Val blinks up at Olga and goes, “Ma?”

Then Olga brightens like none of that just happened. “Okay!” she chirps. “Love you girls.”

She kisses you on the forehead. Azulita too. Then Val.

Alexia’s dying. You can see it. She’s holding in laughter with her whole body. She kisses each of you like it’s a funeral, whispering “Good luck,” in your ear like you’re about to go to war. Then the door closes behind them.

You and Azulita just sit there in complete silence.

“…Did she say vagina?” Azulita whispers.

“Yup,” you reply, staring into the void. “She did.”

Valerie, unfazed, claps her hands and lets out a fart noise with her mouth.

You sigh. “Alright. Let’s not die tonight.”

Azulita picks up the bunny and nods solemnly. “For Val.”

You’re lying on the carpet, half-propped up by a pillow you stole from the couch, scrolling through the comments of the live chat with one hand while trying to pick a decent filter with the other. Azulita’s sitting cross-legged beside you, hair in a messy bun, hoodie halfway on, vibing hard as Lil Baby blasts in the background. You can’t lie, Valerie has taste. Kid’s been bouncing in her little baby bouncer for a solid ten minutes like she’s at a festival.

“She’s got rhythm,” Azulita notes, nodding with pride as Val bounces up and down on beat, plastic keys in one fist, sock in the other.

“She got it from me,” you say without missing a beat.

“She got it from her mother’s.”

“Semantics.”

The comments are coming in fast:

"Why are y'all babysitting?? Where is Olga??"

"Alexia left two teenagers with a baby I'm scared."

"IS THAT LIL BABY IN THE BACKGROUND."

"Please show Valerie dancing again I'm begging."

You ignore the comment asking to show Valerie, but take a peek at her, bouncing away like she’s been possessed by the spirit of the beat, drool flying, hair in her eyes, sock now hanging from her mouth like a cigar.

“She’s busy,” you narrate. “She’s got moves. Don’t worry about her.”

And then, mid-bounce, mid-glory, tragedy strikes. Her toy falls. There’s a two-second pause. You make the fatal mistake of thinking she’ll let it go. And then, WAILING.

“OH MY GOD,” you flinch so hard your phone nearly flies out of your hand. The chat immediately blows up.

“LMAOOOOO”

“HELP HER????”

“THE SCREAM??????”

Azulita launches up like she’s on a mission in a spy movie. “I GOT HER,” she shouts, diving for the bouncer.

You remain frozen on live like a deer in headlights, Val screaming bloody murder off camera while Azulita picks her up and starts doing the panicked baby rock. “Shhhh shhhh shhhh,” Azulita mutters. “We got the toy. It’s okay. Life is pain. Let it out.”

“Chat SOS,” you beg into the phone. “How do we get a baby to stop crying?”

"Did y'all feed her????"

"She hungry girl what time is it??"

"Why is Lil Baby still playing turn that OFF and give her a bottle."

"Y’all are literally the worst babysitters l've ever seen and I love it."

You glance at the clock. Your heart drops. “…It’s 6:30.”

Azulita gasps behind you. “FEED THE BABY.”

You end the live so fast. Phone down. Panic mode engaged. “Why didn’t you check the time?!” you shout, sprinting for the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you check the time?!” Azulita shouts back, still holding Valerie who is now actively trying to scream her way out of Azulita’s arms.

“I thought you were on top of it!”

“I’m on top of her! That’s enough!”

You yank the bottle out of the sterilizer and start pouring boiling water into it like your life depends on it. Which it might.

“Do you even know how to mix formula right?” Azulita accuses, hovering near your elbow like the world’s most chaotic nanny.

“Do you?” you shoot back. “I watched Olga do it once. That makes me basically qualified.”

“She was measuring things!”

“I measure with vibes.”

“That’s why I don’t trust you!”

You shake the bottle aggressively, cap it, and turn around to give it to Valerie, but Azulita steps back like you’re holding a weapon.

“Did you check the temperature?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

You glare. “She’s screaming!”

“She’ll scream harder if you give her lava.”

With the most dramatic eye roll in history, you tip the bottle and splash a few drops on your wrist. It’s fire. You scream like you’ve been shot in the arm.

Valerie goes completely silent. And then bursts into laughter. Like real, belly-deep baby giggles.

You stare at her in disbelief. “You enjoyed that?!”

“Iconic,” Azulita grins, rocking her gently. “She laughed at your pain. She’s one of us.”

You mumble something under your breath and start all over again, this time making sure the water is cooled, the formula is right, and no one ends up with second-degree burns. Finally, finally, you hand the bottle to Azulita and she slides it into Val’s tiny hands.

She drinks like she’s been stranded in a desert for days. Ten minutes later, she’s full, burped, and looking at you with those big, innocent eyes like she didn’t just try to rupture both your eardrums.

You and Azulita are collapsed on the couch in exhausted silence.

“…So, bath time?” you say weakly.

Azulita groans. “Binder says yes.”

You scoop up Val, who immediately tries to headbutt your chin, and take her to the bathroom. Setting her on the bath mat, you begin the struggle of undressing a baby who thinks everything is a game and nothing is real.

By the time she’s in the tub, the floor is a crime scene— clothes, toys, a lone sock, a giraffe for some reason.

Valerie, on the other hand, is having the time of her life.

She slaps the water like it insulted her. You are soaked within seconds. Azulita is trying to save her jeans. You’re trying to figure out how a rubber duck made its way into your hoodie.

“Why is she stronger in water?” you demand.

“She’s evolving,” Azulita whispers.

There are bubbles. There is chaos. You are playing with the little stacking cups and suddenly realize Valerie has abandoned her toys to splash the two of you mercilessly.

“She’s targeting us on purpose,” you say, blinking through water.

“She’s smart,” Azulita agrees, shielding her face with a frog toy.

Valerie grins. You’re both doomed. Soaked, exhausted, and humbled, you glance at the clock. It’s only 7:05.

You look at Azulita. “We follow the binder now.”

“Binder is law.”

Val slaps the water in approval. You salute and let the night continue.

Bedtime. It should be easy. That’s what you told yourself. You survived feeding. You survived bath time. You survived the Binder (capital B). Surely putting Valerie to bed is the victory lap. Spoiler: it’s not.

You’re standing in front of the dresser, holding a plain white onesie like it’s a gift from hell itself. “This is boring,” you declare. “She’s not a tax accountant. She’s a baby.”

“It’s soft,” Azulita argues, holding it up to your face. “Feel it. It’s got little clouds.”

“She deserves better.”

“She’s literally going to sleep.”

“She deserves better while she sleeps.”

And that’s how the two of you spend 12 full minutes rifling through her baby clothes like you’re styling her for New York Fashion Week. At one point Azulita tries to convince you to let her wear just a diaper and a cape “so she dreams she’s a superhero.” You tell her to shut up.

Eventually, you both gasp at the same time when you pull out a fuzzy cat onesie in Barcelona colors— dark blue and garnet, complete with little ears on the hood and a tail.

“Look at this masterpiece,” you whisper.

“She’s going to look like a tiny feline queen.” You high-five.

Valerie, for her part, squeals when you show her the onesie and kicks her feet. She knows style. You wrestle her into it with the grace of two people who clearly don’t know how baby limbs bend, and then immediately start a full-blown photo shoot like she’s Baby Beyoncé.

“You’re serving,” you tell her, snapping a photo.

“She is giving feline fashion excellence,” Azulita agrees, angling the light just right.

You post nothing because Olga would actually murder you if her baby ended up on your story without approval, but still, those pics are going in the archives. You send one to the youngsters group chat and Pina sends back seventeen heart emojis while Patri send an odd voice note of her making a cat sound.

Once the fashion show is over, you carry Val to her crib, carefully swaddled, looking like a sleepy little purring Culer. You sit down beside her and look at Azulita.

“Want to tell her a story?” you ask.

Azulita raises an eyebrow. “We don’t know any stories.”

“We make one up.”

“What kind?”

You think for a second. “The Three Little Pigs. But it’s us.”

She grins. “And the big bad wolf is Alexia.”

“Obviously.”

You lean over the crib dramatically, dropping your voice into a narrator tone. “Once upon a time, there were three little pigs. One was Estrella Pig— gorgeous, talented, the favorite.”

“Excuse me?” Azulita interrupts.

“Second was Azulita Pig—cranky, loud, and wore too much attitude.”

“You’re gonna catch hands.”

“And the third was Patri Pig, who was probably just chilling somewhere eating fruit.”

“Valid.”

“And then came the big bad wolf,” you growl, voice low. “ALEEEXIAAAA.”

Valerie is staring up at you both with eyes the size of dinner plates.

“She huffed!” Azulita says, getting into it. “And she puffed! And she told them to get up and go to training!”

“And the little pigs said NOOOO,” you wail dramatically.

Valerie blinks. You blink back. She blinks. Then she claps her hands.

You and Azulita beam. “She loved it!” you whisper.

“Maybe we should just read the Binder to her. It’s got chapters.”

You start flipping through the pages, trying to find the section on babies not sleeping, and find a line that says: If baby is struggling to fall asleep, try singing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’ softly.

You and Azulita exchange a look. You try it.

“Rock-a-bye baaabyyy…”

“On the treeee tooooppp…”

Valerie screams like you just stepped on her dreams.

“ABORT,” Azulita yells, rocking the crib back and forth.

You panic and lift her out of the crib. “Okay okay okay! You hate lullabies! Noted!”

The three of you migrate to the couch like refugees of bedtime failure. You’re bouncing her gently. Azulita’s rubbing her back. Valerie is still sniffly and grumbling. You’re losing hope.

“Fuck it,” you mutter. “Alexa, play something.”

“Now playing: Not Like Us by Kendrick Lamar,” the Echo says.

You and Azulita freeze. But then… Valerie quiets. Like, completely. She blinks. Looks around and listens. Very intently.

You and Azulita exchange another look.

“Is this her song?” Azulita whispers.

“She’s unbothered. She’s vibing.”

By the second verse, her eyelids are drooping. Her grip on your hoodie loosens. By the third verse, she’s snuggled into your chest, breathing soft and even. You don’t dare move.

“Don’t move,” you whisper.

“I know,” Azulita says. “I think she booby trapped me with her foot.”

Eventually, you feel your eyes getting heavy too. The couch is warm. Valerie’s head is heavy on your shoulder. Azulita’s arm is pressed against yours. Kendrick is still going. You drift off.

When Alexia and Olga come home, it’s quiet. Too quiet for two teens and a baby in the house.

Alexia steps into the living room first, heels clicking softly. Her hand goes to her mouth when she sees the sight:

You, Azulita, and Valerie all passed out on the couch. The baby is still in her cat onesie, curled on your chest. Kendrick Lamar is playing Not Like Us on repeat.

Alexia is so amused. Olga comes in next, expecting disaster. When she sees you all asleep, her mouth opens.

“I don’t want to know,” she mutters.

Alexia shrugs. “They kept her alive. That’s all I asked for.”

Olga sighs, takes the fuzzy blanket off the back of the couch, and carefully drapes it over all three of you. She kisses Valerie’s forehead, then Azulita’s, then yours. Alexia does the same, grinning the whole time.

“Idiots,” Olga whispers fondly.

The lights are dimmed. The door to the hallway closes quietly.

And in the background, Kendrick keeps rapping softly into the night.

A/N: Secret relationship fic requested by a lovely anon. This fic is inspired by Notting Hill, one of my favorite movies. The beginning is pretty similar to the movie, but later on I pretty much make it my own. Keep in mind that Alexia is like 200x more famous in this fic. Hope you enjoy!

Just a Girl (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

Of course, you’ve seen her play and have always thought she was, well, incredible — but despite living in the same city, she’s a million miles from the small world you live in.

Carrer de la Riera Baixa is home to secondhand stores passed down from generation to generation, independent record stores with selections long forgotten, and a bar only sought out by those with something to forget. Tucked in between is your bookstore. Unlike the other stores, there is no storefront or windows to peak through. The only clue of what is sold is engraved on a plate, nailed to the door.

Llibres Rars FOR THOSE WHO SEEK THE PAST

Riera Baixa is gritty but honest, and most importantly, all you have ever known. From your apartment building, it takes exactly 80 steps to reach the shop. It’s a path you can take with your eyes closed if necessary.

And from this path you have not strayed.

Even when your girlfriend of five years asked you to take a detour and build a life together in a new city. The words ‘new’ and ‘different’ sparked feelings in you that greatly contrasted her own. Whereas she felt excitement, you felt fear. All you’ve ever known is Riera Baixa and all you’ve ever looked forward to are those 80 steps. You tried to explain this to her but your words were simply not enough. So, she packed her bags and sought out a new adventure. The morning after she left, you walked those 80 steps again, but it felt like you were walking for miles.

The pain of her leaving subsided with time, but she left a void in your heart you thought would be impossible for anything or anyone to ever fill — or so you thought.

On Saturdays something special happens on Riera Baixa street. The metal doors slide open and the stores spill out onto the streets for residents and tourists alike. The strum of an acoustic guitar fills the air, a beautiful melody mixed with the sound of excited chatter and intense bargains taking place.

Inside the bookshop, you’re hunched over the front desk, staring at numbers on a page that bring you no satisfaction. Your sole employee and close friend, Anna, stands by your side, her hand resting on your shoulder.

“A major sales push and all we have to show for it is 233 euros in profits,” you look at Anna, your voice, defeated.

“I think you need some coffee. You know, to ease the pain a little.”

You let out a deep sigh, “make it a café con leche and a chocolate croissant, please.”

With one small, comforting squeeze on your shoulder, Anna walks out of the bookshop in search of the only thing that can bring you a little bit of happiness.

You remain focused on the page, hoping that if you stare at it long enough the numbers will transform. The bookshop has never been the most profitable business on Riera Baixa street, seemingly always hanging by a thin thread— a very thin thread. And yet, it has remained a staple of the market, making just enough to survive year after year.

The little bell attached to the door rings out in the quiet, taking you out of your thoughts. You glance up casually, expecting to see just another customer with an unfamiliar face.

It’s like the air is sucked out of the room.

Despite the black cap and sunglasses, there’s no mistaking her. No matter where you are in the city, you see her. Her face is plastered on every newspaper, her name a constant sound on the radio, the city walls decorated with murals of her.

It’s Alexia Putellas, the greatest football player in the world, the pride and joy of Barcelona — here — in your store. She is the inspiration of many and the example of hard work and dedication. But also, the most heavenly, generous, beautiful woman on earth.

“Need some help?” you ask, the words almost getting stuck in your throat.

Alexia glances up from the book held gingerly in her hands, “No, thank you. Just looking around.”

“Ok.”

You feign interest in the scattered pieces of paper on the desk, flipping through the pages with no purpose.

From the corner of your eye, you can see Alexia wander from shelf to shelf, fingertips brushing against the spine of the books that intrigue her. Something does indeed catch her eye because she stops and picks out a book from the shelf. It’s a book you instantly recognize, even from a distance.

“Good choice, but uh, just a little bit depressing” you dare to say, hoping she won’t mind the interruption too much.

Alexia makes no effort to look in your direction, her attention on the cover of the book. “What’s it about?” she asks.

“Oh — well, long story short, all the main character knows is tragedy so to protect herself, she doesn’t let anyone get close. She thinks she’ll just inevitably lose them.”

“I see.” Alexia appears to give the novel some more thought but, in the end, decides to heed your warning and returns the book to its proper place.

Alexia continues her search — for what, you do not know. But whatever it is, you want to help her find it.

Eventually she plucks out another book, but this time doesn’t bother to look at the cover. Instead, she brings it up to your view, “and this one?”

“That one has too many men with insufferable egos.”

Alexia hides her smile behind the book, “not my thing,” she says, and puts it right back.

You lose sight of her when she wanders to the back of the shop, daring to explore the mess of books stacked up from floor to ceiling. Very rarely do customers visit that section and that only makes her far more intriguing.

After a few minutes, Alexia returns to the front of the shop with a book held delicately in her hands. “I think I found the one,” she says, resting the book on the desk.

Taking a peek at the cover, a smile tugs on your lips. “It’s one of my favorites, actually.”

Alexia tilts her head slightly to the side, removing her sunglasses and finally allowing you to see her eyes.

You wonder if she can tell your heart skipped a beat or two.

“If it’s your favorite, why do you have it all the way in the back?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” you pause for a moment to think, “I guess some novels are best stumbled upon y’know… found at just the right moment by the right person.”

“Am I the right person?”

“Definitely.”

Alexia looks at you with a slight smile and just like that, whatever worries you had before she walked in are no more. When you complete the transaction and hand her the bag, her fingers brush against your own for a brief, but electrifying second.

“Have a good day,” she says, bringing up the sunglasses to cover her eyes once again, much to your disappointment.

“Yeah… you too,” is all you can say, but the voice in your head is begging for her to stay.

Alexia opens the door to leave but hesitates, “I didn’t catch your name,” she says.

“Oh, it’s Y/N,” you manage to say, for a brief second forgetting your own name.

Alexia silently mouths your name and offers you a smile that warms your entire body. With that, she steps out onto the street and disappears from your view.

Once again, a quiet takes over the shop. You’re left in a daze, having to pinch yourself to prove that it was all real— that she was real.

Anna returns just a few minutes later with two cups in her hand and a flustered look on her face. “Café con leche as ordered,” she says, shuffling the papers out of the way and resting the hot, steaming cup of coffee on the front desk.

“You won’t believe who was just here,” you say, still in a state of disbelief.

“Alexia Putellas?”

You take a step back, shocked that she was able to guess so quickly. “Yes! Wait, did you see her when she walked out?”

Anna appears to be just as surprised as you, “hold on, I was right? That was a total guess, oh my god!” she exclaims, looking back at the door, hoping Alexia would just walk right back in. “But no, I saw her on the front page of a newspaper when I was at the pastry shop. That’s why she was my first guess.”

“It was a damn good guess.” You reach for the cup but go still when you realize something is missing, “no chocolate croissants today?”

“Oh shit!” she taps her forehead with her palm, “the new girl, Emma, was flirting with me again, and well, you know how I get,” she says, her cheeks red with a blush.

You let out a little snort, shaking your head. “Perfectly reasonable explanation,” you say, “I’ll go get it. I think some fresh air will do me good.”

Just as you’re about to step out onto the street, Anna calls out to you. “Wait! You mind getting me an orange juice? I meant to get one but-“

You give her a knowing look, “you looked into Emma’s beautiful eyes and forgot?”

“Yep!”

It’s usually a short walk to the pastry shop, but on Saturdays it takes a little longer with the crowd that gathers in search of antiques and other goods.

Emma smiles when you walk in and asks you about Anna to which you reply, “back at the shop, a flustered mess.”

While Emma works on your order, you can’t help but glance at the newspapers on display. Alexia’s face is on the cover of about half of them, and the headlines all attack her in one way or the other.

Alexia Putellas A Shell of Her Former Self, reads one of the headlines.

Another cover has Alexia crying on the pitch, her hands over her face and with the headline, Will Putellas Miss Again?

Ever since Alexia missed a penalty in last years Champions League final penalty shootout, the press have developed an obsession for attacking her. Only a few months prior to the final they were singing her praises, but as it turns out, highlighting her misfortunes brings in a whole lot more money and attention.

With a cup of orange juice, chocolate croissant, and some napkins in your hands, you swing out of the pastry shop with very little care. You’re about to turn a corner when you bump into-

“Alexia!” a rising panic in your voice.

“Shh!” she looks around to see if anybody heard, orange juice dripping from her shirt down onto the street.

“I’m so sorry! Here, let me help.” Without much of a thought, you attempt to pat dry her shirt but get a little too near to her breasts for someone Alexia just met.

“What are you doing?!”

You jump back, flustered, and so utterly embarrassed. “Sorry… again. Um, listen I live just right over there, please, you could get cleaned up and be good to go. I’d hate to ruin your day,” you pause, letting out an awkward chuckle, “If I haven’t already.”

The sunglasses shield her eyes, but you don’t need to see them to tell she’s annoyed. “Fine. But what do you mean, just right over there?”

You point in the direction of your apartment, “literally right over there, it's the one with the red curtains.”

Alexia looks down at her shirt, soaked and stained with orange juice. With a sigh, she nods and accepts your offer. __

Your apartment is an extension of the bookstore. Books everywhere and on everything; some closed, and some left open to your favorite passages.

“Something tells me you like to read,” she says, a hint of teasing in her words.

You give her a nervous smile, “just a little.”

Alexia takes off her sunglasses and places them on the nearest table alongside her bags. “It’s a good thing I decided to buy this top after all,” she says, taking out a black crop top, “Bathroom?”

“Right over there,” you reply, pointing to the bathroom door at the end of the hallway.

With Alexia out of sight, you take in a deep breath in hopes it will calm your nerves but it’s hard to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Saturdays are usually pretty eventful, but this is something else entirely. It’s not the fact that’s she’s incredibly famous that has you feeling like this. While it’s true that there’s no lack of beautiful women in Barcelona, none have ever made your heart explode in your chest and your soul stand still in awe with just one look.

Alexia steps out of the bathroom and there goes your heart again, picking up its pace. The top rides up her stomach just enough for you to see the carved rigids of her abs, and tight enough for you tell she’s not wearing a bra.

It’s so incredibly obvious that you’re staring, but the sparkle in her eyes hints that she doesn’t mind.

“Cup of coffee before you go?” you ask, forcing yourself to maintain eye-contact.

“No, thank you.”

“Tea?”

Alexia tugs on her bottom lip for a moment then shakes her head, “no.”

“How about a croissant? Best in all of Barcelona.”

Her lips twitch in an effort to fight her smile, “really, no.”

“Will I always get a no from you?”

There’s a pause.

“No,” she says and gives you a look that means something, but you just don’t know what.

“I should go,” she says, “I want to say thank you for all your help, but you are the one that spilled orange juice all over me so…”

You look down at your feet, trying to muster up a little bit of courage, “Before you go… I realize I might never get another chance to tell you this, considering I’ve done nothing but make a fool of myself today but,” you meet her eyes, “you’ll forget all about me the second you step out of that door, but… I fear you’ll never leave my mind.”

She smiles, and you realize that’s all you’ll get in return.

“Right, well…,” you guide her towards the front door, “it was nice to meet you, Alexia.”

With a nod, she steps out of the apartment and you close the door behind her. Leaning against it, you tap your forehead again, and again on the door in embarrassment. “That literally couldn’t have gone worse,” you say with a heavy sigh.

You turn away from the door but suddenly, you hear a knock. You expect it to be Anna, tracking you down since you never made it back to the shop. But when you open the door, you see Alexia.

“Hi,” she says, “Sorry, I forgot my bags.”

You look back and see her bags still on the table where she left them, “oh, right. I’ll get them for you.”

When you return to the door with her bags in your hand, you notice Alexia has taken two steps inside the apartment. You go to hand her the bags but surprisingly, she doesn’t make a move a muscle to take them from you.

You’re confused, but in her eyes, you only see certainty.

That’s when she kisses you, without any warning but without haste, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her. It’s a gentle kiss, without passion but with a tenderness that has you feeling like you’re floating in the clouds.

Alexia pulls away and it takes a few seconds for you to open your eyes. You have so many questions, but it seems you’ve lost the ability to speak. In silence, Alexia reaches for the bags still in your hands and with one last look, walks out once again.

This time, however, she leaves you with a little hope in your heart that one day, maybe she’ll return.

___________________

“So let me get this straight,” Anna says, pacing back and forth on the balcony of your apartment, “five-time Balon D’or winner, Alexia Putellas, kissed you?”

“That is correct.” You don’t blame Anna for having trouble believing your encounter with Alexia. Hell, it’s hard for you to believe and you lived it.

“And she just walked out? Didn’t say anything, just kissed you and went on her merry way?”

That part of it all was also difficult for you to wrap your head around. “Kissed me and walked right out,” you reply, looking down at everyone going about their lives on Riera Baixa street, “I swear I’ve never been so confused in my life.”

Anna plops down on the chair next to you and lifts her legs up to rest on the railing, “No wonder you were acting so weird when you got back to the shop. Honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t pass out — God knows I would have.”

“Well, I stood there like an idiot for like fifteen minutes after she left so… close enough.”

The two of you sit in silence for a few minutes, just trying to make sense out of something that makes absolutely no sense at all. The memory of the kiss is permanently engraved in your memory. No matter what you do to try and distract yourself from it, it’s impossible to not relive it in your mind.

“So what are you gonna do now?” Anna finally asks.

All you can do is shrug, “what can I do?” You’ve been asking yourself that very same question and have yet to come up with an answer. “She’s famous, Annie, it’s not like I can track her down or something. Let’s say I do somehow manage to get in contact with her, would she even want to talk to me? I mean, yes, she did kiss me but she also just walked out and left me standing there. I honestly don’t kno—”

“Oh my god!” Anna jumps out of the chair with her phone in her hands.

Her sudden outburst startles you, “what!?”

Anna starts gesturing wildly at the phone, “Alexia just followed the bookshop on Instagram!”

You jump out of your chair, just like Anna, and take the phone from her hands.

Alexia Putellas has followed you

“This is huge,” Anna says, peering over your shoulder at the screen, “not only for your love life but for the store too.”

Business is the last thing on your mind. The realization that Alexia hasn’t forgotten all about you has your head spinning, so much so that you need to sit back down. You’re staring at the notification with your heart ready to explode out of your chest, but then you get another one and this time, it’s a message.

Alexia: sorry couldn’t find you by your name 🙄 Alexia: it’s a little late notice but we have a game tomorrow. Can you make it? Alexia: I want to see you again

Each message sends you further into a state of panic, your hands trembling. All of the sudden everything feels really real. Your kiss with Alexia felt so surreal that you could almost trick yourself into believing it was all a figment of your imagination. But now, reality has smacked you right across the face and you’re terrified.

“You ok? You’re white as a ghost,” Anna says, reaching for your trembling hands.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you say to her, feeling a pressure in your chest, “she’s Alexia Putellas, Anna. She’s all people talk about in this city and everyone wants to know everything about her. Remember her last relationship?”

Anna nods, a slight grimace on her face. “Yeah, the press wouldn’t leave them alone. I’ll admit, it was all a little extreme.”

Just the idea of being followed around everywhere you go by strangers with flashing cameras has you paralyzed with fear. You’re a creature of habit, finding comfort in routine and happiness in an ordinary life. Alexia’s life is anything but ordinary and you fear you’ll sink rather than float in her presence.

“I can’t do this,” you say, giving the phone back to Anna and running your fingers through your hair feeling overwhelmed. “We’re from two different worlds.”

Anna knows you better than anyone else and was there by your side, helping you pick up the broken pieces of your heart. Like you, she lives in her own little world on Riera Baixa street and has never desired a change of scenery or change of pace.

“Are you going to reply?” Anna asks you, softly.

You take a shuddering breath, your eyes starting to tear up. “It’s better that I don’t. Besides, she’ll forget all about me soon enough,” you say with a self-deprecating laugh, wiping away the single tear running down your cheek.

Anna gives your hand a little squeeze. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she says, but knows better than to push the subject.

___________________

It’s the end of yet another slow day at the bookstore which only makes it all that more difficult to keep your mind off Alexia. Anytime the bell rings announcing a new customer your heart drops at the small possibility of it being her. But it’s never her and as much as you hate to admit it, you feel disappointed each time.

The bell rings and you look up to find a man with a rather bored look on his face.

“Welcome,” you greet him, “can I help you?”

The man stops a few feet away from you and looks around slowly, “do you have any travel books?”

“Uh,” you look around the store, the answer very clear to you, “no, sorry, we only sell novels.”

The man doesn’t seem satisfied by your answer. “Rick Stevens?”

You try to recall the name of the author, but nothing comes to mind. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with his work. Do you know the name of the novel?”

“Best of Europe Guidebook.”

Fighting the urge to scream, you give the man a tight smile. “That’s a travel book. We only sell novels, sir.”

“What about Fodor’s Essential Europe?”

You take a glance at the clock and breathe a sigh of relief when you see its almost closing time. “Nope, don’t have that either,” you say, stepping away from the counter and towards the door, “unfortunately it’s time for us to close. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you find what you need.”

The man takes an unbearably long time to walk out of the door and you try to hide your eagerness when you close the door behind him.

“Why is Anna never here to deal with the weird customers,” you mumble to yourself.

Shrugging off the annoyance, you start to pack up your belongings to head on home.

But once again, the bell rings and that same annoyance starts to creep up again, “We don’t sell travel books,” you say without even bothering to turn back and see who walked in.

“That’s good to know,” says a very familiar voice.

Your body goes still, a chill running down your spine. It’s the very same voice that’s been haunting your dreams for days. With your eyes closed, you take one deep breath before turning around and finally facing her.

“Alexia.”

Same as the first time she walked in, a black cap and sunglasses conceal her identity. When she takes off her sunglasses, a part of you wishes she would have kept them on. Her eyes pierce through you, making you feel weak in the knees.

“You left me on read,” Alexia says, taking a step closer to you.

“I did,” you say, taking a step back.

“Why?” She says, now a little bit closer.

You go to take another step but feel your back against the bookshelf. “I just don’t belong in your world, that’s all.” You want to be firm with your words, but your voice falters.

Now within arm’s reach, Alexia shakes her head. “You don’t know my world,” she says.

When you don’t answer, she closes the little bit of distance remaining between your two bodies. Your skin ignites when she brushes a finger along your cheek, your eyes flutter as you instinctively lean into her touch.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” her voice is quiet, almost a whisper against your ear. Alexia slides her hands down to your hips, her grip firm but gentle: making it clear she has no intention of letting you go.

Your pulse beats loudly in your ears, her scent invading your lungs and clouding your mind. Nothing good can came of this, you know it, and yet you’re incapable of pushing her away. Your eyes flick down to her lips, just for a quick second, but it’s all the confirmation Alexia needs.

She bows her head down warily, watching your reaction, almost as she’s scared you’re going to run away any second. She tests you by brushing her lips against yours, a jolt of electricity running between you. Her tongue runs across your bottom lip and you can’t take it anymore.

“Kiss me.”

And Alexia doesn’t hesitate. The kiss starts slow — deep but hesitant. Your hands trembling lightly as you reach up to cup her cheeks. Eventually, the whole world disappears and all you’re left with is the feeling of her lips.

___________________

You give in to temptation and agree to keep seeing Alexia in secret. After every game, she finds her way to your apartment, sneaking away from the press that wait for her outside of Camp Nou. The only one who knows of your relationship is Anna and you’ve sworn her to secrecy.

It turns out that what exists between the two of you is far deeper than just a physical attraction. More than just lust. There is a certain kind of comfort and peace you feel when she holds you in her arms. You’re certain Alexia feels the same way as you see the way her shoulders relax when she steps inside your apartment, and the sadness in her eyes when she has to sneak away in the morning.

You’ve also picked up on the ease with which Alexia has settled into your apartment. Her favorite Barça sweatshirt has found a home in the top left drawer of your dresser. Her toothbrush now keeps yours company in the bathroom. And every morning, without fail, she asks you to stop by the pastry shop for a coffee and chocolate croissants that, according to Alexia, are indeed the best in all of Barcelona.

Having been given a few days off to rest, you have the rare privilege of spending all day together. So, of course, the two of you decide to waste an entire day in bed.

There’s a full-length mirror in the corner of your bedroom. In its reflection, you see two bodies tangled up in messy white sheets, legs intertwined, Alexia’s fingers lightly grazing against your bare back. Goosebumps form on your skin and you don’t know if it’s from her touch or the cool breeze that’s coming through the balcony sliding door.

You turn around to face Alexia. Her hair is tousled; a small smile on her face, thoughts hidden behind her eyes.

“Everything ok?” you ask softly, tucking a loose strand behind her ear.

Alexia supports her head with her hand, looking at you with tenderness. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time,” she says, “I haven’t felt like myself in a long time.”

Little by little, Alexia has clued you in on her life as a professional athlete and all the pros and cons that come with it. At first it was a dream come true to be recognized as the best, but through the years, that title has become more of a burden than anything else.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

The media demands Alexia to secure the Champions League trophy in order to be deemed worthy of yet another Ballon D’or. They demand a player who can show up in important games: a player who can make that crucial penalty in a final. All her previous accomplishments be damned. All they remember is that penalty.

“You know I forgot my bags on purpose,” she says, tugging on the sheets draped over your body.

“What do you mean?”

Alexia let’s out a little chuckle at the memory that’s replying in her mind, “the day we first met” she says, “remember, you were rambling about how you would never forget me...”

You tug the sheets up to hide your face, a warmth on your cheeks.

“I thought it was so cute,” she says, sneaking her hand underneath the sheets to rest on your stomach, “I knew I had to get the bags before leaving but I decided to leave them behind.”

You peer out from under the sheets, “how come?”

“I wanted an excuse to come back and see you. I thought I’d let a few days go by but I don’t know, I wanted to kiss you so bad and just I couldn’t wait.”

Her confession comes to a surprise as you have always believed you made a complete, total fool of yourself that day.

“Hm, well I do have that effect on people,” you tease.

Alexia rolls her eyes and throws the sheet over the two of you. Underneath the covers, you share lingering kisses, giggles, and promises of forever.

___________________

You watched it happen live from the bookstore.

The game was tied and there was no sign of either team conceding a goal in the final minutes. But with only three minutes left in the game, Aitana was fouled inside the box and the referee immediately blew her whistle.

Penalty.

You were certain Alexia would be the one to take it and for that reason, you were on edge. Despite putting on a great performance all game, if Alexia missed the penalty, that’s all people would talk about. You knew that and most importantly, so did Alexia.

Everyone at the stadium, including you all the way at the bookstore, held their breath. You watched Alexia very carefully as she stood there, staring down the goalkeeper. What you saw sparked in you concern. There was an undeniable confidence in her posture, but in her eyes, you noticed something else entirely.

Your hands covered your face, but through the gaps, you watched the ball fly up and over the crossbar.

Alexia missed the penalty and the first leg of the champions league semifinal ended in a draw. While not the worst result, you had no doubt the media would attack her mercilessly for failing to secure the win.

Which is why you’re waiting for her at the bookshop, like you always do after a game— no matter the result. Right now, your number one priority is being there for her and to silence all the negative thoughts that are undoubtedly running through her mind.

Every tick of the clock feels like an eternity but the door does eventually open. The second Alexia’s eyes lock on you, her lips start to quiver. “I missed,” she manages to say before covering her mouth with her hands, shoulders shaking as she fights the sobs building in her chest.

You run and take her in your arms. “Oh, baby…” you say, tears welling up in your own eyes.

Alexia hugs you so fiercely, as if afraid you’ll disappear. All the disappointment, frustration, and pain rush out of her as she sobs in your arms. All you can do is stroke her back, whisper words of affection in her ear, and simply hold her in hopes that will be enough to ease a little of her pain.

But it’s hard to fight the pain when it shows up at the front door.

Strangers with flashing cameras overwhelm the entrance of the bookshop, shouting and begging for a glimpse of Alexia.

Hearing the disturbance outside, Alexia looks up from your shoulder with tear-stained cheeks. “Mierda,” she mumbles, “I rushed to get here and they must have followed me.”

Fear begins to creep on you but you try your best to hide it from her. This is exactly what you feared: your world being invaded by the press. Now that they know you and Alexia have some sort of connection, they won’t stop until they get to the bottom of it. In just one night, your little world is not so little anymore.

“It’s ok,” you assure her, running your fingers through her hair. “But we can’t stay here all night. When you’re ready, we’ll walk out and make a run for the apartment.”

Alexia, not wanting to face the press in her current state, takes a few minutes to gather her composure. She wipes the tears from her cheeks and takes a few good, deep breaths. It’s a ritual you imagine she’s had to do on more than one occasion, and it makes you hate those who are waiting outside with even more of a passion.

Hand in hand, you share one last look before walking out of the bookshop.

Nothing could have prepared you for this. All at once they all scream their questions at you and Alexia, forcing their cameras and microphones directly in front of your faces. They take no mercy despite your obvious fear and discomfort. The only one who notices is Alexia, who tightens her grip on your hand and forces her way through the crowd of reporters.

“Alexia is this your girlfriend!?” asks one of the reporters, following closely.

You put your head down, trying your best to hide your face from the cameras. Your silence does nothing to deter their never-ending onslaught of questions. All their voices mix into one, but your ears manage to catch some of the questions thrown at Alexia, and each one makes you rage more than the last.

“Do you deserve to win the Balon D’or!?”

“Why are you still taking the penalties!?”

“Alexia, how does it feel to let the team down again!?”

Little by little, the two of you manage to navigate through the crowded Riera Baixa street and make it to the front door of your apartment building. With a hand on your back, Alexia helps you get inside first as the reporters grow more and more aggressive. With force, Alexia closes the door behind her.

You can still hear their muffled voices coming from outside, but with the reporters now out of sight, you allow yourself to let out a sigh of relief. Feeling overwhelmed, you lean your back against the wall and slide down to the floor. Alexia kneels next to you and wraps her arms around you. It seems like it’s now her turn to comfort you.

“I’m so sorry, mi amor,” she whispers, softly kissing your temple, “it won’t always be like this, I promise.” Alexia tries her best to comfort you with her words, but you fear nothing will relieve the pressure you feel in your chest.

By some miracle, Alexia manages to fall asleep despite everything that happened, but you suspect it might have something to do with playing a full 90 minutes of intense professional football. You on the other hand, are still awake. The thoughts running through your mind make it difficult for you to find rest. That, and all the reporters still camped outside your front door. Some have given up and left, but others seem to be more persistent.

Glancing at Alexia, you feel a tug in your heart. The time you have spent together has been nothing but magical. Her presence in your life has reintroduced love and hope to a heart that feared it would never feel those things again. But, despite making you the happiest you’ve been in a very, very long time, you fear she might have also introduced you to something you never sought to experience.

Fame.

___________________

You haven’t been able to step a foot inside the bookshop in days. Every time you dare to step out of your apartment, reporters jump out of their hiding spots and hound you with questions about Alexia, and about your relationship with her.

Even though you have not spoken a single word to them, the press somehow managed to find out everything about you. Alexia has warned you not to go on social media for a little while, at least until everything calms down a little. You should have listened to her because it would have saved you a lot of stress and discomfort.

There are hundreds of articles written about you, diving deep into your personal and professional life. Some are even dedicated to comparing you to all of Alexia’s ex-girlfriends to see where you rank next to them. The article that affected you the most was the one that exposed your long-term relationship with your ex, and questioned if you ended it in pursuit of Alexia and her fame.

So many lies written about you and you feel powerless to them all.

You’re at the kitchen table, wrapped in a blanket with a newspaper in your hands when Alexia walks in. Interested in what you’re reading, she makes her way to you and sighs when she reads the headline.

All You Need to Know about Alexia Putellas’s New Love

“I told you to not read these things,” she says, taking the newspaper from your hands and throwing it to the side.

You don’t put up much of a fight since you already read the article a hundred times. “I know, baby, but I can’t help it,” you argue, “one day nobody knows my name and the next they know everything about me.”

Alexia sits down at the seat next to you and reaches for your hand, “I understand, mi amor” she says, her thumb caressing your knuckles. “But I promise things will get better. They’ll get bored eventually and move on to the next thing. We just need to give it a little time.”

Biting down on the inside of your cheek, you have to suppress the little bit of frustration you feel at her words. You want to go outside and point at all the reporters still there and ask her if things will truly, ever get better. But you don’t. You don’t because you know Alexia is not to blamed for any of this as she is just as much of a victim as you are.

“How was training,” you ask, trying to shift your focus to literally anything else.

Alexia lets go of your hand and runs her fingers through her hair in frustration. “Horrendous,” she says.

After her penalty miss, Alexia has been all over the place. She has no trouble falling asleep but has struggled to sleep through the night. You’ve lost count of how many times she wakes up through the night, gasping for air, her hand on her beating heart.

Every night in her dreams, Alexia steps up to take an important penalty and she misses. Every time.

“Jona tells me I’m playing with too many voices in my head,” she says, “that I should stop listening to what the media is saying about me and just play my game.”

“Kind of like how you tell me to stop reading these articles,” you counter, glancing at the newspaper Alexia threw to the side, “but we both know it’s easier said than done.”

Realizing that the both of you needed to take some time and relax, you asked Alexia to join you for a bath and she agreed without much convincing needed. When all the voices get too loud and the words printed on the pages hurt a little too much, the two of you find in each other arms a peace and quiet you so desperately need.

In the bathtub, Alexia is lying back, using your chest as a pillow. Lulled by the warmth of the water and the comfort of each other’s bodies, neither of you have said much.

“One day it will be just you and me,” she says softly, breaking the silence, “no reporters following us around, no more articles. Just you and me.”

You tighten your hold on her just a little bit and lean down to leave a kiss on her shoulder. “One day,” you reply, but your words are not said with the same amount of confidence.

Alexia gives you no indication that she picked up on the uncertainty in your voice, but she also doesn’t say anything else.

___________________

“I think it’s safe for me to go out.”

Alexia joins you by the window and takes a peek. When she doesn’t see any reporters, she smiles. “Chocolate croissants?”

“Coming right up,” you say, a little surprised to actually hear some excitement in your voice.

For the first time in what seems like forever, you dare to step out onto Riera Baixa street. The reporters camped outside your apartment appear to have taken a break and therefore, have allowed you to try and go back to your normal life. Things are different, however. Before you walked the street with no care in the world, now, you have to walk with caution and always be on the alert.

When you walk inside the pastry shop, however, you’re reminded that your life is anything but normal. Emma is working today and you hear her voice call out to you, but you can’t make our her words though the white noise and the muffled sound of your heart beating rapidly in your chest.

Your trembling hands reach for the newspaper and you read the headline to yourself.

“Dating a Football Player is Good for Business.”

The article goes into depth about the bookstore and its financials. How they managed to get this information, you don’t know. The article reveals that the bookshop barely makes a profit and clearly implies that you’re using Alexia to bring attention to the store. Their evidence? The insane number of followers the store has gotten since your relationship with Alexia was made public.

Crumbling the newspaper in your hands, you walk out of the pastry shop without even bothering to pay for it. While there are no reporters around, the familiar faces of Riera Baixa all give you a second glance and some don’t bother to lower their voices as they gossip.

“Maybe that girlfriend of hers will visit our shop and get us some attention,” someone says and it takes everything in you not to turn around and give them a piece of your mind.

The first thing Alexia notices when you walk inside is that there are no chocolate croissants in your hands. Then the newspaper and the look on your face. “What happened?” she asks, concern in her voice.

Without a word, you drop the crumbled newspaper on the kitchen table and then walk to the sofa, where you sit down with your knees tucked close to your chest.

Just like you, Alexia sees red when she reads the article. Instead of crumbling the newspaper, she shreds it to pieces with her hands.

Alexia joins you on the sofa, her hand reaches out to comfort you but you pull back from her touch. It breaks your heart to do so, but you’re just not sure you can keep going on living like this. No longer do you feel safe in your home. The street that you have grown up in and have dedicated your life to, no longer seems to welcome you. Everything you once held dear has turned its back on you.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say, feeling that familiar lump forming in the back of your throat. “This is all too much for me, Ale,” Your words are directed at her, but you don’t have the strength to look her in the eye. “You make me so happy; you really do. But I can’t take another day of lies being written about me. Tired of not being able to work… of not being able to live.”

Alexia tries to reach out to you again but hesitates, “baby, please, look at me.”

The look in her eyes shatters your heart into a million little pieces. Alexia knows you have reached your breaking point and that means she’s on the verge of losing you — if she hasn’t lost you already.

“What they said about you is horrible, but mi amor, I know the truth. We know the truth and that’s all that matters.”

You shake your head slowly, “but it’s not enough.”

Alexia leans back, visibly hurt by your words. The realization that she has indeed lost you washes over her, and you force yourself to look away once again. Alexia doesn’t say anything else and gets up to walk to your bedroom.

From the sofa, you hear her open the drawers and pack up her belongings. You fight the tears for as long as you can, but it’s a fight you never had a chance at winning.

Her footsteps draw closer and then stop in front of you. Still, you can’t look her in the eyes.

“You pushed me away once and I came back for you,” she says, “if you let me walk out this door, don’t expect me to come back again.”

When you don’t say anything in return, she looks down and nods. “If you focus on the media and their lies, you’ll never see the truth. And the truth is that at the end of the day,” she sighs, her voice soft, “I’m just a girl, standing in front of another girl, asking you to love her. That’s all.”

With that said, Alexia slings the duffel bag over her shoulder and makes her way to the front door. She doesn’t open it right away, like she’s hoping you’ll stop her.

But you don’t.

You let her walk out of your life.

___________________

“Do you think I made the right decision?”

Anna takes a moment to think, having just been told about your breakup with Alexia. “Um, well,” she says, tilting her head to the side, “yeah… I mean, all the reporters and all that ugly stuff written about you, it had to stop, right?”

You nod your head, relieved your friend understands why you had to make such a difficult and heartbreaking decision. “It was never going to end,” you say with a sigh, finding a little happiness again in restocking the shelves with the new books that arrived while you were locked away in your apartment.

Anna hums in agreement, but you fail to notice the hint of doubt in her eyes. Behind your back, she pulls out her phone and sends a quick text to someone.

A little while later the bell announces a new visitor, and you don’t have to turn around to know who it is. The smell of coffee and of fresh baked pastries are big hints, but it’s the goofy smile on Anna’s face that confirms your suspicions.

Anna’s crush, Emma, walks to the desk with coffee and a bag with croissants in her hands. “I was told there was an emergency,” she says, a teasing smile on her lips.

You appreciate their effort to make you feel better, but they just doesn’t know that chocolate croissants will forever remind you of Alexia.

“Our girl is feeling a little down, that’s all,” Anna says, walking over to Emma and giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

Emma gives you a little pout, “did something happen?” she asks with genuine concern.

Taking a deep breath, you walk towards the counter and take the cup of coffee in your hand, feeling the warmth radiating from the cup. “I ended things with Alexia,” you tell her, taking a sip of the coffee.

Anna and Emma exchange a look, a conversation taking place between them with just their eyes.

“Bad breakup?” Emma asks but seems to immediately regret it, “sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s alright,” you tell her, leaning against the very same bookshelf Alexia kissed you against that night. “I just told her I couldn’t take it anymore. You know, all the attention that comes with being with her.”

“How did she react?” Emma asks.

Your chest rises and falls with a deep sigh, “she packed her bag with what she had in my apartment and left.”

You’re about to take another sip when you remember what Alexia said before leaving, “she wanted me to know that if I just focused on the reporters and all that craziness, that I would fail to see that she was just a girl, standing in front of another girl… asking me to love her.”

Anna stops mid-bite into her croissant and looks at you with her eyes wide open, “You didn’t tell me that part.”

You look back and forth between Anna and Emma and quickly, very quickly, realize you’ve made the biggest mistake of your life.

“I fucked up, didn’t I?” you ask despite already knowing the answer.

They nod in unison.

With your coffee back on the desk, you start to pace the room with your hair in your hands. “How could I have been so stupid!?”

Once again, you allowed your fear of change to control your life. For so long you’ve lied to yourself, thinking that letting your ex walk away was ultimately for the best. But at the end of the day, all she wanted was a change of scenery. There was no doubt in her mind that the love you shared would flourish anywhere. And yet, you pushed her away. You tricked yourself into believing you were the victim but really, you were the one to break her heart. And now, you have made the same mistake with Alexia.

While you’re lost in your thoughts, Anna and Emma have their faces buried in their phones.

“Chicas, what do I do!?” you ask them, fearing that you just might be too late.

“We’re checking Twitter,” Anna says, scrolling through the app with a serious determination.

Emma looks up from the phone, “the team bus hasn’t left yet for the airport,” she announces, “it’s a little dramatic and will bring you more attention than you probably want, but I think desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“I don’t care about causing a scene,” you tell her, surprised by how confident you sound, “I’ll deal with the cameras. I just want her back.”

Anna and Emma both nod and spring to action.

“I’ll get the keys. Em, take her to the car,” Anna says, running to the backroom to get the car keys.

The three of you jump in Anna’s car with only one goal in mind: get to Alexia before it’s too late. It’s important you get to her before she leaves because one, you need to apologize for pushing her away. And two, you need to calm the thoughts that are more than likely driving her crazy.

“Buckle in everyone, today feels like a great day to lose my license,” Anna says, shifting the car in gear.

The car screeches out into the street and the engine revs as it speeds away. Maneuvering through the streets of Barcelona, your body gets thrown to the side with every turn Anna takes. You’re a little concerned at the speed, but you don’t dare to ask to her slow down.

The car comes to a halt in front of a red light and Anna taps the steering wheel in frustration. “come on… come on…” she says to herself.

As soon as the light turns green, Anna slams her foot on the pedal leaving clouds of rubber dust behind. She earns herself a few honks from the nearby drivers and when you glance back, a few middle fingers too.

In the back of the car, you’re lost in thought trying to figure out what you’re going to say to Alexia when you see her. So lost in thought that you failed to spot the familiar Bluagrana colors in the distance, moving further and further away from you by the second.

“There it is!” Emma screams out, pointing at the bus.

Staring at all the traffic up ahead, Anna grips the steering wheel and takes in a deep breath, “my time to shine.”

Emma glances back at you with a little fear in her eyes and there’s no doubt she sees the same in yours.

Anna expertly weaves the car in and out of the chocked line of traffic. A few cars swerve out of the way when they see Anna coming up behind them, earning her more honks and a few more offensive gestures. Miraculously, Anna manages to come up right up alongside the bus and repeatedly taps the horn to get the drivers attention. When the bus doesn’t slow down, Anna accelerates in an attempt to get in front of it.

“Anna, please remember that’s a bus full of professional athletes,” Emma warns her.

Anna nods, determined, “I got this.”

The bus driver, finally realizing there’s a maniac driving next to them, starts to slow down a little bit. This gives Anna the opportunity to pass the bus and get in front of it. The car starts slowing down and the bus driver has no choice but to also slow down and come to a stop.

“It’s go time, Y/N! Go get your girl,” Emma says, looking back at you and giving you two thumbs up.

You want to throw up. You’re not sure if it’s because of the nerves or because of Anna’s driving, but there’s a concerning feeling in the pit of you stomach. But, you know there’s no time to lose so push it out of your mind.

“Thank you, Annie,” you lean into the driver’s seat and give her a kiss on the cheek, “you’re the best!”

Just about you’re close the car door behind you, you hear Anna say, “and they say lesbians can’t drive.”

With the team bus stopped in the middle of a busy street, it’s no surprise a crowd has started to gather around it.

“Alexia!” you scream out, hoping she’ll hear you from the inside. If your face hadn’t been plastered all over the news these past few weeks, people would assume you’re a lunatic fan chasing after Alexia.

Instead, you’re just a girl fighting to win back the love of her life.

“Alexia! It’s me!”

You start to make your way around the bus, hoping you’ll see her sitting by one of the windows. Unfortunately, the glass is so tinted that you can barely see inside.

The sound of the bus door opening gets your attention, and you turn around to see Alexia peeking outside.

“Ale!” you say, running to her.

Alexia looks around, confused. “What’s going on?” she asks, “what are you doing here?” and you can hear the unmistakable hurt in her voice.

“I’m here for you.”

Now that you’re both standing outside, people have started to take out their cameras to capture the moment. You can see them from the corner of your eye, but you pay them no mind. You only have eyes for Alexia.

“Baby, I’m so, so sorry,” you plead, reaching for her hands but she keeps them tucked to her side, “I made a huge mistake. I was so scared, and I acted like a huge idiot. The day you walked into the bookshop; you changed my life. For so long I’ve been so afraid of change. I’ve resisted it like you wouldn’t believe. But I’m done being afraid, mi amor.”

You reach for her hand again and this time, she allows you to.

“I’ll take it all to be with you, the good and the bad. Let them write whatever they want, I don’t care,” you take a step closer, your other hand reaching up to caress her cheek, “you were right, baby, you were so right. All that matters is that we know the truth, that you know the truth,” you pause, a small smile tugging on your lips, “and the truth is that I’m so deeply and madly in love with you.”

Alexia looks around, seeing more and more people with phones in their hands all directly pointed at you. And yet, you don’t seem to care at all. There’s no doubt this little scene will be all over the news, but again, you don’t care.

“Are you sure you want all of this to be your life?” she asks, giving you one last chance to back out.

You nod without hesitation, “As long as you’re in it.”

Alexia looks deeply into your eyes, trying to find even a hint of doubt but she sees none. Out in the middle of the street, with the entire world watching, the two of you stand there. No words. No movement. No sound but a million words being said through locked eyes.

Alexia reaches up for your face with both hands and brings your lips to hers with urgency. She kisses you in front of everyone, as if though you are the only two people in the world and that’s exactly how it feels. It’s a kiss that takes your breath away and makes your heart soar.

Dazed, you open your eyes when Alexia reluctantly releases you. All around you, people clap and whistle.

“I hate to interrupt you two lovebirds,” a voice calls out, and you look behind Alexia to see her manager, Jona, outside the bus, “but we have a plane to catch.”

Alexia nods back at him but you have a feeling that if it were up to her, she wouldn’t be going anywhere.

You take her face in her your hands, “listen to me, Putellas,” a serious tone in your voice, “you are the best football player in the world, do you hear me? We all make mistakes but you should never let them define you. Those penalties mean nothing, Ale. Ballon D’or or no Ballon D’ D’or, it will not tarnish your legacy. So, I want you to walk out onto that pitch with your head held high, and kick some ass.”

Your words seem to resonate deeply with her because she pulls her shoulders back and nods her head with a new, fierce determination in her eyes.

“And you’ll be here when I come back?” she asks.

“No matter what.”

___________________

With Anna and Emma by your side, you watched Alexia take the free kick that guaranteed Barça’s spot in the final. While they jumped up and down in each other’s arms, your eyes remained glued to the screen. Alexia celebrated the goal with so much passion, unleashing all the frustration and anger that has plagued her for so long. But, as her teammates started to return to their positions, Alexia pointed at one of the cameras and formed a heart with her hands. A message for you.

Barça went on to win the final and you got to watch the love of your life, and the captain of the greatest football club in all of Europe, lift the Champions League trophy.

After the spectacle they witnessed when you proclaimed your love for Alexia to the entire world, reporters follow the two of you everywhere you go. While it certainly has not been easy to get used to, you find comfort in Alexia’s touch. When she senses you’re feeling overwhelmed, she whispers, I love you, in your ear and reminds you of what is really important.

Like now, you’re sitting in a limousine about to walk your first ever red carpet. Alexia is by your side, confident, with no hint of nerves on her features.

“You ready, mi amor?” she asks, her face illuminated by the flashing cameras that wait for her outside.

“I’m ready.”

The door opens and the fans explode in a roar when they get their first good look at Alexia. Winning the Champions League final only cemented her as the best football player in the world, and the entire world stands at attention in her presence.

Alexia leads you to the red carpet, not once ever letting go of your hand. You stand together, side by side, posing for pictures you know will be plastered on every newspaper and spread all over social media. And yet, you feel no fear or discomfort. All that matters to you is that light in Alexia’s eyes, and how it has continued to shine bright with you by her side.

“I’m happy you’re here,” she whispers in your ear, causing a blush to creep up on your cheeks.

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

When they call her name and announce her as the winner of the Ballon d'Or, you watch as the most prominent members of the football world all rise in her honor. The spotlight shines on her ethereal beauty and it makes your heart skip a beat. You fall in love with her all over again.

Right as she’s finishing up her speech, she looks down at where you are sitting and smiles at you with love in her eyes. “I love you,” she mouths, and blows a kiss in your direction.

A kiss you reach up to catch, and hold very dearly close to your heart.

😭❤️‍🩹

learning curve part 5

alexia putellas x reader [& r's nephew] after a hectic and rushed morning, will gets sick. r and alexia take care of him. later in the week, r and alexia lose to real madrid, and will tries to help. fluff + hurt comfort 🙂

—

It seemed as though for every obstacle overcome, another one almost immediately presented itself. Every time you were able to push some doubt you had about yourself out of your head, another one replaced it. And every time, Alexia was there to ground you back to reality. She had enough confidence in you that it was okay when you didn’t really feel it in yourself. 

And as time passed, your own confidence grew, and it seemed like Alexia’s did too. Until it was shaken. 

Mornings in your household were pretty routine. Alexia got up, giving you time to sleep in as she got Will up and ready for the day. At first, you’d felt bad that she was taking the morning with him and you weren’t doing anything. But, as Alexia argued, you did almost the entirety of his bedtime with him, while Alexia pretended not to fall asleep on the sofa. And Ale liked having time with him in the morning, and she was awake anyway. 

The two of them had their own special little morning routine, which included a walk around the neighborhood and Will spending 10 minutes picking his outfit out. It was practiced, at this point; Will and Alexia moved through the morning with purpose while you moved through the morning practically half conscious until your coffee kicked in, normally just as you were leaving the house to drop Will at school and head to training. 

This morning, however, was neither routine nor practiced. You and Alexia had been up later than you’d intended. Normally, her internal clock woke her up without fail. It seemed that not getting her 9 hours had messed with her internal alarm, and she was roughly shaking you awake just 20 minutes before you had to leave. 

“Amor. Amor. We overslept, levántante!” Alexia was almost frantic. 

You groaned, batting her hand away from your shoulder. She was usually much nicer when she woke you up, though the circumstances obviously wouldn’t allow for the few minutes she normally spent stroking your hair and kissing your face. 

“If you do not get up right now, we won’t have time for coffee.” Alexia called over her shoulder, heading down the hall to get Will up. 

And with that, you were scrambling out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom. What followed was a very chaotic and very rushed 20 minutes, but you managed to make it out of the house in time, travel mug of coffee in hand. Will was eating his breakfast quietly in the backseat on the way to his school, Alexia driving calmly like she hadn’t acted like a maniac to get everyone out of the house on time, and you were trying to make your hair look less like Alexia had very clearly had you on your back the night before. 

Alexia pulled into the dropoff line, and you reached back to undo Will’s car seat buckles. 

“Have a good day, buddy. We’ll see you later.” You told him, ruffling his hair as he gave you a small smile. 

“Love you Tia, love you Ale,” he called, opening the door and carefully climbing down out of the car. 

You only really had time to think once you were driving towards training, half your coffee already gone. It was more than a little odd that you and Alexia had been allowed to oversleep. Will woke up at roughly the same time everyday, and in the rare event Alexia didn’t get him up, he got her up. Today, though, he’d still been sleeping when she’d gone in to wake him, almost an hour and a half later than normal. It hadn’t struck you as odd until you’d thought about it for more than 5 seconds, but once you had… you were retroactively trying to analyze your nephew’s behavior in the short time you’d been with him that morning. 

“Did something seem off to you? With Will this morning?” 

Alexia hummed, thinking. “No. A little quiet, I guess. Maybe he didn’t sleep well.” 

You nodded, going over Wil’s behavior that morning. Quiet felt like it was only part of it, but Alexia was always more observant than you. 

“You’re right. He’s fine.” 

“He’s fine.” Alexia echoed, reaching over to grab your hand and lace your fingers with hers. She glanced over with a reassuring smile. “You’re overthinking. He’s okay.” 

You returned her smile, trying to convince yourself. There was just this nagging feeling in the back of your head, one you couldn’t get rid of. Will’s face as you dropped him off this morning  kept popping into your head, and maybe you were imagining things, but it seemed different than his usual smile. His goodbye had been quieter, and you could have sworn he walked slower into the building than normal. 

You shook your head, squeezing Alexia’s hand and trying to focus on her next to you before you began to freak out over nothing. Will was fine. 

—

Will was not fine. He’d woken up feeling positively awful, like everything in his body wasn’t working right. His head felt cloudy and his brain felt slower than normal. He’d barely been able to eat even a few bites of his breakfast before he had to give up, his stomach turning. He was warm when he woke up, his dinosaur comforter and matching sheets pushed to the bottom of his bed, but so cold his teeth were chattering in the car on the way to school, even wrapped in his new Barcelona sweatshirt. [Alexia had brought it home for him two days ago, despite you telling her he didn’t need anymore clothes. Alexia was always bringing him home little things she saw that made her think of him, and those were his most favorite things. The brontosaurus ornament from the christmas shop she’d gone to with you, the glow-in-the-dark shoes she’d brought home from a nike photo shoot, the spiderman keychain to attach to his backpack she’d gotten in the airport on the way home from an away game.]

Will wanted nothing more than to go home and burrow under the knit blanket you kept on the couch. He didn’t even care if you didn't let him watch the TV, as long as the icky feeling that filled his entire body went away soon. He thought about saying something, telling you he didn’t feel well. 

But then he’d remembered what Alexia had said the night before, about today being an important training session before you played Madrid over the weekend. Will wasn’t quite sure how long training was, but he assumed it was like school, and you’d be gone all day. And Will knew that football was your and Alexia’s job, and his Dad had always told him how important jobs were. When Will still lived with his Dad, he hadn’t been allowed to stay home sick, because his Dad couldn’t miss work. 

If anything, your and Alexia’s job seemed even bigger and more important than his Dad’s job. If Will said he was sick, one of you might have to stay home with him and miss training. That would be making way too much trouble, Will had decided. So, he’d put on a brave face and gone to school. 

Maybe, when he got home, he could say he was extra tired, and take a nap on the couch with one of you. Maybe you’d lay with him on the couch and scratch his back like you did when he had a bad dream. He had to get through the school day first, a task that was feeling more and more impossible with every passing second. 

—

The call came after the gym session. You always kept your phone on you now, as the adult responsible for a small child. It was a beautiful day, the kind that you pictured when you’d signed with Barcelona. Sun shining, warm on your skin. Your muscles ached in the best way, and though your worry for your nephew persisted somewhat, Alexia had been very reassuring. You walked with her now, from the gym out to the pitch, chatting easily about some gossip her sister had told her on the phone. It was funny, how you spent practically all your time together but you never ran out of things to talk about. Your teammates teased you for it, how you were constantly together, attached at the hip. 

Your phone rang, but Alexia kept going on about Alba’s horrible co-worker, assuming it wasn’t a call you’d need to take in the middle of training. Yet when you pulled it out of your pocket and saw it was Will’s school calling, and Alexia caught a glimpse of the caller ID over your shoulder, she cut herself off abruptly. 

“Hello?” You answered, stopping just off the pitch. You motioned for Alexia to go ahead without you, as Pere was calling everyone to gather around him, but she just rolled her eyes, leaning her head closer to try to listen. 

“Hello, is this Will’s guardian?” 

“Yes. Is everything okay?”

“Well, we have Will here in the nurse’s office, and…” 

You listened intently, as did Alexia, though there was something heavy now weighing on her mind. You’d told her that something wasn’t right with Will that morning. And she hadn’t listened. She’d been more focused on reassuring you and calming your anxiety, not pausing to think whether you might be worrying for a good reason. 

The nurse explained that Will had gotten sick in class, and needed to be picked up right away. Alexia was telling one of the assistant coaches who had wandered over that there was a family emergency and you both had to go before you’d even hung up the phone. As soon as you did, though, you turned to Alexia, face pinched with concern. 

“Ale, you can stay–”

“No.” Alexia said assuredly, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the building. “We will both go get him.” 

Through your concern, your heart felt like it grew in size. Alexia never missed training voluntarily. Never. But now, she was rushing out with barely any notice to go with you to get Will, and you were reminded of how lucky you were to have her with you in this. 

Even if she wasn’t thinking the same thing about herself in that moment. 

—

The two of you rushed into the nurse’s office, panicked to a level that the nurse was not unfamiliar with. It was always the same with first time parents, when they had to come get their sick kid from school for the first time. The panic was always the same, you and Alexia practically breaking down her door in your haste to get to your nephew. 

“Will,” you sighed, some of the stress and anxiety leaving your body at the sight of him in front of you. He was curled up on his side, tears still falling, pale and shaky, yet you were with him now, and that made it a little better.

“I’m sorry.” Will whimpered, sitting up shakily and wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

“It’s okay, mi amor, don’t be sorry.” Alexia cooed, crouching down in front of the small cot and leaning in to kiss Will’s temple. She followed up with her hand right after, pressing it to his forehead and feeling the heat of his skin. He had a fever. How had she missed this? 

Carefully, you pulled Will into your arms, lifting him easily. 

“Please don’t be sorry, Will. I’m sorry we didn’t realize you weren’t feeling well.” You told him, slowly rubbing his back as he cried. 

“I threw up in class and everyone saw.” He sobbed, burying his face in your neck. Your heart broke, and one look at Alexia told you hers was doing the same. 

“I’ll sign him out.” Alexia murmured, resting one hand on Will’s back for a moment before heading to the desk, Will’s dinosaur backpack comically slung over her shoulder. You began to walk with your nephew out of the building and to the car, hearing his cries begin to slow. 

When you finally got him buckled into his seat, after some convincing required to get him to let go of you, you felt his forehead just as Alexia had. 

“Oh, buddy, you’re burning up.” You murmured. 

Will’s lip was still trembling, but he tried to smile at you. “I’m… I’m okay.” 

You could have laughed at how visibly untrue that statement was, but nothing about this was funny. Not even Alexia wearing Will’s backpack out to the car, much too small on her back. 

You just kissed the top of his head, shut his door and headed around to the passenger seat. The car was quiet for a minute as Alexia backed out of the parking lot, only just noticing how poorly she had parked in her haste to get to Will. 

“Are we going to football?” Will piped up quietly from the backseat. He’d come a few times, when he hadn’t had school, and he was hoping you and Ale would just bring him there so you wouldn’t miss work. 

You and your girlfriend exchanged confused glances, Alexia studying him in the rearview mirror. 

“No, bud, we’re going home. You’re sick, you need to rest.” You replied. 

You weren’t expecting Will to start crying again, but the sound of his sniffling soon filled the car. 

“But… but work is important. You can’t miss just for me!” 

You twisted around in your seat to look at him, reaching out a hand to rest on his knee. His little face was flushed red, from sickness or emotion you weren’t sure. It shattered your heart that he would ever presume that football was more important than him. 

“Will, you are much more important than work. So much more important.” You told him, tilting your head slightly to make eye contact with him.

“Cariño, did you feel ill this morning and not tell us because we had training?” Alexia cut in, the question practically burning on the way out. 

A moment passed before your nephew nodded slightly. You half wanted to tell Alexia to stop the car so you could get into the backseat and pull Will into your arms, and half wanted Alexia to just run you over. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the idea to lie about being sick, but it felt like a massive failure on your part. 

“If you’re sick, baby, you have to tell us so we can take care of you. You don’t need to worry about football or training or anything; you come first, okay?” 

“Will, you are the most important to us. More than football, do you understand?” Alexia asked, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. 

Will nodded, his brown hair flopping into his eyes as he did so. “Okay.” 

—

Alexia felt like the guilt could crush her. She never never wanted you or Will to think that football was more important to her. Yet here Will was, so sick his little body was shaking, but he’d tried to power through so he wouldn’t interrupt training. 

It was with this guilt in her mind that she hovered uncertainly over the sofa, watching as you tucked Will under her favorite knit blanket, the one she preferred when she was sick, too. Alexia assumed neither you nor Will would want her around in that moment. You, because she’d talked you out of being rightfully worried for your nephew. And Will, for making him feel like he came second to her. 

She was minutes away from offering to go to the grocery store and get the ingredients to make soup, just so she could have an excuse to call her Mami in the car and tell her how badly she messed up. 

Well, how badly she thought she messed up.

“Okay, buddy. What can I get you? A snack? Soup? Anything?” You wondered, brushing his hair out of his face. 

Alexia’s thoughts were still racing as Will’s gaze flicked over to her. 

“Pancakes?” He wondered quietly, giving you a half smile. You chuckled, not sure why you thought he’d ask for anything else.

“Of course. I’ll go make them.” You stood, freezing when Alexia cleared her throat and spoke shakily. 

“No, I can. You stay here with him.” She said quietly. 

You raised your eyebrows, something about your girlfriend’s demeanor throwing you off. She seemed miserable and close to tears, somehow. Frowning, you opened your mouth, ready to ask her to join you in the kitchen for a minute so you could figure out what was wrong. 

Will beat you to it, though. “Tia, sit with me?” 

Will wasn’t looking at you, though. He was looking at Alexia. Her gaze flickered between yours and Will’s for a moment, completely dumbstruck. 

“M-me?” Alexia asked, wringing her hands together. It had been a while since you’d seen her like this, so visibly upset when she was normally the picture of composure. 

It didn’t seem to push Will off, though, because he just nodded. “Tia Ale sit with me. Tia go make pancakes.” 

Will had called Alexia… Alexia the entire few months he’d been here. Sometimes Ale, but never anything else. You were Tia, and Alexia was Alexia. Until now, apparently. 

Alexia could have sobbed, truly. Just when she’d been thoroughly convinced she was a horrible.. guardian or whatever she was, Will had innocently asked for her to sit with him, and fixed every doubt that was gripping her heart. 

And you… you were looking at her with tears in your own eyes, a smile on your face. There was no annoyance on your face, no blame in your eyes. You just looked happy. 

Maybe she hadn’t messed up as bad as she thought. 

Without another word, Alexia sat on the couch, sliding under the blanket with Will and tucking him into her side. He snuggled right against her, his face still slightly pinched with discomfort, but seeming a lot more comfortable now. 

After a minute of silence, Alexia now beaming at you from the couch, Will looked away from the TV back to where you were standing, watching the two of them fondly. 

“Tia? Pancakes? Please?” He reminded you. 

You nodded with a small laugh, leaning down to kiss his temple, and Alexia’s before heading into the kitchen. 

You really loved your little family. 

—

Will admittedly didn’t know much about football. He knew that you and Alexia were very good, knew that you both worked very hard. He knew Barcelona wore the blue and red colors, and he’d learned the numbers that appeared on the back of your kits. Though he’d yet to attend a match, he’d watched most of them from Eli’s couch while she gave him all the snacks he could ever want. 

Will was watching when you and Alexia lost to Real Madrid, and Eli tried to explain to him the significance. All he really took away from that conversation, though, was that you and Ale would be sad, and he should probably give you hugs to make it better. 

He’d done so when you picked him up from Eli’s, allowing Alexia time to head home and decompress. Will hugged you tight, Alexia even tighter once he got home and saw the frown on her face. It was late in the evening, already past his bedtime, and the two of you were very quiet. 

Will thought he sort of knew how you felt, because he didn’t like losing the games at recess, either. There wasn’t much he could think to do, though. He’d barely been home 10 minutes before you were asking him to go get his pajamas out, so he could start getting ready for bed. You and Alexia walked in a few minutes later, after having a tense whispered conversation in the hall, one that Will did not miss. 

He could tell you were both upset, but you tried your best not to let it show that you were somewhat upset with each other. It always happened after a loss, especially one like this. You and Alexia would be tense, snap at each other. It was a different situation entirely now that Will was here, his little face gazing up at the two of you, wide eyed, where he sat tucked under his covers. 

He’d put his pajamas on himself, and both you and Alexia cracked smiles when you noticed his shirt was on backwards. He smiled back, wordlessly holding out his favorite book for one of you to read. 

You took it, perching on the edge of his bed while Alexia leaned in the doorway, exhaustion causing her eyes to droop. Will looked between the two of you as you opened the book. 

“Are you fighting?” 

Alexia’s eyes were on you, you could tell, waiting for you to take the lead. You didn’t quite feel like looking at her, so you smiled softly at your nephew, running a hand through his brown curls. 

“No, bud. We’ve just had a long day.” 

Will looked dubious, even as Alexia nodded along. 

“It sounded like you were fighting. In the hall. When you said Alexia was being mean and Alexia said you didn’t care about her feelings.” 

You froze at that, not quite sure what your response was supposed to be. You were so tired, too tired to figure out how to explain that you and Alexia were just having a small argument to Will. Every part of your body ached from the physical match that had been played, and you swore you still felt as cold as if you’d stepped out of the rain just a minute ago and not several hours ago. 

Just before you were about to stumble your way through some explanation, Alexia cleared her throat. 

“We aren’t fighting, cariño. Your Tia and I just care a lot about football, and when we lose, it makes us sad.” 

“That’s what Eli said, that you would be sad, and I should give you a really big hug.” 

Alexia smiled softly, stepping further into the room, but not quite approaching you. You still wouldn’t look at her. 

“She’s right, your hug made me feel so much better. Your Tia and I hate losing, and sometimes we aren’t very nice to each other after we lose. But we aren’t fighting, just… disagreeing.” 

Will thought for a moment, his fingers fiddling with his navy blue spiderman pajama top.

“You should be better at losing.” He said finally. 

You snorted, and Alexia laughed. Will smiled proudly, even as you shook your head in mock disbelief. 

“Says the little boy who flipped the board over when he lost at checkers yesterday!” 

Will giggled, and the tension was broken. Mostly. 

Neither of you wanted him to carry the weight you were feeling, feel sad just because you both were. You kept his nighttime routine as normal as possible, reading his book and tucking him in, both of you kissing his forehead before heading out. 

Alexia didn’t say anything as you headed to your shared bedroom, but to be fair, neither did you. It was a bit early for the two of you to head to bed, but after the day you’d had, both of you knew sleep would be the best thing. 

Pajamas on, you and Alexia slid into bed, the room still silent. It only took a minute after you flicked the light off for the bed to shift, Alexia’s warm body sliding closer until she was pressed up against you. 

Tired of being mad, you turned into her, resting your head against her chest as her arms encircled you. A deep sigh escaped you, and you felt like it was the first real breath you’d had since the full time whistle had blown. 

“I’m sorry. I was harsh, and I shouldn’t have been. I love you.” Alexia murmured, lips pressing a kiss to your hair. 

You snuggled closer, inhaling again the scent of her. “I’m sorry too. You’re allowed to be upset, I shouldn’t have tried to fix it when you just needed to feel it.” 

“And we both need to get better at losing.” Alexia replied. You could hear the small grin in her voice, feel her chest shake slightly as she chuckled. 

“Apparently.” You agreed. 

“Goodnight, mi amor.” 

“Goodnight my Ale.” 

And just like that, everything was fine again. Everything was fixed. 

—

Will woke early the next morning. As was his routine, he got up and headed for your room to wake Alexia up. She was an early riser, didn’t mind getting up with him and letting you sleep in. Most of the time, she was already kind of awake, scrolling on her phone. 

This morning, though, when Will pushed the door open and peaked his head in, Alexia wasn’t awake. She was out cold, head practically shoved under her pillow, while you slept completely on the other side of the bed, one arm hanging off the side of the bed. You both looked very comfy, and Will remembered last night, how tired Alexia had seemed. She’d practically fallen asleep in his doorway standing up. 

Thinking for a moment, Will turned around and headed back to his room. He grabbed his ipad out from his backpack, the one he took with him for the car trip to Eli’s. He wasn’t technically supposed to have it now, but he figured that you wouldn’t mind if he let you sleep. He grabbed his headphones, too, his favorite blanket and his most favorite dino, Robert. As quietly as he could, he crept back down the hall and into your room. Climbing up on the bed, he took advantage of the ample space between the two of you, settling back against the pillows under his blankie. He plugged his headphones in, tucked his dino under one arm, and pressed play on his favorite dinosaur show.

This way, you both could keep sleeping, and he didn’t have to play alone somewhere by himself. 

—

You awoke to small, insistent hands pulling at the comforter so it covered more of you. Before you could open your eyes, little hands pushing into the blanket, tucking it in nice and tight around you. Groggily, you cracked an eye, finding Will’s face just a few inches away. He looked… guilty, like he’d looked when he broke the vase on the coffee table, and you were immediately alert. 

“What’s up bud?” You whispered, conscious that Ale was still asleep on the other side of your nephew. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean t’wake you.” Will whispered back. “You looked cold.” 

“What are you doing in here, hm? You should be in your bed.” 

Will pulled a face, tugging his headphones off his head. “But it’s late and I was bored.” 

You clocked the sun peaking in between the curtains, startled to realize it was much higher in the sky than it should have been. It was at least 10, and Will always got up before 7:30. 

“Oh, buddy, it is late. I’m so sorry, why didn’t you wake one of us up?” 

By one of us, you meant Alexia. 

Will just shrugged, shyly smiling at you. “You were sad last night. And when I’m sad, you tell me it makes my body tired and that’s why I’m more sleepy. So you needed more sleep too, you and Tia Ale.” 

Your heart melted and you pulled the small boy down into your arms, squeezing tight. 

“You are the sweetest boy.” You told him. 

Will beamed, squeezing you back. “I got my ipad even though I wasn’t supposed to.” 

Leaning back, you brushed his messy hair off his forehead. That was what the guilty look was for. As if you’d be upset with him for wanting to let you both sleep, but also not wanting to be by himself. As if you’d be mad he brought his ipad in here and put on his Dino show and wore his headphones and tucked the blankets around you because you looked cold. 

“That’s okay, buddy.” You replied. “You are so thoughtful to let us sleep in.”

“Tia Ale says it’s important to be thoughtful and kind.” Will said, echoing something you knew Alexia told him every morning before he left for school. It was something her Mami had always said to her, Alexia had told you once. 

“Alexia is right.” You nodded, settling back into the pillows with Will now laid in your arms. Next to him, the mattress shifted, and a raspy voice piped up. 

“Alexia is always right.” Ale said sleepily, not even opening her eyes as she blindly reached to pat Will on the head. Will laughed, a sound that was quickly becoming one of your favorites in the world. 

For a few minutes, the room stayed silent, Will laid between the two of you, for the moment content to sit still. You were still waking up, and Alexia could probably barely be considered awake.

“Hey, Tia?” Will murmured, breaking the quiet peacefulness of the morning. You hummed for him to continue. “Can I call my Daddy?” 

Sometimes you forgot. You shouldn’t forget, but you did, and you knew Ale did too. Sometimes things just went so well, Will fit so perfectly into your family that you forgot the circumstances under which he was here. And when you remembered, you were instantly filled with guilt. Like you were stealing something from your brother. You should be talking more about Leo, calling Leo more often. 

Will wasn’t yours, but he was. It was a difficult line to walk, a difficult thing to balance. Will wasn’t your son but you felt like a parent. Alexia felt like a parent, had taken to being one so easily. But Will wasn’t your son. He was your nephew, and the last thing you wanted was to try to take the place of Leo. 

As you pulled your phone out, dialling the number for the prison, you wondered if you’d ever figure out how to fit into Will’s life without feeling like you weren’t doing enough, were doing too much. You wondered if you’d ever feel like you were doing right by your brother, and right by Will. 

You were torn from your spiral when the call connected. Instead of the usual robotic voice stating you would soon be connected through to Leo, it was the same robotic voice, telling you the call had not been accepted. There were plenty of reasons for Leo not to pick up the phone, plenty of real, valid reasons. For some reason you couldn’t explain, though, your stomach had dropped. Something about it felt wrong, especially knowing that Leo knew Will liked to call Sunday mornings. 

You glanced over to where Will was poking at Alexia’s face, where she was pretending to be going back to sleep. He was laughing, and you could see Ale fighting a small smile herself. With a deep sigh, you forced a tense smile onto your face. 

“Will?” The boy turned towards you, face lit up with excitement as he reached for the phone. “I’m sorry, baby, your Dad couldn’t pick up. He’s… he’s busy.”

The smile fell from Will’s face, the room suddenly feeling a few degrees colder. Alexia’s eyes flew open, fixed on Will’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment. 

“Oh. Okay.” He whispered, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap. 

It was like the life had been sucked out of him. You thought hard, trying to think of anything you could offer him or promise him that would lift his mood again. Alexia beat you to it. 

“Hey, cariño? Do you want to go out for pancakes?” She suggested, resting a hand on Will’s back. 

Still staring at his hands tightly clasped in his lap, Will slowly shook his head, much to your astonishment. Will never turned down pancakes, especially at his favorite breakfast place. You didn’t go often because it was a ways away, and normally, the suggestion would have had him skipping around the room with joy. 

“No thank you.” He mumbled, sniffling. His small fist came up to rub at his face and your heart broke even more. Alexia looked like she was in physical pain, fighting the urge to pull Will into a bone crushing hug. 

Carefully, you shifted back down in the bed, opening your arms for your nephew. He practically lunged forward, wrapping his arms tight around your neck and shoving his face into your shoulder. 

“Oh, buddy.” You murmured, wishing there was something you could say to make it better. 

There wasn’t. 

Alexia ran a hand through her disheveled hair and moved closer, wrapping her arms around you both as she kissed the top of Will’s head. One of Will’s hands unwrapped itself from around your neck, moving to grab a fistful of Alexia’s sweatshirt. Like he was trying to be as close to the two of you as possible, as if you could protect him from what he was feeling. You wished you could, more than anything. 

The three of you sat there in silence, all deep in thought, and you knew neither you nor Alexia would move until Will moved. 

What you didn’t know, though, was that this was the first of many unexplained declined calls from Leo. Just the beginning of a sudden complete silence you couldn’t begin to explain to yourself or to Will. 

—

:) cranked this out in between studying. hope you enjoyed ❤️‍🩹

lucy really meant it when she said she’s lucky to play with her for both club and country bc 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Bebita - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Turns out the captain’s toughest rival isn’t on the pitch-it’s her own baby, who smiles for the squad but not for her.

Warning: One adorable baby, one jealous Alexia, and two exhausted parents who are definitely too tired for anything even remotely sexy.

Word count: 2.7

a/n: This is a scheduled post, I'm sleeping.

MASTERLIST

..

The VIP area sat a few rows up–quiet except for the distant thump of the ball and the soft murmur of the crowd. Y/n settled into the seat, baby Clara balanced on her lap. 

Clara’s tiny brunette pigtails bobbed as she wriggled against Y/n’s chest, her hazel eyes fixed on the green pitch below. She was always like that, always trying to move away from Y/n and Alexia, even though she had barely learned how to stand on her own.

Out on the field, Alexia knelt on one knee, cycling through her familiar pre‑match stretch, every motion precise and powerful. 

Clara watched, leaning forward as though she understood that the woman in the Barça kit was her other mama.

“Look, mi amor,” Y/n whispered, angling Clara so she could see. “Do you see Mami?”

Clara squealed happily, reaching out to point. In her other hand, she clutched the battered cat‑culer teddy Vicky had given her.

It had been a gift for Clara’s first birthday, which had happened just weeks ago. How did a one-year-old manage to take off the cat's tails, bite down its ear and unsew its eyes? Y/n wasn’t sure, but she was sure that Clara loved the thing dearly.

Y/n brushed a strand of hair from Clara’s forehead. “She’s getting ready to play for you today.”

Clara shifted, trying to stand. Her little legs wobbled, and she toppled onto Y/n’s thigh with a surprised giggle.

“You’re going to fall,” Y/n laughed, scooping her daughter, sitting her on her lap. “You just learned how to do that–be patient.”

Clara patted Y/n’s cheek, then lifted Cat, pressing it against her cheek as if comforting herself–and everyone else too.

Through the railing, Y/n watched Alexia rise and take a final glance toward the stands, her eyes briefly meeting Y/n’s. 

Alexia gave a single nod, smiling shyly.

Y/n smiled and took Clara’s small hand and waved at Alexia. “Say hi to mami, Bebita.”

Clara babbled excitedly, watching her mom.

Y/n pressed her lips to Clara’s pigtail. “Ready to see Mama in action? The game’s starting.”

Clara kicked her legs and clutched Cat tighter.

Y/n put earmuffs on Clara, and they both waited for Alexia’s first touch of the ball.

..

Y/n stepped down onto the pitch, Clara cradled in her arms, the roar of the crowd fading into a soft hum now that the final whistle had blown. 

Alexia jogged over from midfield, still in her game‑worn kit, sweat-slick hair plastered to her forehead, a smile on her face, both from seeing her little family and from winning the game as well.

Clara’s hazel eyes gleamed–not at Alexia, but at the Cat teddy Y/n held. 

Y/n had just pried it away to stop Clara from yanking out its last button eye, but the little one was too quick; she snatched it back, buried her face in its floppy ear, and squeezed it as if it were the only thing in the world.

“Hey, mi amor–where’s my big winner's smile?” Alexia called softly, holding out her arms for Clara.

Clara peeked over the teddy. 

Y/n wasn’t sure, but somehow Clara has mastered the deadpan face at only one year and two weeks.

Alexia’s brow furrowed. 

Alexia’s brow creased in confusion. “Why so serious, bebita?” she asked, reaching to lift Clara into her arms—but each time she tried, Clara twisted away.

“She didn’t even give me a single grin,” Alexia said, casting a pleading glance at Y/n. “Do you think… is she mad at me?”

Y/n chuckled, rocking Clara gently against her. “She’s not mad, amor. I think she’s just tired.”

“Tired?” Alexia scoffed. “I saw her napping from the pitch.”

“Sleeping surrounded by thousands of people isn’t the same as snoozing at home,” Y/n replied, stepping closer. “But now, can the captain give me some attention?”

Alexia grinned, leaning in for a quick kiss, only to feel something wet against her cheek. Clara was pushing her face away,

“Okay, wow,” Alexia said, feigning offence. “What’s put you in such a mood, huh? Did Mama not breastfeed you today?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Of course I did.”

Before Y/n could even get a word out, Vicky and Jana appeared at the edge of the pitch, grinning like they’d just won the lottery.

“Bebita!” they called in perfect unison, spotting Clara from a distance.

Clara’s deadpan expression shattered instantly into a bright, gummy grin–her two little teeth front and centre like she was showing them off. 

As the two girls jogged over, she actually started to wiggle in Y/n’s arms, arms flailing in excitement.

Vicky scooped her up with practised ease, plopping Clara into her lap like they were old besties. 

Jana was already fussing with her pigtails, smoothing them down and cooing sweet nothings that had Clara giggling, soft and high-pitched, the kind of sound that made everyone around them melt.

Y/n and Alexia shared a long, stunned glance.

Alexia crossed her arms, deeply offended. “Wow. Amazing. My own filla [daughter] ignores me but loses her mind for these two.”

Y/n patted her shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. “Don’t pout, campeona. She does love you–just maybe not right now.”

Alexia sighed deeply, leaning over to tousle Clara’s hair in an attempt to salvage her dignity. 

But Clara, nestled happily in Vicky’s arms, gave her a very unimpressed wave–one lazy, pudgy little hand–and turned right back around to cuddle her beloved teddy and friend.

Y/n could swear she saw her daughter frown at Alexia. A warning frown. 

Alexia looked wounded. “Did… did she just glare at me?”

Y/n bit back a laugh. “Maybe. A little. You might have messed with her giggling privileges.”

“I hope she doesn’t expect me to pick her up from parties when she’s older,” Alexia muttered, arms wrapped lazily around Y/n from behind.

Y/n snorted. “Oh? So you’re already planning to let her go to parties now? Because last I heard, you said she wouldn’t be out of our sight until she turned 23 and a half.”

“Shut up,” Alexia grumbled, chin on Y/n’s shoulder, eyes narrowed as more players started to swarm their tiny queen. “She’s supposed to be obsessed with us, not… them.”

Clara, meanwhile, was thriving. Surrounded by teammates, she sat like a baby monarch on Vicky’s lap, accepting all compliments and forehead kisses.

Alexia checked her Samsung watch. Fifteen minutes.

“That’s ridiculous,” she huffed. “I carried her for nine months!”

Y/n said grumpily. “No, you didn’t. I did.”

Alexia rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m the one who wakes up every night to change her diaper.”

Y/n gave an exaggerated shrug. “Yeah… that’s fair.”

Alexia had already had enough. She pulled away and marched toward the huddle of players, determined to reassert her maternal dominance.

By then, Clara had migrated from Vicky to Patri, who had Pina crouched in front of them playing peek-a-boo with the intensity of a professional entertainer. 

Every “boo!” sent Clara into high-pitched giggles, her tiny arms flailing like she was trying to fly.

Off to the side, Salma had somehow gotten hold of the Cat Culer plush and was cradling it like a kitten, complete with exaggerated ‘mrow-mrow’ sounds and purring noises. 

Clara was enchanted. She squealed and reached both hands toward Salma.

She swivelled from Patri to Salma, a wide smile spreading across her face. It was a deadly combo: Patri’s over-the-top silly faces and Salma’s soft, ridiculous lullaby cat impressions.

Alexia barely made it back to the group before Clara let out a delighted squeal.

Too much. That was too much joy for one player circle.

Without warning, Alexia swooped in and plucked Clara right out of Patri’s arms.

“Come on, Clara,” she muttered, hoisting Clara onto her hip like a protective mama bear. “You’re ours.”

“Noo!” Patri gasped, hands dramatically outstretched. “Our amiga!”

“She was smiling!” Jana chimed in from seemingly nowhere.

Alexia blinked. “Where did you even come from?”

Jana just pouted and pointed. “She likes me more than you.”

Alexia raised her brows. “She drooled on your shoulder last week.”

Alexia ignored them all, bouncing Clara gently on her hip and muttering like a dramatic villain, “Your amiga needs to sleep in one hour, chicas. Back off.”

And that’s what did it.

Clara’s big eyes blinked once… twice… and then her lip wobbled.

The betrayal hit her in full force.

She let out a wail so dramatic, so raw and heartbroken. How did a baby have so many emotions? Who knows?

Alexia’s face fell in real time. 

“Oh, come on, bebita…” she cooed, trying to adjust her hold, bouncing Clara with expert panic. “Don’t cry. Mama’s sorry–”

“Give her back,” Vicky said, deadpan. 

“No!” Alexia turned, spinning away like she was protecting Clara, “She’s mine. I made her.”

“You did not!” Y/n called after her.  “I made her, remember? Forty-three weeks?”

Alexia didn’t turn around. “Fine, but I clipped her nails yesterday. Let me have this!”

Y/n stepped forward without a word and plucked Clara from Alexia’s arms.

“Shh, what’s going on with you today, huh?” she asked, settling Clara against her chest. Instantly, Clara melted into her, the cries slowing as she rooted for the breast like nothing had happened.

Alexia folded her arms and watched the scene unfold, tapping her foot. “She hates me today.”

Y/n leaned in and kissed her cheek, still swaying with Clara. “She doesn’t hate you. She just wants to party with the girls.”

Alexia’s pout softened. “Next time, she should save a giggle or two for me.”

Clara was nearly asleep by the time Alexia guided them toward the locker room, collecting her things so they could finally go home.

The walk to the car was slow, careful not to wake the tiny diva—but Clara, ever the drama queen, cracked her big hazel eyes open as Y/n buckled her into the car seat.

“Hi, Neneta,” Y/n cooed in a baby voice. “I bet you're gonna stay up the whole drive and absolutely not fall asleep at bedtime, huh? Yeah, of course you will.”

Clara giggled, like she was absolutely planning to sabotage their night.

Y/n frowned, struggling with the seatbelt–it wasn’t going over the right way, and it looked like it was pressing into Clara’s belly.

“Ale, I need help,” she called, glancing over her shoulder.

Alexia appeared behind her, now in a soft, oversized shirt, hair down and still damp from her shower. “What, amor?”

She leaned in to take a look–and that’s when it happened.

Clara smiled. Not just any smile. A big, two-toothed, gummy grin, arms shooting up toward Alexia.

Alexia gasped. Literal tears sprang to her eyes. 

“Oh, el meu tresor, has tornat a estimar la mameta, eh?” [Oh my treasure, have you come back to loving mommy, huh?]

She scooped Clara out of the car seat with no hesitation, kissing her all over while Clara giggled and wrapped a chubby hand in Alexia’s hair.

“Alexia, put her back!” Y/n scolded. “It’s cold! She’s gonna catch a cold!”

“My bebita,” Alexia crooned, ignoring her. “Mine.”

Y/n squinted. Something wasn’t adding up. Then her eyes narrowed in on the baby's fist, twisted lovingly in Alexia’s damp hair.

“Alexia,” she said slowly.

“What?” Alexia asked, still too busy baby-cuddling to notice the growing danger.

Without another word, Y/n stepped forward, gently took a handful of Alexia’s hair, and lifted it up into a mock ponytail.

Instantly–cry. A full-body, soul-deep shriek from Clara that echoed off the parking garage walls.

“What the-?”

Before Alexia could finish, Y/n let her hair fall back down. Clara stopped crying on a dime. She blinked twice, then went back to calmly playing with Alexia’s nose.

“She doesn’t like your hair up,” Y/n deadpanned. “She’s been mad at you all day because you put it in a ponytail. Diva behaviour.”

Alexia stared at her daughter in disbelief. “Is that true, bebita? I’m gonna have to figure out how to play football with my hair down, huh?”

Clara gave her a sleepy little grunt and patted her cheek, as if to say, finally, someone’s catching on.

The car ride home was full of Clara's babble–her favourite form of post-bedtime rebellion.

“She’s giving a full concert back there,” Alexia mumbled, one hand on the wheel, the other holding Y/n’s thigh.

“She’s practising for her world tour,” Alexia said with a small yawn.

From the backseat came a joyful “DA! and “MA!” followed by a long, dramatic sigh…Clara’s version of a mic drop.

Y/n twisted in her seat to look at her. “Clara, it’s sleepy time.”

Clara kicked her feet.

Alexia glanced at her in the mirror. “Bebita, no kicking mami.”

“Maybe she just needs to wind down,” Alexia offered. “You know, like a little story, some quiet time…”

“She just yelled at her own toes,” Y/n said hopelessly. “We’re not sleeping today.”

By the time they pulled into the garage, Clara was still going strong, waving her arms as if she was saying hi to a crowd, but Alexia didn’t care because she was giving her a gummy grin every time she looked back. 

Y/n unbuckled her with a sigh.

“We have ten minutes before she realises she’s a baby and not a woman in her twenties at a club,” she muttered.

Inside, Alexia took Clara while Y/n dealt with the diaper bag and Alexia’s game bag. 

Clara was clinging to her again, arms tight around Alexia’s neck, one hand firmly rooted in her hair like she was personally in charge of keeping it down.

“She’s obsessed with your hair,” Y/n said as she walked into the nursery.

“She has taste,” Alexia replied, swaying slowly with Clara in her arms.

“She has control issues.”

“She gets that from you.”

Y/n shot her a glare, but was too tired to keep it up. Instead, she leaned against the doorway, watching the two of them. 

Clara was slowing down now, her lids heavy as Alexia quietly hummed a lullaby in Catalan, her hand rubbing soft circles on Clara’s back.

It was quiet for a moment, just the gentle and occasional creak of the floorboards under their feet. 

Y/n felt something melt in her chest.

“You’re really good at this,” she murmured.

Alexia glanced over at her, surprised. “At what?”

“Being her mom.”

Alexia’s mouth tugged into the smallest, most fragile smile. “Only when my hair’s down, apparently.”

“She just missed you,” Y/n said, crossing the room to stand beside her. “You’re her favourite, you know.”

Alexia looked down at Clara, whose tiny hand was still tangled in her hair, her face finally tucked into her mom’s neck. “She’s my favourite, too–well, you and her.”

Y/n leaned her head on Alexia’s shoulder, both of them swaying now in the half-lit nursery. Clara let out a soft sigh–peaceful this time–and went limp in Alexia’s arms, fully asleep.

“Victory,” Y/n whispered.

“Don’t jinx it,” Alexia whispered back.

They waited another few minutes, just to be sure, then moved into the quiet routine that every young parent had. 

Alexia laid Clara in the crib. Y/n pulled the blanket up. Neither of them breathed until they were sure she was down for real.

Back in the hallway, Y/n pulled Alexia into a long, slow hug, burying her face in the damp hair. “I vote you never wear a ponytail again.”

Alexia chuckled, kissing her temple. “Deal.”

They padded off to their bedroom, tired and tangled in each other, both grateful that Clara had finally called it a night.

Y/n flopped face-first onto the bed with a groan. “Okay, but we both agree we’re too tired for sex, right?”

There was no answer.

Y/n turned her head slightly. Alexia was already on her side, eyes shut, breathing deeply, completely out cold.

She snorted. “Okay. Guess that’s a yes.”

She reached out blindly, grabbed the blanket, and yanked it over both of them, grumbling softly as she burrowed in beside Alexia. 

“You better be dreaming about me,” she mumbled into the pillow.

..

Hope you guys enjoyed it!

my roman empire

celebrations pt.3

this was written thanks to chappel roan, the power of lesbianism, and the one and the only @vixwritesagain because without her this fic would not exist!! this is my contribution to pride month (even though it’s over now) happy post-pride month to everyone here 🫶 hope everyone enjoys and pls lmk your thoughts!

warnings: smut minors dni 18+

“You’ll see, once we get upstairs.”

You clung to Alexia the whole walk up into the hotel. Your legs could hardly work, so she gave you the grace of turning off the vibrator in favor of being able to transfer you from the bus and into the lobby elevator. 

As soon as the doors shut her lips were plastered against your own, like much of how you’d been treated, it was rough and controlled completely by Alexia. Her teeth gripped and nipped at your bottom lip, the slight pinch making you whine, you wanted more. Alexia did the same thing she’d been doing all night, she left you desperate for more. Just as quickly as her lips were moving against yours were they gone. 

You whined from the back of your throat, but cut yourself off at the glare that Alexia sent your way, she didn’t need to say a single word, her facial expressions said it all, you had no say in what was about to happen. 

And you were slightly embarrassed to admit that, but in your hazy state of mind the embarrassment passed fairly quickly. 

When the elevator doors opened she was right back at your side again, the constant push and pull of the contact and then no contact was making your skin prickly and your throat scratchy, like needles were pushing against your insides. 

The hallway was empty, thankfully, Alexia wasted no time in dragging you behind her, your body a puppet for her to control however she intended. 

It wasn’t a long walk, your jelly legs only just managed to make it to the door of Alexia’s room. 

She scanned her keycard with a flash of her hand, and was shoving you inside of the room even quicker than that. 

You were still hazy, still pretty drunk on the feeling of submission, so it was a lot harder than usual for you to take in your surroundings. 

People, there were lots of people. 

Not so many that you felt overwhelmed, but enough that it was hard to actually focus on what the people were doing, your eyes darting back and forth between all of them. 

None of their eyes were on you, but for whatever reason, it felt that way, but there is a tension that you can feel. 

None of them are really doing, much. 

It feels like the atmosphere of the room is so stuffed full, but yet not that much is happening, it only makes your already busy headspace more confused. 

Alexia’s grab on your wrist tightens once again, and leads you directly toward a armchair, originally, you think she’s going to sit you down in it, make you wait there, make you watch whatever is clearly about to go down, but she stops you in front of the seat, slides herself in front of you and sits down. 

When she points to the ground, you don’t really hesitate. 

You drop to your knees in a unfraceful plonk, one that you know you’ll pay for tomorrow when your knees are sore and bruised from the wood floors of the hotel room. 

Alexia’s eyes are anywhere but you, it’s the same with her attention. 

You can’t see anything that’s going on around you, but it’s clear that the tension had came from everyone waiting for Alexia, waiting for some realy directions. 

You stayed kneeled in front of her, waiting patiently for whatever command she’s going to give you. 

The command never comes, instead, your emt with a brief reprieve from the constant lack of touch that your craving, when Alexia reaches down, her eyes still not meeting yours, shoving her hand back into your panties and turning the vibe back on. 

The bullet whirs to life, and the torture of it all starts once again. 

Alexia’s barking orders everywhere, ordering everyone around however she pleases. 

You still can’t even begin to comprehend the amount of silent power she holds, she could walk into any room, and all attention falls to her, everyone focuses on her. 

Especially in the team, everyone respects Alexia, it’s almost unheard of to disobey or go against Alexia, only the most confident and daring do it, and they reap the consequences of it. 

It’s always the same people, the more dominant of the group who try to compete with Alexia, and always fail, Alexia is unmatchable, she’s la reina, she is like no one else and she knows it.

She bleeds confidence, there is an aura about her that is simply undeniable. 

Up until today, you’d fawned, you’d obeyed, you’d done everything and anything to earn her praise because it felt so good. 

Having Alexia praise you, or even just look at you in a certain way was something unexplainable, it was one of the best feelings you’d ever encountered, and having Alexia want to give you pleasure, that was something completely out of your universe. It was unwordly, it was pure perfection, it was the best endorphin ever, it was as addictive as any drug. 

Yet today, you weren’t craving it, or the craving wasn’t big enough to combat the contrasting feeling you had to disobey, to fight. 

You felt more out of control than you ever had, like you were spinning out, and you needed Alexia to recenter you, but not with pleasure, with something else. 

The vibrations were hell, but Alexia’s hand on your cheek was good, her fingers in your mouth were even better. 

You weren’t even sure how they got there, it was just like, one second they were on our cheek and the next, they were forcing themselves into your mouth, not that you minded, you were very happy to sit still and suck on Alexia’s fingers. 

It was a form of validation, one that was making you weak at the knees, even though you were already on them for her. 

“Ale, por favor, dánosla y la castigaremos, la usaremos como quieras.”

Whilst you were practically deaf in your headspace, Jenni’s voice up close managed to draw your attention. 

You tried to turn your head to look at her, but Alexia’s hand in your mouth stopped you. 

“No, she’s mine, and until she accepts that she’s deserving of a reward then it’ll stay that way, comprendes?”

Jenni whines, something that most people wouldn’t have the nerve to do, but she’s one of the only people who can get away with messing with Alexia. Alexia gives everyone a inch, Jenni tries to go the mile, and often Alexia finds it more amusing then bratty. 

“But Ale, you promised rewards.”

If you whined at Alexia like that, you have no doubt she’d spank you until your ass was red and there were tears rolling down your face, with Jenni however, all she gets is a icy look and a warning. 

“Mm, rewards for goal involvements, not for you. It’s not my fault that princesa is choosing to behave poorly, we’ll just have to see if watching some other people receive their rewards managed to tip her over.” 

Your thighs clamp, in an attempt to close them at the insinuation Alexia is leaving, but her foot pushes them back apart and for the first time she glances at you. 

“Comportarse.”

Her eyes are slanted, it’s the same face that she makes when a defender lays a bad tackle against one of your teammates, the similarity is uncanny, it’s a look of discontentment and disbelief, like Alexia is offended by your action. 

“Aitana, come here.”

Alexia’s foot on your thigh pushes you slightly to the side, your head is still restrcited with the grip Alexia has on your mouth, but you’re on a angle now, and if you look in the furthest point of your peripheral you can catch some movement. 

“Look at her, puta.”

You look upwards, at Alexia and then at Aitana, who is now hovering to the side of her. 

She’s completely naked, a sight that your eyes immediately cling to. The swell of her breasts and the sight of the abs nicely tucked underneath. Your eyes raked up and down her abdomen, up to her neck, where there were a litter of darkened marks already developed. 

“Aitana is about to receive her reward, because she was a good girl, and she knows it. But you say you haven’t been a good girl, so clearly you musn’t want a reward like her, hmm? Aitana, what do you want for your reward?”

Aitana is clearly finding it hard to look at you, and you share her aversion. There’s an awkward energy filling up between the two of you, you’re in disdain and Aitana is about to get whatever she pleases. You focus on the different lines across her body, the different ways her muscles cave in and out across her body. It’s a pleasant enough distraction for the time being. 

“I-I don’t know.”

Alexia pouts at Aitana, and then smiles, for the first time since the bus you see her eyes light up with something other then annoyance directed at you. 

“Hmm, anything you want, you were such a good girl, I’m sure anybody would be happy to oblige your wishes, you just have to tell me.”

Aitana fidgets with her hands before looking up at Alexia and mumbling something that sounds like a completely alternate language. 

“Aitana, speak up, or else I might assume you want something that you haven’t asked for.”

It’s like Alexia is daring her to say it, trying to push her to edge out the words, and you know that it’ll work, Alexia always gets her way, she always has a endgame. 

Aitana mumbles again and the little smirkish smile on Alexia’s face fades. 

“Aitana, don’t make me ask you again, or else I might begin to think that you want to be treated similarly to y/n.”

Aitana stumcles over a few words before muttering out something that is comprehensible. 

“Frido and Ingrid.”

It isn’t shocking at all, Aitana tends to gravitate towards her Scandi friends, and you can’t blame her. 

“Mm, why am I not surprised? You don’t want to change it up? Want to stick to what you know best, hm?”

Aitana nods sheepishly and Alexia breaks out in another smile. 

“It’s your reward though, so if that’s what you want, then you can have it. What do you want Ingrid and Frido to do?”

Aitana stutters over her words again, but with a sharp glare from Alexia she manages to compose herself a little bit. 

“F-fuck me in both holes.”

You focus on the feeling of Alexia’s fingers in your mouth, it’s good, it’s grounding, it helps to drown out the immense pressure building up inside of you from the fucking vibrator tha was pressed directly against your clit. 

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that. Do you want your throat stuffed with fingers like y/n, or do you want your cunt and ass stuffed full?”

Aitana looks down at the floor, her lip between her teeth, it’s so abundantly clear that she’s struggling to vocalise what she’s wanting. 

A part of you wants her to tumble over her words again, to see what Alexia will do, and you’re slightly annoyed when she manages to compose herself. 

“M-M-My ass and pussy.”

Alexia’s lips tilt up perfectly, like she’s so proud of Aitana, but more so proud of herself. 

“Well, I suppose. You’ll have to ask both Ingrid and Frido very nicely though, although I’m sure they’ll have no issues with obliging your request.” Aitana nods, a big smile breaking out across her face, and for a second, you get a feeling in your gut, pure envy for what she’s receiving. 

But then that feeling passes and you’re left with whatever feelings you have. 

You don’t know how to define it, you’ll save that for later whne you’re spent and reflecting on this whole night, maybe tomorrow morning on the plane. 

Aitana thanks Alexia meekly, like she’s waiting for approval to leave. 

“Puta, look at Aitana, look at how easy it is to behave and be a good girl, hmm? She asked me for something and I gave it to her, because she deserves it, and she knows it. A few words and you could have whatever you want. I could turn the vibrator off, you could go play with Lucia, or Jenni, or Keira, or Mapi or me. It’s so easy, bebita.”

She draws the final sentence out, like she’s dangling the idea of release directly in front of you, and technically, she is. 

You shake your head though, holding out on the strong and defiant front that you’re using to shield yourself from the desire inside of you that is fighting to be released. 

It’s in your defiance that you realise in the time you’d been watching Aitana, Alexia has managed to undress herself down to a red lacy thong that makes your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. Aitana’s abs are something, but Alexia’s almost make your drool, and her breasts are something else. 

Alexia caresses the underside of your chin with her thumb, pulling your attention from her body. She’s trying to push the two fingers in your mouth as deep as she can, when you gag, she only pushes further. 

“Such a shame, you’re really only depriving yourself here. I was going to have so much fun with you, Lucia was going to have so much fun with you. I suppose she’ll only be able to have fun with Ona now, considering Keira’s preoccupied.”

The sound of a strangled moan, Jenni’s if your ears are right, make the torture of this whole scenario ten times worse. 

The mention of Ona makes your blood boil. Normally, this whole situation is a complete role reversal for you and Ona. Normally, Ona’s the defiant one, the masochist, the brat, the pushy one. Ona enjoys getting on peoples nerves, she enjoys to tick people off, she gets off on it. 

You can’t say you feel the same, Ona craves the rush of endorphins from being reprimanded and punished. You enjoy it as well, but you don’t crave it how she does. You don’t brat for fun, like she does, it doesn’t come naturally to you like it does for her. 

Alexia knows it, she knows that the only reason you’re being a brat is because you’re trying to punish yourself and that’s why she refuses to actually punish you. When Ona brats, she’s searching for attention, it’s her way of admitting she wants something because it’s too hard for her to say it. For you, with a little bit of push and shove you’ll normally ask for whatever it is you need, you don’t feel the need to act out. 

So Alexia decides she’s prepared to play this game with you, she’s not punishing you in her eyes, she’s just pushing you. She’s just as desperate as you are to shower you with the attention you deserve, but not until you know that you deserve it, and she’s determined to make sure that you know exactly how much you do deserve it. 

“Puta, strip, I want you naked as you watched the show.”

Alexia pulls her fingers out of your mouth, stopping halfway to pop the inside of your cheek, breaking you out of the trance you’re in. 

You whine at the loss of the silent comfort you’d had. Alexia’s fingers had been a silent reminder of the whole situation you were in. It had calmed you down, made it all a little bit easier, and now they were gone. 

“Now, up.”

You stood up under her orders, ignoring the soreness throughout your legs and knees. 

You slipped of your sweatpants first, folding them up nicely and placing them down on the coffee table next to Alexia’s armchair. 

Your kept eye contact with her the whole time, too scared that if you looked anywhere else you’d be in more trouble. 

You followed with your hoodie, then your shirt, then your socks, then your bra and finally your panties. 

Alexia grabbed the bullet before it was able to fall anywhere, turning it off before placing it down on the table next to your neat pile of clothes. 

You sighed at the feeling of inally not being directly on the edge for the first time in what felt like forever. You were still aroused, but nowhere near as despairingly so. 

“Don’t feel so relieved, if you thought that was hard, you have no idea what’s coming.”

Alexia looked you up and down before pointing back down at the ground, a silent order. You appeased her demand, sinking back down onto your knees just how you had before, this time a little bit more gracefully in an attempt to try and preserve your knees. 

“You’re going to create a puddle on the floor with all that arousal, and to think, I could have had somebody clean it you up if you were behaving.”

You nearly moaned at the idea, god you were embarrassingly desperate. 

“Turn around for me, and watch Ona.”

You did as Alexia asked, turning around, and shivering when her arms caught your shoulder, tugging your head back, until your neck was flat against the front of the seat, and your head was resting on the inside of her thigh. 

She reached her feet over your shoulders, tugging your legs back open, as far open as they could go. 

All whilst you watched on, your eyes nearly bulgin out of your head at all of the new visual intake. 

You were in a more stable headspace to handle it all now, but it didn’t make it any easier to figure out. 

You went through it all slowly, starting with the first people who caught your eyes. 

Jenni and Mapi. 

Jenni and Mapi, fuck. 

Alexia hadn’t been lying when she said you were in for so much worse than just the vibrator. 

Mapi and Jenni were together, on a couch to the side of the room, not unlike the armchair Alexia was sitting on, just a lot longer and bigger, like it was made to be more of a sofa bed then a couch. 

Mapi was on her back lying on the couch. If it wasn’t for the little bleach blonde ends peaking out against the cushions then you wouldn’t even know it was her because Jenni was covering pretty much her whole body. 

Jenni was couch over the top of her, sitting on top of Mapi’s face, her own face hovering over Mapi’s pussy. 

It was a beautiful sight, all encapsulated by the wink and massive grin that Jenni sent you when she caught your eyes from across the room. 

It wasn’t the best part though, by far the best part was Keira sitting at the top of the couch in front of Jenni, perched on the arm of the couch, her hand stuffed down the front of her shorts. 

Keira was anything but quiet, keeping eye contact with Jenni as she touched herself. 

“Alexia, let her have a turn.”

Jenni looked at you, like she was trying to reinforce the fact that you were missing out big time. 

Alexia’s hot breath in your ear stole your attention. 

“Don’t you want that?”

You shook your head. 

Alexia’s hand snaked down the front of your chest, taking hold of your right nipple and making a sharp tug, one that had you keening with the unexpected pain.

“I think you’re lying.”

You shook your head again, Alexia’s words wwere getting to your head, the feeling of her on you but not really on you was messing with your head, making all of the different chemicals mix together. 

“Didn’t anybody ever teach you that lying’s bad? It’s okay to admit you want something, I’m not giving it to you until you admit what I need you to.”

You bit down on your lip at the third tug, Alexia’s fingertips ghosting over your now hard nipple, before deserting it completely. 

She snaked her hand back up your chest, her index finger tracing the hollow of your collarbone, before gravitating up to your chin and tilting it away from Mapi and Jenni, onto one of the queen mattresses in the room. 

Lucy and Ona. 

Fucking smug, bitchy Ona. 

She was on her knees up the front of the bed, her head and naked chest pushed straight into the white sheets of the hotel bed.

Even with Lucy pounding into her from behind, naked from the waist down and only wearing her sports bra, she still managed to muster up the strength to send a condescending wink your way. 

It was undeniable the way that Ona’s presence affected you, it felt like it was just you and her in the room, as you shared eye contact that held so much power. 

“Do you want to be where Oni is? Bent over and in absolutely no control?”

You shake your head, it’s a honest answer, because in this moment you don’t. Whilst what Ona is experiencing looks incredible, it’s not what you’re yearning for, and watching her makes you certain of that. You don’t know what it is you do want, but it isn’t that. 

“Mm, okay, if not that, how about Aitana?”

She turns your chin the rest of the way, to the other queen bed in the room. 

Aitana is a whole other sight, your eyes fall to the same muscles that you’d been previously appreciating, and then to everything around her. 

You know why she picked Ingrid and Frido, because just the sight of the two of them is so erotic that the shivers that it sends down your spine. 

There’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to leave a puddle behind whenever Alexia lets you up. 

Watching Aitana laid directly on top of Ingrid, Ingrid pumping her hips up and down, in and out of Aitana’s pussy. Frido is hovering from above, her hands palming Aitana’s ass as she thrusts in and out of Aitana’s ass, at a more regular pace. There is sunshine and midnight coloured hair shadowing it all, Ingrid and Frido are all over her, their hands, their bodies, their hair, just them. Aitana is caged in by them, and she looks glorious whilst doing it. 

“Is that what you want? To be used by two other people until you don’t remember what day it is. You can have it, if you want it, anyone here would give it to you.”

You shake your head once again, Alexia’s hand moves it’s way down from your chin, snaking down to your neck, and squeezing it for just long enough that you begin to feel the pressure. 

“You don’t want that, you don’t want what Ona has, you don’t want what Jenni has?”

You shake your head, Alexia’s hand possessive along your throat. 

She uses it to maneuver you back to facing her, her hand drawing your head up until you meet her eyes. 

“You don’t want what they have, you don’t want to admit that you deserve to have that, you don’t even want to admit you had a good game.”

You look at Alexia, indifferent. 

“You might as well go back to your room for the night if you don’t want anything from me.”

Alexia’s teasing you, baiting you, and you know it, but her tricks work on you all the same. 

It must be the way your eyebrow crinkles, or your lips quiver, or your throat bobs underneath her hand. Either way, you know she picks up on whatever tell it is that you let off. 

“So you do want something from me?”

Alexia’s hand secures itself to the middle of your neck, her hand’s large enough that it stretches from the base of your throat to the top, her fingers are close to being able to wrap fully around it. When she flexes them, the veins pop against your skin, and you swear that you almost see stars. 

When she tightens it, you almost moan on default. 

“So tell me then, what do you want?”

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don't hate me for leaving it on a cliff hanger... trust me... the delayed gratification will be worth it! for now I'm just happy I managed to write something and post it for you guys. anyways I'm going to retreat into my cave now! PLEASE let me know your thoughts and PLEASE leave whatever reblogs, likes and comments you can, love y'all and hoped you enjoyed !!

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putellas vs. putellas | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: usa and spain play each in a friendly, making it the battles of the putellas

warnings: none

notes: enjoy!

You sit in the locker room, legs crossed and eyes closed, breathing steadily as the music pulses through your Beats headphones. You’ve been in this position for nearly half an hour, unmoving and silent, a sharp contrast to your usual chaotic energy. The tension is electric. You’ve been counting down the days to this game, but now that it’s here, you’re trying to keep yourself grounded. You can’t afford to lose focus. Because today, you’re facing Spain. And not just Spain. You’re facing Alexia.

Your jaw tightens. You’ve gone against her before, in practice, in pickup games at the park, even in one-on-one battles in your backyard. But this is different. This is for real. On the world stage, with fans watching and commentators ready to analyze every move. It’s Putellas versus Putellas.

Your stomach twists. You know how she plays. You’ve studied her since you were a kid. You’ve learned from her. Hell, you probably mirror her more than you care to admit. Which means she knows exactly what to expect from you too.

“Wow,” Alex Morgan says, leaning against her locker and staring at you. “I’ve never seen her this quiet.”

Megan Rapinoe slips on her jersey, raising an eyebrow. “I know. It’s unsettling.”

“She’s in the zone,” Crystal Dunn observes. “Leave her alone.”

Tobin Heath chuckles from across the room, watching you with curious eyes. “Apparently she’s been playing with some of them since she was a kid.” She jerks her chin towards Emily Sonnett, who’s standing awkwardly in front of you, waving a hand to get your attention. You don’t budge.

“Hey, Estrella!” Emily calls out, voice cheerful. “You good?”

You don’t even blink.

“Wow,” Emily mutters, shaking her head. “She really is ignoring me.”

“It’s weird,” Megan comments, eyes wide. “She usually never shuts up.”

You take a deep breath, the music in your ears pounding rhythmically, blocking out the noise of the locker room. You’re in your own world, visualizing the game, running through scenarios in your head. You’re going to mark Alexia. You’re going to defend against her, attack her, beat her. Because for ninety minutes, she isn’t your family, she’s not your mother. She’s your opponent.

The tunnel buzzes with energy as you step onto the pitch, shoulders squared, face set. The Spanish national anthem plays, and you sneak a glance down the line. Alexia stands tall, hand over her heart, eyes fixed straight ahead. A chill runs down your spine.

She looks different. Not the warm, caring Alexia from home. Not the one who nags you to clean your room or sneaks extra food onto your plate when she thinks you haven’t eaten enough. This Alexia is cold, focused, every bit the captain and legend the world sees her as.

Your chest tightens, but you refuse to let it shake you. The whistle blows. The game begins.

The first time you encounter her, it’s in midfield. You step up to intercept a pass, only for her to sidestep with effortless grace, flicking the ball past you like it’s nothing. You spin around, chasing after her, teeth clenched. She’s fast, faster than you anticipated.

She glances over her shoulder, smirking. “Too slow, Estrelleta.”

Your blood boils as you double your efforts, pressing hard every time she gets the ball. She spins away, shielding it like she’s done a thousand times in your backyard battles. But this isn’t home, and you aren’t backing down.

You shoulder into her, disrupting her balance just enough. She stumbles, and you steal the ball, sprinting down the field.

She’s fast, but you’re faster. You hear her footsteps behind you, feel her breath on your neck as she tries to close the gap. You drop your shoulder, feint right before cutting left, leaving her a step behind. The crowd erupts as you whip a cross into the box, inches from Cata’s head.

Alexia glares at you, eyes blazing. “Really?”

You grin, cocky. “What? Can’t keep up, vieja?”

Her jaw drops and you take the opportunity to bolt down the field before she can retaliate.

The game is brutal. Every time you touch the ball, she’s there: marking you, blocking your path, using every trick in the book to throw you off balance. You shove back just as hard, elbows digging in, shoulders colliding. Neither of you hold back, each challenge fiercer than the last.

You swipe the ball from her again, twisting sharply, but she’s on you like glue. No passing lanes. Nowhere to go. You struggle for control, twisting and turning, and then she leans in, voice low and smug. “You’re predictable.”

Your vision goes red. “Shut up.”

She laughs, and you can hear the satisfaction in it.

You dig in, using your body to shield the ball. And then, with a quick backheel nutmeg, you slip the ball through her legs. She freezes and the US bench erupts.

Sonnet’s cackling reaches you over the chaos. “OH MY GOD, SHE JUST DID THAT TO HER OWN MOM!”

Alexia recovers fast, chasing after you, her voice sharp. “That was dirty.”

“You’re just mad I got you.”

She shoves you as she runs by, not enough to foul, but enough to make her point. You laugh, knowing you’ve gotten under her skin.

The game is a war of attrition. You get fouled, hard, and before you can even react, Alexia is towering over you, hands on her hips. “Get up.”

You smirk. “Worried about me?”

“Not even a little.”

When she falls, you stand over her, offering a hand. She slaps it away, getting up on her own.

“Nice try.”

You laugh. “Still stubborn, huh?”

“You’d know.”

The match drags on, intensity never dropping. With ten minutes left, Spain equalizes, and you curse under your breath. 2-2.

You and Alexia battle until the very last second, neither willing to concede an inch. The final whistle blows. A draw.

You’re drenched in sweat, bruised, exhausted. You turn to Alexia, expecting a glare, but instead, she walks over and slings an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Good game, Estrelleta.”

You roll your eyes, shoving her off. “I hate you.”

She laughs, ruffling your hair. “Sure you do.”

Tobin jogs over, shaking her head. “That was insane. You two are menaces.”

Alexia grins, eyes softening. “She’s worse.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, she pulls you into a hug, tight and warm.

“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, voice quiet against the noise of the stadium.

Your chest tightens, the fire in your belly fading.

“I’m proud of you too,” you mumble into her shoulder.

Alexia guides you towards the stands, neither of you say anything, just exchanging a glance before scanning the crowd for the three people you know will be waiting.

Eli stands near the barrier, wearing a jersey, stitched perfectly down the middle. One side is the deep red of Spain, ”PUTE” written on it and part of the number eleven proudly displayed. The other is white, “LLAS” on the top and the rest of eleven emblazoned across it. It’s ridiculous, it’s dramatic, and it’s so Eli.

You grin. “Dios mío, you actually wore it.”

“I had to,” she sniffs, eyes suspiciously shiny as she tugs it tighter around herself. “My girls, both of you, playing on this stage, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime moment.”

Alexia sighs, shaking her head. “You’re getting sentimental.”

“Of course I’m getting sentimental!” Eli huffs, grabbing Alexia’s face with both hands, ignoring her protests as she presses a loud kiss to her forehead. “My little alegría captaining Spain! And you—” She turns to you next, gripping your face just as tightly. “My estrella, playing like you were born for this.”

You groan but lean into it anyway. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Alba and Olga stand just behind her, both of them grinning. Olga crosses her arms, nodding toward Alexia. “You got cooked by a teenager, mi amor.”

Alexia scowls. “I did not—”

“Nutmegged,” Alba chimes in, biting back a smirk.

“That was one time!”

You preen, puffing your chest. “And I’ll never let you forget it.”

Alexia turns to Eli, desperate for backup, but Eli just sighs dramatically, wiping at her eyes. “I don’t even care about the score,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “Seeing you two out there, fighting, giving everything, I am just so, so proud.”

You glance at Alexia, expecting another eye roll, but she just nods, quietly accepting the words.

Eli pulls both of you into a crushing hug, and for once, neither of you resist.

You’re barely settled in your chair when Alexia, sitting beside you, nudges you with her knee.

“Try not to embarrass yourself,” she murmurs, just low enough for you to hear.

You scoff. “That’s your job.”

The interviewer, clearly amused by the dynamic already, starts with the obvious question. “Estrella, this was your first time facing Alexia on the international stage. What was that experience like?”

You lean forward, resting an elbow on the table. “Terrifying. She’s so serious when she plays, I thought she was gonna disown me on the spot.”

Alexia rolls her eyes. “That almost happened after you nutmegged me.”

“Nutmegged?” The interviewer’s eyebrows shoot up, and you grin as Alexia groans.

“Oh yeah,” you say smugly. “Clean through the legs. The bench was losing it.”

Alexia shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I have to deal with this publicly now.”

The interviewer laughs. “Alexia, what was it like playing against someone you’ve practically raised?”

Alexia exhales, glancing at you before answering. “It was… strange. I’ve seen her grow up, seen her train, so I knew she was good. But today, I realized just how good she is.” She pauses, then smirks. “Still reckless, though.”

“Reckless?” you echo, affronted. “You fouled me like five times!”

“You were running straight at me like a bull! What was I supposed to do?”

The interviewer can barely contain their laughter. “It was a very physical game between you two.”

You cross your arms, mock-offended. “She’s mean.”

Alexia scoffs. “And you called me vieja on live television.”

“Can I plead the fifth?”

“This isn’t America.”

The interviewer shakes their head, thoroughly entertained. “Final question, what was said between you two after the game?”

Alexia glances at you, something softer in her gaze now. “I told her I was proud.”

You clear your throat, suddenly feeling warm under the attention. “And I said the same.”

For a moment, the playful banter is gone, replaced by something genuine, something real.

The interviewer smiles. “That’s beautiful.”

Then Alexia turns to you. “But I’m getting you back for that nutmeg.”

“Oh you wish.”

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 6: Spain stay at St George's Park Other Parts

Word Count: 7.6k

This one needs to come with a bit of a warning for the ending.

⚽️

The queue for food stretches toward the end of the room, trays clattering, girls chatting, familiar noise filling the space like steam.

You’re last in the line moving slow, distracted, gaze caught behind you, because they’re there. The Spanish squad, gathered loosely at the back of the room, hovering like they were going to join the line but not quite in it.

They look unsure not out of place, just... hesitant. Like they’ve stepped into someone else’s routine and don’t want to get it wrong. You catch it instantly, you pause, hand on your hip, and glance back scanning instinctively until your eyes find Alexia.

She’s not at the front of the group, she’s off to the side arms crossed loosely, scanning the scene ahead like she’s trying not to overthink it. And you watch her. Not subtly. Not secretly. Just openly, willing her to look back. It takes three heartbeats and then her gaze flicks up like she could sense someone was watching.

Right into yours, your stomach flips, your breath catches, but your face stays calm. You give her a smile, soft, closed-lipped, silently asking if everything was ok, the edges of her posture ease almost immediately.

She mutters something to her team and stars in your direction, quiet, graceful, stops in front of you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And then voice soft, English careful “What do we do?” She’s looking at the line, the trays, the cutlery, the way people are moving through but her eyes keep darting back to yours, like she’s checking whether this is okay.

You nod once, matching her low tone. “Get in line. Grab a tray. Go down the line. Take what you want.” You gesture subtly. “It’s… chill. Sit where you like. By the looks of it, the girls have left some empty tables so you can sit together"

Alexia’s eyes track the movement of your hand, then flick back to your face. "Gracias," she says quietly.

You nod again, but don’t say anything else. You don’t have to she steps back toward her team, then speaks in Spanish and they all filter towards her.

You turn forward again. But you feel her still in the space behind you, in the warmth in your chest, in the slow, steady way she was lingering.

Georgia infant of you in the line turns, then clearly she spotted the figure behind you, smirks and turns back to the front.

Your phone buzzes, you pull it out your pocket enough to see what it is, it's Gee.

Gee: Looks cozy

You roll your eyes shoving it back in your pocket using your foot to nudge the back of her knee, earning you a back hand.

The line’s moving slowly trays clinking, steam rising from silver containers, the buzz of two languages folding over each other.

You’re focused ahead hand on your tray, eyes scanning what’s left of the roasted veg when you feel it. A shift behind you. Tone, not volume. Sharpness, not sound. Spanish rapid, clipped, a little too loud for how close she’s standing. You don’t know the words, but you don’t have to. You feel it in your spine.

Montse Tomé, Spain’s coach, has joined the line just behind. She’s talking quickly to Alexia something that sounds like instruction but lands like criticism. Not raised, but tight.

You glance back, Alexia’s face is composed, but her shoulders have gone slightly still. Around her, a couple of the Spanish girls shift uncomfortably. One glances at the food like it’s suddenly very interesting.

You watch Montse a second longer, then turn back to your tray, grabbing a spoonful of something without seeing it.

You keep your voice casual quiet enough that only those just behind can hear. “Does she always have an attitude,” you murmur dryly, “or has she reserved that for our benefit?”

There’s a beat of silence behind you. Then a soft, barely stifled snort from someone near the front. A giggle from another. And then Alexia’s laugh, quiet, warm, caught in her throat like she hadn’t meant to let it slip.

You don’t look back. You just smirk down at your tray and add, still facing forward: “I don’t need subtitles to clock that energy.”

Another laugh this time from Mapi, somewhere behind Alexia. Montse either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it, stepping out of the line to take a call. You finally glance back over your shoulder.

Alexia’s looking at you now tray in her hands, expression very carefully neutral… except for the small tug of her mouth.

You raise an eyebrow. She doesn’t say anything. But her eyes sparkle. And it tells you everything.

⚽️

You’ve found your seat by the time it happens two trays down, the table split half-English, half-Spanish, a soft mix of conversations rippling between the two sides.

The air’s lighter now. Whatever tension Montse brought into the line, your one-liner cleared it like a breeze through fog. You’re sipping from your water bottle when you hear it a soft but clear voice from across the table.

Cata Coll, her English is careful, her tone curious. Not hostile. Not testing. Just… interested. “When you played us…” she says, pausing to find the phrasing, “with your club and with England, you played out of position. Both times. Why?”

You blink not expecting the question. There’s a slight hush near the middle of the table, even the clatter of cutlery softens.

You glance up and find her eyes steady on yours. Beside her, Alexia is speaking, but she’s listening. You set your fork down gently and give Cata your full attention. "Both your coaches publicly said they were worried about me,” you say, voice even. “So naturally, tactically you adjust to best contain and counteract me." You let that hang for half a beat. "Can’t control what you don’t know."

Cata stares at you a second longer and then her mouth curves. She nods. Respect. No pushback.

From a few seats down, Mapi gives a low whistle and mutters in Spanish, just loud enough for you to catch the tone even if you don’t get the words.

Alexia bites her lip to hide a smile. Beth grins beside you, nudging your arm. "Remind me never to play poker with you."

You shrug, picking your fork back up. "Don’t bluff," you say simply. “Just study.”

Leah sat opposite, voice full of that trademark smugness throws out, “So. Would you play for Barça?”

You don’t even get a chance to blink before Georgia cuts in instantly, “She’s not leaving me alone in Germany. Stop putting ideas in her head, Leah!”

The table laughs. You smile slow, controlled and drag your fork slowly between your lips, sucking it clean before resting it on the plate. You glance at Georgia with a small, knowing smirk. “I’m not leaving her in Germany.”

Across the table, Leah narrows her eyes like she’s lining up a shot “Then why were you in Barcelona?” she says, tone mock-sweet. “You’ve still not answered me.”

You don’t blink. “I told you I wasn’t in Barcelona.”

Leah’s already pulling out her phone, tapping the screen. “I literally have the thread open. Pictures. Of you. At a game.”

You shrug, reaching for your water. Calm. Measured. “Wasn’t me. Must have a Spanish twin.”

Beth lets out a high-pitched laugh and claps her hand over her mouth. Georgia groans dramatically beside you. Leah points her fork at you like it’s a knife. “I know you’re lying to me.”

Before you can reply, Millie, who has missed absolutely everything, looks up from her bowl of fruit like it’s the first she’s hearing of this. “Wait— is your contract up at Bayern?”

You turn to her, unbothered. “Not ’til the end of next season.”

Millie frowns thoughtfully. “So you could move on?”

You nod once. “I could.” You stab a bit of sweet potato with your fork. Cool as ever. “We’ll see.”

The table quiets just slightly not completely but enough, because now everyone’s reading into it. The phrasing. The calm. The deflection.

Beth leans back in her chair, shaking her head with a grin. “She’s so annoying when she’s like this.”

Georgia crosses her arms. “She does that thing where she technically tells the truth but also doesn’t say anything.”

You say nothing. Just smile, because they’re not wrong.

⚽️

You’d come down here to be alone. To switch off. Headphones plugged in, controller in hand, Call of Duty loading on the screen.

The match kicks off. You settle into it easily focus narrowing, shoulders loosening, brain finally dialling into something simple and competitive. You barely notice when the door opens. Spanish voices. Low. Familiar.

You glance up, expecting them to pass by but they hesitate. Just inside the threshold, a small group of them hover. Patri, Jana, a couple others you’ve only exchanged nods with so far. They’re dressed in hoodies and sliders, clearly winding down. But they don’t move farther in like they’re waiting for permission.

You pause the game, pull one headphone off, and smile. “Hey,” you say simply, nodding. “Come in. I don’t bite.”

They laugh softly, surprised. Patri mutters something in Spanish to the others, and after a few beats, they drift in. Quiet, casual. Still a little cautious. You realise then they’ve been keeping their distance, not out of disinterest, not out of attitude, but out of respect.

They didn’t want to step into your space unless you made it clear they were welcome. You unpause, fingers working the controller again. Patri lingers near the edge of the nearest sofa, watching the screen.

“You play?” you ask.

She shakes her head with a grin. “Only when I’m bored enough to embarrass myself.”

You laugh properly this time and she grins wider. She sits nearby, not next to you, but close enough. The others do the same spilling onto bean bags and floor cushions, chatting amongst themselves, tossing occasional comments your way as you mow down enemies on-screen.

It’s easy. Light. You’re mid-reload when the door opens again. You hear her before you see her Alexia, finishing a phone call, voice low, Spanish soft and measured as she tucks her phone into the pocket of her hoodie.

You glance up. The second she sees you, she smiles small, effortless. Like of course you’re here. Like this is exactly where she expected to find you. She walks past the others with a gentle squeeze to Patri’s shoulder.

And without hesitation she takes the one spot left on the sofa, next to you there were other cushions. Other chairs, but no one else took that place, not one of them, not even when you’d sat there for fifteen minutes alone.

And now, sitting beside you knee brushing yours, hands resting calmly in her lap Alexia leans back like she belongs there.

And something clicks, they didn’t take that seat... because it wasn’t theirs to take.They knew, maybe not the whole story, maybe not everything. But enough.

You say nothing, don’t look at her, but your chest is warm, your mouth can’t help its curve, and your hands are steady on the controller even as your pulse thunders beneath your skin.

Alexia shifts slightly beside you not speaking, not looking but her leg presses against yours, gentle, grounding.

And for the first time all day, you feel completely still.

You finish the game you were playing, you toss the controller onto the table beside you, stretching your arms overhead with a satisfied sigh as the final stats flash on screen.

The girls around you clap half in celebration, half in sarcasm teasing you for your accuracy, your kills, your body count. You grin through it all, playful and relaxed.

Alexia is still beside you, legs crossed beneath her now, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, close without crowding. The Spanish girls have broken off into small conversations Patri and Mapi trading jokes, Aitana curled up with her phone, Jana humming softly to the song playing from someone’s speaker.

It’s quiet. Soft, then in a lull Patri looks up from her spot two cushions over, eyes on you, voice casual but clearly meant to land. “So,” she says, in English, “Why didn’t you tell your team you were in Barcelona?”

The question hangs there not sharp, not cold but deliberate. You feel it land between you and Alexia like a small spark on dry grass.

You glance over, she’s not looking at you, but she’s not pretending not to listen either. You shift slightly, leaning back into the cushions, playing with the hem of your shorts.

You don’t answer right away, you don’t need to, Patri’s gaze is calm. Patient, but underneath it you can feel the pulse of what’s really being asked.

You take a breath. Then you shrug, voice quiet but steady. “It wasn’t their business.”

Mapi raises an eyebrow, amused. “No?” she says. “Beth seems to think otherwise.”

You smirk can't help it, “She always does.”

That gets a few chuckles. The mood stays light but the thread doesn’t slip. Patri’s eyes stay on you a moment longer. “Just curious,” she says, holding your gaze. “That’s all.”

You nod, a beat of silence. Then without looking, without shifting Alexia finally speaks. Quiet. Calm. “Sometimes it’s easier not to explain what people will turn into something else.”

It’s not a question. It’s not even directed at you, technically, but it lands squarely in your chest.

“I didn’t go for headlines,” you say simply. “I went for... time.”

No one pushes after that and somehow the quiet deepens. Not uncomfortable. Just... settled.

Alexia shifts again beside you closer this time, just slightly, her hand brushes yours, and when you don’t pull away when neither of you moves it says more than anything else in the room.

It happens slowly. One by one, yawns, stretches, quiet excuses in Spanish. Mapi glances between the two of you and smirks knowingly before she stands. Jana gives you a warm smile as she collects her phone. Patri lingers the longest, offering a casual "Buenas noches" like she hasn't just left a small ripple in the middle of the room.

Then the door swings shut behind them, and it’s just you and Alexia.

She’s still curled on the other end of the sofa, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, eyes flicking between you and the now-idle TV screen. You glance over at her. She looks away. Classic. You smile softly to yourself.

You manoeuvre on the sofa to sit facing her, "Could they be any more obvious?"

She clears her throat, cheeks just a touch pink, she lets out a quiet laugh shy and warm and so her. She pulls one leg up onto the sofa, facing you now, even if she still won’t meet your gaze for more than a second.

She pulls her sleeve over her hand and starts gently picking at a loose thread a tell you’re beginning to recognise now. You watch her for a moment, then say, low and warm, “Did they leave the seat open for you?” Her eyes flick up at that quick and startled. You smile, not cocky, just sure. “You know they did.”

Alexia exhales slowly, the smallest curve at the corner of her mouth, “They’re not subtle,” she murmurs.

You lean back slightly, folding one leg under the other. “No,” you agree.

She goes still at that, just for a beat, then she shifts again, rests her chin on her hand, eyes finally meeting yours properly.

There’s a softness there, not shy, just... unguarded.

“Would you care if I'd told them about me going to see you and you coming to see me?” she asks, barely above a whisper.

It’s not loaded. It’s not even afraid. Just curious. You sit with it. Let it settle in the space between you, because it’s not the kind of question that needs a fast answer.

You shrug gently, voice matching hers in tone. “It's your story to tell I suppose.”

She nods once, thoughtfully. Like that’s enough, you hold her gaze, steady and open. She smiles, small but sure and this time it doesn’t falter. She shifts closer, knee brushing yours now. Not tentative. Not unsure.

Just... there. You let out a slow breath and say, teasing, “You’re still terrible at small talk.”

She rolls her eyes but grins, and this time, it reaches her eyes. “I’m better at passing,” she says.

You huff a laugh. “That’s debatable.”

“Do you want me to prove it?” she challenges, mock serious.

And just like that, the tension lifts, because between the laughter, the teasing, the way your knees stay touching now, she leans back a little, eyes scanning your face, and then quiet again, soft again, “I like being near you.”

You feel it land low, deep, honest. “I like you near me,” you say back.

"When can I see you again?"

You bang your knee to hers, "What? Is this not good enough for you?"

"I've come to love cliches"

You knock your knee against hers again, grinning, she pretends to wince, overly dramatic. “You’ve come to love clichés?” you echo, raising an eyebrow. “Since when?”

Alexia shrugs soft, honest but whatever she’s about to say never lands, because the door bangs open, sharp and jarring.

You both look over as Montse strides in, her words clipped, brisk Spanish cutting through the calm like a blade. Alexia tenses beside you, the moment folds up, you shift back slightly as Montse rattles off something you don’t understand, her eyes never even flicking in your direction.

You’re invisible, but not to Alexia, she’s already pushing to her feet, hoodie sleeves tugged down, chin lifting slightly.

“I have to go,” she says quietly, regret threading through every syllable.

You nod, already feeling the weight of the shift, the loss of her warmth beside you. She reaches a hand out, you raise yours half reflex, half habit and slap it gently in return, but she doesn’t let go.

Her fingers close around yours. A pause. “They’ve sorted us a hotel,” she says, softer now. “We’re going.”

You glance up at her, still seated, suddenly not ready. “See you soon then,” you say hopeful, too much like a question.

She stands over you, gaze fixed on yours, something unreadable moving in her expression.

And then a hand comes on the arm of the sofa beside you, the hand on your hand leaves and finds your chin slow, certain and she tilts your face gently up to hers.

You don’t have time to speak, don’t have time to think, because she kisses you.

Not rushed. Not apologetic. Just sweet. Soft.

Like a promise, like she’s making up for the airport, like she finally let go of whatever was holding her back.

Her lips move slowly against yours, careful, almost reverent her thumb brushing lightly against your jaw and when she pulls back, it’s not far. Just enough to look at you, really look,

“I didn’t want to leave it again,” she murmurs, "I should of done that at the airport"

You just nod, barely. "You should have" you whisper because your heart’s in your throat and her touch is still warm on your skin and she finally, finally did what you'd been thinking about since you came ever so close at the airport,

She finds your hand again and gives it one last squeeze and then she’s gone.

But her kiss stays with you. Like the most perfect cliché. You just had to find Gee and Beth, you counted to ten in the hopes Alexia would not be in the hall way when you left the room.

But of course she was. As you came out the door there she was, with her team Montse speaking yet again, "Sorry" you mutter walking by through the lined corridor of Spanish players.

Your eye connect with Alexia's ever so briefly as you brush by her finger runs over your wrist intentionally, a silent conversation, you bump your hand into her hip in return not missing a step on your way to find just someone to tell. You had to tell someone.

And then you’re gone. Still walking. Still moving. Still trying not to explode.

Your skin’s buzzing, your heart’s somewhere in your throat, and you don’t care where you’re going exactly just that you find someone.

Someone to tell. Beth. Georgia, it doesn’t matter who’s first. You take the stairs two at a time, mind racing, face burning, mouth stretching into a smile you can’t suppress.

You find them in the corridor of the rooms Beth half-asleep on a beanbag, Georgia picking at crisps as she sat her back against the wall. Georgia out of the team spot you first, she narrows her eyes instantly.

“You’ve got that face.”

Beth sits up straighter. “What face?”

Georgia grins. “The something’s happened face.”

You just stand there, trying to keep your voice steady, trying to not grin like an idiot, at this point you don't care the whole team is here.

“She kissed me,” you say.

Georgia’s eyes go wide

“Who—” Beth starts.

“Who do you fucking think!,” Georgia cuts in.

"What?" Millie was paying attention, "What did you just say?"

You collapse into the beanbag with Beth, head spinning, hands covering your face.

“Okay, tell us everything,” Beth demands, already grabbing your wrist.

“Was it good?” Georgia asks at the exact same time, already smirking.

You laugh into your hands. It’s too much. It’s perfect. “She kissed me,” you say again, softer this time. Like repeating it will help you believe it.

The room stills. Like someone hit mute. Beth’s eyes are huge, but her mouth is already splitting into a grin that looks ready to explode.

Georgia’s the only one moving slowly folding her arms, smug as anything, nodding like she’s been proven so right, but the rest pure stunned silence.

Millie’s frowning like you just told her two plus two equals fish.

Tooney finally says it. “Wait. Who kissed you?”

A little sheepish, heart still in your throat, you say, "Alexia"

Lucy nearly chokes on her protein shake.

Keira drops her phone in her lap. “Alexia Putellas?”

You glance at Georgia, who raises an eyebrow and mutters, “Told you this lot weren’t paying attention.”

“No, sorry.” Alex leans forward, hand in the air like she’s at school. “When did that become a thing?”

Beth’s already bouncing next to you, grabbing your arm. “Are you kidding me? This is so exciting!”

“But how—” Ella cuts in. “Like when? Where? How do you even know her like that?!”

You laugh helplessly, because yeah, you get it, to them, this came out of nowhere.

Georgia leans back, arms behind her head, she says smugly. “They were making eyes at the champions League games. And when we played Spain last month. You were all too busy watching the ball.” Beth cleared her throat, "Except Beth, she saw it"

"So you went from making eyes to kissing?" Millie asked

“Erm, no. She uh she came to Germany. She visited me, stayed with me, we hung out for a few days” you say finally, voice soft. “Then I visited her in Barcelona, stayed with her.”

You glance around the corridor at the sea of shocked faces, half in awe, half still short-circuiting.

“She kissed me before she left just now,” you add, quieter again. “It wasn’t dramatic. Just… real. Said she should of done it at the airport yesterday”

And that’s when the chaos starts, "Thats why you were in Barcelona?" Leah exclaimed, "You were seeing Alexia"

"So are you like? Dating?"

You shrug, "I don't know. It's-"

Georgia smiled, "It's giving clueless shy teenager"

"Fuck you Gee" You laugh as she did.

⚽️

It’s only a friendly, that’s what they keep saying.

Low stakes. Rotations. Minutes in legs, but you feel different, there’s something crawling under your skin not nerves exactly, but anticipation.

You step out into the tunnel, boots scuffing lightly against concrete, the murmur of the crowd leaking in from the stands. You roll your shoulders, breathe through it.

Beth jogs up beside you, bumping your elbow. “You good?” You nod, too fast. She squints at you. “You sure?”

Before you can answer, Georgia jogs past, turning back over her shoulder. “You heard? Spain are here nothing else to do so came the came”

You blink. “What?”

Gee's already pointing subtle, just a tilt of the chin toward the lower stand across from the benches. You follow her gaze and there they are.

A block of familiar red hoodies Spain’s internationals still stuck in England. Still!

And right in the middle Alexia. Hair loose around her shoulders, sunglasses perched in her hair, coat undone like she didn’t even think about looking cool and yet still does. She’s watching warm-ups casually, like it’s nothing, but you feel it.

You shake your head, fighting the smile already creeping up your face as you pick up a jog to go join the warm ups in the lovely early afternoon sun.

It dawned on you, she's never watched you play like this, you've watched her, you've played against her, but she's never done this. Sitting in the stands to watch you play. No pressure. None at all.

You knew where they were all sat and the position you were in today, you would be playing right up and down in front of them all the first half.

You finish the final stretch of warm-ups, but peel off before heading inside as you spot them. Your little brothers.

Tiny hands waving over the hoardings, feet bouncing, eyes glowing. Your dad’s standing beside them, and beside him his wife, and her daughter twelve, polite, slightly shy, but smiling when she sees you heading over. You give her a little wave, as you approached.

You slow your jog as you get to the barrier, "DAD!" you shout, he can't hear you. Of course. "DAD!" You motion to Freya to get your dad which she does and you point at the boys and motion for them. You lean on the advertising board as they excitedly rush down the steps past the Spanish team.

“Look who’s here,” you grin, ruffling there hair and kissing there heads.

The six-year-old is practically vibrating. “We saw you on the big screen already!”

You laugh, reaching to squeeze his chin. “You excited?”

The four-year-old thrusts out a drawing, a sign he made, crumpled at the edges, a stick figure version of you in an England kit with arms outstretched like a plane.

“I made this!” he yells.

You press a hand to your heart mock surprise on your face, "I love it, make sure you hold it really high so I can see it"

They’re a little overwhelmed with the amount of people and noise already, but full of joy this is their moment, seeing you out there, and you drink it in like water.

You smile, "I have to go but one question, if I score what celebration should I do?"

They lose it.

“Do the sui!” “No, do a heart!” “Do the cartwheel!” “Backflip!”

You’re laughing, fully gone, hands fixing your hair as you shake your head.

“Okay, okay,” you say. “If I score… I'll pick one.”

They both agree loud and excited and you squeeze their hands before you go, you went to go but spot Freya coming down, you give her a quick side hug check she's ok before sending the boys off with her and sprint across the pitch and down the tunnel now no one else was out here.

But as you turned, brushing your palms on your shorts, you feel it. Eyes. You didn't have to turn to know it was Alexia watching you.

Seated amongst the rest of her team, her arms folded, eyes fixed on you but not in the way she would watch you on a pitch.

It was softer than that, warmer.

⚽️

It’s been one of those starts, they’ve clearly done their homework Portugal’s midfield and defence collapsing on you every time you get the ball, and the ref was letting way too much go.

First it was a late hip-check. Then a clipped heel. Now it’s every possession hands on your back, arms across your chest, studs snapping too close to your shins. You keep shaking them off, keep getting up, until you don’t.

The ball’s played into your feet just outside Englands half, you open your body, try to spin and the moment your touch shifts into space, a challenge comes straight through you. Legs gone. Feet out from under you.

You don’t fall, you hit the ground shoulder first and hard. With a sickening thud, the kind of impact that knocks the breath out of your lungs before you can process the pain.

The whistle doesn’t come, of course it doesn’t. You stay down, not in a dramatic way, not milking it, but because you have to. Just still., trying to breathe, trying to see straight, access if it hurts just because it does or if you were injured,

You hear the crowd screaming at the ref that sharp collective roar, sounds of whistles being made with mouths. Alessia the only one up the pitch shouts your name, but you don’t respond right away.

Your shoulder pulses. Your elbow’s scraped raw. Your ribs feel like they got rung like a bell.

And above all of it you feel her, you don’t look toward the stands, you don’t need to. You know Alexia’s watching not as a player, not even as someone who knows the game but as her. The one who held your chin last night, the one who kissed you like it meant something, the one who sees you, now, folded on the pitch and not bouncing back since it happened right in front of the Spanish team.

You push yourself up slowly, testing weight on your arm, breathe coming through your nose. You hear the bench yelling for the fourth official. You hear Alessia calling across the pitch again, the bench wanting her to find out if you were ok as the ref was still not taking you on stopping the game.

But through all of it, there’s only one person you want to look for you glance toward the crowd, and there she is sunglasses gone, hands clenched in her lap, eyes locked only on you.

You’re up. Barely, but you’re already walking it off, because she’s watching and so is your family. And that’s enough to keep you upright even if you’re hurting.

Down the opposite end of the pitch, stretching the pitch, two passes and they’re in the box.

Before you can even catch your breath, the ball’s in the net.

0-1.

The stadium groans, the bench is shouting. Your teammates throw up their arms in frustration.

You just stop, right there on the pitch, you throw your head back, chest heaving, throat closing tight with exhaustion and heat and pure frustration.

Then you drop, not like before this time, you choose to. You lower yourself back to the turf flat on your back, arms above your head, lungs dragging at air like it’s suddenly gone thin.

Your eyes sting, not from tears not exactly, but from everything. The pain. The helplessness. The way you can feel your family watching. The way you know Alexia is too.

You press the heel of your hand to your chest, try to breathe through it.

It doesn’t work, you squeeze your eyes shut, and suddenly, a shadow cuts across you.

Beth.

She’s already crouching beside you, a hand on your side voice low and tight. “You alright?”

You can’t answer you just shake your head once. Tiny. Honest.

Georgia’s there too now, someone’s signalling to the bench as your team all descend on you making the watching crowd now even more worried it wasn't you to stay down, let alone go back down.

The ref’s finally calling for the physio, but you don’t move. You just stay down, chest rising too fast, eyes fixed on the blue sky overhead.

And all you can think for just a second is whether she’s still watching, and how stupid you look.

You don’t open your eyes when the physios arrive. You feel the soft tap on your ankle, the calm voice saying your name twice, then a third time.

Beth’s still crouched beside you, one hand braced on your shin, her voice close to your ear. “Breathe. Okay? I’ve got you. Just breathe.”

One of the medics asks, “Where’s the pain?” and you gesture toward your ribs with a shaky hand, still not speaking.

The other’s pressing gently against your shoulder now. "Range of motion?"

You nod once. But you’re still flat on your back. Still trying to find a breath that feels full.

Millie's voice comes from somewhere just above. "She’s been getting kicked every five minutes. Are we seriously gonna wait until she can’t stand to protect her?"

You push yourself up, quicker than before, pain flares down your side like it’s laughing at you, but you grit your teeth, get an elbow under yourself, then the other, until you’re sitting. Barely.

Beth’s hand steadies your back. "You’re not weak for coming off," she murmurs.

“I’m not,” you rasp. “Coming off.”

She gives you a long look, not impressed, not unkind.

Then quiet, but pointed, “Saw her stand up when you hit the deck.”

Your jaw tightens.

You get to your feet stagger, then plant them, he physios hover, the ref checks in. You’re not okay, but you’re not done and as the whistle goes to restart, and your waiting on the touchline to be let back on, your hand drifts briefly toward your ribs, grounding yourself.

The pain’s not gone, but your feet are under you and you know she’s still watching and it was time to put on a show.

You’re still feeling every step.

Each sprint tugs at your ribs. Every pivot sends a throb through your shoulder. You’ve gone quiet on the ball not because you’re hiding, but because you’re calculating. Watching, biding your time, you watch as slowly your markers distance, giving you more and more space as you slow to a walk back and to follow the direction of the play but not involved. You know what you’ve got left for this half and you’re saving it.

The board goes up: +3.

There’s a murmur through the crowd not a roar, not yet but people are shifting, expecting whistles, slow jogs, the halftime lull, but you’re still moving.

The ball breaks down the left Beth, of course, fighting through two defenders like she’s got something to prove. She cuts it inside, sharp and low, and Georgia takes the touch on the edge of the box.

You’re trailing, late, not marked, open.

Georgia sees you flicks it your way the pass is bouncing, awkward not clean, but you don’t need clean. A roar of shoot erupted from the England fans and you just hit it.

Left foot, none preferred foot, first time, outside of the boot, top of the laces. It rises fast skipping the turf, arcing, curling away from the keeper. You know it’s in before it even finishes rising.

Top corner. The stadium erupts.

You don’t stop to think you’re already turning, already running toward the touchline with your arms out but halfway there, your ribs bite, and you stop short.

Instead, you slow, you bring your hands up and you make the heart exactly the way you promised.

You glance up as your swamped by your team not toward the bench, not toward the camera, but the stands. And there she is, Alexia, not standing, s smile over her mouth. Not shocked, not disbelieving.

Just… in awe.

Mapi beside her nudges her hard. Patri shouts something you don’t understand. Alexia's just watching you.

You lower your hands, still breathless, still burning, but smiling.

⚽️

Second half starts and you press.

Every time they try to close you down in twos, you draw one in and spin away. Every time they get physical, you use it a shoulder drop, a feint, a switch of pace.

In the 48th minute, the gap opens.

Beth sends it to you from wide overhit slightly, bouncing but you chase it anyway. The Portuguese centre-back goes shoulder-to-shoulder with you.

Big mistake.

You let the contact roll you forward, slip low around her blind side ball sticking to your foot like it's tied there.

Two touches then you bury it.

Low. Near post. Keeper stuck.

2-1.

You don't celebrate wildly you just turn back toward the halfway line, all calm smirk and low nods, like this is exactly what was always going to happen. By the time the 55th minute hits, they’ve stopped pressing you.

And that’s when you go again this time it starts with Keira — ball recovered deep, pinged straight to your feet just outside the box. You drop a shoulder, glide right, and they don’t follow, they’re waiting. Sitting, so you take the space.

One touch. Two. Left foot. Curled. Over the keeper, bottom corner.

3-1.

You don’t even lift your arms, you just turn, eyes sweeping the crowd until you find Alexia as you await the onslaught of your teammates

Standing this time, one hand fisted low at her side like she’s trying not to cheer too obviously, but her eyes shine.

65th Minute

The cross is perfect fast and low skimming past the first defender, bending into that no-man’s-land between keeper and back line.

You see it early. You know the run. You’ve made this run a hundred times. It’s instinct now. You break the line. You dive.

Head low, shoulders tucked, eyes on the ball. You dip and drive forward and connect. It’s beautiful. A flick, just enough, ball sails past the keeper’s hand.

The ball is in, you know it, you felt it glance off your forehead, the weight of it pulling away toward goal.

But you never see it go in, because the defender’s boot slams into the side of your face mid-dive hard, blind, no malice, just collision and your body crumples and twists with the force mid-air.

You hit the ground with a dead weight thud, sparking fears you were out cold instantly with the way you fell, face first, no reaction to try and cushion your fall with your arms, they were just as limp as the rest of your body appeared to be.

The stadium reacts before you can, he gasp the collective inhale rolls like thunder, before that silence you never wanted to hear in a football stadium,

Boots thudding as your teammates swarm, but you don’t move, because your body won’t let you.

The blow rings through your skull, white-hot and suffocating. The sound disappears dulled like you’re underwater, your vision pulses with light and black edges, your jaw slack. Your lips parting. And the blood warm and constant begins to stream from your cheekbone, nose, lip, you taste it.

You're aware of nothing other than pain and the dull weight of your head on the grass.

You hear your name again and again but it feels far away, even Beth’s voice, usually sharp as a knife, barely lands.

The medics reach you in seconds, one is already holding your head, the other’s checking your breathing, murmuring something you can’t follow.

You catch phrases in broken pieces.

"Concussion protocol." "Stay with me." "Bleeding from the orbital..." "Possible fracture."

Your breath shudders, and a timid cry escapes your lips as the medics are rolling you carefully now, stabilising your neck, pressing something against the blood to slow it.

Someone taps your shoulder, tells you to squeeze a hand if you can hear them. You do. Barely.

Your eyes flutter half-open, lashes wet with blood and sweat, and then your eyes move, they find Alexia frozen risen in her seat still as stone.

She’s standing feet braced like she doesn’t trust her own knees eyes locked on you. She’s not shouting, not calling your name, she’s just watching, and she doesn’t move.

You come back to yourself in pieces.

First, the cold. Not the air the grass. Damp and sharp beneath your body. The way it clings to your skin. It smells like dirt and turf pellets and blood.

Then, pain, spiking, dull, all at once.

Your cheekbone throbs with a heartbeat of its own, your jaw’s locked, your eyes won’t open all the way, your nose doesn't even feel like it's still apart of you and your ribs still sore from earlier now ache with the effort of every breath.

You flinch when gloved fingers press gently to your face.

“She’s responding,” someone says. “Pupils reactive.”

Your lips part, dry and cracked, the taste of iron spreads again across your tongue.

You feel pressure on your shin steady, grounding and then a voice, closer, lower, “It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re here.” Georgia.

You can’t see her, but you feel her crouched beside your legs, probably giving the medic hell in her own way. You manage to shift one hand. It twitches against the turf. That’s all.

Still, the physio murmurs, “That’s good. You’re doing good.”

Another figure joins the edge of your blurred vision Leah, maybe, pacing just out of reach. Someone calls for water. There’s shouting you can’t track, the ref speaking to the fourth official.

And still beneath it all that awareness, she’s watching, you don’t see Alexia, but it's like her presence is stitched to your skin. Like the back of your neck can feel the weight of her stillness.

The physio cuts through again. “Hey, can you hear me?” You nod. Barely. “Can you talk?” You try. Nothing comes, just a low breath, half-choked on the edge of your tongue.

Georgia grabs your hand. “Don’t force it. You're doing great, yeah?”

The ref leans in, there’s talk of subs, of time, but you’re not leaving. Not yet. You blink once slow, heavy and drag your gaze toward the sideline.

Alexia is still on her feet, still rooted to the same spot, hands clenched now, hoodie sleeves bunched in her fists.

The voices begin to settle, the urgency in them thins not gone, but changed. Less panic, more preparation. The medic closest to you leans in, voice low and careful. “We’re going to help you sit up, okay?”

You nod. Or something like it.

They count one, two, three and gently roll you, shoulder first, until you’re propped awkwardly onto your side. Your head swims a wave of heat washes over your skin.

Georgia is right there, crouched beside you still, her hand braced against your back.

“You’re alright,” she whispers, her voice thick now. “You scared the hell out of us.”

You let out a breath through your nose all you can manage, another medic moves in with gauze. They press it carefully against your face the bleeding’s slower now, but your face is tacky, red, sticky with sweat and blood.

You can’t quite open your left eye but you’re awake, then they start to lift you one under each arm, guiding your weight, giving you the chance to push with your own legs, it’s slow. Your knees don’t feel like yours at first. The pitch tilts. The lights feel too close.

But you rise, bit by bit, until you’re upright.

The stadium comes into focus blurred edges, crowd murmuring again, then clapping. Louder now, you blink into it, dazed.

You glance sideways Georgia's still at your side, she’s not letting go. You mouth, “Water?” She’s already handing it over, when you’ve swallowed, when your balance returns in shaky breaths you look up.

Alexia is speaking quietly to one of Spain’s staff, eyes only on you and when you look at her, she stops talking, her jaw sets.

Her gaze flickers over your body your limp, your hand pressed to your ribs, the blood still staining, well everywhere.

And for the first time, she looks angry not at you at the game, at the way it takes and takes, no matter how much you give it.

You start the walk.

Flanked by a physio on your left and Georgia still glued to your right, you take that first step off the touchline and immediately, the stadium rises.

It’s not thunderous, not rowdy, it’s steady, respectful, the sound of people knowing what you gave.

You can barely lift your chin your ribs ache with every inhale, your vision still fuzzy on one side, your jaw tight against the throb in your cheek, but you’re walking.

And as you pass the halfway line, they start coming.

Beth is the first hand to your shoulder, a squeeze that says proud. No words needed.

Leah next, touching your back gently, then stepping aside so you don’t have to slow down.

Ella jogs over from midfield, half-breathless, half-emotional. “Don't scare us like that” she whispers as you pass, “Fucking hell.”

You smile with only half your mouth.

Keira’s further down, eyes flicking over your face, her brow tight with worry. “You alright?”

You nod once. Just once.

Lucy, last before the tunnel claps your back, firm. “Reckon that’ll be on highlight reels for years.”

Each touch steadies you, each word softens the ache just a little, but still the tunnel looms. Cool, shadowed. Removed.

Georgia stays close, shoulder brushing yours, “You did it,” she says quietly, only for you. “Even if the rest of us barely kept up.”

You glance toward the crowd again instinctively, your family, your brothers, your dad and just before you vanish beneath the overhang, you glance to Alexia.

Still watching, still unreadable, but you step into the tunnel, the roar fades behind you.

(I hate the fact that in english everything sounds drier. The translator takes away all the flavor)

○ alexia putellas x teen reader (reader has a name in this)

↳ warnings: no warnings.

pt. 1

A LITTLE HOT-HEADED

The Barça B dressing room had that unmistakable sound of every training session: the dull thud of boots hitting the floor, the rustle of jerseys being hastily changed, the constant murmur of overlapping conversations. Some players laughed, others debated plays, and a few simply changed in silence.

Maya was in the second category. The silent one.

Sitting on the wooden bench in front of her locker, she slowly untied the laces of her boots, letting the sound of the loosening leather fill her head instead of everything else. Her jaw was tight. Lately, it had been like that almost all the time.

Because things at home weren’t going well. Because she wasn’t sleeping well. Because she was sick of hearing the same thing over and over again.

"It’s just ridiculous," Nuria Gómez’s voice cut through the general noise, clear as day. "She hooked up with him for one night, and now she acts like he doesn’t exist. Not a glance, not a ‘how are you.’ Nothing."

Maya didn’t lift her head, but her fingers tightened around the leather of her boots.

She knew exactly who Nuria was talking about. She knew who all that venom was meant for every time she opened her damn mouth.

It was for Helena.

Helena Ferrer, who was at the other end of the locker room, her back turned, stuffing her things into her backpack with too much concentration. Maya knew that gesture. That one that said, I’m pretending not to hear, but every word is scraping against my skin.

And Nuria, of course, knew it too. She knew it and wouldn’t stop.

"I don’t know, I couldn’t live with a clear conscience after doing something like that," she went on, letting out a nasal laugh that turned Maya’s stomach. "Playing with someone and then acting like it never happened. That’s just being a shitty person."

Maya closed her eyes for a second.

Breathe. It’s not your problem.

But that was a lie. Because she heard it every single day. Because Helena never defended herself. And because Nuria wasn’t talking out of some sense of justice or wounded pride. She was talking out of spite.

Maya unclenched her jaw just to grit her teeth even harder.

"Don’t you ever get tired?"

She didn’t say it loudly. She didn’t yell. But the locker room wasn’t that big. And Maya never had to raise her voice to be heard.

The murmur of conversation died down. Not completely, but enough for her to feel several people paying attention. Nuria stilled for a moment. Then she turned toward her with a forced smile, the kind that barely covered the thinly veiled hostility underneath.

"Excuse me?"

Maya took her time straightening up and closing her locker before turning to look at her. Her gaze was calm, but there was something dangerous flickering in her eyes.

"I asked if you don’t get tired," she repeated, her voice low but clear. "Of saying the same shit every day."

Nuria narrowed her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe Maya was getting involved in this. "I didn’t know you had to approve my conversations now."

"I don’t care about your conversations," Maya replied, tilting her head slightly. "I care that you’ve been repeating the same thing for weeks, and honestly? It’s getting old."

Nuria let out a laugh, but there was no amusement in it.

"Right. Because defending Ferrer is your new favorite hobby, isn’t it?"

Maya felt Helena shift uncomfortably to her right, but she didn’t look at her.

"I don’t need to defend her. She didn’t do anything wrong."

"Oh, really? Nothing wrong?" Nuria crossed her arms, leaning forward slightly. "You’d be okay with someone using you for a one-night stand and then acting like you don’t exist? Just like that?"

There it was.

Maya sighed.

"This isn’t about what I would or wouldn’t do."

"Oh, it’s not?"

"No. This is about the fact that you keep bringing it up every chance you get, like you can’t let it go."

The locker room was almost completely silent now. Just the sound of a few bags zipping up, the distant echo of water running in the showers.

Nuria smiled without humor.

"I don’t know why you’re getting involved in this, Maya."

"Because it disgusts me." Maya didn’t blink. "It disgusts me to watch you walk around here, looking for her, waiting for an excuse to throw some snide remark her way. Like a damn dog."

Nuria’s face darkened, her hands clenching into fists.

"Eres una gilipollas."

"Y tú una resentida."

Silence.

Helena let out an almost imperceptible breath.

Maya ran a hand through her hair, not taking her eyes off Nuria.

"You hooked up. It didn’t work. Anyone else would move on. But you, Nuria…"

She took a step forward, just one, enough to lower her voice and make it sharper.

"You have to tear her down every single day because you can’t stand the fact that she used you for one night and never looked back."

The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. Nuria’s face was flushed red, but she had no words.

Maya leaned in slightly, her gaze unwavering.

"And if it weren’t for the trouble I’d get into, I’d smash your head against the wall."

Helena let out a breath. Not a gasp, not a 'Maya, stop'. A fucking breath. Like those words had been the only real shield anyone had given her in weeks.

Nuria said nothing.

She couldn’t say anything.

The entire locker room had frozen. No one moved, no one dared to step in.

Maya waited. She gave Nuria the space to respond, to say whatever she wanted. But she didn’t. So Maya shrugged, slung her backpack over her shoulder with the same usual calm.

Then she turned, not bothering to look at anyone else, and walked toward the door.

She left unhurriedly.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And for the first time in a long time, the dressing room was left in complete silence.

🫛🫛🫛

The hallway smelled of liniment and damp grass, filled with that muffled echo of footsteps and murmurs that only lingered after training sessions—when the team was scattered between showers, massages, and unexpected meetings. Maya walked with her jaw clenched, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, and the distinct feeling that this meeting wasn’t going to bring her anything good.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she had been called in. Or maybe she was. The incident with Nuria in the locker room had been too public for it not to reach the coach’s ears.

She stopped in front of the office door and took a deep breath. Counted to three. Knocked twice with her knuckles before pushing the door open without waiting for a response.

The coach was sitting behind his desk, arms crossed, with an expression that didn’t foreshadow anything good. But it was the person sitting to his right that made her frown for a second.

Alexia Putellas.

Maya controlled her reaction. Just the slightest raise of her eyebrows before her face settled back into its usual neutral expression. Don’t get paranoid. Maybe Alexia was just there for something unrelated, maybe they had just finished discussing something before she arrived. Or maybe—and she liked this possibility less—it was about her.

She closed the door calmly and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, as if she were anywhere else and not in an office about to get a lecture.

"If this is about what happened with Nuria the other day," she said before anyone could speak, "I was just following the message you always give us: ‘personal issues don’t mix with football.’"

Silence.

The coach frowned.

"Excuse me?"

Maya didn’t move. Something didn’t add up.

"I had no idea anything happened with Nuria," he continued, looking at her with more interest than she liked. "But now I do want to know."

Shit.

Maya rolled her eyes. In trouble for talking too much.

"It was nothing," she shrugged. "Stupid stuff. Dumb teenage drama, you know."

The coach held her gaze for a moment longer but didn’t press. He just ran a hand over his chin and got straight to the point.

"I called you in because of what happened with the Espanyol player."

Her body tensed instantly.

"Alexia told me what happened."

Maya clenched her jaw. And there it was. She knew it. Her mind went straight to the most obvious conclusion.

Great. Not only did I get a red card during the match, but now they think I was going to start a fight afterward.

She straightened up slightly, arms still crossed.

"Nothing happened," she said flatly. "I didn’t hit her, if that’s what you’re thinking."

Alexia lifted her gaze, looking at her with the same calm she had when analyzing the field before making a decisive pass.

"No one said you hit her."

Maya turned toward her.

"Oh no?" She tilted her head, skeptical. "Then what exactly did you tell the coach?"

Alexia remained relaxed, unbothered.

"I told him about the lack of control you showed during the match," she explained evenly. "About how the Espanyol player was provoking you the entire time and how you reacted."

A prick of discomfort settled in Maya’s chest. She didn’t like being analyzed like that.

"Oh, right. She provoked me, I reacted, and somehow I’m the bad guy."

"No one said you’re the bad guy," the coach interjected. "But you do have a problem."

Maya scoffed.

"My problem is that I don’t let people walk all over me?"

The coach narrowed his eyes, resting his elbows on the desk.

"Your problem is that you let yourself get taken out of the game over nothing."

Maya averted her gaze, biting her tongue to keep from saying the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you think you reacted the right way?" he pressed.

"If the referee isn’t going to do his job, someone has to."

The coach let out a long sigh, as if he were exhausted from having the same conversation over and over again.

"Maya…" He ran a hand down his face. "In football, there are provocations all the time. If every time someone messes with you, you respond with a foul like that, you’re going to get sent off in every match."

Before she could reply, Alexia spoke up.

"If you let them get you out of the game with provocations, you’re giving them exactly what they want."

That comment irritated her more than it should have.

"I didn’t let them take me out of the game. They took me out of the game." She paused. "Which is different."

"It’s not," Alexia countered, still infuriatingly calm. "Porque si cada vez que te tocan un poco los cojones, pierdes la cabeza, entonces te van a manejar como quieran." (Because if every time they push your buttons, you lose your head, then they can control you however they want)

Maya frowned.

She didn’t like how that sounded. Like she was some animal that could be controlled with a few cheap tricks. Like she didn’t have self-control.

But most of all, she didn’t like it because there was some truth to it.

The coach watched her patiently, waiting.

"Do you understand?"

Maya stayed quiet for a moment before answering, her tone clipped.

"Yes."

The coach nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced.

"I hope I don’t have to bring this up with you again."

Maya didn’t respond. She simply turned and left the office with the same calm as always, no rush, no sign of anything. But the moment the door shut behind her, she felt something strange in her chest. A part of her was still angry. Angry that they had treated her like she didn’t know what she was doing. But another part, one she preferred to ignore, knew that Alexia and the coach were right.

And that pissed her off even more.

🫛🫛🫛

The night air was cool, but Maya felt like she was burning under her skin. She walked with long, quick strides, her jaw clenched, her backpack slung over one shoulder. As if each step could help her leave behind the coach’s office, the damn conversation, and, most of all, that patient voice of Alexia Putellas repeating things she already knew but didn’t want to hear.

Football was about provocation, sure. Football was about keeping a cool head, too. Pero que no jodan. (But give me a break)

As she stepped past the club’s entrance, her eyes landed on the bus stop across the street. At this hour, the night buses took forever, and the last thing she wanted was to sit around doing nothing, letting her mind spiral over the same thoughts.

She took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of her backpack. Maybe she could walk to the next stop. Maybe that would get rid of this burning feeling in her chest.

Then, a car horn.

Maya frowned, irritated by the sudden noise, and turned her head, ready to ignore it. But she recognized the car before she could.

A black Audi. And behind the wheel, Alexia Putellas.

The passenger-side window lowered with a smooth hum, and Alexia’s voice, calm as always, cut through the night.

"Get in. I’ll take you."

Her first reaction was automatic: say no.

Because she didn’t like being told what to do. Because she still had her pride stuck in her throat after that conversation. And because, honestly, she wasn’t in the mood to spend more time with Alexia.

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I’m fine. I don’t need a ride."

Alexia didn’t react. She didn’t look surprised or impatient. She just tilted her head slightly and repeated,

"Maya."

Just her name. Said in that low, steady tone—not quite a command, but not a request either.

And Maya, for some damn reason, didn’t have the energy to keep refusing.

She huffed through her nose and muttered something unintelligible as she stepped toward the car. She pulled open the passenger door and dropped into the seat unceremoniously, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

She didn’t say thank you.

Alexia didn’t seem to expect it.

The engine purred quietly, the only sound in the car besides the distant murmur of nighttime traffic.

Maya stared out the window, arms crossed, her gaze lost in the city lights flashing past. The silence was so thick it was becoming uncomfortable. Suddenly, she was aware of her own breathing. Of every small movement. Of how unnervingly calm the car felt even if her head was hell.

She didn’t dare move a muscle, wondering if Alexia felt the awkwardness too—or if she was just immune to it.

Then, Alexia’s voice broke the silence.

"So, you like smashing heads against walls, huh?"

Maya blinked.

What?

Her first reaction was pure internal panic.

How the hell does she know?

Worse: Did she tell the coach?

She turned toward Alexia, her back suddenly tense.

"Who told you that?"

Alexia kept her eyes on the road, only shrugging slightly. "Vicky told me."

Maya exhaled, rolling her eyes.

Of course.

If there was anyone who knew everything that happened in Barça B, it was Vicky López. And if there was anyone she shared it with, it was Alexia. Ever since she started training with the first team, their relationship had become inseparable. Fans even called them “mother and daughter.”

Maya pressed her lips together, uncomfortable.

"I wasn’t actually going to do it. I just said it."

"Sure."

Alexia smiled slightly, not even looking at her, as if she didn’t believe her for a second.

Maya sighed and slumped further into the seat, annoyed. "Did you pick me up just to give me a lecture on anger management?"

"No," Alexia replied casually. "But if you want me to, I can."

Maya turned to her, half incredulous, half exasperated.

"I’ll pass."

A brief silence settled between them. But this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Maya noticed the atmosphere had shifted. Less tense. Less hostile. And though she didn’t want to admit it, Alexia’s attitude—calm, not pushing her, not lecturing her—was making her anger simmer down.

They reached her building a few minutes later. Alexia pulled up in front of the entrance without a word, simply letting the engine shut off smoothly.

Maya unbuckled her seatbelt and, without looking at her, muttered quickly, "Thanks for the ride." Like it physically hurt to say it.

Alexia didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was steady. "See you, Maya."

Maya gave a small nod and got out of the car without another word.

She closed the door with less force this time.