The Fluff I Need To Get Me Through This Day

this fic lives in my mind rent free

Pitch Invader

summary: barça’s twelfth (wo)man

warnings: nothing

a/n: thank you for the request !

word count: 1.6k

-

There are certain truths universally acknowledged: gravity exists, toddlers are irrational, and the Putellas genes are a force of nature.

Today’s a big day: Alexia is playing one of the most important games of the season, and you’re in the stands with your two-year-old daughter, who, despite being the tiniest human in the stadium, possesses the energy of a thousand deranged squirrels. You are, in a word, nervous.

Your daughter, however, is anything but nervous. She’s strapped into her tiny jersey with Putellas scrawled across the back in letters that are nearly as big as she is. Her hair’s up in a ponytail, more like a pineapple sprouting out of her head, but you know that’s the only way she likes it. You’ve brought snacks, water, an iPad loaded with Paw Patrol, and a collection of those little rubber animals she’s obsessed with. You are prepared for every disaster except, apparently, the actual one.

The game kicks off. Your daughter’s glued to the action, her eyes tracking the players with a focus you wish she’d bring to bedtime. She’s screaming "Mami!" like she’s the head of the Alexia Putellas fan club. Which, let’s be real, she probably is.

You, meanwhile, are half-watching the game, half-watching her, and half-wondering when you’ll get the time to sleep ever again. The maths doesn’t add up, but then again, neither does the toddler logic you’re about to encounter.

In the 30th minute, the snacks run out. Which, you should have known, is a harbinger of doom. Your daughter, little genius that she is, finishes her juice box and immediately hurls it to the ground. She gives you the wide-eyed innocent look that usually precedes a request for more snacks or a sudden need to use the bathroom. But not this time.

This time, she leans in conspiratorially, whispering, “Mami!” It’s a statement, a question, and a declaration of war all at once.

“Yes, baby,” you say, patting her hand, thinking she’s just expressing her undying adoration for Alexia. You know what’s coming, but you’re oblivious. Blame it on the lack of sleep or the adrenaline of the match.

“Mami!” she repeats, louder, with more urgency. You’re too busy trying to figure out if she’s got another juice box somewhere in the black hole that is your nappy bag to notice that she’s been scoping out her escape route. You’ve taught her well: always look for the exits. You just never expected her to take that lesson so literally.

“Mami!” And before you can register what’s happening, she’s off like a shot, little legs pumping with the determination of someone who’s just discovered that the world is a lot more fun when you’re not stuck behind bars. Literally. Because she’s somehow squeezed through the railing and is now sprinting toward the field like she’s got the ball and is gunning for the goal.

There’s a split second where time stops. The crowd noise fades, the players blur, and you’re left watching your tiny daughter make her bid for freedom. Then, the panic sets in.

“Oh my God, she’s on the pitch!” you scream, leaping to your feet. Your heart's in your throat, and your legs feel like they’re made of concrete, but you move. You have to. Alexia is going to kill you. No, worse, she’s going to tell your mother.

This is it. You’re going to die. Not because your daughter’s about to get trampled by a bunch of world-class athletes, but because Alexia Putellas is going to murder you on the spot for letting this happen.

“Don’t move!” you yell, as if your two-year-old is going to suddenly develop a sense of self-preservation and stop in her tracks. You leap over seats with a grace you didn’t know you possessed, and suddenly, it’s you versus the grass, a race you never wanted to be a part of.

The security guards, bless them, are as stunned as you are. They’re used to dealing with rowdy fans, not rogue toddlers. One of them starts to move, but you’re faster. You vault over the barrier like an Olympian, not caring that you’ve just flashed half the stadium. Your brain is a mess of conflicting priorities: get the child, avoid the cameras, don’t trip, for the love of God, don’t trip.

“Mami!” Your daughter’s scream pierces the air as she beelines for Alexia, who, by now, has spotted her and is having her own heart attack on the pitch. Alexia freezes, eyes wide, mouth open in a soundless yell. You can see her future flash before her eyes: headlines like “Star Player’s Toddler Takes Over Match” or “Tiny Terror Halts Game, Becomes Internet Sensation.”

The ball is at the far end of the pitch, and most of the players haven’t noticed yet. But one of the defenders has. She’s staring, and then she starts laughing. You can’t blame her. You’d be laughing too if you weren’t about to faint from the sheer absurdity of it all.

Finally, you reach your daughter just as she reaches the center circle. You scoop her up, her little legs still kicking as if she’s going to make a break for it again. She’s giggling, thinking this is all the best game ever, and honestly, you’re too relieved to be mad.

Alexia, however, is sprinting toward you like she’s about to dropkick someone, probably you, into the next century. You flash her an apologetic smile, holding up the wriggling toddler as if to say, “I found her! Look, I’m a hero!”

Alexia doesn’t look like she agrees. Her face is a mix of horror, relief, and something that might be love if you’re lucky. She reaches you, breathless, eyes still wide as saucers. “What… the… hell…?”

“I took my eyes off her for two seconds!” you pant, defensively. “You try keeping up with her!”

Your daughter, oblivious to the chaos she’s caused, throws her arms around Alexia’s neck and says, “Mami, I won!”

Alexia softens instantly, her expression shifting to one of pure adoration. She holds your daughter close, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Yes, you did, mi amor. You won”

The crowd, which had been holding its collective breath, erupts into cheers and laughter. You’re pretty sure you see a wave of camera phones aimed in your direction. Great. You’ll never live this down.

But then Alexia grins at you, and it’s that grin—the one that says she’s both exasperated and completely in love with you—that makes all of this worth it.

“I’m going to kill you,” she whispers, but she’s smiling, and you know you’re in the clear.

“Totally fair,” you agree. “But can we do that after the game?”

With a resigned laugh, Alexia turns to walk you both off the field, your daughter still happily babbling about how she’s the best player ever, better than even Mami. And you? You just can’t wait to tell her how this day was 100% her fault when she’s old enough to understand the concept of consequences.

As you reach the sidelines, you catch the eye of the commentator, who’s openly laughing now. “And that, folks, is what you call a family affair!”

You wave awkwardly, knowing you’re going to be a meme by the end of the day. But as you hand your daughter back to her seat, watching Alexia return to the pitch with a look of determination that’s all business now, you can’t help but feel a rush of pride.

Sure, you almost derailed an entire match. But on the plus side, you just might have discovered a new sport: Toddler Sprinting, with a side of Parental Panic. Gold medals all around.

I feel like lovie can con Leah into anything so one day lovie ask for a dog and she goes up to Leah saying “mama you know how you said you would get me whatever I wanted well I want a puppy can you do it please mama” and Leah can’t say no to her so she comes home with a puppy one day 

WEAK SPOT | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

grumpy masterlist

leah always prided herself on being strong-willed. she could command a defence, lead a team and hold her ground during tough and important matches.

but when it came to you? yeah, she was absolutely useless.

alessia had warned her, of course. "she's four, le. she knows exactly how to get what she wants from you. you have to learn to say no."

leah had just waved her off at the time, convinced she had things under control and that she knew exactly how to say no, like come on it's wasn't that hard after all it was only two letters long.

that was, until one lazy saturday afternoon, a rare break in the footballing calendar where there wasn't any matches but as ever while you and leah enjoyed a relaxing day, alessia was busy running errands she hadn't had time to do through the week.

you climbed into leah's lap, your esme the elephant under you arm as leah was busy reading on her phone. you beginning to play with the hem of her hoodie.

"mama," you started sweetly, looking up at leah with those big impossibly big blue eyes — that leah couldn't seem to say no to.

leah placed her phone down on her chest as she glanced down at you, already sensing danger, "yes, angel?"

"you know how you always say you want me to be happy?"

leah hesitated, unsure at where this was going to go, "uh.. yeah?"

you beamed, inching closer, "well, esme the elephant thinks a puppy would make me so happy." you said resting esme on leah's chest, as leah raised her eyebrows a smirk appearing on her lips.

"esme thinks this does she?"

"well, esme and me”

"can you do it, please. mama?" you pleaded, as you blinked up at her in a way that should have been illegal.

leah was done for.

—

two days later, leah was walking through the front door with a squirming golden retriever puppy in her arms. alessia who had been peacefully making tea in the kitchen, a smile appearing on her face as she heard the front door open and close behind her knowing exactly who it'd be.

expect that big smile quickly disappeared as she turned around and immediately freezing as her face dropped. alessia's eyes darting from leah to the wiggling ball of fluff in her arms, her mouth falling open.

"leah cathrine williamson." she groaned out loud setting her mug down with excruciating precision, "that better be a friends dog-"

leah's face gave it all away in a moment as she winced at her girlfriend's question, "so, okay, before you get mad—"

"before i get mad?" alessia let out a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "you're telling me you just— just walked into a shelter and adopted a dog on your way home from the shops?"

"well, technically i drove there.." leah trailed off. alessia's face less than impressed.

"leah."

leah sighed, shifting the puppy that was in her arms slightly, "listen, less. i tired to say no, i did i promise i really tried." leah began as she stuttered out her words, alessia following along her eyebrows perking ever other word.

"but she looked at me with those eyes and asked and well i admit it, i can't say no to her!" leah lifted the puppy slightly, "and i mean, look at him! that little face. i couldn't say no to that face either-"

alessia slightly amused that leah had finally admitted that she couldn't say no, but her unimpressed demeanour returning as she crossed her arms, "i can say no."

just then the puppy let out a tiny yawn, his ears flopping adorably as he nuzzled further into leah's hoodie, alessia's gaze faltered slightly, her lips twitching. 

leah smirked, "mhm, that's what i thought!"

before alessia could argue her case, your little voice squealed from down the hall, probably realising leah was finally home.

"mama, mama, you got him!"

you came running into the room, your socks slipping slightly on the wooden floor as you skidded to a stop in front of leah. your eyes wide with excitement as you reached up to gently cup the puppy's face.

"you got me the puppy!" you gasped, bouncing on your toes before throwing your little arms around leah's leg, "thank you, thank you, thank you!"

leah grinned, ruffling your hair slightly, "of course, angel."

alessia however, let out a dry laugh folding her arms, "she had and she's also bought herself some time to get some willpower lessons."

leah scoffed, feigning offence. "that's rude."

alessia raised an eyebrow, "is it cause at this rate, lovie could ask for a pony next week, and you'd be out the door before i even noticed."

leah opened her mouth to protest but you were already tugging on her hoodie again.

"mama, can we get a pony too?"

leah froze, opening her mouth to try and say the words but nothing was coming out from her lips.

alessia smirked, knowing she was right, "see?"

leah sighed, looking down at the puppy who licked her chin, "ok, okay, but admit it - he's adorable."

alessia sighed to, finally relenting. she crouched down scratching behind the puppy's ears, "yeah, yeah he's cute."

you clapped your hands excitedly, bouncing on your toes. "can we name him waffles?"

leah and alessia exchanged a look. leah smiled. "waffles it is!"

OOPSIES | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request!

grumpy masterlist

alessia though she had been careful. she really did.

it wasn’t like she or leah had put a name to whatever was going on between them yet. it was still uncertain, still new and they were still figuring it out.

but when leah had came over for dinner that night, it felt.. easy. too easy and too natural for it to be a one off thing.

you had been your usual self throughout the evening, not thinking anything different about leah being over for dinner. you just chatted away about your day at nursery, showing off your newest drawing - a very abstract depiction of a cat is what you insisted it was, and giggling anytime leah made a funny face at you across the dinner table.

so by the time bedtime rolled around, you’d gotten through your usual routine of stalling - asking for five more minutes, for one more bedtime story, then one more sip of water then claiming you were too comfy to sleep and then finally after what felt like an eternity to alessia she was able to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight.

the house was quiet. or at least it should have been.

you had been lying in your bed, tossing and turning as you held your esme the elephant close to you as you could hear the soft murmur of voices downstairs.

you knew you were supposed to be asleep. but curiosity got the better of you

so as you slid out from beneath your bed, padding quietly out of your room, careful to not make any noise as you avoid the squeaky floor boards.

the landing was dimly lit by the glow from downstairs, and as you reached the top of the stairs. sitting down on the very top step, hugging your knees tightly into your chest.

and from your spot through the gaps in the banister you could see the front door where your mummy and leah were standing.

leah with her coat on, keys jangling in her hand by her side as she was clearly about to leave.

but instead of just saying the usual goodbye, leah hesitated and smiled in a way you couldn’t quite place.

then to your surprise as a small gasp fell quietly from your lips, leah leaned in and kissed your mummy.

it wasn’t a long kiss. just a short, soft press of the lips. but your little brows furrowed deep as you watched, confused.

you didn’t say anything, didn’t even make a sound. you just stayed curled up on the top step, watching as your mummy let out a quiet giggle, nudging leah towards the door

“go,” your mummy murmured, still smiling, “before you convince me to make you stay.”

leah grinned, “i’ll text you when im home.”

with one last glance, she slipped out of the door, the lock clicking softly behind her.

you waited. staying still for a few minutes, just to be sure leah was really fine before you slowly made your way down the stairs.

your mummy, now tidying the living room moving the empty glasses from the coffee table looking up in surprise when she saw you.

“lovie?” her brow furrowed, “what are you doing up, baby? you should be asleep.”

you rubbed at your eyes, playing up your usual tired look, “i-i can’t sleep.”

alessia just sighed, placing a hand on her hip, “you’ve been in bed for ages, lovie. what’s keeping you up?”

you just shrugged tiredly, “dunno, my eyes won’t go to sleep.”

alessia gave you a knowing look before walking closer to you and bending down to scoop you up in her arms. “alright, sleepyhead. let’s get you back to bed ey?”

you rested your head on your mummy’s shoulder, letting yourself be carried back upstairs, all while keeping your little secret tucked away.

you didn’t ask about the kiss. didn’t say anything at all. not to your mummy. not to leah.

instead, three days later, you told beth and lia

—

it was a quiet afternoon at the arsenal training ground.

beth and lia were lounging in the players’ lounge, chatting away over a cup of coffee while you were sat on the floor, entirely focused on the colouring book in front of you - your mummy busy getting some treatment.

you had a rainbow of crayons spread out across the floor, your tiny hands busy as you filled in the picture of the under water world with bright blue scribbles.

the room was calm, peaceful. until out of nowhere, you looked up and announced, “mummy kissed someone”

beth and lia both froze.

lia blinked, her coffee cup halfway to her lips, “you what?”

you, still colouring, repeated matter of facts, “my mummy kissed someone.”

beth, always the one for the gossip, immediately leaned forward, eyes alight with interest, “who?”

“the pretty one with the yellow hair,” you said, still focused on your drawing, as if this wasn’t an absolute bombshell of information.

beth and lia exchanged a glance. “do you mean—” beth started, then cut herself off as realisation dawned on her who you were talking about.

you finally looked up, tilting your head like they were being very slow to understand, “leah.”

lia choked on her drink. beth, stunned into silence for all of two seconds, suddenly grinned. “wait, what?”

you just nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “i wasn’t supposed to see.”

beth turned to lia, barely able to contain her excitement. “did you know about this?”

lia shook her head, still looking mildly bewildered. “no. did you?”

“nope.” beth turned back to you as you were still busy colouring in. “when did this happen?”

you just shrugged. “i was supposed to be sleeping.”

beth bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “and why are you telling us?”

you looked confused. “‘cause you didn’t know.”

beth did laugh then, ruffling your hair as you pouted as she made you go slightly out the lines on your picture. “you definitely are your mother’s daughter.”

you just beamed. beth and lia, meanwhile, had some investigating to do.

—

beth caught alessia at training not long after, practically vibrating with excitement.

“so…” she started, dragging out the word. “are you seeing anyone?”

alessia frowned, tugging off her warm-up jacket, wondering where the sudden randomness of the question had came from. “uh… why?”

beth bit back a grin. “no reason.” lia standing just behind beth, snorted. “that’s a lie.”

beth ignored her. “just curious, less.”

alessia looked between them, her stomach twisting with something suspiciously close to dread. “you don’t—why are you asking?”

lia finally took pity on her. “because your daughter told us she saw you kissing someone.”

alessia’s stomach dropped as she stared at them trying to see if they were just joking - they didn’t look like they were though. “she what?”

beth was grinning now, looking like she was having the time of her life. “yep. tiny just came right up to us and said, ‘mummy kissed someone, but I wasn’t supposed to see.’”

lia nodded, clearly amused as well by the situation. “and when we asked who, she just shrugged and said, ‘the pretty one with the yellow hair.’”

alessia groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “oh my god.”

beth practically cackled. “so, just imagine our surprise when we realized she meant leah.”

alessia wanted the ground to swallow her, right there in the middle of the training pitch.

“so how long have you two been sneaking around?” lia asked casually, far too entertained by alessia’s clear discomfort of the conversation.

“we haven’t—we’re not—we’re just—” alessia stumbled over her words, her face burning bright red.

beth cut in gleefully, “oh my god, you are sneaking around.”

“i hate both of you,” alessia muttered, dragging her hands down her face as she groaned.

beth slung an arm around her, barely holding in her laughter. “listen, I think it’s great. you and lee. you just might want to be a bit more careful.”

lia nodded, biting back a smirk. “you know. before you traumatize your child.”

beth snickered. “or before she spills the beans to someone else. beady little eyes, less. they see everything!”

alessia just groaned again, shoving beth off her as the other woman cackled. and, just as if things couldn’t get worse, leah walked up.

beth and lia smirked at each other, the same knowing look on their faces. “oh,” beth murmured, low enough for only alessia to hear, “this is gonna be fun.”

alessia barely had time to compose herself before leah joined them, wiping a bit of sweat off her forehead from the warm-up drills. she glanced between them, brows raised.

“right, what’s going on?” she asked, instantly suspicious. “why are you all looking at me like that?”

beth grinned, brushing off leah’s words casually as alessia tried and failed to get a word out “oh, no reason.”

leah narrowed her eyes. “i don’t believe you.”

alessia could already feel the heat creeping up her neck as she avoided leah’s gaze entirely, focusing intently on tying and re-tying the lace of her boot like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

lia was the first to break. “we were just telling lee the very interesting story that tiny told us today!”

leah frowned. “tiny?”

beth hummed, practically vibrating with excitement. “yeo. she told us she saw her mummy kissing someone the other night.”

leah went still as if time had just stopped entirely as alessia squeezed her eyes shut.

beth, loving every second of this, continued, “and when we asked who it was, she just shrugged and said, ‘the pretty one with the yellow hair.’”

leah’s mouth fell open slightly. “she what?” alessia groaned. “oh my god, please stop.”

beth cackled. “absolutely not.”

leah blinked, trying to process, then turned to alessia. “wait—so she saw?” alessia buried her face in her hands. “apparently.”

leah let out a breath, running a hand through her hair before chuckling. “i mean… i thought we were being careful.”

lia smirked. “clearly not careful enough.”

beth, still grinning like the Cheshire cat, wiggled her brows. “you two have been sneaking around, haven’t you?”

leah smirked. “and what if we have?”

alessia groaned again. “le, please don’t encourage them.”

leah just laughed, bumping her shoulder against alessia’s. “well, i guess now that we’ve been exposed by tiny, we don’t have to keep sneaking around anymore.”

alessia peeked up at her. “you’re way too calm about this.”

leah grinned. “i just think it’s funny.”

beth nodded enthusiastically agreeing with leah. “oh, it’s hilarious.”

lia snorted. “especially since tiny told us like she was giving us the most casual piece of information in the world.”

alessia let out a long, suffering sigh. “of course she did”

beth leaned in, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. “i hope you two realise we’re never letting you live this down.”

leah threw an arm around alessia’s shoulders, grinning. “oh, i wouldn’t expect anything less from you beth!”

alessia just shook her head, knowing this was going to haunt her forever. but when leah squeezed her shoulder, sending her a small smile, she couldn’t help but smile back.

maybe being caught wasn’t all bad.

—

that night, after training, alessia coming home from having dinner at her parents house. you seeing your grandparents and getting rid of some extra energy, alessia got you home and into your pyjamas, letting you pick out a bedtime story and tucked you in as usual.

just as your mummy was about to stand up and leave, you grabbed her hand.

“mummy?” alessia sat back down. “yeah, baby?”

you looked at her with wide, sleepy eyes. “are you and lele girlfriends now?”

your mummy just blinked wide, surprised at your question, “why do you ask that?”

you yawned, snuggling deeper under your cozy covers. “‘cause you kiss her and you always smile when she’s here.”

alessia felt something warm settle in her chest. she tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “i don’t know yet, lovie. we’re still figuring it out.”

you considered your mummy’s words for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied.

“okay,” you mumbled, already half-asleep. “i like her.”

alessia smiled. “i know you do.” she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “now go to sleep, you little troublemaker.”

you giggled, eyes already fluttering shut as alessia stood up and turned off the lamp making sure to put your night light on, she shook her head to herself.

beady little eyes, indeed.

Okay so I was thinking of a blurb with Mapi and Ingrid where reader takes a nap everyday after training or a game but she’s forced to go to team bonding at Alexias place by Mapi and Ingrid and is grumpy since she can’t take her nap and everyone is like what’s up with her when they see the grumpy look on her face and Mapi’s just like ‘oh she didn’t take her nap’ so the whole time reader is falling asleep on the couch either on someone’s shoulder or lap but she can’t because of the noise and when everyone’s finally gone and it’s just them and Alexia she finally falls asleep on Ingrid’s lap

as someone who absolutely thrives off naps, this was felt team bonding II m.león & i.engen

you could have said it was partially your fault, and maybe you would have had the situation been any different. however today you were much less willing to accept any sort of blame, rather pointing the finger at anyone and everyone else.

it had started as you'd all come back into the change rooms after a particularly brutal training session, the sun glaring down on you the entire time had meant your normally tanned and sun kissed skin was mildly burnt and coated with a thin sheen of sweat.

the first session of the day hitting the gym wasn't as bad, the team partially sheltered from the sweltering heat of the barcelona sun. thursdays were always a double session given it was the middle of the week and friday was a rest day, so the second session was of course out on the pitch and it would have been understated to say you struggled.

you'd lived in spain now for nearly three years however born and raised in dreary drizzly england had meant it had been nothing short of a huge adjustment to get used to the change in lifestyle, weather and climate.

especially when it came to running around, training and playing matches on days that sometimes peaked well above thirty degrees, you were often grateful for the drop in temperature when blessed with late afternoon and early evening games.

growing up you'd never been someone who could sit still, always itching to be running around, keeping your hands busy or kicking some sort of sports ball. you'd played almost every sport you could growing up, both of your siblings the same.

you'd felt sorry for your mother, a single mum trying to wrangle three incredibly active kids and dash them from school to practice and home with three different schedules. you would always be grateful to her, and to your grandparents who basically drove you every afternoon to some sort of extra curricular.

football had been what had stuck through the ages, your sister sticking with tennis and your brother abandoning everything to pursue law, though he played a friendly five a side with his colleagues of a monday night.

however despite your insanely high energy levels, work ethic and stamina, all of that exerted force had meant you'd crashed hard and very rarely had a healthy or consistent sleep schedule throughout your youth.

this had meant some days the best rest you got was naps. wether it be a quick twenty minute power nap on the way from school to football or a three hour doze on the sofa of a sunday afternoon after you'd played, you became incredibly dependent on the brief moments of rest and bliss that came with them.

so skipping ahead to present days, that hadn't changed. despite your professional career meaning you should have a consistent, healthy and reliable sleeping pattern, the majority of your rest and recharge came from your naps.

despite consistent scalding from the training staff about the importance of a solid eight hour minimum rest, most nights you were lucky if you slept five to six hours, which of course everyone reminded was due to the frequent naps you took throughout the day.

however old habits die hard and it wasn't anything that you felt affected your playing ability, so who was it really harming? or at least that was the case, most days.

today was no exception, if anything after such a tiresome day of running about in the heat you were extra exhausted and looked forward to nothing more than returning home. the safe little haven you'd created with your girlfriends would greet you with its sun soaked little loveseat you'd often curl up in to get a quick thirty minute power nap in.

or the end of your ever so cozy L shaped couch where you'd stretch out for a longer doze, often with your head in ingrids lap as she read a book and mapi would play video games beside you, headphones on as to not disturb you, both your girlfriends well equipped to your routine.

early on in the relationship they'd of course tried their hand to coax you into a much more stable sleeping routine. but rapidly learning all it would lead to was a night of you tossing and turning and fidgeting in between them, the constant movement and small huffs of frustration in turn keeping them awake as well, they quickly gave up on that battle.

but back to the locker room you'd busied yourself quickly showering and changing, too busied with your head in the clouds to overhear the team making plans for a bonding night at alexia's house. tomorrow being a rest day meant it was perfect to do something tonight, and had you tuned in and overheard you might have had some more time to plan.

however buried deep in your own thoughts and quickly sinking further and further into your bodies screaming demands for a nap you'd zoned out entirely. you'd snapped back to it at a jingle of keys by your ear, glancing up to find mapi staring down at you with an amused smile.

you were quick to your feet, grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, waving your goodbyes as the three of you headed out of the building down to the carpark.

again you zoned out, head a fuzzy mess and skin still crawling from the thick humidity which plagued the air around you. had you been paying attention you might have overheard ingrid and frido or patri and pina behind you, all discussing who was needing to take what to alexia's.

mapi sliding into the drivers seat you kissed ingrids cheek in appreciation as she offered you the front, dumping your bags in the boot and settling into the warm leather you grimaced slightly but sighed, glad to at least finally be off your feet.

you smiled for a few photos as fans hung by the front gate, all keening to get pictures with their favourite players, though all three of you exhausted from the heat you kept it brief. finally on the road and heading home you joined into the initial conversation, though quickly found your eyes growing heavy.

"hey bebita no, we're almost home." mapi chuckled, hand moving to gently squeeze your thigh to stop you dozing off. both her and ingrid were more than capable of carrying your sleeping form inside as had been done plenty of times before, though exhausted from training if it was something that could be avoided then they would do their best to do so.

you busied yourself discussing training with the two of them, as well as the upcoming game against athletico on the weekend. your mother was coming to visit for a few days and you spent time going over what she wanted to do and see while she was here, the three of you grabbing your bags finally home.

in the elevator up to your shared apartment your struggle increased, eyes heavy once again as your head fell to mapi's shoulder, leaning a little more into her body making her smile and kiss the side of your head affectionately.

you heard her ask you something in spanish but half asleep you only hummed, agreeing to whatever she'd said as the doors opened on your floor. ingrid unlocking your front door you stumbled inside, scowling at the blonde haired spaniard beside you who'd stuck her foot out to trip you.

ingrid scolding her in norweigein you threw your bag at her and she chuckled, moving to put them away. you squatted down to fondly rub bagheera's head, picking him up and making a beeline for the sofa, your usual spot calling your name as you sighed grateful for the air con blasting around the apartment.

"siesta time handsome." you mumbled, collapsing tiredly onto the sofa and moving a cushion behind your head, bagheera curling up on your stomach. you sighed contendly, one hand stroking his warm fur as your eyes slammed shut and you started to drift off.

though your brief slumber was halted by something poking at your cheek. "go away!" you huffed, cracking one eye open to see mapi stretched out on the other end of the sofa, poking you with her toe as you shoved her legs away.

"what are you doing elskling?" once again you began to drift until a new voice spoke up, now opening both eyes you looked up to see a pair of green orbs looking down at you curiously.

"what does it look like i'm doing?" you mumbled back tiredly, flinching as the older girl pinched your leg for the comment. "takin a nap." you sighed, eyes closing again as you felt bagheera's weight move off of you, jumping to instead settle in between mapi's tattooed legs which still stretched along the sofa.

"why? we need to get ready to go to alexia's." at that your eyes shot wide open and a frown knitted deep into your eyebrows, pushing yourself up to rest on your elbows.

"why are we going to ale's?" you questioned, confused at the odd break in your usual post training routine. "see amor i told you she was not listening." mapi tutted, shaking her head at you as you shot her a tired glare.

"did you not hear anything we spoke about after training? or in the car? or in the elevator?" ingrid questioned, an annoyed frown settling into her features as she folded her arms and stared pointedly down at you. "no i did not. i'm tired and i need a nap." you grumbled, annoyance growing the longer you were forced to stay awake.

with that you rolled over onto your side, back showing to the tall norweigein who scoffed. "hey! wakey wakey." mapi's feet dug into your back as she cooed at you, shaking your body as you inhaled deeply.

a string of spanish curses dropping from your lips you turned and smacked her legs, a little harder than intended before getting to your feet, thumping off to the bedroom ignoring their calls after you.

"nope!" you groaned loudly as arms wrapped around your torso before you could throw back the covers and slip into bed. "i'm tired." you whined, head leaning back onto mapi's shoulder, pouting up at your girlfriend who smiled in amusement.

"too bad, we have team bonding cariño and we promised we'd go, all of us." mapi tilted your head back a little further, hand gently gripping your chin as she placed a somewhat apologetic kiss to your lips, thumb running over your bottom lip as she pulled away.

"i'm not going. suddenly im sick!" you fake coughed pushing away from her, feeling another pair of eyes burn into you as you flopped backwards onto the bed, covering your face with your hands.

"you are going. get up and changed!" you peeked through your fingers to see ingrid staring firmly down at you, mapi whisting knowingly and ducking out of the room not wanting to get involved.

"no." you replied just as firmly, face still buried in your hands. "you are twenty four stop acting like a child. get up, now." her tone shifted into one you knew all too well, and looking up the fire which simmered just behind her eyes you knew you had about two minutes to do as she asked or you'd pay for it later.

"can i nap for a half hour baby, please?" you switched approach, hands moving to fall at your sides as you looked up pleadingly, her features softening a little but her arms remained crossed.

"no kjære , we need to be there in an hour and it's a twenty minute drive."

at her words you groaned even louder than before, hauling your body up and storming off to the bathroom, making a point to slam the door after you. "pain in the ass every day." ingrid mumbled under her breath with a roll of her eyes.

"no amor you asked for that, you know how she gets when she's tired." mapi held her hands up in defense at the withering look shot at her, backing out of the room again mumbling under her breath in spanish, all too used to mediating between the two of you knowing just how stubborn you could both be when in disagreement over something.

"come on niña bonita, smile. stop being grumpy!" you shifted at mapi's words, the slightly taller girl hugging you from behind and kissing your cheek a few times.

"we'll stay for a few hours and then you can go home and sleep, okay?" ingrid spoke softly, running a hand through your hair as you sighed tiredly but nodded none the less as mapi pressed the buzzer. within seconds the door was opening and you winced at the sudden change of volume, most of the girls seemingly already having arrived.

"ay chica why do you look so down hm?" alexia smiled, bringing you into a hug as she closed the door, the older girl like a sister to you as you sighed and grumbled about being tired.

"you sleep more than a newborn amiga, how are you always so tired?" her body vibrated with laughed as she kissed your cheek teasingly and let you go. "she does not sleep, like a vampire!" patri teased pulling a face at you as pina joined in and you rolled your eyes pushing past them, ignoring their offended calls after you that you'd blanked their hug.

you made a beeline to collapse next to lucy, head immediately falling to your national teammates shoulder. "oh did the little baby not get its nap?" she cooed harshly pinching your cheeks, having known you for years she immediately recognized the signs of exhaustion present in your features.

"no!" you huffed, pushing her hands off as she grinned. "tough luck kid, hard life being an adult." she sighed, patting your cheek and moving so her arm stretched over the back of you and you could settle a little more into her side as mapi took the vacant seat next to you.

normally if you were curled into anyone elses sides both her and ingrid would be green with envy, but lucy having had a heavy hand in the three of you even getting together in the first place they knew she was just as fiercely protective of you as they were.

you felt your girlfriends tattooed hand rest on your leg, fingers tracing shapes absentmindedly on your thigh as she engaged in conversation with the team.

you remained quiet as an hour dragged by and alexia tried her best to organise a food delivery, struggling heavily to decipher orders as no one seemed to be able to answer her without speaking over the top of someone else.

you jolted up awake as alexia snapped, captain mode slipping in effortlessly as she shouted a loud and stern string of catalan, everyone pausing before quietly relaying their preferences one by one.

food ordered everyones focus switched to games, an assortment of different board and card games from all different nations littering the floor. you opted out of playing, shooting poor esmee a murderous look as she attempted to drag you to your feet to be her partner.

"england why are you so moody today?" you looked up to meet oshoala's amused grin as mapi stood from beside her to help alexia get the food delivery from downstairs, the warmth of her hand on your leg instantly missed.

"baby didn't get its nap!" you grunted as two bodies landed on top of you, patri wrangling you into a headlock as claudia sat on your chest, both girls poking and jabbing at you.

something not uncommon for the three of you, known to rough house around quite often given your close ages but today you were not in the mood. you swore and cursed at them in spanish, a few of the older girls in the room shooting you disapproving looks for your language as the games continued.

"i would leave her be unless you want to lose a finger patri, she is a biter." mapi warned with a suggestive grin, returning as most of the girls hurried to their feet at the promise of food. claudia gagged at the insinuation and punched you halfheartedly in the stomach, scurrying away as patri was quick to follow before you could retaliate.

"i want to go home." you huffed, sitting up and running a hand through your tousled hair, fixing your clothes with a glare over the spaniards shoulder at the culprits who were too busy stuffing their faces to care.

"well we aren't." mapi chuckled, hands on your knees as she leant down and moved in closer. "if you're a good girl bebita i promise to reward you when we do get home, in any way you want." the older girl murmured in your ear, teeth gently tugging on your earlobe leaving your cheeks flushed red.

"any way?" you clarified as the defender nodded with a smile. "but only if you behave and lighten up a little, we are here to bond with the team." your girlfriend warned as you nodded.

"otherwise i will just let ingrid have her way with you for the snappy comments earlier, and we both know she does not forget hermosa." mapi smiled knowingly as you sighed, your girlfriend leaning in and pecking your lips a few times until they curled into a smile.

speaking of, ingrid took lucys seat beside you, placing a plate of food in your lap as mapi disappeared to get her own, the rest of the girls settling themselves around the living room as chatter and laughter filled the air.

the taller girl smiled in surprise as you thanked her in norweigen, leaning up to kiss her softly before starting to eat. "don't need to be hand fed do we grumpy?" keira teased, gesturing for your girlfriend to feed you as you flipped her off, ingrid knocking your hand down as your english team mate grinned and took a seat on the floor beside aitana.

mapi settling in on your other side with her own food you tried to make more of an effort, not contributing much to conversation but actively listening. you grinned as you stole some of your girlfriends food, mapi flicking your ear affectionately before kissing your cheek, happy to see you were a little more engaged.

food finished and games back in commencement you found yourself still wedged between your girlfriends, your legs draped over mapi's lap as ingrid held you from behind, chin resting atop your head.

slowly as the night grew later the girls began to drop off, and as the chatter and laughter died down your exhaustion was quick to resurface, blinking drowsily as you tried to stay awake.

but eventually you could fight no more and sleep won, your body suddenly becoming a lot more heavy which didn't go unnoticed by your girlfriends. the last of your team mates leaving alexia returned to the living room to see ingrid hoist your dead asleep form into her lap properly, scoffing with an amused shake of her head.

alexia's girlfriend olga due home from work soon and you seemingly passed out cold your girlfriends agreed to stay and watch a movie, grateful both for your lack of complaining and that you were finally getting some much needed rest.

"you know we are going to get home and she will be wide awake again now, yes?" mapi sighed with a smile, moving your hair out of your face and leaning down to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "i'm counting on that." ingrid smiled though a little less sweetly as mapi caught on, knowing smirk curling into her lips as alexia shot to her feet hearing a knock at the door.

"well, i did promise her a reward." "you're too soft with her." "i am not, you are just too bossy." "neither of you seem to mind that." "you do not give us a choice amor." "is that so? well maybe i need to remind both of you-"

"too loud." you mumbled up tiredly, hands coming to rest over their mouths still half asleep, mapi pressing a kiss to your palm before they dropped limply back to your sides.

"well eskling, guess we'll see who is right when we get home then."

this is the fluff i need i’m my life

Sleep? Never.

It’s so peaceful here. The sun is warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. The waves roll lazily in the distance, their rhythmic crashing blending with the occasional seagull call. You’re stretched out on your stomach, the sand soft beneath you, eyes closed, completely weightless.

Next to you, Alexia flips through a book, one hand resting on your lower back, tracing lazy circles. The food was incredible, the drinks even better. You could stay here forever, basking in the sun, in the quiet, in—

A cry.

A sharp, piercing cry slices through the tranquility. It sounds robotic, unnatural.

Maybe it’s not real.

Maybe the beach isn’t real.

The cries grow louder, like a personal concert—one you’d never pay to attend. Something tugs at your arm.

"Baby."

Is this real?

"Baby, wake up."

No, no, no, no, no.

"I don’t want to."

"She’s hungry."

"So go feed her."

"I physically can’t."

You groan, rubbing your eyes, and glance at the baby monitor. Alice’s face, red with frustration, fills the screen.

"Alexia, I’m so tired it’s not even funny."

"I know, baby," she sighs, already swinging her legs off the bed. "I’ll go get her."

You wave a lazy hand. "It’s the least you can do."

Alexia doesn’t dignify that with a response—smart move. She disappears down the hall, and a few moments later, returns with a very angry, very hungry Alice.

You blink, groggy. "Didn’t I just feed her?"

"It’s been four hours."

You’re already adjusting your pajama blouse, making room for the tiny milk addict currently squirming in Alexia’s arms.

Alice immediately wiggles toward you, desperate, latching on with the urgency of someone who has been completely neglected for decades. Her tiny fingers clutch at your shirt like she’s afraid you might disappear.

"I wonder where she gets it from," you murmur, narrowing your eyes at Alice’s sheer determination.

Alexia raises an eyebrow. "Gets what from?"

You gesture vaguely at the baby. "The dramatics. The belief that the world revolves around her."

Alexia scoffs, leaning against the headboard. "Wow. No idea where she could’ve picked that up, remember when you cried because someone at the store got the last bag you wanted?"

Your jaw drops. "That was a devastating loss, Alexia. That bag and I had a connection."

Alexia crosses her arms. "You never even touched it."

You throw your head back against the pillow. "Because I was savoring the moment! And then—boom—stolen from me."

Alexia rolls her eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck. "Right. Just like how the universe ‘betrayed’ you when your favorite pen ran out of ink."

You scoff. "That pen and I had history."

Alexia shakes her head, but she’s smiling, fingers grazing over Alice’s back. "She’s cute when she’s not screaming."

You smirk. "So, like, ten percent of the time?"

Alexia huffs, nudging you with her knee. "Don’t be mean."

"I’m not! I love her. Even when she’s screaming in my face."

Alice sighs against you, her little body going limp, milk-drunk and utterly satisfied. Her tiny eyelashes flutter as sleep creeps in.

Alexia watches her, softer now. "She’s getting so big."

You hum, stroking Alice’s back. "She drooled in my mouth today."

Alexia snorts. "That’s disgusting."

"It was. I think I saw my soul leave my body."

Before Alexia can respond, Alice suddenly unlatches with a loud, unapologetic burp—straight onto your pajama top.

You freeze. Alexia claps a hand over her mouth, her whole body shaking with barely contained laughter.

You slowly look down at the damage. Then back up at Alexia. "Oh. My. God."

Alexia loses it.

She wheezes, wiping fake tears from her eyes. "I love her so much."

"You’re supposed to be on my side."

Alexia grins, already grabbing a clean pajama top for you. "I am. I just really enjoy watching you suffer."

She helps you change, pressing a kiss to your cheek as Alice gives a sleepy little sigh against your chest.

Once Alice is full, her tiny fingers unclench, her whole body relaxing. Alexia laughs under her breath before carefully lifting her from your arms. "I’ll put her back in her crib."

You nod, already sinking into the pillows, exhaustion pulling at you again. Alexia cradles Alice to her chest, murmuring something too soft to hear as she disappears down the hall.

But then—

Minutes pass.

And Alexia doesn’t come back.

You groggily peek at the baby monitor on the nightstand.

She’s still in there.

You watch as Alexia stands beside the crib, swaying slightly, her fingers brushing over Alice’s tiny back. Even after Alice has fully drifted off, she doesn’t put her down right away. She just stays, watching her with a quiet smile.

Through the baby monitor, you see her finally tuck Alice in. But instead of leaving, she lingers, adjusting the blanket, smoothing a hand over Alice’s hair.

You should sleep. You should take the chance while you can. But you can’t, because the bed feels too empty.

You roll over, rubbing your face, and press a button on the monitor.

"Babe."

A second later, the monitor crackles.

"What?"

"Come back to bed."

"She’s just settling, give me a second."

"She’s asleep. You’re just staring at her."

A guilty pause. Then, "Maybe."

You groan, rolling onto your back. "Alexia, I can’t sleep without you."

The monitor crackles again. "You are so dramatic."

"Says the person who’s been watching a sleeping baby for twenty minutes."

Silence. Then, "Okay, fair."

A minute later, the bed dips, and Alexia slides under the covers, immediately curling into your side.

"You’re obsessed with her," you mumble, half-asleep.

"She’s my child," Alexia deadpans.

You peek one eye open. "I was starting to think you were gonna move in there."

Alexia sighs, pressing her face against your shoulder. "And leave you alone in this state? You’d probably stage a protest."

You smirk, nuzzling into her. "I was already drafting a strongly worded letter."

Alexia chuckles, her arms tightening around you. "I don’t doubt it."

Your breathing slows, warmth settling over you.

And just like that, with Alexia beside you, sleep finally comes.

❤️

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 7 Other Parts

Word Count: 10K

It’s cold in the treatment room. Not freezing just sharp, clinical. The air smells like antiseptic and gauze, the hum of the fluorescent lights loud in the silence. No players. No noise. Just the slow rhythm of your breath, jagged and uneven, and the quiet shuffle of a medic preparing saline and bandages.

You’re half-seated on the treatment table, kit stripped down to your sports bra, skin blooming with bruises one across your ribs, one already formed beneath your cheekbone, angry and swollen.

The pain is sharper now that you’re still, no more adrenaline to cover it. The physio works in silence for the first few minutes. Gloves on, gentle hands, a cold compress wrapped around your ribs. Gauze pressed gently to your face.

“Breathe through your nose,” she murmurs when you flinch. “Slowly. You’re alright.” You do. You try. It hurts. She dabs the blood away. “We’ll get the doc to check for a fracture. You’ve taken quite the walk and by the swelling and bruise it wouldn't surprise me if somethings broke”

You don’t answer. You’re staring at the wall the blankness of it. The stark light of a mounted screen still looping the broadcast. It’s on mute, but you catch it:

Your fourth goal, then the replay, your head to the ball, the defender’s boot. The fall.

You turn away, the medic catches it, “Want me to switch it off?”

You shake your head. “No.”

It stays on, not because you want to see it, but because it happened and you're still here. You close your eyes for a moment just to breathe. The room buzzes around you, distant, unreal and then your phone buzzes from the counter.

You don’t look, not yet, because you know who it is and you need one more breath before you’re ready to see her name on that screen.

The doctor finishes the last stitch with practiced hands, her voice low and even as she snips the thread at your cheek. “You’re lucky,” she says, not unkindly. “Could’ve been worse.”

You’re reclined slightly on the treatment table now, eyes half-closed, one hand curled around a half-empty water bottle, the other limp in your lap.

They’ve cleaned you up mostly, your cheek still stings, numbed but tight beneath the fresh white bandage. The split skin near your eye stitched neatly, though the swelling’s already giving you a half-closed squint.

Your nose is broken but other than cleaning it up you're told there's not much else they can do, the dull ache pressing from the inside out makes you feel sick.

And your ribs bruised, not broken, but burn whenever you breathe too deeply.

“She’ll need imaging when we get back to club,” the doctor says to the medic at her side. “Hairline fracture of the zygomatic bone. Stable. Broken nose minor. Clean break. No concussion. Somehow." She says that last part with a note of disbelief.

You manage a whisper. “Just stubborn.”

She gives you a look. “You don’t say.”

There’s a pause.

Then, “I'll sure you’ll be sidelined for a few weeks. Minimal contact. You’ll be back for the end of the season for sure, but… not next week. Not the one after that.”

You nod, slow and stiff, it’s not a surprise, you felt it when you went down, you knew something cracked, but now it’s real.

She hands you a mirror, you hesitate, then lift it. Your reflection is… brutal. Your cheekbone is swollen, the stitches red and raw, your nose is taped, skin yellowing around the bridge from where the blood’s settled, your mouth is split at the corner.

You stare for a moment. Then lower it without flinching.

The doctor finishes making notes. “The pain meds should kick in soon,” she says gently. “Someone’ll check in before we leave”

You nod slowly as you move to sit on the edge of the bed, "Can you pass me that coat?" You reach your hand out

Ajan furrows his brows at you, "Why?"

"I've got no shirt on and I need some air, I want to watch the last 10 minutes"

"Y/N I don't think that's a good idea"

You slid off the bed, "I'll just get it myself"

Ajan sighed at your stubbornness turning to grab the coat, "Fine, but you're sitting next to me, I'm keeping my eye on you"

You nod sliding the coat on, he sees you fiddling to zip it before doing it for you at your pathetic attempt, "My head spins when I look down" you mutter

"Are you sure she doesn't have a concussion?"

The physio nodded, "We did the test twice, she passed both times"

⚽️

You step out of the tunnel slowly, coat wrapped tight around your shoulders, a medic still at your side even though you insisted you were fine. You’re not in boots now just sliders and bandages and the dull, echoing ache of every muscle in your body reminding you what you’ve just gone through.

The crowd doesn’t notice at first why would they? You’re not subbing on. You’re not doing anything but sitting down.

The ones who know are the ones who watched you take every hit and still make magic, they see you.

Beth lifts her head from the bench and gets to her feet to come to you as you're stood in the technical box Sarina chatting to you about your injuries, you let Beth tuck under your arm as her arms come around you.

Georgia clocks you next as she's subbed off, you give them a small nod. That’s all you’ve got right now.

You sink slowly onto the bench beside Georgia, Beth claiming the chair the other side and pull your coat tighter. The air hits your cheek and it burns, but you don’t flinch.

You’re not here to be comfortable, you’re here to finish it, and across the pitch a few figures in red shift. Mapi says something and nudges her, Jana leans forward, nodding, Patri straight up points.

And then Alexia looks up, follows the line of Patri's hand and finds you her expression shifts. Not fast. Not big. The worry is still there threaded through her jaw, her brow, but her shoulders soften.

You turn your attention back to the pitch, but the heat you feel down your spine, that’s her. Still watching.

You’re sat low on the bench, legs stretched slightly out in front of you.

The stadium is buzzing, full of that final-minute energy the game is already won, 4–1, the result never in question anymore. England’s pressing, but it’s clean now. Calm.

And then you hear it, a cheer rises not for a goal, not for a tackle, it spreads, louder, rowdier and familiar.

You frown slightly, then glance up at the screen above the far end of the pitch. It’s you, big as anything, sitting quiet watching.

Not doing much of anything at all but the crowd roar.

And then the chant starts, from one pocket of fans, rippling into another, until it takes over,

“YN’s on fire, your defence is terrified!”

You blink then laugh low, stunned as the camera lingers on your face, you go a little shy. You shake your head, ducking it slightly, lips pressed together in an embarrassed but charmed smile. One hand lifts to your cheek without thinking the good one like you’re trying to cover your face, but the camera catches the smile anyway.

And behind the noise, you steal one more glance across the pitch to the opposite stand, where red hoodies still sit Alexia is smiling, soft and proud and looking a little relieved.

You drop your gaze to your knees, smiling quietly to yourself and whisper, barely under your breath “…idiots.” But you don’t stop smiling.

⚽️

The whistle blows, the home crowd erupts, you’re already on your feet. Stiff. Slow. Pain flaring in your ribs with each shift of weight but you walk.

Wrapped in your coat, face still swollen, you step off the bench and onto the pitch, boots traded for sliders, gait uneven but steady. Determined.

Your teammates notice instantly.

Beth rushes over, throws a careful arm around your shoulders mindful of the bandage on your face. “You stubborn legend,” she says, beaming.

Georgia’s next, clapping your back a little too hard you wince, and she grimaces. “Sorry, sorry, forgot you’re held together with tape now.”

Leah appears too, hugging you gently from the side. “Still got the best chant of the night.”

You wave her off, blushing slightly. “Don’t start.”

They’re all here now surrounding you, checking, smiling. And you nod through it all, repeating the same three words, over and over:

“I’m fine. Just sore."

The lap begins slow, informal, arms waving to the crowd, you follow them around the pitch, keeping to the back coat zipped up to your throat, moving slow, ribs tight.

You pass the section where you know she’s standing, you don’t look at first, just wave to the crowd behind there section. Finally you glance sideways, Alexia is leaning forward on the barrier, her hands gripping the edge, her expression tight and concerned.

Her eyes meet yours, she doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just gives you a look, one you know is asking if you're ok, you don’t stop, you just nod once.

Because just behind the barrier, a familiar voice yells your name.

Your little brothers bouncing with joy, you jog over, face lighting up properly now for the first time since you left the tunnel. “You coming?” you ask, they nod, wide-eyed.

Your dad lifted the younger one over the rail while the older clambers down with help from security. He checked on you as the boys were excitedly waiting on the pitch for you, "I'm ok I promise, just a couple stitches"

"Sure? They sending you home?"

"I don't know maybe, I'm not concussed so no real reason to not play the next game if I can keep the swelling down"

"Y/N"

You laugh gently, "I'm a big girl dad I'm fine" you walk backwards, "When have I ever quit?" you holler back with a smile

"Never that's the problem!" Your dad couldn't help the smile he had shaking his head, you had that cheeky grin on your face you'd had since you were a kid as you started shimming to the music playing, "Fuck off" he jerked his thumb laughing gently at you, "Go celebrate baller"

You laugh walking away, clapping the fans and it made for a cute scene your little brothers excitedly jogging beside you to keep up, watching your every step and mimicking you clapping the fans.

⚽️

The locker room is warm. Still buzzing in low waves, not loud now the kind of comedown that only happens when everyone knows they’ve done their job.

You’re seated near the back, kit stripped away, a hoodie zipped halfway up, ribs still aching under the band of compression and bandages.

Beth sits cross-legged near you, a banana in one hand, talking to Lucy about something you’re not fully tuned into.

You’re still… elsewhere, then the door creaks open and Sarina steps in calm as ever, arms crossed lightly.

“Hey,” she says softly, voice aimed at you but measured for the room. “You’ve got someone waiting.”

You frown. “My dad?”

She shakes her head. Her lips twitch not quite a smile, but something close. “No,” she says, gentler now. “Visitor.”

You already know. You push up slowly stiff, sore and Sarina leans in slightly, voice low now, just for you.

“She said she didn't want to disturb you, but she looked pretty worried.”

You nod once. Grab your jacket. You don’t need to fix your hair. You don’t need to clean up. You just need to go.

It’s quieter outside. Just the occasional echo of footsteps from staff, the hum of faraway press chatter. The night air filters in from the side exit, cooler now.

And there she is.

Her back to you. Hands in her coat pockets. Her hair tied loosely, a few strands falling as she turns at the sound of the door. You walk toward her slowly, stiff-legged, jaw still aching.

She meets you halfway.

“I’m okay,” you say before she can even ask.

Alexia’s eyes flick to the gauze on your cheek, the swelling, your wince as you shift your weight. “You’re not,” she says quietly.

You huff a dry breath. “Not dead, though.”

That earns you the smallest eye roll. “I wanted to check before we left,” she murmurs, voice low. “I didn’t want to leave… without seeing you.”

You nod slow, grateful. “I’m glad you did.”

For a second, neither of you speaks. Then very gently she lifts her hand, doesn’t touch your face, not with how bruised it is. Just tugs at your zip. “You still scored.”

You smile barely. “Is that your version of flirting?”

She laughs softly. “No."

You nod again, for the first time since you left the pitch you breathe without pain not because it doesn’t hurt.

But because she’s here and she’s not rushing off, "Are they sending you home?"

You nod with a swallow, "Yeah, I leave soon"

"I'm coming with you" Her eyes don’t shift. She doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t clarify. Doesn’t soften the words. “I’m coming with you.”

You blink. Your mouth opens, then closes, something caught in your throat that has nothing to do with the pain in your ribs. You try again, “No you’re not.”

Alexia takes a step closer. Just one. Enough for the heat of her coat to brush yours, her hand still light at your zip. “I am.”

“Alexia,” you say, quieter now. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You shake your head. “You’ve got camp. Whatever plan Montse’s come up with since you can't play your games.”

“I’ve already told them.”

That stops you. Your brows lift, a flicker of disbelief slipping into your voice. “Told them what?”

“That I’m leaving. I won't gain anything staying and playing games against the under 21's”

You let out a half-laugh, part incredulous, part exhausted. “You cleared that with Montse?”

She shrugs. “Told her, I wasn’t asking.”

You blink slowly. “You’re serious.”

Alexia’s gaze softens just a touch, but the weight in it doesn’t waver “You need someone. You just won’t say it.”

Your chest pulls tight. Not from the bruises. Not this time. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

“I don’t,” she says.

You look at her really look, at the line between her brows where worry’s lived since the moment you hit the grass. At the way her fingers curl around the edge of your coat now, like she’s ready to tug you forward or hold you up. Maybe both. You glance down at her hand, then up your voice is almost a whisper, “I’m won't be much fun”

She exhales, a tiny smile catching the edge of her mouth. “I’m not coming for fun.”

You laugh softly. Tired. Real. “Okay,” you murmur finally. “Okay.”

Her shoulders ease and she nods once, "I'll.. text you when I land"

⚽️

You're home, in your bed under the duvet where you and Teddy are curled beneath it.

He's asleep, his head tucked under your arm, occasionally twitching a paw in a dream. You haven't moved in over an hour since you got into bed, not really. Just breathing through it. Letting the dull pulse in your face and ribs remind you, it wasn’t a dream.

You're home and you’re hurting. Your phone’s within reach on the bedside table, screen dim, the battery hanging on at 8%. You know you should plug it in but you can't will yourself to move.

A knock comes on your door one, then two, then stillness, you blink slowly. Teddy stirs. You don’t move. Can’t.

Instead, you unlock your phone, open Instagram, find her name.

alexiaputellas, then tap out one sentence,

Was that you?

Seconds later, the typing bubble returns.

Sí

Your throat tightens, your ribs protest as you shift onto your side, blinking against the light, against the tears stinging tired eyes.

You type again fast, thumbs aching, every motion pulling at the bruises.

There’s a key under the plant pot.

You drop the phone, fingers shaking just a little as you rest your hand on Teddy’s back.

A few moments pass, then the click of the door, quiet footsteps as Teddy lifts his head, ears perked.

Alexia appeared standing in your bedroom doorway, coat still on, overnight bag on her shoulder, eyes searching the room until they land on you.

Teddy is excitedly in front of Alexia instantly, whining his bum moving in time with his extatic tale, "Hola cachorro" Alexia was smiling and her giggling was the warmest sound you'd ever heard when she crouched and was getting a barrage of Teddy kisses. "Me has extrañado? Si si Se"

You smile as Teddy bounds back on the bed barking at you before looking to Alexia, "Is your friend back?" you ruffle his head and he got even more excited as she walks over slowly.

“Hi,” she whispers.

You nod, a small smile tugging at one corner of your sore mouth, "You look tired?"

Alexia drops her bag, gently peels off her coat, and without hesitation she sits on the edge of your bed. "Didn't get much sleep, tried to sleep on the plane but everyone was too loud"

Her hand finds yours on the covers, seemingly by accident as she leans back on one hand to see you better, "I lay down before making the bed up in the other room, so... um, join us"

That’s all she needed to lie down beside you not touching, just with you her presence folding into the stillness of your room like she belongs there.

You smile when Teddy put his paw onto Alexia's shoulder as he was sharing your pillow yet again as you were spooning him, Alexia looked at him and smiled, she rolled to her side to scratch his chest, "Do you need anything?" she asked moving her eyes to yours, you could do with a drink but you shook your head seeing how tired her eyes were.

⚽️

You’re not sure how long you’ve been out, but it's still dark. There’s no sound except the slow inhale-exhale rhythm of the dog curled now at the foot of the bed and the faint creak of floorboards shifting as the apartment cools.

Your eyes blink open slowly lashes sticky, face heavy, that familiar ache blooming beneath the surface again.

As you shift your head gingerly, ribs reminding you who’s boss you see her asleep.

She’s still lying beside you, one arm bent under the pillow, the other resting close to yours on top of the duvet. Her face is turned toward you, relaxed, the softest hint of breath pushing a strand of hair against her cheek.

She doesn’t move, not when you shift, not when Teddy lifts his head, tail thumping lazily against the sheets.

You lie there a minute longer, just watching her, no pressure, no noise. Just the quiet confirmation that she meant it when she was coming.

Her bag's still on the floor, her coat draped over the back of your dressing table chair, and her presence real and heavy in the best way anchors something in you that had been floating loose.

You lift your hand, slowly, carefully, not to wake her, just to let your fingers brush hers, the contact is enough to make her shift slightly eyes fluttering, not quite open, her fingers tightening around yours on instinct, not thought.

She exhales, settles again, still asleep. You close your eyes and let yourself fall back into the dark pain free, knowing when you wake up again she’ll be here.

⚽️

You wake to warmth, Alexia’s still curled beside you, one leg slightly tangled with the edge of the duvet, hair mussed from sleep, the faintest crease on her cheek from the pillow.

Her hand’s still resting loosely against yours, and she’s closer than before like somewhere in the night, you both drifted that way without thinking.

She stirs as you blink your eyes open, a soft inhale, a shift of weight. “Mmm…” Her voice, thick with sleep. “You awake?”

You hum softly in reply. “Sort of.”

She cracks one eye open, then blinks it shut again. “You look slightly more beaten than before.”

You smirk, lips barely moving. “And you look like you slept through an earthquake.”

Alexia huffs a tired laugh. “I did. You’re snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

"Its probably the broken nose"

You smiled, "Of course it is"

You try to argue, but the ache in your jaw reminds you otherwise, so you settle for a slow, stubborn exhale instead.

She shifts up onto one elbow, hair falling messily into her face. Her eyes scan you quiet, observant, a little guarded. “How’s your head?”

“Sore,” you admit.

“Face?”

“Still attached.”

She leans down slightly, her fingers grazing just beside the edge of your bandage, light as breath. “You’re still beautiful,” she murmurs.

You shut your eyes, only for a second, that word from her said like it doesn’t cost anything, like it’s just simply that simply true.

Teddy ever the scene-stealer picks that moment to stand with a dramatic shake, tail thumping your leg.

Alexia glances over her shoulder. “Right,” she says, stretching. “I’ll take him for a walk.”

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

She cuts you off gently. “I know. I want to. You need a minute.”

You look at her hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, sleep still in her voice and something in your chest tugs. “You sure he won’t walk you?”

She smiles. “Let him try.”

You laugh under your breath, then wince slightly, hand to your ribs.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Then she’s up, scooping Teddy’s lead off the hook near the door, already in motion.

You lie there for a moment longer, staring at the ceiling, heartbeat settling into something you haven’t felt in a while. Looked after.

⚽️

Teddy’s lead is looped around her wrist, his nose already glued to the pavement like he’s on a mission. His tail sways, ears perked, the soft click of his nails the only sound on the otherwise quiet residential street.

Alexia walks beside him slowly, hands in her pockets, head down beneath the hood of her borrowed sweatshirt yours, in fact. She only noticed once they were already outside. It smells like you.

She lets him lead the way, pausing every few steps as he investigates lamp posts and hedges like they hold state secrets. She doesn’t rush him. She doesn’t check her phone. She just lets it happen. He knows his walk off by heart. He'd lead the way.

She watches the way he moves alert, curious, slightly dramatic when he sniffs something he really likes. He’s got a little bounce in his step. A lot like you.

At the end of the block, he stops to sneeze three times in a row and then looks up at her like he expects applause.

Alexia crouches, brushes his fur behind one ear, and murmurs, “You’re silly." He wags his tail harder.

She pulls out her phone, snaps a blurry photo of him mid-wiggle, then types quickly:

[Image Attached] He’s already tried to fight a bird. Thought you'd want to know.

She doesn’t send it right away, she just stares at the screen for a second then tucks it away.

She walks a bit farther quiet residential corners, warm brick buildings, the occasional bike humming past. The city feels soft this time of morning, a little blurred around the edges, like it’s waiting for people to wake up.

Just as they reach the small park at the end of the street, she pauses. The wind’s gentle here, birds call, Teddy tugs toward the grass. Alexia sits on a bench, still in your hoodie, watching him sniff a bush with intense dedication.

And for a moment, just a moment, she lets herself relax completely.

No camera. No captain's armband. No decisions to make. Just your dog, and your street, and the echo of your sleepy voice in her head as you tried to argue you don’t snore. She smiles to herself.

She pulls out her phone again, opens your chat, and sends the photo.

A minute later, three dots appear. And even here, on a bench in a city that isn’t hers, she already feels like she’s safe here, with you.

Back in your apartment meanwhile, you’re still in bed.

Pillows behind your back now, blanket pooled around your hips, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands. You’ve managed to brush your teeth and wipe the sleep from your eyes, but that’s as far as you’ve made it.

Your phone buzzes. You open it, thumb slow over the screen, and there it is. A blurry photo of Teddy, tail mid-wag, fur flying, eyes wild like he’s chasing an imaginary rival probably a bird, if you know him at all.

Your lips twitch into something crooked and warm, even with the bruising.

Her message is short. You type. Pause. Then type again.

Good. Someone’s got to protect you out there. That hoodie looks better on you, by the way. Don’t stretch it.

You hover.

Then — one more thing.

Will you be mad if I've not got up when you get back?.

You hit send and not thirty seconds later you hear keys.

The lock turns. A soft click, then the door opens and Teddy barks once, triumphant.

She’s back. The door clicks shut behind her and Teddy trots ahead proudly, tail high like he just saved the world.

You hear Alexia before you see her, her soft laugh carrying from the hall as she drops her keys into the bowl, kicks off her shoes.

“Still in bed?” she calls.

You smile to yourself. “I’ve moved. I’m just… horizontal.”

She steps into your room, one eyebrow lifted. You expect a joke, but her gaze sweeps over you instead the blanket around your shoulders, the tired crease in your brow, your phone still in hand from the message you just sent.

Then she holds out her hands. “Come on. Up.”

You hesitate not from pain this time. Just from the way she’s looking at you. Steady. Amused. So soft it makes your chest ache. You shift forward, wincing a little, and take her hands. She braces her weight, pulls you gently until your feet hit the floor.

Your ribs protest but it’s manageable. What’s not manageable is the fact She doesn’t step back and now, you’re right there.

Close. Chest to chest. You meet her eyes. Neither of you says anything. Not a word. Then she leans in slowly.

Her hands slide from yours to your waist one resting carefully against your bandaged ribs, the other curling at your lower back.

And she kisses you. Softly. But with intention. No adrenaline. No tension. Just warmth. Breath. The kind of kiss you remember after because it felt like everything inside you quieted at once.

You kiss her back. Careful, but completely. When she pulls back, she stays close nose brushing yours, her lips still almost touching yours. After the kiss after the stillness, the closeness she eases back just enough to rest her hands at your hips, her eyes flicking over you once more.

“Come on,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you out of the room. I’ll make a cup of tea.”

You groan softly. “A cup of tea from a Spaniard, this feels like punishment.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “You’re dramatic.”

Still, she helps.

One arm steady at your back, you shuffle together down the hallway, slow and careful. Teddy trails behind, the occasional quiet pawstep on the hardwood his only contribution.

She helps you down onto the sofa fluffing the cushion behind you, tucking a blanket over your lap without asking.

“Sit. Don’t move,” she says, gently bossy.

You watch her move around your kitchen like she’s been there for years barefoot now, sleeves pushed up. She opens the right cupboard on the first try. Fills the kettle. Pulls out mugs. Chooses the exact tea you always reach for when you’re sore by pure fluke. You lean your head back and let yourself watch.

It’s quiet. Just the whistle of the kettle. The shuffle of her feet. The soft clink of the spoon. And then she’s back, she hands you your mug, fingers brushing yours, warm and slow before sinking into the other end of the sofa, her body angled toward you, her knees folded.

You both sit in silence for a while. Your ankle rests lightly against her thigh beneath the blanket. Her fingers absently trace the rim of her mug. Outside, the day unfolds. Somewhere else, the world turns, but here, in your small living room, in the glow of mid-morning sun you sit with Alexia content.

Your eyes are on the mug in your lap, your body angled toward her, blanket still curled around your legs. Alexia sits opposite, one hand lazily stroking Teddy’s fur where he’s curled against her thigh.

She glances at you gently, her voice low. “Has your club been in touch?”

You pause. Just a second too long. Then shake your head.

Her brow furrows. “Nothing?”

You lean your head against the back of the sofa, eyes tracking the line of sunlight on the floor. “They’ll know the injury report,” you say. “Our team doctor’s already sent it through. They’ll have everything.”

“That’s not what I asked,” she says quietly.

You glance at her, she’s not accusing. Not prying. Just… confused. You sigh, “They’re not exactly rushing to check in.”

She sets her mug down. Slowly. “Why?”

You hesitate not because you’re unsure, but because you’ve been holding it in too long. “I’m not on the best terms with my coach right now,” you admit. “Haven’t been for a while.” Her expression doesn’t change still patient, still listening so you go on. “There’s tension. About my minutes. About where I’m played. About... a lot of things.” You pause, then add, “And this?” You gesture lightly toward your face, your side, your entire battered self. “Probably won’t help.”

Alexia’s gaze softens, her fingers stilling on Teddy’s fur. “You think they’ll hold it against you?”

You shrug. “I think they’ll see it as confirmation.”

“Of what?”

You glance away. “That I’m not worth the risk.”

There’s silence, then her voice steady and certain spoke, “They’re wrong.” She shifts closer. Doesn’t push. Doesn’t press. Just says, “If you need to say it out loud, I’ll sit here all day.”

And you nod once, because you know she means it.

⚽️

You’re still on the sofa, legs under a blanket, hoodie sleeves half-covering your hands. Teddy’s asleep with his nose tucked against your foot. Across the room behind you, Alexia is at the kitchen counter, focused, pouring hot water into mugs.

Your phone buzzes.

Georgia Stanway 💥 — FaceTime Incoming

You answer, already bracing for chaos. The screen jolts to life with Georgia’s face filling it way too close.

“Oi,” she grins. “You look like someone swung a frying pan at you.”

You smile, tired but amused. “That’s pretty much what happened.”

Voices pile in behind her. You spot Beth first, leaning into frame, then Leah, Keira all hovering, half-shoved together in some random lounge back at England camp.

Beth waves, smile gentle. “Hey, you okay?”

“Getting there.”

Georgia flips the camera around “We just wanted to check in. And also confirm you’re still alive.”

Keira’s voice follows, quieter. “And still... you, under all that bruising.”

Leah tilts her head, studying your bandage. “That’s definitely a fracture, yeah?”

“Yeah. Cheekbone. And the nose.”

Beth grimaces. “Still fit though.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks?”

Before anyone can ask anything else, a voice floats in from the kitchen, “Do you want sugar in this or not?”

Their faces shift. Every single one of them, Leah eyebrows shoot up and blinks, just once, Georgia’s mouth opens… and then closes, Beth straightens.

You hesitate. Then glance at the camera. “It’s… Alexia.”

Beth is the first to speak, quieter. “As in... Putellas?”

You nod, and the energy changes. It’s not tense. Just… softer, respectful.

Keira smiles gently. “Didn’t realise she was staying with you.”

You shrug. “She showed up last night. Brought tea. Took Teddy out.”

“She’s still there now?” Georgia asks.

You glance off-camera as Alexia reappears, setting a mug down beside you, her hand brushing yours briefly, before heading back to the kitchen "Yeah"

Leah's the first to lean back slightly from the screen, her smile still there, but calmer now. “Well,” she says, glancing off-camera like she’s suddenly remembered she has an actual job to do. “Guess we’ll let you rest up, then.”

Beth hums. “Yeah. Don’t want to interrupt your little… tea ceremony.”

You snort softly. “You literally FaceTimed me out of nowhere.”

Georgia grins, but she’s softer too. “Just wanted to make sure you weren’t curled up in bed with no one looking after you.”

You lean your head on your hand with a smile, “I’m fine. Got someone now who keeps making me actually take my pain meds, so that’s new.”

“Growth,” Keira says with a smirk.

Georgia leans in one last time. “Message if you need anything. And I mean anything. I can be at the airport in an hour.”

You smile, genuinely now. A little cracked at the edge from the bruising, but it reaches your eyes. “Thanks, girls. Seriously.”

Beth nods once. “Love you, you idiot.”

You whisper it back. “Love you too.”

Keira blows a kiss. Leah waves and then the screen goes dark.

You’re still staring at the phone when you hear the quiet sound of a mug being placed on the table in front of you. Alexia’s returned. She doesn’t say anything just eases down beside you again on the sofa, one leg folded beneath her, her body angled toward yours.

You look over at her. “They just wanted to know I wasn’t alone.”

Alexia nods, eyes soft. “And now they know.”

You don’t have to say it but you do anyway. “Thanks for being here.”

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles once. “Where else would I be?”

⚽️

Alexia moves through your kitchen like it’s familiar now, she doesn’t ask where things are she somehow just knows.

A pan warms on the stove, low sizzle starting. The smell of garlic fills the space, you’re sat at the table nearby, wrapped in your hoodie, elbows on the wood, mug in both hands.

Teddy at your feet, completely useless now that he was fed, he was having to his post feed nap. You’re not saying much and neither is she, but it’s comfortable as usual.

Now and then you glance over. Watch her stirring something in the pan, pausing to taste it. She catches you once raises an eyebrow, smirking a little. “Si?”

You shake your head, smile low. “Nothing.”

She slides a dish in front of you a few minutes later pasta, simple, warm. Exactly what you didn’t realise you needed.

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know,” she says, settling into the chair next to you. “I wanted to.”

You both eat slowly, between bites, the only sound is the quiet clink of forks, a bit of low music from your speaker. You don’t talk about football or your injury, instead, she tells you a story about Alba’s dog stealing someone’s flip-flop and hiding it in the garden for a week. You laugh actually laugh and it surprises you, you press a hand gently to your ribs, wincing and grinning at the same time.

She watches you through it all, grinning herself, clearly happy that she could make you laugh quite that hard.

When the food’s done, you both sit there for a while longer, Alexia shifts first not to move away, but to slide her chair slightly closer. She rests her arm across the back of yours, fingers brushing the fabric of your hoodie.

“You tired?” she asks softly.

You nod. “A little.”

“Go lie down. I’ll clean up.”

You look at her the curve of her jaw the calm behind her eyes and you nod again. “Okay.”

⚽️

You’re in bed by the time she finishes rinsing the dishes Teddy fully stretched out beside you, head resting like royalty atop the second pillow clearly unbothered, clearly home.

You hear her approach, footsteps soft on the hallway, and then she’s there in your doorway, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, hair tied back, eyes already tired but warm when they find yours.

“You decent?” she teases.

You nod. “Teddy says it’s fine.”

She laughs and steps in, the moment she reaches the bed, though, she stops, because Teddy does not move. Not a shift. Not even a twitch. He’s laid claim to the whole left side of the bed, tucked neatly between you and the edge like he’s guarding it.

Alexia blinks. Looks at you. Then at him. “Seriously?”

You try to keep a straight face. “He’s very particular.”

She raises a brow. “He’s two feet tall.”

You shrug, clearly helpless. Teddy stretches, audibly, Alexia sighs, then grins. A proper, full smile that crinkles at the edges, without another word, she walks around the bed and lies down horizontally across the foot of it, feet dangling off one side, arms folded beneath her head.

“This is fine,” she mutters, like she’s in a hostage negotiation. “Really. Comfortable. Don't mind me Teddy, lucky you're cute”

You laugh soft, real and tilt your head to look at her. “You can push him.”

“I’m not getting into a fight with your dog.”

“You’d win.”

“I wouldn’t. He’s got your loyalty.”

You smile, and after a beat, you say quietly, “You don’t have to stay down there.”

She turns her head, rests her chin on the blanket at your feet, looking up at you with that tired half-smile. “I’m good,” she says. “It’s kind of perfect, actually.”

You look down at her the way her hair falls, the light across her face, the contentment in her voice. “Even from down there?”

She closes her eyes for a moment, smile lingering. “Especially from down here.”

Teddy exhales dramatically like this whole conversation is deeply inconvenient and shifts just enough that there’s space now, as if to say here have some room and shut up.

Alexia opens one eye, clocking it. Then glances at you, you nod, like now's your chance.

She doesn’t hesitate, she slides in beside you, careful and quiet, folding into the blanket and fitting into that space like it’s been waiting for her.

You don’t say anything, neither does she, but her fingers find yours beneath the duvet.

⚽️

The lights are off now, save for the glow of the laptop balanced between you both on the duvet, you’d picked the film without overthinking something soft, something funny, something you’ve seen before but never get tired of. Alexia hadn’t asked questions. She just rested under the covers next to you, propped herself up on one elbow, and watched like it mattered.

She’s quieter than you expected. Still focused, but then ten minutes in a scene plays out that always makes you laugh, and this time, you don’t even hear your own chuckle. You hear hers. Soft at first almost cautious. Then she really laughs. Not loud, but from her chest. Her eyes scrunch slightly. Her hand comes up to her mouth like she’s not used to letting it out so freely.

You turn your head and you watch her it's not long until she notices. “What?” she asks, still smiling.

You shake your head gently, lips pulling at the corners. “You have a good laugh.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real deflection. “You didn’t warn me this was funny.”

“I said it was my comfort film. That should’ve told you everything.”

She giggles again at a throwaway line something no one ever laughs at but you and it makes you like her even more.

You’re not close enough to be tangled. Not with the bruises. Not yet, but her foot brushes yours under the blanket, neither of you moves it.

The film soon winds down with softer music, a slower pace characters finding their happy endings, screen fading to dusk-toned resolution. You’re half-watching, half-feeling the warmth of Alexia still beside you.

Her head’s slid a little lower on the pillow, elbow tucked under it, you can feel the heat of her arm through the duvet. You glance sideways, er eyes are still open. Barely. When the credits start to roll, she exhales a long, quiet breath like it had been caught in her chest the whole time. “That was good,” she murmurs, voice raspy with sleep.

You nod, turning the laptop screen slightly so the light doesn’t hit her face. “I’ve watched it a dozen times,” you whisper.

She glances at you through lashes. “You always watch it alone?”

You pause. “Mostly"

A slow smile creeps onto her lips. “Lucky me.”

You huff a laugh. “Lucky Teddy, really. He got the best side of the bed.”

Teddy, for his part, is completely unconscious snoring lightly the other side of Alexia, oblivious to anything other than his dreams.

Alexia shifts just slightly closer, enough that her arm brushes yours now, warm and gentle. She rests her head against the corner of your shoulder, careful not to jar your ribs.

“I could fall asleep like this,” she murmurs.

You whisper back without thinking, “Then do.”

And she does. Slowly her body softening into stillness, her breathing evening out, her hand brushing yours one last time before it goes still too.

You stay awake just a little longer then you shift your head to the pillow and sleep finally comes.

⚽️

The light is barely golden through the blinds, soft and angled across the floor. You blink awake slowly, the room still warm under the weight of night, the quiet so complete you almost forget where you are.

Until you feel her. Alexia is still there but closer.

One leg draped lightly over yours, face tucked into the pillow, your pillow, hair fanned messily behind her. Her hoodie has slipped upwards sometime in the night giving you a glimpse of her many tattoos. Her hand, still curled lightly near your side, is close enough that her fingers just barely brush the hem of your shirt.

She’s still asleep, but only just. You lie there watching her the rise and fall of her back, the faint crease between her eyebrows even in sleep, like she’s already starting to think her way into the day.

You shift slightly enough to ease your arm beneath your head. Your ribs ache, but less. Your face is still tender. But manageable.

She stirs, her foot twitches against yours beneath the blanket. Her brow smooths. And then, softly “Mmm… morning.” Her voice is thick with sleep, half-buried in the pillow, her accent always thicker of a morning,

You smile. “Morning.”

She doesn’t open her eyes yet. But her fingers slide just slightly toward yours under the blanket. Not holding. Just finding. “You sleep okay?” she murmurs.

“With a human-sized guard dog on my bed and you stealing half my pillow?” you whisper back. “Best night I’ve had in weeks.”

Her lips twitch into a sleepy smile. “Still sore?”

“Yeah. But I don’t care.”

She opens her eyes now and tilts her head just enough to look at you and in that morning light, with no makeup, no cameras, no expectations she’s never looked more real.

She blinks slowly. “I’ll make coffee.”

You whisper, “You really don’t have to.”

“I know. But I know you like coffee in a morning and if I ask you'll say no.” She’s already starting to move, careful not to jostle the bed. Teddy stirs, yawning like he’s done all the hard work.

Alexia leans over, presses the softest kiss to your hair, not your face, not your mouth just there, warm and simple.

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

And you lie there, letting yourself breathe into the stillness as Teddy stands stretches and moves to reclaim his rightful spot next to you.

⚽️

You’re curled back on the sofa after breakfast, Teddy making up for the lack of bed time cuddles he was deprived of.

The painkillers are doing their job the dull ache behind your cheekbone has faded to something manageable and the silence feels earned.

Alexia comes down the hall, hair still damp from her shower, pulling a long sleeve down one arm, phone tucked under her chin. “...yes, I’ll text when I’m on the way,” she says softly in Spanish, and then clicks it closed.

You glance up lazily.

She looks over at you, a sly smile already forming. “Get dressed.”

You blink. “What?”

“Lunch.”

You hesitate, don’t even mean to, just long enough that she knows you’re about to resist. “I’m fine here.”

“You’ve been horizontal for almost two days.”

“I’ve been injured.”

“You scored four goals while injured. You can manage a salad.”

You huff a quiet laugh. “That’s not how medical rest works.”

She walks toward you, all effortless confidence now tugging her hair into a loose twist as she goes, eyes locked on yours. “It’s your city,” she says. “And I have to leave soon.”

That lands, you pause. Then sigh. “Fine. But I’m wearing a hoodie.”

Alexia shrugs. “I wasn’t expecting anything else" She crouches to grab your trainers from beside the door, holds them up with a smirk. “Want me to help you put them on, too? Or just carry you to the car?”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re very smug when you get your way.”

“And you’re cute when you pretend you didn’t want to say yes the whole time.”

You shake your head, smiling. Teddy hops off your lap as you push yourself upright with a groan.

She holds out a hand, you take it and just like that you’re on your feet.

⚽️

You haven’t changed much just swapped joggers for something slightly less 'bedridden', and pulled a clean hoodie over your still-tender ribs. You’re standing in the mirror now, fingers running lightly along the edge of the bandage on your cheek, trying not to wince when you touch the swelling.

Alexia’s in your bathroom, sleeves rolled up, tugging a brush through her hair with one hand and wiping mascara from under her eye with the other. The door’s cracked open, the mirror catching both your reflections at odd angles hers polished, yours getting there.

She leans around the frame. “You okay?”

You nod. “Just wondering if I look more like a footballer or a getaway driver.”

She grins. “Definitely the latter. But like... a charming one.”

You glance at her in the mirror. “You flirting with me again?”

She raises an eyebrow. “You want me to stop?”

You don’t answer just reach for your water bottle on the dresser, smile pressed into the curve of it.

A minute later, she steps out of the bathroom in her jacket simple, low-key, hair twisted into a loose bun, gold chain tucked just under her collar.

You stare for a second longer than you mean to. She catches it. Doesn’t call it out. Just smiles like maybe she needed the same moment of quiet admiration.

She walks over, tugging the hem of your hoodie straight, her fingers brushing against your side like she’s checking the bruises still haven’t won. “You good?”

“Getting there.”

Her eyes soften. “You ready?”

You take a breath deep, slow, steady. “Yeah.”

And when she grabs the keys off the hook and holds the door open for you like it’s already her place too, you follow without hesitation.

The door clicks shut behind you, the sun warming the steps as you both reach the car parked out front, you’re halfway there when you realise something’s off.

Alexia’s already heading for the driver’s side.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

She holds up your car keys, dangling them smugly from her index finger. “Driving.”

You stop. “No, you’re not.”

She looks at you, tilts her head slightly. “Yes, I am.”

“Alexia.”

“You’re injured.”

“I’m not concussed.”

“You have a broken face.”

You fold your arms gently, because of the ribs and narrow your eyes. “I can drive with a broken face.”

“Not when I’m in the car.”

You scoff, taking a slow step forward. “It’s my car.”

She shrugs. “You let me stay in your flat, hijack your tea selection, and share your bed but driving your car is a step too far? I think the keys are a fair trade”

You blink, mouth twitching. “That’s not how this works.”

“I’m your medically appointed chauffeur.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

You’re trying not to laugh. “Have you even driven in Munich before?”

She lifts her chin, smirking. “It’s Europe. It’s fine.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“I’m exceptional at roundabouts.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You know you can’t flirt your way into controlling my car.”

She grins and walks backward toward the driver’s side door. “No, but I can look this good while holding your keys and watch you fold.”

You stare at her hoodie, sneakers, hair pulled up like she’s not even trying and you hate how right she is.

You sigh. Dramatically. “I’m putting the seat back the second I get in.”

“You can try.”

She opens the driver’s side door with a flourish.

And you walk around the car muttering, “This is so humiliating.” But you’re smiling the whole way.

⚽️

The café is tucked onto a quiet side street ivy crawling the walls, chalkboard menu out front, the kind of place you always mean to revisit and rarely do.

You take the window table in the corner. Alexia claims the chair beside you not across. Beside. Her leg brushes yours as she crosses it, casual and completely on purpose.

She’s already stolen two of your fries before you’ve even touched your fork.

You look at her, unamused.

She smirks. “You’re a very generous host.”

You pluck a tomato off her plate in retaliation. “And you’re a menace.”

She shrugs. “I get that a lot.”

You shake your head and pop it in your mouth. “I bet you do.”

There’s a lightness to her here a kind of ease you hadn’t seen in her before. She leans back in her chair, elbow draped over the back of yours like she’s not going anywhere for a while.

“You know,” she says between sips of sparkling water, “you’re actually fun when you’re not grimacing in pain.”

You look at her, deadpan. “I’ll keep that in mind next time someone boots me in the face.”

She grins. “You were impressive, though.”

“Were?”

“Are.” She corrects herself so smoothly it’s like the word always belonged there.

You go quiet for a second, letting the moment settle. She watches you over the rim of her glass. There’s something almost uncharacteristically soft in her eyes now like she wants to say something, but also doesn’t want to ruin this exact second.

So instead, you both eat. You steal fries, she steals glances. You let her as the afternoon hums around you quiet voices from other tables, clinks of cutlery, the low sound of a playlist drifting through the café speakers. But it all feels muffled, like you’re sitting in a pocket of space that exists just for the two of you.

Alexia’s drink has condensation running slowly down the glass, her fingertips idly trailing through it. Every so often, she reaches across to steal another fry, but this time she doesn’t just grab it.

This time, she holds it up. You glance at her, one brow raised. “Really?”

She nods slowly, holding the fry closer. “Open.”

You huff. “Absolutely not.”

She tilts her head. “I drove.”

“Into a roundabout the wrong way.”

“I recovered quickly.”

You squint at her. She’s still holding the fry up, pinched between her fingers, her smile small but stubborn. So you lean forward bite it right out of her hand, eyes never leaving hers.

She blinks once. Smirks. And then, under the table, you feel her foot nudge against yours. Not a kick. Just… a press. Slow. Familiar.

“Careful,” you murmur as you chew. “Keep that up and I’ll start thinking you like me.”

She leans in slightly, lowering her voice. “And what if I do?”

You don’t have a comeback for that. Not one that doesn’t involve kissing her at the table and you’re trying to be good. So instead, you finish chewing. Pick another tomato from her plate slow and deliberate and pop it in your mouth with a shrug. “That’s between you and my fries.”

Alexia laughs not her polite laugh, not the quiet one she gives during press conferences. The real one. Soft and unguarded. Like she’s surprised by how easy this is.

When she looks at you again, her gaze lingers, her hand finds yours on the table not a grab, not a hold. Just fingers tracing the edge of your wrist. Idly. Warm.

You glance down at the contact, then back at her, she doesn’t move, doesn’t rush. Just sits there, leg still pressed to yours, her fingers drawing slow circles into your skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You don’t pull away, you don’t want to and when she says, almost shy but not quite, “This is nice,” you nod once and reply just as simply

“It really is.”

⚽️

You’re leaning back slightly in your chair now, hand half-curled around your glass, watching as Alexia reads through the dessert menu like it’s a match preview.

Her brow furrows in mock seriousness. “You’re telling me you’ve never had the banana split here?”

You shake your head. “We usually don’t make it past mains. It’s a rare event when I don’t roll out of this place.”

She snorts. “You say that like you haven’t played a full ninety minutes with a busted rib.”

“That’s different. Dessert’s voluntary pain.”

She closes the menu with a decisive snap. “We’re sharing it.”

You arch a brow. “Are we?”

Her eyes flick to yours. “Unless you’re afraid of me stealing all the whipped cream.”

You lean in slightly. “That sounds like a challenge.”

It is and you both know it.

Ten minutes later, the sundae arrives in a glass dish that’s clearly made for two people who aren’t pretending they’ll share nicely. It’s ridiculous, stacked with three scoops, cream, sauce, half a banana sliced down the middle, and a cherry teetering at the top like a dare.

Alexia eyes it. “We should’ve ordered two.”

“We’re not animals,” you say, even as you reach for a spoon.

She takes the first bite, of course. You jab your spoon in and immediately miss the ice cream, nearly flicking sauce onto the table, she laughs, mouth full.

“Oh, wow,” you mutter. “This is going to end with me wearing this, isn’t it?”

“Probably.”

She slides the dish slightly toward you, letting your spoons clink. You scoop a bit of strawberry, then nudge the cherry across the top toward her. She smiles, just barely. You trade jabs between bites accusing her of hoarding the chocolate sauce, her accusing you of 'clearly favouring vanilla.'

“You’re impossible,” you say, laughing softly, spoon clinking in the glass again.

“You like that about me.”

You glance at her and you do.

The dish is nearly empty when she finally rests her spoon on the edge and leans back with a sigh. “You’re going to have to roll me back to the car.”

You wipe a bit of cream from your lip and smirk. “Don’t look at me. You insisted.”

Alexia grins and then, with a surprising tenderness, she leans forward and gently wipes a streak of chocolate from your cheek her thumb brushing just near your bandage.

You freeze, just for a second, she doesn’t say anything, she just smiles at you like she’s still amazed you’re hanging out with her.

“You ready?” she asks, voice soft.

You nod once and as she stands, her hand finds yours again briefly. Firmly. This time, you let her hold it a little longer.

The drive is quiet in the best way. Windows cracked because now of course Alexia feels sick with the amount of chocolate sauce she apparently never ate. her playlist humming low through the speakers. One of her hands is on the wheel. The other occasionally reaches out adjusting the volume, brushing her fingers near yours on the centre console but never quite holding.

You don’t talk much. You don’t have to.

She pulls into the drop-off zone and shifts the car into park, already reaching for her bag in the back seat. You sit there for a second, looking at the terminal, then at her.

Then, dramatically, “So… how exactly am I supposed to get home? My medical chauffeur’s abandoning me.”

She turns, smirking, lips parted to reply but then pauses, there’s something just a little sad behind her grin. “I could cancel my flight,” she says, only half-joking.

You lift your brow. “Would that be for me or for Teddy?”

She leans across the console, presses a kiss gentle, sure, and lasting to the corner of your mouth. “Both.”

You try to play it cool. You fail.

She pulls back, her eyes warm. “You’ll text me when you get home?”

You nod. “And you’ll let me know when you land.”

She nods back. Then her hand lingers on yours, just a moment more and then she’s gone.

The door closes, you watch her walk into the terminal without looking back.

You sit in your car her scent still in the seat beside you and whisper to yourself, “Why would she not just kiss me?” You sigh open your car door to head to the drivers side.

You’re walking around the front of your car, your keys in hand, mind still replaying the soft goodbye. Her lips so close to yours. The brush of her hand before she turned away.

You open the driver’s side door grimacing slightly, already planning how to adjust the seat back to your exact angle when you hear footsteps.

Fast. Light on the pavement. You glance up and she’s there.

Alexia. Back. Not running, but moving with a kind of certainty you’ve never seen from her in public. She doesn’t say anything. Just closes the distance, shuts your car door closing the gap and kisses you.

Not gently. Not cautiously. Not like the first time. Like she means it.

One hand lost in your hair the other in your hoodie, pulling you in like she doesn’t care who sees. Her mouth finds yours with a kind of ache, like the second she stepped away she regretted it like everything she didn’t say at lunch, in the car, at the curb has gathered here, in this.

You drop your keys as her tongue pushes entry into your mouth, one of your hands fists into her jacket, the other finds her waist, as she kisses you like she’s afraid not to.

When she finally pulls back, breath catching, she keeps her forehead against yours. Eyes closed. Voice low. Almost shaky.

“I didn’t want to leave like that.”

You’re stunned heart racing, ribs tight, lips still parted. You barely whisper, “What was that?”

Her eyes open and for once, there’s no shield. No mask. “Great restraint on my part”

You stare at her this woman who came back just to be certain she presses one more kiss to the corner of your mouth slower this time, tender.

Then she steps back gives you her little smile and walks into the terminal again, she looks back this time that smile still there as yours only grew. As you dip into your car you exhale, "I need a cold shower" as you sort your seat out, you enter into an external monologue the old man stood at the curb seemingly looks concerned for your mental capacity that you're talking to yourself "Fuck me" you mutter, then laugh at yourself, "Wish she would. No Y/N. We made a promise to ourselves no more diving in too quickly. You put out far too easily, learn the lessons from your past discretions." You rest your head on the steering wheel after you groan, "This woman has me talking to myself, I need help"

“your foot moved weird” 🤣🤣🤨

it won’t let me answer normally but let’s get it.

it’s one of those long-awaited international friendlies, spain vs usa, and the energy is weird from the jump. azulita and estrella are trying to act normal in the tunnel, like they’re not playing against their alexia, but their legs are jittery and they keep laughing at things that aren’t funny. estrella ties and re-ties her ponytail five times. azulita’s bouncing her knee so hard she nearly knocks over her water bottle.

when ale walks past, calm as ever, she ruffles estrella’s hair and gives azulita a kiss on the cheek. “play smart,” she says. “not like fools.”obviously, they take that as a challenge.

the game is tense. they both go full beast mode. estrella with her usual flair and mouth, azulita with her surgical tackles and aggressive interceptions. they work seamlessly until about twenty minutes in, when ale gets the ball and is running through the midfield.

both girls zero in like heat-seeking missiles. the moment is slow motion. ale’s dribbling. estrella slides. azulita lunges. they take her out at the exact same time.

the stadium goes silent.

ale’s on the ground, not hurt but definitely stunned. the ref blows the whistle and gives a foul but no card. azulita and estrella are trying to help her up and talking at the same time. “we were going for the ball!” “your foot moved weird!” “you should’ve passed sooner!”

ale just stares at them, gives them the mum look™. you know, the one with the disappointed eyebrows and the slight tilt of the head.

they both shut up immediately. estrella helps her up, azulita pats her back, and they jog away like two kids who’ve been caught doing something they definitely weren’t supposed to.

the cameras catch it all. twitter goes wild. “these two took out their own mother on live tv.” “alexia grounded the entire uswnt midfield with one look.”

but that’s not even the wildest moment. because in the second half, one of the newer us players, someone a bit overeager, goes in way too hard on ona. it’s late, it’s reckless, and ona goes down hard.

azulita’s reaction is immediate. she charges over, chest puffed, yelling “what the hell was that?” estrella’s not far behind, adding, “you could’ve torn her acl, are you stupid?”

the teammate tries to defend herself but neither of them are listening. they’re full protective mode, and it’s so intense that the ref has to tell them to calm down or risk a card.

even after the match (which ends in a draw), they’re still pissed. the teammate tries to apologize again during the cooldown and azulita just walks away. estrella says “hope it was worth looking like an idiot on replay” before grabbing her recovery drink and leaving too.

they don’t speak to her for the rest of camp. when asked why, azulita says “she almost killed one of our own.” estrella nods solemnly and adds “there’s rules and you broke them.”

kristie tries to talk some sense into them. so does tobin. even sonnet. but both girls are dramatic to their core. they give each other matching evil glares every time the teammate passes by.

ale, meanwhile, sends them a voice note after the match that just says: “if you ever tackle me like that again, you are grounded for a month. no sol and no syd.”

they both immediately respond: “sorry mami/ale.”

fans go crazy. there’s memes. edits. someone puts dramatic music over the double-tackle clip. someone else edits ale’s mum look with red lasers in her eyes. estrella reposts it. azulita comments “rip to us.”

by the end of camp, the tension dies down a little. the teammate finally earns back some respect by offering to do azulita’s recovery ice bath for her and passing estrella the aux cord.

but the message is clear. hurt a barca player and face the wrath of the daughters of putellas.

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 5: One night in Barcelona part 2 Other Parts

Word Count: 9.5K

The first thing you notice is the light.

It’s soft a buttery gold spilling across the ceiling, sliding warm fingers across the covers tangled around your waist.

The second thing you notice is the silence. Not heavy. Not empty. Full.

Full of the soft breath of the house waking up. Full of the quiet stretch of a day waiting to happen. You roll over, rubbing a hand across your face, blinking into the brightening room.

For a second, you forget where you are.

And then, the smell of fresh air through the open window, the distant hum of birds, the weightless feeling still sitting in your chest her house. Her world.

You smile before you even realise you are. You push back the covers, stretch lazily, toes curling against the cool floorboards, and pad barefoot toward the doorway.

Down the hall faint but unmistakable — you hear it. Soft clinking. The low hiss of a kettle. The quiet shuffle of bare feet against tile.

You follow it moving down the stairs, your heart already lifting.

The kitchen’s warm with morning light windows thrown open, a breeze slipping in, fluttering the edge of a dish towel hanging from the oven.

And there she is. Alexia. Hair messy, pulled up in a lazy bun, hoodie loose over shorts, feet bare on the tile.

She’s standing at the counter, fiddling with the coffee machine, one hand tapping a lazy beat against the counter.

She turns when she hears you, face lighting up with a slow, sleepy smile that nearly knocks the breath out of you.

"Bon Dia," she says, voice thick and rough with sleep.

"Bon Dia," you echo, rubbing the back of your neck, suddenly shy in a way you hadn’t been the night before.

She eyes you playfully, reaching for a second mug without even asking. “You sleep okay?”

You nod, stepping further into the room, letting the smell of coffee and something fresh — toast maybe? — wrap around you. “Best sleep I’ve had in weeks," you admit.

Alexia grins, pouring the coffee carefully, sliding one cup across the counter to you. “See? Spain’s good for you."

You take a sip, it’s perfect, rich and hot and a little too strong and sigh happily.

She leans her hip against the counter, crossing her arms lightly, mug cradled between her hands. “So,” she says, a spark flickering in her still-sleepy eyes, “you ready for your big day?”

You raise an eyebrow, amused. "Depends. What’s the plan, captain?"

She pretends to think, tapping her chin with one finger. “First,” she says, ticking off on her fingers, “good coffee.” She holds up her cup meaningfully.

You lift yours in silent salute.

“Then,” she continues, "beach walk? Breakfast near the marina. Maybe a stop at a market I like. Then..." She pauses, smirking.

"What?"

"You’ll see," she says, sing-song, clearly enjoying herself.

You laugh, head tipping back slightly. “Busy day," you tease.

She shrugs, looking unfairly beautiful in the soft morning light. "Can’t waste a second."

You sip your coffee, watching her over the rim of your cup. Feeling the truth settle in quietly beneath your ribs, Neither of you want to waste a second. Not today.

You leave the house with the last sips of coffee still warm in your mouths, sunglasses pushed up into your hair.

Alexia leads the way, casual, loose, shorts showing off strong, sun-kissed legs you couldn't help but stare at as you followed.

The air is already warming the kind of spring-summer heat that rises slow and easy, not heavy yet.

The beach is a short drive away, the Mediterranean stretched wide and glittering blue, dotted with early morning joggers, sleepy vendors setting up umbrellas, a few dogs sprinting wild, free along the shore.

You both kick off your shoes the second you hit the sand. The grains are cool and soft under your feet, the breeze tugging lightly at your clothes.

Alexia squints into the sun, one hand shading her eyes, and you see it, the soft, unguarded grin that only just tugs at her mouth.

“You gonna keep up?” she teases, nudging your hip lightly with hers.

You laugh, stepping around her, a fake competitive bounce in your step. “Race you to the water.”

She raises an eyebrow, amused. "You’ll lose."

"You sure?" you call over your shoulder, already breaking into a jog.

Alexia’s laughter chases after you, low, delighted, and a second later, she’s running too, sand kicking up between you.

You’re not really racing. You both know it.

But you reach the shoreline first, your feet sinking into the wet sand, the surf rushing up to kiss your toes, cool and shockingly fresh.

You spin around just as Alexia skids to a stop beside you, breathless and laughing. “Victory,” you say, throwing your arms up dramatically.

She rolls her eyes, reaching out to flick a handful of wet sand lightly at your legs. “Only because I let you win.”

“Liar,” you shoot back, grinning.

She smirks, brushing her hair back off her face where the breeze has tugged it loose.

You both stand there for a moment. Feet in the foam. Shoulders brushing occasionally when the tide rocks you gently.

The city curves away behind you but it might as well be a thousand miles away. Here, it’s just sun and salt and her.

Alexia tips her head toward the boardwalk further down where the small breakfast spots are just starting to open, white umbrellas being pulled into place.

“Hungry?” she asks.

“Always,” you say without hesitation.

She grins, hooking two fingers lightly into your sleeve as she turns, tugging you toward the dry sand. “Come on. I know a place.”

You follow her, barefoot, laughing, sand sticking to your calves feeling lighter than you have in months.

The kind of lightness you can't plan. The kind you don't even dare hope for.

The café she leads you to is tucked right into the edge of the boardwalk, all pale wood, wide open windows, and the smell of coffee and warm bread floating out to meet you.

You snag a table outside, toes still sandy, sunglasses pushed up onto your heads, muscles loose and humming from the run and the laughter.

Alexia orders for you both without even asking remembering how you take your coffee, what you said yesterday about sweet breakfasts being your weakness.

You raise an eyebrow at her when she finishes, mock-impressed.

She just shrugs, smiling into her coffee cup. “I listen."

You don’t look away. Neither does she. And with the sea at your back, the sun at your faces, and her smile tucked like a secret between you your shoulders relax.

Plates arrive quickly, strong coffee, thick slices of bread still warm from the oven, bowls of fresh fruit glistening under the sun.

You dig in immediately into your waffles with a stupid about of Nutella over them, hunger from the beach walk sharpening everything.

Alexia watches you, one hand curled loosely around her mug, that lazy, half-hidden smile never really leaving her face.

"You enjoying that?," she says lightly.

You raise an eyebrow, mouth full of pancake.

"Don't judge me," you mumble around a bite, making her laugh. "At least I'm not boring with my fruit platter"

She shrugs, mock-innocent. "I have a reputation to maintain."

You swallow, grinning. "You mean the reputation where you're the best player on the planet and a food snob?"

Alexia leans back in her chair, sunglasses slipping down her nose a little, smiling properly now wide, unguarded. "I'm not a food snob," she protests. "I just know what’s good."

You spear a piece of chocolate covered waffle with your fork, waving it at her dramatically. "Exhibit A," you say, popping it into your mouth.

She laughs again, a warm, real sound that sinks deep into your chest and steals a piece of strawberry with chocolate on without asking, tossing it into her mouth with a smug little grin.

The easy rhythm between you builds with every bite, every playful nudge under the table. You brush your foot against hers once not meaning to. She doesn’t move away. So neither do you.

The breeze catches the corner of a napkin and sends it fluttering across the table. You both reach for it at the same time, your hands bumping, fingertips grazing, a tiny spark jolting up your arm.

You freeze for a half-second eyes locked. The moment stretches a breath, a heartbeat. Before Alexia smiles, soft and knowing, and lets her hand slide away first.

You tuck the napkin under your plate, swallowing a smile. "Smooth," you tease, your voice lower now, playful but full of something else.

She leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in her palm. "You have no idea," she says, soft enough that it could be mistaken for a breeze if you weren’t looking directly at her.

Your stomach flips. You don’t look away. You can’t.

And for the first time since you landed in Barcelona, since you sat shoulder to shoulder by the pool under the stars you feel it shift between you. Not just friendship. Not just admiration. Something tipping forward, slow and certain and real.

Alexia reaches for her coffee, eyes still on you. “So," she says casually, blowing across the surface of the drink, "after breakfast... market? Or do you want to beat me at another race first?"

You smirk. "I think you’re still recovering from losing the last one."

She mock-gasps, hand to her heart. "Such disrespect."

You chuckle, sliding your sunglasses back down onto your nose to hide the way you’re smiling like an idiot.

Alexia watches you over the rim of her cup soft, warm, sure. You finish the last bites of breakfast together, your legs still brushing under the table, your laughter still folding together easily.

And the whole time, you can feel it building. Slow. Bright. Unstoppable.

⚽️

Breakfast lingers in your body warm, heavy in a good way as you both leave the café, shoes back on, sunglasses shading your eyes from the rising sun.

Alexia tugs her jacket sleeves up over her elbows as you fall into step beside her. The streets are a little busier now not crazy, but buzzing in that Barcelona way, scooters weaving through traffic, cyclists darting between tourists, locals striding fast and sure like they own the sidewalks.

You’re walking close, close enough that your hands brush once, casual.

You’re laughing about something stupid she said at breakfast something about her being a 'culinary icon' for choosing the right melon, when she suddenly shifts.

It’s so smooth you barely register it until you’re already there. You feel her hand light but firm slide across your waist. Not possessive. Not rough. Just there.

Steady. Guiding.

She moves you gently to the inside, away from the curb where the street traffic rumbles past too fast, too close. No words. No big scene.

Just the easy, automatic instinct to put herself between you and everything else. Your breath catches tiny, unnoticeable to anyone but you but you don’t say anything. You don’t have to.

She keeps her hand there for a second longer than necessary fingers warm through the thin fabric of your top before letting it fall away, brushing lightly against your hip as she does.

You glance at her quick, sideways. She doesn’t look at you. Just keeps walking, hands back in her jacket pocket, casual like nothing happened.

But there’s a slight, unmistakable curve to her mouth. Like she knows exactly what she did. And exactly what it did to you. You swallow around the smile threatening to break free and match her stride.

The market is a riot of colour and sound when you arrive.

Rows of stalls spill into the street vibrant fruits stacked in messy pyramids, flowers bursting from buckets, the rich smell of roasting nuts and fresh bread curling through the air.

You drift between stalls together not rushing, not with any real plan just being.

Alexia stops to pick through peaches at one stand, lifting them gently, checking them like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

You wander a few feet away, caught by a table piled high with handmade jewellery rough-edged silver, worn leather bands, tiny delicate charms.

You’re reaching out for one when someone bumps into you not hard, not aggressive just the usual jostle of a busy street.

Still, before you even fully register it, Alexia is there. A step closer. A hand brushing your lower back. A glance sharp over her shoulder at the stranger, assessing, steady, before relaxing again when she realises it’s nothing.

She doesn’t say a word. Just stays close now half a step nearer than before, body angled subtly between you and the crowd. As if shielding you.

You look up at her, heart hammering stupidly. She catches your gaze, shrugs like it’s nothing. "Busy today," she says, voice low, easy.

You know she’s pretending it was casual. You know it wasn’t. And you don’t call her on it. You just smile, a little more than you mean to, and shift a little closer to her side. Where she clearly wants you to be.

Where you want to be.

You wander between stalls, the smells and colours thick around you citrus and flowers and bread still warm from the ovens.

Alexia stays close now. Not hovering. Not crowding. Just... there.

Every time you glance up, she’s within reach scanning the stalls casually, bumping your shoulder when she teases you about the size of the tote bag you picked up, tossing small, knowing glances your way whenever something catches your eye.

You stop by a table filled with little handmade necklaces and bracelets all simple, silver chains and tiny silver pendants shaped like shells and stars and suns.

You lean in, fingers brushing lightly over one, a tiny silver star, worn smooth from being handled so many times. You don’t pick it up. Just smile a little to yourself and step away.

You’re halfway down the next aisle when Alexia doubles back with a muttered, "Hang on."

You blink, confused, but stay where you are, pretending to study a crate of cherries while secretly watching her.

She speaks quietly to the vendor, quick, easy Spanish you don't understand, and tucks something small into her jacket pocket before rejoining you like nothing happened.

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “What was that?"

“Nothing," she says, breezy.

You narrow your eyes at her, smiling despite yourself. "Liar."

She grins, completely unbothered. "Trust issues."

You nudge her lightly with your elbow, and she laughs low, under her breath, the sound curling into your chest.

After another twenty minutes weighed down now by pastries and fruit and a tiny pot of local honey Alexia insisted you had to try you find a bench tucked between two buildings, half in the sun, half in the shade.

You both slump onto it like you’ve just finished a marathon.

Alexia stretches her legs out, one arm slung casually across the back of the bench behind you, fingers drumming an absent rhythm against the wood.

You sit there, catching your breath, letting the sounds of the market buzz lazily around you. She digs into the pocket of her jacket casual, like it’s no big deal and tosses something into your lap.

You catch it reflexively. It’s the necklace. The little silver star you’d been looking at earlier. You stare at it for a second before looking up at her.

She shrugs, smirking, trying and failing to play it cool. "You looked like you wanted it."

Your throat tightens, stupidly, around how simple and easy she makes it sound.

You turn the charm over in your hand small, worn, perfect. “Thank you," you say, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

Alexia bumps her knee lightly against yours. "You're welcome." You thread the chain through your fingers hesitating and Alexia leans closer, dropping her voice so low it almost feels like a secret. "Want me to put it on you?"

You laugh breathless, caught off guard by the way she says it light, teasing, but full of something else too.

You nod, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Okay. Please"

You turn slightly, pulling your hair away from your neck. You feel the careful brush of her fingers soft, warm from the sun as she hooks the chains at the back of your neck.

Her knuckles graze your skin once. You shiver. When she’s done, you turn back around and she's close now. Closer than she's been all morning.

She tugs lightly at the star resting against your collarbone, smiling that small, soft smile that says more than she’s ready to put into words. "Looks good on you," she murmurs.

You smile shy and wide and helpless.

"Thank you," you whisper back.

⚽️

The heat of the day is starting to thicken now not heavy yet, but enough that the shade of the narrow streets feels like a relief.

You fall into step naturally close enough that your arms brush sometimes. Close enough that you’re aware of her in every movement. Neither of you says much at first.

It’s not uncomfortable. It’s easy. The kind of silence that feels like it belongs to both of you. Alexia glances over at you once, a small, sideways smile curling at her mouth and you feel it tug at something low in your stomach.

You smile back, helplessly. You can’t not.

At one point, a group of kids on scooters whip past too close, and instinctively, Alexia reaches out her hand finding your lower back, the same steady pressure from earlier, pulling you gently toward her, away from the chaos.

She doesn’t even seem to think about it. Doesn’t make it a thing. Her hand lingers a second longer than necessary.

You glance at her heart thudding but she’s already looking ahead again, cool as anything, like it’s just natural now. Maybe it is.

You keep walking. At some point, her knuckles brush yours. Not an accident this time. Slow. Intentional.

You glance down, see her hand swinging casually, deliberately a little closer to yours than before. Your pulse picks up. You bump your hand lightly against hers.

She bumps back playful, teasing. It’s a game now, almost. A dance neither of you quite want to end.

Finally , you let your pinky hook loosely around hers. Not holding. Not grabbing. Just touching. Testing. Alexia’s fingers twitch once, soft before curling back.

Her pinky loops around yours. Light. Secure. Barely there. But there.

You both keep walking like nothing’s changed. But everything has. The world narrows to the small, secret place between your hands. You don’t talk about it. You don’t need to.

By the time you reach the car, the sun is high and your heart feels impossibly full. Alexia unlocks it with a beep, tossing the bags into the backseat without letting go of your hand just yet.

She turns to you sunglasses slipping down her nose a little and grins. "Ready for part two?" she asks, voice low and teasing.

You laugh breathless, giddy, hers without even trying. "Always," you say. And you mean it.

⚽️

The drive after the market blurs past in the low hum of warm air through open windows and music playing softly from the speakers both of you riding that edge between playful and something more.

Alexia parks outside a little cafe tucked against the edge of a park one of those local places tourists never find, the kind where old men play cards and kids chase each other between the tables.

You grab seats outside again shaded by the wide arms of an ancient olive tree. She sits across from you, sunglasses perched lazily on her nose, ankles crossed under the table.

You sit back, sipping from your glass of cold lemonade, pretending not to notice the way her gaze keeps finding yours over the rim of her cup.

But you feel it. You feel everything. She’s smiling, a little sharper than before, like she knows exactly what she’s doing now.

And you’re not helping not with the way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear, or letting your knee brush hers under the table without pulling back.

There’s no rushing it. But there’s no hiding it anymore either.

She leans forward at one point elbows on the table, chin resting on the back of one hand, watching you with that lazy, lidded look that makes your skin prickle.

"You always do that?" she asks, voice low.

You blink, thrown. "Do what?"

Her smile curves, slow. "Tilt your head when you’re trying not to laugh."

Your face heats instantly. "I do not," you protest.

She shrugs, clearly amused. "You do. It's cute."

You kick at her lightly under the table half-playful, half-flustered. She catches your ankle between her feet, trapping it, smirking across the table.

You don’t pull away. You don’t want to.

You sit there, locked in a slow, simmering stare that says everything neither of you has said yet.

Alexia breaks the silence. Not with a joke. Not with a tease.

Just: "You drive me a little crazy, you know that?"

It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. It’s just true.

You blink, breath catching in your throat, heart hammering against your ribs. "You’re one to talk," you murmur, finding your voice somewhere down near your shoes.

She smiles not the big, showy one. The real one. Soft, certain.

She leans back, releasing your ankle with a casual nudge of her foot, and finishes her drink.

"Come on," she says, standing, tossing a few coins onto the table.

You stand too unsteady in a way that has nothing to do with your legs.

She waits until you’re close enough until the tiny space between you hums again then reaches out, casual but deliberate, looping two fingers into the waistband of your jeans belt loop for half a second, tugging you forward. It's a quirk of hers you're growing to adore more and more.

"You still owe me a rematch," she murmurs, voice low, words brushing against your skin.

"For what?"

"Race. Breakfast. Uno." She shrugs, smiling as she lets go of your waistband the touch brief but burning.

You laugh stunned and stupidly, wildly giddy. "I don’t think you’re keeping score very well."

Alexia tilts her head, that same tilt she accused you of, and grins. "I’m not keeping score anymore."

She starts walking easy, loose, confident in a way you hadn’t seen all morning.

You catch up to her without thinking. And when your hand brushes hers when her fingers curl loosely, briefly, around yours this time neither of you lets go.

Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You end up at a little tucked-away park one that’s mostly empty, a few stray families packing up picnics, some old men lounging under the trees.

There’s a worn goal painted onto a cracked stone wall no nets, just faint white lines and a dusty ball someone’s abandoned near the edge of the grass.

Alexia spots it immediately.

You can almost feel the shift in her the way she straightens, the way her grin sharpens.

"Oh no," you say, laughing as she jogs over to grab the ball.

"Oh yes," she calls back, dribbling it lazily with the side of her foot, toe taps quick and effortless.

You shake your head, walking toward her slowly. She traps the ball under her foot, raising an eyebrow at you with mock innocence.

"What, you scared?"

You bark a laugh, heart pounding with something that has nothing to do with fear. You drop your tote bag onto the bench nearby, tighten your shoelaces, and square up in front of her. "Bring it, capitana."

Her smile turns wicked. And you realise you might’ve just made a very beautiful mistake.

It starts simple light, teasing a game of keep-away more than anything else.

She dribbles in tight circles, flicking the ball from foot to foot like it's tied to her with a string.

You chase, laughing, trying to poke it away, but she spins out of reach again and again loose-limbed, smug, absolutely in her element.

"Come on," she teases. "You’re supposed to be good at this."

You lunge half-hearted, on purpose and miss by a mile. Alexia howls with laughter, head tipping back, the sound wrapping warm around your ribs.

You fake left, then dart right and this time, your toe catches the ball just enough to pop it loose.

You sprint after it, triumphant only to feel an arm snake around your waist, pulling you off balance.

You stumble, laughing so hard you can't breathe, as Alexia wrestles the ball back under her foot, grinning down at you.

"Foul!" you gasp, pointing at her accusingly.

"Play on," she says sweetly, nudging the ball back toward the goal painted on the wall.

You chase her again this time catching up enough to bump hips as you both fight for possession, laughing so much neither of you can keep proper control.

She finally kicks it a soft, lazy shot that thuds against the wall, missing the goal entirely.

You both collapse onto the grass a second later gasping, sweaty, beaming.

The ball rolls away lazily across the patchy grass. You lie there, shoulder to shoulder, staring up at the bright blue sky, hearts hammering.

Alexia nudges your elbow with hers. "Admit it," she says, breathless. "You stood no chance."

You turn your head, squinting at her against the sunlight. "You fouled me."

She grins — lazy, loose, beautiful. "You loved it."

You don't deny it. You can't. You just roll your eyes fondly and close your own, letting the sun soak into your skin, letting the warmth of her beside you settle deep under your ribs.

You could stay like this forever the low thrum of competition, the brush of her arm against yours, the weight of everything neither of you is saying yet hanging sweet and certain between you.

Alexia shifts a little her arm brushing yours again, her head turning lazily toward you.

For a second, she just watches you. Not intense. Not hungry. Just... watching. Soft. Certain.

Then, voice low and casual, she says "Next time you come... We’ll do all the tourist clichés.. like you did with me"

You turn your head slowly, raising an eyebrow at her, fighting the grin tugging at your mouth. "Next time?" you echo, teasing.

Alexia’s mouth twitches not quite a smile, not quite a challenge. She shrugs, playing it breezy even as her voice dips lower. "Assuming you survive this trip, yeah."

You laugh under your breath, tipping your head back toward the sky. "And here I thought I was just a one-time special guest."

Alexia hums a soft, thoughtful sound. "Never said that," she murmurs.

You feel her words like a warm, low tide pulling at your chest. You glance over again catch her looking at you, steady and sure. No teasing now.

You let the silence sit there for a moment — heavy in the best way — before you nudge her knee lightly with yours.

"Alright, fine," you say, pretending to sigh. "Next time, you're getting dragged to every cliche tourist spot possible."

Alexia grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Sagrada Familia selfie?"

"Definitely."

"Boat tour?"

"Obviously."

She groans, covering her face with one hand, laughing into it.

You nudge her again, laughing too. "Too late to back out now, capitana. It was your idea"

She peeks at you between her fingers eyes bright, mouth soft. "I’m not backing out."

You hold her gaze for a second longer than you probably should.

After lying there long enough to feel the sun start to dip, Alexia pushes herself up with a soft groan, brushing grass off her shorts.

“Come on," she says, reaching down with one hand to tug you up. "Can’t let you get on that plane later without a real meal first."

You grin, letting her pull you to your feet hands lingering longer than necessary before brushing yourself off too.

You drive with the windows down again hair whipping into your face, the city folding itself into gold and long shadows as the sun sinks lower.

Alexia hums along to the radio, lazy and a little distracted one hand on the wheel, the other drumming lightly against her thigh.

You watch her out of the corner of your eye the relaxed set of her shoulders, the way her mouth tilts up slightly even when she's not smiling and you tuck the image away in your chest for later.

The restaurant she picks is tucked into a narrow side street a tiny place, no sign above the door, just the smell of grilled meat and fresh bread spilling into the warm evening air.

Inside, it’s all stone walls and low ceilings, candles flickering on every table, the air thick with laughter and the clink of glasses. Locals only. No tourists. No cameras. Just them.

The hostess greets Alexia like an old friend a clasp of hands, a few rapid words in Catalan that make Alexia laugh low and easy. You catch your name in there hear it said with affection and Alexia glances at you over her shoulder, giving you a look that’s soft around the edges.

You’re shown to a quiet table tucked into a corner, half-hidden behind a curtain of ivy hanging from the ceiling.

You sit across from each other knees brushing lightly under the table, neither of you bothering to pull away.

The food comes in waves small plates, things meant to be shared: marinated olives, grilled peppers, thin slices of jamón glistening under the candlelight.

You pick at everything, laughing when Alexia insists you try the weirdest-looking dish first, letting the easy rhythm between you carry the conversation.

It’s effortless now. All of it. The teasing. The glances. The touches that last a beat longer than necessary.

When she reaches for her wine glass, her fingers brush yours.

When you say something that makes her laugh really laugh, that low, throaty sound you’re addicted to now she leans closer across the table, close enough that you feel the heat of her even with the candle flickering between you.

And when the bill comes when she waves away your offer to split it without even looking she just smirks, lazy and sure. “My city," she says, voice low and warm. "My treat."

⚽️

The drive back is quiet. The low thrum of music, the soft rush of the road under the tires, the weight of everything you're both not saying yet thick between you.

Alexia pulls into the driveway slowly, headlights sweeping across the olive trees, the pool glittering faintly beyond the patio.

You follow her inside through the kitchen still warm with the memory of coffee, up the stairs where the evening sun pools in lazy puddles of light. You grab your bag from the guest room slowly dragging your feet without meaning to feeling every second of the ticking clock now.

Alexia leans against the doorframe, arms folded loosely, watching you. You sling the bag over your shoulder heavier than it should feel and step into the hallway.

Neither of you moves right away. Neither of you says what you're both thinking. She shifts slightly pushes off the frame, closing the distance between you without a word.

She reaches out slow, careful and tugs lightly at the strap of your bag, her fingers brushing yours.

"You sure you have to go?" she says, voice low and rough now.

You smile, small and helpless even as your heart aches.

"I'll be back," you say quietly.

She smiles too soft and sure and so much. “I’m counting on it," she says.

And for a second. one long, suspended heartbeat it feels like she might lean in. Like you might. But then the world creeps back in and there’s an airport to reach.

You follow her back out to the car your hands brushing once, twice and neither of you pulls away.

The drive to the airport is quiet. Not awkward, never awkward now but full of a kind of slow, heavy knowing. The kind that sits deep in your chest, tugging at every word you don't say.

You watch the city slip away outside the window golden and endless and hers and you already feel yourself missing it before you’ve even left.

Missing her.

When she pulls up to the departures curb, she puts the car in park but doesn’t turn off the engine. The hum of it fills the small space between you. You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly. Reach for your bag. Fumble, a little.

Neither of you moves to open the door. Instead, you just... sit there. Breathing the same air. Trying to memorise each other in the dwindling seconds.

Alexia shifts first turning slightly in her seat, one arm thrown casually over the backrest, her fingers grazing your shoulder lightly.

"You’ll text me when you land?" she says, voice low and rough-edged.

You smile small, sure. "Promise."

Her mouth twitches, a smile that doesn’t quite reach full strength, too weighed down with everything unspoken.

You shift toward her the air suddenly electric between you. And for one suspended second, you’re sure. Sure she’s going to kiss you.

Sure you want her to. Sure you’re going to meet her halfway. You tilt up, breath catching. She leans in.

Closer.

Closer.

And at the last second instead of finding your mouth her lips brush the curve of your cheek.

Soft. Warm. Lingering.

Her nose grazes yours as she pulls back, just slightly.

Not an accident. Not a mistake. A promise. A next time.

You blink breathless, heart hammering and when you open your eyes fully, she’s still there, so close you can see the flecks of gold in her eyes.

She smiles a tiny, secret thing meant only for you and leans back, letting you go.

"Go before you miss check in," she says, almost teasing, almost not.

You laugh shaky, happy, undone  and shove the door open before you can forget how your legs work.

You sling your bag over your shoulder. You look back once catch her leaning against the steering wheel, watching you go with a look that makes your chest ache.

You lift your hand in a little wave. She taps two fingers against the side of her head in reply saluting you, awkward as ever, sending you off without ever saying it.

And then you turn. And walk into the airport.

⚽️

You step through the doors into camp boots slung over your shoulder, kit bag heavy at your side, sun still clinging to your skin from Barcelona.

And immediately, you know you’re screwed. The noise, the energy, the absolute full-force chaos of being back with England.

It’s loud. It’s familiar. It’s home.

You barely get two steps into the lobby before Georgia sidles up beside you shoulder bumping yours lightly.

"Alright, world traveler?" she says, grinning, tugging your bag out of your hand before you can protest.

You roll your eyes fondly. "Alright, stalker?"

Georgia laughs, slinging your bag over her shoulder like it weighs nothing. "Come on then. Spill. How was it?"

You glance around the lobby buzzing with players dropping bags, greeting each other, shouting across the space and lower your voice instinctively. "It was good," you say, keeping it casual.

Georgia narrows her eyes immediately suspicious. "Good?" she repeats. "That’s it? Good?"

You shrug playing it cool, playing it awful. Georgia bumps you again, harder this time. "You’re a terrible liar."

Before you can open your mouth to come up with something better before you can even blink Beth drops into step on your other side, sunglasses perched on her head, sipping a coffee like she owns the building.

"What’s good?" she asks breezily, looking between you and Georgia.

You freeze. Georgia, traitor that she is, grins way too wide.

"Nothing," you blurt.

Georgia, already revelling in it, bumps your hip again. "Just asking about Barcelona," she says, way too loud, way too innocent.

Beth blinks. Then squints. Then her mouth drops open. "Wait—" she says, half-laughing, half-horrified. "Barcelona?"

You glare at Georgia, but she’s too far gone now, practically vibrating with the joy of it.

Beth rounds on you immediately, wide-eyed. "Hang on," she says, coffee sloshing dangerously as she gestures wildly. "You went to Barcelona—"

Georgia, ever helpful, chimes in "After Alexia went to Munich to see her."

Beth actually staggers, hand clutching her chest dramatically. "Are you kidding me?!"

You bury your face in your hands. Georgia howls with laughter.

Beth recovers just enough to point accusingly at you, grinning so wide she looks like she might combust. "And you didn’t tell us?!"

You groan into your palms. "It’s not—" you start.

"It’s everything," Beth interrupts gleefully.

You peek at her through your fingers cheeks burning, heart pounding, but some part of you laughing too, because it’s Beth and Georgia and they love you and they’re not mad just thrilled for the gossip.

"And she went to Munich," Beth repeats, practically dancing now. "To see you."

"And this one went to Barcelona," Georgia adds, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

You let your hands fall, laughing helplessly. "Yeah, okay, fine," you mutter. "We’ve... seen each other. A few times."

Beth shrieks, full, delighted shriek earning a few curious looks from the others across the lobby.

"You’re in so much trouble when Leah finds out," she says gleefully, already pulling her phone out like she might text her right now.

You lunge for it half-hearted, laughing too hard to really care. Georgia slings her arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a tight, jostling hug. "We’re just saying," she says, voice sing-song sweet. "If you end up married to the Queen of Barcelona, we expect good seats."

Beth nods solemnly. "Front row. Confetti cannons."

You roll your eyes so hard it hurts but you’re grinning, wide and helpless and full.

⚽️

By the time you make it to the gym for the first session, you’re already regretting everything.

You walk in and before you even hit the first mat, Georgia and Beth are at it again.

Georgia strides ahead dramatically, dropping to one knee right in the middle of the entrance.

You don’t even have time to react.

She grabs Beth’s hand, exaggerated, way too serious, "Bethany Jane Mead, will you do me the honor of running away to Barcelona with me?"

The few girls near the squat racks snap their heads up instantly, like a school of sharks scenting blood.

You freeze hands on your hips, trying desperately not to laugh.

Beth covers her mouth with her free hand, fake-swooning in the most ridiculous way possible.

"Oh, Georgia," she gasps dramatically. "I thought you’d never ask!"

You glare at both of them, fond and furious, and shout without thinking, "Shut up!"

Your voice bounces off the walls, echoing across the gym. Everyone stops. Turns. Looks at you.

Silence, for about three seconds, before Leah, standing by the dumbbells, calls out, "Oi, what’s going on over there?"

Before you can even think of a lie, Beth the absolute traitor straightens up and shouts back, all singsong "Someone’s been keeping secrets!"

The gym erupts, players abandoning warm-ups to crowd closer like it’s feeding time.

Lucy jogs over, eyebrows high. "Secrets?"

Ella Toone, already halfway across the room, shouts "Who’s keeping secrets?!”

Georgia still riding the wave points directly at you, grinning like the cat who got the cream.

You bury your face in your hands, groaning as the teasing grows louder around you. Through your fingers, you hiss, "Georgia, I actually hate you."

But it’s weak. Empty. You don’t mean it. Not even a little. And when you peek out cheeks burning, pulse racing you’re smiling. Grudgingly. Hopelessly. Because for all the noise and jokes and fake proposals, it’s love.

Beth bounces beside you, looping an arm around your shoulders like she’s claiming you.

Georgia is no help — nudging Beth, both of them barely holding in their laughter as you fumble for a way out.

"You gonna tell them?" Georgia sing-songs.

You shake your head violently, cheeks burning. You stay silent. Absolutely silent.

Beth laughs — full, gleeful, bright. "Look at her," she tells the group, nearly doubled over. "She’s gone bright red!"

Georgia nods, clapping you on the back like you’ve just won a medal. "She’s crumbling. Absolutely folding."

More laughter spills across the gym Leah whistling, Lucy shouting "SUS!" at the top of her lungs, Ella Toone chanting,

"Tell us, tell us, tell us!"

You hold firm stubborn and suffering refusing to say anything. But your face is giving you away.

And Beth and Georgia, absolute traitors, are loving every second of it.

You mouth traitors at them as you yank your hood over your head and march toward the treadmill.

Behind you, you can hear Beth shout, grinning, "Not denying it though, is she?!"

The girls howl. And you hiding your face, heart hammering, skin buzzing can’t help the small, helpless smile that creeps over your mouth.

⚽️

You’re finally getting a moment to breathe.

The gym session’s behind you, your legs are heavy, and your tray is loaded with carbs you’re pretending not to be this excited about. You slide into your seat at the end of the long table, exhaling deeply, finally in peace.

You’re mid-way through demolishing a mountain of pasta when Leah and Keira appear across from you sliding into their seats with matching grins that immediately put you on alert.

Leah leans her elbows on the table, chin resting on her hands, eyes way too amused.

Keira just sets her phone down screen-up between them, sipping her drink, looking almost bored but her raised eyebrow gives her away.

You pause fork halfway to your mouth. “…What.”

Leah smiles slowly. Like a shark. “Lovely weather in Barcelona at the weekend, wasn’t it?”

You blink, heat rising in your chest instantly. Keira taps the screen with one finger and you glance down.

There it is. A photo. Blurry, zoomed-in, definitely from someone’s phone — but it’s unmistakably you stepping out of a car outside the gates of the Barcelona football ground.

No caption. No tagged companion. No evidence of anything. But it’s you. And it’s out there. You blink again. Then glance up.

Leah and Keira are both watching you like they’re on the edge of their seats at a theatre show.

You clear your throat. Slowly return to your pasta. “Could be anyone,” you mumble.

Leah nearly chokes on her water. Keira calmly pushes the phone closer toward you. “You’re wearing that exact hoodie,” she says dryly.

You glance down. Yeah. You are. You sigh, deep and dramatic, and shove another bite into your mouth. "Still. Not definitive."

Leah collapses into laughter, head in her hands. “You are so bad at this.”

Keira’s still watching you though not laughing now. Just thinking. Quiet. Then she leans back in her chair and says it, calm and certain, “So. Barca, huh?”

Your stomach flips for a whole different reason. You pause eyes flicking up and she raises her eyebrows slightly, still waiting.

“You know they’ve been after a out-and-out striker. That's a part of your game you can do very well”

You blink. Then realise what she’s saying. What she thinks this is. And you let out a breath that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sigh caught halfway between relief and something like regret. “No comment,” you mutter, shoving more pasta in your mouth.

Leah snorts. Keira smirks. Neither of them suspects Alexia. And you don’t correct them. Not yet. Because let them think it’s contracts and football and clubs. Let them think it’s negotiations.

The photo’s still sitting on Keira’s phone, face-down now on the table, like a loaded weapon no one wants to set off again just yet.

Leah’s still grinning, chewing thoughtfully. Keira leans back in her chair, arms folded, that look on her face like she’s just worked out a puzzle. You’re trying to act unbothered chewing way too slowly, staring far too hard at your food.

Then Georgia and Beth slide into the empty seats beside you, fresh from the food line, laughing at something you thankfully didn’t hear.

They don’t even clock the tension until Keira leans in and says, casually, “You two know anything about Barcelona?”

Beth and Georgia freeze just for a beat. Not long. But you notice. You feel it.

Beth shoots you a look. Georgia smirks.

Then Beth picks up her fork and says cheerfully, like she’s known this moment was coming “What about Barcelona?.”

Georgia sips her drink, eyes wide and way too innocent. “Why would we know anything about Barcelona?”

You whip your head toward them, trying not to glare. “Seriously?”

Beth shrugs, barely holding in her grin.

Keira leans forward again, eyes narrowing.

“So? What is it? Talks? Trial? Something in the works?”

Leah jumps in. “Is she leaving Bayern? Is it for January? Summer move? What’ve you heard?”

Georgia and Beth just... laugh. Loud. Joyful. Noisy. Georgia kicks your shin under the table, not gently.

“She’s gonna kill us later.”

Beth lifts her water bottle in mock toast. “Totally worth it.”

Leah and Keira look at each other. Then at you. Then back at them. But neither Beth nor Georgia offers another word. Just smiles

You sink into your seat, face in your hands, muttering, “Can't do anything without 15 rounds of questions with you lot. I hate you all”

Georgia pats your back. “No you don’t.”

Beth nods. “She loves us.” They clink forks and keep eating like they haven’t just lit a fire under the entire dinner table.

Leah and Keira. Still staring. Still suspicious. But getting nothing else. Playing detective across the table when your phone buzzes in your lap.

You glance down.

Alexia: You forgot to tell me you landed safely.

Your chest tightens instantly guilt and something warmer. You blink, then press your lips together already typing.

But before you can finish the reply, another buzz.

Alexia: I saw the England arrival pics. You looked fine.

Alexia: Actually more than fine. I liked your outfit.

You sit a little straighter, the words like a rush of heat against your skin.

You try not to smile. Fail miserably. Beth catches it immediately “Who’s got you smiling like that?”

You kick her under the table. Light. Helpless. “No one,” you mutter, barely above a whisper.

Georgia hears it anyway. Grins into her drink. You shift the phone lower, out of their eyeline, and type quick.

You: Sorry. Everything was busy the second I got here. It slipped my mind.

That’s all you send.

No flirting. No matching her compliment. Just honest.

You sit there for a beat longer, thumb hovering, wondering if you should’ve said more wondering if she’ll notice what you didn’t say.

Beth leans into your side.

“My guess is we know who. You’re sat here blushing into your pasta, it has to be”

You shove your phone back into your pocket, cheeks on fire. “Can we not,” you mutter.

Beth and Georgia laugh. Keira watches you eyes sharp like she knows something's there, but can't quite pin it down.

And Alexia? Still typing. Your phone stays in your lap, screen dark for a long moment. Too long.

You try to focus on the table Leah still picking at the Barcelona photo, Beth whispering something that makes Georgia nearly spit water across the table but your mind’s already gone quiet.

Then it buzzes again.

You check it quickly, heart in your throat.

Alexia: Don’t worry. I figured it was hectic.

Alexia: Just wanted to know you were okay.

Your chest tightens something warm and slow settling deep between your ribs.

Then, one more message. Shorter. Softer.

Alexia: Can't wait to see you again.

You stare at it not breathing for a second.

Because there it is. No flirting. No games. Just truth. A simple line that cuts through the noise around you like a thread pulling tight between two people on opposite sides of a continent.

You slide your thumb gently across the screen rereading it once, then again. And you don’t reply. Not right away. Not because you don’t want to. Because you want to too much.

You press the phone screen to your leg, hiding your face behind your water glass, and tell yourself to breathe.

Because she misses you. And the worst part is you miss her back. More than you can admit. More than you know how to say.

Beth is laughing, Georgia nudging your knee, Leah still trying to guess what’s going on.

But your thumb is already moving screen tucked low in your lap, head down, body leaning subtly away from the rest of the table.

You: Can't wait to see you again to.

You don’t overthink it. You don’t soften it. You don’t add an emoji to make it easier. You just send it. Plain. Simple. True.

A second later, the message goes blue.

Read. And then the typing bubble appears. Almost immediately. Your pulse stutters.

Alexia: When this camp’s over… can we talk about the next time?

You exhale a sound that’s part relief, part ache.

You type slower now.

You: Yeah. We should.

Alexia: Good.

Alexia: Sooner the better.

You smile one hand still under the table, the other gripping your glass to give it something to do.

"You're so weirdly quiet," Georgia mutters beside you. “You're not gonna eat your pudding?”

You blink, startled back into the present.

Keira leans in, squinting at you. “Why are you grinning like a teenager with a crush?”

You clear your throat. Sit up straighter. “Because,” you say flatly, reaching for your spoon, “my dessert’s better than yours.”

They don’t believe you. Not for a second. But they let it go. Sensing you don't want to talk about it.

⚽️

The hallway’s quiet as you pad down from your room hair up, tee abandoned somewhere upstairs, phone in your hand, screen still lit up from your last message.

You tug at your shorts on your hips, the waistband sitting comfortably snug, sports bra fitting like second skin bare midriff, sun-kissed abs still faintly marked from training.

You don’t really think about it. Not until you push through the doors to the indoor pitch. The lights are lower in here, soft and warm. There’s music playing low, vibey and the far corner’s full of bean bags and snacks, girls half-curled into piles as they lounge post-dinner.

On the pitch, a few are mid-intense badminton rally Ella shrieking with laughter as Lucy dives dramatically and misses.

You step in barefoot, casual, phone still in hand just meaning to slip in, but the moment you appear, the vibe shifts. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just... noticed. Conversations falter. Eyes flick over.

Leah, from her bean bag throne, lets out a low whistle without looking up from her packet of crisps. “Well,” she drawls. “Someone’s feeling herself.”

You roll your eyes too used to it but you do smile. Beth lifts her head from Georgia’s shoulder just long enough to smirk. “She’s been glowing since she got back here,” she says, not even trying to whisper.

Georgia, grinning, just nods and mutters, “Have an interesting weekend?”

You walk over slowly, shaking your head, but not exactly rushing to cover up either. You toss your phone onto a nearby cushion and drop down onto the turf, stretching your legs out, leaning back on your hands.

“Did I miss the invite to Badminton Wimbledon or…?”

Ella jogs past with a racket in hand and a headband on like she’s in the final of her life. “You’re late. We’re already through the group stages,” she shouts, missing her serve by a mile.

You laugh, watching her spin in a circle. Beth shifts over to make space for you on a bean bag, patting the spot beside her. You stay where you are for now comfy, loose, soaking it all in.

The music. The laughter. The energy. You really did love your time on England camp.

You’re still laughing at Ella’s terrible serve when you catch the weird glint in Beth’s eyes. That smirk, the one she does when she’s holding onto something explosive. Georgia’s not helping, she’s biting the inside of her cheek, leaning way too far into her drink like she’s trying not to howl.

You frown. “What?” They don’t answer just exchange a look, a delighted one. Your heart skips, just once. “…What?”

Beth lifts her chin subtle like she’s motioning behind you. “You might want to turn around.”

You turn immediately. You feel it in your spine, in the way your skin tightens across your shoulders, in the way your heart starts thudding despite you being totally still.

That feeling like someone’s watching. Like she’s watching. Your eyes scan the pitch, gaze flicking to the far side and that’s when you see it.

A sea of red training kits, across the pitch on the viewing stands a quiet pocket of the Spanish national team.

Coaches. Staff. Players a few talking, half-watching the chaos of the English group across the floor.

And in the middle of them calm. Still, exactly where she always is. Alexia. She’s not talking. She’s not laughing. She’s slowly turning her head away as if she had been watching and was trying to subtle pretend she wasn’t.

You don’t let your eyes stay on her when you spot a few of her Barcelona teammates watching you watch her, Patri leaned in mumbling what you were probably sure was ‘She’s looking at you’

But your body your posture, your breath, the way your stomach flips before your brain catches up gives you away on just what was going through your brain.

You drop your gaze and scrub a hand down your face like you’re just tired, then reach for your phone, like it’s a shield.

Beth snorts quietly beside you. “Soon as you looked away she looked again”

Georgia grins. “I think someone has a crush on you” she quietly spoke in a sing song voice at you,

You try to keep your voice neutral. “Why are they here?”

Beth shrugs. “If you weren't down here late you would know, Sarina called a meeting.”

Your ears go hot. "No one thought to come get me no?" You turn to glare at her.

Georgia shrugged “Sarina said she'd catch up with you another time”

"Can you not just tell me?"

Gee laughed, "Airport systems have gone down, they're stranded here, the FA said they could come here, so looks like you may be bunking with your new little friend"

You get to your feet with a sigh as they laugh loud and obnoxious, you walk away, "Ay! Less" you hollered, "Want a friend?" you ask as she's digging a ball out of a bag. Less smiles looking to Beth and Gee, "Dumb and Dumber are pissing me off"

"Sure" Alessia gave you her bright smile, "They've been teasing you all day, is something going on?"

You were painfully aware you were in ear shot of the majority of the Spain girls now, "They just think they're funny" You got a smile as you sucked your teeth when Ed Sheeran's Barcelona suddenly began playing, as Beth and Georgia were cry laughing. You looked over your shoulder, "You're not funny" you hollered

You’ve slipped into a rhythm now two-touch with Alessia, passing the ball lightly between you as the chatter from the beanbags fades into background noise.

It helps. The movement. The distraction.

You trap the ball under your foot, flick it up with ease, and Alessia volleys it back. Smooth, easy, familiar.

But your skin still hums. The awareness hasn’t left. Alexia's presence lingers behind you like a shadow not seen, but felt.

You keep your back to the far benches, keep your eyes down, but she’s still there.

Alessia jogs to the side to collect a stray touch, laughing. As she passes the ball back, she says it completely offhand, completely unaware of what it lands on, “She keeps watching you, by the way.”

You freeze not noticeably. Just... enough. You raise your head slowly, “Who?”

Alessia nods toward the benches as she traps the ball. “Alexia. Every time you touch the ball, her head goes with it. It’s actually kinda intense.”

Your mouth goes dry. Alessia doesn’t notice. She shrugs, smirking. You try to keep your expression neutral, cool, casual, you flick the ball up again, letting it bounce off your thigh.

Alessia laughs. “I mean, fair. You’ve got that whole ‘mysterious quiet confidence’ thing going.”

You volley it back, maybe a little too hard. She lets it roll past her and jogs after it. She doesn’t press. Doesn’t guess but she’s not wrong. Alexia is watching and you're not sure you can take much more of it.

ad-dic-tion

barca x reader, platonic!alexia putellas x reader

warnings: talks of narcotics addiction, angst, depression

Spain is different. It’s more freeing than France ever was, less dark. There isn’t the same constant bustle and stimulation that you were surrounded by in Paris. Paris was survival, but Barcelona is the weird halfway between living and being alive. It’s the most alive you’ve felt in years, but yet you still hover a few metres below the surface. Drowning is still drowning no matter how deep you are.

Barcelona was a shock to put it lightly. After Paris, after the mess that had been your life and then had turned into your career your everything had blown up. A good situation for you was showing your face outside of your apartment, maybe kicking a ball around again if you could work up the courage. You’d never thought that you would get another shot at football, it just hadn’t been an option in your mind. You were blacklisted in the world of soccer, whilst it wasn’t public knowledge why, courtesy of PSG being extremely cautious of keeping a good public image, it was well known that your leave had been anything but honourable.

You really hadn’t kept up with any football afterwards, hell you hardly kept up with anything when you were playing, but supposedly Barcelona had fallen into a crisis of major season ending injuries and were struggling to find money to acquire many players.

You weren’t even aware you had an agent anymore, you certainly weren’t paying agents fees, yet the calls came, and the door knocking, and the zoom meetings, and the visits and eventually a hasty contract signing was done half an hour after you’d hopped on a plane to Barcelona.

It was over a year since you’d stepped foot on a football pitch, possibly a year and a half since you’d trained with a team.

Your new teammates, who you hadn’t bothered to touch up on all , stood to the sides and watched you train for the first time, getting in some private time with Pere before your first proper training session.

“She played in Lyon, no?”

You were a bit of a mystery, the first the team had heard of you was the day before when Pere had alerted them that you would be joining the squad along with some girls from the Barca B side. Afterwards, in the locker rooms they’d tried to find as much information as they could, but the most they could find was your wikipedia page. No social media, no interviews, no features on other players' social media, nothing. You were an enigma, this person that seemingly existed yet none of them could put a face to your name.

“No, PSG, Liverpool beforehand, remember?”

You’re rough at the edges, that much is clear. With your mane of hair in a ponytail that looks like it’s seconds away from falling from your head yet it never does. The ear piercings adorning every single inch of cartilage and tissue along your ear and the tattoos that don’t seem to stop or start.

“And she played for England?”

You don’t look English, not in how you play. You’re so… edgy? You play like you’re straggling to do everything, like you know what it is to struggle.

“Up until U23s, had a short stint in the senior team before she retired.”

Your eyes are bloodshot, like you don’t know what sleep is. It’s almost endearing and yet terrifying in the same way. In an odd way it reminds Alexia so much of Jenni, you look and play nothing like her, but it’s the same ferocity, the same hunt in your expressions.

“And she’s only 21?”

It’s hard to believe that you are the same age as Esmee or Salma, you just look so much older. Like you’ve seen so much more than that.

“Stop leering at her, how would you feel if we all did this to you on your first day?”

Irene’s voice seems to be enough to shake everybody out of their trance hovering to the side of the training ground. You’ve noticed everybody, but you shake it off in the same way you seem to shake off every comment from Pere and every ball you lose. Alexia smiles at you when you look over at her, your facial expression doesn’t deviate from the same pulled back that it’s been stuck in since Alexia started watching you.

You don’t know why you thought you were capable of doing any kind of football, yet alone trying to compete with the best football players in the world. Training with Pere on your own had been brutal enough, you were unfit to put it simply and fearful in a way you’d never been before. Then introducing some of the best midfielders and forwards to your game, well it was a recipe for disaster.

By the time you made it to your first drink break your lungs were burning more from intake of oxygen then exhaling. Your calves are cramping up like they’ve never been used for more than walking and you feel like you’re one sprint away from hurling up your whole stomach's contents.

By the time you make it to the end of training you seriously feel like you might be dying, potentially dramatic but you’ve genuinely never hated your body more than you do.

You leave the field as soon as you’ve been assisted, you want to leave. You’re here for one simple reason, money. Barcelona were desperate and whilst your salary wasn’t anything exorbitant it was enough to guarantee that you would be able to live off of yourself for a few more years before you figured out what to do with your life beyond football.

You’d been shown the locker rooms on your tour, but you don’t bother. You duck into the first bathroom you can find, tugging your cleats off and throwing them into the same carry-on bag you’d gotten through the airport. Your training gear comes off next, you switch it for the spare clothes you’d left in your bag. You feel disgusting, you want a shower and a bottle of vodka. You’d rather feel disgusting though then be thrown into a room of women who you’ve never met and don’t intend to make friends with.

You try to sneak away as easily as possible, but you get caught when you run into a few of your teammates on your way out.

“Hola.”

You would love to pretend that you don’t notice the three people walking your way but it’s hard when you’ve already made eye contact.

“Hey.”

You hope that’ll be it, you try and make it past the three of them but it’s hard when they’ve all stopped directly in front of you expectantly.

“I’m-.”

This is what you want to avoid.

“Alexia Putellas, I don’t live under a rock.”

The woman seems to falter at the sound of your voice, you don’t mind the shocked look on her face.

“Well it’s nice to meet you. This is Jana and Vicky.”

You nod at the other two, Vicky you’re familiar with from your time in the England team, though not enough that you can remember ever playing against her.

“Cool.”

The three women are very clear about their discomfort around your bluntness, it’s good, it’s what you want.

“We-The team, were going to head down to a favourite bar of ours later, weekend off and all, we’d love it if you could join?”

Jana nods along with Alexia and Vicky just smiles.

“The food is to die for and if you’re lucky Alexia will drink enough that she’ll shout our tab.”

Alexia hits Vicky over the back of the head and Vicky looks like she’s about to lunge to retaliate but one darting look at you from Jana stops her.

“I don’t drink, and I don’t do dinners.”

Both Vicky and Jana frown, as if you’ve directly said something to offend them. Alexia looks less surprised.

“Well plenty of the team don’t drink, Irene and Marta and Ingrid.”

You decide you’ve had enough socialisation.

“Thanks but no thanks, if you know what I mean.”

None of the three women know what you mean, and you leave them wondering as you push past the wall to escape their eyes.

“I heard that she was fucking one of the trainers, and they got caught by one of the coaches.”

“I heard that she was stealing from the girls on the team, taking stuff and selling it on ebay.”

“I heard that she went off of her meds and had a breakdown and cursed out the coach.”

“I heard that she-.”

You’re the topic of conversation for the night, your absence from dinner has left such a point of intrigue that even after food and drinks everyone still keeps coming back to it.

“Stop it, you’re all horrible, you’re all making stuff up.”

The younger girls have been the main ones fueling it, there’s so little information on you that it’s so easy to fall into a rhythm of rumours and whispers.

“Ellie, she played in England, surely you know something?”

Ellie’s normally a quieter presence at team events, and as all the eyes fall to her she’s very glad that she hardly harnesses the attention of the group.

“Absolutely not, I’m not feeding into your theories. If you want to know something, ask her yourself.”

The younger girls all groan, Alexia knows why, they’re all far too scared to ask you a single thing, even she's hesitant. With most of the new girls she takes up a caring role, helping people during their transition. Yet even with your number in her phone, courtesy of the team's manager, she can’t find any words that would be appropriate to send to you.

“C’mon Roebuck, you must know something.”

Ellie does, Alexia can just tell by the way she itches at her neck and reaches for her drink immediately.

“I know that she’s been through a lot and definitely didn’t plan on playing football again. That’s all I’m saying.”

Even though you’re rough, and play in such a way that Alexia can’t quite find words for. You have natural talent, it’s raw, but even as you’d struggled she’d seen it.

Then she’d inevitably gotten curious, and went into a deep dive of watching old PSG game videos in search of something. She’d found it, or she’d found you. She wasn’t quite sure how you’d alluded her two years ago, because as she watched game video after game video, she saw magic. There was so little footage and even less of you in an England shirt, but what’s there is brilliant. There’s less of the push and shove, more refined but it’s the same player.

She doesn’t like being left in the dark when it comes to teammates or people in her life, yet when it comes to you she’s completely lost, and extremely curious.

“Ellie’s right, it’s none of our business and if we want to know we should ask her or wait for her to tell us, she’s clearly guarded from past experiences.”

Irene’s voice has the kind of finality that tells everybody the discussion is over. The conversation shifts to something about the upcoming Champions League fixtures and you’ve once again stayed a closed book to everybody.

Alexia would love to say she has a breakthrough with you, but she doesn’t, not for a week.

For the first week it’s fairly quiet. One training or gym session a day. It’s not until 8 days after your arrival that the team has a day longer than a single session, forcing you to stick around for team lunch.

You’re sitting at your own table, headphones on and head stuck in your phone when Alexia comes in after some time in the physio room.

Instead of heading straight towards her normal table she beelines towards you.

You look up at her as she sits down across from you, give Alexia a bit of a squint and then look back down at your phone.

“How are you finding it here?”

You don’t even flinch at Alexia’s voice, and for a second she’s a bit taken aback by your rudeness. But then she remembers you have headphones on.

Alexia foot nudges you from under the table and you try to not look utterly pissed off as your eyes lift from your phone.

Her lips are moving and apparently she’s talking to you and whilst you have zero wishes to converse with her you have enough decency to reach up and slide your headphones off.

“You’re settling in okay?”

You’re glad she can speak English because you haven’t bothered to attend any of the Spanish lessons that the club has set up for you. You’re happy in your blissful bubble.

“Fine.”

You attempt to slide your headphones back on but Alexia’s voice stops you.

“You haven’t come to any of the team nights, we added the right number to the group chats, right?”

It’s almost laughable, how Alexia is trying to pawn your antisocial behaviour off.

“No, you’ve got the right number.”

You hadn’t gotten any food, so you’re left to awkwardly sip at your water whilst Alexia ponders over how to respond to that.

“If Spanish is an issue, most of us speak english and we’re happy to translate, there are plenty of girls who speak english primarily.”

You pick at your nails and as Alexia focuses on you she takes in certain parts of your appearance. Your nail beds are a wreck, or more specifically your hands. You’ve clearly picked and bitten them to the point of bleeding, and even as you continue to pick at the scabs and scars you don’t flinch away whatsoever.

She also notices the way you’re always shaking, your hands, your legs, your arms, you don't stop moving, Your body is in a constant state of awakeness. It mirrors the same exhausted look on your face, it’s like how sharks never stop swimming, you never seem to stop moving.

The scars on your face extend up your arms, it’s hidden between the ink but there are little scabs everywhere, little white healed marks that fall so randomly across your skin it’s hard to keep track.

“Spanish isn’t an issue.”

Alexia knows nothing about you, and yet she feels this weird empathy towards you. She doesn;t know if it’s because you remind her of Jenni in some weird way that makes no sense, or if it’s just the ominous feeling you radiate but she just feels it.

“Look, I get if you feel overwhelmed by it all, this team is a lot. How about you come to my house tonight, just you and I. I’ll cook dinner, or we can order in. It’s got to be hard moving to a city all by yourself without anyone here for you.”

You don’t know why Alexia’s taken an interest in you and you are getting slightly ticked off by her insistence.

“I’m perfectly fine, I’ve been moving since i was 6 for football this is no different.”

This time you didn’t move for football though, you moved because for the first time in your life you had no other options. Every other time it had been because you had endless options, because you were that good that you were wanted. This was all you had though now.

“I just thought you might want some support, or a friend after what happened.”

Alexia is dipping a toe in the water, there’s still so many rumours going around about what’s happened with you. Not a single person has come up with a theory that has factual evidence, even the girls with friends at PSG have come up empty handed. Ellie knows something, but she’s a vault that cannot be opened and Alexia thinks she’s doing so for good reason.

“After what happened? Don’t talk about something you have absolutely no idea about, it’s an ugly look.”

Alexia exhales at the way your body language immediately shifts, your shoulders go tight and your picking at your nails becomes more incessant.

“Tell me then, or at least let me see a side of you beyond football, I’d love to get to know the person beyond all of this.”

Alexia doesn’t know enough about you to know how to interact best with you, but she’s trying.

“I don’t really give a shit what you or anybody else thinks about me and who I am.”

Alexia is screwing this up big time.

“Look, just come for dinner, I’ll send you the address to my house and you can stay for as long or as little as you like. I don’t know what it’s like to be new but I can’t imagine it’s easy. Come tonight and I’ll get you a free pass for all team dinners for the month, I know Pere must have bugged you about coming to the next one.”

You don’t know what’s worse, having to hang out with the whole team or individually with Alexia. You opt for the option that is less likely to put you into a sensory overload panic attack.

“Fine, I’ll come for dinner.”

Alexia smiles like she's a child who’s won a prize.

“Awesome, I’ll send you my address, how about 6?”

You nod along because you feel like you have to. There have been a lot of you doing things because you have to recently, it’s like you’re stuck in the never ending cycle of having to do things because of your past actions.

By the time 6 rolls around you’re sore, have a headache and generally feel so exhausted that you want nothing more than to crawl into your bed and stay there forever. It’s been hard to remove yourself from your routine, for the past year all you’d done was lie in bed all day. Eat, nap, go to NA, sleep. That was your life, four simple steps that held you together. Now though you were adding in a boatload more that you were struggling to handle.

Alexia’s door swings open before you even knock, you try to not feel intimidated by the big smile on her face but it’s hard. You’ve done the cat and mouse before with new teammates, this time though you really don’t have the energy for the charade.

“Hola, come in, come in.”

You allow yourself to be ushered into Alexia’s house, you try to take in your passing surroundings. Alexia’s house is very… spanish? The entryway is fairly simple, photos here and there but the decor is fairly simple. As you enter her living room and kitchen though you get more of a sense. There are jerseys and trophies dotted in random spots, photos and paintings fill the walls and overall the feeling of the house is warm. It’s a big difference from your clinical apartment, which is as bare as it was when you’d moved in.

“Do you want something to drink? Wine, beer, water, tea?”

You doubt Alexia’s abilities to make tea the proper way, and anything with alcohol is an immediate no for you.

“Water is just fine.”

You settle against Alexia’s island counter, leaning against the stone top as she picks two glasses from her shelves.

“I’m warming up some of my Mami’s paella, trust me once you try it you’ll be back for more.”

You can’t take away from the fact that whatever is cooking on Alexia’s stove smells delicious.

“Smells good.”

Alexia smiles, up until this interaction all you’ve seen of her is football. Football awards, football games, football training. It’s weird seeing her outside of football, especially considering how you’d come to idolise her a few years ago.

“Thank you. I thought it was about time I gave you the proper introduction to some proper Spanish food.”

You don’t know if you're still in denial or if you just don’t care, sometimes it’s hard to distinguish between feelings for you. You do know though that the last thing on your list of discovering Spain has been food.

Alexia hands you your glass of water and the two of you fall into a weird silence.

“That’s your girlfriend?”

It’s all you can think of, there’s a photo right in front of you sitting on the island of Alexia and another woman who you’ve never seen before, in a hug that seems too intimate to just be friends.

“Sí, that’s Olga, she’s in Madrid right now for work.”

You nod, it’s odd in your world for people to not be dating other players. Less messy you suppose.

“How about you?”

You laugh, it’s almost funny, and then it’s kind of sad.

“I did, not anymore.”

Not anymore is kind of everything in your life. Your decisions have meant that you don’t get a lot of things, you don’t get the nice things.

Alexia cooks in silence, you observe her house in silence. It could be awkward but it’s not, it’s nice in a way that you haven’t experienced in such a long time. Even when you weren’t off the rails in Paris there were so many barriers between you and your teammates, it was impossible to feel like you weren’t alone.

Alexia plates up the meal and ushers you over to her dining table.

The meal starts silent, but eventually Alexia starts talking.

“So have you been living in Paris or did you move back home after PSG?”

You mostly pick at the food, your appetite nowadays is hardly there, you just can’t stomach most things.

“No, I got out of Paris as soon as I could. Was in London for a while and then mostly in Liverpool.”

Alexia nods thoughtfully, it’s impossible to feel like she isn’t interviewing you. You could ask her some questions back, but there isn’t a single one that comes to mind. You have no interest in learning more about this woman because it does nothing for you.

“Did you like it?”

Your eyebrows furrow, did you like moving from place to place because of your own actions?

“Did I like what?”

You push some of the rice and seafood around your place, the one bite you did take was delicious, but you really don’t want to lose your guts in a teammate's house.

“Paris, I’ve only really been for awards ceremonies.”

You chuckle, Ballon d’ors, Alexia’s well decorated with the awards. You’d wanted that once, it had been a realistic dream for you once, the past was a dangerous thing.

“That’s a can of worms that you don’t want to open.”

You wonder if the saying gets lost in translation as Alexia looks at you completely lost.

“What I mean is that we really don’t want to get into that, you really don’t want to get into that with me.”

Alexia looks even more lost, the silence all of a sudden feels a lot more awkward then it did.

“You got hurt?”

Alexia doesn’t know a thing, she genuinely feels so lost when it comes to you.

“I got hurt, and then I hurt myself, and then I hurt some other people and some other people hurt me.”

Alexia hasn’t learnt anything more, but she understands, as she looks into your eyes she understands to some extent what you’re saying.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, when you can’t hold it in anymore I’m here for you. I might not understand but I can try, or just be here for you when it’s too much.”

You have dinner at Alexia’s house twice a week every week after that. She sticks by her promise of having you excused from all the team dinners and the two of you develop a sort of understanding. She doesn’t push you to say anything, most of the time the conversation is surface level and about things that neither of you need to talk about but talk about anyways. You meet Olga and Alexia’s family, which is a bit overwhelming but you figure you need to branch out at some stage.

You don’t touch the field in your first month at Barcelona, the team is in injury trouble but they aren’t so desperate that they need you. You exist behind the scenes, avoid all the media team and teammates. Eventually though, inevitably really, photos of you surface and whilst it was public knowledge that you’d signed with Barcelona, pictures of you at training seems to be the sign of life that everyone in the football world needs. Your messages and emails flood, it’s the only way to contact you. Old England teammates, Paris teammates, Liverpool teammates, academy teammates. It’s overwhelming in the sense that people who knew that a year ago you were struggling and never reached out are all of a sudden interested now that you’re playing with the best team in the world.

It’s not until 6 weeks after your move that you get told to warm-up on the sidelines during the 50th minute of a game against Valencia. You try not to look shocked as Pere calls out your name around the 60th to go towards the substitute section.

You play like shit, or at least that’s how it feels. You’re sloppy, get messy fouls and add nothing to the team. You’re still unfit, still scared, still look like a feral dog as you run around the field and try to adapt to the style of your teammates around you.

After the game you do the same as you always do, pack up as quickly as possible, avoid every person that exists alongside you and get your ass out of the stadium before you have a breakdown.

You go home, and whilst you’ve had hundreds of bad games, far worse than the one you just played, you can’t shake the overwhelming feeling of shame as you look around your depressing apartment and think about everything that’s led you to this point.

You go to the only other place in Barcelona that you know besides the training grounds.

You don’t quite know how to feel when you knock on Alexia’s door, you don’t even know if she’s going to be home. You just know that you’re short circuiting, and a year ago if you were short circuiting you defaulted to a certain behaviour that you have no interest in engaging in now.

You stand on Alexia’s front porch, shaking and on the verge of tears for a few seconds before you hear noise on the other side of the door.

Olga’s the one who opens the door, and suddenly you feel a lot more vulnerable than you did a few minutes ago. You’re not a vulnerable person, ever, you’ve been through enough to hold standards for yourself now. You suddenly feel so stupid, like you’ve defied every rule you’ve ever set up for yourself.

“Hey Chica, come in.”

You take a step back, and you’re ready to bolt.

“I-Is Alexia here?”

You don’t normally feel your age, you matured so young that you’ve never really felt your age. But at this moment you feel so young, so much more inexperienced than you are.

“Yeah carino, she’s just inside. Come in, please.”

Olga manages to coo you into the house. Over the past few weeks you’d say that you’ve slowly become comfortable in Alexia’s home, but right now you’ve never felt more out of place. As soon as you spot Alexia though, you crumble.

Alexia’s brows furrow at the sight of you, Olga’s hand wrapped around your shoulders in an attempt to keep you inside the house.

“Hey chica.”

You don’t know what to say, because if you say anything it’s probably all going to start coming out in one big mess.

“How about you come outside with me?”

You can’t say no, so you follow Alexia blindly out onto her balcony. She takes a seat on one of the loungers and you opt for sitting on the one beside it.

Alexia’s never seen you shaken up. Yet the girl sitting beside her looks completely terrified. Your whole body is shaking, your hands are bloody and torn up, you have scratch marks all over your arms and face, your eyes are dark in a weird way and for the first time since she’s met you she can see the 21 year old in you.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You don’t know how to answer that question, because you really don’t. You haven’t talked to anybody about it, not your sponsor, not your therapist, not your coaches, not your teammates, nobody. But right now all you want to do is talk about it, just voice everything that feels like it’s holding you down.

“I don’t know where to start.”

Alexia’s never given you a hug, you don’t seem like the kind of person who enjoys physical contact, but all she wants to do at this moment is bring you in, in any attempt to make you feel less distraught.

“Start wherever it makes sense.”

Nothing really makes sense to you.

“I went to Paris because I wanted freedom. My parents, everybody was in England and I felt strangled. Paris was good, I felt good when I went there. I was playing well, I was on track. Then I picked up a tear in my tricep, it was nothing to my game, but it hurt, so they gave me a prescription for painkillers, narcotics to get me through. Everyone in Paris was always drinking, always partying, always doing. I never slept, I never rested, it was football then parties and that was it. The doctor at PSG kept refilling my script, all they cared about was me playing on the field and I thought for a long time that the only way I could do that was by taking the pills and the doctor told me that. He didn’t care that I was abusing, that I was taking eight pills a day to get me through. Even after my tricep had healed, he kept filling them. Sure, I knew I was abusing but they validated me, I just kept taking them. I was so addicted I couldn’t go two hours without popping a pill. I would literally wake up every hour during the night just to take another.”

Alexia just sits and listens, it’s the first time you’ve ever brought up anything from the past in front of her.

“Then I got invited to England senior camp for the first time and they ran all my baseline medical tests and I popped up for having opiates in my system. I flipped out, they accused me of being an addict, I lost my shit. Screamed at Sarina, screamed at everybody else when they told me I needed help. I was so high, all the time, I was living in an alternate reality in Paris where I was floating on this cloud of constant drug fueled ecstasy. It felt like I was being tugged into a reality I had no interest in. Sarina called our PSG coach, who acted like he had no idea that I’d been abusing, as if he hadn’t been the one signing off on it all. Told Sarina that I was ungrateful and that I was a loose cannon and couldn’t be trusted, that I’d been fucking around my whole time there. The same guy who had been telling me that I was the future of the team and the person he trusted most on the field and he went behind my back and turned on me. Held a meeting the next day and turned the whole team on me as well. My girlfriend never spoke to me again, and said she had no clue who I was. My teammates all unfollowed and blocked me. Every physio, the team doctor, the coaches, the trainers, they all axed me. Sarina sent me back to Paris and my contract had already been terminated on ‘mutual’ grounds. The only thing PSG did was pay for me to be admitted to a 8 week rehab facility. By the time I was out my apartment had been sold, I had nobody in Paris to support me and everyone I knew had turned their back.”

Alexia doesn’t know what to say, she’s in a state of shock, because everything that you're telling her is horrible.

“I had offers from other teams, training spots, and other things. Sarina reached out but I was so mad I cursed her out and told her I would rather die than ever play in an England shirt again. I was so scared of getting injured again, getting addicted again, taking pills again. It wasn’t football that scared me, it was the same situation happening again that petrified me. So I just faded into the background. But then Barcelona called, and I couldn’t turn the offer down, I would have been stupid to. But now I’m terrified, I’m sick to my stomach thinking about all the bad things that could happen. Pere’s been supportive, and everyone else is lovely but that didn’t stop it from happening the first time.”

Your lip is bleeding now and you feel like you might actually vomit. You haven’t told anybody what you just told Alexia, somebody you met six weeks ago and have zero connection to besides the very little time you spend at her house every week.

Alexia looks at you, looks at your body shaking like a leaf. The way you clutch onto your t-shirt and tug at the hem of your pants every few seconds.

“Come inside with me for a minute. Sit down at the table.”

You follow Alexia inside, she leaves you alone in her living area, sitting at her dining table for a few minutes before she returns with a tub in her hands.

Alexia sits down across from you, pulling your hands into her own in a weird way that makes you slightly uncomfortable.

“You didn’t deserve to be taken advantage of, you didn’t know better, you were so extremely young. You did not deserve what happened to you.”

Alexia reaches into the tub and pulls out a selection of nail polish bottles.

“Pick a colour.”

You're extremely confused, but you try not to show it.

You point to a dark red, almost brown, and Alexia nods her head.

“Olga paints my nails before every big game, it stops me from getting distracted. Gives me something to pick at if I’m nervous.”

You don’t quite know what it has to do with you but you nod along with her explanation.

Alexia uses a towel to clean up the mess that is your cuticles before applying a base coat.

“I’ve never had an addiction so I can’t tell you that I understand what you’ve gone through. What I can tell you is that you are not your addiction, and you are not defined by the actions you took in the past because of your addiction. You are allowed to be a different person to the person you were a year ago. We are always evolving as people. The person you were a year ago is not the person you are now.”

The varnish burns a bit when it connects with the parts of your fingers that are still open scars and cuts, you don’t flinch away from the pain though, not once.

“There is no point in being afraid of your past. Without your past you are not here, our past is what helps us learn. You’ve learnt that you can’t afford to be haphazard with pain medications, the fact that you can admit you had a problem is enough to show that you don’t want to be that person again. There is no validity in being afraid of a person you do not want to be. My uncle, he is a chain smoker, I know that I do not want to be the same but I do not live in fear that one day I will be him because that is not who I choose to be. You can make a choice and decide that your past is unchangeable but it no longer defines you. You do not want to be that person, correct?”

Alexia is gentle for the most part, focused as always as she covers each nail in the polish. It’s so platonically intimate, you feel so open in front of her.

“I don’t want to be that person.”

Alexia smiles, you really want to pick at your nails, it’s the first time in months that for longer than three minutes you haven’t fed into the habit.

“When I tore my ACL I chewed gum, every hour of every day. I couldn’t handle the sitting and the waiting and the lack of stimulation I was getting. It was horrible, my mouth would get all burnt and tingly from the mint flavouring and my jaw would get sore. It was awful, until Olga started painting my nails, and I started picking at the nail polish instead. It wasn’t the same but it gave me something to do when I would get antsy. I’m not saying stop, I’m saying that it’s not sustainable to be in a constant state of harming yourself, try this instead. Mapi uses stress balls when she does her knee, Kika taps her fingers, Ingrid braids hair. There are replacements.”

You want to point out that the pain is what makes your habit good, it gives a bit of relief from the constant fog you live in, but it doesn’t seem valid.

“As for being afraid of getting injured, I can guarantee you, from the deepest part of my heart that if you get injured I will advocate for you. I’m assuming Pere knows about some of this, he will advocate for you. There will be systems in place to stop what happened to you last time from happening again. Our team is here for you in whatever capacity you like, this is a fresh start for you, you are allowed to be whoever you want, you can be you. At the very least I can guarantee that no matter what happens, if you go back to drugs tomorrow I will be there for you, I care for you enough to help you. You can’t live in fear of a hypothetical, not when there are so many opportunities here for you to have more, you can have your career back if you want it. It’s all about how much you are willing to give, because I can guarantee if you give it all then you can be as good as you were, probably better.”

Alexia finishes with your first hand and moves onto your second. If she notices the tears rolling down your face she doesn’t say anything.

“The team doesn’t hate me?”

Alexia looks up at you, her eyes twinkling.

“No carino, absolutely not. They wish you’d open up some more, but they don’t hate you. They understand you’ve been through a lot and that you’re struggling.”

Struggle. You don’t feel like you’re ever not struggling, struggle is the word that defines you in your brain.

“I want to be better, I want to not feel scared all the time, I want to feel free.”

It’s hard to admit, when you’ve been trying to convince yourself of the opposite for months but it’s all a clear lie. You don’t want to feel like shit all the time.

“I think we can work that out.”

Alexia’s solutions aren’t perfect, but as the weeks pass and the seasons change life gets better.

You start to pick up more minutes at the club, your game is improving at a rapid rate and you manage to find a spot in the starting eleven. Alexia paints your nails at least three times a week, you pick at it at all hours, and sometimes you scratch or pick but overall it’s better. You branch out a bit as well, manage to find your place into multiple friend circles and connect with quite a few of the girls.

Kika decorates your apartment, Marta stocks your fridge with ‘proper’ food, Ingrid takes you shopping for clothes, Esmee goes book shopping with you and Mapi starts coming to your NA meetings with you when she has a spare night.

It’s so good, you settle into a lull for the first time in years.

You suppose comfort must be what comes to bite you in the ass.

It all lights up during a game against Levante.

You’re standing in the box for a free kick when a player pins your arm behind your bag and tugs, hard.

As soon as it happens you know exactly what's wrong. You know the feeling all too well.

The pain is the same excruciating feeling you’ve already experienced, you’d been doing so good, it had all been so good, until now.

You drop to the ground, you can feel the pain but it’s not what you're focusing on. All of the memories of the last year of your life flash right before your eyes like a movie, and you feel panic-stricken.

You feel like the exact same person you were a year ago, all the progress, all the changes, it’s all gone.

The medics come to your side in a matter of seconds, but you can’t talk, you can’t think, you can’t breathe.

It’s happening again. It’s all happening again. Everything you’d been running from is back.

The medics manage to pull you over to the sideline, they ask their questions but you can’t respond, you can’t think about anything besides your biggest fear now coming to fruition.

Everything had been so good. Hell, Sarina had come to watch you today, Pere was in talks with your agent about extending your contract, you were looking at new apartments with longer leases, you were looking at leasing a car. It was all too perfect, everything was too good.

They manage to usher you into one of the seats in the dugout, but you’re in an almost catatonic state as they try and assess you.

“Oi, pequena, I need you to focus, you need to tell us what hurts.”

Alexia’s face in front of you manages to pull you out of it a bit. She was sitting out today's match out in precaution due to a hamstring issue.

“M-My tricep.”

Alexia's face dims a bit, like she knows exactly what’s going through your head because it’s flashing through her own.

“Okay, it’s okay. Let’s get you back down into one of the physio rooms. I’m here, I’m coming with you, I’m here for you.”

Your brain feels heavy, every thought feels heavy. You’re so numb the pain is gone, the only thing that matters is what is about to happen, what could happen.

Alexia leads you out of the stadium and into the tunnel, the medics flank her on either side and lead you back into one of the medical rooms.

“Carino, the doctors need to examine your arm. They’re just going to look at it to make sure that nothings broken, okay? You’re being so brave for us right now, I just need you to hold on for a bit.”

Alexia goes to let go of you but you hold on. You don’t know what to say but she seems to understand.

“I’m staying okay, just let me move so that there’s some room.”

Alexia moves to the side of you, sitting down next to you on the physio bed you're perched on and interlocking your good hand with hers.

The medics are quick, you can hardly feel them.

“It’s probably a tear of some degree to her tricep. She'll need scans, we can get her a green whistle to deal with the pain now before we take her to the hospital for scans.”

Pain. Medication. Drugs. Addiction.

Chronic. It’s all a chronic issue. Addiction is chronic by nature, you have a chronic addiction that you will never be able to out live. You are in a cycle, and this is just the beginning of a new one. This was bound to happen, you knew this was going to happen, you were fearful for a reason. You are chronically living in your past, it’s going to keep happening over and over again. You could have avoided this if you weren’t greedy, if you weren’t so greedy this could have been avoided.

“No pain medication, nothing.”

The medics furrow their brows.

“Can you give us a minute, alone, please?”

The medics look hesitant but one glance from Alexia seems to convince them.

As soon as they’re gone Alexia lifts up from the bench next to you, her knees bumping with yours as she stands in front of you.

“I promised you I would be your advocate, right? I am here to support you. I am here to make sure that nothing happens that you don’t want. I know you’re up on adrenaline right now but your tricep is torn pequena, and in a few minutes it’s really going to hurt. The green whistle will stop that, it’s not drugs, it’s not your addiction. I will be with you every step of the way, but you don’t need to suffer. Whatever this is, I promise you it’s going to be okay. I am here to stop what happened last time from happening. I am here for you. Okay?”

You don’t know if you believe her, you don’t know if you can. Last time you were supposed to trust in other people to keep you safe. You couldn’t trust somebody to do the same this time around.

“Chica, look at me. Only at me. You’re going to take the whistle, not because you are an addict but because you are in serious pain. I’m going to come to the hospital with you and I will make sure that everything that happens is in your interest okay? No pills, if you don’t want pills, we will make it work.”

You concede, because the pain is starting to overwhelm you and you trust Alexia, properly trust her.

The green whistle helps, it helps you to feel less like you’re on the verge of a panic attack and it helps the team doctors to do a better inspection of your arm. They decide it definitely isn’t broken and that once the match has concluded they will take you straight to the hospital. Alexia sits with you for it all.

When the game does conclude Alexia walks you out and straight to the car of one of the medical staff. You’re both stopped on the way there though, by Sarina.

You feel like you’re going to hurl, but to throw being face-to-face with somebody you have so much shame for, you literally think you may vomit.

Alexia feels the way you tense up, and whilst she wants to pull you away she also doesn’t want to strip you from an opportunity that is clearly here for you. She’s watched you work your ass off for this moment.

“Ms Sarina, she would love to talk to you but we have to get her to the hospital.”

Alexia doesn’t really know what to say to the woman, she doesn’t want to say anything on your behalf.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, I’m very impressed with you y/n, you’ve come a long way and if this isn’t too much of a setback it would be great to have you back in England at some point.”

You laugh, Alexia isn’t sure whether it’s the pain medication or just you, but you laugh, loudly and obviously.

“Wait, really? After what happened?”

Sarina smiles, in the way that makes Alexia feel comfortable.

“I’ll call you, we can talk about it, but it’s clear you’ve come a long way and there is no reason why your past should define you.”

Alexia smiles to herself, it’s the same thing she’s been telling you for weeks now, but hearing somebody else tell you it as well makes her think she must be doing something right.

“Thank you Sarina, thank you so much.”

The scan confirms what you already know, which is that your tricep has a tear through it. The only saving grace is that it’s not a full tear so you don’t need surgery. You cry when the doctor tells you, properly, full body sobs.

It can’t be happening again. You can’t survive it happening again.

You wait around in the hospital with Alexia for a few hours whilst the Barca medical team talks with the hospital team to figure out what your best course of action is.

You don’t know what to say to Alexia, you don’t know how to articulate just how sickeningly horrific this all is, about how reliving the worst part of your life is. She seems to understand though, you figure that she can at least relate to having a major injury impact a person's career. Even though it wasn’t your injury that affected your career, but the support system around you.

Some of your teammates flow in and out to come and check on you, you don’t pay much attention, you really can’t. You feel so utterly consumed by it all, in a way that you can’t comprehend in any way.

When the physios come out they ask to talk with you and you can’t really say no. All you want is to go home, or go to Alexia’s house. You need some space to be vulnerable enough to process the shitstorm that’s happening in your life.

“We’ll keep this short because it’s late. Our concern is purely with your mental and emotional health. If you don’t want to play through this then you do not have to. We can make a plan for you to but if that’s not what you want then you can take the time off. If you want to play then we will support you but we are also going to be conscious of your past. You’ll need pain medication but we’ll keep it in small amounts and it will be handed out only by the physios and in strict doses. Past week three you’ll be slowly weaned off, in the proper way. We can coordinate with your sponsor as well if that’s what you’d like and we can find a specific psychologist who specialises in addiction to come in to see you. This is all about what is going to make it easiest for you. We want you to be able to rehabilitate however it’s going to be easiest for you.”

Everything they are saying, it’s all too good. You feel like you can breathe, a little bit. It’s too much, it’s so different to what you’ve experienced in the past. Overwhelmingly different in all the good ways that make you sad that you didn’t have it in the past when you needed it the most.

You cry, it feels good.

Alexia hugs you, properly hugs you for the first time and you let yourself seek out the comfort you need.

“It’s over carino, it’s all over, you’re okay, you’re going to be okay.”

You don’t know what to say, you’re actually at a loss for words. Crying seems to do it for now, it feels like enough, when the time comes you’ll be grateful and so incredibly happy that you were put in a place that helped you so much. For now though, you just let yourself feel it all, because once you couldn’t, and you refuse to be that same person, you refuse to let your past dictate who you are now.

YES!!! Love it 🩵

now a culer | something blue

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

summary: school is still… rough, so alexia finds a solution

warnings: school fight

notes: i am genuinely loving writing for azulita

Don’t get it wrong. you didn’t hate Barcelona. It was a beautiful city, full of life, history, and football. The architecture was stunning, the beaches were nice, and the food, objectively, was good. But nothing— nothing could ever compare to LA.

LA had everything for you. Your friends, your school, your culture. You knew every street, every corner store, every mural that decorated the sides of buildings. The people in your neighborhood weren’t just strangers, you knew them, and they knew you. You had history with them. Mr. García, who owned the corner store, always had something for you when you stopped by, chips, a drink, a free snack, as long as you swept up the front of his store. Mrs. Alvarez, the seamstress down the block, had been patching up your old clothes for years because you couldn’t afford new ones. The local grocery store let you stock the juice shelves in exchange for a small bag of groceries. The paletero man that always made sure your favorite paleta was in stock People took care of each other in your LA. It was unspoken, but it was understood.

Barcelona had its own community, its own culture, its own way of life. But it wasn’t yours. It didn’t have your people. It didn’t have the same music blasting from car windows, the smell of carne asada grilling on the sidewalk, or the summer block parties that lasted until sunrise where you danced bachata til your feet hurt. It didn’t have the sound of Spanish and English blending together in a way that felt like home. It wasn’t the streets you grew up on. It wasn’t the familiar faces who had watched you grow. It wasn’t the city that had shaped you. It wasn’t home.

And the culture shock? It hit hard.

The Spanish spoken in Barcelona wasn’t even the same as what you grew up with. You could understand it, sure, but sometimes, the slang threw you off completely. The food was different, too—no more corner taco stands or elote vendors pushing carts down the street. No more bodegas where you could grab a pack of Hot Cheetos and a can of Arizona for a dollar fifty. And the people? They didn’t move like LA people did. Back home, you walked with a purpose, always aware of your surroundings. Here, people strolled leisurely down the sidewalk like they had nowhere to be, like they had never had to be in a rush a day in their lives.

But the biggest difference? The way you carried yourself. In LA, you had to be on guard. Always. You had to be sharp, ready, because life had never given you the luxury of relaxing. You were always prepared for something to go wrong, because it always did. Here, though, everything was so… safe. People left their doors unlocked. Kids walked home alone at night. You saw people with their phones out, not even looking over their shoulders. It made you uneasy. You didn’t know how to exist in a place where you weren’t constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Olga just could not get it. She didn’t get why you always seemed tense, why you jumped at sudden noises, why you always had to sit facing the door whenever you went out to eat. She didn’t get why you never let yourself fully relax, why you kept waiting for something to go wrong. She didn’t understand because she had never had to live like that.

And then there was the biggest adjustment of all: actually living with Olga.

For years, she had been a figure in your life. A presence. Someone who popped in and out, who you called and texted, who sent you money when you needed it. But you had never lived together. You had never had to share space. And now, suddenly, she was supposed to be responsible for you.

And it was a disaster.

You weren’t used to having anyone tell you what to do. You had been living on your own for months, doing whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. So, naturally, you didn’t see a problem with leaving your stuff wherever you felt like it.

Your shoes? Kicked off in the middle of the living room. Your jacket? Draped over the back of a chair. Your gym bag? Somewhere. (You’d find it eventually.) Olga, however, was losing her mind.

“Do you not see the mess you’re making?” she snapped one afternoon, hands on her hips as she glared at the chaos you had left in the living room.

You barely spared her a glance from where you were sprawled on the couch. “I’ll clean it up later.”

“Later when? Next week?”

You shrugged.

And the music. You had always blasted your music at ungodly hours, back when there was no one around to complain. So, why would you stop now? Except now, you had Olga banging on your door at two in the morning, looking absolutely murderous.

“Are you serious right now?” she hissed, shoving open the door. “Turn that down!”

“It’s not that loud.”

“IT IS!”

And then, of course, there was the hoodie situation.

Olga owned nice hoodies. You had noticed this immediately. You had also decided, just as quickly, that they were now yours. You never asked— you just took them. Which made Olga’s blood boil.

“Where is my hoodie?” she demanded one day, hands on her hips.

You pulled the sleeves of said hoodie over your hands, looking at her blankly. “What hoodie?”

“That hoodie! The one you’re wearing!”

“Oh. This? Thought it was mine.”

“It’s not!”

Alexia just watched it all unfold with an amused smile. She had no intention of stepping in. In fact, it would only make it worse. The best thing for her to do was to let the two of you argue then drop you off at school.

You flex and extend your fingers as you stare down at your raw knuckles, the skin cracked, bruised, and stinging with every slight movement. Your hands tremble slightly, and not just from the pain. You sit on a bench outside the principal’s office, your legs bouncing restlessly, teeth clenched, chest tight. You’re trying to breathe, trying to calm down, but the fire inside you is still burning too hot. Why do you keep losing it like this?

You wrack your brain for answers, frustrated and ashamed. You didn’t come here to be the angry kid. You didn’t come to Spain to fight. But everything felt wrong. Your body was tense from the moment you stepped off the plane a few weeks ago. Everything’s been off.

You hate how different the Spanish sounds. Everyone speaks fast, sharp, clipped, nothing like the Spanish you grew up with back home. Your classmates either don’t understand you or mock your accent. Teachers correct you like you’re stupid. You’re constantly trying to translate everything in your head, to blend in, but all it does is make you feel more alone. You squeeze your hands into fists again. The pain grounds you, just for a second.

The door creaks open, and your head jerks up. Olga steps out of the office, her jaw clenched, eyes blazing. Alexia follows behind, calm as ever, but her gaze flicks to you quickly, assessing. She says nothing.

Olga doesn’t waste time. “In the car,” she snaps, voice low and furious. “Now.”

You don’t argue. You stand silently, walking past them both with your head down. It’s déjà vu, the second time in a month. You can feel her eyes on the back of your head, and you’re already bracing for it.

And sure enough, as soon as the car doors close, Olga turns on you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she explodes. “Do you even care about staying here? Do you want to get kicked out of every school in the city?”

You stare out the window, jaw tight, refusing to say anything.

“I’m trying, okay?” she continues. “I’m trying to make this work. I’m trying to give you a good life here. But you’re making it impossible!”

“He was talking about you,” you mutter suddenly.

“What?”

You finally turn, meeting her eyes. “The guy I hit. He was saying disgusting stuff about you. I told him to stop. He didn’t. So I made him.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Nobody disrespects my sister,” you say simply.

Olga exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose as her anger starts to crumble.

“I… okay,” she says softly. “Okay. But Azul, this can’t keep happening.”

You don’t respond. The car ride home is quiet, tense.

Once you pull into the driveway, Olga tries again. “Can we talk more about—”

“I’m miserable here,” you cut in, still staring ahead. “I can’t keep up with the Spanish, people make fun of how I talk, I have no friends, and there’s no girls’ football team for me to play with. I feel stupid all the time. I feel… wrong.”

It hangs heavy between you. You blink back the sting in your eyes, suddenly too tired to fight.

Alexia, who’s been watching from the driver seat, finally speaks up. “I’m taking her to the pitch.”

Olga hesitates but nods. “Go. Just— be careful.”

The second Alexia nods toward the passenger seat, you perk up.

The Barcelona training grounds are quiet, bathed in the soft amber glow of the setting sun. You’re in your element the second you step onto the pitch, your body relaxing as you lace up your cleats. You and Alexia stretch in silence before falling into a one-on-one. The rhythm is familiar, the tension in your chest starts to melt away.

She’s good, obviously, but you manage to dust her with a ridiculous feint and spin move that has her stumbling, arms flailing as you laugh and tuck the ball into the net.

“Not bad,” she says, grinning as she shakes her head.

“You’re getting old,” you tease, jogging backward toward the penalty spot.

“Oh, please.”

Now she’s in goal, sleeves rolled up, expression focused as you line up your shots. One by one, you fire them in. She saves a few, but not all. The pop of the ball hitting the back of the net fills the air.

As you take a breather between kicks, you speak again. “I feel out of place at school. Like I don’t belong. It’s not just the language… it’s everything. I don’t talk like them. I don’t think like them. And there’s no football team. No girls to play with. I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

Alexia watches you carefully from the goal, nodding. “That’s not fair. School’s supposed to be a place that supports you.”

“It’s not,” you mutter. “I don’t even want to go anymore.”

Alexia stands up, brushing her hands on her thighs. “Don’t worry about that part.”

You blink. “What?”

“Just keep playing. We’ll figure the rest out.”

You take your last penalty kick, driving it hard into the top corner. The sound is clean, crisp, perfect. You grin.

Unbeknownst to you, two figures sit higher in the bleachers: Joan Laporta and Pere Romeu. They’ve been watching in silence, tracking your every move.

“She’s raw,” Pere murmurs. “Rough around the edges. But you can’t teach instinct like that.”

“She plays like she’s been fighting her whole life,” Laporta adds. “Because she has.”

“Alexia says she’s a winger, no?” Pere asks.

“Could be more than that, if someone gives her the right support.”

They keep watching as you and Alexia walk off the pitch together, sweaty and smiling, shoulders bumping. You don’t know it yet, but everything is about to change.

Back in the locker room, you clean up side by side, tying your hair back and trading casual banter. Your body aches, but your mind is calm for the first time in days.

The sound of your alarm blaring through your room was what, unfortunately, ripped you from sleep. You groaned, rolling over and slapping your hand against the snooze button with more force than necessary. Your eyes were crusty, your body stiff, and for a moment, you considered staying in bed and faking a stomachache. But you knew Olga would never fall for it.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on your face, and slowly made your way down the hallway toward the kitchen. Your hoodie was hanging half off your shoulder, socks mismatched, and your curls were a disaster. Typical school morning. You already dreaded the day.

What greeted you in the kitchen, though, made you pause. Alexia was standing by the counter, humming softly to herself as she tossed fruit into a blender. She was dressed, calm, and already looked like she had been awake for hours. There were slices of toast on a plate, eggs still steaming, and fresh juice already poured. You blinked slowly at the surreal domesticity of it all.

“Morning, ’Lexia,” you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes as you crossed the kitchen. “Have you seen my backpack? I swear I left it by the couch.”

Alexia didn’t even turn around at first. You heard the whir of the blender as she held the top down, blending with ease. When it finally stopped, she looked over her shoulder at you and that’s when you saw it. The smirk.

“You don’t need it today, nena,” she said coolly, pouring the smoothie into a cup. “You’re coming with me.”

You squinted at her. “Huh?”

She just handed you the smoothie. “Drink this. Get dressed.”

You stared at her like she had grown two heads. “Wait, what do you mean I don’t need it? I have school.”

“No, you don’t,” she said simply. “Not today.”

“Okay… am I in trouble again?”

She snorted and shook her head. “Just get dressed.”

The cryptic vibes were off the charts, but you went upstairs anyway, tugging on some joggers and a fresh hoodie, brushing your teeth quickly before grabbing your sneakers. When you came back down, Alexia was already at the door, keys in hand, sunglasses on like some undercover spy. The whole thing was sketchy—and a little exciting.

In the car, you peppered her with questions.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because it’s a surprise.”

“Is it good or bad?”

“That depends.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “You sound like Olga.”

“She learned it from me.”

You pouted, leaning your head against the window as you watched the city blur past. The sun was barely up, streets still quiet. Your nerves were growing by the minute.

When the car finally pulled up to the FC Barcelona training facility, your brows furrowed.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, genuinely confused now. “Am I in trouble for playing here the other day?”

Alexia just gave you a tight-lipped smile and stepped out of the car. “Come on.”

You followed her slowly, legs stiff, anxiety kicking up. It was one thing to kick the ball around with Alexia when the place was empty— it was another thing entirely to walk through the main building in broad daylight. Your eyes darted around as you passed by trainers, staff members, and a couple of players you recognized. No one stopped you, though. Everyone just nodded at Alexia and let her through.

Finally, she led you to a quiet room off one of the main hallways. It looked like an office, kind of. You hesitated at the door, but Alexia gently nudged you forward.

Inside sat a man you recognized from TV—Pere Romeu. He stood when you entered, smiling warmly, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

“Buenos días,” he said kindly. “Alexia told me you go by Azulita”

You nodded slowly, heart pounding.

He motioned for you to sit. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

You looked from him to Alexia, then back again. “Um… okay?”

He chuckled. “Relax. You’re not in trouble. Quite the opposite, actually.”

You sat stiffly in the chair, hands fidgeting in your lap. Alexia took the seat beside you, legs crossed casually.

“So,” Pere said, folding his hands. “The other day, Joan Laporta and I were here late, handling some administrative business. On our way out, we noticed someone playing on the pitch. You. With Alexia.”

Your mouth went dry.

“We watched for a while,” he continued. “And what we saw was raw talent. Instinct, drive, creativity, all of it. You play like it’s the one place you feel safe. And when we see a player like that… we pay attention.”

You blinked. “Wait… you were watching?”

He nodded. “Yes. And we’d like to offer you a place here. Not just training— on the senior team.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“We’ll handle all of your schooling through La Masia’s internal academic program. You won’t need to return to your current school unless you want to. You’ll train, you’ll play, and you’ll study here with people who understand what it means to be an athlete. You’ll be surrounded by others like you. And more importantly, you’ll belong.”

You couldn’t speak. Your brain had stopped processing words somewhere around senior team.

“I know it’s a lot,” Pere added. “But we believe in you. And we want to help you grow not just as a player, but as a person. So… what’s your decision?”

He leaned back in his chair, patient, while your heart thundered in your chest. Alexia turned to you with a soft smile.

And all you could do was sit there, wide-eyed, the weight of everything hanging in the air.