This Story Isn’t Even Over Yet And I Already Know I’ll Be Rereading It At Soon As It Ends 🔥🔥🔥🔥

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.

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

it gets better, and better ✨

You're a highly successful basketball player who has just been transferred to Barcelona's women's team. The number 11 holds deep personal significance for you. Among the spectators is none other than football superstar Alexia Putellas, synonymous with the number 11 in Barça history, watching from the sidelines. What starts as mutual admiration quickly turns into something more, fuelled by weeks of playful yet intense online flirting. The chemistry between you and Alexia becomes undeniable.

So when you woke up the next morning, stretched, and instinctively reached for your phone she had already made her next move.

Alexia had posted on Instagram. Not a story. Not just a casual like. A full post. And the second you saw it, your stomach dropped. It was a photo from your game. Taken from court-side. A clean, professional shot of you mid-air, finishing a layup. And her caption?

Didn’t see me there, huh? 😏

You froze. Because holy shit. She really did that. You scrolled to the comments. Of course, people were losing their minds.

Comment: OH SHE’S CALLING YOU OUTTTT LMAOOOO

Comment: Alexia woke up and chose violence. Comment: You really thought you could ignore HER? Rookie mistake. Maya: Burying yourself deeper and deeper, I love this for you. Liv: You gotta respond. There’s no way you let her get away with this.

Your pulse pounded. You could ignore a lot of things. But this? No chance. You weren’t going to let her have the last word. So you went straight to your own Instagram story. And posted a response. A different angle of the same shot Alexia had posted, this time, taken from behind, where your jersey number 11 was clearly visible.

Enjoying the view?

No tags. No direct mention of her name. But everyone knew exactly who it was for. The second you posted it, your phone exploded.

Maya: OH MY GOD. Liv: Noooo you’re actually insane for this.

Your coach: Why is half the media room talking about this? Should I be concerned?

And then a new notification popped up.

Alexia: Very much so.

Your stomach flipped.

Tonight was a vibrant celebration of the remarkable beginning to the season for Barcelona women's basketball. The atmosphere was alive with the sounds of clinking glasses and hearty laughter echoing through the venue. Well-dressed guests, a mix of influential figures and renowned personalities from Barcelona, mingled gracefully, their conversations weaving a tapestry of excitement and admiration. The air was charged with a sense of triumph and camaraderie, as the city's elite gathered to honor the team's outstanding achievements.

Maya nudged you gently, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Uh… we’ve got company," she murmured, barely containing her disbelief. You turned to look, and there she was—Alexia Putellas. She stood confidently on the other side of the expansive function room, her arms crossed casually over her chest, watching you with a knowing smirk that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. Her presence was magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. She wasn't alone, either. A few of her Barcelona teammates flanked her, their posture relaxed yet exuding the unmistakable aura of elite athletes. You should have anticipated their attendance; it was only natural they’d be invited and feel obliged to make an appearance at such an event.

Liv took your hand oblivious, “I need the toilet, come with me” Your eyes widened ever so slightly that would take you directly past Alexia, you looked over your shoulder to your team mates all amused and none stepping forward to offer any help. You’d fought fire with fire many times with Alexia, now you were coming face to face and you were on your own. The confidence you had behind your phone screen dissipating the nearer you got with every step.

As if guided by some strange destiny, your shoulder unexpectedly collided with Alexia's. She turned to face you, and the reassuring squeeze Liv gave your hand propelled you into that realm of sassy confidence you usually only felt online. “My bad,” you said, pausing momentarily, “didn’t see you there.”

Alexia’s lips curled into a playful grin. “Thought I’d make it a bit more challenging for you to overlook me this time.”

You were not going to give her the satisfaction. Not after all this. Not after the social media games, the press conference questions, the showing up at your game like she owned the place. No. You were going to act completely unbothered. Like her presence meant nothing. Like her smirk didn’t make your skin heat. Like you didn’t feel her watching you every time you moved.

And at first? It worked. You stayed locked in, making polite small talk, laughing at unfunny jokes, ignoring the way your teammates kept giggling like this was the most entertaining thing they’d ever witnessed. But Alexia? Alexia Putellas? She wasn’t going to let you win that easily.

She Gets Bold. It started small. Little things. A comment here. A lingering look there. You moved by. “Nice outfit” Alexia called from her position on a stool surrounded by her teammates, just loud enough for everyone to hear. You ignored it.Because that was the game. She pushed. You didn’t react. She wanted to see how far she could go before you cracked and damn it, you weren’t going to give her that. But then she went for the kill.

You were leaning on the polished wooden bar, waiting patiently for your turn to be served. The murmur of conversations and clinking glasses surrounded you, but it was her voice that pierced through your solitude. “Do you always play that hard when someone’s watching?” she asked, her tone playful and teasing, referring to the impressive performance you had delivered at the game she attended.

You swallowed hard, a mixture of surprise and amusement swirling within you, yet you kept your eyes forward, steadfastly refusing to turn toward her. "I always play that hard," you replied, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.

"Mhm." Her voice dripped with a teasing smirk that you could almost see. "Good to know."

And that’s when it happened. That’s when you finally let the walls crumble. You turned your gaze slowly to meet hers, and there she was, closer than you had anticipated. Her arms were crossed confidently over her chest, that infuriating yet captivating smirk still etched on her lips, as if she had all the time in the world to wait for your reaction.

Pushing yourself up from the bar, you turned fully to face her. She remained rooted to the spot, unfazed by your scrutiny.

"Why are you here, Alexia?" you asked, your voice carrying a mixture of curiosity and exasperation.

"Told you," she replied with a casual shrug. "Didn’t want you to miss me again."

You exhaled sharply, a frustrated puff of air escaping your lips. "You’re impossible."

"And you like it." Her words hung in the air, thick and charged with an electric tension. Around you, your teammates were watching with keen interest, while your coach let out a resigned sigh, knowing that your focus should have been on charming the bigwigs, not engaging with Barcelona’s leading female football star. Yet Alexia, as always, was winning this unspoken game. Again.

You took a breath, you smiled. Not the tight, forced kind. Not the annoyed, I’m trying to keep my cool kind. No. A slow, deliberate, challenging kind. And that? That made Alexia’s smirk falter. Just for a second.

You stepped closer, just enough to make her feel the heat of the moment. "You think I want this?" you asked, tilting your head.

Alexia’s confidence flickered, just barely. "I think—" she started, but you cut her off.

"I think you came over here because you wanted to see how far you could push me."

A small, amused scoff left her lips. "And?"

"And now you’re realising you might not be ready for what happens when I start pushing back."

Her jaw tensed. You saw it, the shift, the way she wasn’t in control anymore.

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "So tell me, Alexia… are you?" She swallowed. And for the first time since this entire game started, she had no response. You could feel it. The shift. The way Alexia’s confidence flickered just enough for you to see the crack. She wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting you to push back. And that? That was your in. "Tell me, Alexia… are you?"

Her jaw tensed. A brief hesitation. It was subtle—so subtle that anyone else might’ve missed it. But you didn’t. You knew the signs. She was thinking. Calculating. Trying to decide her next move.

So you made it for her. "No Comeback?" you murmured, tilting your head. "I was expecting more from you." you succeeded in using her own written words against her and it felt good

Her lips parted slightly, as if she had something to say but you stepped back. Cool. Collected. In control.

You turned "See you around, Alexia." And walked away. You didn’t look back. You refused to. But you could feel her watching you. Your teammates definitely did.

"Holy shit," Maya whispered. "You just flipped the entire game on her."

"That was so unfair," someone else muttered, grinning.

"She came here to mess with you, and now she’s the one caught off guard."

You just smirked. Because they were right. You’d flipped the script. And now? Now it was her turn to react. You felt her eyes on you as you made your way across the room, each step measured and unhurried. The thrill of having finally unsettled Alexia Putellas—Barcelona's golden girl, La Reina herself—coursed through your veins like liquid fire. You'd finally managed to crack that infuriating composure of hers, and the victory felt sweeter than any buzzer-beater. Your teammates clustered around you like excited birds, their whispers a flurry of amazement and speculation.

"Did you see her face?" Claudia hissed, barely containing her glee. "I've never seen Alexia Putellas speechless. Ever."

"You literally walked away from her mid-conversation," Jordan added, shaking her head in disbelief. "Nobody does that."

You maintained your composure, though inside, your heart raced with a strange cocktail of triumph and anticipation. "It's just a game," you said with a casual shrug that belied the electricity still coursing through your veins.

"A game you're winning," Marta observed, glancing over your shoulder. "And one she's not used to losing."

"You realize she's not going to let this go, right? You just challenged the most competitive woman in Barcelona."

"Good," you replied, your voice low and steady. "I'm counting on it." You downed your drink, holding it in your mouth before swallowing, you sure needed it.

You refused to look back, refused to give her the satisfaction. Instead, you accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a deliberate sip, letting the bubbles dance on your tongue. The party continued around you—executives laughing too loudly at each other's jokes, photographers circling like sharks, capturing Barcelona's elite in their natural habitat.

For twenty minutes, you maintained your distance, engaging in conversation with sponsors and club officials, smiling for photos, being the perfect representative of Barcelona basketball. But always, always, you felt her presence like a magnetic field, disrupting your focus just enough to keep you aware.

Your phone vibrated in your clutch.

A text message from 

Alexia: Running away so soon?

Your lips curved into a small smile. So predictable. You slipped your phone back into your bag without responding. Let her wait.

Another ten minutes passed before you felt a presence at your elbow. You turned, expecting another teammate, but instead found yourself face to face with one of Alexia's football teammates and good friend—Mapi Leon, the defender with eyes that missed nothing.

"She sent you to do her dirty work?" you asked, not bothering to hide your amusement.

Mapi laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "Actually, I came to collect you at request. The president wants a photo with both Barcelona teams number 11's. PR opportunity." She gestured toward where the club president stood chatting with photographers and Alexia.

"Of course he does," you murmured, but followed Mapi across the room.

Alexia's eyes found yours immediately, that familiar half-smirk playing at her lips, though something had shifted. There was a new awareness there, a respect that hadn't been present before. As you approached, she straightened slightly from where she'd been leaning against a high table.

"There she is," the president beamed, gesturing for you to join the group. "Our basketball star! Come, come—we want a photo of our number elevens together."

Of course they did.

You moved to stand beside Alexia, the space between you charged with unspoken tension as photographers positioned themselves, their cameras poised to capture what was quickly becoming Barcelona's most compelling narrative. Standing beside Alexia, you could feel the subtle shift in her energy—she wasn't completely recovered from your earlier departure, but her composure had returned, wrapped around her like armor.

"You surprised me," she murmured, her voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the ambient noise of the party. Her gaze remained fixed forward, her smile perfectly calibrated for the cameras.

"That was the point," you replied just as quietly, your own media smile firmly in place.

The club president beamed, oblivious to the undercurrent between you. "Our number elevens! The faces of Barcelona excellence!" he proclaimed, gesturing expansively. "Closer together, please—show the unity of our club! Barcelona's queens of eleven," he announced proudly, gesturing to the photographer. "Two sports, one number, one club. Perfect symbolism!"

"Quite the narrative they're building," Alexia murmured, her voice just low enough for only you to hear. Her perfume drifted toward you something expensive and subtle, with notes of sandalwood and vanilla.

"Good for publicity," you responded coolly, lips barely moving as you maintained your smile for the camera.

The photographer directed you to move closer together. "Shoulders touching, please. Show the unity!"

With deliberate slowness, Alexia shifted toward you, her arm brushing against your back her hand finding a resting place on the exposed skin of the small of your back. The contact sent an electric current rippling across your skin. You refused to react, keeping your expression neutral despite the way your pulse quickened.

"Smile!" the photographer called.

You did, brilliantly and professionally. Alexia did the same, though you caught the slight tension in her jaw.

"Wonderful!" the president exclaimed. "Now, perhaps a toast to our champions?"

Champagne flutes appeared, and the moment stretched into minutes of carefully choreographed PR. Through it all, Alexia remained close, her presence a constant challenge to your composure. When the official photos were complete and the group began to disperse, she leaned in once more.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Alexia finally said, turning slightly to face you.

You met her gaze steadily. "I've survived worse."

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Like walking away from conversations?"

"Like having my personal space invaded by football players who can't handle being ignored," you countered, keeping your voice light despite the challenge in your words.

Alexia tilted her head, studying you with newfound interest. "You're different than I expected."

"How so?"

"More..." She paused, searching for the right word. "Defiant."

You couldn't help the small smile that formed. "Disappointed?"

"Intrigued," she corrected, her eyes never leaving yours. "Most people don't push back."

"I'm not most people."

"Clearly." She took a deliberate sip of her champagne, her eyes still fixed on you

"You think walking away from me changes anything?" she spoke, her breath warm against your ear.

You turned slightly to meet her gaze directly, close enough to notice the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. "I think it changed everything," you replied. "Your move, La Reina."

Before she could respond, your coach called you over to meet an important sponsor. You stepped away, but not before catching the flash of something in Alexia's eyes—determination, perhaps, or frustration. Or something else entirely.

The evening continued its elegant march toward conclusion. You circulated dutifully, charm on full display as you discussed the season's prospects with investors and posed for selfies with admirers. All the while, you remained acutely aware of Alexia's movements around the room, tracking her without seeming to.

As the party began to wind down, you slipped away to the balcony for a moment of quiet. The Barcelona night spread before you, the city lights twinkling like fallen stars against the darkness. The cool evening air was a welcome relief after the heated atmosphere inside.

"Hiding?” The voice startled you, though you'd half-expected it. Alexia stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm light from inside. She stepped forward, the soft glow of the outdoor lighting revealing her features—sharp, intelligent eyes and that ever-present hint of a smile playing at her lips.

You didn't turn fully, just angled your head slightly in acknowledgment, maintaining your position at the balcony's edge. The city lights of Barcelona stretched before you like a constellation of earthbound stars.

"Getting some air," you corrected, your voice steady despite the quickening of your pulse. "There's only so much small talk one can endure."

Alexia moved beside you, her forearms resting on the railing, mirroring your stance. The space between you felt charged, alive with possibility. "And yet you excel at it," she observed. "I watched you charm every sponsor in that room."

You allowed yourself a small smile.

"Part of the job i usually despise”

"Is that what this is?" you asked, gesturing vaguely between you. "Part of the job?"

The question hung in the air, weighted with meaning. She took her time answering, letting the night sounds of Barcelona fill the silence—distant traffic, music from a nearby restaurant, the gentle rustle of wind through potted palms.

"This?" she finally said, turning to face her fully. "No. This is something else entirely."

Your eyes met hers, searching. "And what exactly is 'this'?"

"I don't know yet," she admitted, surprising herself with her honesty. "But I'm curious to find out." A slow smile spread across Alexia's face not the practiced, media-ready smile she wore for cameras, but something more genuine, almost vulnerable.

"So am I."

The confession shifted the air between you, transforming the playful antagonism into something deeper, more complex. For a moment, neither of you spoke, content to exist in this new understanding.

"You know," Alexia finally said, breaking the silence, "when I first saw you play, I was impressed. Not just by your skill, though that was evident, but by your confidence. The way you owned that court like you'd been playing on it your whole life."

"I've never lacked confidence," you replied.

"No," she agreed, her voice softening. "It's one of the things we have in common."

You turned slightly, studying her profile against the backdrop of the night sky. "What else do we have in common, Alexia?"

She considered this, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the balcony railing. "We both understand what it means to carry a number with history. To wear it not just as a jersey designation, but as an identity."

You nodded, recognizing the truth in her words. Number 11 wasn't just digits on fabric—it was a legacy, a promise, a statement of intent.

"And we both," she continued, her voice dropping lower, "enjoy a challenge."

The air between you seemed to thicken with unspoken possibilities. You were acutely aware of her proximity, of the subtle scent of her perfume mingling with the night air.

"Is that what I am to you?" you asked, your voice steadier than you felt. "A challenge?"

Alexia turned fully toward you, the city lights casting half her face in shadow, the other half illuminated in a soft glow that accentuated every perfect angle. Her eyes held yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "At first," she admitted, the honesty in her voice disarming. "When I saw how quickly everyone took to you—the new star, Barcelona's basketball sensation... I was curious. Then our little social media game started, and yes, it became a challenge." She paused, her fingers drumming lightly against the railing. "But now..."

"Now?" you prompted when she didn't continue.

"Now I'm not sure what this is," she confessed, gesturing between you. "Except that I find myself thinking about you more than I should. And that..." She hesitated, vulnerability flashing across her features. "That hasn't happened to me in a long time."

The admission hung in the air between you, weightier than all the playful banter that had preceded it. Your heart stuttered in your chest, thrown by this glimpse of the woman beneath the legend. "I thought La Reina never showed her cards," you said softly, a gentle tease to mask how deeply her words had affected you.

Alexia's laugh was quiet, almost self-deprecating. "Perhaps that's another thing we have in common, we both know when to change the game."

The moment stretched between you, taut with possibility. The sounds of the party inside seemed distant, muffled by the intensity of this shared moment. You were aware of everything the slight breeze ruffling her hair, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the warmth of her hand now covering yours.

"You know everyone's watching us," you murmured, nodding slightly toward the glass doors where curious eyes occasionally flicked in your direction.

"Let them," Alexia replied, echoing her earlier message with a confidence that made your pulse race. "I'm more interested in what happens next."

Before you could respond, the balcony door opened, flooding the space with light and sound. Your team captain appeared, her expression apologetic.

"Sorry to interrupt," she said, not looking sorry at all, "but the coach is gathering everyone for a picture before we leave."

You nodded, reluctantly shifting away from Alexia, the spell broken but not forgotten. As you moved toward the door, Alexia caught your wrist, her touch gentle but insistent "I'd like to see you again," she said, her voice low and certain. "Away from all this." She gestured vaguely toward the party inside.

The warmth of her fingers against your skin sent a current of electricity up your arm. You met her gaze steadily, allowing yourself a small smile. "Are you asking me on a date, Alexia Putellas?"

Her answering smile was slow and deliberate, confidence returning to replace the brief vulnerability she'd shown. "Yes. I am."

"Bold of you to assume I'd say yes," you replied, though the teasing lilt in your voice betrayed your interest.

Alexia's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You haven't said no."

Your captain cleared her throat pointedly from the doorway. "Coach is waiting," she reminded you, though her expression suggested she was enjoying the scene unfolding before her.

"We'll continue this conversation," Alexia said, releasing your wrist with a gentle squeeze.

"Will we?" you asked, unable to resist one final challenge.

"Definitely," she replied with such certainty that your breath caught. "After all, I need to show you that Barcelona has more to offer than just basketball courts."

With that promise hanging between you, you followed your captain back inside, feeling Alexia's gaze on you like a physical touch. The final toast passed in a blur of raised glasses and enthusiastic cheers, your mind still on the balcony, still caught in the gravity of Alexia's confession.

Your captain cleared her throat pointedly from the doorway.You turned back to her, aware of your captain's curious gaze still lingering at the doorway. "The team is waiting," you spoke in acknowledgment, though you made no move to pull away from Alexia's gaze.

As you followed your captain back inside, you could feel Alexia's gaze on your back, burning like a physical touch. The air around you seemed charged with electricity, alive with possibility.

"So," your captain whispered once you were out of earshot, "care to explain what that was about?"

You shrugged, affecting nonchalance despite the way your heart continued to race. "Just getting to know a fellow Barcelona athlete."

Your captain snorted. "Right. And I'm just casually friends with Lionel Messi."

You couldn't help but laugh at that, the tension of the moment dissipating slightly. "It's complicated."

"Clearly," she replied dryly. "Just... be careful. Alexia Putellas isn't just anyone. When she steps onto a field, or apparently, onto a balcony with you the whole world watches."

You nodded, knowing she was right. This wasn't just about two athletes flirting anymore. This was about two number 11s from Barcelona's premier teams, two women whose every move was scrutinized by fans and media alike. Whatever was happening between you and Alexia had implications that extended far beyond personal interest.

And yet, as you rejoined your team for the final toast of the evening, your eyes inevitably sought her out across the room. She stood with her teammates, glass raised, but her attention was fixed on you. When your gazes locked, she offered the smallest of smiles, private, genuine, a promise of what was to come.

You're a highly successful basketball player who has just been transferred to Barcelona's women's team. The number 11 holds deep personal significance for you. Among the spectators is none other than football superstar Alexia Putellas, synonymous with the number 11 in Barça history, watching from the sidelines.

What starts as mutual admiration quickly turns into something more, fuelled by weeks of playful yet intense online flirting. The chemistry between you and Alexia becomes undeniable.

I've really enjoyed writing and sharing this, thank you for all the love on this! ❤️

Hope you enjoy the chaotic last chapter!

The next morning, sunlight filters through your blinds, casting golden stripes across rumpled sheets. Your body aches pleasantly—a physical reminder of last night that makes heat rise to your face even in solitude. You reach for your phone, half-expecting a message from her, but there's nothing.

Just hundreds of notifications from social media.

"Shit," you mutter, sitting up too quickly.

You scroll through them with mounting dread. Photos of you and Alexia at Red are everywhere—nothing explicit, thank god, but the way you're looking at each other leaves little to the imagination. One shot captures you following her back from the Private VIP balcony, her hand brushing yours, both of you wearing expressions that scream post-hookup satisfaction.

Your team group chat has exploded:

Claudia: OMG HAVE YOU SEEN THESE

Claudia: You went out with Alexia?

Maya: I KNEW IT 

Liv: Coach is gonna have an aneurysm

Marta: You better have details ready at practice or I'm throwing a ball at your face

You groan, burying your face in your pillow. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Whatever this was.

The training facility looms ahead, and you take a deep breath before pushing through the doors. You're early—deliberately so, hoping to slip into the locker room before the full squad arrives. But as you round the corner, you realize your plan has failed spectacularly.

They're all there. Every single one of your teammates, arranged in a semicircle like they've been waiting for you. Which, judging by their expressions, they absolutely have been.

"Well, well, well," Taylor drawls, leaning against her locker with exaggerated casualness. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence."

"I'm early," you point out, dropping your bag on the bench. "Practice doesn't start for twenty minutes."

"Oh, we're not talking about practice," Mia says, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "We're talking about your night with Barcelona's golden girl."

Heat creeps up your neck despite your best efforts to appear unfazed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

This is met with a chorus of disbelieving snorts and eye rolls.

"Save it," Jasmine says, tossing her phone your way. "You two are literally everywhere online. That club wasn't as discreet as you thought. Neither is that love bite on your neck”

You catch the phone, stomach dropping as you see the photo on screen. It's you and Alexia on the dance floor, your back pressed against her front, her lips dangerously close to your neck. The lighting is dim, but there's no mistaking either of you.

"Fuck," you mutter, handing the phone back.

The locker room erupts in laughter, a mix of cheers and mock scandalised gasps echoing off the walls. You groan, running a hand down your face. There’s no getting out of this.

"Oh, come on," Claudia says, flopping down beside you with an eager grin. "You have to give us details. Was she as intense as she is on the pitch?"

Maya leans forward, eyes glinting with mischief. "Or worse?"

You shake your head, grabbing your boots and focusing very intently on tying the laces. "You lot are unbelievable."

"Oh, we know," Marta says smugly. "But you love us. Now, tell us—who made the first move? We saw the photos of her all over you, but was that before or after you two snuck off to that private room?"

You freeze for half a second—just enough time for them to notice. The room erupts again. “YOU DID!" Liv practically yells, pointing an accusatory finger. 

Maya claps her hands together, cackling. "Oh my god, please tell me you at least checked for cameras."

"There were no cameras," you mutter, shaking your head. "Thank god."

"So you did do something up there," Marta says, triumphant.

Your silence is damning.

"You are so done for," Claudia grins, nudging your shoulder. "You have to tell us—was it just a heated make-out, or should we be buying wedding gifts already?"

You groan again, tipping your head back in exasperation. "You lot are the worst."

Liv wiggles her eyebrows. "Not an answer."

You exhale, dragging a hand through your hair. They’re relentless, and you’re never getting out of this unless you give them something. "It was… intense," you admit, voice low. "Really fucking intense."

The room falls into stunned silence for all of three seconds before they collectively lose their minds again.

"Oh shit," Maya whispers dramatically. "She got you hooked."

"That bad, huh?" Marta teases, smirking.

You roll your eyes. "Shut up."

"Absolutely not," Liv laughs. "So what now? Are you two, like, a thing? Or are you just basking in the afterglow of the best night of your life?"

Your stomach twists at the question because, honestly? You don’t know. "Don’t look at me like that," you mutter. "I haven’t figured it out yet."

That earns you a chorus of oooohs, because of course it does.

"Sounds like someone’s smitten," Claudia teases, sing-song.

"Sounds like someone’s in trouble," Maya counters. And for the first time all morning, you don’t have a snappy comeback.

The laughter dies down for barely a second before Liv narrows her eyes, a devilish smirk creeping across her face. "Hold on. Let's back up. You say it was intense—but, like, how intense are we talking?"

Marta leans forward, intrigued. "Yeah, was it just, like, the heat of the moment kind of intense? Or the holy shit, I can't breathe, what the hell are we doing kind?"

Claudia wiggles her eyebrows. "Or was it the I need five to ten business days to recover kind?"

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "Why are you like this?"

"Because this is the best gossip we’ve had in ages," Maya says gleefully. 

"Now spill—who started it?"

"I—" you start, but Liv cuts you off.

"Actually, dumb question. Of course it was her. No way you were bold enough to start that."

"Excuse me?" you scoff. "I can be bold."

"Uh-huh." Marta grins. "And yet, based on all the photos, she was all over you."

You try to fight the flush rising to your face, but it's useless. "It wasn’t exactly one-sided."

"Ohhhh," Claudia hums, exchanging looks with the others. "So you were all over her too?"

You run a hand over your face. "Maybe."

Liv gasps, clapping her hands. "Oh my god, you were!"

Maya fans herself dramatically. "Did you pin her against the wall? Tell me you pinned her against the wall."

"No," you say quickly, but they see right through you.

"That was too fast," Marta says smugly.

"You totally did," Claudia grins.

"Or she pinned you," Liv suggests, eyes lighting up.

You freeze again. And once again, they notice. The locker room explodes into chaos.

"NO WAY!" Maya shrieks.

"SHE PINNED YOU?" Liv nearly drops her phone.

"Jesus Christ," you mutter, hiding your face as they erupt into cheers and laughter.

"That explains why you look wrecked today," Marta smirks.

"Okay, that’s enough," you say, trying to maintain some dignity. "We’re done with this conversation."

"Oh, we are so not done," Claudia says, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "We haven’t even gotten to the best part."

"And what would that be?" you ask warily.

Liv grins. "Did you stay the night?"

You hesitate.

Big mistake.

The locker room erupts all over again.

"We didn't need to go back to either of our places" you hinted that it was more than just a heated kiss and they lost it, the questioning coming at you like a machine gun now

Liv screeches, slapping Marta’s arm so hard it echoes through the locker room. "OH MY GOD!"

Claudia nearly falls off the bench. "WAIT, WAIT, WAIT. Where then? If you didn’t go back to her place or yours, where the hell did this happen?"

Maya's jaw drops, eyes going wide. "Oh my god. It was in the club, wasn’t it?”

Your silence is damning.

Marta gasps, pointing at you. "No. No way. Tell me you didn’t make out in the bathroom."

"No," you groan, rubbing your temples.

Claudia's eyes narrow as the pieces start falling into place. "Not at home, not the bathroom... but somewhere in the club…" She suddenly claps a hand over her mouth. "Oh my fucking god. The VIP balcony? Thats the door you were going through with her”

The locker room erupts.

"NO. NO WAY."

“IN VIEW?!”

"You mean to tell me," Liv pants between laughter, "you and Alexia were out there in plain sight?"

"Not plain sight—" you start, but Maya cuts you off.

"Oh my god, that’s why there are so many pictures of you two disappearing up there together!" She grabs her phone, scrolling frantically. "Everyone saw you following her. They just didn’t know what happened after."

Your face is burning. "I hate all of you." The locker room descends into absolute chaos. Marta is cackling, Maya has fully collapsed onto the bench, and Claudia is staring at you like you’ve just revealed you’re actually royalty.

"You animal," Liv wheezes.

Marta is in shambles, clutching her stomach. "Did people walk past?"

"I don’t know!" you groan. "It wasn’t like we were— I mean—it was just—"

"You can’t even finish a sentence!" Claudia howls. "Putellas actually broke you."

"Okay, but was it like… hands-on-the-wall kind of thing?" Liv teases. "Or was there a couch?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Why are you like this?"

"Because this is the best thing that has ever happened to us," Maya grins.

Marta fans herself. "The balcony, though. That is a power move."

Liv smirks, tossing her phone onto the bench. "I mean, damn. I knew Alexia had game, but I didn’t think she had public-balcony-at-an-exclusive-club game."

Maya howls. "Holy shit, no wonder you look like you barely survived a hurricane!"

Claudia snickers. "And here I thought you were all responsible and professional."

You shoot her a look. "I am responsible!"

"You made out with Spain’s captain on a private balcony where anyone could have seen if they got the right angle,” Liv reminds you. "Babe, that ship has sailed."

Your face betrays you before you can even think about stopping it. A flicker of something—guilt, panic, something—must cross your expression, because suddenly, the whole room goes silent.

"Wait."

Maya's eyes go wide. "Wait, wait, wait."

Claudia actually gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth like she just uncovered the world's greatest scandal.

Marta points at you, her jaw dropping. "No way."

Liv is the first to recover, leaning in with a wicked grin. "You didn't just make out, did you?"

You open your mouth to argue—deny, deflect, anything—but you hesitate for half a second too long.

Chaos.

"OH. MY. GOD!"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT WASN’T JUST A MAKE-OUT?"

"You absolute menace!"

Claudia clutches her chest like she’s having a heart attack. "ON THE BALCONY?!"

Marta is howling, actually having to sit down. 

Claudia nearly slides off the bench. "Do you have any shame?!"

Marta is howling, banging her fist against the locker. "No, no, no. This is legendary behaviour."

Liv, barely able to contain herself, grips your arm. "You’re telling me— you two went up there, where anyone could have walked past, and got handsy?”

You groan, rubbing your hands down your face. "I am never telling you guys anything again."

Maya gasps dramatically. "Oh my god, did she—"

"STOP!" you interrupt, grabbing your training top and shoving it over your head. "I’m leaving. I don’t need this."

"You absolutely do," Liv calls after you. "Because the second this session is over, we’re gonna want to talk about it all over again."

Marta smirks. "And, we’re getting details.

Training is supposed to be your escape. A place where you can drown out the noise, focus on the game, and forget the absolute circus your teammates turned the morning into.

But apparently, the universe has other plans.

You’re midway through warm-ups when you hear it— "What the hell is that on your neck?"

You freeze. The ball you were absentmindedly passing back and forth with Maya clatters away as your head snaps toward the voice. Coach is standing there, hands on their hips, staring directly at you with narrowed eyes.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath.

There’s a moment of silence. Then, from somewhere behind you, Liv wheezes. Claudia physically turns away so her laugh is muffled in her sleeve. Marta isn’t even trying to hide it, hands on her knees as she cackles.

Your jaw clenches. "It’s nothing," you say quickly. "Just—uh, caught an elbow in a challenge yesterday."

Coach squints, stepping closer. "Really?"

You resist the urge to back away. "Yup. Happened so fast, didn’t even see who did it."

"Huh." They fold their arms, eyes flicking from your face to the mark on your neck. "Because it kinda looks like a—"

"IT WAS AN ELBOW," you blurt out, voice slightly too high.

Maya snorts.

Coach stares at you for a moment longer. Then, with a long sigh, she pinches the bridge of her nose. "I don’t even wanna know. Just don’t let it be a distraction."

You nod so fast your neck almost cracks. "Absolutely. 100%. No distractions here."

Coach walks away, muttering something under her breath. The second she’s out of earshot, your teammates lose it.

Liv practically collapses against you. "An elbow?" she howls. "That’s the best you could come up with?"

Marta wipes tears from her eyes. "Who knew Alexia Putellas had such sharp elbows, huh?"

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "I hate all of you."

Maya grins. "No you don’t. But what we do hate is you keeping secrets. So, after training—"

"No."

"—you’re giving us details."

"Absolutely not."

Liv slings an arm around your shoulders. "Oh, babe," she says sweetly, "I wasn’t asking."

Training is brutal—not because the drills are particularly hard, but because your teammates won’t let up. Every time you so much as breathe near one of them, there’s a smirk, a whispered comment, or an exaggerated glance at your neck.

Marta jogs past you during a passing drill and mutters, "Hope Alexia stretched properly before last night. Wouldn’t want Spain’s captain pulling something."

Claudia bumps your shoulder in a small-sided game. "You sure you’re not sore? Sounds like a lot of touching on that balcony."

Even Maya, usually the least chaotic, raises an eyebrow as you line up for sprints. "Didn’t know you had a thing for exhibitionism," she muses. "Good to know."

By the time the session ends, you’re exhausted—and not just from the running. You make a beeline for the showers, hoping to escape before anyone can ambush you with more questions. You fail. Spectacularly. The second you step into the locker room, the door shuts behind you with a click, and suddenly, you’re cornered.

Marta flops onto the bench, stretching out like she owns the place. "Alright, princesa," she grins, "spill."

You groan. "I already told you—"

"You told us nothing," Liv interrupts. "Except that it wasn’t a back room. And your face said it was more than making out."

A chorus of ooohs follows. Your face burns. "I meant—"

"No, no," Claudia cuts in, wagging a finger. "You can’t backtrack now. You dropped that little bombshell, and we will be getting details."

Maya leans forward. "So, the VIP balcony, huh?" Her eyes gleam. "You know people could see you, right?"

You rub your hands over your face. "We were near the back of it, you couldn’t see.”

"No?" Marta smirks. "Because from what we’ve seen, you two weren’t exactly keeping things low-key any other time.”

You glare at her. "We weren’t thinking about that.”

"Mmm," Liv hums, "so what were you thinking about?"

You open your mouth—then shut it immediately when you realise there’s no safe way to answer that.

Marta howls. "Look at her! She’s thinking about it right now!"

You groan, head dropping back against the lockers. "I hate you all so much."

"No you don’t," Liv grins. "Now, be a good teammate and tell us everything.

"Was it against the wall?" Claudia demands.

"Or was there, like, a couch or—"

"Jesus Christ," you groan, throwing your head back. “We’re circling, Can you all chill?!”

"Absolutely not," Liv grins. "You know we have no other drama or gossip around here!”

Marta leans forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. "So…?"

The room goes silent, everyone hanging on your answer.

You exhale, dragging a hand down your face, but eventually… you can’t help the small smirk tugging at your lips. "It was…" You hesitate, then shake your head, biting back a very incriminating smile.

Another explosion of noise.

"OH MY GOD, IT WAS THAT GOOD?!"

"YOU’RE ACTUALLY BLUSHING."

"PUTELLAS BROKE HER, GUYS."

Maya pretends to wipe a tear. "They grow up so fast."

You exhale sharply, dragging your hands down your face before finally looking at them. "Fine. You want details? You got them."

They practically vibrate with anticipation, leaning in like a pack of gossip-starved wolves.

"The kissing," you start, your voice steady even as your stomach flips at the memory. "God, the kissing. She—" You shake your head, biting your lip. "She kisses like she plays. Intense. In control. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing and exactly what she wants."

Liv groans, clutching her chest dramatically. "I knew she’d be like that. Knew it."

Marta fans herself. "Continue."

You huff a laugh, running a hand through your hair. "It started slow. Teasing. She likes to make you wait for it, make you want it. But when she gives in? Fuck. She doesn’t hold back. One second, it was just this slow, heated build-up, and the next, it was—" You cut yourself off, shaking your head. "Messy. Breathless. The kind that makes your knees weak."

"And the touching?" Claudia presses, eyes wide. "You said there was touching."

You swallow hard, heat creeping up your neck, but there's no backing out now. "It was—" You search for the right words, but they all feel inadequate. "She’s got strong hands. You feel it when she touches you. When she grabs your waist, pulls you against her—"

Maya exhales sharply. "Shit."

"—And then her hands are everywhere, right?" Liv urges. "Like, everywhere?"

Your silence says enough.

Marta slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with delight. "No."

"Yes, her hands just moved that way and I didn’t stop her” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "She—fuck, she knows what she’s doing. She knows how to pull you apart with just her hands. And we weren’t thinking about where we were, or who could see, or anything except—" You stop yourself, shaking your head, chest tight. "It was just—intense."

For a moment, there’s nothing but stunned silence.

"You got fingered on a VIP balcony," Liv finally breathes. "I am never letting you live this down."

You groan, burying your face in your hands. "We didn’t—"

"No, no," Marta waves you off. "That was implied."

Claudia shakes her head, grinning. "Jesus. I thought you were just sneaking around. I did not expect you to be feral."

"It wasn’t like—" You stop, realising you have absolutely no defence. "Okay, maybe a little."

Liv snickers. "You are so down bad, babe."

You don’t even argue. Because, honestly?

Yeah. You might be.

Your phone buzzes with a text. Not the group chat. Not social media.

Liv lifts her chin, “Who dat?”

You smiled raising your eyes, “Alexia”

“What does she want?” Liv asked, “She found another public place to finger you in”

“Ok” You groan, “Too much”

Alexia: Morning. We should talk. Coffee?

Your heart does a complicated somersault. Three simple sentences that somehow manage to sound both casual and ominous.

You: When and where?

Her response comes immediately.

Alexia: The place on Carrer de València. 30 minutes?

You glance at the clock. That doesn't give you much time.

You: I'll be there.

You're dressed and out the door in record time, grateful for the sunglasses hiding your eyes as you navigate streets already buzzing with speculation. Two teenagers recognise you, whispering and giggling as you pass. A street vendor selling newspapers gives you a knowing wink.

The café is tucked away on a quiet corner, the kind of place locals frequent and tourists rarely find. When you step inside, you spot her immediately—corner table, back to the wall, baseball cap pulled low over her face. Classic celebrity incognito. It wouldn't work for long, but it might buy you a few minutes of privacy.

She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable behind large sunglasses. When you sit across from her, she pushes a coffee toward you.

"I remembered how you take it," she says quietly.

You take a sip—perfect. The small gesture shouldn't make your chest tighten, but it does.

"So," you begin, because someone has to, "we're trending."

A faint smile touches her lips. "Not the first time. Won't be the last."

"Is that all you have to say about it?"

She removes her sunglasses, folding them carefully beside her cup. The morning light catches in her eyes, turning them the colour of whiskey. Without the barrier of tinted glass between you, her gaze is direct, unflinching.

"What do you want me to say?" she asks quietly. "That I regret it? Because I don't."

The directness of her response makes your stomach flip. You take another sip of coffee to buy yourself time, to steady your nerves. "I don't regret it either," you admit, watching her shoulders relax slightly at your words. “I can’t stop thinking about it actually… that’s not like me at all, I don’t do that”

"Neither do I," Alexia says, her voice low enough that only you can hear. She traces the rim of her coffee cup with one finger, a gesture so casually intimate it makes your throat go dry. "But here we are."

The cafe bustles around you—baristas calling out orders, the hiss of steam wands, the murmur of morning conversations—but in your corner, time seems suspended. You study her face, noting the shadows beneath her eyes that suggest she slept as poorly as you did.

"Our teams are going to have a field day with this," you say, trying to inject some lightness into the conversation.

She laughs softly, shaking her head. "Mine already is. Aitana sent me seventeen texts before I even got out of bed."

"Only seventeen? My group chat has over two hundred messages." You pull out your phone to show her, and your fingers brush as she takes it, sending that same electric current through you that you felt last night. Remembering where they'd been.

Her eyes scan the messages, a small smile playing at her lips. "Your teammates seem... supportive."

"They're nosey is what they are," you counter, but there's no heat in it. "What about yours?"

Alexia hands your phone back, her expression turning thoughtful. "They're protective. They've seen how the media can be when it comes to my personal life."

The reminder of who she is—of who you both are—settles between you like a physical presence. This isn't just about two people attracted to each other. It's about two public figures, two competitors, two women navigating a world that will dissect every interaction.

"So what now?" you ask, echoing her words from last night, but this time in the harsh light of day, with real consequences looming.

Alexia leans forward, her elbows on the table, eyes fixed on yours. "That depends. Was last night just... letting off steam? Getting it out of our systems?" Her voice remains steady, but you catch the slight tension in her jaw, the way her fingers tighten almost imperceptibly around her cup.

The question hangs between you, loaded with implications. The smart answer would be yes—a one-time thing, exciting and memorable but ultimately contained. No complications, no distractions from the season ahead. But looking at her now, remembering the way she'd whispered your name, the vulnerability in her eyes afterward... you know it would be a lie. “You like the chase remember? You tell me, you got what you wanted”

Alexia exhales sharply, a quiet laugh escaping as she shakes her head. "That’s not fair," she murmurs, her fingers still curled around her coffee cup. "You make it sound like this was just a game to me."

"Wasn't it?" you challenge, arching a brow. You don't mean it as an accusation, not really, but you’re still trying to figure out where the line between competition and something more actually is with her. "You spent weeks taunting me, pushing my buttons, daring me to push back. You got what you wanted, didn't you?" 

She doesn’t answer right away. Instead, she looks at you for a long moment, as if deciding how honest she wants to be. "Maybe I did," she admits finally, voice quieter now, more measured. "But that doesn’t mean I’m done."

The words send a slow ripple of heat through you, and you don’t even bother pretending they don’t. "Yeah?" you murmur, tilting your head slightly. "And what does that mean, exactly?"

"It means…" She trails off, exhaling as she leans back in her chair. "It means I haven’t figured that part out yet." She gives you a rueful look. "Not used to this, either."

That admission surprises you, but it also sends a pulse of satisfaction through you. You’re not the only one thrown off balance. "Alright," you say after a beat. "Then let’s figure it out."

Alexia watches you carefully. "And how do we do that?"

You consider for a second before responding. "For starters, we stop pretending we don’t actually want each other. We agree we’re not wanting more than a bit of …fun." 

She nods slowly, as if turning the idea over in her head. "And what about everything else? The press, our teams, the season?"

"One orgasm at a time," you say, offering her the faintest smirk. "Unless you’re afraid of a little fun, capitana."

That makes her huff a quiet laugh, shaking her head at you. "You really never back down, do you?"

"Not when something’s worth it."

Alexia’s expression flickers, something shifting behind her eyes, but before you can dissect it, she reaches for her sunglasses again. The moment passes, but the weight of it lingers.

"Okay," she says, voice steady. "One orgasm at a time. Eleven.”

Possible Sequel

🩷🩷

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

You and Alexia try to start a family

The honeymoon phase of marriage is supposed to be blissful. And in many ways, it still is. But beneath the laughter, the lazy mornings wrapped in each other, the quiet home you’ve built—there’s a weight neither of you can quite shake.

The kind that lingers in the silence after another negative test. The kind that makes Alexia pull you tighter against her at night, even when neither of you speak about it. The kind that makes every hopeful what if? turn into not yet. It’s been months now—long, hopeful, painful months.

The first round of IVF started on your first wedding anniversary had been a whirlwind of emotions excitement, nerves, the belief that surely, surely, it would happen right away. That you’d see the two lines on the test, that Alexia would pick you up and spin you around, that you’d call Eli and Alba with tears of joy instead of frustration.

But the first round had ended in disappointment.

The second? Worse.

Because this time, you’d convinced yourselves that the first was just bad luck. That this time would be different. That this time would be the one. But it wasn’t. And now—now it’s just hard.

You’re in the bathroom, staring down at the test on the counter. Another single line. Another no. Another month lost. Your throat tightens, your hands gripping the sink as you swallow back the sting of disappointment. You knew it was a possibility. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t get your hopes up this time. But hope is a dangerous thing. A small knock on the door makes you tense. You already know who it is.

“Mi amor…” Alexia’s voice is soft, hesitant. She’s been waiting outside since you’d taken the test, giving you space but also aching to know. You can’t bring yourself to answer. The door opens slowly, and then she’s there, your wife, the love of your life, the person who always seems to hold you together. Except—she’s struggling too.

You see it in the way her eyes flicker to the test on the counter, in the way her shoulders drop, in the way she exhales too slowly, like she’s forcing herself to stay strong. She meets your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you say a word. You break. A soft, strangled sob slips out before you can stop it, and in an instant, Alexia is there, wrapping you up in her arms, holding you so tight it’s like she’s trying to physically keep you from shattering.

“I—I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” you whisper against her shoulder, voice trembling. “I don’t—”

“Nothing,” she cuts in, her own voice thick. “You’re not doing anything wrong.”

You clutch onto her, burying yourself in her warmth, her safety. “Then why does it feel like I’m failing?”

Alexia squeezes her eyes shut, pressing a firm kiss to your hair. “Because it hurts, mi amor.”

And that’s the truth.

It hurts.

More than you ever thought it would. You don’t know how long you stay like that, wrapped in each other, breathing through the ache. Eventually, Alexia leans back, her hands coming up to cradle your face. “We keep trying,” she murmurs. “Because this isn’t the end. This isn’t where our story stops.” You nod, sniffling, pressing into the touch. She tilts her forehead against yours. “One day, we’re going to look back on this and know that every step, every tear, every heartbreak led us to them.” You let out a shaky breath. Because you believe her. Because despite everything, despite the no’s, the failed rounds, the disappointment, one thing remains unshaken. Hope. And as long as you have that, as long as you have her, you know you’re going to get through this. Together.

The third round felt different. You tried not to let yourselves believe it too much tried to temper the hope, to not let it bloom too fully in case it got crushed again. But when you saw that second line on the pregnancy test, everything else disappeared. The breath left your lungs. Your hands trembled as you held the test in front of you, staring at it, disbelieving.

A positive.

You laughed, you sobbed, you dropped to your knees on the bathroom floor, clutching the tiny plastic stick like it was the most precious thing in the world. Alexia wasn’t home she was away with Barcelona, an away game in Madrid. You ached to tell her in person, to see her face when she realised what this meant, so you decided to wait, to surprise her when she got home.

For 48 hours, you carried this secret like a treasure, your hands instinctively resting over your belly, whispering to the tiny life growing inside you, promising them that they were already so loved.

Then came the blood.

At first, it was just a little. Barely anything. You told yourself it was normal, that implantation bleeding happens, that some women experience spotting in early pregnancy. But by the next morning, it was more. Too much. And suddenly, that hope you had tried so hard to hold onto was slipping through your fingers like sand. Alexia wasn’t home yet. You didn’t tell her. Not yet. Instead, you called the clinic, booked a scan for when she’d be back. You spent the hours alone in quiet dread, curled up in bed, one hand pressed over your stomach, whispering desperate prayers to someone, anyone, please let this be okay.

Alexia came home exhausted, jet-lagged from travel, but thrilled to finally see you. The moment she stepped through the door, she grinned, pulling you into her arms. "Mi amor, I missed you so much."

You let yourself melt into her warmth, gripping her tightly, so tightly it made her pause, her hands moving to cup your face.

“What is it?” she asked softly, her brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

You inhaled sharply, blinking back the tears. “Alexia, I—” Your voice cracked. And instantly, her entire demeanour shifted. Concern, fear, flickered in her eyes as she guided you to the couch, hands never leaving you.

“What happened?”

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to look at her. “I… I took a test whilst you were away”

Her breath hitched. Her lips parted, eyes widening, searching your face for confirmation. “You—” Tears welled up in her eyes before she could even form a full thought, her hands trembling as they moved to your stomach.

“I wanted to tell you in person,” you whispered. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Alexia’s throat bobbed, her smile so tender, so full of love, it broke your heart all over again.

“It was positive, but, Lex… I—I think something’s wrong.”

The words shattered the moment. Her face dropped, hands freezing over your belly. You told her about the bleeding, about the appointment. Her hands gripped yours, her jaw tightening, the familiar fire of her determination burning behind her eyes. “Then we go,” she said, already reaching for her keys.

The clinic was cold. You sat in the exam room, Alexia’s hand gripping yours tightly, her thumb stroking over your skin, grounding you.

“I’m so sorry.” The words cut through you like a blade. The doctor’s voice was gentle, but the words were brutal. Final. “There’s no heartbeat.”

Silence. You felt Alexia tense beside you, felt the way her breath hitched, but you couldn’t look at her. You couldn’t look at anything except the blank screen where there should have been life. The tears came fast. Unstoppable. Your whole body trembled as the weight of it crashed down on you, pressing against your chest, making it impossible to breathe. Alexia was instantly pulling you into her, arms tight, like she could physically hold you together as you crumbled. “Mi amor, mi amor,” she whispered against your temple, her voice breaking.

You sobbed into her shoulder, hands gripping the fabric of her hoodie so tightly your knuckles ached. It wasn’t fair. You’d done everything right. And still—still, it wasn’t enough.

That night, you didn’t leave your bed, you got home skipped dinner and went straight to bed. Alexia stayed with you, her body wrapped around yours, arms keeping you pressed against her chest as you cried yourself raw. And the weight of letting her down, it left unsaid.

She inhaled sharply, like the words physically wounded her. “Baby…”

Her hand cradled the back of your head, her lips pressing desperately against your hair. You squeezed your eyes shut, the ache in your chest unbearable.

Alexia swallowed thickly, her grip on you tightening. “I know,” she whispered. “I know, mi amor.” You felt her shake against you, felt the silent tears dampen your hair as she held you, as she broke with you. And then, through the thick silence, she whispered, “Whatever you need… however we move forward… I’m with you.”

You buried yourself further into her, needing her warmth, her strength. Because in this moment, you weren’t sure how to move forward. You weren’t sure if you could. All you knew was the pain. The loss. And the arms that held you through it.

Grief changes people. For you, it made everything feel heavy. The world moved on, but you felt like you were stuck, stuck in the loss, in the what could have been, in the endless questions you asked yourself every night when Alexia was fast asleep beside you. And for Alexia? It made her watch you.

She didn’t smother you, didn’t overwhelm you with empty reassurances. But you saw it—the way her eyes lingered on you when she thought you weren’t looking, the way she held you just a little tighter at night, the way she flinched when she woke up to find you staring at the ceiling, lost in your own mind.

She was waiting for you to break. And that’s what hurt the most. Because you knew she was hurting too. You knew she wanted this just as much as you did, but she never let herself be selfish about it. She never asked if you wanted to try again. Never brought up doctors or options or hope. Because she had heard you that night without you evening saying a word.

She had listened and instead of pushing, she had chosen to protect you. Even when it broke her. But you couldn’t live like this. Not with the weight of guilt pressing against your ribs, not with the way Alexia dimmed in a way you had never seen before. And so, you made a choice.

One last time. If it worked—if the universe was finally kind—then you both got everything you wanted. And if it didn’t? Then Alexia never had to know. She never had to relive the pain. The decision settled in your chest like a secret you had to keep. 

You were going to try again for your wife, for everything she always wanted, the thing it seemed you couldn’t give her.

You booked the appointments quietly, slipping out on days when Alexia was at training or away for matches. Every injection, every test, every agonising waiting period—you went through it all alone. It was terrifying. Without her. But more than that it was hopeful. For the first time in months, you felt like you were fighting for something instead of drowning in loss.

You imagined what it would be like to tell Alexia. Imagined her face when she found out. Imagined how it would feel to finally say, ‘It worked. We did it.’

Then, one morning, standing in the bathroom, hands trembling as you held a test between your fingers

Two lines.

A positive.

Your breath caught, your vision blurred, your whole body shook. It had worked. It worked. You pressed a hand over your mouth, choking back a sob as the realisation slammed into you.

You were optimistic with a realism that you had been here before.

Alexia comes home later than usual. You hear the sound of the front door unlocking, the familiar shuffle of her boots as she kicks them off in the hallway. The deep sigh she lets out, the kind she always does after an exhausting training session.

But you don’t move. You can’t. You sat on the couch, staring at the TV, trying to look natural while your heart hammered in your chest.

She was still in her training gear, her hair slightly damp from her post-session shower, her bag slung lazily over one shoulder. And as always she came to find you and when she did. A soft smile pulled at her lips, tired but full of love, as she crossed the room toward you.

She had dropped her bag somewhere near the door, leaned down, and kissed you once. Then again. Then once more for good measure. “Hola, mi amor,” she murmured against your lips. “Missed you.”

You smiled, your stomach twisting with nerves. “Missed you too.”

Alexia hummed, straightening up as she ran a hand through her hair. “I’m starving,” she groaned, already heading toward the kitchen.

You still feigning nonchalance. “Food in the fridge for you, I ate earlier i was hungry”

She grinned, disappearing into the kitchen. And then you waited. The familiar sounds started, the fridge opening, the scrape of a cup, the soft clatter of cutlery and then silence. Your heart skipped a beat. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, slow, deliberate footsteps. When Alexia stepped back into the living room, she wasn’t holding her food. She was holding the five pregnancy tests you had left for her on the counter, all lined up neatly, undeniable in their results.

Her expression was unreadable—her brows slightly furrowed, her lips parted, her eyes wide with disbelief. She looked from the tests to you, then back to the tests.

“Mi amor…?” Her voice was so soft, so shaky, as if she wasn’t quite sure if she was seeing what she thought she was seeing. Your stomach twisted, your breath catching. You tried to speak—really, you did—but all you could do was nod, your throat tight with emotion. Alexia blinked. Once. Twice.

Then, as if she needed to be sure, she slowly lifted one of the tests closer to her face, rereading the little plus sign, as if the result might somehow change.

Her breath shuddered. Her fingers trembled. She looked back at you. And in the softest, most disbelieving whisper “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded, “I took five to be sure” As Alexia sits down, her fingers still curled around the positive test, you see the shift. The happiness spreads to raw emotion as she swatted away at her tears as you moved to put her arms around her, her hand ran up and down your thigh, “I don’t know how to feel either” You whisper

“I’m happy. I’m so happy but.. I don’t want to get ahead of myself”

You nod, “We’ve been here before”

Alexia looked to you her eyes scanning over your face, “If this wasn’t positive, would I of ever known you’d done another round of IVF?” Your silence told her the answer, “Never do that again, please. I want to be involved not for the baby for you, I meant my vows mi amor I want to be there for the good and the bad, and the thought of you going through another loss alone tears me apart”

You peck her lips, “I’m sorry, I can see your hurting, I can see your breaking Lex and you’re trying to be strong for me, and I just.. I want to make you happy. And I feel the only thing I can give you is a baby and I can’t even get that right”

“Hey” Alexia turned her body fully to you, “No. Baby or not. I love you. You are my wife. I didn’t fall in love with you and marry you for you to give me a baby Y/N. Don’t ever think I think or feel less of you because this isn’t working for us.” You nodded and she cupped your face, “We stay cautiously optimistic ok? You’re pregnant” she let herself smile, “And that’s incredible, but we don’t get ahead of ourselves”

You nodded, pecking her lips, “Don’t call me Y/N again” Alexia chuckled you put your finger over her lips, “It’s Mi Amor or silence”

“Yes Mi Amor” You kissed each other lips moving in perfect synchronicity, “It’s positive”

You both giggled, “I know.” You looked to your stomach, “There’s a little baby in there”

“We’re doing what we literally just said we wouldn’t”

—

The drive to the clinic is quiet. Not because you and Alexia don’t have anything to say, but because neither of you can find the words. You sit in the passenger seat, hands clasped tightly over your stomach, trying to steady your breathing. You can feelAlexia glance at you every few seconds, her fingers twitching on the steering wheel like she wants to reach for you but doesn’t want to take her eyes off the road.

When she finally speaks, her voice is soft. “You okay?” You nod, but your throat is too tight to answer properly. Alexia sighs, her free hand reaching over to squeeze yours. “I know,” she murmurs. “Me too.” Because this moment—the space between knowing and really knowing—is the most terrifying part. You want to believe it. You want to let yourself hope. But you’ve been here before.

The clinic is just as you remember it—too bright, too clinical, too full of possibilities. Alexia never lets go of your hand as you check in, as you’re led down the hallway, as you settle onto the exam table.  

The nurse smiles warmly at you both. “You’re here for an early scan?”  

You nod, swallowing thickly. “We just… we just want to make sure everything’s okay.”  

She nods in understanding, her smile never wavering. “That’s completely normal. You’ve been through a lot to get here.”  

Alexia shifts beside you, her grip tightening on your fingers. “Is it too early to see anything?” she asks, her voice steady but her eyes uncertain.  

The nurse shakes her head. “At this stage, we won’t see much, but we will be able to check for a heartbeat.”  

A heartbeat. You exhale shakily, your chest tightening. 

The nurse prepares the ultrasound, and Alexia presses a kiss to your forehead, whispering, “I’m right here.”  

The cool gel on your stomach makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the way your whole body tenses as the probe moves across your skin. The room is silent for a moment.  

You hold your breath. Alexia holds you.  

And then—  

A sound.  

Faint at first. A soft, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh.  

Your chest cracks open. Alexia sucks in a breath, her eyes going wide.  

“There it is,” the nurse says gently. “A very strong heartbeat.”  

You don’t realise you’re crying until Alexia lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a firm kiss against your knuckles. She’s crying too. The nurse adjusts the screen slightly, pointing to a tiny, barely visible speck. “There’s your baby.”  

Your baby.  

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, your free hand instinctively moving toward your stomach. “They’re so small.”  

Alexia breathes out a choked laugh. “They’re there.”  

The nurse nods, smiling at you both. “Everything looks good. Strong heartbeat, early signs are all positive. I know it’s still early, but this is a great start.”  

A great start.  

You turn to Alexia, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. “We did it.”  

She swallows thickly, her forehead pressing against yours. “You did it.”  

For the first time in a long, long time you let yourself believe it.

At first, neither of you spoke about the future much just one day at a time, one quiet milestone at a time. But then things kept going well. Your symptoms came on strong, morning sickness, exhaustion, all the usual things, but you welcomed every wave of nausea, every sleepless night, because it meant the pregnancy was progressing.

And then, around 12 weeks, a tiny bump started to show. Only noticeable in the mornings and evenings, but it was there, signs of growth. It wasn’t obvious to anyone else, but Alexia noticed immediately. From that moment on, she was obsessed. Every morning before she left for training, her hand would drift under your shirt, fingers ghosting over your stomach, a tiny, unconscious smile playing at her lips.

Every night before bed, she’d lie beside you, palm resting just below your navel, warmth seeping through your skin. She touched you like she needed to. Like every moment she wasn’t touching you, she might forget this was really happening.

But it wasn’t just your stomach she was obsessed with. Your body was changing in more ways than one. And Alexia noticed. Of course, she knew your body better than you did.

One evening, as you changed into pyjamas, you caught her staring in the mirror. Her arms were crossed, her lips slightly parted, very clearly focused on something other than your stomach.  

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so obvious.”  

She smirked, stepping behind you, her hands immediately cupping your breasts from behind, giving them a gentle squeeze. “I’m just… appreciating,” she murmured, lips pressing against your neck.  

You groaned, swatting her hands away halfheartedly. “They hurt, Lex.”  

She hummed, not even remotely deterred. “They’re just bigger” she mused, her hands lingering, her thumbs brushing over you lightly. “And sensitive.”  

You shot her a glare through the mirror. “Exactly. So hands off.”  

She pouted but finally let go, sighing dramatically. “I don’t know if I should be honoured or offended by how unfair pregnancy is to me.”  

You turned in her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you have it tough?”  

She nodded, lips twitching. “Yes. I have to suffer through your boobs getting bigger and not getting to enjoy them.”  

You smacked her arm, laughing. “You’re impossible.”  

She smirked, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “But you love me.”  

You sighed against her, already melting. “Unfortunately.”  

She grinned, hands sliding back down to where your bump was showing, but it could have been the biggest bowl of paella Alexia gave you. “And I love you.”  

You hummed. “And my boobs.”  

“That too.” 

Alexia’s hands remained firm on your stomach, fingers tracing gentle patterns over the slight curve of your stomach. Her eyes flickered up to meet yours in the mirror, full of mischief, adoration, and something else—something unmistakably hungry. You knew this look. You also knew that once Alexia decided she wanted something, she wouldn’t stop until she got it.

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You are impossible.”

She hummed against your neck, pressing a soft, open-mouthed kiss there. “I just think,” she murmured, her hands moving just slightly under your shirt, her palms flat against your warm skin, “that we should celebrate.”

You arched an eyebrow, though your resolve was already crumbling. “Celebrate what, exactly?”

She smirked, her lips brushing against your jaw. “That you’re growing our baby,” she whispered, her voice low, reverent. “That I get to love you like this. That you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

A shiver ran down your spine at her words. Damn her. Damn her and her hands and her mouth and the way she could make you melt with nothing more than a whisper. You exhaled shakily. “Alexia—”

“Mmm?” She feigned innocence, but her fingers were already slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the underside of your breast. “Too much?”

You swallowed hard, your body betraying you as you leaned into her touch. She grinned, sensing your resolve slipping, her thumbs drawing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

“I just want to touch you,” she murmured against your ear, her voice sending warmth flooding through your body. “Let me?”

And how could you say no when she sounded like that? When she looked at you like you were her entire world? You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment before finally turning in her arms, your hands moving up to cup her face. “I hate you,” you muttered, though there was no weight to it.

Alexia grinned. “You love me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could say anything else, she closed the gap between you, her lips capturing yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. It was different—slower, deeper, filled with something heavier than just desire. Love. Worship. Alexia kissed you like she was memorising you, like she needed to show you everything she felt because words would never be enough. And as her hands moved to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, you let her. You let yourself fall. Because no matter how impossible she was yours.

Alexia’s hands moved deliberately, reverently, over your waist, her touch slow and exploratory. There was no rush—just the warmth of her fingertips, the way she cupped your body like she was memorising every new curve, every change, every part of you that had shifted since the pregnancy began.

Her lips trailed down your neck, lingering, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured against your skin, her voice hushed, full of something almost worshipful.

Your breath hitched as her hands slid higher, her thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts, testing, waiting.

You exhaled shakily, biting your lip. “They’re sensitive,” you whispered, though you weren’t entirely sure if it was a warning or an invitation.

Alexia hummed in understanding, her gaze flicking up to yours as if asking permission. You swallowed hard, nodding once. That was all she needed. Her fingers curled gently around your curves, her thumbs pressing feather-light circles into the tender skin. The sensation sent a warmth rippling through you—too much and not enough all at once.

“Dios mío,” Alexia whispered, her voice thick with awe. “So full. So soft.”

A whimper slipped from your lips when her thumbs brushed over your nipples, the sensitivity making your breath stutter. She smirked at your reaction, her touch turning slightly firmer, her lips following, pressing kisses along the swell of your breast before flicking her tongue out, teasing, exploring. Your fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer. “Alexia,” you gasped, your body pressing into her, already feeling consumed by her touch, her warmth, the way she devoured you without hurry, without urgency—just pure, unfiltered adoration.

She chuckled against your skin, her breath warm, teasing. “Mmm, I love hearing you say my name like that.”

You tugged her hair harder, making her groan. Her hands slid down to your hips, gripping, holding you steady as she continued her slow, intoxicating assault. Every flick of her tongue, every press of her lips, every gentle squeeze sent a new wave of pleasure washing over you, pulling you under with her. She wasn’t just touching you. She was worshiping you. Loving every new part of you. Every change. Every sign of the life you were growing together. And in this moment—wrapped in her arms, completely undone by her love, her devotion—you had never felt more cherished.

Alexia took her time, her touch slow, deliberate—like she was learning everything about you all over again. Her lips never left your skin, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your collarbone, down the curve of your breasts, her breath warm against your already sensitive skin.

You had always known her to be patient, controlled, but tonight she was reverent.

She whispered against your skin, her voice husky. “I love how your body is changing,” she murmured, her hands sliding along your sides, tracing every new curve, every inch of softness. “I love you.”

You gasped as her fingers brushed over your already sensitive peaks, her thumbs circling, teasing, sending sharp jolts of pleasure straight through you. Your body reacted immediately—back arching, breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach. She smirked at the effect she had on you, her hands steady, her eyes dark with something intense, something undeniable.

You whined softly, your grip on her tightening. “Alexia—”

She hummed, dipping her head lower, her lips brushing over the swell of your breast before capturing you fully. The sensation sent a deep shiver through you, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. She knew you were sensitive, knew exactly what it did to you, and yet—she didn’t stop. She worshiped you, her touch, her mouth, her hands moving in perfect rhythm, coaxing soft, breathy moans from your lips. Every flick of her tongue, every teasing squeeze, every gentle pull sent you spiralling, climbing. And she knew. She could feel it. The way your breath hitched. The way your fingers tangled in her hair, holding her close. The way your body arched into her, desperate for more. She smiled against your skin, her voice full of heat. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, nodding, the pressure coiling impossibly tight inside you. She didn’t stop. Didn’t rush. She just stayed with you, guiding you, coaxing you, until the tension finally broke—pleasure crashing over you in waves so intense it left you shaking in her arms. She held you through it, whispering soft, soothing words against your skin, pressing kisses to your temple, your cheeks, your lips.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, her hands never leaving you. “Always.”

And as you slowly came down, body still tingling, heart still racing, you let out a soft, breathless laugh. “You’re so smug right now.”

Alexia grinned, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips. “Of course I am,” she teased. “I made you come by playing with your boobs.”

You sighed, melting into her, completely boneless. And in that moment, wrapped in her arms, her warmth, her love You knew. You were hers. Completely.

You thought morning sickness meant… well, mornings. You were wrong.

It’s relentless—unforgiving in the way it rolls through you in waves, taking with it your appetite, your patience, and any desire to even look at food. It hits you the hardest first thing, the moment you open your eyes. But it doesn’t stop there. By mid-afternoon, it circles back, and by evening, you're utterly drained, your body heavy with fatigue, your stomach rebelling against anything you try to keep down.

Even water feels like a gamble some days. And it’s starting to wear on you. Alexia tries to keep things as normal as possible, but you know she’s worried. She hovers without hovering, always within reach—bringing toast in the mornings, holding your hair when things get bad, Googling every possible morning sickness remedy known to mankind.

You’re curled on the couch today, blanket wrapped around you, a half-finished cup of ginger tea sitting cold on the coffee table.

Alexia pads in from the kitchen, holding a small plate with dry crackers and a hopeful expression.

“They said plain is best,” she offers gently, crouching down beside you. “Want to try?” You stare at the crackers like they’ve personally wronged you. She smirks, brushing your hair back from your face. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

You let out a soft groan, burying your face in the blanket. “I hate this. I hate this part.”

Alexia’s fingers trail lightly along your forehead. “I know, mi amor. I wish I could take it from you.”

“I wish anyone could take it from me.” She sits on the edge of the couch, gently pulling you into her lap until your head rests against her shoulder, her arms wrapping tightly around you.

You sigh heavily, your voice muffled in her shirt. “I’m so tired of throwing up. I can’t even smell toast without wanting to cry.”

Alexia laughs softly, rubbing your back. “You did cry yesterday. Because of a banana.”

“It was rude,” you mutter.

She kisses the top of your head. “You’re growing a human. I think you’re allowed to be dramatic about fruit.”

You smile faintly, eyes fluttering closed as you rest in the safety of her arms. “I just… I didn’t expect to feel this bad.”

Alexia tightens her hold on you, her cheek resting against your temple. “You don’t have to be strong through all of it, you know? You’re allowed to hate it. You’re allowed to complain. You’re allowed to feel everything.”

You nod slowly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “I just feel useless.”

“You’re the opposite of useless,” she says immediately, without hesitation. “You’re doing something I can’t. You’re carrying our baby. That’s everything.”

You let the words sink in, feeling the sting of tears behind your eyes—but this time not from nausea. “Okay,” you whisper. “But if I ever eat again, it’s going to be something deeply unhealthy.”

Alexia chuckles, nuzzling her nose into your hair. “Done. Ice cream for dinner. As soon as your stomach stops being an asshole.” You laugh softly—tired, aching, but loved. Because even when your body is rebelling against you, even when all you’ve managed to keep down today is a cracker and three sips of tea, Alexia holds you like you’re doing the most incredible thing in the world. And deep down… you know you are.

Dinner with Alba and Eli had sounded like a great idea when Alexia suggested it. Something warm, something normal—just the four of you, catching up, laughing, letting the world feel simple again, if only for a few hours. But as you stand in the kitchen, clinging to the edge of the counter, willing yourself not to vomit from the smell of the garlic sizzling in the pan, you're starting to deeply question your judgment.

Alexia catches your pale, sweaty reflection in the glass oven door and immediately steps in. She slides a hand across your back, firm and grounding, her other hand moving to take the wooden spoon from your fingers. “Go sit down,” she murmurs gently. “I’ve got this.”

You don’t argue. You can’t. You’re already lightheaded by the time you curl up on the couch, clutching a glass of water like it might save your life. Just as you let your head rest back, the doorbell rings.

You and Alexia lock eyes for a moment. She gives you a soft, knowing look—a we’ve got this kind of look—before she wipes her hands and goes to let them in. Alba is the first to storm in, dramatic as ever, holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a baguette in the other. “Hola, família! I brought carbs and chaos!”

Eli follows with a softer smile, always warm, always perceptive. But the second they both spot you on the couch—pale, tired, wrapped in a blanket like you’re clinging to the edge of consciousness—their moods shift.

Alba slows to a stop, narrowing her eyes. “Whoa. Are you okay? You look like… shit.”

You muster the weakest smile you can manage. “Thanks, Alba.”

Eli, more gently, sets her bag down and moves closer. “Mi amor, you’re so pale. Are you sick?”

Alexia walks in quickly, too casually, drying her hands on a towel. “She’s okay. She’s just had a stomach bug all week. It’s been rough, but she’s getting through it.”

You nod, adding, “It’s the worst flu I’ve ever had. Won’t go away.”

Alba makes a face. “You’ve had it for a week? That’s not normal. Have you gone to a doctor?”

Alexia sits beside you, sliding a subtle hand over your knee under the blanket. “She’s been seen. They said it just has to run its course.”

“Well,” she finally says, smiling as she moves to the kitchen, “then you sit and rest, and we’ll take care of everything else.”

Alba follows her, still suspicious. “If I catch this mystery flu, I swear…”

As soon as they’re out of the room, you turn to Alexia and whisper, “Do they know?”

She shakes her head. “Not yet.”

“She was watching me like I was hiding a second head.”

Alexia leans in, brushing her nose against your temple. “You are hiding something. A very tiny someone.”

You smile faintly. “I hate lying to them.”

“I know. But it’s just for now. Until we’re sure everything’s ok.”

You nod slowly, laying your head on her shoulder. “Okay. Just a little longer.” And as Eli and Alba clatter around in the kitchen, making dinner, laughing like nothing is amiss, you sit quietly on the couch—tired, nauseous, nervous— But wrapped in your wife’s arms. And still full of the quietest kind of joy.

I- I.. can’t 💔💔

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 10

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, heart hammering like you were about to walk into a final except this time, there were no sneakers, no warm-up playlist, no team huddle. Just the quiet echo of your breath and the weight of a decision that felt bigger than a game.

This was it.

Your final contract meeting with Barcelona.

The gold medal from Paris still hung by the doorway where you’d left it, like a ghost of everything you’d just accomplished four trophies in one season. An unprecedented legacy. You’d done your part.

Now it was their turn.

You tried to steady your hands as you twisted your hair up, pulled on your jacket, smoothed down the front of your shirt. It wasn’t that you weren’t prepared, you were. You’d rehearsed what you’d say, you knew the numbers. Your agent had laid out every offer on the table, both from Barcelona and the ones calling from across the Atlantic.

The WNBA teams weren’t just interested.

They were ready.

Big contracts. Full campaigns. Franchise-level investments.

But that wasn’t the part tying your stomach in knots.

It was the what ifs that buzzed under your skin.

What if they didn’t value you enough? What if this was goodbye? What if walking away also meant walking away from... her?

You hadn’t talked to Alexia about it. Not really. That night in Paris had said everything and nothing all at once. The way she held you like you might disappear. The way you kissed her like you already had.

You’d made love like people who were too proud to admit they were scared of letting go.

Now, here you were zipping up your coat, smoothing trembling hands down your thighs, staring at yourself in the mirror and trying to believe that walking in there was just business.

But your heart didn’t understand contracts.

It only knew the city. The crest. The people. Her.

Your phone buzzed.

A message from Liv: “Whatever happens, you already won. Go get what you deserve.”

You took one last breath. Then picked up your keys. It was time to find out if Barcelona was willing to fight for you the way you’d fought for them.

You opened your apartment door to head to the contract meeting and almost walked right into her.

Alexia.

Still in her post-training hoodie, hair damp from a shower, flushed cheeks from training that had only ended an hour ago.

Your mouth opened. But she spoke, “I didn’t want to text it.”

You swallowed hard. “Text what?”

She reached up, gently brushing her fingers against your arm, then trailed them down until her hand found yours. “I don’t want you to go,” she said softly.

You stared at her, searching her face for any hint of hesitation. There wasn’t any.

“I know the last few weeks have been.. weird. Between us…I don’t know when it stopped being casual,” she added. “I just know that it did.” You let out a shaky breath. “But i’m in love with you. I love you Y/N please don’t go. Stay.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stood there in the soft hallway light, hand in hand, two athletes dressed in your respective team gear, looking at each other like the whole world had quieted just for this moment.

Alexia gave your hand a small squeeze. “Say something,” she said gently. 

“I can’t do this,” you said, “Alexia. I have a meeting,” stepping back, letting go of her hand like it burned.

Her brows knit. “A meeting?” Her voice sharpened. “That’s what you have to say? You’re just walking away?”

You rubbed your temples, already feeling the weight of everything pressing in, your future, your choice, her. “I’m not walking away. I’m going to get what I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And what about us?” she snapped. “You’re really going to pretend none of this means anything? That I don’t mean anything?”

You sighed. “Alexia, please. Don’t do this now.”

Her eyes glassed over, jaw tightening. “I didn’t plan to fall for you,” she said, voice low, shaky. “But I did. I love you. And I’m standing here, asking you to stay and you won’t even look at me.”

You turned your face away, your throat tightening. “You’re asking me to throw away something I’ve been fighting for since I was a kid.”

“I’m not asking you to throw it away!” she said, raising her voice. “I’m asking you to see me. To be honest about what this is what we are. You’re just running from it because it’s easier to focus on basketball than deal with your feelings.”

You flinched, then shook your head. “I don’t have the head space for this, Alexia. I don’t. You can’t drop all of this on me right before the biggest meeting of my career.”

“I had to,” she whispered. “Because if I didn’t, you’d leave and I’d never say it and forever wonder.”

Silence fell. The hallway buzzed with tension. Her words lingered in the air like smoke.

You stared at her, heart pounding, lips partedmbut nothing came out. Then you turned, grabbed your bag, and walked out your door.

Alexia didn’t follow. She just stood there in your apartment, alone, eyes locked on the space where you’d been.

—

You barely remember the drive to Alexia’s place just that your hands were clenched on the wheel the whole time and your chest hadn’t stopped burning since you left that boardroom. You weren’t calm. You weren’t even sure what you were going to say. All you knew was you had to say something.  

You pounded on her door like your heart was about to break through your ribs.

When it opened, you were met not just with Alexia but her whole world behind her. Her mother, seated on the couch. Her sister hovering near the kitchen. And a few of her teammates still in Barça tracksuits, frozen mid-conversation, eyes wide the second they saw you.

The room was thick with tension. They knew. They all knew what you’d done.  

Alexia stepped forward, face unreadable. She opened her mouth to speak. You didn’t let her. “No, don’t,” you snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t say anything right now. You don’t get to drop that on me and then just stand there like nothing happened.”

She blinked, taken aback, but you were already going, fuelled by adrenaline and emotion.

“You don’t get to tell me you love me as I’m walking out the door for the biggest meeting of my career,” you said, voice rising. “That wasn’t fair, Alexia. That was so unfair.”

You could feel every pair of eyes on you, but you didn’t care.

“You know what that moment meant to me. You know, I’ve been fighting for that chance my whole life, and you waited until right then to tell me how you feel?”

Alexia’s lips parted again, but you didn’t stop.

“You think I don’t feel things too? You think this is easy for me? You think walking away from you didn’t rip something out of me?” Your breath hitched. “But I would never ask you to pick me over your career. Never.” You took a step closer, your voice low and rough now. “So what would you do, huh? If it were the other way around? If I begged you to come with me, to give it all up? Would you?”

She tried to answer—but again, you shook your head, cutting her off.

“No. Don’t. Because that’s not the point. The point is you didn’t give me space to even think. You threw your heart at me like a grenade and expected me to catch it.”

Your hands were shaking now. Anger. Hurt. Love. Everything tangled in your throat.

“And I wasn’t ready for that,” your voice had yet to lower. “I still don’t know if I am.”

Silence fell, heavy and raw. You looked around the room at the faces pretending not to stare. Her mother, her sister, her teammates none of them said a word. But their expressions said everything. And finally, you looked at Alexia. Her eyes shimmered, jaw tight, but she still hadn’t said a word.

You swallowed hard. “It’s too much Alexia, I can’t handle this right now I have people constantly wanting a piece of me, wanting commitment, a signature on a contract, a comment, a fucking selfie, I don’t need you doing the same, you have no idea how much pressure I’m under to constantly make the right choice, I don’t need you asking me to make a choice to”

Then you turned and walked out, heart pounding in your ears, not sure where you were going just knowing you couldn’t stay.

—

You didn’t know how long you drove. Past streets that blurred together, red lights you barely registered, the same message from your agent popping up on your phone over and over “We need to know. Clock’s ticking.”

You ignored it.

Your chest felt like it had split open the second you walked out of that apartment.

Your voice still echoed in your own head. Alexia’s silence too.

You hadn’t even meant to say half of it, but it came out like a flood. Like it had been sitting there under your ribs, waiting.

You were terrified.

Terrified of choosing wrong. Of walking away from something real. Of staying and sacrificing what you’d worked for. Of leaving and never knowing could have been.

By the time you finally parked, the sun had sunk low enough to turn everything gold and soft. You didn’t even know where you were just that it was quiet. Just that you could breathe again.

You leaned your head back against the seat and closed your eyes. You didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t answer when she did.

And you were tired. So instead of going back to Alexia, you went with Liv and Maya who had already booked a post-season escape to Greece, and insisted, loudly and dramatically, that you needed it more than anyone.

“Blue water. White buildings. No exes,” Maya had said, grinning as she shoved the ticket confirmation under your nose.

And you’d nodded, packed a bag, and gotten on the flight. Now you were on a boat.

Literally. Out in the Aegean Sea. The sun warm against your shoulders, the breeze tangling through your hair, your legs dangling over the edge of the deck. Maya was already mid-dive, cannonballing off the side with a scream, while Liv lounged in the sun with a drink in hand, sunglasses halfway down her nose as she watched you carefully.

“You haven’t checked your phone in two days,” she said.

You shrugged. “I didn't unpack it.”

She smiled faintly. “Proud of you.”

You looked out over the horizon, clear and endless and yours for once. No decisions. No pressure. No pretending that whatever was between you and Alexia didn’t always circle back to pain.

Just freedom.

“I didn’t want a goodbye,” you said suddenly, surprising even yourself. Liv didn’t press. You stared at the sea. “I just… didn’t want to sit in that silence again, knowing one of us was waiting for the other to say something they didn’t mean.”

Maya surfaced with a laugh, splashing water everywhere. “You two gonna cry or jump in already?”

You stood slowly, stretched, and smiled. “Jump.” And you did.

You dove in clean and headfirst, the water cold and bright and new. It wrapped around you like clarity, like release. Like something finally, finally just for you.

Alexia was somewhere far away, in another country, maybe still waiting. But right now you weren’t.

But back in Barcelona.

The warmth of summer had rolled in gently over the city, but for Alexia, it felt cold. The air in her apartment was still, heavy. The kind of quiet that doesn't come from peace but absence.

She sat curled in the corner of the sofa, knees tucked to her chest, wrapped in one of your hoodies one she had no right to still wear, but couldn't bring herself to fold away. Her phone buzzed on the table for the tenth time that hour. She didn’t look.

She already knew what it was. More news. More speculation. More you.

Every local sports channel had the same thing on repeat: updates about your contract, the mounting pressure on Barcelona to offer more, the leaked offers from WNBA teams huge numbers, huge interest, and the biggest story of all…

Your silence. No statement. No goodbye. No post-game recap. Just... gone.

And today they had photos. You, in Greece. Tanned. Laughing. On a boat. Your smile shining in the sun like the whole city hadn’t been holding its breath waiting for your next move.

Alexia couldn’t take it anymore. She shut off the TV and pressed her palms to her eyes. She tried not to cry. She really, really did.

But her mami had already sat down next to her, one look at her daughter’s face enough to see the heartbreak she was trying to hide “Mi niña,” her mother said gently, wrapping an arm around her. “What happened?”

Alexia shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I really thought she’d stay.” Her voice cracked so softly it broke her mother’s heart. “I really thought… even after everything… even after how messy we were, I thought she’d fight to stay.”

“She still might,” her mother offered.

Alexia shook her head. “She’s gone. She didn’t even tell me. Didn’t say goodbye. She just left.”

Her mother rubbed small circles on her back. “Maybe she couldn’t say it. Maybe she didn't say goodbye because she couldn't, not to you. Maybe it was too painful"

Alexia stared at her lap, blinking through tears. Paris had felt like a turning point. That kiss beneath the Eiffel Tower, the way you had smiled at her like it meant something again. The way you'd touched her face like you didn’t want to forget it.

And then that night, in the hotel. It hadn’t been sex. It hadn't been a hook up, it meant something. Something neither of you had dared speak aloud.

Alexia wiped at her face with the sleeve of your hoodie, breathing in the fading scent of you. “I think I let her go,” she whispered.

Her mother kissed the side of her head. “Or maybe you were just never sure if you were allowed to ask her to stay and when you did, it was too late.”

And that broke her all over again.

--

The sea stretched wide and endless around you, nothing but deep blue and gold sun. The yacht bobbed gently on the Aegean, anchored just off the coast of a quiet cove, the perfect post-season escape. Salt clung to your skin, your hair still damp from the ocean. Everything smelled like sunscreen, grilled food, and freedom.

You were lying on a cushioned lounger at the back of the boat, a pair of sunglasses shielding your eyes as you listened to the hum of Maya and Liv chatting somewhere behind you soft, lazy voices full of peace.

No pressure. No crowds. No one expecting you to be anything more than tired and sun-kissed. It had been a few days now. Since Paris. Since the final. Since her. And no one had brought it up. Not Alexia. Not the kiss. Not that night in her hotel room where everything between you slowed down for the first time.

Where it hadn’t just been sex. Where it felt like goodbye, even though neither of you said the words.

You’d touched her like you were memorising her. She’d held you like she didn’t want to let go. But morning came, and you both let it speak the things you couldn’t.

The ache from that night still sat quietly in your chest familiar, patient. Waiting. But now, the two people who knew you best were giving you the most obvious kind of grace.

They weren’t asking. Not about the contract. Not about Barcelona. Not about whether you were staying… or going.

You sat up slowly, pulling your sunglasses to rest on your head.

Maya was stretched out under the shade with a book on her stomach, eyes closed. Liv was dangling her feet off the side of the yacht, sipping from a cold drink, gaze somewhere far off on the horizon.

“Neither of you are gonna ask me?” you said softly.

They both looked up, brows raised, like you’d just interrupted a very chill dream. “Ask you what?” Maya replied, already knowing.

Liv shrugged, lips pulling into a gentle smile. “When you’re ready to talk about it… you’ll talk.”

Your throat tightened just slightly at the calm in their voices, the way they didn’t push. You nodded, quietly grateful. “Thanks.”

Maya lifted her glass toward you. “Whether it’s Barcelona or not, you’ll land where you’re meant to.”

Liv grinned. “And we’ll still make fun of your shitty decision making either way.”

You laughed, the knot in your chest loosening for the first time in days.

The future was still uncertain. But your people they weren’t going anywhere. And for now, under the sun, on the sea, with everything suspended in this warm, golden pause, that was enough.

-

The sun was melting into the Aegean Sea, painting the sky in soft strokes of orange and lavender as the yacht gently rocked beneath you. The air was warm with salt and quiet, the kind of peace that only came once the noise of winning had settled and the champagne had finally run dry.

You sat with Maya and Liv around a small table on the deck, barefoot, drinks in hand, a soft breeze tugging at the hem of your linen shirt. Laughter had faded into comfortable silence, a half-finished dinner of grilled seafood and pasta still on your plates. Someone had queued a mellow playlist. You’d almost forgotten the world existed beyond this floating slice of stillness.

Until Liv ever the instigator patience wearing thin-set her glass down and asked softly, “So. Are you going?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked out at the endless blue horizon, the world you'd just conquered behind you… and the one waiting ahead still uncertain. “I don’t know,” you said finally. “I thought I would. I mean, I still might.”

Maya leaned forward, chin on her fist. “But?”

You sighed, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Alexia.” The name came out before you could soften it.

Liv gave you a look. Not smug. Not surprised. Just knowing.

You continued. “She’s probably, I don’t know… thirty percent of what’s making me hesitate.”

Maya raised her brows. “That’s not a small percentage.”

You shook your head, smiling faintly. “It’s not just her. I love the team. The club. The city. The fans. And… I’m not that far from home here. From my family. I get to see them. They’ve been part of this whole journey. I feel rooted in Barcelona.”

Liv’s voice was quiet. “But?”

You let out a slow breath. “But the WNBA… on paper, it’s perfect. The dream, right? The best league in the world. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I’ve trained for.”

“But it’s far,” Maya added gently. “Really far.”

You nodded. “Eight hours, sometimes more depending which team I pick. But it's not just distance. It's a different kind of pressure. A different kind of spotlight. I know I’d grow there. I know it’d challenge me. And I know I'd do well and thrive and my game would translate. But I don’t know if I’d be happy.” You looked up at both of them, eyes raw, vulnerable. “And I don’t know if that’s selfish or smart.”

Liv smiled softly. “It’s human.”

You stared back out at the water, heart heavy in the kind of way that had nothing to do with doubt, and everything to do with choice. “You know what’s funny?” you said after a moment, voice barely above the waves. “Winning everything this year… it didn’t make the decision easier. It made it harder.”

Because now you had everything. And you had to decide if you were ready to walk away from it. From the dream. Or from the life you never expected to build but had come to love.

And somewhere in between it all, was her, the goodbye you still hadn’t said.

“So,” Maya said, swirling her wine before leveling her eyes at you. “When do you have to make a decision?”

You pushed your fork through the last piece of feta, exhaling slowly before answering. “Three weeks.”

Liv glanced up, her expression sobering. “That’s it?”

You nodded, setting your fork down. “The club’s given me their final offer. No more meetings. No more back and forth. Just ‘Here’s what we’re offering. Take it or leave it.’”

Maya leaned back in her seat, eyebrows raised. “Damn. That’s… kinda cold.”

You shrugged. “They said they need to start planning for what the team looks like post-me. If I go.”

There was a brief silence. Not heavy just thoughtful.

Liv set her glass down. “And what does it look like for you if you stay?”

That was the question.

You leaned back, stretching your legs out, gaze flicking toward the water where the last light of the day danced across the surface. “Comfort. Familiarity. A team I helped build. A city I know.”

“And Alexia,” Maya added quietly.

You didn’t look at her. “Yeah.”

“But?” Liv asked, gently.

You glanced between them, then spoke honestly. “But… I’d be choosing less. Because no matter how much I love playing there, it’s not the best offer on the table, not even close.”

Maya nodded slowly. “So you’d be staying for the badge.”

You met her eyes. “I’d be staying for the people.”

That was the truth. But there was something else beneath it. That night in Paris with Alexia the kiss, the way she looked at you, the way she held you later in that quiet hotel room, like it was something more than just touch, like she knew what you both weren’t saying…

It had felt like goodbye. Neither of you had said it. But you both felt it.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t made your decision yet. Because staying meant more uncertainty. But leaving meant finally letting her go.

Liv reached out and squeezed your hand across the table. “Whatever you choose,” she said softly, “just don’t choose out of guilt. Or fear. Choose what gives you peace.”

"I would hate for you to stay for Alexia and you end up resenting her, because thats so much worse"

And under the Greek stars, with the water lapping gently against the hull, you finally admitted. You weren’t sure peace existed on either side. You knew it was time. “I have to tell you both something.”

Liv immediately looked over. Maya popped another grape in her mouth, then paused. “This sounds ominous,” Maya said slowly.

You nodded once, the heat suddenly sticking to your skin differently. “It is.”

They both waited, the air shifting, the sea breeze no longer enough to cool the tension rising in your chest. “It was before my last meeting with Barcelona,” you started, voice even but heavy. “Alexia turned up at my place just as I was leaving. We hadn’t really spoken after Paris… not properly.”

Maya straightened. Liv’s brows drew together.

You looked out over the water, then back at them. “She told me she was in love with me.” Silence. Neither of them moved. You let the words settle, your throat tightening as you finished, “And I walked out.”

Liv blinked, stunned. “You what?”

“I couldn't deal with it,” you said quickly. “She said it completely serious and I just… couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process. Not with everything else. So I left.”

Maya let out a slow breath. “Did you talk to her after?”

You shook your head, jaw tight. “Yeah. I went to her place her mum sister and some friends were there and just went crazy on her basically said she was unfair for telling me she loved me and walked away. I haven’t seen her since. Haven’t called. She hasn’t, either.”

Liv sat up now too, arms resting on her knees. “So she said she loved you. And you ghosted her?”

You winced. “I know how that sounds.”

“It sounds like you’re both idiots,” Maya said, though her voice was more gentle than annoyed.

“She asked me to stay to,” you added quietly. “To stay in Barcelona. With her. And I was hours from making the decision and it just… it overwhelmed me. It felt like pressure. Like she waited too long, and then expected me to just drop everything because she finally figured it out.”

Liv was quiet for a long beat. Then she said softly, “And now?”

You looked down at your hands, then up at them again. “I don’t know.”

You thought about her every single day. The last kiss. The way her voice broke when she said it. The feeling in your chest that morning, like something beautiful was being left behind... intentionally.

“She meant it,” you whispered. “I know she did. But I didn’t know if it was love or just fear of losing me.”

Maya nodded slowly, the sun dancing in her curls. “And now you might lose her anyway.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “I think I already did. I could see how broken she was when I left.”

And this time, neither of them said anything, because some heartbreaks didn’t need commentary. Just space. And silence.

--

The lights in the Palau Blaugrana blazed brighter than ever gold and purple flooding every seat, the court transformed into a stage, the banners of all four trophies draped across the rafters like proof of a dream most teams wouldn’t even dare to speak aloud.

You’d won everything. League. Cup. SuperCup. Continental Final.

The crowd was standing. Cheering. Chanting your name over and over, echoing around the arena where it all began. Where you’d bled, rehabbed, led, and lifted more than just trophies you’d carried a team into history.

And yet…

You were crying. Not small tears. Not discreet.

You were standing centre court, your medals around your neck, your hair still damp from champagne, and your shoulders were shaking. Your eyes were already rimmed red, your cheeks streaked with tears as the club played a montage of the season above the court. Every big shot. Every buzzer beater. Every celebration. Every injury. Every comeback. You. Always you.

You tried to smile through it, tried to wave to the crowd like everything was fine but your bottom lip was trembling and your hands weren’t steady.

Maya had an arm wrapped around your waist, her forehead pressed briefly to your shoulder. Liv wiped her own eyes beside you, sniffling with zero shame.

And the rest of your teammates were struggling. Because seeing you like this, the heartbeat of the team, the one who always held it together was breaking them.

Your coach saw it too.

She crossed the court calmly but with urgency, gently pulling you into a hug right there in front of everyone. One arm wrapped firm around your shoulders, the other cupping the back of your neck as you sank into her.

She whispered something only you could hear. “Whatever happens next, this will always be yours. You gave this city this.”

You nodded into her shoulder, the tears not stopping but becoming quieter. It wasn’t just the emotion of winning. It was the ache of knowing this was probably the end. Your last time in this arena as one of them.

And no matter how many cheers came, how many lights flashed, how many people screamed your name…

It wouldn’t change the fact that the goodbye you hadn’t said yet was already being felt.

The arena was still roaring when someone handed you the mic.

You hesitated. Your hand curled around the black metal, fingers trembling. You stared at it like it might burn you, because speaking meant naming something you’d spent months trying not to.

You looked out at the crowd, at the faces you’d come to know and love. Fans wearing your jersey. Staff who’d treated your ankle like sacred ground. Your teammates still clutching each other on the sidelines.

And then you looked up.

The banners. All four. Hanging there like crown jewels.

You cleared your throat and brought the mic to your lips. Your voice cracked before you even started.

“I’m not great at this,” you began, your laugh watery, brushing at your cheek with the back of your hand. “Talking. Especially when it matters. Especially when it’s this close to… everything.”

The crowd quieted, sensing what you were about to say, but no one moved. No one even breathed.

“This season… I don’t even know how to describe it. We made history. Not just as a team, but as people. We fought through injuries, setbacks, pressure, expectations so heavy they could’ve crushed us. But we didn’t break. We rose.”

You paused, exhaling slowly. You looked at Maya. At Liv. Your coach. Each of them anchoring you in their own way.

“There’s no version of this story without all of you. No version of this success without every single person who showed up every day, even when it was hard. Who stayed when things were uncertain. Who played through pain. Who showed up for each other when we didn’t know how to ask.”

The crowd started clapping again soft at first, then swelling.

You swallowed. Your voice gentled. “And this is the end for me here… this is the last time I wear this jersey, then I just want to say. Gracias!”

Your eyes were glassy again, but your voice didn’t falter now.

“For believing in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. For letting me lead you. For letting me grow here. For letting me leave this court not just as a player, but as a part of this club’s history.”

You looked down for a moment, overwhelmed by the roar rising again. Then back up, straight into the heart of the crowd.

“No matter where I go next, this” you turned, gesturing to the court, the lights, your teammates, "this will always be home. You made me feel like I belonged.”

A pause. A breath.

“And that’s something I’ll carry with me, always. I wish there was a different ending to this story but it's the one I have to accept. Te amo con todo mi corazón, adiós.”

You lowered the mic slowly, letting the words settle, letting the emotion swell.

The arena exploded. Standing ovation. Chants. Cheers. Tears.

And in the chaos, as your teammates pulled you into a hug, the staff and coaches surrounded you like a living, breathing embrace.

The press release went out just after sunrise.

Short. Gracious. Carefully worded by your agent, signed off by both parties, and accompanied by one photo your last walk through the tunnel, back turned, trainers slung over your shoulder.

You didn’t read the headlines. You didn’t need to. You already knew what they’d say.

“Barcelona’s Star Departs.” “Historic Season Ends in Goodbye.” “WNBA Wins the Battle.”

None of them would write about what it really meant. Not the missed calls. Not the silence after the fight. Not the ache in your chest when you handed back your training gear and walked past the football facility door without popping your head in.

You thought you might cry when the flight lifted off. But you didn’t. You stared out the window, the city shrinking beneath you, the crest pressed into your hoodie like it still belonged to you. Willing the plane to England for the post season break to hurry up and land you just wanted a hug from your mum.

You didn’t cry then. Not when you went to yours parents as you thought.

It was when you sat on the floor in your bedroom, and pulled out your phone.

A single message.

From her.

Just a photo.

Of your hoodie.

And underneath, just one line:

“You forgot your jacket.” How it all started.

You didn’t respond. Not because you didn’t want to. But because the words wouldn’t come. You pressed the phone to your chest and sat there in the quiet of your cries for a long time, letting the silence say what neither of you could.

And somewhere, across an ocean, maybe she was doing the same. Because love doesn’t always end with fireworks. Sometimes it ends with a story that doesn't get the happy ending. And a photo you’ll never delete.

not me having watched them live for the first time on the worst day ever in Turin. i gotta go and watch them win... need it for my mental health (MAYBE NEXT YEAR)🔵🔴

caro reminiscing about the last 4 champions league finals in a row, including one "where she wanted to go home" 😤

source: esport3 on instagram

göteburg 2020-21: raise the cup for the first time

turin 2021-22: the worst. i wanted to go home

eindhoven 2022-23: the first goal because i knew that we would win it

bilbao: 2023-24: irene's stop with her head on the crossbar because yes, it is our day and we will win.

🤣🤣

Top of the League, Bottom of the Class

Summary: Y/n’s got energy for days, jokes for every occasion, and zero patience for schoolwork. Too bad Alexia and Leah are determined to make her study, even during international break.

Warnings: Alexia is a bit...stern at the beginning, but I swear she softens up to our girl y/n!!

Word count: 7.4k

Notes: This was based on a request

Masterlist

..

The sun was setting over Barcelona's training ground, it was late already–too late for a certain player to be on the pitch. But Y/n was there, happier than ever, with her headphones on while she trained some dribbling skills with one of the dummies.

The training had ended one hour ago, but some players were still at Barcelona’s training ground, although most of them were having physiotherapy sessions or late gym hours–meaning they were far away from the pitch, so there weren’t any chances Y/n would be caught.

Y/n had a whole thing planned out. After training, she took a shower in the changing room, talked a bit with Jana and Vicky before taking her gym bag and saying goodbye, walking through the door as she rambled about how much homework she had to do when she got home.

But when Jana and Vicky took a left in the corridors, Y/n told them she had forgotten her water bottle–again, so she had to go back and get it. Jana and Vicky watched as Y/n walked. The two girls had no idea that their friend was actually planning yet another training session on the pitch.

Although no one could know about Y/n’s late-night rendezvous, because she actually wasn’t allowed to stay in the training center past 6 pm, Barcelona’s team had created this rule because Y/n got so caught up training after-hours that she didn’t do her homework.

Y/n had to balance school, in between being professional players for Barcelona and England, but the girl couldn't care less about school.

Football was her life. It wasn’t just her passion; it was the one thing that made her feel truly alive. 

She was a star on the pitch, but when it came to school, she was a different story. Books? Boring. Homework? A waste of time. For her, the only subject that mattered was football.

Her grades were slipping…badly. The headmistress at her school had to call Barcelona’s office to talk about it because Y/n’s parents weren’t in the country, and she had no one to take care of

Of course, Barcelona thought it would be a good idea to assign someone to assist and look over Y/n. A normal club would have hired a teacher, or even a babysitter, but since Barcelona had this weird "Som una família" [we’re family] vibes, they assigned no one less than La Reina, Alexia Putellas herself, to be the one to help her with geometry homework.

At first, Y/n thought Alexia wouldn't take it seriously, maybe just to go to some parent-teacher meetings when necessary. But no, Alexia had made it one of her life responsibilities to get Y/n through math classes.

And that’s why she was hiding from Alexia now. She had told the captain that she was going home just before she met with Vicky and Jana. Alexia just nodded and kissed her on the cheeks as she–very weirdly–was the first to go home.

Y/n could easily fit in another hour or two of training before the center actually closed. What if she had history homework? Barcelona had a big game coming up, plus, international dates were just a few weeks away, and she had been called up to the senior squad again–she had to be in top shape.

So Y/n stayed on the pitch. Her headphones on. 

She flicked the ball between her feet to the rhythm of Young Hearts Run Free, lost in the music and movement. She didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching. She only noticed when…

Yank.

A sharp pain ran through her ear as her headphone was pulled out of her head.

"Ouch"! Y/n turned around, rubbing the sore spot. "What the fuck?! That’s child abuse–"

Her eyes found a very, very angry Alexia. Her throat felt dry, as if she couldn't speak.

She was in so much trouble.

Alexia was right in front of her, arms crossed, looking very unhappy. Her hair was down,  her make-up was done, and…wait. Was she wearing…a dress? Huh?

"Ale? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, nena," Alexia said sternly. "How many times have I told you to go straight home after training?"

Y/n looked down, playing with the ball on her feet, feeling her cheeks blushing for getting caught.

"I asked you a question," Alexia said– before kicking the ball from y/n’s feet, sending it rolling into the net.

Goal..yay?

"I just need to train more, Ale!" Y/n said exasperatedly, pointing towards the goal as if to prove her point. “International break is c–”

"International breaks do not matter if you fail school!" Alexia said. "You know you need to present a clean school report to play for the senior squad, right?"

"Yes, I know that," Y/n muttered. 

"It doesn't seem like you do," Alexia said, casually pulling her phone from her purse and holding it up to Y/n’s face.

Oh no, Y/n knew what that meant.

"You got a 2/10 on your biology test, and then a 3/10 on your math test," Alexia said. "First of all, why am I finding out about it through an email? Why didn't you tell me?

"Because you’d get mad at me just like you’re now!" Y/n shot back

"I'm not mad!" Alexia said, voice tight. "I'm disappointed."

Y/n froze and stared at Alexia.

Y/n felt a cold rush go through her body, setting a weight on her chest.

Disappointed? She could handle being yelled at. She could deal with Alexia being frustrated or angry. But disappointment? Y/n didn’t know what to do with this. It felt wrong.

"I make time on my schedule to help you study," Alexia said, her finger counting off each point. "I buy things you need for school projects, I read the same books you need to read for Spanish class to try and motivate you, and this is what I get in return? Slack?’

Y/n felt her eyes fill with tears. She tried to find something to say, but her usual funny and witty comments that would normally get her out of any serious situation were nowhere to be found.

Alexia was looking at her, her eyes and lips tight, her foot tapping on the grass restlessly. She missed the usual gentle and patient Alexia right now more than anything.

"I know you love football, Y/n, but this," Alexia pointed towards the pitch. "Is only a small part of what your life will look like in the future; you need to be ready for more."

Y/n swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, trying not to let Alexia see her tears, but she failed. She quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of her barça hoodie while looking away.

“You need school to move forward, you can be the very best players on the pitch, but if you don’t give the same effort off of it, you’re not going to make it very far,” Alexia’s voice softened just slightly.

Alexia’s words hung in the air as she watched the girl standing in front of her.

“Sorry,” Y/n said quietly, “I shouldn't have hid it from you.”

"Have I ever made you feel like you needed to hide things from me?" Alexia said, taking a step closer and placing her hand on Y/n’s shoulder as she leaned just slightly to be the same height as her eyes.

Y/n shook her head.

“Exactly," Alexia said,  putting a hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve been stern with you, isn’t it?”

Y/n nodded, looking away.

“Will it be the last?” Alexia asked.

Y/n wished she could easily nod along without a second thought, but she also knew how much of a hard time she had with school. But still, she couldn't let it happen again, and couldn't let Alexia get this upset with her.

So she forced the word out. “Yes.”

“Okay, good,”  Alexia said. “Let's go. It's late.”

Without another word, Alexia turned toward the exit, and Y/n followed her.

They didn’t talk on the way out, but the silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable. 

The steady weight of Alexia’s hand on her shoulder, and the way she effortlessly picked up Y/n’s training bag and slung it over her own–it was enough.

Y/n didn’t need to hear the words to know that she was forgiven.

They walked through the car park, the night cold and the postlight brightening the way they made Alexia's black car.

Y/n was already thinking of what to expect from the car drive as she rubbed the sting on her ear from where Alexia had oh-so-graciously removed her headphones and tugged at her ear.

They would probably be in a quiet, awkward ride–just her and Alexia’s disappointing sight and, very occasionally, passive-aggressive grips on the steering wheel as Alexia made sure to put on the worst songs ever known to humankind.

Alexia had given Y/n a bunch of rides, so Y/n followed the usual routine of going to the passenger seat, but to her surprise, there was a woman sitting there,

One Y/n had never met. 

Y/n tilted her head, trying to think of every single player of every single women's team in La Liga. No, she wasn’t in any team. Then she thought of the staff of Barcelona… also no.

Yep, Y/n had no clue who this person was.

Y/n slowed her steps, eyebrows furrowing as she took in the unfamiliar woman sitting there. 

She was pretty. Dark hair, and soft features, a warm smile was on her lips as she watched Y/n and Alexia approaching.

Y/n stopped right outside the car, looking between her and Alexia with suspicion. "Uh, Ale? Who is this?"

Alexia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if already exhausted by the interrogation she knew was coming.

"Y/n, this is Olga. Olga, this is Y/n." Alexia said simply. "You go there," Alexia pointed at the back seat.

Olga turned fully in her seat, extending a hand out the window.

"So you’re the famous nena, huh?" Olga said, smiling genuinely. "Alexia talked a lot about you."

"Oh yeah? She did?" Y/n shook her head before immediately nodding. "I like you already… Olga."

She pulled open the back door and climbed in as Alexia slid into the driver’s seat.

Silence settled over the car as Alexia started driving. Y/n had expected her to be better at small talk, but apparently, she wasn’t.

"So…" Y/n leaned forward, poking her head between the front seats. "Who even are you, Olga?"

"Get back to your seat and put on your seat belt," Alexia said sharply. "And…we were having dinner."

"Having dinner?" Y/n asked.

"Sí"

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"It’s that Italian place near Carrer de Pàdua," Olga finally explained, noticing how Alexia seemed to only give the young girl vague answers. "It’s great!"

"Wait–did you guys go to L'Italiano Perso?" Y/n asked

"Sí," Alexia said again. "We were on a date–"

Y/n’s eyes widened. "Wait. What?" She stopped buckling herself up, being too shocked by Alexia’s revelation.

"A date, Y/n," Alexia said in exasperation, a heavy voice. "You know, when two people who like each other go out…u might not know much about it, but–"

"Since when do you date?!" Y/n interrupted. "And excuse me? I go on plenty of dates! Thank you!"

"Drop it." Alexia sought, tying her hands around the wheel, Y/n could even see the blush of her cheeks

"Oh bloody hell!" Y/n exposed, putting her hand on her own cheeks. "Does your mom know about it? Your sister?"

"If you don’t shut up, I’m stopping at the England embassy to have you deported," Alexia said, deadpanned.

"Ok, that was rude," Y/n said, finishing buckling her seatbelt and leaning her back into her seat. "I can think of a few English people who would love to have me back."

"Let’s get you back to then, maybe this way I can have a proper date once"

The drive was mostly silent after that, Y/n noticed that Alexia's awful music taste was replaced by cool, modern songs. After a few minutes thinking why Y/n saw that it was Olga’s Spotify that was connected to Alexia's car.

Hm. Good piece of information. 

That meant that it wasn’t their first date…

Wait. Fuck

Y/n’s stomach sank.  Alexia was on a date. 

A date that she had to interrupt because of Y/n's stupid irresponsibility

“Oh no!” Y/n said.

“Oh no?” Olga turned to look at her, and then at Alexia, as if the blonde could decipher everything that came out of Y/n’s mouth. “What happened?”

“I ruined your date.” Y/n’s eyes widened. “I'm so sorry, Ale!”

“Nena," she sighed as she held the wheel with one hand and rubbed her temples with the other. “You didn’t ruin anything, don’t worry.”

“No, seriously, I totally ruined your date." Y/n looked between them, horrified. “That’s why you look… so put together all of a sudden! That’s why you were in a dress! I thought that was weird! I’m so–”

“Y/n." Alexia’s voice was sharp, a blush growing into her neck as she avoided making eye contact with Olga, who was biting down a laugh. “Shut. Up.”

Y/n pouted. “But did I really ruin it?”

Alexia sighed. “We were having dinner, and then I got that email about your grades, and I got mad. So I drove to your house, and when you weren’t there, I knew exactly where you’d be.”

"Uh…oops?." Y/n cringed.

Y/n realised she could never be captain. Imagine being on a date and receiving an email from a kid–that wasn’t even your kid– saying they went bad on a test about cell division and having to drop everything to go look for them? Nope.

Olga turned in her seat again, resting her chin on her palm as she looked at Y/n. “You know, if you wanted to sabotage Alexia’s love life, there are easier ways.”

Y/n quickly caught Olga’s teasing tone and smiled at her.

"I wasn’t trying to sabotage, I was just training, I swear!" Y/n laughed, loving watching how Alexia’s eyes rolled.

"Instead of doing your homework," Alexia added, making a U-turn.

Y/n groaned, dramatically. "I get it, I get it, I’m a disappointment, bla bla bla"

"You’re not a disappointment," Alexia rolled her eyes. "Stop being dramatic, you’re just–"

“An academic disaster?” Y/n offered an awkward smile on her face.

“A headache.” Alexia finished.

“You two are fun," Olga said, placing a hand on Alexis's thigh. "It makes me laugh.”

Y/n grinned. "Does that mean I can be the third wheel all the time?"

"No," Alexia said

"We’ll see," Olga said at the same time, winking at Y/n.

Y/n sat up quickly, having a bright idea. "Well, if that’s how it’s gonna be, I might as well ask… Olga, do you know anything about mitosis and meiosis? I’ve got a test coming up..."

Alexia immediately shot a glare at her. "Y/n, no. Stop bothering Olga."

Y/n put her hands up defensively. "Hey, I’m just trying to help my education!"

"Maybe you should help yourself first," Alexia mumbled.

"You know, you should listen to your captain before she strangles you," Olga said, laughing. 

Y/n watched as Alexia smirked at Olga…Smirked!

"Okay, ew!" Y/n said, "Was that…flirting? Please stop the car so I can throw up."

"Oh Déu meu, nena, calla!" Alexia snapped.

Y/n squinted her eyes. "I have no idea what you just said, Alexia, but I bet it was rude!".

But then, Y/n noticed something strange.

Y/n leaned forward, confusion in her eyes. "Wait a minute...why aren’t you driving me home?"

"I’m going to school with you tomorrow," Alexia said casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal at all. "It’s easier if you sleep at mine, I’ll drop by your house in the morning so you can get your school bag and then we can head out from the..."

Y/n raised her eyebrows. "What? Why are you going to school with me?"

“They want to talk about your grades and about the next international break –you’ll be three weeks out of school, they want to see how we can organize your school work.”

"Okay, but they can talk to me about it," Y/n said. "Why do they want you there

"Why do they want me there? Nena, did I  give you an earful for nothing?" Alexia glanced at her, impatience in her voice. "I’m responsible for you! They want to make sure you’ll have an actual adult looking out for your education."

"So you’re coming with me—" Y/n said carefully.  "Like, as a parent?"

"Sí," Alexia replied, completely unfazed. 

"Oh, come on, Ale! This is so embarrassing!"Y/n threw herself back into her seat, groaning. "Don’t you have training or something better to do?"

"Sí, I do actually," Alexia simply said. “And I’ll be very happy at training tomorrow if I didn’t have to go talk to the headmistress, but since someone needs to keep an eye on you, I’ll be the one to do it."

Alexia paused for a second, then added, "Also, you’re benched for the next two games."

"What? No!" Y/n yelled.

"Sí."

"You can’t do that!"

Alexia turned to her with a calm expression. "I just did, nena.”

Y/n ran her hands through her face dramatically. “You’re ruining my career, forever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alexia waved off with one hand. “You’ll survive.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“We’ll see that.”

Y/n groaned again and rolled her eyes.

"You beware, Olga," Y/n mumbled, crossing her arms and looking out of the window. "She’s always this pain in the a–"

"You just won yourself another game on the bench," Alexia said. “Wow, that’s got to be a new personal record, huh?”

Looked at Alexia through the rearview mirror, indignation on her face. 

Olga raised her eyebrows, biting back a grin as she watched Y/n’s reaction. She gave her leg a light pat, offering no real support.

"Oh, rough amiga, but maybe you can study a bit while you’re on the sideline."

"You know what, Olga," Y/n said with a betrayed look in her eyes. "I don’t like you anymore."

..

When they finally reached Alexia’s house, Y/n was determined to get back at Alexia for being so… she wasn't actually sure. A responsible adult?A good guardian? It didn’t matter the reasoning, she just wanted to annoy Alexia.

But now, after meeting Olga, Y/n realized there were even better and more efficient ways to annoy Alexia.

As they stepped inside, Y/n noticed how familiar Olga seemed with the place, so she couldn’t help but smirk, and she formulated a plan.

"It’s your first time here?" Y/n asked, casually tossing her gym bag by the door.

"Nena," Alexia warned, making sure Y/n knew Alexia was very aware of what she was doing.

"Oh, no," Olga said, flashing Y/n a smile. "I’ve been here before… You know, movie nights and stuff like that."

"Oh yeah," Y/n said, dragging out the words with insinuation. "Movie night, I get it," she winked at Olga.

"So where am I sleeping?" Y/n asked, changing her attention from Olga to Alexia.

"Guest room."

"But you only have one guest room!" Y/n protested, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah? And?" Alexia shrugged, her tone casual. "You’re only one person."

"But where’s Olga sleeping?" Y/n pressed, leaning in with a teasing grin.

"In my room," Alexia replied nonchalantly, trying not to make a big deal about it so Y/n wouldn’t make a big deal about it. 

But of course, Alexia was wrong.

Y/n shot a playful glance at Olga, eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, okay," she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone then…don’t wanna get in the way of more than just the date, you know."

Olga bit back a laugh, but Alexia turned to Y/n with a look that could kill.

"Go. Now." Alexia pointed toward the stairs. "And do all your homework for tomorrow. I’ll check in during breakfast."

All the playfulness drained from Y/n’s face.

"All my homework?” Y/n whined, “It’s a lot of stuff and it’s late already!”

"Should’ve thought of that before sneaking out to the pitch," Alexia said, her voice emotionless.

Y/n groaned dramatically. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. It’s part of the job," Alexia said, waving her off like it was nothing. "Now go."

..

Y/n did what Alexia asked of her, or at least…she tried.

She had to do homework for basically every subject because she didn’t get any work done during the week, so it was all piling up. She grabbed Alexia’s notebook from her room before accessing her school website and logging in to see every assignment and reading she had to do, and it was a lot.

She began her while lying on the bed, reading slide presentations and watching some YouTube videos about the subjects. It helped a little, but everything was still so blurry in her head.

Why did she have to learn geometry? Or learn about the deep history of every country in Europe? 

The girl groaned and closed the notebook, putting it aside.

She was dumb. That's what it was.

Y/n was always the slowest in class, the last kid to learn how to read or to spell, the one you absolutely didn't go to if you had questions about school work. Y/ns teachers also made sure she knew how bad she was compared to other students.

She felt inferior and worthless whenever she was in school. But when she was on the pitch? She was good–one of the best, even!

That’s why she didn't like to do homework, it reminded her how much harder she had to work compared to others just to get a 6/10.

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned around, she turned around a lot before she was actually able to fall asleep.

..

Y/n woke up to the sound of her phone ringing and vibrating aggressively under her pillow. She barely had time to process what was happening, and she looked at the screen on the phone, confused, reading the name Leah Williamson.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes, knowing exactly why Leah was calling. She had barely survived Alexia’s lecture, and now she is going to have to hear through another one.

With a deep breath, Y/n clicked the green button on the screen. "If this is about the email, I–"

"What email?" Leah's voice came on, slightly confused.

"Hmm… this isn’t about the email?"

"No, this is about you not doing your homework–according to Alexia" There was a pause. "Should I be checking my email too?"

Y/n cursed under her breath before replying. "No! No email. Forget I said that…I just woke up, so I must have, hm, dreamed about…emails"

"Uhum,” Leah said sarcastically. "I’ll be asking Alexia about that later…Now tell me what the hell is going on with you? Sneaking to the pitch? Really?"

Y/n winced. "Leah, I’ve already talked to Alexia about it, I don’t need you too–"

"Yes, you do need me to talk to you because it seems like you think you’re your own person, but you are only sixteen.”

“Leah!” Y/n groaned.

"No, Y/n. You don’t get to complain. You promised you’d take school seriously." Leah said, and Y/n quickly remembered the numerous times Leah had also lectured her about it during camp. "And don’t try the ‘football is all I need’ argument, because you and I both know that’s not true."

Y/n pressed her lips together, knowing full well she wouldn’t win this one. She kept quiet, scared to say the wrong thing and make Leah even more mad.

"I’m serious, Y/n. You need to get your act together. Alexia’s worried!" Leah said. "She told me it wasn't the first time that you played football instead of studying! You need to learn your responsibilities."

Y/n muttered something that Leah couldn't understand..

"What was that?" Leah asked

"I said that Alexia is a snitch."

"She’s a snitch because you didn't tell me first," Leah said. "But since I need to have the Alexia Putellas on my phone giving me updates about your school life, we both decided to do things in our own way."

Y/n gulped, scared of whatever Alexia and Leah had planned together

"You can expect a lot, and I mean a lot of textbooks in your room when you get to camp," Leah said. "I’ll keep a close eye on you here in England, and Alexia will do the same when you’re in Barcelona; we won’t let you keep this on."

"Serious kid," Leah continued. "You moved to Spain on your own at sixteen, you have your own house, you’re talented, but you refuse to do a few math exercises? Come on, mate"

"I’m sorry," Y/n muttered. "I’ll be better, I’m just…"

"What?" Leah asked, her voice softer now.

"I'm dumb, okay!" Y/n blurted out before she could stop herself. "I don’t get things quickly, and it just—it doesn’t stick like it does with other people."

"Hey, don’t say that," Leah cut in, her voice sharp with concern. "Struggling with school doesn’t make you dumb, you’re smart, kid. You wouldn’t be where you are if you weren't."

"It doesn't seem like that most of the time," y/n said in a low voice.

"You might not see it," Leah said. "But the people around you certainly do, that’s why we keep pushing you, we know you can do much better."

"Look, I have to go," Y/n sighed. "Alexia apparently has to go to school with me today."

"Okay, kid, we’ll talk later, then," Leah said. "Good luck with that! Love you, bye!"

"Love you too," y/n said before she hung up the phone and put it aside.

Y/n rubbed the sleep off of her eyes, and that’s when she heard the door crack open.

"You’re not dumb, nena," Alexia said, firm but gentle.

Y/n’s head snapped up. "Ale! Were you…eavesdropping on my conversation?"

"Sí," Alexia replied without hesitation, crossing her arms. "You’re loud, and I was coming to tell you breakfast is ready."

Y/n groaned, sinking further into her seat. "Unbelievable."

Alexia didn’t waver. She leaned forward slightly, her expression serious. "Cariño, listen to me. You are not dumb. Don’t ever say that again, do you understand?"

Y/n hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. "I just have a really hard time with…school.”

“Then we’ll get you help,” Alexia sighed, stepping closer to Y/n and sitting on the bed by her side. “But first you need to try, you can’t give up like that.”

“We’ll figure it out, sí?” Alexia continued. “I’ll talk to your teachers today, and we’ll think of something.

Y/n nodded, a little more reassured. "Okay."

“Girls!” y/n heard Olga calling from downstairs. “Your breakfast is getting cold!”

“Breakfast, huh?” Y/n nudged Alexia with her shoulder. “Should I get used to seeing Olga around?”

Alexia rolled her eyes, ignoring Y/n and extending her hand, palm open. 

“Let me see your homework.”

“Oh come on, mate!”

..

When Alexia said she'd find Y/n some help, she really wasn’t joking.

She had created a whole schedule that balanced football, school, and dedicated study time. She even printed it out and made Y/n hang it in her room, so she’d always know what her day looked like.

Since she was a student-athlete, she only attended school for half the day, doing the rest online. Her schedule was packed—morning classes, lunch, training, online lessons, more training, and homework. That last part? She used to skip it. But now, with Alexia’s plan written out for her, she actually stuck to it.

At first, Y/n thought she’d hate it. That she'd never get used to it. But having a routine was so much easier than doing whatever came to her mind. Plus, her schedule included team study nights, and those turned out to be some of the most fun days of the week.

“I don’t get it,” Aitana said, holding her biology book close to her face, eyes squinted. “It looks so weird.”

Pina turned the book, which was upside down– for her. “Maybe this way is better.”

“No,” Aitana shook her head. “Still weird.”

Y/n was in the middle of writing an essay when their conversation caught her attention. She looked up and scooted close to Aitana and Pina.

“What are you guys looking at?” Y/n asked.

“This,” Aitana said, pointing at the page.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows “Oh, that’s how the replication of DNA goes.” Y/n said casually, coming back to her work. “You know, double string, DNA polymerase, nucleic acids.”

There was silence.

“And since when did you know that?” Pina finally asked.

Y/n shrugged, getting back at her assay. “Just do.”

“Oh,” Aitana muttered, back to the books. “Alexia is for sure going to love that.”

“Please make sure to tell her,” Y/n sighed dramatically.  “So she can take me off the bench already,” 

..

Y/n had just finished a painfully online lesson when her phone rang. She barely glanced at the screen before answering.

“What?”

“Hello to you too, sunshine,” Leah's dry voice came through.

“I’m busy,” Y/m said, taking the pencil she was holding off of her mouth before taking a new textbook and putting it on her study table.

“Too busy for your favorite captain?” Leah teased.

“Oh, I didn’t know this was Alexia,” Y/n said, teasing Leah back;

“You’re awful.”

“Not as awful as school,” Y/n groaned, letting her head fall on the open textbook.

“That bad?” Leah hummed.

“I had to write a whole page about the First Carlist War, it took like an hour!”

“Wow, a whole page,” Leah snorted. “I’m impressed you survived that.”

“You said that because you aren’t the one having to write about dead people after an excruciating training session.”

“Yeah, if you actually did your work, maybe Alexia wouldn’t have to babysit you and make that schedule.”

“She doesn’t babysit me!” Y/n scowled. Offended. “I still live alone and-”

“Oh really?” Leah interrupted. “Then what’s that piece of paper in your room that tells you exactly when to eat, sleep, study… breathe.”

“It’s a routine, Leah.”

“Yeah, routines are like fancy for babysitting teens,” Leah said. “But seriously, though, I'm happy you're actually following it, keep it up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/n huffed, but her lips twitched in a small smile “Don't worry.”

“Okay, kid, gotta go now,” Leah said. “I’m looking forward to your thrilling Carlist War facts when you get to camp next week.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you listen to them,” Y/n shot back, but it sounded more like a dare.

..

“Are you really sure this is a healthy way of studying?” Salma asked, eying the situation with doubt.

When Y/n had called her, Vick and Jana to her flat for a ‘Girl’s Night’, a Don Quixote quiz wasn’t something she was expecting.

“It seems like fun to me,” Vick said with a grin. “Go on, Salma, ask her already.”

Salma sighed but turned to Y/n, while Jana stood next to her, holding a pillow threateningly close to Y/n’s face. “Alright—why is the narrator of Don Quixote so different when compared to other books?”

Y/n groaned, “Ugh– okay! The narrator is different because the author itself is the one telling the story. But he, uh, kind of switches styles to first person sometimes to give some insight about the story, so it’s like he’s the narrator and a character,” she said quickly, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the impact,

Silence.

“Oh, come on,” Vick said, disappointed, glancing down at the little card in Salma‘s hand .“She’s right.”

Jana lowered the pillow dramatically. “Salma! Ask harder questions!”

“You guys are supposed to be helping me study for my literature test, not trying to beat me up with a pillow!” Y/n complained. “Give me some credit here!”

Salma flipped through the flashcards. “Okay, fine…Um, what does the character Dulcinea mean to the story?”

Y/n widened her eyes and opened her mouth. “Oh, hm, it’s like–”

Whack.

Jana didn't even wait for Y/n to say anything before hitting her on the face–hard.

“Jana!” Y/n complained, shoving the pillow away from her face and rubbing at the sore spot on her nose. “I knew that one! She exemplifies the emptiness behind Don quixote's quest for valor and virtue or some shit like that!.”

Salma hesitantly checked on her notes. “–Hm, yeah, she’s right.”

“See!” y/n said, pointing accusingly at Jana. “I was right, you shouldn't have hit me.”

“Oh, she should have hit you harder for being such a nerd,” Vicky mumbled

“Ok, that’s bullying,” Y/n said. “I'll report you to Aitana.”

...

A week later, Alexia stood with Y/n at the airport, arms crossed as she eyed her sternly. “Do your homework, Y/n. I’m serious. And if you have trouble, FaceTime me and we’ll do it together.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "Last time you tried to help me, you didn’t understand it either.”

Alexia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Olga helped you, though, so FaceTime her if you need to."

"You’re just trying to find reasons for me to interact with Olga because we’re like.. your favourite people in the world," Y/n smirked. 

Alexia ignored the comment and continued, “And I’ll call Leah to make sure you’re keeping up with everything we agreed on.”

"Great. Two captains breathing down my neck. Love that for me." Y/n groaned, throwing her head back dramatically.

"You’ll survive, cariño,” Alexia smirked. “Now go before you miss your flight.

..

Y/n was a smart girl, so she made sure to finish most of her homework on the flight to England. That way, when she got to camp, she wouldn’t have to stress over schoolwork too much.

“Hey,” Aggie and Grace greeted as they walked into the room.

The three of them were sharing a room at camp, though Aggie had seriously considered complaining about it. 

Every night, Y/n sprawled herself and a ridiculous number of books and notebooks across the floor, creeping very closely to Aggie’s side of the room.

“Wanna go out with us?” Aggie asked, leaning in the doorway. “We’re all heading to that restaurant we talked about.”

Y/n immediately looked up from her book, grinning as she pushed herself up, kicking her books aside. “Yes! You know I’ll never turn down a night out–”

“Have you done your math homework?”

The voice came from behind Aggie and Grace. Both girls instinctively stepped aside.

Leah.

Y/n’s excitement disappeared in seconds. Her shoulders dropped, and her grin turned into a frown. “Le, come on! It’s halfway done. I’ll finish it when I get back.”

“No,” Leah said simply. “You finish it first, then you go out.”

There was no room for argument. Leah was already disappearing down the hallway before Y/n could even think of an excuse.

“I hate this.” Y/n groaned dramatically as she flopped onto Aggie’s bed, ignoring the judgment of the girl's eyes. “I hate school. I hate math. I hate Leah.”

“I think she’s still in the hallway,” Grace whispered.

“It’s alright,” Y/n groaned, “she knows how I feel.”

Y/n mourned her lost night out for a short thirty seconds before she had a brilliant idea. She turned around on the bed, facing the girls, her best puppy dog eyes on her face as she silently pleaded for help.

Grace and Aggie exchanged a look. They both sighted, already regretting it.

“Okay, fine,” Grace said. “We’ll help you finish it faster.”

Y/n happily got off the bed and picked up the math book she had so dramatically kicked under the bed earlier. She flipped to the exercises page and showed it to them.

Both Grace and Aggie squinted their eyes.

“Wait,” Aggia frowned, looking at it closer. “What is this? Where are the–numbers?”

“It’s algebra,” Y/n muttered. “It only has letters.”

“How are we supposed to calculate anything if it doesn't have any number?” Grace asked, despair on her face.

“I'm so not going out tonight,” Y/n said hopelessly.

“I mean..” Aggie began hesitantly. “What’s the worst that could happen if you just…didn’t do it?”

“Yeah,” Grace nodded. “It’s not like Leah would, I don’t know…punch you or anything.”

Y/n went still, but then, with a slow and heavy sigh, she closed the textbook, looking at the wall, as if she was staring into the void. “She’d do something much worse than punching me.”

Aggie and Grace shared another nervous glance. “Like–?” Aggie asked.

“She’d tell Alexia,” Y/n said, eyes full of dread.

“Oh,” Grace paled.

“Yep,” Y/n nodded. “And Alexia would definitely make me do some boxing classes with her just so she could punch me in a non-illegal way.”

Aggie swallowed. “Alright,” she said, trying to shake her fear. “Let’s, hm, do some…math.”

Y/n smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

Algebra wasn't easy. At all.

Aggie, Grace and Y/n tried very hard, but they took 30 minutes to do one exercise–and they weren’t even sure if it was right.

“This isn’t working,” Y/n groaned, staring down at the ruined page in front of her. The paper was ripped in half from how many times she had erased her answer. “We need another plan.”

“I know what we could do, actually,” Aggie announced.

Y/n and Grace perked up. “What?”  Y/n asked hopefully.

“Lucy,” Aggie said in a lower voice, leaning in. “She could do that in like… 20 minutes”.

Y/n blinked. “Lucy?”

“And since when does Lucy know anything about algebra?” Grace frowned.

“She doesn’t,” Aggie admitted. “But we don’t need her knowledge. We need her personality.”

“You better not make me regret it,” Y/n said, “If Leah knows about it I'm gonna be screwed.”

“Relax, leave it out to me.” Aggia waved a hand dismissively.

With that, Aggie confidently grabbed the textbook and walked out of the room, leaving Y/n and Grace apprehensive.

Half an hour had passed before Aggie finally walked back in, holding the textbook as if she had just stolen it somewhere.

“I did it,” Aggie announced happily.

Grace and Y/n got out of the bed they were sitting on. “No way,” Grace murmured.

“How the fuck did she do that?” Y/n asked, snatching the book from Aggie’s hand, flipping the pages in disbelief.

“She did them all?” Grace asked, peeking behind Y/n’s shoulder.

All forty exercises. All done.

In Y/n’s defense, she had made twenty-five of them before Aggie and Grace had come to the room, so technically Lucy didn’t do all the homework for her– Lucy just… helped.

“What did you do, Aggie?” Y/n asked, mouth slightly open from the surprise.

“I dared her,” Aggie said, shrugging casually.

“You…dared her?” Grace asked.

“Yep! Knocked into her room and said I dared she could do those,” Aggie pointed at the book with her chin. “Lucy’s very competitive, so of course she said yes without asking any questions–she just snatched the book out of my hand and went to work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/n Grace.

“You’re like an evil genius,” Y/n said, shaking her head in amazement.

Y/n sat back, flipping through the pages in awe. “Lucy actually did it. Oh. My. God.”

“Oh, yeah,” Aggie said casually. “And then she asked if there were more.”

Y/n and Grace exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“We have got to use this against her more often,” Y/n muttered. “I feel like we just discovered a gold mine.”

“Exactly,” Aggie smirked. “Now let’s get ready, we have a night out waiting for us.”

..

The rest of the camp was unfazed. Y/n actually did all of her homework–by herself–and she didn’t even have to ask Lucy to do it. A true miracle.

It was safe to say Y/n was learning something.

Leah and Alexia were proud of her–even though, technically, she hadn’t mentioned the whole algebra episode to either of them. 

But it only happened once…It wasn’t like they were going to find out.

She just needed to make sure Lucy would stay away from Leah, or else she would be dead.

Literally dead. Gone.

Football would lose one of ot’s brightest stars.

..

The flight back home was good. 

Y/n actually enjoyed her flight this time because she had no school work to do, a feeling she hadn’t felt in weeks. And the best part? Coming back to Barcelona after winning four games during the international break.

That feeling was great. But not having to take a cab home because Alexia was waiting at the airport for her was even better.

When Y/n spotted the blonde before waving and grinning. She ran to her and practically crashed into Alexia’s arm, her suitcase rolled somewhere behind her.

“I see you missed me,” Alexia teased, wrapping the girl in a hug.

“No, I didn’t,” Y/n mumbled, her face buried in Alexia’s hoodie.

Y/n loved England. It was her home–the place where she grew up, where her real family lived. It reminded her of her childhood, of play dates with her cousin and road trips with her parents.

But Spain was hers. The place she chose, surrounded by people she picked. It was different 

“Leah told me you were actually good,” Alexia murmured. “Did everything, didn’t skip any online school.” 

Alexia and Y/n walked through the airport.

“Yeah! What can I do? I’m actually smart when I want to be,” Y/n smiled..

Alexia hummed, but this time with a hint of amusement.

“So you imagine my surprise,” Alexia continued casually. “When Lucy texted me–something she hadn't done since she left Barcelona–saying she wanted to do more of your ‘exercises’, that they were cool.”

Y/n froze.

She felt her blood run cold, and she suddenly stopped. Alesia took two steps before realizing Y/n wasn’t by her side.

Alexia turned to look at her, eyebrow raised.

Fuck you Lucy, Texting Alexia? About algebra exercises?

“I, hm– well” Y/n’s brain short-circuited. “I can explain it?”

Alexia just stared.

Y/n’s mouth opened and closed. “So, technically, I did do my algebra homework.”

Alexia gave her an unimpressed, tired look.

“Like… twenty-five of them to be more exact.”

Silence.

“Which is most of them.” Y/n continued. “So you can’t be mad at me for that.”

“Does Leah know about it?” Alexia asked.

“Yes.”

Silence again

Alexia hummed and picked up her phone from her pocket. “So if I just called her right now and asked–”

“No!” Y/n blurted out, taking the phone from Alexia’s hand, “I mean–why bother her? She’s a busy woman! Euro winner and all, let’s not waste her time with…math.”

Alexia breathed through her nose, shaking her head as she calmed down. Then, the tiniest smirk appeared on her face.

Y/n was scared of what was coming.

“You’re helping clean the training center for a month.”

“No!” Y/n said dramatically.

“Sí

“Ale! Are you serious?”

“I am serious.”

“A whole month?!” Y/n rubbed her hands through her face.

“Sí.”

“Even the locker rooms?” 

“Especially the locker rooms, nena”

Y/n groaned and dragged her feet after Alexia.

“Will you tell Leah?” Y/n asked, her voice small, hoping it would make Alexia go softer.

Alexia paused for half a second–just enough to give Y/n hope. But then Alexia turned around, an annoyingly fond look on her face.

“That depends,” Alexia said. “Will you start taking your academic responsibilities more seriously?”

Y/n placed a finger on her chin, looking up. “Hmm…define ‘seriously’ first.”

Alexia sighed, already regretting giving the girl any choice.

..

Please let me know what u guys think!! Hope you liked it!!!

Masterlist

they uhm….still got it

new beginnings | something blue

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

summary: your whole life is uprooted after one fall

warnings: deadbeat and neglectful parents, arguments

notes: new series!! i am actually very excited for this one so hope y’all like it. also this is a longer one!!

You pant as the stadium lights blaze down on you, illuminating the slick, rain-soaked pitch. Your lungs burn, your legs ache, but you don’t stop moving— you can’t.

The air is thick with the scent of wet grass and sweat, and the roar of the student section vibrates through your chest, deafening, chaotic. You hear the distant pounding of the drumline, the frantic voices of your coach and teammates shouting instructions, but it all blurs together. White noise.

The scoreboard looms above, flashing 1-1, with the clock winding down. Your heart hammers against your ribs. If the streak ends here, you will never forgive yourself.

A messy clearance sends the ball bouncing, fast, unpredictable, through the center of the pitch. It ricochets off a defender’s shin and lands in your path, a gift wrapped in chaos.

For a split second, everything slows. The world shrinks to you, the ball, and the goal. You barely think. You don’t have time to. Instinct takes over.

With one touch, you push it forward, just enough to create space. A defender lunges in, too late. You see the keeper off their line—hesitating, shifting their weight, waiting for a pass that isn’t coming.

You pull back your leg and strike. The ball rockets off your foot, slicing through the air like a missile. You know it’s good the moment you hit it. The sound— that perfect, crisp contact rings in your ears.

The crowd collectively gasps. It climbs, spinning, curving then dipping, impossibly fast. The keeper scrambles, their hands stretching, but it’s a second too late.

The net ripples and for a second, there’s nothing. Silence. A breath held by thousands.

The stadium erupts. Your name is swallowed by the cheers, by the stomping of feet, by the chaos of bodies surging toward you. Your teammates crash into you, arms around your shoulders, voices wild in your ears. Someone grabs your face, shaking you, yelling words you can’t even process.

The scoreboard flashes 2-1. The final whistle blows. You did it. The streak lives as does your pride.

After the game, the celebration carries into the locker room, shouting, laughter, the slamming of lockers, the sharp scent of sweat and victory. You let yourself bask in it, let yourself feel it. The thrill, the relief, the high of it all.

By the time you step outside, your friends are waiting for you, still buzzing with excitement.

“That was insane!”

“Goal of the season, easy.”

“You’re a legend.”

They throw their arms around you, ruffling your damp hair, laughing, their eyes alight with pride. You try to brush it off, but their energy is contagious.

For a moment, everything is good. Eventually, one by one, they leave, disappearing into the night. The celebration fades. The stadium empties. The high starts to wear off.

And like always, you do what you’ve done after every game.

You take a slow walk along the stands, scanning the seats. Searching. Hoping.

The lights above hum, buzzing faintly in the quiet. The student section is empty now, just rows of vacant bleachers, puddles reflecting the glow of the floodlights. Your gaze drifts over every seat, your breath shallow. Maybe this time.

But the stands are empty. No familiar faces. No one waiting for you. Just like always.

You exhale, pressing your lips together. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You won. That should be enough. But the ache in your chest says otherwise.

The sun is dipping lower in the sky, staining the clouds gold and pink as practice stretches into the evening. The scrimmage has turned playful, full of taunts and laughter, the kind of session where the intensity is still there but the pressure isn’t crushing. It’s just fun… until it isn’t.

You’re dribbling down the pitch, slipping past defenders with ease, the ball glued to your foot. Someone shouts your name in warning, but it’s too late. A tackle comes in hard, way too aggressive for practice. There’s no time to react, no time to brace yourself.

You go down, and the impact rattles through your body, but the second you hit the ground, you know something is wrong. Pain explodes up your arm, sharp and immediate, radiating from your wrist.

You don’t scream, but you let out a harsh, shaky breath, cradling your wrist to your chest as you try to push yourself up only to be met with a wave of nausea as pain tears through your arm again.

“Shit, Azulita—”

“Is she okay?”

“Someone get the trainer!”

Voices swarm around you, overlapping, frantic. The player who tackled you hovers nearby, looking guilty as hell.

Your coach is there in an instant, crouching beside you. “Where’s the pain?”

You try to shrug it off, but even moving your shoulder makes your wrist throb. “Wrist.” Your voice comes out strained.

Someone helps you up carefully, supporting your arm as they guide you toward the sideline. The trainer takes one look and mutters, “We need to get her to the hospital.”

“No,” you fiercely shake your head, “No hospital please.”

“Ríos do not give me that bull today.” Your coach says in rebuttal. “You are going to the hospital. That is that. Am I clear?”

Your eyes start to water but the tears never fall. “Yes, Coach.”

The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain, muted voices, and the occasional bump in the road that makes you wince. Your teammates on the phone try to keep the mood light, cracking jokes, promising to cover your cast in the ugliest drawings possible.

But underneath it all, a weight is pressing down on you.

Hospitals mean paperwork. Paperwork means parents.

You barely process the check-in, the way the nurses poke and prod at your wrist, asking questions, nodding at your answers until suddenly, everything halts.

“Alright,” one of the nurses says, flipping through the forms, “we just need to get a hold of your parents for consent.”

Your stomach drops. They dial the number you gave them. You already know what’s coming. The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Voicemail.

Frowning, the nurse glances up. “Do you have another guardian? A relative we can contact?”

You shake your head, quickly, instinctively, throat tight.

She tries again. Nothing.

“Sweetheart,” she says, softer now, “we can’t give you anything for the pain, and we can’t proceed until we get parental consent.”

The room closes in. Your teammates shift awkwardly, not sure what to say. The nurses murmur to each other. You stare at the floor, fingers tightening around the hem of your jersey, afraid to move, afraid to speak.

You could lie. Say they’re out of town. Say their phones died. Say something, anything. But the truth is pressing against your ribs, clawing up your throat. You don’t know where your parents are.

The minutes stretch long. Nurses come and go, but you refuse to meet their eyes, refuse to say anything. If they figure it out, if they realize you don’t have anyone, what happens next?

Then, a new nurse kneels beside you. She doesn’t push. Doesn’t demand answers. She just speaks, voice steady, familiar in a way you can’t place at first.

“You remind me of my little sister,” she says casually, watching you carefully.

You glance at her. The way she talks, the tone, the firmness, the care, it reminds you of Olga. Your throat tightens.

You don’t mean to say it. You don’t even realize the words are leaving your mouth until they’re already out, quiet and unsteady. “I haven’t seen or heard from my parents in months.”

The air shifts. The nurse straightens. Someone steps out of the room. The mood changes instantly. Your heart pounds. You shouldn’t have said anything. Now, everything is about to spiral.

Olga groaned as the sharp buzzing of her phone cut through the quiet of the bedroom. She shifted slightly, trying to ignore it, but the vibration continued, insistent.

Alexia, half-asleep, only tightened her arms around Olga’s waist, murmuring something incoherent against her shoulder.

Olga exhaled, debating ignoring the call altogether, but something about it felt urgent. Carefully, she pried Alexia’s arm away just enough to reach for the phone on the nightstand, squinting at the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

Her stomach twisted. Calls in the middle of the night were never good.

Reluctantly, she swiped to answer. “Hello?”

A brief pause. Then, a voice, calm, professional, but carrying a weight that immediately set Olga on edge.

“Is this Olga Ríos?”

“Yes.” She sat up slightly, rubbing at her face. “Who is this?”

“My name is Linda Perez, and I’m a social worker with Los Angeles County.”

Olga frowned, now fully awake. “Okay… what is this about?”

There was another pause, this one heavier.

“It’s about your sister.”

Olga went still.

“She suffered an injury earlier this evening during soccer practice at Willow Canyon Academy. She was taken to the hospital, but they were unable to reach either of her parents for consent to treat her injury. After further investigation, it became clear that your sister has been living without proper parental supervision for several months now.”

Olga’s breath caught in her throat. “Wait—what?”

The social worker continued, voice measured, but Olga could hear the underlying concern. “From what we’ve gathered, neither her father nor mother have been home for quite some time. Their numbers are disconnected or going straight to voicemail. She has no legal guardian available to authorize medical care or provide support.”

Olga felt like the room was tilting. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to process. “You’re telling me she’s been on her own?”

“Yes,” Linda confirmed. “And given the circumstances, her parents are now considered unfit. Without an immediate guardian stepping in, she will be placed into the system as a ward of the state.”

Olga’s stomach dropped. “She’s just a kid,” she said, voice tight, gripping the phone harder. “You can’t—”

“That’s why we’re calling you.” Linda’s tone softened. “You are her closest living relative. If you are willing, you can assume temporary guardianship. However, this is a serious commitment. You would need to take responsibility for her well-being, provide a stable home, and ensure she receives proper care.”

Olga didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll take her.”

Alexia, now sitting up beside her, stiffened at the urgency in her voice. Olga barely noticed, too focused on the conversation.

“Are you sure?” Linda asked. “This isn’t a decision to make lightly.”

“She’s my sister.” Olga was already kicking the sheets off, reaching for the nearest hoodie. “I’ll be on the next flight out.”

“Understood.” Linda hesitated. “Before you go— her injury. It’s her wrist. The doctors believe it’s sprained, possibly fractured. She needs surgery, but without parental consent, they can’t proceed.”

Olga clenched her jaw. “I give consent. Do whatever she needs.”

“I’ll let them know.”

The call ended, but Olga was already moving.

She threw open the closet, yanking out clothes, stuffing them into a suitcase with no real sense of order. Her hands were shaking. How did this happen? How did she not know?

Alexia grabbed her wrist, stopping her frantic movements. “Olga.”

“I should’ve known.” Olga shook her head, running a hand down her face. “She never said anything. I talked to her. I checked in. She never once told me she was—” Her voice caught.

Alexia squeezed her wrist. “You didn’t know.”

“I should have,” Olga snapped, then immediately winced at her own tone. She inhaled sharply. “She’s just a kid, Ale. She’s been alone for months. No parents, no one looking after her and I didn’t know. I should have known! Our dad has always been like this.”

Guilt burned in her chest. She thought back to every conversation, every time she’d asked, How are you? and got a casual, I’m fine in response.

Alexia’s grip on her tightened. “You are a good sister,” she said firmly. “You care. You’re doing the right thing now.”

Olga exhaled shakily, nodding. Alexia let go, only to start folding the clothes Olga had thrown into the suitcase.

“I’ll help you pack,” Alexia said.

Olga blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m coming.”

“You don’t—”

Alexia shot her a look. “Olga.”

Olga swallowed. The tension in her shoulders loosened slightly.

“Okay,” she murmured.

Alexia nodded, zipping up her own bag. “Then let’s go get your sister.”

The last time you saw Olga in person, you were twelve years old. She had come to visit for a month, and for the first time, you felt like you had a real family member, someone who truly cared, someone who loved you. You clung to every moment, every second of that summer, storing them away like treasures, hoping they would last.

Now, sitting in your social worker’s office, your leg bounces a mile a minute. Your fingers dig into the sleeves of your hoodie as you try to steady yourself, but your mind is racing. What if this doesn’t work out? What if she doesn’t want you? What if she sees you now and regrets coming?

The door swings open and Olga barely hesitates before crossing the room in quick strides. The moment she reaches you, her arms wrap around you tightly, pulling you in like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. You tense for half a second then melt into the embrace.

She smells the same, like citrus and something faintly floral. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face into her shoulder, and for the first time in months, you feel something close to safe.

She pulls back, hands still gripping your shoulders, and really looks at you. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes you in.

“You’re so—” Her voice catches, and she shakes her head. “Dios, has crecido tanto.” (God, you have grown so much.)

And you have. You’re nearly the same height as her now— maybe even taller. Your hair is longer, the tips dyed blonde. There are more piercings in your ears, and a small gold hoop gleams from your nose. Olga swallows hard. Her eyes are glassy, but she blinks quickly, shaking off the emotion.

Behind her, Alexia is speaking in low tones with your social worker, nodding as she listens. The woman slides a stack of paperwork across the desk, and Alexia flips through it, occasionally handing something to Olga to sign. It all feels so surreal.

Before you know it, you’re walking out of the office, bags in hand, stepping into the cool evening air. Alexia unlocks the car, sliding into the driver’s seat, while you and Olga settle in the back.

The drive is quiet.

You stare out the window, arms crossed, fingers tapping against your knee. The weight of everything sits heavy in your chest. Olga is here. You’re leaving your home, your LA. It’s happening so fast, and you don’t know how to process it.

Olga shifts beside you, then clears her throat.

“So…” she starts, trying to keep her tone light. “How’s school?”

“Fine.”

“Any favorite classes?”

A shrug. “Spanish.”

She exhales through her nose, tilting her head slightly. “Okay… uh, football? Are you still playing with Legends?”

You nod, still staring out the window. “Well, not anymore.”

Olga rubs her hands against her jeans, glancing at Alexia in the rearview mirror. Alexia gives her a small look that says, Give her time.

But patience has never been Olga’s strong suit. “Zulita,” she tries again. “I know this is a lot, but—“

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

It comes out sharp. Too sharp. You see Olga’s jaw tighten slightly.

“You needed someone to come,” she says, voice edged with frustration.

“I was doing fine.”

“Fine?” Olga scoffs. “Zulita, you were in the hospital alone. You had no one looking after you.”

“I was handling it.”

“No, you weren’t!” Her voice rises slightly, exasperation creeping in. “You’re fifteen! You shouldn’t have to handle it!”

The words hit something raw inside you. The frustration, the helplessness, the months of being on your own, of convincing yourself you were fine—it all bubbles up too fast.

“Well, I did!” you snap. “Because I didn’t have a choice! Because no one else was there!”

The car goes silent. Olga stares at you, her expression shifting from anger to something softer. Something sad. And then, she remembers.

She remembers the way you used to be as a kid— how you would lash out when things got too overwhelming, how your emotions always felt too big for your body, how you would snap and yell because it was the only way you knew how to feel heard.

She exhales, rubbing a hand over her face. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice quieter. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

You glare out the window, arms still crossed, but the anger is already fading into something closer to exhaustion.

You shift uncomfortably. “…Yeah. Me too.”

She huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. “You’re still so hot-headed, Zulita.”

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye, lips twitching just slightly. “Takes one to know one.”

Olga snorts, nudging your knee with hers.

Alexia just smiles from the front seat, shaking her head as she drives.

Spain doesn’t feel like home. You only vaguely remember it— small flashes from the two times your dad brought you to visit Olga. The streets, the language, the way the air smelled different. But those were just trips. You were always going back to LA. Now, you’re here. Permanently. And you hate it.

The Spanish is different. The people are different. The food is different. Everything is different.

Your emotions are a tangled mess, a constant weight in your chest that you can’t shake. You don’t know how to deal with it, don’t know how to explain it, and the one thing that’s always helped, football, has been ripped away from you. You haven’t played since you landed a week ago.

Olga is smothering you. She means well, but it’s too much. She hovers, questions everything, watches your every move like you’re some fragile thing that might shatter at any second.

Alexia is different. She gives you space. She doesn’t treat you like a kid. She sees you not just some troubled teenager Olga suddenly has to take care of, but a person trying to survive in a world that doesn’t feel like theirs. She doesn’t push, just waits.

But none of that stops everything from boiling over.

You never meant to revert to your old ways. The one good thing about Spain was the fact that you had a chance at a fresh start.

But, as you’re sitting at lunch, music blasting in your headphones, trying to block everything out. Trying to breathe, you see it.

A younger kid, probably first-year, backed against a wall, shoulders hunched, eyes darting around like a trapped animal. A taller guy standing in front of him, sneering, shoving his shoulder. Words are exchanged, but you can’t hear them.

What you can see is the way the younger boy’s hands shake, the way he flinches when the older one steps closer.

And suddenly, your body moves before your brain does.

You’re up. Across the cafeteria. Pulling the guy away from the kid.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snap.

The older guy sneers at you. “Who the hell are you, weirdo?”

You don’t think. You react. Shoving. Yelling. Someone grabs your arm, but you shake them off. A fist swings, and suddenly, you’re in it.

Then there are teachers. Hands pulling you back. Your heart pounding.

Before you even register what happened, you’re sitting in the principal’s office, hands balled into fists, jaw locked.

The secretary dials a number. You hear them say Olga’s name.

You shut your eyes and brace yourself. The car ride home is brutal.

“What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how serious this is? You just got here, and you’re already getting into fights? You’re lucky they didn’t expel you! Dios mío, do you know how hard it was to convince them not to suspend you? This is a top school, Azulita!”

You don’t answer. You stare out the window, jaw clenched, fingers digging into your uniform. You take a deep breath and bite your tongue.

Alexia is quiet for the most part, watching you through the rearview mirror.

Then she asks, voice calm, “Did they provoke you?”

You glance at her, hesitating. “…Yeah.”

“Were they hurting someone?”

Your throat tightens, but you nod.

Alexia hums but doesn’t say anything else.

Olga, on the other hand, is still going. Your breaths get more labored, “Olga. Please drop it for now.”

When you pull into the driveway, you don’t wait. You’re out of the car before it fully stops, slamming the door behind you and stalking inside.

Olga moves to follow, but Alexia stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Let her breathe,” she says.

Olga exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “She can’t just go around hitting people, Alexia!”

“I know,” Alexia says evenly. “But from what the principal said, and what she just said, she wasn’t fighting for no reason. She was standing up for someone.”

Olga’s shoulders drop slightly.

Alexia gives her a look. “You know better than anyone how she is. She doesn’t just get angry— she reacts. She’s been through a lot. You have to meet her halfway.”

Olga presses her lips together, sighing. “…Yeah. You’re right.”

She takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and heads upstairs to your room.

She knocks. No response.

She knocks again. “Zulita, can we talk?” Silence. Something feels wrong.

She pushes the door open to be met with an empty bed. The window is open. Your phone is on the nightstand. Panic slams into her chest.

“Alexia!”

Alexia calms her down—barely.

“We’ll find her,” she promises, already dialing a number.

The call connects.

“Lucy,” Alexia says, straight to the point. “We need your help.”

It takes a few hours, but they find you. A park, thirty minutes away. A small, empty field. You’re there, by yourself, shooting goal after goal. You don’t even turn when they approach.

Alexia watches as you line up another shot, striking the ball perfectly into the top corner. It’s instinct. You don’t even think, don’t hesitate. Your body just knows what to do.

She and Lucy exchange a look.

Alexia steps forward. “You scared Olga half to death, you know.”

You exhale, resting your hands on your hips. “I needed to clear my head.”

“So you left your phone and ran off?”

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you mumble.

Alexia frowns. “Of course we care.”

You sigh, rolling the ball under your foot. “I just—everything is too much. It’s too different. Spain is different.”

Alexia doesn’t push. She just listens. You stand there, staring at the ball as you line up your next shot, feeling the weight of everything that’s been building up inside you. The silence between you and Alexia stretches, and for the first time, you feel like you can let it out. Let her see the truth of how hard this has been for you. The truth of what you’ve been holding in for so long.

“I’m not used to this,” you say, your voice low but steady, breaking the silence. “It’s… it’s hard, you know? Everything back home just… made sense.”

Alexia’s eyes are focused on you, not speaking, just letting you continue.

You exhale deeply, trying to find the right words. “Back in LA, everything was… routine. It wasn’t easy, but it was my life. You know? I didn’t need to think about it. The corner store, Mr. García, that old man who ran it—he gave me free snacks if I swept the floors for him.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold back the emotion that threatens to spill. “He wasn’t rich, wasn’t some big store owner or anything. He was just an old man who liked to help out kids like me. And I did what I had to do. I didn’t complain about it because it meant I got to eat something I didn’t have to pay for. And I felt good doing it. Like, that was a part of me.”

Alexia’s eyes soften as she listens, and you shift uncomfortably, but keep going.

“There was also Mrs. Alvarez, the seamstress who lived down the block. She used to fix my clothes when they tore or when I just couldn’t afford new ones. She’d take the time to patch them up, make them look good as new. And she’d always say, ‘I’ve got your back, mija.’ Even when I couldn’t pay her. She’d make me new stuff too, just out of kindness.”

You pause, feeling the lump in your throat grow.

“And the grocery store? They’d let me stock the juice shelves for an hour or two, and in exchange, they’d give me a bag of groceries. It was the only way I could get some food most times. I mean, I didn’t care, you know? I was just a kid, trying to make it through. But I was making it.”

You stop and look down at the ball, trying to steady your breathing. “Everything back home was like that. A hustle, yeah, but a hustle I understood. It wasn’t perfect, but it made sense. People helped each other out, and you helped them back. I knew how to survive.”

You look at Alexia now, feeling the weight of your confession. “I got a scholarship, you know? A football scholarship to the best program in LA. And it wasn’t handed to me. I worked my ass off to get there. I had to claw my way in, beat out all the other kids who had better coaches, better gear, better everything. But I fought for it. I did it alone. No one helped me get there. It was just me, and I… I made it.”

You can feel the emotion building, the frustration, the anger, the sadness, all of it hitting you at once. “And now, I’m here. And I don’t know how to make it make sense. I don’t know how to fit in. Spain is nothing like LA. The Spanish is different. The people are different. And I feel like I’m… just lost. Like I don’t belong here.”

Alexia doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer advice or try to fix things. She just nods, listening, letting you spill everything.

“I didn’t know how to handle that. I didn’t know how to adjust. And yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but…” You clench your jaw, fighting the tears that are threatening to come. “It’s hard to start over. I didn’t think I’d have to do this again.”

Alexia stays silent for a long moment, letting you talk through everything. Then, when you’re done, she finally speaks.

“You’re right,” she says softly. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, Zulita. I’ve been in Barcelona my whole life, so this—what you’re going through—this isn’t something I understand. But I can understand that it’s hard.”

You nod, your chest heavy. “I don’t want to be ungrateful. I know this is an opportunity. But it just feels like I’m starting over in a place that isn’t mine. A place that isn’t home.”

Alexia smiles softly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out all at once. You’re allowed to feel frustrated, to miss home. You’re allowed to take time to adjust.”

You look up at her, feeling a little lighter, a little more seen. “Thanks,” you say quietly.

Alexia’s gaze softens as she watches you, clearly understanding. “But there’s something you need to do. You need to talk to Olga about this. It’s the first step in the right direction, okay?”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering it. You know she’s right, but it still feels hard. Still feels like you’re betraying everything you built back in LA. But Alexia’s words make sense.

And when you finally nod, Alexia adds, “Talking to her is the first step, but we’ll get through this together. All of us. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

You take a breath and look back at the goal, focusing on the ball again. The frustration, the anger, the confusion—it’s still there, simmering. But for the first time since you got to Spain, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can start figuring this out.

Maybe you can make this work, too. You sigh, staring down at the ball. “…She treats me like a kid.”

“She treats you like someone she loves,” Alexia corrects gently.

You chew on your lip, kicking the ball toward the goal again. It soars into the net.

Alexia and Lucy exchange another look.

Alexia smirks. “We’re gonna have to get you on a team soon.”