This Is The Fluff I Need I’m My Life

YES! ❤️👀

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 9 Other Parts

Word Count: 8k

You’re still curled on the corner of the sofa, a blanket tossed over your knees. The TV is still on, the volume low something forgettable playing while your focus drifts elsewhere.

You glance toward the clock. She’s been gone longer than fifteen minutes. You smile, faint but fond, and call out toward the hallway with raised eyebrows, “Did you get lost?”

The front door opens almost exactly as the words leave your mouth.

Teddy barrels in first, nails clicking across the tile, tail wagging wildly. He goes straight for you like he missed you after ten minutes of freedom, launching his head into your lap and letting out a triumphant huff. You laugh, fingers immediately threading through his fur. “Hey, bud. You give her a hard time?”

Then you look up and the smile flickers, because there she is, standing with flowers. Wrapped in soft brown paper, a little loose around the edges like she carried them carefully but not nervously. The colours are muted, warm. Kind.

Alexia looks like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, she clears her throat. “Teddy got these for you.”

Your brows lift. “Oh, did he?”

She steps closer, still holding them like she might change her mind. “Yeah. Saw them. Thought of you. Made me carry them.”

You try not to smile too big. You fail. “Wow,” you say, taking them gently as she crosses the room. Your fingers brush hers. “He’s very emotionally intuitive for a dog.”

“Unbelievable instincts,” she murmurs, eyes flicking to your face just once before sliding away again.

You look down at the bouquet. It’s perfect, thoughtful, soft. Intentional, you bring it to your nose, breathing in. “Ranunculus,” you murmur, impressed.

She shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I liked the name.”

You glance up. “Liar.”

She huffs, rubs the back of her neck. “The woman in the shop said they mean charm.”

You blink. “They mean you’ve been reading into flower meanings?”

She gestures to Teddy. “He asked.”

You laugh, holding the flowers against your chest. “Well he has incredible taste.”

Alexia sits beside you now not too close, but close enough. One leg tucked under her, fingers fidgeting slightly at the hem of her shirt.

You shift the flowers to one side, still smiling. “Thank you,” you say, voice quieter now.

She nods, doesn’t look at you just yet. “You’ve had a hard week.”

You rest your head on the back of the couch, looking at her profile, “I’m glad it ended here.”

That makes her glance at you properly, her voice drops to a whisper. “Me too.”

Teddy sighs between you both loud, satisfied and neither of you moves.

You’re both half-watching the screen, the opening whistle just blowing for Bayern vs Hoffenheim. The stadium is loud through the speakers, commentary layered with the low hum of crowd noise.

Alexia stretches out slightly on the other side of the couch, her head resting back, one leg bent beneath her, the other stretched toward the edge.

She shifts, wincing faintly, you glance over. “You alright?”

She exhales through her nose. “My new boots are a nightmare.”

You turn your head toward her. “Blisters?”

“Worse. Pressure. They’re too narrow across the midfoot. I can’t feel my toes after 30 minutes.”

You frown. “Why didn’t you switch them?”

“I’m stubborn.”

You smirk. “No kidding.”

She kicks lightly in your direction. “Shut up.”

You nod to her foot. “Want me to rub it?”

She blinks, scoffing softly. “What?”

“Your foot. If it’s sore. I’ll rub it.”

She laughs short, dismissive. “You don’t have to—”

“I didn’t say I have to,” you cut in, turning toward her. “But I can do?”

She opens her mouth to protest again, but you’re already reaching forward gently taking hold of her ankle, shifting her leg into your lap.

“Wait” she says, more startled than offended, but your hands are warm and sure, thumbs already pressing into the arch with practiced pressure. She goes quiet, her head tips back against the cushion, eyes fluttering closed for a second.

You glance sideways, your tone smug but affectionate. “That’s what I thought.”

She mutters something in Catalan under her breath you've quickly learnt 'Annoying' in Catalan she says it multiple times whenever you're around, but she doesn’t pull away.

In fact… she melts, bit by bit, minute by minute.

The longer your thumbs work along the arch of her foot, your fingers tracing gentle circles along the pressure points, the more tension leaves her body like you’re unplugging something at the source.

At one point, she sighs not soft, not hidden and lies fully back against the couch, stretching out with her arm over her eyes.

You keep going, you’re not really watching the match anymore. “Still want to argue?” you murmur, thumb sliding along the curve beneath her ankle.

She doesn’t lift her arm, just shakes her head once.

“Didn’t think so.”

You smile, not because you’re winning but because she’s letting you in like this. Letting you take care of her, even in the small ways.

Your thumbs are working slow circles into the arch of her left foot, the pads of your fingers easing tension like it’s what you were born to do. Every time she exhales, you feel it the way her body settles deeper, the way her edges soften.

Then she mutters, eyes still closed, head still tipped back against the cushion, “Don’t stop.”

You don’t answer at first. Just slow your movements, then lift your hands away entirely.

She whines, actually whines, the softest, most involuntary sound from the back of her throat.

You tilt your head, grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Yeah?” you say, voice low, lazy. “Beg me.”

Her eyes snap open. “What?”

You tap her thigh twice, grinning. “Give me the other foot. Bring it up.”

She glares at you but it’s all performance, because she does it. Shifting with a groan, stretching the other leg out and settling it in your lap like she hates herself for giving in. “I’m not begging.”

You raise an eyebrow, already starting to knead at her heel. “No? Sounded like you were getting close.”

Alexia groans, draping her forearm across her face. “Cállate…”

You laugh quietly. “That’s not a denial.”

Her voice comes muffled from beneath her arm. “You’re impossible.”

“Comfortable, though.”

She doesn’t answer, but she does lower her arm a second later, peeking at you with a reluctant smile. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

You meet her gaze, and this time, your voice softens just a little “Maybe. Or maybe I just like making you feel good.”

That does get her, you can see it in the shift of her throat, the way she swallows, the flicker in her eyes, but instead of answering, she mutters, “Just focus on the foot.”

You smirk. “As you wish.”

And you do thumb sliding gently along the bridge, fingers pressing into the ball of her foot with care and purpose.

Her eyes close again but that smile it stays. You shift your fingers up her sole with another long, slow press and then glance at her with mock curiosity. “I wonder if Mateo would like a foot massage…”

She freezes, then pulls both feet out of your lap instantly, curling them protectively beneath her as she sat up like you’ve just committed an unforgivable sin. You burst into laughter. Her jaw drops. “You did not just say that.”

You grin, unrepentant. “I mean, he’s very emotionally intuitive—”

That’s all you get out before she lunges. One moment, she’s glaring at you, and the next she’s on you, hands going straight for your sides like she knows exactly where to strike. “Take it back!” she laughs, her fingers merciless at your ribs.

You squirm, gasping through your own laughter. “Never!”

“You’re the worst!” she says, laughing too hard to sound truly angry, and you grab for her wrists, trying to defend yourself and failing spectacularly.

She’s on top of you now, completely, your back against the couch cushions, her weight warm and steady, hair falling over her face as she grins down at you, breathless.

And then without warning the mood shifts, your hands are still wrapped around her wrists. Her laughter softens, her gaze catches on yours and stays there. Neither of you moves for a beat, then her smile fades into something else and you’re the one who leans up.

Her mouth meets yours in a kiss that starts soft a question, an answer then deepens quickly, all heat and relief and too many held-back moments finally spilling forward.

She tastes like mint and something sweet from earlier, her hands threading into your hair now, your fingers sliding up her back as you shift beneath her, anchoring her to you like this is where she was always meant to be.

Her body presses down into yours, slow and certain.

You sigh against her mouth, hand sliding under the hem of her shirt just to feel her skin warm, smooth, real.

She hums softly, mouth never leaving yours.

When you finally pull apart barely her forehead rests against yours.

Her voice is breathless. “No more Mateo jokes.”

You grin, tugging gently at her shirt. “Noted. Only adult massages from now on.”

She kisses you again, laughing into your mouth and this time, it lingers, it deepens quickly. No trace of teasing now.

Her weight is settled fully on you, one hand still twisted gently in your hoodie at your chest, the other sliding up to your jaw, fingers resting lightly like she wants to feel every inch of this moment.

You tilt your chin slightly, meeting her with a slow kind of urgency not rushing her, just matching her intention.

It’s not messy. It’s not loud. Every press of lips, every brush of breath between you, every shift of her hips over yours, you can feel her smiling against your mouth now and then small, involuntary things that make your stomach tighten and your chest ease all at once.

She pulls back only slightly, her eyes heavy-lidded, warm.

“Come here.” You whispered, you weren't any near done with this yet.

She kisses you again slow, warm, her mouth parting under yours now, her hands sliding beneath your hoodie, fingertips exploring the skin at your waist like she’s been thinking about this too long not to remember it.

You sit up slightly, enough to push the hoodie over your head, her gaze following every motion, eyes catching at the hem of your shirt riding up.

Then her lips are back on yours before you can say another word, and it’s closer now hands moving with purpose, mouths syncing, breath hitching with each shift.

Your hand slides under her shirt, slow, reverent and she lets you, her stomach twitching under your touch, her breath catching in your mouth.

The match on the TV is long forgotten.

All that’s left is the warmth of skin under fabric, the gentle gasp she makes when your thumb brushes just beneath the curve of her ribs, the way she sighs your name like a secret she’s finally allowed to say aloud.

And when she pulls back again hair mussed, lips swollen, flushed she looks at you like you’re the only thing that’s made sense all night.

And then the buzz, a low, persistent vibration on the coffee table, neither of you moves at first. You groan softly, tilting your head toward the sound, reluctant, when it keeps going.

Alexia does it for you shifts just slightly, propping herself on one elbow, squinting at the screen.

Then she says, calmly, but not without interest, “Abby”

Your heart skips a beat, "My agent" You explain, “Shit,” you mutter.

She moves off you gently, giving you space, as you sit up her hand brushing yours once before letting go.

You grab your phone, the name staring up at you. Unmissable. You glance back at her once. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Alexia nods, softly. “Take it.”

You walk barefoot through the open bi-fold doors, out onto the cool tiles by the pool. The night air hits your skin crisp, welcome, grounding. You swipe to answer. “Hey,” you say, trying to steady your voice, trying to hold on to what just happened with her.

There’s no delay. No warm-up, your agent’s voice is all urgency. “I know it’s late, but I didn’t want you finding out from the press.”

Your stomach tenses. “What happened?”

“They’ve made a decision,” she says. “Your club. They’ve told me you're being released at the end of your contract.”

Silence. Just you, and the still water at your feet. You don’t say anything at first. “But I have a year and a half left yet?”

“They’re not extending. They’re making room. New signings, different direction. They’re spinning it as a mutual decision.”

You stare into the water. Your reflection isn’t clear too many ripples. “They’re done with me.”

Your agent hesitates. “They’ve moved on. But you’re not done. That’s what matters.” You nod slowly, not trusting your voice. “You knew this might happen,” she adds gently.

You swallow hard. “I didn’t want to be right.”

A pause. “I’ve already had a few calls,” she says. “Clubs asking what’s next. You’ve still got options.”

You exhale slowly. “Okay.” You need a second. Maybe more than that, but it's time you haven't got. “Are there any options to leave now?” you ask. Your voice is low, tight. “Loan, even. Buyout, if someone bites. I can't stay there knowing they don't want me for all that time”

Your agent doesn’t hesitate. “That’s what I’ve been checking since I heard.”

“I can’t sit on a bench for another year and a half.” You run a hand down your face. “By then, no one will want me.”

“They already do,” she says calmly. “There are clubs watching. But they’ll want clarity. They’ll want minutes.”

“I don’t have any minutes,” you mutter.

“But you have history. Presence. Reputation. That’s something especially if you can go now, I can blame the Portugal match for lack of minutes right now but that can only ride for so long.”

There’s a pause. You press harder, “If it’s loan or nothing, I’ll take the loan. I just—” You stop yourself. Lower your voice again. “I need to play. That’s it.”

Your agent exhales softly on the other end. “Okay. Then that’s what we go for.”

You nod, mostly to yourself. “No press release. Not until we know where I’m going.”

“I’ll control the timing,” she assures you. “And I’ll push.”

Another silence. But this one has more oxygen in it. A plan is forming now, the kind that keeps you standing when everything else tries to shrink you down. “Thanks,” you say. “Call me if anything changes.”

“I will.”

You end the call and let the phone drop into your lap. You’re sitting on the edge, legs stretched out in front of you, phone limp in your hand, eyes fixed somewhere that isn’t the water anymore. Behind you, soft footsteps on the tiles. No rush. Just presence. Then her voice quiet, but sure. “You’re going to tell me you have to go home, aren’t you?”

You don’t look at her right away. Just breathe. Then glance sideways, “Says the woman flying off tomorrow for international camp.”

She lets out a short, low laugh and comes to sit beside you, her legs crossing beneath her. “Fair,” she murmurs. Silence slips between you, but it’s not sharp. It’s soft around the edges. Then barely above a whisper. “Be here when I get back?”

You look at her now. She’s not smiling. She’s not pushing. She just looks at you with something open in her eyes not desperate. Just hoping.

You search her face for a second, the quiet honesty of her question wrapping around you like a thread you didn’t expect. You nod, once. Steady.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Ok.”

She nods too, slowly, like she’s folding that answer away somewhere private. Then she leans just slightly, her shoulder brushing yours, her voice closer now. “Good.” You smile faintly, fingers curling around the edge of the pool tiles. She leans her head gently onto your shoulder, and neither of you says anything more.

⚽️

You wake slow, the kind of sleep that leaves your body heavy and your thoughts scattered. For a moment, you don’t remember where you are. Then you do.

The bed is warm, but the other side is empty.

You blink against the pale morning light seeping through the open window, the distant sound of traffic barely audible under the chirp of birds and the occasional shuffle of Teddy’s tail against the hallway floor.

You pull on one of Alexia’s hoodies, the first thing within reach, and pad barefoot down the hall. The kitchen is quiet.

The coffee machine is on, half-full pot waiting like she knew you’d wake up slow. The blinds are half-open, and Teddy’s already curled in the sunspot by the sliding doors.

And then you see it, propped against the side of your mug. A small folded note. Her handwriting, neat but unhurried. You pick it up, fingers brushing the edge of the paper.

It simply says:

Didn’t want to wake you. Behave yourself I’ll call when I land. — A 🐾 (Teddy's in charge)

You stare at it for a second longer than you mean to, then press it flat to the countertop with your palm.

You pour the coffee, lean against the counter, hoodie sleeves falling over your hands. Teddy stretches and pads over, nosing your shin before plopping down at your feet.

You run a hand absently over his head, sipping quietly. “She left you in charge, huh?” He doesn’t move, neither do you, because in this silence, you can feel it, serenity.

⚽️

At Spains international camp the common area is buzzing in the low, distracted way it always does before a double training session players sprawled on beanbags and sofas, water bottles half-drained, music playing softly through a speaker in the corner.

Alexia’s cross-legged on the floor, back against a sofa, phone in one hand, a pair of boots beside her she still hasn’t started re-lacing. Jana’s flipping through a playlist, Olga and Aitana talking quietly near the windows.

“Oye, have you seen the gossip about Y/N?” Misa says suddenly, screen raised, eyes wide in half-shock, half-entertainment.

Alexia’s head snaps up. Her tone is immediate, too sharp to hide, “What?”

Misa blinks, surprised. “It’s just online. People are talking.”

Alexia is already moving rising to her knees, tossing her phone on the cushion behind her. “Where?”

Misa scrolls quickly, tapping open a football blog post clearly being passed around. “Here,” she says. “I didn’t think it was—”

Alexia leans over her shoulder, jaw tight.

Misa reads aloud, frowning slightly, “Sources close to the club claim the relationship between Bayern’s head coach and their star forward Y/N has soured, becoming strained over the past few months. Once a fixture in both club and country starting elevens, Y/N has now fallen from both, failing to make England’s most recent camp. With a year and a half still on her contract, insiders question whether Bayern’s top goalscorer might now be seeking an early exit, or risk sitting out the season and losing her spot in any international contention completely.”

Silence. No one laughs. Not even Misa. Alexia stands properly now, arms folded, eyes fixed on the screen like she could burn it.

Only the Barça girls glance up, Patri, Mapi, Aitana, they know. The rest just wait, curious. Alexia’s voice is quiet, but firm. “She’s not gossip."

Misa looks up, taken aback. “I didn’t mean—”

“She’s still the best forward in Germany if not the world. I don’t care who wants to spin what.”

Aitana shifts closer, her voice low. “They’re just trying to fill space before the transfer window opens.”

Alexia nods once, jaw still clenched. “They don’t know anything.”

She doesn’t say but I do. She doesn’t have to. Misa softens. “Sorry, Ale. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Bayern are fumbling hard,” Laia says, shaking her head. “You don’t sit a player like her unless something serious went down.”

“Yeah, but with who?” Olga chimes in. “The coach? Management? She’s been everywhere and never had issues before.”

“They’ve got the best scorer in the league and they’re benching her?” Jana snorts. “What kind of manager does that?”

Mapi leans forward, hands clasped between her knees. “She’s done it all though, hasn’t she?”

Aitana hums in agreement. “WSL titles with Chelsea and Arsenal. Then Lyon the whole sweep, quadruple twice with them.”

“Champions League,” Olga adds, holding up a finger. “Coupe de France. Trophée des Championnes.”

“And now in Germany too,” Patri says, glancing up. “Bundesliga. Pokal. Supercup.”

They all go quiet for a beat. Then Misa says it half-laughing, half-serious, “Maybe it’s time she conquers Spain.”

A low whistle from someone near the back. “If she comes here, that’s history. No one’s done it across all those leagues.”

“She’d change everything,” Laia murmurs. “Again.”

Alexia stays completely still, she doesn’t speak, doesn’t react. Just stares quietly at the screen, then down at the floor, but her mind is full.

She knows how you feel about sitting out. About being silenced, and she knows, with sudden clarity, what Spain would look like with you in it. Next to her. Wearing the same colours. The others keep talking, but the noise fades at the edges for her. Because that one sentence echoes louder than all the rest,

“Maybe it’s time she conquers Spain.”

Alexia doesn’t say anything, but she’s thinking maybe it is.

⚽️

The water glimmers, warm and lazy, as you float on your back. The day has been quiet, just sun, silence, and Teddy passed out in a shady patch with his paw twitching in a dream.

You’re stretched out on a lounger, sunglasses sliding down your nose, droplets still clinging to your skin. Bikini straps low on your shoulders, hair damp, a book open across your stomach but forgotten pages ago.

Your phone vibrates once.

You lazily reach for it, barely glancing until you see her name.

Alexia 🖤 calling…

You smile immediately, swiping to answer as you sit up slightly. “Look who remembered I exist,” you tease, voice low and warm.

Her voice comes through with a soft laugh, a little static in the background. “I always remember you exist,” she says. “Even when my coach is yelling and Misa’s playing DJ badly.”

You chuckle, adjusting your sunglasses. “Sounds like a dream. What made you call?”

“I don’t know,” she says, and it’s honest. “Wanted to hear your voice.”

You pause at that. Let it settle. “Miss me already?”

A silence. Then, quieter, “Yeah.”

You pull your knees up slightly on the lounger, resting your chin on top. “I’m in a bikini, just so you know. Really missing out.” You were joking but Alexia definitely pauses. “Cruel.”

“Just setting the scene.”

“I already hate this camp,” she mutters, and you laugh.

“Go on, then,” you say. “Tell me about your day.”

She does, the drills, the heat, how she nearly tripped over Laia in a possession game. You listen, smiling, eyes closed, soaking in the sound of her, the rhythm of her voice. “Did you see the stuff online?” she asks eventually, softer.

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not right now,” you admit.

“Okay.”

You love that about her. No push. Just space. Just her.

“I’m proud of you, by the way,” she adds. “For not letting them decide what happens next.”

You smile, lips pressed together. “Thanks. That means more than you probably realise.”

You can almost hear her smile. “Are you going to swim after this?” she asks, tone lighter.

“Maybe. Why?”

“I just want the image. You know… for morale.”

You laugh, leaning your head back, full-bodied this time. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re distracting,” she fires back, smirking through the line.

“Good.”

“So… Misa said something earlier,” she starts, tone casual but laced with a thread of something else.

“Oh?”

“She was reading stuff online about you, and she said—” Alexia clears her throat. “She said maybe it’s time you conquered the Spanish league.”

You lean back again on your lounger, stretching, the sun warm on your chest. “Well,” you drawl, “I do love a new challenge.”

“I told her to shut up,” Alexia says quickly, but there’s a smile behind it.

You smirk, one eyebrow raised. “Why? Because she was right?”

“No,” Alexia deadpans. “Because I didn’t want her scouting you.”

You let the silence hang, playful. “Should I text my agent? See if Real Madrid are in the market?”

There’s a pause long enough to make you grin, “Don’t you dare,” she mutters, but her voice is light the edge of a laugh tucked behind every syllable.

“You’d fall out with me?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“I’d block your number.”

“Oh, ruthless.”

“But I’d still be checking your Instagram every morning.”

You laugh, tipping your head to the side, eyes closed. “I mean… you could have me closer,” you tease. “If someone else around here was bold enough to say what she really wants.”

Alexia’s quiet for a moment. Not heavy just… considered. “Maybe I am.”

Your stomach does a flip, but you don’t rush the silence. “Yeah?” you say finally.

“Yeah.” And then “But just for the record… if you ever wear white and gold, I’m fouling you every time i play you.”

You grin, biting your lip. “What about a little red and blue?”

This time, she laughs properly, low and delighted. “Now that’s more like it.” Alexia’s voice hums through the speaker, warm and unhurried now. “I’m just saying,” she murmurs, tone deliberately casual. “If you ever… happened to get the opportunity to play for Barcelona…”

You pause, one eyebrow raised, lips tugging into a grin. “Oh?” You tilt your head, biting your lip. “Wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“No,” she says, soft and sure. “I wouldn’t.”

You laugh gently, tapping the rim of your glass. “That sounds dangerously close to recruitment.”

“If I were recruiting,” she says, “I’d be way more convincing.”

You stretch your legs out, heart thudding just a little louder under your grin. “This isn’t convincing?”

She sighs, dramatic. “I’d buy you flowers.”

“You already did.”

“I’d take you for long walks along the training ground.”

You laugh. “Okay, romantic and tactical.”

“I’d promise to pass you the ball,” she adds.

“Oh, now we’re talking.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Unless you annoy me. Then I’ll ghost you on the pitch.”

“You already do that off it” you shoot back, after she apologised for next texting you like she promised when she got to camp.

“Lies.”

“Evidence-based truth.”

You’re both smiling now the kind of smiles you don’t need to see to feel. The kind that live in the quiet between words, in the softness under the jokes, then Alexia exhales, voice lowering again. “But really…” A pause. “If it ever happened… I wouldn’t just not mind. I’d… like it.”

You close your eyes. Let it settle. “Good to know,” you say quietly.

She’s quiet on the other end. Then, “You’d look good in blaugrana.”

You smirk, hand resting lightly over your chest, “You just want to steal my goals.”

She laughs, low and warm. “I want to keep you close.”

You let that sit there for a moment. It’s not a suggestion. Not a push. Just her giving you a piece of truth. You shift the phone to your other ear, voice dropping a little, grounding. “I told my agent to start asking around,” you admit. “If I can be bought out. Or loaned.”

The quiet on the other end changes not silence. Just focus.

“I can’t…” you sigh, thumb brushing your eyebrow. “I can’t sit on the bench for a year and a half. Or worse not even make it there like now. That’s not who I am. I’d rather fight somewhere new than fade where I am.”

Alexia doesn’t rush to answer, when she does, her voice is steadier than you expect. Warm. Clear. “I don’t want you to fade either. You're world class you should be playing”

You exhale, slowly. “I don’t know where I’ll go. I don’t even know what’s possible. But I know I’m not waiting around to be treated like I’m done.”

“You’re not done,” she says immediately. “You’re not even close.”

You smile again smaller this time, “I miss feeling like myself.”

“I see her,” Alexia says, quiet but full. “Every time I talk to you. Every time I think about you.”

That one makes you still, your fingers curl slightly against your leg, “Don’t,” you say softly, teasing edge still there, “make me cry in a bikini.”

Alexia laughs gently. “Then don’t cry. Just get ready.”

“For what?”

“For your next move,” she says. “For whatever’s coming next, because something is.”

You let out a breath that feels easier now. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Okay,” she echoes.

⚽️

The sun’s dropping low, casting long shadows through the trees as you walk slowly along the gravel trail. Teddy’s off leash, bounding through dry grass like a creature reborn. Johnny, Ellie’s squat little Frenchie keeps closer to the path, snorting like a tiny engine every few steps.

Kika’s walking ahead with Ellie, her injured leg braced, but she’s keeping pace well enough. They’ve been swapping stories for the last ten minutes mostly nonsense until Ellie slows a little and drops back beside you.

“So,” she says, tossing a look over. “Everyone’s talking.”

You raise an eyebrow. “About?”

She grins. “You. Bayern. The whole silence-followed-by-transfer-window frenzy. Just wondering if we should be refreshing woso gossip Twitter.”

You exhale a laugh, but it’s tight. You don’t answer right away.

Kika glances back, curious. “Is it true? You’re getting iced out by the coach?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

Ellie whistles low. “Shit.”

You kick at a stone on the trail. “It’s complicated,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “I… may have gone on a date with her daughter.”

Both their heads whip around.

“What?” Ellie says, loudly enough to make Johnny bark once.

Kika freezes in her step.

You shrug, trying to play it off. “We went for drinks. It was fine. But we didn’t click. She made a big deal of it. Or… maybe I did. Doesn’t matter now.”

“And?” Ellie asks, narrowing her eyes. “That’s not worth getting benched over.”

You hesitate. “I still went back to hers. After. We had sex. And I left while she was asleep.”

Silence. Even Teddy seems to pause. Kika’s jaw drops. Ellie groans, dragging a hand down her face. “Oh, babe…”

You shrug again, arms crossed now. “I didn’t mean to ghost her. I just… didn’t want to stay.”

Kika finally lets out a soft laugh. “Well. That explains it.”

“Yeah.” You exhale, glancing at the sky. “Now her mum doesn’t speak to me directly. Everything’s through assistants. I haven’t started a match since.”

Ellie bumps your shoulder lightly. “For what it’s worth, still a dumb reason to tank a player’s career.”

You nod, grateful. “Tell that to her.”

“She’s bitter,” Kika says. “And clearly threatened.”

You don’t say anything to that. You don’t have to, because somewhere behind all that regret, the quiet truth is you understood your coaches decision. Even it came from a personal perspective not professional.

⚽️

You, Ellie, and Kika settle at a small terrace café tucked into the curve of the walking trail. Johnny, Ellie’s French bulldog, pants happily beneath the table, while Teddy curls beside him with quiet, golden indifference.

You’re picking at the last of your sandwich when your phone buzzes.

Alexia 🖤 Boarding now. See you soon.

You smile without even thinking thumb hovering over the screen then you pause and breathe.

You glance up. “Alright,” you say. “Before I reply to this, you both need to promise not to say anything.”

Ellie looks immediately intrigued. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Kika, quiet but curious, lifts an eyebrow. “Secret agent stuff?”

“Something like that.” You lean back in your seat, eyes flicking between them. “Promise?”

Ellie lifts a hand like she’s swearing into court. “I swear. Unless it’s illegal. Then I’m out.”

“It’s not illegal.”

“Then go on.”

You exhale. The words come slower than expected, but they come. “So… you remember that Champions League quarter-final? The one against Barça?”

Ellie nods. “Of course. You were ridiculous in that second half. Alexia was tracking you the whole time.”

You half-smile. “Yeah. So… it started there.”

Ellie leans forward, her face already lighting with disbelief. “Started?”

“I don’t know what it was,” you admit. “We were just… close the whole game. Flirty, almost? Lots of looks. Touches. Corners. I thought I imagined it.”

Kika’s watching you carefully now, quiet but focused.

“But then after the match,” you continue, “she asked to swap shirts. I didn’t think it’d go further.”

Ellie’s eyes widen.

“But we started messaging. DMing. Then texting.” You glance down at your drink. “She came to see me in Munich. Just for a few days and then I went to Barcelona stayed at her place. Met her sister who took me to a game”

Ellie’s hand slowly lifts to her forehead. “You’ve seen her house?”

You nod. “Twice.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“And then,” you continue, softer now, “we kissed. A couple times. Nothing rushed. And this time? She said she wanted me here when she got back from camp.”

There’s a long pause.

“I’m here… for her.”

Ellie stares at you, mouth parted. “And you’ve been telling everyone you’re just having time off?”

“Technically true.”

“But you’re sleeping at her place.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

Ellie stares. Then bursts out, “This is huge! I thought you were just, like, walking the dog and brooding.”

“I am walking the dog and brooding.”

“With Alexia Putellas on the side!”

You laugh. “It’s not that serious, we share a bed but nothing happens”

Kika chimes in finally, voice thoughtful. “But it’s also… not nothing.”

That lands. You glance back down at your phone, rereading the message. “She’s on her way back now,” you say softly. “And I don’t know what it is between us, really. She doesn’t either, I think. But I like her.”

Ellie whistles low. “Yeah, I’d say you do.”

You smile, but it’s cautious. “It feels like friendship… but sometimes it’s more. I don’t know.”

Ellie nudges your arm. “Whatever it is, you look lighter talking about her.”

You glance sideways. “Do I?”

Kika nods. “Yeah. You really do.”

⚽️

The front door swings open, keys clinking into the ceramic bowl by habit. Alexia exhales, the quiet of the house greeting her like a warm tide. She drops her gym bag just inside the threshold and kicks off her shoes.

“Hola!” she calls, voice casual, unsure if you’re upstairs or out with Teddy still.

She’s halfway through tugging off her sweatshirt when she hears the soft sound of bare feet padding down the stairs.

She glances up and freezes, because there you are.

Hair still damp from the pool, hoodie slung loose over your shoulders and unzipped all the way revealing your bikini. Legs bare. Skin kissed golden by the sun. And that easy, slow smile playing at your lips, like you know exactly what you're doing.

Alexia’s hand falters in her sleeve.

“Hey,” you say, leaning lazily into the bannister.

Alexia stares for a heartbeat too long. Then blinks. Then forces a smile that’s a little too tight around the edges. She goes to say something, anything, but instead, the keys slip right out of her hand and clatter to the floor.

“Hi,” she says, voice about half an octave higher than usual.

You smirk. “You okay there, champ?”

“I—yeah, I just…” She gestures vaguely toward her gym bag, like that explains anything. “Didn’t expect you to be home.”

You tilt your head. “Would you rather I wasn’t?”

Her eyes do a quick circuit, collarbone, boobs, abs, the line of your thigh, back to your face. She tries to act like she didn’t just get caught, but her ears are pink. “No,” she says, too fast. Then clears her throat. “I mean, no, it’s nice. You're here. That you're… here. I did ask you to be here after all”

You step down another stair, slow and deliberate. “Want to join me out back? The water’s cool.”

Alexia looks at you like she’s buffering, a blink, a small nod that doesn’t lead anywhere. “I should probably shower first,” she mumbles, eyes absolutely not dropping to your chest again.

You lift a brow. “Or… skip it. You look clean to me.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, like it might help her focus. It doesn’t. She meets your gaze and tries for something casual, something easy, but it comes out breathy and a little too soft, “Are you trying to distract me from something? Did you break something?”

You’re at the bottom step now, in front of her, hands tucked into your hoodie pockets, gaze locked with hers, calm, unreadable, dangerous, “Only if it’s working.”

Alexia exhales a short laugh caught somewhere between flustered and surrendering. Then, helplessly warm, “I'll meet you out there, I'm going to grab a drink” ⚽️

You’re stretched out on a lounge chair by the pool, sunglasses on, skin still damp from your last swim, a glass of iced water balanced on your stomach.

The patio door slides open behind you, and you hear the sound of her sliders before her voice follows.

“Did you paint the gym?”

You look up over your glasses to find Alexia standing there, one brow arched, arms crossed, clearly trying to sound neutral but there’s something else behind it. Surprise. Maybe even something a little softer. You push your glasses up and sit up on your elbows. “Yeah.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “You painted it.”

“Sure did,” you say, a little grin tugging at your mouth.

“Why?”

You shrug, glancing out at the water. “Because you’ve been talking about wanting to for weeks and haven’t had the time. And the paint was just sitting there.”

She takes a step closer. “So you just… did it?”

You nod once, then pause, voice quieting a little. “You let me stay here. You fed me. You don’t complain when I eat the last of the cereal or hog the shower or accidentally steal your hoodie for three days.”

That earns a small smirk from her, but she stays quiet.

“And you help more than you realise with everything. So I figured painting a room was the least I could do.”

There’s a beat of silence between you. Just the faint sound of pool water lapping at the edges and a bird somewhere in the garden. Then she huffs, soft and amused, and you catch the way her mouth fights back a smile. “You’re such a pain,” she says, but it sounds suspiciously like thank you.

You flash her a lazy grin. “You love it”

She rolls her eyes, but it doesn’t reach her because her gaze lingers on you, warm and full of something you don’t need to name. “…You missed a corner,” she says eventually, turning to head back inside.

You laugh. “Liar.”

Her voice drifts back over her shoulder.

“Come see for yourself.”

Your phone buzzes against the glass table beside you. You reach for it lazily, expecting some nothing text and freeze for half a second when you see your agent’s name lighting up the screen.

You sit up straighter in the lounge chair, slide your finger across the screen.

“Hey,” you answer, trying to sound casual, but your stomach’s already tightening.

“Got a minute?” she says, already brisk. “Just came off two more calls. Offers are still coming in.”

"Ok, what we working with?"

“…Yeah, I got the email from Chicago. Loan only, same salary. Portland’s offering more, but it’s still a temp deal,” she says, voice clipped with focus. “Roma wants a full contract, salary’s solid, but the clause structure’s messy. Wolfsburg’s interested but nothing concrete. PSG’s trying to be flashy. Again.”

The sliding door opens, and Alexia steps out. You glance up briefly and your words stall at the back of your throat for half a second and you forget all together what you were doing to say.

Because there she is, again this time in her bikini, low-cut top, sleek black bottoms, hair pulled back just the way you liked. She’s not looking at you, not saying a word just walks over quietly and sinks into the lounger beside yours with her water bottle, like she hasn’t just turned the sun up another twenty degrees.

You clear your throat and try to pull your brain back into the conversation. “Sorry. Right. Yeah. I’ve got… options then.”

Your agent laughs softly on the other end. “You’ve got the whole map of Europe and half the NWSL at your feet.”

You give a dry huff. “That’s not stressful at all.”

There’s a pause. Then your agent says, voice more serious now, “Best offer so far is from Barcelona.” You blink. “They’re not the highest-paying,” your agent continues, “but the fit, the team, the project, it’s strong. They want you long-term. You’d actually play. And they’re being real about it no fluff, they want a meeting with you. I feel what they've offered isn't there best theres room to haggle with them for sure”

You chew your lip, eyes flicking toward Alexia without turning your head. She’s still looking ahead, unreadable behind her sunglasses, but her fingers tighten just slightly on her water bottle like she can hear every word.

“And then there’s Lyon,” your agent adds. “They’ve upped their offer twice already. Crazy money. They want to win Champions League again, and they want you there for it, they think you could be the deciding factor to get there again.”

You lean back against the chair, letting the weight of it all settle over you for a second. The choices. The change. The future.

Your agent’s voice comes steady through the line. “So… want me to book the meeting with Barcelona? They’re asking for a sit-down. Nothing formal, just a talk. See where your head’s at.”

You pause, the silence stretching just a little too long.

Beside you, Alexia still hasn’t said a word. But you can feel her eyes on you now not directly, but in the way her body has gone still. Listening more closely. Waiting, for any clue to what was going on.

You exhale, sit forward, elbows resting on your knees. “Yeah,” you say quietly, but firm. “Set it up.”

“Tomorrow works?”

“Anytime,” you say. Then, without really thinking about it, “I’m here already. Visiting friends.”

Alexia doesn’t react. Not visibly, but you catch the tiny shift in her breath. The twitch of her fingers where they brush the condensation on her water bottle. That faint tightening around her mouth just for a second before it smooths out again.

“Alright,” your agent says. “I’ll confirm and send you the details. You’ll kill it, wherever you go.”

You murmur your thanks, and the line goes dead.

You set the phone down slowly, the buzz of decision still humming through your chest. Then you lean back again, turning your head just enough to glance at Alexia.

And then, softly, without looking at you Alexia asks, “What did she say?”

You glance over. She’s still facing forward, sunglasses on, but her voice gives her away casual on the surface, but too careful. Too not curious to be anything but.

You take a breath. “She ran through all the offers,” you say, watching her. “The best one so far’s Barça, Lyon seem very keen but overall the best ones Barca” Alexia doesn’t move, but something in her shoulders shifts then you add, gentler, “She’s setting up a meeting. Tomorrow.” You study her a second longer, then nudge her foot with yours. “I didn’t say yes.”

She finally turns her head toward you, expression unreadable behind the lenses. “But you didn’t say no either.”

“No,” you admit. “I didn’t.”

The silence between you lingers not awkward, but charged. Then Alexia shifts beside you, pulling her phone into her lap and unlocking it with a swipe of her thumb.

She doesn’t say anything at first. Just taps a few times, then angles the screen toward you.

“Pere sent something,” she says quietly.

You lean over slightly to read. It’s the team group chat a flood of messages, emojis, a few memes but right in the middle is a message from Pere:

🔔 Important — for tomorrow. Need a few of you to come in for a club meeting. Nothing mandatory, just a presence. Volunteers only. Won’t take long. Let me know.

Below it, a trickle of responses. A thumbs-up from Aitana. A quick "I can" from Ingrid and Mapi. A few others.

“Pere messaged me directly,” she says after a beat, voice low. “Said there’s an important meeting tomorrow. Asked if I could make myself available.”

You glance at her. Her tone’s different now careful. Like she’s testing the water before stepping in. You tilt your head. “The meeting with me?”

She nods once. “Looks like it.” A pause. “I can make an excuse,” she adds quickly. “Say I’ve got physio or something. If it’s weird. If you don’t want me there.”

You study her the way she won’t quite meet your eyes, the way she’s trying to give you an out even if she doesn’t really want to. You let the silence stretch just long enough to make her start to squirm. Then you smirk. “Oh, so they’re bringing out the big guns for me now?”

Alexia lets out a short laugh, shaking her head, but you catch the small exhale of relief that slips out with it.

“I’m just saying,” you add, nudging her leg with yours, “if this is your club’s strategy to win me over, it’s not subtle.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not strategy, it’s… logistics.”

“Uh-huh. Logistics in a bikini.”

She laughs again, then quiets. More softly now, “Seriously, though. Are you okay with me being there?”

You look at her for a long second and nod. “Yeah,” you say. “and i'm intrigued how they’re going to use you to woo me”

Capi Mami - Alexia Putellas x barcelona femini

Summary: Alexia swears she’s not the team mom… and yet she’s the one confiscating phones, doling out granola bars, and keeping this locker room from imploding.

Word count: 1.5k

This is part of my 1k commemoration blurb! <3

a/n: a single mama who works two jobs

Masterlist

..

The locker room was a mess. Water bottles were scattered across the floor, shoes were everywhere, and a few jerseys had been tossed carelessly on the benches.

The younger girls were in full gossip mode, laughing and talking over each other, completely oblivious to the chaos they had created.

Vicky was sitting on one of the benches, animatedly chatting about some TikTok challenge, while Salma and Jana were having a loud conversation about the training session they had just finished.

Pina’s laughter echoed through the room as Esmee said something dry and hilarious.

Y/n and Sydney were livestreaming on Instagram–very much against team rules–talking about their training routine and casually throwing shade at the referee from their last match.

Marta walked in first. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the scene. She shook her head with a sigh and muttered, “What is this, girls?”

She took one step and nearly tripped over a bag lying in the middle of the floor.

“Okay,” Marta said angrily, lifting the bag into the air. “Whose bag is this—and why do I have a bunch of stickers glued on my locker?”

“Do you like it?” Vicky asked brightly, the only one acknowledging Marta’s presence.

“I hate it,” Marta replied flatly. “Take it off.”

Vicky rolled her eyes and continued chatting. The others kept pretending Marta didn’t exist.

“You might want to clean this up before Alexia gets here,” Marta warned, but the girls barely looked up.

Marta rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath before walking out.

She walked down the hall to find Alexia stretching on a bench, prepping for another round of training. Marta couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Tus nenas están causando problemas,” [Your girls are causing problems], she said with a teasing smile.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Qué?” [what?]

"They’re making a mess in the locker room again. And I’m pretty sure I saw Y/n going live on Instagram ranting about the ref being bought."

Alexia sighed, her expression shifting from confused to fondly exasperated. "You know what they’re like," she muttered, standing up. "I’ll handle them, and then I’m confiscating Y/n’s phone."

The moment Alexia stepped into the locker room, her gaze swept across the chaos. Water bottles, jerseys, shin guards, and random clothes covered the floor. Not a single head turned.

Alexia didn’t speak at first. 

She simply stood there in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. After a long pause, her voice finally cut through the room.

"Nenas, qué es esto?" [Girls, what is this?]

Y/n jumped to her feet, face paling at the tone. The room fell silent in an instant.

Vicky, Salma, and Pina all sat up straighter. Y/n very discreetly hid her phone behind her back while nudging Sydney to sit properly and kick a rogue boot under the bench.

“Hi, Ale!” Vicky greeted sweetly, putting on her most innocent baby voice.

“Mi reina!” Pina chimed in, springing up and reaching for a hug.

Alexia sidestepped her without missing a beat. “What is all of this?” she asked, gesturing at the chaos with one unimpressed sweep of her hand.

“Nothing! We were just… talking,” Jana said quickly, voice shrinking. “It, uh… got a little out of hand?”

Alexia’s eyes scanned the room like a laser. Her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

“Is this how we treat a shared space?” she asked. Her voice didn’t rise, but the warning in it was sharp.

“No,” they chorused, voices barely above a whisper.

“Is the locker room where we throw our stuff around like toddlers?”

“No.”

“Should I start labelling your bottles and jerseys like you’re in daycare? Or can we act like professionals?”

“We can act like professionals,” they muttered in unison, chastened.

Alexia took one slow step forward. The shift in the room was immediate–every breath held, every eye on her.

“I don’t like doing this,” she said quietly, the calm in her voice somehow worse than yelling. “But this? This is not okay. I expect better from all of you.”

Y/n shifted awkwardly, guilt written all over her face. “Are you mad at us?”

“I’m not mad,” Alexia said, her pause deliberate. “I’m disappointed.”

The words hit harder than anything else could have. The silence that followed was thick.

“We’re sorry, Capi,” Y/n said, her head ducked. “We didn’t mean to mess up. We just got carried away.”

Alexia’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “You should’ve known better. I trust you girls. Don’t make me regret that.”

“We’re really sorry, Alexia,” Salma added quickly, voice sincere.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Alexia replied, crossing her arms. “I better not hear another complaint. Understood?”

“Yes,” they all said, truly meaning it this time.

“Clean it up,” Alexia ordered, turning to walk out. “And next time? Think before you act.”

As soon as the door shut behind Alexia, Sydney let out a dramatic exhale. “I really thought she was gonna make us run laps again.”

“My feet still hurt from last time,” Y/n groaned, flopping back onto the bench.

“Obviously,” Pina snorted. “It was yesterday, genius.”

“We are never doing this again,” Vicky said, voice solemn like she was making a blood pact.

“Nope,” Jana chimed in, hand raised like she was swearing an oath. “From now on, we will clean up before she walks in.”

“We should actually stop throwing stuff the second we get here,” Salma added thoughtfully.

Y/n suddenly sat up, panic dawning on her face. “Wait. Do you think she saw me go live?”

“Yes,” everyone said in eerie unison.

Y/n groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so screwed.”

“You two are a disaster,” Jana muttered, nudging Sydney.

“We are not,” Sydney defended. “The world just needed to know how rigged that ref was.”

“You need to stop,” Esmee said, already starting to clean up the bottles.

Sydney shot her a look. “You’re just mad you didn’t join the live.”

“No,” Esmee said dryly. “I just don’t enjoy being yelled at. Call me crazy.”

Their chatter continued as they cleaned, a little more subdued now. Just outside, Alexia leaned against the wall, listening. 

A soft smile tugged at her lips.

Y/n leaned back on the bench, phone in hand, muttering just loud enough for the others to hear, “One day, I swear, I’m gonna figure out how to get away with this. Maybe I’ll just block the older girls on Instagram and on Twitter–problem solved.”

A few of the girls snorted in laughter.

But then…

A voice, calm and deadly precise, cut through the moment.

“You think I’m gonna let that happen?”

Silence.

Alexia had stepped into the room like a shadow. Everyone froze. Y/n especially.

"Phone. Now."  Her palm was out, her stance unyielding.

Y/n clutched her phone like a lifeline. “Ale… come on. Please.”

Alexia didn’t budge. “Now. You’ll get it back after training–if you survive it.”

A dramatic sigh escaped Y/n, but she reluctantly handed it over, placing it in Alexia’s open palm like a guilty child surrendering contraband.

Alexia smirked, tucking it safely into her jacket pocket. “You really think I don’t hear everything? I’m always watching.”

As she turned and walked off, Vicky whispered, “She’s got ears like a hawk.”

“No,” Jana said with a grin, “she’s got mom-radar.”

From across the room, Alexia called out, “I heard that, too.”

As soon as she left, Vicky whispered, "Okay… maybe we should behave."

"Maybe," Jana said. "But I doubt it’ll last."

After cleaning everything, the door opened again. Alexia stepped back in and surveyed the room.

"Well done," she said. "Now get ready. Training’s going to be tough."

As they moved, Alexia pulled a small bag from her backpack and began tossing sandwiches and granola bars at them.

“Eat,” she ordered, hands on her hips. “No one’s stepping onto that pitch with an empty stomach.”

“But we already had lunch,” Y/n mumbled, catching hers mid-air.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“You’re serious?” Vicky asked, halfway through peeling the wrapper.

“Sí,” Alexia replied, voice firm but laced with affection. “You need it. You’ve all been dragging your feet since drills this morning.”

Y/n took a bite and sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I was kind of sluggish.”

“You always try to avoid eating before training,” Jana chimed in, smirking. “No more excuses.”

“I’m eating, aren’t I?” Y/n grumbled around a mouthful.

Alexia gave her a knowing smile. “Good. You need the energy to keep up with the rest of them.”

“Okay, mamí,” Y/n teased, raising an eyebrow.

Alexia paused mid-step. “What did you just say?”

“Mamí,” Y/n repeated, grinning now. “You act like a mom. You scold us, you take our phones, you pack our snacks. You’re literally parenting us.”

“I am not,” Alexia scoffed.

“You are,” Vicky said through a mouthful of granola. “This is full-on mom behaviour.”

“Keep calling me that and I’ll ground you,” Alexia warned, but her lips twitched, threatening a smile.

“See?!” Y/n pointed dramatically. “Mom threat.”

Alexia rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she watched them finish the bars and sandwiches, making sure every last bite was gone.

Once the wrappers were tossed and silence settled back in, she straightened, captain mode back on.

“Alright. Let’s go. Hydrate, boots on, and meet me in five. We’ve got work to do.”

She turned, but not before one last glance over her shoulder at the girls–her girls. 

Their chaos, their charm, their energy. They might not be hers, not really, but her love for them was unmistakable.

Strict? Always.

Soft? Only when they weren’t looking.

..

a/n: Just really wanted to write something platonic haha

cute 🥰😂

Jazz for Peanuts

About the time your daughter shows her attitude

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 words count: +1.1k

》 All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.

Deciding to have a kid with Leah is a no-brainer choice, probably the easiest you ever made in your life.

Never been more sure of anything in your life.

She’s exactly the person you pictured growing a family with. Loyal, passionate, caring. Ready to win any fight for the ones she cares, the ones she loves.

The process of having a kid with Leah, however, is anything but easy.

Months of consults, check-ups, exams. Months of doubts and insecurities. Months of waiting out of your power. And for a control freak as the footballer is, those were the worst.

When it finally works, it’s the best feeling ever.

The English captain is over the moon, you’re pretty sure you never saw her happier – you know, you were right by her side when she won the biggest awards of her career, when she promised you forever in front of the most important people in her life.

It’s the best feeling, until the reality of pregnancy hits you like a wall.

It’s up and downs. It’s morning sickness and weird cravings, it’s kind kicks that reminds you there’s an actually living being inside you and painful reminders it’s growing and moving. It’s waves of emotions, all at once and all the time.

It’s a process and you’re glad more than anything that you can go through it with Leah next to you.

Finley comes into your lives loudly, immediately asserting her character and determination.

She surprises the nurses with big, curious eyes and even more impressive lungs. She shows her interest in Amanda’s hair with strong pulls, the same hands that, oh-so-gently, have your hearts wrapped in a thigh grip.

She grows so much and so fast that you end up questioning if such a tiny human being could shape time as she pleases.

Scrappy kicks turn into dangerously fearless tiny steps, and now she runs around the house like the miniature version of an athlete training for some mad competition.

Tiny onesies with animals and Arsenal’s badges turn into colorful and sparkling dresses she wears just a couple of times before she moves on. Now, she apparently inherits her mother’s fashion sense.

Sleepless nights spent crying turn into tantrums over underappreciated lunches, and now she negotiates her screen time like an unfair trial.

Finley is growing into a really determinant, stubborn kid despite being barely tall enough to get on the car seat on her own.

She’s witty, smart, and definitely too cute.

Leah looks at her with a light in her eyes that sparkles just around your daughter, a light that didn’t even exist before Finley.

You may have made her from scratch. Your own organs may have had to find new positions to let her space, but she has your wife’s flame burning inside. It’s something that never fails to amuse you, as annoying as it is sometimes.

Like right now, stuck in North London’s traffic with an inpatient Leah and a bored five-year old daughter in the back seat.

“Finny, my life, can you please stop kicking me?”, the blonde asks, voice over the edge in a way just a kid could get fly over their head.

“I’m not kicking you, I’m kicking the back of the seat”, she argues, as a matter of fact.

You hold a scoff just to not be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Of course, the traffic light turns red exactly when the car is about to run over it, making the defender drop her head in frustration.

The real challenge is fighting the urge to remind Leah you had, indeed, predicted it.

She had to watch the last minutes of Arsenal’s game, so sure it couldn’t be a problem to delay the drive to your mother’s house. And now you’re stuck, traffic laws and any kind of universal rule against her.

You place a comforting hand on her thigh, trying to be a supportive wife.

“Mama, I’m hungry!”

“I know, we’re almost there”

“Not if mom keeps driving this slow”, your daughter mutters, loud enough to be heard by Leah.

“I’m driving as fast as this idiot in front let me”, she grumples in the exact same way, earning a discrete slap for her words choice, “What? You shouldn’t be allowed on the road if you could be faster by walking, it’s not safe”

“Can I have the candies mama hide under the seat?”

Traitor.

“Finny, keep playing with Bear”, you change the subject, avoiding Leah’s raised eyebrow to divert the little girl’s attention to her toy.

“You could let me starve? That’s not really nice, mama, you always say sharing is caring”

A backstabber, your own daughter.

The English defender is the one trying to suppress an amused laugh now, guessing she’s not in the position to piss you off more, “Finny, it will ruin your appetite, granny made your favourite pasta”

“My appetite is already ruined. It’s taking so long granny’s gonna be dead when we get there”

“Finley!”

“What? You’re pretty old, and granny is even older! She keeps saying she’s ready to reunite with grandad anyway”

You need to have a serious conversation with your mother about the things she says in front of a smart kid that soaks up knowledge like a sponge.

Right now, though, Leah must be the proper adult as you’re trying your best not to burst laughing.

It’s inappropriate, the way you’re both reacting at the witty remarks of a five-years old girl who needs help to brush her teeth but apparently has no issues at roasting her entire family.

You can’t let her realise how clever and funny you think she is. It’s going to make her unstoppable - and insufferable.

Finley shows every sign of listening and understanding the lecture on being patient and gentle with her words that you and Leah are trying to give her. Two adults more troubled with getting a grip on themselves than with their kid’s attitude.

You just know she’s going to use it against you at the first opportunity.

“Fine, I’ll play nice”

It seems to get better after that.

The slowest car ever been on the road finally makes a turn and allows your wife to goose the engine, mother-in-law reassured over the phone for the second time.

Your daughter is calmer, still kicking the back of the seat, but reassured either granny or her are going to die anytime soon.

You, on the other hand, are debating if you could get through it all over again, knowing this is what your life with Leah and Finley looks like.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“How long?”

And, just like that, peace is over.

“Five more minute”

“You sure?”, the kid asks your wife, doubtful but innocently enough.

“I said five more minute, Finny”

It’s coming, she is preparing for the final blow.

You know it’s coming.

Finley waits a moment, then screams, “Siri, start a five minute timer!”

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

Just a Girl (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

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

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

Llibres Rars FOR THOSE WHO SEEK THE PAST

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

And from this path you have not strayed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ok.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Am I the right person?”

“Definitely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alexia Putellas?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yep!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alexia!” a rising panic in your voice.

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

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

“What are you doing?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, thank you.”

“Tea?”

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

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

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

“Will I always get a no from you?”

There’s a pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her sudden outburst startles you, “what!?”

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

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

Alexia Putellas has followed you

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Best of Europe Guidebook.”

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

“What about Fodor’s Essential Europe?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alexia.”

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

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

“I did,” you say, taking a step back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me.”

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

___________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heavy is the head that wears the crown.

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___________________

You watched it happen live from the bookstore.

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

Penalty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you still taking the penalties!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fame.

___________________

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

___________________

“I think it’s safe for me to go out.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Dating a Football Player is Good for Business.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you don’t.

You let her walk out of your life.

___________________

“Do you think I made the right decision?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How did she react?” Emma asks.

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

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

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

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

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

They nod in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anna and Emma both nod and spring to action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anna nods, determined, “I got this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alexia! It’s me!”

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

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

“Ale!” you say, running to her.

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

“I’m here for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No matter what.”

___________________

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m ready.”

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

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

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

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

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

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

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

Indexical Reminder of a Morning Well Spent

i sent a little of this to @wosofutbolfan and it apparently passed the test so here it is

-

The goal was fucking beautiful.

A pure, uncut masterclass in footballing telepathy.

Alexia had barely looked before she whipped the ball into the box. You were already moving, already there, like you had a GPS tracker embedded under your skin, waiting for the exact moment to strike. One touch, a ruthless finish, and the net rippled like it was bowing to your greatness. The crowd went feral. Commentators lost their minds. Pundits called it art.

Now, in the changing room, your teammates are still reeling.

“Okay, but what the actual hell was that?” Mapi demands, pulling off her tape.

Pina shakes her head, throwing a towel over her shoulder. “It’s not normal. You don’t even look at each other. It’s like—like she breathes, and you just know.”

Patri squints at you. “Do you practice that at home?”

Irene folds her arms. “Be honest. Do you two have, like, a shared consciousness?”

Kika points at you. “Are you some kind of footballing hive mind? Because I refuse to believe that was just instinct.”

You stretch out your legs, completely unfazed. “It because we fuck all the time.”

Silence.

Alexia, who had been mid-sip of her water, chokes.

Coughs. Gags. Almost dies.

Mapi slaps the locker and cackles. “That explains a lot.”

Pina’s eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

Patri grips her towel like it’s a seatbelt. “What does that have to do with football?”

You shrug. “Everything.”

Alexia is still spluttering. “No, no, no. Stop.”

You ignore her completely. “When you have sex as often as we do, you develop a kind of… connection.”

Alexia lunges, slamming a hand over your mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

Mapi grins. “Oh, no. She has to.”

Alexia glares at her. “She doesn’t.”

Kika leans forward. “No, I think she should.”

Pina nods, barely suppressing her laughter. “For scientific purposes.”

Patri crosses her arms. “If we’re going to be subjected to your disgusting public displays of on-pitch chemistry, we deserve the full explanation.”

You lick Alexia’s palm.

She yelps and jerks away like she’s been electrocuted.

You wipe your mouth. “As I was saying—”

“No. No,” Alexia pleads.

You continue, unfazed. “I know her body. Every inch of it. The way her muscles shift. The exact moment she tenses before she—”

Alexia actually grabs you. Tries to physically drag you away. “We’re leaving.”

You dodge, side-stepping like you’re evading a stubborn defender. “I just mean, when you’ve had someone clench around your fingers enough times—”

Alexia lunges again.

You bolt, darting around the physio table.

Mapi screams with laughter. “OH MY GOD.”

Kika has tears in her eyes. “Please, keep going. This is the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Alexia is desperate. “Stop talking.”

You dodge her again. “It’s pure instinct at this point. Like how I know exactly when she’s about to—”

Alexia dives. Misses.

Pina has collapsed onto the floor. “I cannot breathe.”

Patri is crying. “Make it stop.”

Irene wipes her face. “No, keep going, I need every detail.”

Mapi is wheezing. “Wait, wait, wait—are you saying that every time you score a goal off her pass—”

You smirk. “It’s basically an extension of our sex life, yes.”

Alexia grabs you, shakes you like she’s trying to reset your brain. “You. Are. Deranged.”

You grin. “Fong pretend you don’t love it.”

She shoves you. “I’m not pretending, I loathe it.”

Mapi is practically convulsing with laughter. “You’re telling me every single assist—”

“—is just an echo of last night’s activities? Oh definitely.”

Kika collapses onto the bench. “I need an exorcism.”

Alexia physically hauls you toward the showers. “We are leaving this conversation.”

You plant your feet. “Wait, wait, just let me finish—”

“No.”

“I’m just saying, it’s good motivation, you know? The more I score, the more assists she gets, the better the reward.”

Mapi screeches.

Pina is on the floor.

Patri is pleading with the universe.

Kika throws her water bottle at you. “LEAVE.”

Alexia shoves you through the doorway. “You’re done.”

Mapi wheezes. “This is the best day of my life.”

Alexia looks at the team like she’s asking for divine intervention. “This is the worst day of mine.”

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.

🏀

The lights inside Palau Blaugrana burst in brilliant hues as you step onto the gleaming hardwood court for the very first time wearing the iconic Barcelona jersey. The atmosphere vibrates with energy—an almost tangible electricity that courses through the air, mixing with the bright hues of blaugrana garlands worn by passionate fans. The rhythmic beating of drums resonates like a heartbeat echoing off every wall, while the mingled aromas of polished wood, mingled with perspiration and adrenaline, transport you to a realm where dreams and determination meet. Your new teammates clap you on the back with murmurs of encouragement that mesh with the pulsing rhythm, yet your focus remains crystal clear.

Number 11.

Boldly stitched across your jersey like a silent manifesto, this number has been inseparable from you for as long as you have danced with the game. It signifies much more than a mere digit—it carries the weight of countless hours of practice, of triumphs and stumbles alike. That steady emblem grounds you as you glance into the sea of faces, absorbing every moment. And then, amidst the roaring crowd, you see her.

Alexia Putellas.

Seated courtside with an air of relaxed authority, she crosses her legs gracefully and rests her arms lightly across her lap. A mischievous half-smirk tugs at her lips, hinting at stories untold. Even if you weren’t a devout follower of the sport, her presence is legendary—a symbol of Barcelona, of dominance, and, by extension, of the emblematic number 11 itself. In a fleeting, electrifying moment, your eyes lock with hers, and though she swiftly turns away, the impression is indelible. In that subtle flicker of amusement on her face, it seems as if she already understands the impact of your presence.

Focus. It’s just a game.

Yet, it isn’t simply a game. It is your grand debut, your moment to prove that you belong in this exclusive circle, to earn your place in this storied club and in this vibrant city. Moments earlier, you had been all smiles, trading jokes with teammates as your image flickered onto the giant screen—your arrival marked by every eye in the arena. Rumor had it that Barcelona had splurged to make you the highest-paid woman’s basketball player in the world, enticing you from your hometown team all the way from England. There was an undeniable buzz surrounding you—a magnetic force drawing every gaze. The weight of their expectations did not weigh you down; rather, if pressure was present, you welcomed it and transformed it into fuel.

Though many whispered about your stature—standing a mere five foot nine inches—it only served to make your exploits on the court all the more remarkable, as every move defied the conventional limits.

And then, the whistle slices through the symphony of excitement, and in that instant, everything else blurs into insignificance. The opening minutes become a whirlwind of fast breaks and razor-sharp passes; the sound of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor punctuates the relentless pursuit of victory. When the ball lands in your hands, a calm, instinctual resolve takes over. You surge toward the hoop, a graceful blur as you spin past a defender, and then release an almost effortless jumper—a testament to your honed skill.

The crowd erupts in a tidal wave of cheers.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch sight of Alexia leaning forward, her gaze intently tracking every nuance of your movement. Her lips part just slightly, as if momentarily captivated by the poetry of the game.

The contest intensifies into a ballet of tight defenses, aggressive maneuvers, and a relentless battle for every point. You are utterly absorbed, dropping three-pointers with surgical precision, orchestrating assists that shimmer with brilliance, and proving over and again why Barcelona had so ardently sought you out. Yet, amid the flurry of action, your gaze repeatedly drifts toward the sidelines, drawn by the unmistakable presence of Alexia. In those rare glimpses, a subtle tilt of her head, a perfectly raised brow, or an approving nod after a particularly elegant play speaks volumes.

Then arrives the defining moment—a high-tension climax. The score hung in a delicate balance as the final seconds tick away. The ball, as if by fate, finds its way to you at the top of the key. You draw a slow, steady breath, feeling every heartbeat echoing in your ears. Rising as if suspended in time, you release the ball and watch in silent awe as it arches gracefully through the air, spinning in a perfect trajectory before whispering cleanly through the net.

Game.

In that instant, the arena becomes an ocean of sound; cheers cascade over you, and your teammates swarm in a jubilant embrace, their hands slapping your back in a celebratory symphony. Yet, in the midst of the euphoria, your eyes search relentlessly for one singular figure. There, standing amid the explosion of festivity, is Alexia, clapping with measured enthusiasm and that tantalizing smirk still etched on her face. Her expression is enigmatic—a canvas of emotions too intricate to decode, yet charged with intensity.

As the crowd’s roaring applause continues to swell, Barcelona officials step confidently onto the court to honor your debut. A microphone is passed to the team captain, whose brief but rousing speech extols your arrival, your skills, and warmly welcomes you into the heart of the club. Your teammates whirl you into a jubilant huddle, and the atmosphere ascends to a fever pitch. Cameras flash in rapid succession, capturing every triumphant detail as your jersey, emblazoned with the proud number 11, is hoisted high for all to see.

Then she appears.

Alexia Putellas, standing just off to the side with her jacket’s pockets casually imbued with confidence, steps forward as if drawn by inevitability. The distance between you dissolves in the wake of her quiet assurance, mirroring the ease with which the official introductions had been made. In that charged moment, the game itself—with its adrenaline, its roaring crowd, and the embrace of your teammates celebrating your first monumental performance in a Barça jersey—fades into a vivid, unforgettable memory.

Throughout the night, you had caught glimpses of her presence: the way her eyes followed your every move, the subtle lean forward whenever you readied your shot. And then, with calm clarity, she spoke.

“Felicidades,” she intoned smoothly, her voice low yet piercing through the clamor of the arena. “Buen debut.”

Though not every word in Spanish was crystal clear, the tone of her greeting sent a shimmering thrill straight through your chest. “Gracias,” you responded, locking eyes with hers in silent conversation. There was an ineffable quality in her gaze—a mix of challenge and admiration—that left you momentarily breathless. Then, with a playful lilt, she added, “El 11 te queda bien... por ahora.” (11 suits you... for now.)

Without a moment’s hesitation, you quipped back, “I make it look better, though.” Her knowing smirk lingered as she turned to walk away, leaving a trail of mystery and promise in her wake. A quiet laugh escaped you as you shook your head, forever etched with the memory of that final look, a spark that hinted at many more encounters yet to come.

The locker room buzzes with the euphoric aftermath of victory—a symphony of congratulatory shouts and laughter that ricochets off the walls. Your teammates surround you, their faces illuminated with genuine admiration, yet you find yourself replaying that brief exchange with Alexia, her words echoing in your mind like a melody that refuses to fade.

"Champagne for the game-winner!" someone calls out, and suddenly a bottle appears, its cork popping with a satisfying thunk that sends foamy bubbles cascading over eager hands. The cold liquid kisses your fingertips as a plastic cup is pressed into your palm.

"To our new número once," your captain toasts in a thick Catalan accent, raising her cup high. "Who plays like she's been wearing blaugrana her whole life!"

Your phone already overflowed with notifications—family, friends, and former teammates all witnessing your Barcelona baptism from afar. But their words blurred together as your mind kept replaying that brief exchange with Alexia, her enigmatic smile lingering in your thoughts like a melody that refuses to fade.

You take a slow sip, savoring the bubbles that dance across your tongue, watching your teammates' animated faces as they relive the game's highlights. The locker room's fluorescent lights cast everyone in a warm glow that matches the heat of victory still pulsing through your veins.

"That last shot," Claudia says, your point guard with hands like magic, "I knew it was going in before it left your fingers." She mimics your shooting form with exaggerated flourish.

"Pure instinct," you reply with a shrug that belies the thousands of hours spent perfecting that very motion.

As the celebration continues, your phone buzzes again in your locker. This notification is different—an Instagram follow request that makes your heart skip Alexia Putellas. Your finger hovers over the screen for a moment before you reciprocate, trying and failing to suppress a smile.

Later that night, the team drags you to a celebration at a dimly lit restaurant tucked away in the Gothic Quarter. Ancient stone walls curve around intimate tables, while flickering candles cast dancing shadows across plates of steaming paella and bottles of rich Rioja. Your teammates switch effortlessly between Catalan, Spanish, and English, their laughter a universal language that wraps around you like a warm embrace.

"To think we stole you from London," Claudia teases, refilling your wine glass. "Their loss, our treasure."

"The English never know what they have until it's wearing Barcelona colors," adds Marta, the team's veteran center, her eyes crinkling with mischief.

You're about to respond when your phone illuminates with a notification. Alexia Putellas commented on your post of you mid air the ball flying through the air on its way to score the winning basket

Nice shot tonight.🏀🔥

Three simple words that send a current through your body. You stare at the message, fingers hovering over the screen, suddenly aware of your heartbeat in your ears. The restaurant's ambient noise fades to a distant hum.

"Earth to superstar," Claudia waves her hand in front of your face. "Who's got you smiling like that? Your English boyfriend missing you already?"

You lock your phone quickly. "No boyfriend," you reply, taking a deliberate sip of wine. "Just congratulations."

"From someone special?" Marta raises an eyebrow knowingly.

You shrug noncommittally, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrays you. You set the phone down, trying to focus on the conversation flowing around you.

The flirting starts subtly.

You reply, Didn’t know you were a basketball fan.

Alexia’s response comes quickly. I wasn’t. Until now.

A smirk tugs at your lips. She’s smooth, you’ll give her that. The conversation flows easily after that—teasing comments about your shooting percentage, her claiming she could school you in a game of one-on-one, you laughing at her confidence. It escalates when she sends a picture of her boots, captioned: Think I could pull off sneakers instead?

You reply with a simple: Doubtful.

A minute later, she sends a selfie, clad in a Barcelona basketball hoodie that’s clearly not hers, lips pursed in mock offense. Better?

Your pulse quickens. I stand corrected.

The back-and-forth continues over the next few days. Playful jabs, inside jokes, the occasional late-night message that lingers on read for a little too long before one of you responds. There’s something unspoken beneath it all, an undeniable tension that neither of you address outright, but it’s there, simmering between every message.

As you scroll through your phone the next day, it’s obvious she’s not done playing. That moment? It hasn’t left your head since. Barcelona as a city, as a community has welcomed you with open arms, and your name is already making the rounds in sports headlines. But nothing compares to the moment Alexia Putellas personally congratulated you after the match, her voice low and smooth as she spoke in her native tongue. You didn’t understand every word, but you understood her the way her eyes lingered, the slight smirk pulling at her lips.

And now, the communication continues.

Alexia comments under a post from FC Barcelona’s official account, featuring a photo of you mid-game.

@alexiaputellas: El 11 te queda bien… por ahora. (The 11 looks good on you… for now.)

A challenge. A tease. You don’t hesitate to respond this time.

@yourusername: I make it look better, though. 😏

Your notifications explode after your writing exchange mimicking the private one face to face the night previous. Fans flood the replies with speculation, excitement, and over-the-top theories. Some are just here for the banter; others are fully convinced something is brewing between you two. Fans speculating, debating, and fuelling the growing tension between you both. The chemistry isn’t just a private moment on the court anymore, it’s playing out in front of thousands.

You post a photo from the gym drenched in sweat, muscles tense, mid-shot, pure focus in your eyes. The caption reads:

Working on my shot, but some things just come naturally.

Minutes later, Alexia replies

 @alexiaputellas: Like? 🤭

You laugh, shaking your head before firing back.

@yourusername: Like winning. Maybe I should teach you how.

More likes, more replies, more eyes on you two. It’s not just fans noticing. Your teammates tease you in the locker room, nudging you with knowing looks. Even club officials seem amused.

Then, later that night, Alexia ups the ante. You’re scrolling when you see a notification; she’s tagged you in her Instagram story. It’s a clip from your first game shared from an official Barcelona page, you nailing a three-pointer, followed by a close-up of her reaction court side, lips parted, brows slightly raised. The caption?

Maybe I should learn from you after all…🤔

Your chest tightens, heat rushing to your face. She’s playing with fire. And you’re more than ready to match her. You reply in her DMs.

You: Careful, Alexia. Keep watching me like that, and people will start talking.

The typing bubble appears almost instantly like she was expecting you to respond.

Alexia: Let them.

And just like that, the game changes. You don’t respond to Alexia’s last message.

Let them.

Two words, yet they sit in your mind long after you put your phone down. She’s pushing now, playing with the line between teasing and something else. And you? You’re more than willing to push back.

The next morning, training is business as usual, but your teammates are already buzzing about your little social media exchange. Whispers and knowing glances are exchanged before anyone even says a word to you.

"You and La Reina getting close?" one of them finally asks, nudging you with an elbow as you stretch. Their tone is teasing, but there's genuine curiosity behind it.

Another teammate chimes in before you can respond, grinning. "That little back-and-forth last night.. looked pretty flirty to me."

You roll your eyes, exhaling through your nose as you switch positions. "You lot need a hobby," you mutter, but the smirk tugging at your lips betrays you.

They laugh, clearly not convinced. "C'mon, you’re not even denying it!" someone calls out, and a few others chuckle in agreement.

You shake your head and focus on your warm-up, refusing to give them anything more. Let them speculate. Like the rest of the world. It harmless. Playful. It would fizzle. You were sure of it.

Still, when you check your phone post-practice, you see a DM from Alexia waiting for you.

Alexia: No comeback? I was expecting more from you.

You grin before typing back.

You: Didn’t think you needed me to spell it out. You’re already watching me closely enough it seems.

You send it and lock your phone, refusing to check for a response right away. Let her sit with it for a while. Later that evening, you’re at home, scrolling through Instagram when another notification appears.

@alexiaputellas liked your post.

The post in question? A new picture from training today focused, intense, a caption that reads:

One of us has to be the best female 11 in Barcelona. Might as well be me.

Something you know would bait Alexia in, you knew she couldn’t resist to comment. Not only has Alexia liked it, but she’s also commented.

@alexiaputellas: Bold statement. Hope you can back it up.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you type:

@yourusername: I can and have, yet to see you do so

@alexiaputellas: You’ll see soon enough. Might have to invite you to a game personally.

You huffed a quiet laugh, staring at your screen. She’s bold today. It didn’t take long for your mentions to explode. Fans caught on immediately, flooding the comments with theories, reactions, and over-the-top ship names.

After a moment of thought, you tapped out a reply.

@yourusername: Got a ticket for me La Reina? 👀

@alexiaputellas: Front row or nothing. See you there. 😏

The internet lost it.

Your teammates lost it.

And you?

You just grinned, because for the first time, you felt in control. Now, it was just a matter of seeing how far she’d go. The comments explode. Fans are already losing their minds over the not-so-subtle invitation.

@yourusername: I’ll be there. Front row.

Your stomach does a slow, lazy flip. It’s a challenge. A promise. And for the first time since arriving in Barcelona, you’re not just thinking about basketball anymore. You're thinking about her. Your phone is practically vibrating from the attention. Your last comment—"I’ll be there. Front row."—has sent fans into a frenzy. The replies are a mix of shock, speculation, and sheer amusement.

-Did she just confirm she’s into Alexia?! -This is some next-level flirting. -Forget football, forget basketball, I’m here for this storyline.

"You are such a menace.” You heard soon as your bag dropped in your spot and your back sit felt the cool wood beneath it as you took a seat.

You glanced up from your phone to see your teammate, Jordan, shaking her head at you from across the locker room.

"What?" you asked, feigning innocence.

Camila snorted. "Oh, don’t act like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing." She held up her phone, showing your exchange with Alexia on her screen. "This? This is elite-level flirting.”

A couple of your other teammates leaned in. "I give it two weeks before you two are spotted together."

"Two weeks? Please. By next week, she’ll be showing up to our games."

You just smirked. "That’s assuming she can handle the heat.” Another said

Jordan rolled her eyes. "You realise this means you have to go now, right? You can’t just flirt with the most famous footballer in Spain and then not show up."

You stretched your legs out, feigning nonchalance. “I’ll see how I feel."

Jordan shook her head. "You’re enjoying this way too much.” You didn’t even try to deny it.

"Let me get this straight," your coach said announcing her presence in the corner, arms crossed, a barely-contained smirk on her face. "You’re flirting with the most famous footballer in Spain… publicly?"

You rolled your eyes. "I wouldn’t say flirting—"

"Really?" The whole team cut in, in unison, Marta holding up their phone as evidence. "Because to me, ‘Front row or nothing. See you there.’ sounds a lot like flirting."

You had nothing to say to that.

Your coach just shook her head. "I’ve seen players distracted by a lot of things, but this might be my favourite."

Your teammates snickered from across the gym.

"She’s already in her head," Claudia teased. "We might as well start planning a double sports wedding."

"Oh, shut up," you muttered.

Your coach laughed. "Look, as long as you don’t start missing shots because of her, I don’t care what you do. But…" She paused, eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just know that if she shows up to one of our games, I’m putting her in a jersey and making her run drills."

You grinned. "I’ll let her know."

🏀

Before I explore this idea more, would anyone actually want to read it?

𝑻𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒎𝒔/𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Trying something a little different. Let me know if this is something you want to see more of <3

Alexia exhales slowly, rubbing her temple as Emilia lets out another frustrated huff.

It’s been a long day. From the moment she woke up, Emilia has been on edge. First, she didn’t want to wear the clothes Alexia picked out. Then, breakfast wasn’t right -her toast was too crispy, her juice too cold. Every little thing has been a battle, and Alexia’s patience is wearing thin.

Now, in the middle of the grocery store, apparently it was all coming to a head.

“Mami, I want it,” Emilia says, gripping the bright pink doll box with both hands.

Alexia shakes her head. “No, mi amor. Not today.” She had no problems buying Emilia the things she wants, and she often does anytime the little one asks, but she had no intentions of rewarding bad behaviour.

Emilia’s lower lip wobbles. “Pero, Mami…”

Alexia crouches down, steadying herself. “Listen, you have not been good today, chiquitina. Lots of tantrums, sí?”

Emilia drops the box and crosses her tiny arms. “No.”

Alexia sighs, reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear. “You have, mi amor. And when we are not good, we don’t get treats.”

Emilia stares at her for a second, processing the words. Then, without warning, she stomps her foot. “I want it!”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. “Emilia-“

“I want it!” Emilia repeats, louder this time.

A few shoppers glance their way. Alexia feels her patience slip further, her fingers pressing against her temple.

“Emilia, enough,” she says, voice firm.

Emilia, however, is past the point of reasoning. “No! I want it, I want it, I want it!”

Then, to Alexia’s absolute horror, Emilia throws herself onto the floor, kicking her legs and wailing. Alexia closes her eyes briefly.

She knows this is normal -knows that kids have days like this, knows that Emilia is just overwhelmed, overtired, or maybe both. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier when her child is screaming in the middle of the grocery store. She takes a deep breath, then kneels beside her.

“Emilia,” she says, voice low but steady.

Emilia doesn’t respond, just cries harder.

“Mi amor,” Alexia tries again, resting a hand on her back. “You need to get up.”

Emilia shakes her head against the floor.

Alexia exhales, her patience thinning even further. “Emilia. Now.”

Still nothing.

Alright.

Alexia leans down, slipping her hands under Emilia’s arms and lifting her effortlessly. Emilia kicks, fists pounding weakly against Alexia’s shoulders, but Alexia doesn’t budge.

“Shhh,” she murmurs, rubbing slow circles against Emilia’s back, her free arm beneath Emilia’s behind to keep her supported. “Respira, chiquitina.”

Emilia sniffles, face pressed into Alexia’s neck, and Alexia sways gently, rocking her in the middle of the aisle.

“It’s okay, mi amor,” she whispers. “I know you’re upset.”

Emilia lets out a muffled sob.

Alexia sighs, kissing her temple. “But this is not how we ask for things, sí?”

There’s no response, but the kicking stops and Alexia takes that as progress. She walks them toward a quieter section of the store, away from the curious glances and whispered conversations. She finds a bench near the pharmacy and sits, keeping Emilia cradled in her arms.

For a while, neither of them speak. Alexia just holds her, rubbing her back in slow, soothing motions.

Eventually, Emilia’s sniffles quieten.

Alexia tilts her head slightly. “Better?”

A small nod.

Alexia brushes her curls back. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, chiquitina?”

Emilia shifts, her little fingers twisting into Alexia’s hoodie. “I don’t know.”

Alexia hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That’s okay.”

Emilia sighs, rubbing her eyes. “I just feel yucky.”

Alexia’s heart softens instantly.

She cups Emilia’s cheek, tilting her face up slightly. “Mi amor, you can tell me anything. You know that, sí?”

Emilia nods. “Sí.”

Alexia kisses the tip of her nose. “Even when we feel bad, we have to try to be good, sí?”

Another nod, this one more hesitant.

Alexia smiles gently. “And when we are not good, we do not get treats.”

Emilia pouts. “I know.”

Alexia chuckles, squeezing her a little tighter. “Do you want to help me finish shopping?”

Emilia nods.

“Vale.” Alexia stands, settling Emilia on her hip. “Let’s go, chiquitina.”

Emilia rests her head against Alexia’s shoulder, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around her. From that moment forward, Emilia doesn’t cause any more trouble, but she doesn’t let go of Alexia either. She stays wrapped around her, her small arms slung around Alexia’s neck, her head tucked right under Alexia’s chin

Alexia doesn’t mind -not really. She’s used to Emilia being clingy on her bad days. It’s just, as strong as she is, shopping with a five-year-old stuck to her hip isn’t the easiest thing in the world.

“Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, adjusting her grip on Emilia as she reaches for a carton of milk. “I need both hands.”

Emilia shakes her head and clings tighter.

Alexia sighs, balancing the milk in one arm and maneuvering the cart with her foot so she could place the milk inside. It’s ridiculous, really, but she makes it work.

Emilia puffs out a tiny breath. “Mami.”

Alexia hums, absentmindedly scanning the cereal aisle for Emilia’s favourite. “Sí, chiquitina?”

“I’m sorry,” Emilia whispers.

Alexia shifts her hold, pressing a kiss to Emilia’s forehead as she pats her behind softly. “I know, mi amor.” She assures.

“I was naughty,” Emilia mumbles.

Alexia shakes her head. “You were upset. It happens.”

Emilia sniffles. “Still feel bad.”

Alexia cups the back of her head, rubbing her thumb in slow circles. “We all have bad days, chiquitina. Even me.”

Emilia lifts her head, looking at her with wide, serious eyes. “You do?”

Alexia nods, shifting the little one so she was settled on her front as opposed to her hip. “Sí. Sometimes I am grumpy too.”

Emilia frowns. “But you don’t cry on the floor.” She points out.

Alexia chuckles. “No, but sometimes I want to.”

Emilia giggles, a soft little thing that makes Alexia’s chest warm.

“You’re not mad at me?” Emilia asks, her voice small.

Alexia shakes her head. “Never, mi amor.”

Emilia exhales, nestling back against her. “Okay.”

Alexia runs her fingers through Emilia’s curls. “Almost done. Do you want to help me pick some fruit?”

Emilia nods but makes no move to get down, and Alexia smiles to herself as she grabs a few more things before finally heading to the checkout. Emilia still doesn’t let go, even when the cashier coos at her and tells her how cute she is. Emilia just burrows deeper into Alexia’s hoodie.

By the time they get to the car, Emilia has gone completely quiet.

Alexia buckles her into her car seat, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Tired?”

Emilia nods, rubbing at her eyes.

Alexia smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go home, mi amor.”

The drive is quiet. Alexia keeps one hand on the wheel, the other stretched toward the back, letting Emilia hold onto her fingers. When they get home, Emilia doesn’t even have to ask Alexia to scoop her up again.

“Nap time,” Alexia whispers, carrying both Emilia and the groceries inside, setting the bags on the counter before making her way into the living room.

Emilia doesn’t argue, just curls into Alexia’s arms, clinging like a little koala.

Alexia sighs, settling them both onto the couch. Emilia shifts, making herself comfortable on Alexia’s chest, tiny legs straddling her hips with her head nestled under her chin.

“Mami?”

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

Alexia’s heart melts instantly. She tightens her hold, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of Emilia’s curls. “I love you too, chiquitina. So much.”

And just like that, Emilia drifts off, safe and snug in her mami’s arms.

**

Tags:

@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult

there are two dogs inside us. pina and alexia representing both of them in this moment, and alexia showing her cool head and captain's duties in not wanting to further antagonise chelsea fans! 🤭

Could you write leah x alessia x reader where less getts a yellow card in a match and y/n isn't best pleased about it so leah tries to get them to make.uo with eachother

she just hiiits different in an arsenal kit. also PSA just because i write this does not mean i actually ship less x leah in real life! also decided to make it a red card for the extra drama

seeing red II a.russo x l.williamson

you anxiously bounced your leg from where you sat watching your girlfriends play at the emirates, sighing with a shake of your head as alessia was given a yellow card for shoving someone in the back.

ever since she'd joined arsenal her confidence on the pitch had clearly grown and you weren't the only one who'd noticed that she was more aggressive in her style of play.

so had liverpool who were clearly targeting both her and katie, the infamous card receivers of the team their reputation proceeded them. katie was already on a yellow but had at least calmed down somewhat, knowing that next came the dreaded red.

but that didn’t stop them. so whether it be pulling shirts, taking out legs, yanking on hair, liverpool were doing all they could under quite a laid back referee to wind both girls up, and it was working.

you watched as alessia and several of her team mates started to protest the card, the blonde throwing her hands around and reenacting how she was pulled back by her hair just a few moments before the shove. which admittedly the liverpool played had acted up in their dramatic falling to the ground and front roll.

you bit your lip nervously before leah finally stepped in, gently pushing alessia away and pulling her to the side, getting in her ear about hopefully calming down as kim stepped in to speak with the referee, obviously apologizing on her players behalf as he nodded and blew the whistle for play to resume.

you watched with a frown as alessia shoved leah away with an annoyed shake of her head, your other girlfriend sighing and jogging back to her position as alessia readied herself to play on.

you hoped she'd calm down, surely now she was on one card she knew she just needed to suck it up and be careful. there was only ten minutes plus stoppage time left, you knew she could do it you just hoped alessia felt the same.

turns out, she did not.

within five minutes of the first card you watched as one of the players held her back by her shirt as she shot for goal, meaning the blonde went tumbling to the ground and kicked it out instead earning the opposition a goal kick.

well that seemed to just about do it.

within a few seconds alessia was back to her feet, rounding on the liverpool defender and grabbing her shirt in her balled fists, getting in her face angrily as the girl held her hands up clearly trying to show she wasn't involving herself.

then things got worse. having had enough alessia harshly pushed the girl to the ground, sending her falling onto her ass before storming off, ignoring the referee's whistles after her, already knowing what was coming.

sure enough came the second yellow, and then the red, your girlfriend already making her way to the tunnel, shoving leah away who tried to comfort her.

your lips pursed into a thin line of disappointment at the older girls behavior, having warned her multiple times about this new often reckless attitude and how it was going to bite her in the ass.

and here the proof was in the pudding.

thankfully even now down to ten beth managed to score, putting them up 3-1 and clenching the win. nine minutes of injury time added on to play and you watched with wide eyes as your other girlfriend raced down the pitch for the final corner of the game.

then with a perfectly angled kick from frida, your blonde lover put her head to it and it sailed into the back of the net. you cheered loudly and proudly, blowing leah a kiss as her eyes found yours with a cheeky grin and the whistle blew to end the match.

waiting for your girlfriends to both join you in the family and friends box you busied yourself chatting with their team mates loved ones. knowing alessia would likely be getting quite the talking to not only from leah but her coach, it didn't surprise you as you were one of the only few left waiting.

eventually you spotted leah enter first, making a beeline right for you with a beaming smile. "well hello beautiful." the blonde rasped, picking you up into a hug and spinning you around as you grinned, pecking her a few times on the lips and mumbling how proud you were of her.

"you're looking very waggy today my girl." leah winked, nodding to her jersey which sat on your top half, alessia's puffer on over the top of that as the prada sunglasses you'd stolen from one of them sat on top of your head.

"waggy hm?" you grinned, spotting alessia entering over leahs shoulder, glancing around until she spotted you both. leah noticed the way your face changed at the sight, sighing as she realised you were clearly upset with the other girl.

"hey love, take it easy on her." leah warned quietly in your ear as alessia joined you both. "hi gorgeous." the tall blonde grinned in your direction opening her arms for a hug, chewing her gum with a smug smile that was annoyingly attractive.

"can we go please?" you directed the question to leah, grabbing your bag and completely blanking alessia who scoffed. "what did i do?" she asked her other girlfriend with a frown as you brushed past her heading for the exit.

"you know exactly what you did less." leah rolled her eyes, gesturing for the two of them to follow you as alessia huffed.

"it's not my fault they were all picking on me today, you even said i was being targeted!" alessia defended herself to leah who only hummed, having already ripped into her girlfriend about the card once the match had finished.

"yes and i also warned you about retaliating being giving them exactly what they wanted. but did you listen? no. you big dope!" leah shoved the taller girl as they hurried after you into the elevator.

"so unfair." alessia mumbled, crossing her arms and you felt her eyes burning into you longingly but you held firm, leaning into leah who wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

as the three of you reached alessia's car you kissed the oldest blonde goodbye, having driven yourself this morning while they'd driven together needing to be there earlier. "hey!" alessia called after you with a frown as you quickly walked off to your car, again completely blanking her.

"oh you have some serious grovelling to do." leah chuckled in amusement as she slid into the passenger seat of the mercedes, alessia shooting her a dirty look as she slammed her door closed.

"help me." the younger of the two requested with a pout, leah rolling her eyes and leaning over to kiss it away. "fine. but you still need to make it up to her, you know how worried she already gets about injuries the last thing she needs on her mind is worrying about cards and fist fights love." leah warned sternly buckling herself in.

"i pushed her over i wasn't gonna get in a fist fight with her! well...not yet."

~

returning home both girls arrived after you, your car already parked in the driveway as they made their way inside. as alessia struggled to take her trainers off leah ventured away to find you, seeking you out where you stood in the kitchen.

you glanced over with a soft smile seeing leah enter, the older girl kissing your cheek hello and snagging a protein smoothie out of the open fridge where you'd been trying to work out what to cook for dinner with what you had.

alessia entered next, leah sending her a look as she pulled herself up to sit on the counter and your other girlfriend cautiously made her way over to you. when you refused to look over she attempted to go in for a hug, grunting as something shoved into her stomach.

looking down she realised you held out a protein smoothie effectively blocking her from touching you, which she accepted as you closed the fridge and moved over to leah. you leant against the counter in between the blondes legs, pulling out your phone and resting your head back against her chest as you flicked through for recipe ideas.

"baby please come on. i'm sorry!" alessia put down the drink and frowned at you from across the room. "are you?" you spoke sharply, glancing at her as she hesitated. "well-" the brief pause was enough for you as you scoffed, quickly exiting the kitchen as they both heard you flop down into the lounge instead.

"yeah nice one, genius!" leah rolled her eyes, hopping down from the counter and shoving the taller girl with a shake of her head. "what! i'm sorry i got a red for it but i'm not sorry for standing up for myself. did you want me to lie to her?" alessia huffed, annoyed at your lack of attention toward her.

"she can still hear you, idiots!" you yelled out from the lounge with a roll of your eyes, flicking on the tv to drown them out.

"go and shower, i'll talk to her. and when you get out this contains a brain. try to use it yeah?" leah knocked harshly on alessia's forehead as the younger girl smacked her hands away with a scowl, storming off to the bathroom.

"don't." you warned as leah appeared at the end of the lounge, looking down at you with an amused smile. "what?" leah feigned innocence, gesturing for you to sit up as she sat down, your head falling to her lap as her fingers carded through your hair.

"where's this come from babe? we've both been carded before." leah asked quietly after a few moments, still playing with your hair as you sighed and rolled onto your back, looking up at her. "i know. but they were clearly trying to target her today, and the more she gives in and kicks off the more thats going to happen." you started to explain where you were coming from.

"and if that keeps happening and she gets on the wrong end of a poor tackle or something she might..." you trailed off as leah nodded in understanding, knowing that ever since she'd done her acl your worries for them both being injured had grown ten fold.

now knowing your anger was coming from a place of worry, leah bent down to tenderly kiss your forehead as you sighed. "you need to tell her that then sweets, she might actually listen to you." leah cautioned as you nodded, knowing she was right.

"we're letting this overshadow the fact someone scored today though!" you remembered suddenly, moving to sit up and straddle the blondes lap. "oh you noticed that did you? was nothing!" leah waved it off casually with a shrug before sending you a beaming grin, pulling you in for a kiss.

her hand coming to rest on the back of your head deepening the kiss you both failed to notice alessia return, the striker rolling her eyes at the sight of the two of you making out, jealously pumping through her veins as she threw herself down on the other end of the lounge with a scoff.

the noise caused you to pull away, resting your head on leahs shoulder and looking to the grumpy blonde across from you. "go on." leah murmured in your ear, patting your bum with a firm look as you nodded and stood up.

alessia looked up as you kicked her feet apart, moving to stand between them and stare down at her with an annoyed look on your face. though as promised you explained just why you were so frustrated with her, features softening as guilt flooded alessia's at the confession.

the striker was quick to apologise, this time sincerely and with a promise she would try her very best to be more careful and considerate.

with a nod of acceptance you collapsed into her awaiting arms which wrapped around you, your legs wrapping around her waist as she shuffled forward, squeezing you tightly and mumbling how much she loved you in your shoulder as your hands pressed at the back of her head and you nodded.

moving your hands to gently rest on her cheeks you kissed her sweetly, thumbs caressing her jaw as the striker kissed your palms with a soft smile, the tall girl melting into a puddle every time you showed her any sort of affections.

“but don’t entirely lie gorgeous, you find it quite hot when we get angry on the pitch.” alessia grinned knowingly, her large hands moving to squeeze your thighs teasingly. “maybe just a tiny bit.” you left millimetres in between your fingers making alessia laugh, one of your favourite sounds.

"excuse me. third girlfriend is feeling a bit left out here!" leah interrupted the sweet moment from the other end of the lounge with a frown as alessia's grip on you tightened and your head fell to her shoulder, glancing to leah with an amused smile.

“come here then stroppy.” gesturing for her to move closer the three of you shuffled around until you were comfortable, your body wedged in between them as your top half rested against leah, your legs draped across alessia's lap as the girl massaged your feet.

your girls.

❤️

In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.

Part 7 Other Parts

Word Count: 10K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You manage a whisper. “Just stubborn.”

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

There’s a pause.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ajan furrows his brows at you, "Why?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

Your teammates notice instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine. Just sore."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sure? They sending you home?"

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

"Y/N"

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

You frown. “My dad?”

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

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

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

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

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

And there she is.

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

She meets you halfway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She laughs softly. “No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to.”

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

“I’ve already told them.”

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

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

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

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

You blink slowly. “You’re serious.”

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

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

“I don’t,” she says.

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

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

alexiaputellas, then tap out one sentence,

Was that you?

Seconds later, the typing bubble returns.

Sí

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

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

There’s a key under the plant pot.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi,” she whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

You hum softly in reply. “Sort of.”

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

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

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

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

"Its probably the broken nose"

You smiled, "Of course it is"

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

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

“Sore,” you admit.

“Face?”

“Still attached.”

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

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

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

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

You blink. “You don’t have to—”

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

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

She smiles. “Let him try.”

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

“I’ll be back soon.”

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hover.

Then — one more thing.

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

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

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

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

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

“Still in bed?” she calls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, she helps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her brow furrows. “Nothing?”

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

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

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

She sets her mug down. Slowly. “Why?”

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

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

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

“Of what?”

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

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

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

⚽️

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

Your phone buzzes.

Georgia Stanway 💥 — FaceTime Incoming

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

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

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

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

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

“Getting there.”

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

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

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

“Yeah. Cheekbone. And the nose.”

Beth grimaces. “Still fit though.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Growth,” Keira says with a smirk.

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

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

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

You whisper it back. “Love you too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

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

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

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

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

“You tired?” she asks softly.

You nod. “A little.”

“Go lie down. I’ll clean up.”

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

⚽️

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

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

“You decent?” she teases.

You nod. “Teddy says it’s fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d win.”

“I wouldn’t. He’s got your loyalty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You pause. “Mostly"

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

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

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

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

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

You whisper back without thinking, “Then do.”

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “Morning.”

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

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

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

“Yeah. But I don’t care.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

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

⚽️

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

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

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

You glance up lazily.

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

You blink. “What?”

“Lunch.”

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

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

“I’ve been injured.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⚽️

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

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

She leans around the frame. “You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Getting there.”

Her eyes soften. “You ready?”

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

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

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

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

You blink. “What are you doing?”

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

You stop. “No, you’re not.”

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

“Alexia.”

“You’re injured.”

“I’m not concussed.”

“You have a broken face.”

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

“Not when I’m in the car.”

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

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

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

“I’m your medically appointed chauffeur.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It is now.”

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

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

“That’s terrifying.”

“I’m exceptional at roundabouts.”

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

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

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

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

“You can try.”

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

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

⚽️

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

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

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

You look at her, unamused.

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

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

She shrugs. “I get that a lot.”

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

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

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

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

She grins. “You were impressive, though.”

“Were?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You huff. “Absolutely not.”

She tilts her head. “I drove.”

“Into a roundabout the wrong way.”

“I recovered quickly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It really is.”

⚽️

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

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

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

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

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

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

You arch a brow. “Are we?”

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

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

It is and you both know it.

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

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

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

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

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

“Probably.”

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

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

“You like that about me.”

You glance at her and you do.

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

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

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

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

“You ready?” she asks, voice soft.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You try to play it cool. You fail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t want to leave like that.”

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

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

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

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