❤️❤️
❤️❤️
Apart of Perfect Shot Series
You and Alexia tell your family and friends
Another evening, as you changed into one of Alexia’s oversized hoodies to head out for a casual dinner with some of her teammates, she stood in the doorway watching you yet again
You caught her smirk in the mirror. “What?”
Alexia’s grin grew. “You think no one’s going to notice if you keep dressing like that?”
You tugged at the hoodie, making a face. “It’s comfortable.”
She walked forward, arms slipping around your waist, hands immediately finding your bump. “It’s obvious,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing the curve. “You’re getting rounder.”
You groaned dramatically. “That’s what you want to say to your pregnant wife?”
She laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I love it,” she murmured.
You sighed, melting into her touch. “It’s getting harder to hide.”
“Why are we hiding it?” she teased. “We should get you a shirt that says, ‘Pregnant with a footballing legend.’”
You rolled your eyes. “No one is finding out until the all ok on the next scan. That’s the rule.”
Alexia huffed. “Fine. But after that, I’m buying you all the tightest maternity shirts.”
You smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”
—
It starts off slowly—small things.
Burt, your gentle giant, begins following you more closely than usual, shadowing you from room to room like your fluffy, silent bodyguard. Ernie, your little stubby-legged sidekick, starts curling up right at your feet every time you sit, instead of his usual spot squished up next to Burt or on his throne of pillows.
At first, you think it’s just them reacting to how unwell you’ve been. You’re barely eating, you nap constantly, and your movements are slower, cautious. They’re just being protective.
But then, one morning, it becomes obvious.
You’re stretched out on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket with a mug of cold ginger tea resting on the coffee table. Alexia is in the kitchen, fussing with toast and muttering to herself in Catalan about how plain crackers shouldn’t be this hard to make appealing.
Burt ambles over first, lumbering with his usual lazy grace, and without hesitation, lowers his head and rests it gently—delicately—on your stomach.
You blink, freezing for a second.
“Hi, buddy,” you murmur, scratching his ear. “You comfy there?”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t nudge. Just… rests.
And then Ernie trots over, climbs halfway onto your lap like he’s always done, and nudges his little head just under Burt’s, resting it right against your belly.
You stare down at them, a lump forming in your throat.
They know.
Somehow, without being told, without a single ultrasound photo or whispered secret, they know.
They know there’s someone new in there.
Alexia walks in and stops mid-step, eyes softening instantly at the sight of all three of you. “Mira’t,” she says gently, smiling so wide it makes your chest ache.
“They know,” you whisper, your hand resting on Burt’s big, warm head. “They know I’m pregnant.”
Alexia comes to kneel by the sofa, brushing a hand across Ernie’s back and then resting the other gently on top of yours. “Of course they do,” she says softly. “They’re family.”
You glance down at the two of them—Ernie snoring softly, Burt’s eyes watching you like he’s guarding something sacred.
“They’re going to be so good with the baby,” you whisper.
Alexia kisses your temple, her hand still over yours, over your belly, over everything the four of you are now protecting.
“They already are.”
—
It was already one of those days where everything felt like it was moving too fast.
The crucial scan was scheduled for 5:30pm—a big one. The kind where you’d finally be far enough along to see real definition, measure growth, maybe even hear more than just the rapid-fire thump of a heartbeat.
You were nervous. So nervous.
And Alexia was still at training.
She’d promised—sworn—she’d be done by 4:30, back home by 5:00, and the two of you would go together, hand in hand like you always did.
But 4:45 came. Then 5:00.
And you were still standing in the hallway, dressed, holding your water bottle and your folder of notes and appointment letters, watching the front door like it might open on its own.
Your phone buzzed.
Alexia 🖤
Training ran over. I’m trying to leave now. Don’t wait. I’ll meet you there. I’m sorry, mi amor. I’m coming as fast as I can.
You stared at the message, heart sinking slightly. You understood—God, you did. It wasn’t her fault. She’d been pulled for media, and then a short team talk had somehow turned into a full breakdown of the last three matches.
But still.
You wanted her there.
Especially today.
---
By the time you made it to the clinic, your hands were shaking slightly, your nerves setting in. You checked in, sat down, and texted her.
You: In the waiting room. Room 4. I’ll stall them if I can.
No reply.
You assumed she was driving.
The nurse called your name at 5:37. You stood, hesitating—wanting to beg for just five more minutes—but the words wouldn’t come.
You followed her in, lying down on the exam table, the same room where you’d been told there was no heartbeat. You hoped it wasn’t an omen.
Your eyes fluttered shut. Please, please let this be different.
Just as the nurse rolled the machine closer, the door burst open.
Alexia.
Out of breath, flushed from sprinting, her Barça hoodie half-zipped, boots clomping awkwardly against the linoleum floor.
“Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento,” she panted, holding up a hand to the nurse as she crossed the room in two long strides. “I ran from the car park. I’m here. I’m here.”
You let out a shaky breath that turned into a laugh, and the nurse gave you both a soft smile. “Perfect timing. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
Alexia immediately took your hand, her forehead resting against yours for a second. “Never again,” she whispered. “I swear, I’ll walk out mid-training next time if I have to.”
You squeezed her fingers. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”
And then—
The sound.
That perfect, powerful heartbeat, stronger than last time.
And on the screen a tiny, clear shape. Arms. Legs. Movement.
Your baby.
You felt Alexia's hand tremble in yours as the two of you stared, breathless, overwhelmed, absolutely undone.
She whispered, voice cracking, “That’s our baby.”
And this time, you were both exactly where you were meant to be.
—
The soft whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the heartbeat fills the room like music. You can feel Alexia’s grip on your hand tighten, not painfully—just grounding, like she needs to hold onto something before her heart floats right out of her chest.
The nurse smiles at both of you, adjusting the angle of the probe slightly. “Your baby is measuring beautifully,” she says kindly, her voice warm and calm. “Let me show you a few things.”
You both lean closer to the screen, eyes wide as the grainy black and white image pulses with life.
“Here’s the head,” she says, pointing gently with her cursor. “You can see the curve of the skull here, and this shadow is the brain starting to form. Strong and symmetrical.”
You gasp quietly, heart stuttering. “That’s their head?”
Alexia’s face is soft with awe, her eyes fixed to the monitor like it holds the entire universe. “Dios mío…”
“And right here,” the nurse continues, shifting the view slightly, “are the arms—little hands starting to form at the end.” She chuckles softly. “Look at those fingers.”
You actually see them. Tiny, wiggling, real fingers.
“They’re moving,” you whisper, voice caught in your throat. “They’re really moving.”
“They’re practicing already,” the nurse grins. “Busy little one.”
You look over at Alexia, whose eyes are completely glassy, her lips parted in stunned wonder. She hasn’t blinked once.
She clears her throat, voice slightly hoarse. “Our baby has hands.”
“And feet,” the nurse adds, tilting the probe again. “Look at those toes.”
You both laugh, and you feel a tear finally slip free, tracing a warm path down your cheek. Alexia catches it with her thumb before it can fall further.
The nurse takes a few more measurements before clicking a button. “Would you like a printout of the scan?” she asks gently.
You nod immediately. “Yes, please.”
Alexia, still slightly in shock, lifts her hand. “Can we—uh, can we get more? Like, the extras? Whatever you have.”
The nurse raises an eyebrow, amused. “Photos, USB, key rings, digital files?”
“All of it,” Alexia says without missing a beat, reaching into her jacket for her wallet. “We want everything.”
You snort a laugh, your heart swelling. “Are you buying out the baby merch stand?”
“If I could frame the heartbeat and hang it in the hallway, I would,” she says without a hint of irony.
The nurse chuckles, handing you a warm set of glossy scan prints. “Here’s your first photo album, then.”
You take them in trembling fingers, staring down at the blurry but perfect image of your baby, your heart thudding in time with theirs.
Alexia wraps an arm around you as you sit up slowly, careful not to smudge the prints with your fingertips.
You lean into her shoulder and whisper, “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”
She presses a kiss into your hair, her voice low and steady. “Yeah, mi amor. We are. And they already have the best nose I’ve ever seen.”
You laugh into her shoulder, holding the scan to your chest. And for the first time, in a long time, your joy doesn’t feel careful.
It just feels real.
—
The car is quiet. The kind of quiet that feels sacred.
You're parked just outside the clinic, the soft hum of Barcelona’s evening settling around you, people passing by unaware that in the small, private world of your car, something extraordinary has just happened.
Alexia sits in the driver’s seat, keys still in the ignition but engine off, her body angled toward you, legs tucked slightly beneath her as she holds the envelope of scan photos like it’s made of glass.
You’re beside her, curled slightly sideways in your seat, seatbelt off, one leg folded under the other, eyes still fixed on the black and white print in your hands.
The baby is small, but there’s no denying they’re there. A shape. A form. Arms. Legs. Fingers. A heartbeat.
“Look,” Alexia says softly, holding one of the scans up to the light as if it’ll help her memorise every single detail. “That’s their little hand. You can see it.”
You nod, eyes welling again. “I know. I still can’t believe it’s real.”
Alexia gently slides one of the scans into your lap, her voice reverent. “This one’s my favourite. The profile… they have your nose.”
You let out a wet laugh, dabbing at your cheeks with your sleeve. “Alexia that’s biologically impossible.”
“It does” she says firmly, grinning even as her voice shakes with emotion.
The grin fades slowly as she stares down at the photo again, her expression softening. “They’re ours.”
You glance at her. Her eyes are glassy again, lashes damp, and she’s not trying to hide it.
“I was so scared to go to this appointment,” you admit quietly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about last time. What it felt like to walk out of there empty.”
Alexia reaches across the centre console, slipping her hand into yours, weaving your fingers together. “I know. I felt it too. Like I was holding my breath the whole time.”
“But we walked out with this.” You hold up the scan, your thumb gently brushing over the shape of your tiny baby. “We walked out with them.”
She squeezes your hand. “We walked out as parents.”
The word hits you like a soft thunderclap.
Parents.
You sit in silence for a moment, just feeling it.
The responsibility. The beauty. The miracle of it all.
You gently turn to her and whisper, “Do you think Burt and Ernie will be jealous?”
Alexia snorts, blinking through her tears. “They’re going to be obsessed. Burt’s going to be a bodyguard, and Ernie’s going to teach them how to sneak food off plates.”
You laugh, wiping at your eyes. “We’re going to have a baby. In a few months, we’re going to be waking up to cries, and diapers, and chaos… and it’s going to be the best thing we’ve ever done.”
Alexia leans over, her forehead resting gently against yours, her other hand still clutching the envelope of scan photos to her chest.
“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she admits, her voice barely a breath. “But I’ve also never loved anyone the way I love you. Or wanted anything more than this with you.”
You smile, brushing your nose against hers. “We’re doing this together. Every second of it.”
She kisses you softly—slow and full of promise—then pulls back just enough to whisper:
“Let’s go home, mamá.”
And just like that, everything feels right.
—
Eli’s home always felt warm.
It was the kind of place where love was stitched into the very walls, where the smell of home-cooked meals clung to the furniture, where laughter echoed through the hallways even on the quietest nights.
And tonight, it was no different.
Alba was already nursing a glass of wine, chatting animatedly about something ridiculous that happened in her life, while Eli busied herself serving up far too much food for just the four of you.
But you were struggling. The smells of everything—the garlic, the roasted meat, even the faint scent of wine—had been assaulting your senses since you walked in the door.
Alexia had noticed immediately. And so had Eli. Her sharp eyes flicked toward you as she placed a bowl of food in front of you, her brow furrowing slightly when she saw how pale you looked. “Mi amor,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Are you still sick?.”
You forced a smile, pushing your food around with your fork. “I’m fine.”
Eli narrowed her eyes slightly, unconvinced. “You haven’t touched your food.”
“I’m just not too hungry,” you tried again.
That made everyone go silent.
Alba blinked dramatically, looking between you and Alexia. “Since when are you not hungry?”
Alexia let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Mami, I think we have something to tell you.”
Eli froze.
Her eyes widened slightly, her hands stilling over the napkin she had been adjusting. “Tell me what?”
You exhaled, setting down your fork. Your hands trembled slightly as you stood up from your chair, suddenly feeling so many emotions at once. Then, slowly, you reached for the hem of your hoodie and lifted it—just enough to reveal the small but undeniable bump that had begun to form.
Eli gasped.
Alba nearly choked on her wine.
“I get morning sickness in the mornings and the evenings,” you murmured, a soft but certain smile on your lips. “because, I’m pregnant.”
For a moment, no one moved.
Eli’s hand came up to her mouth, eyes wide, her entire body still as she stared at your stomach.
Alba’s chair scraped against the floor as she pushed back from the table, standing so suddenly she nearly knocked over her glass. “Wait, WHAT?!”
You laughed softly, pulling your hoodie back down as Alexia reached for your hand, her warmth grounding you.
“You—” Eli blinked rapidly, looking at you, then at Alexia, then back at you. “You’re pregnant?”
You nodded, feeling tears sting your eyes at the sheer emotion in her voice.
Eli let out a soft sob and immediately wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a warm, desperate embrace. “Mi niña…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
You melted into her, feeling the weight of the moment settle deep in your chest.
Alba, on the other hand, was still staring at you both like you had just told her the world was ending.
“You—” She pointed wildly between the two of you. “You’re pregnant?!”
Alexia smirked. “Yes, Alba.”
Alba blinked. “Like, for real?”
You let out a breathy laugh, wiping at your eyes. “For real.”
Her eyes widened further. “But you—” She frowned slightly. “I didn’t even know you were trying yet?”
You swallowed hard, glancing at Alexia before turning back to them. “We kept it private. We, um—” You hesitated before inhaling deeply. “We’ve actually been trying for a while.”
Eli pulled back slightly, concern flickering in her gaze. “Cuánto tiempo?”
You squeezed Alexia’s hand, finding strength in her touch. “This is our fourth attempt.”
Eli’s breath caught. “Four?”
You nodded, biting your lip. “The first two times didn’t work. The third time… we got a positive, but we lost the baby.”
Alba let out a soft oh under her breath, her expression instantly shifting to something more serious. Eli’s hands gripped yours tightly, her eyes shining with pain and understanding. “Mi amor,” she whispered.
You offered her a small, grateful smile. “But now, this time… we feel so lucky.”
Eli wiped at her eyes, sniffling before letting out a watery laugh. “I can’t believe this.”
The moment wraps around all of you like a warm blanket—arms tangled, breath hitching, emotions hanging heavy in the air.
Eli’s still clutching you tightly, murmuring soft blessings against your hair, one hand now splayed protectively over your bump like she already considers herself a guardian of the little life growing inside you.
Alexia leans into your side, her eyes locked on yours like she’s still trying to absorb the reality of what’s happening—her wife, her mother, her sister, and your baby all woven together in a moment you never knew your heart needed so badly.
And then, you notice it.
Alba.
She hasn’t said anything since her initial outburst. She’s stepped back from the hug, standing slightly off to the side now, hands wrapped around herself. Her face is unreadable for a moment, her jaw tight, her eyes glassy.
Alexia turns her head, still holding you close. “Alba?” she says gently. “You okay? We’ve just told the most incredible thing is happening to us and you look like you couldn’t care any less”
Alba blinks, like she’s only just noticed the attention shifting to her. Her lips press together, her throat bobbing once. “Yeah,” she says quickly, but her voice cracks halfway through. She tries to brush it off with a shaky laugh. “I’m—God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
And then it happens.
Her voice breaks completely, and she brings a hand to her face, trying to stop it, but the tears are already slipping down her cheeks.
You and Alexia freeze.
“Alba…” Alexia says softly, stepping toward her. “Hey, hey, what is it?”
Alba tries to speak but chokes on the first word. She lets out a sob, frustrated and emotional and completely unguarded—so unlike her usual chaotic, firecracker self.
“I’m just—” She laughs and cries at the same time, wiping at her face. “I’m so happy. I’m so happy you’re pregnant and I—” She stops, breath catching. “I didn’t know how much I wanted this for you both until you said it out loud.”
Alexia pulls her into a hug immediately, arms wrapping around her younger sister with such force that you feel it in your chest.
Alba clings to her, burying her face into Alexia’s shoulder like she did when they were kids, when things were overwhelming, when she needed someone to hold her while she felt.
Eli stands beside you, eyes still damp, her hand sliding back into yours with a squeeze.
You watch Alexia whisper something into Alba’s ear, soothing, loving, and Alba nods through her tears, pressing her forehead to her sister’s chest.
“I thought she was sick,” Alba murmurs. “I thought something was awfully wrong, I’d convinced myself we-you’d loose her and i didn’t know how we’d handle that, you were so sick that night, you looked so sick and it looked like you’d lost weight, it scared me”
Alexia huffs a small, tearful laugh. “You idiot”
You walk over quietly and slide your hand into Alba’s. She looks at you, still tear-streaked, and lets out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I’m fine, i speak to my doctor all the time” you showed your bump again, “It’s just morning sickness, i promise, i’m doing everything the doctor tells me to, to make sure the baby and I are healthy through this little bit”
“I’m going to be a Tía.”
“You’re going to be the most chaotic Tía ever,” you say with a grin.
“I’m going to buy them the loudest toys known to man.”
“Absolutely not,” Alexia says immediately.
All three of you laugh through the tears. And standing there, wrapped up in love, in emotion, in family—you know it more than ever.
This baby is already surrounded by a world so full of love, they’ll never go a day without feeling it.
You gently tug your hand free from Alba’s and slip it into your coat pocket where, carefully folded and protected like a sacred treasure, the scan photo has been tucked away since the clinic visit.
Your fingers tremble a little as you unfold the paper, the soft crinkle drawing Eli’s and Alba’s attention immediately.
“I have…” you begin, voice still thick with emotion, “…something I want to show you.”
Alexia, still standing with one arm around her sister’s shoulder, glances over at you with that soft, knowing look—the one that says I know how much this means.
You hold the photo out toward them, your thumb brushing over the image like you can’t quite believe it’s real, even now.
“From our last scan,” you say gently. “We saw everything. Their head, their hands… we even heard the heartbeat again.”
Eli gasps softly and moves in close, her hand coming to rest over her heart the second her eyes land on the image. Her lips part, and her breath catches. “Ay, míralo…”
Alba steps beside her, peeking over her mother’s shoulder. At first she’s quiet, her eyes scanning the blurry but unmistakable shape of the baby—so small, curled like a comma, but there.
“Is that their…?” she starts, pointing clumsily to the head.
Alexia steps in, smirking. “Yes. That’s the head. Not a potato, like you’re probably thinking.”
Alba laughs through a sniffle, nudging her playfully. “I wasn’t going to say potato!” A beat. “...But it does kind of look like one.”
Eli swats her gently, but she’s still crying, her thumb now tracing the edge of the photo like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever held.
“They’re perfect,” she whispers. “Already perfect.”
You step closer to Alexia, letting her wrap an arm around your waist, her hand automatically resting against your bump.
“I’ve stared at this photo a hundred times already,” you admit, resting your head on her shoulder. “And every time I do, it hits me all over again—they’re real. They’re ours.”
Alba reaches for the photo, asking softly, “Can I hold it?”
You nod, and she takes it gently, like she’s afraid she’ll break it. She stares at it for a long moment, then looks up at you and Alexia, her expression open and vulnerable in a way you rarely see.
“I’m going to love them so much,” she says quietly. “You don’t even know.”
Alexia smiles, her own eyes misty again. “We do know. We’ve discussed it at length”
The four of you stand there in Eli’s kitchen—food forgotten, hearts wide open, surrounded by the smell of roasted garlic and the sound of quiet sniffles.
And in that moment, with your scan photo passing from hand to hand, something settles in the room.
This baby is already home. Already loved. Already theirs, too. You step back from the circle of warmth in Eli’s kitchen, cheeks still flushed from all the tears and laughter, your heart full but pounding with a new kind of anticipation. You’d been waiting for the right moment to do this. And now, watching Alba cradling the scan photo like it’s made of stardust and Eli still dabbing at her cheeks with a napkin, you know maybe you were ready to reach out to your own family.
Alexia reaches for your hand, pulling you gently into her side, her voice soft and low against your ear. “I love you.”
You smile into her shoulder, tears prickling your eyes again. Eli steps forward, pulling you into a hug again, whispering, “This baby is already so lucky. So loved.”
And in that moment, wrapped in her arms, Alexia’s hand on your back, Alba quietly swearing she’s going to be the “cool emotional aunt,” you feel it again—
That this little life growing inside you has already built a family bigger than blood.
They’ve built a home.
Alba is still standing there in the kitchen, one hand clutched to her chest and the other holding the framed scan at arm’s length like she’s trying to mentally zoom in. Her eyes are narrowed, tongue poking out slightly as she inspects the grainy image with ridiculous focus.
Then, she says it.
Totally serious.
“I’m telling you… they have your nose.”
You blink. “What?”
Alexia perks up instantly, standing straighter beside you like a lightbulb just went off. “Thank you!” she exclaims, pointing at her sister. “I said the same thing when we left the clinic!”
You gape at them both. “How—how can you possibly tell that from a grainy black and white scan that looks like it was taken with a potato?”
Alba smirks, triumphant. “You can totally tell. Look at this little bump on the bridge! That’s you.”
Alexia crosses her arms with a smug grin. “Exacte. I said they had your nose, and you told me I was being ridiculous.”
You throw your hands up, exasperated but laughing. “Because it is ridiculous! You do remember it was your egg, right? Your DNA? I’m just the deluxe human incubator in this equation.”
Alba gasps. “Did you just call yourself a deluxe human incubator?”
Alexia bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “That’s going on a T-shirt.”
You groan dramatically, dropping into the chair. “You two are unbelievable. The baby is genetically yours, Alexia. Your egg.”
Alexia shrugs, still staring at the scan like she’s searching for clues. “Maybe. But they’re growing inside you. And if they’re already getting your attitude—”
“—they’re definitely getting your nose,” Alba finishes.
You cover your face with your hands. “I regret telling you anything.”
But you don’t, not really. Because when you peek through your fingers, they’re both grinning at the scan like it’s a masterpiece, like this blurry photo has already revealed an entire person.
Your person.
Alexia catches your gaze, her teasing fading just enough for something softer to settle into her expression. She kneels beside your chair and places a hand on your belly, gentle and sure.
“Regardless of whose nose they have,” she murmurs, “they’re ours. Every little bit.”
You smile through the warmth rising in your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “They really are.”
And just like that, even with all the bickering and chaos, the room is full of peace again. A quiet knowing. A family already falling in love with someone they’ve never met.
—
Something shifted as the second trimester arrived.
It wasn’t dramatic—there wasn’t a switch flipped overnight—but it was definitely noticeable. Your nausea, while not entirely gone, began to give you some grace. You could finally keep food down, you started sleeping better, and the fatigue that had made your limbs feel like lead slowly began to fade. You started to feel more like yourself.
Except… not quite.
Because this version of you? This new, radiant, glowing, tingling version of you? She was insatiable.
At first, you thought it was just a fluke—a flurry of hormones shifting as your body adjusted, a couple of blush-inducing dreams that left you tangled in sheets and aching in a way you hadn’t felt for weeks. But then it kept happening.
A lingering glance from Alexia while she dried her hair. The way her hand would rest lazily on your thigh as you lay on the sofa. The sight of her in her training gear, all strength and casual swagger, or standing at the kitchen counter in a hoodie and nothing else, humming softly to herself.
It did things to you.
You tried to play it cool at first. A few stolen kisses while she made breakfast. Your hands wandering a little lower than usual as you cuddled in bed. Her hand cradling your bump during a sleepy embrace would have you biting your lip, trying not to press into her palm.
But Alexia, of course, noticed.
She always did.
And she definitely wasn’t complaining. One night, lying on the couch with your head in her lap while she mindlessly scrolled through Netflix options, your fingers were tracing slow, lazy circles on her knee. You weren’t really paying attention to the screen. You were watching her. The curve of her jaw, the way her lips curled in thought, the subtle flex of her thigh under your head. You shifted slightly, pressing a little closer.
Her eyes flicked down. “You okay?”
You nodded, eyes hooded. “Yeah. Just…”
She tilted her head, smirking. “Just what?”
You hesitated, then whispered, “I really want you right now.”
She blinked, caught off guard—but only for a second. That knowing smirk deepened as she leaned down and brushed a slow kiss against your lips. “You’re glowing,” she murmured, her hand smoothing down over your bump. “And kind of dangerous right now.”
You grinned against her mouth. “Dangerous?”
“You’ve been giving me that look for a week. I’ve been trying to behave.”
You shifted again, this time straddling her lap slowly, wrapping your arms around her neck. “Don’t.”
Alexia’s hands slid to your hips instinctively, her breath catching. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
You leaned in, pressing your forehead to hers. “You won’t. I feel good, Lex. Really good. Better than I have in months.”
She kissed you then—deep and slow, the kind of kiss that said she’d been waiting for you to feel like this again, the kind of kiss that didn’t just ignite your skin but centred you. That night was soft and careful and full of laughter and breathy sighs, full of the quietest kind of fire. Alexia’s hands cradling your body like she was holding something precious. Her lips mapping your skin slowly, reverently, like she’d missed every inch of you and wasn’t going to waste a second more.
She didn’t rush you. She didn’t push. She followed your pace, your need, your rhythm. And God, you needed her. Not just the closeness, not just the aching low in your belly. You needed her—the warmth of her breath on your shoulder, the press of her lips to your bump as if thanking it for giving you back to her like this.
After, she held you with one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand resting on your belly, her thumb brushing soft strokes over the curve of it.
“I missed us,” she murmured into your hair.
You nodded, still catching your breath. “Me too.”
And she smiled against your skin, whispering, “Let’s make up for lost time.” You laughed—soft and satisfied—already knowing that with her, you had all the time in the world.
—
You were standing in front of the mirror, tugging gently at the hem of the flowy black top you’d chosen for the night. It draped comfortably over your bump—still not obvious to the untrained eye, but enough that you’d started reaching for looser fits out of instinct.
Behind you, Alexia was sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping on her trainers, one eyebrow arched in focused determination.
You turned slightly, smoothing your shirt again. “Hey, Lex?”
She grunted in response, still battling her shoes.
“I think… I want to tell Carla tonight.”
She paused, looking up like you’d just said you were moving to the moon. “Tell Carla what?”
You gave her a look. “About the baby.”
Alexia blinked. “Wait—you haven’t told her yet?”
You shrugged a little, avoiding her eyes in the mirror. “No, I mean… I kind of assumed you had?”
She stood slowly, eyes narrowing. “No, I figured you would. She’s your best friend.”
“I know, but I thought maybe with all the training, and the away games, and how close you two have gotten, it would’ve just… slipped out.”
Alexia stepped behind you now, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “Mi amor, Carla thinks your ‘stomach bug’ is the longest-running flu case in Europe.”
You winced. “Okay, yeah. Fair point.”
She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I just assumed you told her ages ago. She’s going to lose her mind.”
You turned to face her fully, nervous energy fluttering in your chest. “Do you think she’ll be upset we waited this long?”
Alexia shook her head immediately. “Not for a second. She’ll probably cry, and then call you dramatic, and then demand she gets to be godmother without even asking.”
You laughed, because it was so Carla.
“She just means so much to me,” you said softly. “I think part of me wanted to tell her when it felt safe. When it felt real. And now that it does… I want her to know.”
Alexia cupped your face, her thumbs brushing your cheeks gently. “Then tell her. Tonight. I’ll make sure everyone’s distracted so you two can have your moment.”
You smiled up at her, heart swelling. “You’re good at this whole supportive wife thing, you know.”
She smirked, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I’m practicing. I hear pregnant women can get needy.”
You pulled back with a playful glare. “Excuse me?”
“Emotionally needy. Physically clingy. Obsessed with their gorgeous footballer wives.”
You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag and swatting her with it lightly. “You wish.”
She caught your hand and kissed your knuckles, then rested it gently against the curve of your stomach.
“Carla’s going to be so happy,” she said softly. “She loves you. And she’s going to love them too.”
You nodded, heart full, nerves buzzing just a little.
It was time.
And tonight, you were finally going to share your biggest joy with one of the people who’d loved you through everything.
The restaurant was loud in that comforting way—ambient, warm, filled with clinking glasses and voices layered over upbeat music. The team had already taken over a long table at the back, some players halfway through their first round of drinks, laughter echoing as Mapi recounted something dramatic with hand gestures big enough to nearly take out a waiter.
You and Alexia walked in hand-in-hand, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles, grounding you the way she always did when you were buzzing with nerves. She leaned in as you neared the table, voice low and teasing against your ear.
“You’re going to cry when you tell her, aren’t you?”
You scoffed. “Please. I’m perfectly composed.”
Alexia smirked. “You got misty-eyed at a baby socks display last week.”
“That was different. They were tiny and knitted.”
She laughed, gently squeezing your hand one last time before breaking away to greet her teammates. “I’ll buy you ten pairs if it helps you breathe right now.”
You scanned the table, and there she was—Carla, sitting on the end, already waving when she spotted you, her grin wide and chaotic as always. She made a space instantly, scooting over with a dramatic “Finally! Took you long enough!” and motioning for you to sit beside her.
You sat, nerves rolling like thunder in your chest.
“Hey, stranger,” she said, bumping your shoulder. “You look…” Her eyes narrowed, studying you for half a second too long. “…a little tired. Still fighting that virus?”
You smiled carefully. “Sort of.”
Carla turned her body toward you slightly, sipping from her drink. “You okay though? You’ve been kind of… I don’t know. Not off, just… low profile.”
Now or never.
You wet your lips and set your bag down beside your chair, shifting slightly so your knee touched hers. “Actually… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. For a while. I just—wasn’t ready before.”
Her brows lifted immediately, and the playful energy dimmed into something more focused. “Okay. What’s going on?”
You swallowed thickly, glancing down at your lap for a second before looking back at her. “I’m pregnant.”
Carla stared.
You waited.
For once in her life, she said nothing.
“I know,” you said gently, watching the shock ripple across her features. “It’s been a long road, and we weren’t sure it was going to happen, but… we’re in the second trimester now. It’s really happening.”
Her hand came to her mouth, eyes already glassy. “Wait. Wait—shut up.”
You laughed softly. “Carla—”
“You’re pregnant?!” she whispered fiercely, smacking your arm before launching herself across the small space to throw her arms around you. “You’re—oh my God, you’re—why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
Tears welled in your eyes as you held onto her. “I wanted to. We just… had a few scares. I needed to feel like it was real before I could share it.”
Carla nodded against your shoulder, still gripping you like she might not let go. “God, I’m so happy. I’m so—like, I don’t even know what to say. You’re going to be the best mama.” When she finally pulled back, she sniffled and immediately tried to laugh it off. “Ugh, I hate you for making me cry in public.”
You wiped at your own eyes. “It had to be you tonight. I couldn’t keep it from you anymore.”
“Wait—does everyone else know?”
You shook your head. “Just family. You’re the first person from the team.”
Her eyes went huge. “I’m honoured. I’m actually—Oh my God, does this mean I get to be the fun godmother?”
You laughed. “You kind of already are.”
She wiped under her eyes again, then glanced over your shoulder, and her expression shifted to mock-serious. “Tell Alexia if she doesn’t give me godmother rights, I’m stealing the baby.”
Alexia, returning to the table with two glasses of water, slid into the seat next to you and arched an eyebrow. “Stealing our baby?” she asked dryly, handing you one glass.
Carla grinned through her drying tears. “You heard me.”
Alexia glanced at you, then at Carla, then smiled softly. “You can be the godmother. But only if you agree to babysit when we haven’t slept for three nights in a row.”
Carla lifted her glass dramatically. “Done. I’ll even bring snacks.”
The three of you clinked glasses quietly while chaos bubbled around the rest of the table. But in that little corner, with laughter and tears and secrets finally spoken, everything felt a little more real. A little more whole.
The night hums on around you—dishes clinking, conversations overlapping, laughter rising every so often from one end of the table or the other. Carla’s still next to you, now proudly pointing out baby items on her phone she thinks are essential, including, for some reason, a bassinet shaped like a race car.
You’re in the middle of politely telling her the baby doesn’t need its own pit crew when someone stops beside the table.
“Ingrid!” you say brightly, your smile wide and honest.
She returns it, but it’s soft—slightly tight around the edges. Her eyes drift over your face, studying you in that careful way people do when they’ve been worried.
“Hey,” she says quietly, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Can I… just check in for a second?”
You nod immediately, and Carla wordlessly scoots over to give her space.
Ingrid crouches slightly to be more level with you, her eyes kind. “I didn’t want to crowd you, but I’ve been meaning to ask if you’re okay. Alexia said you’ve been unwell for a while… and when you didn’t really talk to Carla the other day, I—” she hesitates, her brow furrowing, “—I just got a bit worried.”
Your heart tugs, the genuine concern in her voice making your chest ache in a surprisingly tender way.
You glance sideways, toward Alexia, who’s been watching the exchange quietly from the other side of you. Her eyes flick to yours, and you see it there—the guilt, the unspoken truth she’s been holding onto.
She hadn’t told them because it wasn’t just her story to tell. But maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to let everyone in.
You rest your hand over Alexia’s on your knee, giving it a light squeeze.
“Lex?” you say softly. She meets your gaze, and you offer her a small, reassuring nod. “I think you should tell them now. While we’re all here.”
Her brows lift slightly. “You’re sure?”
You nod again, heart pounding in your chest, but the relief already washing over you like sunlight breaking through a long winter cloud. “I’m ready,” you whisper. “We’re ready.”
Alexia leans over and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, then turns, reaching gently for Ingrid’s hand to pull her upright.
Ingrid looks confused for a moment, eyes darting between you both, before Alexia clears her throat—just loud enough to catch the attention of those closest.
It doesn’t take long. One person notices, then another, and within seconds, the whole table begins to quiet. Heads turn. Conversations pause.
Alexia stands slowly, still holding your hand. Her voice is calm, but her eyes are lit with something electric, something trembling but proud.
“I know a few of you have been wondering why this one here,” she says, nudging you gently, “has been a little MIA lately.”
The girls around the table start murmuring—some smiling already, some just curious.
“She’s been dealing with a lot,” Alexia continues, looking down at you with soft adoration, “but not because of a bug. Or stress. Or anything of the other lies I’ve told you.”
You stand now too, the nerves bubbling under your skin like champagne, but Alexia steadies you with her hand in yours.
“She’s pregnant,” Alexia says simply.
A stunned beat.
Then—
“WHAT?!” Mapi shrieks.
“No jodas—”
“OH MY GOD—”
Chaos erupts.
Voices raise, chairs scrape as half the table jumps up in excitement. Mapi launches herself over the table like she’s diving for a trophy, nearly knocking over a candle in the process. Aitana’s mouth is hanging open in disbelief. Ingrid’s hands are covering her heart, her face softening with every second.
Carla is grinning like the cat that got the cream, proudly taking credit like she was the one who made the announcement.
And in the middle of it all, Alexia has her arm around you, her head bent to yours as you both soak in the sound of pure, unfiltered joy.
When Ingrid finally reaches you again, she doesn’t say anything right away. She just wraps you in the warmest, most genuine hug.
“I’m so happy for you,” she says into your shoulder. “You’re going to be incredible.”
You close your eyes, heart full. For the first time, you feel it completely. Now they all know. And they already love your baby like they’ve been waiting for them too.
The noise eventually settles—if only slightly.
There’s still laughter and excited voices bouncing around the room, a few players wiping away surprised tears (Aitana’s pretending not to, but her red nose gives her away), and the waitstaff bringing over more drinks and desserts with cautious smiles, clearly clocking that something big just happened.
Alexia hasn’t let go of your hand since the announcement, and you don’t want her to.
Carla’s still beaming, whispering something about how she’s going to ‘crash every family photo’ and ‘bring a suitcase to the hospital,’ while Ingrid quietly rests a hand on your back like she’s still anchoring you to the moment.
And then—of course—Mapi stands on her chair.
She clears her throat dramatically, raising a glass of something sparkly that definitely wasn’t what she originally ordered. “Everyone. Please. Shut up and give me the floor. For once in your lives.”
A few groans, some cheers, and at least one “don’t fall, Mapi” echo from across the table, but the room does fall quiet—albeit with amused, expectant grins.
She turns, facing you and Alexia directly now, her gaze more focused than usual, her smirk softening into something almost reverent.
“I make a lot of noise,” she begins, eliciting a collective “¡sí!” from the table. She ignores it with a wave. “But tonight I want to make noise for them.”
She nods at you. Then at Alexia.
“You two have been through a lot. We all know that. And you’ve built something together that’s… unbreakable. Something strong. Something soft. Something that all of us admire more than we probably say.”
Alexia shifts beside you, clearly trying not to get misty-eyed already. You squeeze her hand tighter.
“And now,” Mapi continues, lifting her glass higher, “you’re bringing someone new into that love. A tiny person who’s going to be ridiculously lucky from the very first breath they take. Lucky to have two mamis who already love them more than anything. Lucky to grow up with warmth and safety and laughter—and the best damn football education in the world.”
Laughter breaks across the table, but it’s gentle, affectionate.
Mapi’s voice softens, but her words ring clear.
“To the little one—who doesn’t even know yet how loved they already are. Who’s going to be raised in a world full of strength, softness, and chaos. We can’t wait to meet you. We’ve got your back already.” She pauses, then adds with a wink, “And if you come out with great hair and questionable jokes, we’ll know exactly who to blame.”
You and Alexia both burst out laughing as everyone lifts their glasses, the entire table echoing in chorus:
“To the baby!”
The clinking of glasses surrounds you, a symphony of celebration.
And as you press your forehead to Alexia’s, both of you laughing, a little teary, you whisper, “They’re going to have so many people in their corner.”
Alexia nods, eyes shining. “The best team we could ever ask for.”
And in that moment, with love wrapped around you in every direction, you feel it in your bones—this baby isn’t just coming into a family.
They’re coming into a legacy.
More Posts from Justareader7 and Others
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! 🤭
it gets better, and better ✨
You're a highly successful basketball player who has just been transferred to Barcelona's women's team. The number 11 holds deep personal significance for you. Among the spectators is none other than football superstar Alexia Putellas, synonymous with the number 11 in Barça history, watching from the sidelines. What starts as mutual admiration quickly turns into something more, fuelled by weeks of playful yet intense online flirting. The chemistry between you and Alexia becomes undeniable.
So when you woke up the next morning, stretched, and instinctively reached for your phone she had already made her next move.
Alexia had posted on Instagram. Not a story. Not just a casual like. A full post. And the second you saw it, your stomach dropped. It was a photo from your game. Taken from court-side. A clean, professional shot of you mid-air, finishing a layup. And her caption?
Didn’t see me there, huh? 😏
You froze. Because holy shit. She really did that. You scrolled to the comments. Of course, people were losing their minds.
Comment: OH SHE’S CALLING YOU OUTTTT LMAOOOO
Comment: Alexia woke up and chose violence. Comment: You really thought you could ignore HER? Rookie mistake. Maya: Burying yourself deeper and deeper, I love this for you. Liv: You gotta respond. There’s no way you let her get away with this.
Your pulse pounded. You could ignore a lot of things. But this? No chance. You weren’t going to let her have the last word. So you went straight to your own Instagram story. And posted a response. A different angle of the same shot Alexia had posted, this time, taken from behind, where your jersey number 11 was clearly visible.
Enjoying the view?
No tags. No direct mention of her name. But everyone knew exactly who it was for. The second you posted it, your phone exploded.
Maya: OH MY GOD. Liv: Noooo you’re actually insane for this.
Your coach: Why is half the media room talking about this? Should I be concerned?
And then a new notification popped up.
Alexia: Very much so.
Your stomach flipped.
Tonight was a vibrant celebration of the remarkable beginning to the season for Barcelona women's basketball. The atmosphere was alive with the sounds of clinking glasses and hearty laughter echoing through the venue. Well-dressed guests, a mix of influential figures and renowned personalities from Barcelona, mingled gracefully, their conversations weaving a tapestry of excitement and admiration. The air was charged with a sense of triumph and camaraderie, as the city's elite gathered to honor the team's outstanding achievements.
Maya nudged you gently, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and trepidation. "Uh… we’ve got company," she murmured, barely containing her disbelief. You turned to look, and there she was—Alexia Putellas. She stood confidently on the other side of the expansive function room, her arms crossed casually over her chest, watching you with a knowing smirk that seemed to hold a thousand secrets. Her presence was magnetic, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. She wasn't alone, either. A few of her Barcelona teammates flanked her, their posture relaxed yet exuding the unmistakable aura of elite athletes. You should have anticipated their attendance; it was only natural they’d be invited and feel obliged to make an appearance at such an event.
Liv took your hand oblivious, “I need the toilet, come with me” Your eyes widened ever so slightly that would take you directly past Alexia, you looked over your shoulder to your team mates all amused and none stepping forward to offer any help. You’d fought fire with fire many times with Alexia, now you were coming face to face and you were on your own. The confidence you had behind your phone screen dissipating the nearer you got with every step.
As if guided by some strange destiny, your shoulder unexpectedly collided with Alexia's. She turned to face you, and the reassuring squeeze Liv gave your hand propelled you into that realm of sassy confidence you usually only felt online. “My bad,” you said, pausing momentarily, “didn’t see you there.”
Alexia’s lips curled into a playful grin. “Thought I’d make it a bit more challenging for you to overlook me this time.”
You were not going to give her the satisfaction. Not after all this. Not after the social media games, the press conference questions, the showing up at your game like she owned the place. No. You were going to act completely unbothered. Like her presence meant nothing. Like her smirk didn’t make your skin heat. Like you didn’t feel her watching you every time you moved.
And at first? It worked. You stayed locked in, making polite small talk, laughing at unfunny jokes, ignoring the way your teammates kept giggling like this was the most entertaining thing they’d ever witnessed. But Alexia? Alexia Putellas? She wasn’t going to let you win that easily.
She Gets Bold. It started small. Little things. A comment here. A lingering look there. You moved by. “Nice outfit” Alexia called from her position on a stool surrounded by her teammates, just loud enough for everyone to hear. You ignored it.Because that was the game. She pushed. You didn’t react. She wanted to see how far she could go before you cracked and damn it, you weren’t going to give her that. But then she went for the kill.
You were leaning on the polished wooden bar, waiting patiently for your turn to be served. The murmur of conversations and clinking glasses surrounded you, but it was her voice that pierced through your solitude. “Do you always play that hard when someone’s watching?” she asked, her tone playful and teasing, referring to the impressive performance you had delivered at the game she attended.
You swallowed hard, a mixture of surprise and amusement swirling within you, yet you kept your eyes forward, steadfastly refusing to turn toward her. "I always play that hard," you replied, trying to maintain an air of nonchalance.
"Mhm." Her voice dripped with a teasing smirk that you could almost see. "Good to know."
And that’s when it happened. That’s when you finally let the walls crumble. You turned your gaze slowly to meet hers, and there she was, closer than you had anticipated. Her arms were crossed confidently over her chest, that infuriating yet captivating smirk still etched on her lips, as if she had all the time in the world to wait for your reaction.
Pushing yourself up from the bar, you turned fully to face her. She remained rooted to the spot, unfazed by your scrutiny.
"Why are you here, Alexia?" you asked, your voice carrying a mixture of curiosity and exasperation.
"Told you," she replied with a casual shrug. "Didn’t want you to miss me again."
You exhaled sharply, a frustrated puff of air escaping your lips. "You’re impossible."
"And you like it." Her words hung in the air, thick and charged with an electric tension. Around you, your teammates were watching with keen interest, while your coach let out a resigned sigh, knowing that your focus should have been on charming the bigwigs, not engaging with Barcelona’s leading female football star. Yet Alexia, as always, was winning this unspoken game. Again.
You took a breath, you smiled. Not the tight, forced kind. Not the annoyed, I’m trying to keep my cool kind. No. A slow, deliberate, challenging kind. And that? That made Alexia’s smirk falter. Just for a second.
You stepped closer, just enough to make her feel the heat of the moment. "You think I want this?" you asked, tilting your head.
Alexia’s confidence flickered, just barely. "I think—" she started, but you cut her off.
"I think you came over here because you wanted to see how far you could push me."
A small, amused scoff left her lips. "And?"
"And now you’re realising you might not be ready for what happens when I start pushing back."
Her jaw tensed. You saw it, the shift, the way she wasn’t in control anymore.
You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice. "So tell me, Alexia… are you?" She swallowed. And for the first time since this entire game started, she had no response. You could feel it. The shift. The way Alexia’s confidence flickered just enough for you to see the crack. She wasn’t expecting this. Wasn’t expecting you to push back. And that? That was your in. "Tell me, Alexia… are you?"
Her jaw tensed. A brief hesitation. It was subtle—so subtle that anyone else might’ve missed it. But you didn’t. You knew the signs. She was thinking. Calculating. Trying to decide her next move.
So you made it for her. "No Comeback?" you murmured, tilting your head. "I was expecting more from you." you succeeded in using her own written words against her and it felt good
Her lips parted slightly, as if she had something to say but you stepped back. Cool. Collected. In control.
You turned "See you around, Alexia." And walked away. You didn’t look back. You refused to. But you could feel her watching you. Your teammates definitely did.
"Holy shit," Maya whispered. "You just flipped the entire game on her."
"That was so unfair," someone else muttered, grinning.
"She came here to mess with you, and now she’s the one caught off guard."
You just smirked. Because they were right. You’d flipped the script. And now? Now it was her turn to react. You felt her eyes on you as you made your way across the room, each step measured and unhurried. The thrill of having finally unsettled Alexia Putellas—Barcelona's golden girl, La Reina herself—coursed through your veins like liquid fire. You'd finally managed to crack that infuriating composure of hers, and the victory felt sweeter than any buzzer-beater. Your teammates clustered around you like excited birds, their whispers a flurry of amazement and speculation.
"Did you see her face?" Claudia hissed, barely containing her glee. "I've never seen Alexia Putellas speechless. Ever."
"You literally walked away from her mid-conversation," Jordan added, shaking her head in disbelief. "Nobody does that."
You maintained your composure, though inside, your heart raced with a strange cocktail of triumph and anticipation. "It's just a game," you said with a casual shrug that belied the electricity still coursing through your veins.
"A game you're winning," Marta observed, glancing over your shoulder. "And one she's not used to losing."
"You realize she's not going to let this go, right? You just challenged the most competitive woman in Barcelona."
"Good," you replied, your voice low and steady. "I'm counting on it." You downed your drink, holding it in your mouth before swallowing, you sure needed it.
You refused to look back, refused to give her the satisfaction. Instead, you accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a deliberate sip, letting the bubbles dance on your tongue. The party continued around you—executives laughing too loudly at each other's jokes, photographers circling like sharks, capturing Barcelona's elite in their natural habitat.
For twenty minutes, you maintained your distance, engaging in conversation with sponsors and club officials, smiling for photos, being the perfect representative of Barcelona basketball. But always, always, you felt her presence like a magnetic field, disrupting your focus just enough to keep you aware.
Your phone vibrated in your clutch.
A text message from
Alexia: Running away so soon?
Your lips curved into a small smile. So predictable. You slipped your phone back into your bag without responding. Let her wait.
Another ten minutes passed before you felt a presence at your elbow. You turned, expecting another teammate, but instead found yourself face to face with one of Alexia's football teammates and good friend—Mapi Leon, the defender with eyes that missed nothing.
"She sent you to do her dirty work?" you asked, not bothering to hide your amusement.
Mapi laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "Actually, I came to collect you at request. The president wants a photo with both Barcelona teams number 11's. PR opportunity." She gestured toward where the club president stood chatting with photographers and Alexia.
"Of course he does," you murmured, but followed Mapi across the room.
Alexia's eyes found yours immediately, that familiar half-smirk playing at her lips, though something had shifted. There was a new awareness there, a respect that hadn't been present before. As you approached, she straightened slightly from where she'd been leaning against a high table.
"There she is," the president beamed, gesturing for you to join the group. "Our basketball star! Come, come—we want a photo of our number elevens together."
Of course they did.
You moved to stand beside Alexia, the space between you charged with unspoken tension as photographers positioned themselves, their cameras poised to capture what was quickly becoming Barcelona's most compelling narrative. Standing beside Alexia, you could feel the subtle shift in her energy—she wasn't completely recovered from your earlier departure, but her composure had returned, wrapped around her like armor.
"You surprised me," she murmured, her voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the ambient noise of the party. Her gaze remained fixed forward, her smile perfectly calibrated for the cameras.
"That was the point," you replied just as quietly, your own media smile firmly in place.
The club president beamed, oblivious to the undercurrent between you. "Our number elevens! The faces of Barcelona excellence!" he proclaimed, gesturing expansively. "Closer together, please—show the unity of our club! Barcelona's queens of eleven," he announced proudly, gesturing to the photographer. "Two sports, one number, one club. Perfect symbolism!"
"Quite the narrative they're building," Alexia murmured, her voice just low enough for only you to hear. Her perfume drifted toward you something expensive and subtle, with notes of sandalwood and vanilla.
"Good for publicity," you responded coolly, lips barely moving as you maintained your smile for the camera.
The photographer directed you to move closer together. "Shoulders touching, please. Show the unity!"
With deliberate slowness, Alexia shifted toward you, her arm brushing against your back her hand finding a resting place on the exposed skin of the small of your back. The contact sent an electric current rippling across your skin. You refused to react, keeping your expression neutral despite the way your pulse quickened.
"Smile!" the photographer called.
You did, brilliantly and professionally. Alexia did the same, though you caught the slight tension in her jaw.
"Wonderful!" the president exclaimed. "Now, perhaps a toast to our champions?"
Champagne flutes appeared, and the moment stretched into minutes of carefully choreographed PR. Through it all, Alexia remained close, her presence a constant challenge to your composure. When the official photos were complete and the group began to disperse, she leaned in once more.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Alexia finally said, turning slightly to face you.
You met her gaze steadily. "I've survived worse."
The corner of her mouth twitched. "Like walking away from conversations?"
"Like having my personal space invaded by football players who can't handle being ignored," you countered, keeping your voice light despite the challenge in your words.
Alexia tilted her head, studying you with newfound interest. "You're different than I expected."
"How so?"
"More..." She paused, searching for the right word. "Defiant."
You couldn't help the small smile that formed. "Disappointed?"
"Intrigued," she corrected, her eyes never leaving yours. "Most people don't push back."
"I'm not most people."
"Clearly." She took a deliberate sip of her champagne, her eyes still fixed on you
"You think walking away from me changes anything?" she spoke, her breath warm against your ear.
You turned slightly to meet her gaze directly, close enough to notice the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. "I think it changed everything," you replied. "Your move, La Reina."
Before she could respond, your coach called you over to meet an important sponsor. You stepped away, but not before catching the flash of something in Alexia's eyes—determination, perhaps, or frustration. Or something else entirely.
The evening continued its elegant march toward conclusion. You circulated dutifully, charm on full display as you discussed the season's prospects with investors and posed for selfies with admirers. All the while, you remained acutely aware of Alexia's movements around the room, tracking her without seeming to.
As the party began to wind down, you slipped away to the balcony for a moment of quiet. The Barcelona night spread before you, the city lights twinkling like fallen stars against the darkness. The cool evening air was a welcome relief after the heated atmosphere inside.
"Hiding?” The voice startled you, though you'd half-expected it. Alexia stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the warm light from inside. She stepped forward, the soft glow of the outdoor lighting revealing her features—sharp, intelligent eyes and that ever-present hint of a smile playing at her lips.
You didn't turn fully, just angled your head slightly in acknowledgment, maintaining your position at the balcony's edge. The city lights of Barcelona stretched before you like a constellation of earthbound stars.
"Getting some air," you corrected, your voice steady despite the quickening of your pulse. "There's only so much small talk one can endure."
Alexia moved beside you, her forearms resting on the railing, mirroring your stance. The space between you felt charged, alive with possibility. "And yet you excel at it," she observed. "I watched you charm every sponsor in that room."
You allowed yourself a small smile.
"Part of the job i usually despise”
"Is that what this is?" you asked, gesturing vaguely between you. "Part of the job?"
The question hung in the air, weighted with meaning. She took her time answering, letting the night sounds of Barcelona fill the silence—distant traffic, music from a nearby restaurant, the gentle rustle of wind through potted palms.
"This?" she finally said, turning to face her fully. "No. This is something else entirely."
Your eyes met hers, searching. "And what exactly is 'this'?"
"I don't know yet," she admitted, surprising herself with her honesty. "But I'm curious to find out." A slow smile spread across Alexia's face not the practiced, media-ready smile she wore for cameras, but something more genuine, almost vulnerable.
"So am I."
The confession shifted the air between you, transforming the playful antagonism into something deeper, more complex. For a moment, neither of you spoke, content to exist in this new understanding.
"You know," Alexia finally said, breaking the silence, "when I first saw you play, I was impressed. Not just by your skill, though that was evident, but by your confidence. The way you owned that court like you'd been playing on it your whole life."
"I've never lacked confidence," you replied.
"No," she agreed, her voice softening. "It's one of the things we have in common."
You turned slightly, studying her profile against the backdrop of the night sky. "What else do we have in common, Alexia?"
She considered this, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the balcony railing. "We both understand what it means to carry a number with history. To wear it not just as a jersey designation, but as an identity."
You nodded, recognizing the truth in her words. Number 11 wasn't just digits on fabric—it was a legacy, a promise, a statement of intent.
"And we both," she continued, her voice dropping lower, "enjoy a challenge."
The air between you seemed to thicken with unspoken possibilities. You were acutely aware of her proximity, of the subtle scent of her perfume mingling with the night air.
"Is that what I am to you?" you asked, your voice steadier than you felt. "A challenge?"
Alexia turned fully toward you, the city lights casting half her face in shadow, the other half illuminated in a soft glow that accentuated every perfect angle. Her eyes held yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. "At first," she admitted, the honesty in her voice disarming. "When I saw how quickly everyone took to you—the new star, Barcelona's basketball sensation... I was curious. Then our little social media game started, and yes, it became a challenge." She paused, her fingers drumming lightly against the railing. "But now..."
"Now?" you prompted when she didn't continue.
"Now I'm not sure what this is," she confessed, gesturing between you. "Except that I find myself thinking about you more than I should. And that..." She hesitated, vulnerability flashing across her features. "That hasn't happened to me in a long time."
The admission hung in the air between you, weightier than all the playful banter that had preceded it. Your heart stuttered in your chest, thrown by this glimpse of the woman beneath the legend. "I thought La Reina never showed her cards," you said softly, a gentle tease to mask how deeply her words had affected you.
Alexia's laugh was quiet, almost self-deprecating. "Perhaps that's another thing we have in common, we both know when to change the game."
The moment stretched between you, taut with possibility. The sounds of the party inside seemed distant, muffled by the intensity of this shared moment. You were aware of everything the slight breeze ruffling her hair, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, the warmth of her hand now covering yours.
"You know everyone's watching us," you murmured, nodding slightly toward the glass doors where curious eyes occasionally flicked in your direction.
"Let them," Alexia replied, echoing her earlier message with a confidence that made your pulse race. "I'm more interested in what happens next."
Before you could respond, the balcony door opened, flooding the space with light and sound. Your team captain appeared, her expression apologetic.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said, not looking sorry at all, "but the coach is gathering everyone for a picture before we leave."
You nodded, reluctantly shifting away from Alexia, the spell broken but not forgotten. As you moved toward the door, Alexia caught your wrist, her touch gentle but insistent "I'd like to see you again," she said, her voice low and certain. "Away from all this." She gestured vaguely toward the party inside.
The warmth of her fingers against your skin sent a current of electricity up your arm. You met her gaze steadily, allowing yourself a small smile. "Are you asking me on a date, Alexia Putellas?"
Her answering smile was slow and deliberate, confidence returning to replace the brief vulnerability she'd shown. "Yes. I am."
"Bold of you to assume I'd say yes," you replied, though the teasing lilt in your voice betrayed your interest.
Alexia's eyes sparkled with amusement. "You haven't said no."
Your captain cleared her throat pointedly from the doorway. "Coach is waiting," she reminded you, though her expression suggested she was enjoying the scene unfolding before her.
"We'll continue this conversation," Alexia said, releasing your wrist with a gentle squeeze.
"Will we?" you asked, unable to resist one final challenge.
"Definitely," she replied with such certainty that your breath caught. "After all, I need to show you that Barcelona has more to offer than just basketball courts."
With that promise hanging between you, you followed your captain back inside, feeling Alexia's gaze on you like a physical touch. The final toast passed in a blur of raised glasses and enthusiastic cheers, your mind still on the balcony, still caught in the gravity of Alexia's confession.
Your captain cleared her throat pointedly from the doorway.You turned back to her, aware of your captain's curious gaze still lingering at the doorway. "The team is waiting," you spoke in acknowledgment, though you made no move to pull away from Alexia's gaze.
As you followed your captain back inside, you could feel Alexia's gaze on your back, burning like a physical touch. The air around you seemed charged with electricity, alive with possibility.
"So," your captain whispered once you were out of earshot, "care to explain what that was about?"
You shrugged, affecting nonchalance despite the way your heart continued to race. "Just getting to know a fellow Barcelona athlete."
Your captain snorted. "Right. And I'm just casually friends with Lionel Messi."
You couldn't help but laugh at that, the tension of the moment dissipating slightly. "It's complicated."
"Clearly," she replied dryly. "Just... be careful. Alexia Putellas isn't just anyone. When she steps onto a field, or apparently, onto a balcony with you the whole world watches."
You nodded, knowing she was right. This wasn't just about two athletes flirting anymore. This was about two number 11s from Barcelona's premier teams, two women whose every move was scrutinized by fans and media alike. Whatever was happening between you and Alexia had implications that extended far beyond personal interest.
And yet, as you rejoined your team for the final toast of the evening, your eyes inevitably sought her out across the room. She stood with her teammates, glass raised, but her attention was fixed on you. When your gazes locked, she offered the smallest of smiles, private, genuine, a promise of what was to come.
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.
🤣🤣🤣
We No Speak Italiano
summary: you’ll never miss a day of Duolingo again
warnings: are language barriers and miscommunication warnings?
a/n: based on this request ! also thank you to @onsomenewsht for inflating my ego and helping navigate italian !
word count: 2.1k
-
Alexia looks at you like you’ve just dropped the biggest bombshell in the history of bombshells. Her eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape, and she’s got that look, like she’s trying to figure out how to assemble a piece of IKEA furniture with no instructions and half the screws missing.
“Estoy embarazada,” you say again, because you’re pretty sure that’s the right way to tell her you’re mortified after spilling your entire glass of wine on her brand-new sofa.
Your high school Spanish teacher would be so proud.
But instead of the expected response, maybe a nervous laugh or string of expletives, Alexia gasps, and her hands fly to her mouth like she’s just heard the Virgin Mary is back for round two. Her eyes flick down to your stomach and back up to your face. The calculation going on behind her eyes is something like 2 + 2 = 5, but you have no idea why.
“I… Oh my God,” she says, her voice all wobbly, like she’s about to cry. “I didn’t… I mean, this is… Are you okay?” She’s speaking in slow, deliberate Spanish now, like you’re suddenly a toddler and not a grown-ass woman who just spilled wine.
You blink at her. “Sí?”
“Madre mía”
-
It starts with a breakfast that makes no sense.
You wake up to the smell of something cooking in the kitchen, which is odd because Alexia barely knows how to operate a toaster without supervision. You stumble out of bed, groggy, and follow the scent of food.
What you find in the kitchen is nothing short of alarming: Alexia, apron-clad and concentrating so hard that she’s actually sticking her tongue out a little, is stirring something in a pot while a blender whirs ominously next to her.
“Buenos días,” she sings out when she notices you standing in the doorway. She’s all smiles, too bright for this early in the morning, and you immediately get suspicious.
“What’s going on?” you ask, eyes narrowing as you take in the sight of an overfull fruit bowl, a plate stacked with multigrain toast, and what appears to be an entire carton of eggs scrambled and ready to be eaten.
“Sit, sit,” she insists, pulling out a chair for you like you’ve suddenly developed a bad back and need assistance. “I made breakfast”
“You… made breakfast,” you repeat, eyeing the smoothie she pours into a glass and slides over to you. It’s an unsettling green color, like pond scum, and you’re not sure it’s fit for human consumption.
“Sí. You need to start your day with lots of nutrients.” She’s practically bouncing on her toes, like a Labrador eager to please.
You blink at the smoothie, then back at her. “Since when did you learn how to use the Nutribullet?”
She doesn’t answer directly, just gives you an encouraging smile that feels a little too close to a grimace. “Drink up. It’s good for you”
You take a tentative sip, and it’s like drinking liquid grass mixed with what you can only hope is kale. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“No!” She’s almost offended, but there’s a hint of nervousness in her voice that you can’t quite place. “It’s full of vitamins. Good for… energy”
You stare at her, but she just stares back, eyes wide and almost… expectant.
“Okay,” you say slowly, deciding to let this weirdness slide, for now. Maybe she’s on a trendy new health kick. Or maybe it’s an early birthday surprise gone wrong. Either way, you down the smoothie in a few brave gulps, trying not to think about the fact that it tastes like lawn clippings.
Alexia beams at you when you finish, like you’ve just accomplished something monumental. “Bien, bien. Now, sit tight. I’ll get the rest”
She practically skips back to the stove, where she starts piling eggs and toast onto a plate. You don’t even bother asking why she’s suddenly turned into Martha Stewart; you’re too busy wondering if you’ve somehow walked into a parallel universe.
It’s only later, after you’ve forced down an absurd amount of scrambled eggs, that she starts talking about how “important it is to stay healthy” and how she’s “going to take care of everything from now on,” which sounds sweet but also vaguely threatening.
You brush it off, chalking it up to some kind of weird phase. After all, everyone gets weird sometimes, right?
-
By day two, you’re starting to suspect that something is seriously wrong.
It begins with a confrontation over laundry, specifically, the fact that you’re not allowed to do any. At all.
“I’ve got it,” Alexia says, practically wrestling the basket out of your hands when you attempt to head for the washing machine.
You try to grab it back, but she holds it over her head like some ridiculous game of keep-away. “What is with you?”
“You shouldn’t be lifting heavy things,” she says, so earnestly it makes your brain short-circuit for a second.
“It’s a basket of clothes,” you argue, “not a sack of bricks. And I lift heavier things at the gym every day”
She shakes her head, not budging. “No. Let me do it. Just relax”
You gape at her, watching as she carries the laundry to the washing machine like it’s a ticking time bomb. She’s being weirdly gentle, placing the clothes in like they might shatter if she drops them too hard.
Then there’s the vitamin situation. You’re sitting on the freshly cleaned sofa, flipping through channels, when Alexia plops down beside you with a clatter of bottles and packages.
“Take these,” she says, handing you an array of supplements that looks like it belongs on the shelf of a pharmacy. There are multivitamins, folic acid, omega-3s, and some other pill you can’t even pronounce.
“What is this?” You hold up the folic acid like it’s a foreign object. “I’m not trying to hatch an egg here”
“Just take them,” she insists, pushing the bottles toward you. “They’re good for you”
“I’m pretty sure the only thing these are good for is draining my will to live,” you mutter, but she gives you that look, the one that’s all big hazel eyes and soft smiles, and you end up taking them just to get her to stop hovering.
When you try to go for a run that afternoon, she practically tackles you at the door.
“Maybe you should rest,” she suggests, like she’s trying to steer a toddler away from a busy street. “You know, take it easy for a bit”
“Take it easy?” You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not 80. And since when do you care about rest days? You’re usually the one dragging me to the gym at 6 AM”
She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again like a fish gasping for air. “It’s important to be careful”
“Careful of what, exactly?”
She hesitates, and you catch a flicker of something in her expression, nervousness, maybe? Fear? Whatever it is, it’s weirding you out. “Just… you know, careful”
You’re about to argue, but she gives you a kiss on the forehead, all soft and sweet, and you end up staying in just to avoid making things even more bizarre.
-
By day three, you’re done. Absolutely, 100% done.
It starts with the breakfast smoothies, again. This time, it’s a vibrant pink concoction that tastes like liquid chalk mixed with berries, and you’re pretty sure it’s the same smoothie you saw in a TV ad for pregnancy supplements once.
When Alexia starts lecturing you on the importance of hydration, while handing you a liter of water with electrolytes, you decide it’s time to get to the bottom of this.
“Alexia,” you say, setting the water down with a definitive thud, “we need to talk”
She glances at you, clearly nervous, and you know you’ve hit the jackpot. “About what?”
“About why you’re acting like I’m a fragile little baby bird that needs to be protected from all the big, scary things in life,” you reply, crossing your arms.
Her face flushes, and she avoids your gaze, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. “I just-, I want to take care of you”
“I appreciate that,” you say, softening just a little, “but you’ve gone full-on helicopter mode. And it’s freaking me out”
She looks at you for a long moment, then sighs like she’s been carrying the weight of the world.
“You didn’t tell me,” she says, voice soft like she’s whispering state secrets. “How long? I mean… when did you find out?”
You stare at her, a mental Rolodex flipping through every interaction you’ve had over the last few days, searching for the moment when you apparently lost your mind. “Find out what?”
“That you’re…” She trails off, wide-eyed, and then whispers, like she’s on a soap opera, “Pregnant”
There’s a beat of silence. And then another one. You feel like someone just turned off the power in your brain. You’re pregnant? No, no, no. Last you checked, you were just really bad at pouring wine.
“Wait,” you finally say, holding up a hand to stop her from offering you yet another pillow or maybe a foot rub. “Pregnant?”
Alexia’s eyebrows are practically in her hairline. “You said you’re embarazada”
Oh. Oh. Oh no.
“Alexia,” you say slowly, enunciating like you’re the one explaining the IKEA instructions now. “I said I’m embarrassed. Not pregnant. Embarrassed. Mortified. Humiliated because I thought I ruined your sofa with a ten-euro bottle of red”
She looks like she’s buffering, trying to load what you just said. “Embarazada… means pregnant, in Spanish”
Ah, the joys of faux amis, false friends, words that sound like they should mean the same thing but are actually waiting to sabotage you like linguistic landmines. Your high school Spanish teacher can take a hike.
You wipe away a tear, trying to catch your breath. “Alexia… I told you I was embarrassed. Imbarazzato doesn’t mean pregnant in Italian, it means mortified. Humiliated. Just how I felt when I spilled that wine and thought I ruined your furniture”
“Wait,” Alexia says, her brow furrowing in that cute, confused way you’d normally find adorable if she weren’t in the middle of thinking you’re harbouring a tiny human in your uterus. “So you’re not…?”
“No!” You laugh, a little hysterically because, seriously, how did you get here? “I’m not pregnant. We’re both women. How would that even work? I mean, unless there’s something about human biology I missed in school, I’m pretty sure that’s not in the cards for us”
Her eyes widen as the realisation hits, and then she groans, burying her face in her hands. “Dios mío, I’m such an idiot”
You’re still laughing, but you manage to pat her knee reassuringly. “An adorable idiot, but yeah, kind of”
“Well, you did say ‘embarazada,’” she points out. “How was I supposed to know you just meant you were embarrassed?”
You shrug. “Maybe when I didn’t start eating pickles and ice cream? Or asking for your jersey for when the baby arrives?”
“Touché.” She’s still grinning, that big, beautiful smile that makes you forgive her for thinking you were about to drop a baby bomb on her. “So, you’re just embarrassed”
“Yes. Very. And I’m also very much not pregnant. I’m sorry for confusing you”
She sighs, exaggerated like she’s relieved, and you both start laughing again, the awkward tension from the past few days melting away. But there’s still a mischievous glint in her eye, one that makes you a little wary.
“What?” you ask, knowing full well you’re about to regret it.
“Well, since you’re not pregnant,” she says slowly, leaning closer with that flirty smirk you love and hate in equal measure, “how about we do something about that embarrassment?”
She wiggles her eyebrows, and you roll your eyes. “Oh, so now that I’m not a fragile incubator, you’re all over me?”
“Exactamente,” she says, pulling you into her lap with surprising ease, even for someone who regularly benches more than your body weight. “Besides, I have to make sure you’re really not pregnant”
“Alexia,” you say, trying to sound stern but failing miserably when she starts nuzzling your neck, “that’s not how this works, remember?”
She grins against your skin, pressing a teasing kiss to your collarbone. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” You push her back just enough to meet her eyes, raising an eyebrow. “But if you want to keep treating me like a queen, I’m not going to complain”
“Deal,” she says, her voice softening, her hand resting on your cheek. “But next time you’re embarrassed, can you please just say it in Italian, or English?”
You laugh, pressing a kiss to her lips. “Sure, but only if you promise not to freak out the next time I spill something”
“No promises,” she murmurs, pulling you closer, “but I’ll try”
was it me running 10k in the Barcelona sun? because this is getting hot 🥵
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.
You weren’t sure if Alexia was actually going to follow through. She talked a big game, sure. But this? This was different. This was her stepping past the safety of online flirting. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she meant it this time. So when training wrapped up and you were cooling down with a few teammates, you weren’t entirely surprised when your phone buzzed.
Alexia: Where are you?
No pleasantries. No hesitation. Straight to the point. You grinned, wiping sweat from your forehead as you typed back.
You: Facility gym. Why? You looking for me?
Read at 2:13 PM. A long pause.
Alexia: Maybe.
Your smirk deepened.
You: You lost or something?
Alexia: No. But you’re about to be.
You frowned at your screen, confused until you heard a voice behind you.
"¿Qué tal, estrella?"
You turned, pulse kicking up a notch. Alexia stood just inside the entrance of the gym, arms crossed, a small smirk playing on her lips.
She was actually here.
And she looked way too confident about it. "Didn’t think you’d actually show up," you said, tossing your towel aside as you took a slow step toward her.
She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting. "Why? Because you think I only talk and don’t act?"
You shrugged, mirroring her stance. "Haven’t exactly seen you prove me wrong yet."
A flicker of something crossed her face, challenge, maybe. Or irritation. Then, in one smooth movement, she stepped closer, invading your space just enough to make your breath hitch. "You like pushing me, don’t you?" she murmured.
You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your sides. "Maybe."
Alexia hummed, her gaze flickering over your face like she was studying every reaction. Then, her voice dropped lower. "Careful what you wish for."
Déjà vu.
She had texted you those words just hours ago. But hearing them in person? That was different. That was Alexia daring you to finally stop playing games.
You held Alexia’s gaze, your breath steady despite the heat creeping up your spine. She was testing you. Pushing you. Fine. Two could play that game.
You shifted your stance, standing taller, letting a slow smirk curl your lips. “You keep saying that, but I’m still waiting for you to prove it.”
Alexia’s eyes flickered with something dark, determined. “Oh?” she mused, taking another step forward.
You refused to move back. You were locked in now, a silent stand-off, neither willing to be the first to break. A few of your teammates were still lingering nearby, pretending very poorly not to watch. You caught one of them nudging another, both whispering behind their hands. Great. An audience.
Alexia must have noticed too because her smirk widened. “Your team seems interested in this.”
You let out a short laugh. “Can’t blame them. You’ve been running your mouth online for weeks.”
She tilted her head. “And yet, you’re still here. Entertaining it.”
Your jaw clenched for half a second. She had a point. But you weren’t about to give her the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, you shrugged. “Maybe I just like the attention.”
Alexia’s gaze dropped to your lips, just for a flicker of a second before snapping back up. “That makes two of us.”
Damn.
That shouldn’t have hit you like it did. But it did. You were about to respond when one of your teammates loudly cleared their throat.
“So… should we leave you two alone or—?”
You rolled your eyes, finally stepping back from Alexia with an exasperated sigh. “Mind your business.”
Your teammate just laughed, raising their hands in surrender before walking off. Alexia, though, stayed exactly where she was, watching you with that same knowing look. Eventually, she glanced down at her phone. “I should go.”
You arched a brow. “Already?”
She smirked. “I just needed to see something.”
You folded your arms. “And?”
She leaned in slightly, voice teasing. “I got my answer.” Then, before you could react, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving you standing there heart racing, mind spinning, and absolutely not ready to let her have the last word.
If anyone thought the online back-and-forth between you and Alexia was slowing down, they were sorely mistaken. Because after your little run-in at the training facility, things only escalated. It started with a subtle like on one of your gym photos—one where your arms and shoulders were looking particularly good. No comment, just the quiet acknowledgment that she had seen it.
Then, a few days later, you posted a clip from training—hitting a deep three-pointer with ease. The caption?
Some things just come naturally. ☄️
The fans hyped it up immediately, and you didn’t think much of it—until Alexia replied.
Alexiaputellas: That so?
Short. Simple. Almost dismissive. But you knew what she was doing. So, you baited her right back.
Yourusername: Something you wanna say, 11?
She liked the comment but didn’t reply. Left you hanging. And if there was one thing you were learning about Alexia, it was that she loved to leave you guessing.
Then, the next day, she posted a picture from her own training session sharp focus, locked in. The caption,
Alexia: Nothing worth having comes easy.
No mention of you, no direct callout. But the timing was too perfect to be a coincidence.
The fans noticed.
— She’s talking about YOU, bestie — Oh, she’s so smooth with it — Just date already
Then, to your surprise, Alexia’s teammates got involved.
Irene Paredes commented first.
Irene: Is this flirting? Or are you two actually beefing? I can’t tell.
Then Mapi León.
Mapi: At this point, I think they don’t even know either.
And finally, Patri Guijarro.
Patri: Either kiss or fight because this needs to get a lot more interesting
That was it. The fans were losing their minds.
— EVEN PATRI SEES IT — MAPI BE SO REAL FOR THIS — SOMEONE PLEASE JUST CONFESS ALREADY
And then just as you were about to call it a night Alexia finally responded.
Alexia: Some games take patience.
Your heart kicked. Because now, she wasn’t just playing along. She was doubling down.
You knew Alexia was watching. From the moment your basketball team stepped onto the Barcelona training pitch for a fitness test, you could feel her eyes on you. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. The gym overlooked the field, glass windows giving a perfect view of everything happening outside. And sure enough, through the reflection of your sunglasses, you could see her standing there—arms crossed, watching intently. So, if she wanted to watch? You’d give her something to look at.
The fitness test was brutal. Sprint drills, agility work, endurance runs under the unforgiving Barcelona sun. Sweat dripped down your temple, muscles burning as you pushed through each set. And still, you made sure to keep your movements sharp. Effortless. Letting your strength and control show in every stride, every pivot, every flex of muscle as you drove forward with precision.
And when the heat finally got too much you grabbed the hem of your training top and peeled it off in one smooth motion, letting the sun warm your bare skin. You didn’t need to look up to know Alexia had seen it. The shift in energy was instant. A pause in her usual movement, just for half a second. The way she adjusted her stance, fingers twitching slightly at her sides. You bit back a smirk.
One of your teammates jogged past, nudging you with an amused look. “You do realise she’s staring, right?”
“Oh, I know.”
You could feel it.
Even as you finished the final sprint, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, you knew Alexia’s eyes hadn’t left you. And when you finally allowed yourself a glance toward the gym window, you met her gaze directly. She didn’t look away. Didn’t try to hide it. Instead, she arched a brow—almost like she was challenging you.
Your smirk deepened. This game you were playing? It was far from over.
The fitness test was over however, but you and a few of your teammates weren’t in a rush to leave. The sun was warm against your skin, and after pushing yourselves through relentless sprints and agility drills, a little downtime on the grass felt well-earned. You stretched out, leaning back on your hands, legs extended in front of you as you let the sun soak into your muscles.
That was when you noticed them. Barcelona’s women’s team, stepping onto the field for their own training session.
And leading the way, of course, Alexia.
You felt her presence before you even looked up properly, but when you did—oh, she was already watching.
Her gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, taking in every inch of you stretched out in the sun. You were still shirtless from training, skin glistening slightly from exertion, and you didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered just for a second longer than necessary.
She caught herself quickly, but not quickly enough. Because now, you knew. And she knew you knew. Still, she didn’t back down. Instead, she smirked.
“You tired already?” she called out, voice loud and teasing enough to grab the attention of both her teammates and yours. “Didn’t think basketball players ran out of energy so fast.”
Some of her teammates snickered. One of your own muttered beside you, “Oh, she’s feeling herself today.”
You tilted your head lazily in her direction, feigning boredom even as amusement tugged at your lips. “Didn’t realise footballers were so idle they had the time to watch other athletes train.”
The laughter from both teams was instant.
Alexia arched a brow, and for the briefest moment, you swore she hesitated like she hadn’t expected you to throw it right back at her.
Then she kept walking, slowing just slightly as she passed where you were sitting. And in a voice meant only for you, she murmured, “Well, you put on quite the show.”
Her tone was smooth, confident like she wasn’t affected at all. But her eyes betrayed her. Because just as she started to jog toward her teammates, her gaze dipped one last time trailing down the length of you, lingering at your abs before snapping back up to meet yours.
You caught it.
And judging by the sharp inhale she took before looking away, she knew you did too. You grinned, leaning back on your hands again, completely at ease. “Let’s see if you can do better, then.”
She glanced over her shoulder, still smirking. “Oh, don’t worry,” she shot back. “I always do.”
And with that, she was gone joining her team, acting like that whole exchange hadn’t just happened.
One of your teammates let out a low whistle. “Yeah, you’re so in trouble.”
Maybe. But judging by the way Alexia had just looked at you? She was too.
As Barcelona’s women’s team started their drills, your teammates were still chuckling beside you, sending each other knowing looks. One of them nudged your side.
“You’re playing with fire, you know that?”
You just smirked, stretching your arms behind your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Another scoffed. “Right. And Alexia wasn’t just eye-fucking you five minutes ago.”
You laughed, shaking your head, but you didn’t deny it. Because, yeah, Alexia hadn’t been subtle. And neither had you.
You stayed on the sidelines, still catching some sun, but now your focus was elsewhere. You weren’t watching the entire Barcelona squad train, you were watching her. And she knew it.
Because every time she had the ball at her feet, she was sharper. Every pass, every turn, every effortless control of the ball was dialed up, like she wanted to make sure you saw just how good she was.
Then came the finishing drills.
Alexia stepped up first. The ball was played into her stride, and without hesitation, she struck it cleanly top corner, unstoppable.
You let out a small whistle, just loud enough for her to hear. She turned her head slightly, her smirk barely contained. The next one? She took it first-time, a volley that rocketed into the net.
Your teammates started laughing beside you. “Oh, she’s showing off now.”
You just grinned. “Let her.”
And Alexia just kept going.
Goal after goal. Every movement precise, controlled, effortless. It wasn’t just about skill—it was about making sure you saw exactly what she could do.
Then came the final drill, a one-on-one situation with the keeper. Alexia received the ball, dribbled smoothly into the box, then stopped—just for a second—before coolly slotting it past the keeper.
And when she turned around she didn’t look at her teammates. She looked straight at you.
Like she was daring you to say something. You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees, letting her have her moment before tilting your head. “Not bad.”
Her brow arched, her smirk growing. She scoffed, shaking her head as she jogged back to her team.
One of her teammates, elbowed her and said something that made Alexia roll her eyes. But she was still smirking, still stealing glances your way when she thought you weren’t looking.
Oh, you were definitely looking. And this game between you? It was far from over. It was heating up.
You could feel her eyes on you. Even from across the field, where she stood with her teammates, pretending to be focused on training you knew exactly who Alexia was watching.
So, naturally, you decided to have a little fun with it.
Ona Batlle had come over to chat, casual and easygoing, but you knew what this really was. An opportunity. A chance to push Alexia just a little further, to see how much she could take before she cracked.
So, you turned on the charm. “You ever consider switching sports?” you asked, smirking at Ona. “I think you’d do well in basketball.”
Ona grinned, playing along. “Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”
You leaned in slightly, just enough to make it look like something. “You’ve got speed. Good reflexes. I think you could handle yourself on the court.”
From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle shift in Alexia’s stance. The way her jaw clenched, the way she stood a little straighter, like she was resisting the urge to storm over.
Perfect.
Ona tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. But would you actually teach me? Or just use it as an excuse to show off?”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “I’d definitely show off. But I’d make sure you learned something in the process.”
Ona laughed, nudging your arm playfully. “Sounds like a fair deal.”
You made a show of grinning back, knowing exactly what you were doing. Alexia knew it too.
When you flicked your gaze in her direction, you didn’t even try to hide your amusement. And for the first time since this whole thing started, Alexia didn’t smirk back.
She just stared and when training resumed, she didn’t hold back. Every touch, every pass, every shot—there was extra venom behind it, extra bite. She was playing with a sharpness, a level of intensity that screamed one thing.
You’d gotten to her. And that was exactly what you wanted.
You weren’t staying.
You had done what you came to do, run your fitness tests, pushing Alexia’s buttons, and maybe drive her just a little crazy in the process. Was an unexpected bonus.
You were leaving. Just like she had at your practice. Fair was fair. You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you walked around the edge to leave, your teammates still lounging behind you, soaking in the sun.
But you barely made it a few steps off the pitch before you heard hurried footsteps behind you.
You knew who it was before even turning around.
“Leaving already?”
Alexia’s voice was smooth, but there was something beneath it. Something tight. You exhaled a quiet laugh, not slowing down. “Didn’t realise I had to check out with you first.”
Alexia scoffed, catching up to walk beside you, her pace casual but her presence anything but. “You don’t. Just surprised, that’s all.”
You hummed, letting the silence stretch, watching as she very obviously tried to keep her eyes on your face. She failed. Her gaze dipped—once, twice—dragging down over your torso, where your shirt was still slung over your shoulder. The heat of the sun had been the perfect excuse to take it off earlier, and you hadn’t bothered putting it back on.
Now, it was paying off. Because Alexia wasn’t subtle. Her eyes lingered just a second too long, her tongue darting out to wet her lips before she forced her gaze back up.
You smirked. “Something catch your eye?”
Her jaw tightened. “You wish.”
“Oh, I know.”
You stopped walking, turning fully to face her now, and she mirrored the movement without hesitation. For a second, neither of you spoke. But the tension. It was palpable.
A slow burn in the space between you, stretching, thickening. Her eyes searched yours, like she was looking for a sign, a challenge, an opening, something.
And you weren’t about to back down.
So, you tilted your head, letting your smirk deepen. “I didn’t think you followed people when they were the ones leaving early.”
Alexia exhaled sharply, her lips pressing together. “I wasn’t following you.”
You chuckled. “No?”
“No.” She squared her shoulders. “I had things to do.”
You stepped a little closer—just enough that you swore you saw her breath hitch. “Right. And those things just happened to be in the same direction as me?”
She didn’t answer right away. And in that silence, you swore you felt it shift. The teasing, the games—it was still there, but underneath it, something heavier. Something you weren’t sure either of you was ready to name.
Alexia’s gaze flickered, just for a second, to your lips before she caught herself. Then, as quickly as she had followed you she was stepping back.
Regaining her composure. “You should put a shirt on,” she muttered.
You grinned, reaching for your bag. “Why? Distracting?”
She didn’t dignify that with a response. She just turned on her heel, walking away without another word. But she didn’t have to say anything. Because you knew. And next time you weren’t going to let her walk away so easily.
You weren’t one to back down from a challenge—especially not one unspoken.
So, after training, standing in front of the mirror in the locker room, still shirtless, sweat clinging to your skin, you did what had to be done.
You snapped the picture.
The lighting was good, your abs looked sharp, and the smirk you wore? Just cocky enough to be annoying.
Perfect.
You opened Instagram, fingers hovering over the caption for only a second before typing exactly what you knew would send the world—and Alexia—into a frenzy.
"Should I do as I’m told and put a shirt on? 🤔"
You hit post.
And within minutes, the internet erupted.
@barcaworldwide: WE NEED TO KNOW WHO TOLD YOU THIS. 👀
@baskethoopsdaily: No. Don’t do it. For the culture.
@alexiapfans: Someone check on Alexia! Is she ok? I AM NOT OKAY.
@yourteammatename: I vote no. But if you get fined for this, I was never here.
@AlbaPutellas: I feel like you’re enjoying this way too much.
@alexiaputellas: You already know the answer.
That last comment. Yeah. That’s the one that really got everyone talking.
Because unlike the others—unlike all the laughing emojis and thirsty replies and teammates stirring the pot—Alexia’s response was… different.
She wasn’t playing along, not exactly. She was reminding you that she had told you to put a shirt on. That she’d been there, watching, reacting.
And that was enough to send her fans into a meltdown.
@alexiaupdates: WE NEED AN INTERPRETATION IMMEDIATELY.
@spainwntdaily: “You already know the answer” ??????? EXCUSE ME.
@barcelona_fc_fan: This is the most obvious “I was watching you and you know it” message I’ve ever seen.
@yournamefanclub: IS THIS OUR ROMANTIC ERA.
You leaned back in your bath, staring at the screen, the likes skyrocketing, the comments piling up by the second.
And then, before you could even think of a response, your phone buzzed with a private message.
Alexia should have let it go.
She should have ignored your post, pretended it didn’t get to her, pretended she didn’t see it.
But she didn’t.
She liked it. She commented on it. And then, hours later, when you were relaxing in the bath, she went a step further.
Alexia: You’re a menace.
You grinned, typing back.
You: And yet, you keep engaging.
She left you on read. But she liked the text. And that said everything.
Your phone buzzed yet again.
Alexia: You still haven’t answered the question.
You smirked
You: Which one?
Her reply came almost immediately.
Alexia: Should you do as you’re told?
You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head. She was playing now, pushing this back into your hands, daring you to make a move.
So you did.
You took your time with your response, letting your fingers hover over the keyboard before typing.
You: You tell me, Capitana. You seem to like giving orders.
Read at 9:46 PM.
No reply.
For a while, you let it sit, let her stew in it, let her decide whether she wanted to keep going or tap out. And then, when you were sure she couldn’t handle the heat. Your phone buzzed.
Alexia: I like being in control.
Your breath caught just slightly. Oh, she was good. But so were you.
You could have left it there, let the tension build, let it simmer in the background. But where was the fun in that?
Instead, you opened Instagram again, snapped another picture—this time, just a teasing hint of your legs and the glass of wine in your hand in the bath—and posted it to your story with a caption that would definitely get a reaction.
".. whilst waiting on my orders. 👀"
And you knew she saw it. Because not even five seconds later, you got another message.
Alexia: Eres insoportable. (You’re unbearable.)
You: And yet, you’re still here.
She left you on read again. But something told you this wasn’t over. Not even close.
I feel like lovie can con Leah into anything so one day lovie ask for a dog and she goes up to Leah saying “mama you know how you said you would get me whatever I wanted well I want a puppy can you do it please mama” and Leah can’t say no to her so she comes home with a puppy one day
WEAK SPOT | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson
grumpy masterlist
leah always prided herself on being strong-willed. she could command a defence, lead a team and hold her ground during tough and important matches.
but when it came to you? yeah, she was absolutely useless.
alessia had warned her, of course. "she's four, le. she knows exactly how to get what she wants from you. you have to learn to say no."
leah had just waved her off at the time, convinced she had things under control and that she knew exactly how to say no, like come on it's wasn't that hard after all it was only two letters long.
that was, until one lazy saturday afternoon, a rare break in the footballing calendar where there wasn't any matches but as ever while you and leah enjoyed a relaxing day, alessia was busy running errands she hadn't had time to do through the week.
you climbed into leah's lap, your esme the elephant under you arm as leah was busy reading on her phone. you beginning to play with the hem of her hoodie.
"mama," you started sweetly, looking up at leah with those big impossibly big blue eyes — that leah couldn't seem to say no to.
leah placed her phone down on her chest as she glanced down at you, already sensing danger, "yes, angel?"
"you know how you always say you want me to be happy?"
leah hesitated, unsure at where this was going to go, "uh.. yeah?"
you beamed, inching closer, "well, esme the elephant thinks a puppy would make me so happy." you said resting esme on leah's chest, as leah raised her eyebrows a smirk appearing on her lips.
"esme thinks this does she?"
"well, esme and me”
"can you do it, please. mama?" you pleaded, as you blinked up at her in a way that should have been illegal.
leah was done for.
—
two days later, leah was walking through the front door with a squirming golden retriever puppy in her arms. alessia who had been peacefully making tea in the kitchen, a smile appearing on her face as she heard the front door open and close behind her knowing exactly who it'd be.
expect that big smile quickly disappeared as she turned around and immediately freezing as her face dropped. alessia's eyes darting from leah to the wiggling ball of fluff in her arms, her mouth falling open.
"leah cathrine williamson." she groaned out loud setting her mug down with excruciating precision, "that better be a friends dog-"
leah's face gave it all away in a moment as she winced at her girlfriend's question, "so, okay, before you get mad—"
"before i get mad?" alessia let out a breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "you're telling me you just— just walked into a shelter and adopted a dog on your way home from the shops?"
"well, technically i drove there.." leah trailed off. alessia's face less than impressed.
"leah."
leah sighed, shifting the puppy that was in her arms slightly, "listen, less. i tired to say no, i did i promise i really tried." leah began as she stuttered out her words, alessia following along her eyebrows perking ever other word.
"but she looked at me with those eyes and asked and well i admit it, i can't say no to her!" leah lifted the puppy slightly, "and i mean, look at him! that little face. i couldn't say no to that face either-"
alessia slightly amused that leah had finally admitted that she couldn't say no, but her unimpressed demeanour returning as she crossed her arms, "i can say no."
just then the puppy let out a tiny yawn, his ears flopping adorably as he nuzzled further into leah's hoodie, alessia's gaze faltered slightly, her lips twitching.
leah smirked, "mhm, that's what i thought!"
before alessia could argue her case, your little voice squealed from down the hall, probably realising leah was finally home.
"mama, mama, you got him!"
you came running into the room, your socks slipping slightly on the wooden floor as you skidded to a stop in front of leah. your eyes wide with excitement as you reached up to gently cup the puppy's face.
"you got me the puppy!" you gasped, bouncing on your toes before throwing your little arms around leah's leg, "thank you, thank you, thank you!"
leah grinned, ruffling your hair slightly, "of course, angel."
alessia however, let out a dry laugh folding her arms, "she had and she's also bought herself some time to get some willpower lessons."
leah scoffed, feigning offence. "that's rude."
alessia raised an eyebrow, "is it cause at this rate, lovie could ask for a pony next week, and you'd be out the door before i even noticed."
leah opened her mouth to protest but you were already tugging on her hoodie again.
"mama, can we get a pony too?"
leah froze, opening her mouth to try and say the words but nothing was coming out from her lips.
alessia smirked, knowing she was right, "see?"
leah sighed, looking down at the puppy who licked her chin, "ok, okay, but admit it - he's adorable."
alessia sighed to, finally relenting. she crouched down scratching behind the puppy's ears, "yeah, yeah he's cute."
you clapped your hands excitedly, bouncing on your toes. "can we name him waffles?"
leah and alessia exchanged a look. leah smiled. "waffles it is!"
my roman empire
celebrations pt.3
this was written thanks to chappel roan, the power of lesbianism, and the one and the only @vixwritesagain because without her this fic would not exist!! this is my contribution to pride month (even though it’s over now) happy post-pride month to everyone here 🫶 hope everyone enjoys and pls lmk your thoughts!
warnings: smut minors dni 18+
“You’ll see, once we get upstairs.”
You clung to Alexia the whole walk up into the hotel. Your legs could hardly work, so she gave you the grace of turning off the vibrator in favor of being able to transfer you from the bus and into the lobby elevator.
As soon as the doors shut her lips were plastered against your own, like much of how you’d been treated, it was rough and controlled completely by Alexia. Her teeth gripped and nipped at your bottom lip, the slight pinch making you whine, you wanted more. Alexia did the same thing she’d been doing all night, she left you desperate for more. Just as quickly as her lips were moving against yours were they gone.
You whined from the back of your throat, but cut yourself off at the glare that Alexia sent your way, she didn’t need to say a single word, her facial expressions said it all, you had no say in what was about to happen.
And you were slightly embarrassed to admit that, but in your hazy state of mind the embarrassment passed fairly quickly.
When the elevator doors opened she was right back at your side again, the constant push and pull of the contact and then no contact was making your skin prickly and your throat scratchy, like needles were pushing against your insides.
The hallway was empty, thankfully, Alexia wasted no time in dragging you behind her, your body a puppet for her to control however she intended.
It wasn’t a long walk, your jelly legs only just managed to make it to the door of Alexia’s room.
She scanned her keycard with a flash of her hand, and was shoving you inside of the room even quicker than that.
You were still hazy, still pretty drunk on the feeling of submission, so it was a lot harder than usual for you to take in your surroundings.
People, there were lots of people.
Not so many that you felt overwhelmed, but enough that it was hard to actually focus on what the people were doing, your eyes darting back and forth between all of them.
None of their eyes were on you, but for whatever reason, it felt that way, but there is a tension that you can feel.
None of them are really doing, much.
It feels like the atmosphere of the room is so stuffed full, but yet not that much is happening, it only makes your already busy headspace more confused.
Alexia’s grab on your wrist tightens once again, and leads you directly toward a armchair, originally, you think she’s going to sit you down in it, make you wait there, make you watch whatever is clearly about to go down, but she stops you in front of the seat, slides herself in front of you and sits down.
When she points to the ground, you don’t really hesitate.
You drop to your knees in a unfraceful plonk, one that you know you’ll pay for tomorrow when your knees are sore and bruised from the wood floors of the hotel room.
Alexia’s eyes are anywhere but you, it’s the same with her attention.
You can’t see anything that’s going on around you, but it’s clear that the tension had came from everyone waiting for Alexia, waiting for some realy directions.
You stayed kneeled in front of her, waiting patiently for whatever command she’s going to give you.
The command never comes, instead, your emt with a brief reprieve from the constant lack of touch that your craving, when Alexia reaches down, her eyes still not meeting yours, shoving her hand back into your panties and turning the vibe back on.
The bullet whirs to life, and the torture of it all starts once again.
Alexia’s barking orders everywhere, ordering everyone around however she pleases.
You still can’t even begin to comprehend the amount of silent power she holds, she could walk into any room, and all attention falls to her, everyone focuses on her.
Especially in the team, everyone respects Alexia, it’s almost unheard of to disobey or go against Alexia, only the most confident and daring do it, and they reap the consequences of it.
It’s always the same people, the more dominant of the group who try to compete with Alexia, and always fail, Alexia is unmatchable, she’s la reina, she is like no one else and she knows it.
She bleeds confidence, there is an aura about her that is simply undeniable.
Up until today, you’d fawned, you’d obeyed, you’d done everything and anything to earn her praise because it felt so good.
Having Alexia praise you, or even just look at you in a certain way was something unexplainable, it was one of the best feelings you’d ever encountered, and having Alexia want to give you pleasure, that was something completely out of your universe. It was unwordly, it was pure perfection, it was the best endorphin ever, it was as addictive as any drug.
Yet today, you weren’t craving it, or the craving wasn’t big enough to combat the contrasting feeling you had to disobey, to fight.
You felt more out of control than you ever had, like you were spinning out, and you needed Alexia to recenter you, but not with pleasure, with something else.
The vibrations were hell, but Alexia’s hand on your cheek was good, her fingers in your mouth were even better.
You weren’t even sure how they got there, it was just like, one second they were on our cheek and the next, they were forcing themselves into your mouth, not that you minded, you were very happy to sit still and suck on Alexia’s fingers.
It was a form of validation, one that was making you weak at the knees, even though you were already on them for her.
“Ale, por favor, dánosla y la castigaremos, la usaremos como quieras.”
Whilst you were practically deaf in your headspace, Jenni’s voice up close managed to draw your attention.
You tried to turn your head to look at her, but Alexia’s hand in your mouth stopped you.
“No, she’s mine, and until she accepts that she’s deserving of a reward then it’ll stay that way, comprendes?”
Jenni whines, something that most people wouldn’t have the nerve to do, but she’s one of the only people who can get away with messing with Alexia. Alexia gives everyone a inch, Jenni tries to go the mile, and often Alexia finds it more amusing then bratty.
“But Ale, you promised rewards.”
If you whined at Alexia like that, you have no doubt she’d spank you until your ass was red and there were tears rolling down your face, with Jenni however, all she gets is a icy look and a warning.
“Mm, rewards for goal involvements, not for you. It’s not my fault that princesa is choosing to behave poorly, we’ll just have to see if watching some other people receive their rewards managed to tip her over.”
Your thighs clamp, in an attempt to close them at the insinuation Alexia is leaving, but her foot pushes them back apart and for the first time she glances at you.
“Comportarse.”
Her eyes are slanted, it’s the same face that she makes when a defender lays a bad tackle against one of your teammates, the similarity is uncanny, it’s a look of discontentment and disbelief, like Alexia is offended by your action.
“Aitana, come here.”
Alexia’s foot on your thigh pushes you slightly to the side, your head is still restrcited with the grip Alexia has on your mouth, but you’re on a angle now, and if you look in the furthest point of your peripheral you can catch some movement.
“Look at her, puta.”
You look upwards, at Alexia and then at Aitana, who is now hovering to the side of her.
She’s completely naked, a sight that your eyes immediately cling to. The swell of her breasts and the sight of the abs nicely tucked underneath. Your eyes raked up and down her abdomen, up to her neck, where there were a litter of darkened marks already developed.
“Aitana is about to receive her reward, because she was a good girl, and she knows it. But you say you haven’t been a good girl, so clearly you musn’t want a reward like her, hmm? Aitana, what do you want for your reward?”
Aitana is clearly finding it hard to look at you, and you share her aversion. There’s an awkward energy filling up between the two of you, you’re in disdain and Aitana is about to get whatever she pleases. You focus on the different lines across her body, the different ways her muscles cave in and out across her body. It’s a pleasant enough distraction for the time being.
“I-I don’t know.”
Alexia pouts at Aitana, and then smiles, for the first time since the bus you see her eyes light up with something other then annoyance directed at you.
“Hmm, anything you want, you were such a good girl, I’m sure anybody would be happy to oblige your wishes, you just have to tell me.”
Aitana fidgets with her hands before looking up at Alexia and mumbling something that sounds like a completely alternate language.
“Aitana, speak up, or else I might assume you want something that you haven’t asked for.”
It’s like Alexia is daring her to say it, trying to push her to edge out the words, and you know that it’ll work, Alexia always gets her way, she always has a endgame.
Aitana mumbles again and the little smirkish smile on Alexia’s face fades.
“Aitana, don’t make me ask you again, or else I might begin to think that you want to be treated similarly to y/n.”
Aitana stumcles over a few words before muttering out something that is comprehensible.
“Frido and Ingrid.”
It isn’t shocking at all, Aitana tends to gravitate towards her Scandi friends, and you can’t blame her.
“Mm, why am I not surprised? You don’t want to change it up? Want to stick to what you know best, hm?”
Aitana nods sheepishly and Alexia breaks out in another smile.
“It’s your reward though, so if that’s what you want, then you can have it. What do you want Ingrid and Frido to do?”
Aitana stutters over her words again, but with a sharp glare from Alexia she manages to compose herself a little bit.
“F-fuck me in both holes.”
You focus on the feeling of Alexia’s fingers in your mouth, it’s good, it’s grounding, it helps to drown out the immense pressure building up inside of you from the fucking vibrator tha was pressed directly against your clit.
“You’re going to have to be more specific than that. Do you want your throat stuffed with fingers like y/n, or do you want your cunt and ass stuffed full?”
Aitana looks down at the floor, her lip between her teeth, it’s so abundantly clear that she’s struggling to vocalise what she’s wanting.
A part of you wants her to tumble over her words again, to see what Alexia will do, and you’re slightly annoyed when she manages to compose herself.
“M-M-My ass and pussy.”
Alexia’s lips tilt up perfectly, like she’s so proud of Aitana, but more so proud of herself.
“Well, I suppose. You’ll have to ask both Ingrid and Frido very nicely though, although I’m sure they’ll have no issues with obliging your request.” Aitana nods, a big smile breaking out across her face, and for a second, you get a feeling in your gut, pure envy for what she’s receiving.
But then that feeling passes and you’re left with whatever feelings you have.
You don’t know how to define it, you’ll save that for later whne you’re spent and reflecting on this whole night, maybe tomorrow morning on the plane.
Aitana thanks Alexia meekly, like she’s waiting for approval to leave.
“Puta, look at Aitana, look at how easy it is to behave and be a good girl, hmm? She asked me for something and I gave it to her, because she deserves it, and she knows it. A few words and you could have whatever you want. I could turn the vibrator off, you could go play with Lucia, or Jenni, or Keira, or Mapi or me. It’s so easy, bebita.”
She draws the final sentence out, like she’s dangling the idea of release directly in front of you, and technically, she is.
You shake your head though, holding out on the strong and defiant front that you’re using to shield yourself from the desire inside of you that is fighting to be released.
It’s in your defiance that you realise in the time you’d been watching Aitana, Alexia has managed to undress herself down to a red lacy thong that makes your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. Aitana’s abs are something, but Alexia’s almost make your drool, and her breasts are something else.
Alexia caresses the underside of your chin with her thumb, pulling your attention from her body. She’s trying to push the two fingers in your mouth as deep as she can, when you gag, she only pushes further.
“Such a shame, you’re really only depriving yourself here. I was going to have so much fun with you, Lucia was going to have so much fun with you. I suppose she’ll only be able to have fun with Ona now, considering Keira’s preoccupied.”
The sound of a strangled moan, Jenni’s if your ears are right, make the torture of this whole scenario ten times worse.
The mention of Ona makes your blood boil. Normally, this whole situation is a complete role reversal for you and Ona. Normally, Ona’s the defiant one, the masochist, the brat, the pushy one. Ona enjoys getting on peoples nerves, she enjoys to tick people off, she gets off on it.
You can’t say you feel the same, Ona craves the rush of endorphins from being reprimanded and punished. You enjoy it as well, but you don’t crave it how she does. You don’t brat for fun, like she does, it doesn’t come naturally to you like it does for her.
Alexia knows it, she knows that the only reason you’re being a brat is because you’re trying to punish yourself and that’s why she refuses to actually punish you. When Ona brats, she’s searching for attention, it’s her way of admitting she wants something because it’s too hard for her to say it. For you, with a little bit of push and shove you’ll normally ask for whatever it is you need, you don’t feel the need to act out.
So Alexia decides she’s prepared to play this game with you, she’s not punishing you in her eyes, she’s just pushing you. She’s just as desperate as you are to shower you with the attention you deserve, but not until you know that you deserve it, and she’s determined to make sure that you know exactly how much you do deserve it.
“Puta, strip, I want you naked as you watched the show.”
Alexia pulls her fingers out of your mouth, stopping halfway to pop the inside of your cheek, breaking you out of the trance you’re in.
You whine at the loss of the silent comfort you’d had. Alexia’s fingers had been a silent reminder of the whole situation you were in. It had calmed you down, made it all a little bit easier, and now they were gone.
“Now, up.”
You stood up under her orders, ignoring the soreness throughout your legs and knees.
You slipped of your sweatpants first, folding them up nicely and placing them down on the coffee table next to Alexia’s armchair.
Your kept eye contact with her the whole time, too scared that if you looked anywhere else you’d be in more trouble.
You followed with your hoodie, then your shirt, then your socks, then your bra and finally your panties.
Alexia grabbed the bullet before it was able to fall anywhere, turning it off before placing it down on the table next to your neat pile of clothes.
You sighed at the feeling of inally not being directly on the edge for the first time in what felt like forever. You were still aroused, but nowhere near as despairingly so.
“Don’t feel so relieved, if you thought that was hard, you have no idea what’s coming.”
Alexia looked you up and down before pointing back down at the ground, a silent order. You appeased her demand, sinking back down onto your knees just how you had before, this time a little bit more gracefully in an attempt to try and preserve your knees.
“You’re going to create a puddle on the floor with all that arousal, and to think, I could have had somebody clean it you up if you were behaving.”
You nearly moaned at the idea, god you were embarrassingly desperate.
“Turn around for me, and watch Ona.”
You did as Alexia asked, turning around, and shivering when her arms caught your shoulder, tugging your head back, until your neck was flat against the front of the seat, and your head was resting on the inside of her thigh.
She reached her feet over your shoulders, tugging your legs back open, as far open as they could go.
All whilst you watched on, your eyes nearly bulgin out of your head at all of the new visual intake.
You were in a more stable headspace to handle it all now, but it didn’t make it any easier to figure out.
You went through it all slowly, starting with the first people who caught your eyes.
Jenni and Mapi.
Jenni and Mapi, fuck.
Alexia hadn’t been lying when she said you were in for so much worse than just the vibrator.
Mapi and Jenni were together, on a couch to the side of the room, not unlike the armchair Alexia was sitting on, just a lot longer and bigger, like it was made to be more of a sofa bed then a couch.
Mapi was on her back lying on the couch. If it wasn’t for the little bleach blonde ends peaking out against the cushions then you wouldn’t even know it was her because Jenni was covering pretty much her whole body.
Jenni was couch over the top of her, sitting on top of Mapi’s face, her own face hovering over Mapi’s pussy.
It was a beautiful sight, all encapsulated by the wink and massive grin that Jenni sent you when she caught your eyes from across the room.
It wasn’t the best part though, by far the best part was Keira sitting at the top of the couch in front of Jenni, perched on the arm of the couch, her hand stuffed down the front of her shorts.
Keira was anything but quiet, keeping eye contact with Jenni as she touched herself.
“Alexia, let her have a turn.”
Jenni looked at you, like she was trying to reinforce the fact that you were missing out big time.
Alexia’s hot breath in your ear stole your attention.
“Don’t you want that?”
You shook your head.
Alexia’s hand snaked down the front of your chest, taking hold of your right nipple and making a sharp tug, one that had you keening with the unexpected pain.
“I think you’re lying.”
You shook your head again, Alexia’s words wwere getting to your head, the feeling of her on you but not really on you was messing with your head, making all of the different chemicals mix together.
“Didn’t anybody ever teach you that lying’s bad? It’s okay to admit you want something, I’m not giving it to you until you admit what I need you to.”
You bit down on your lip at the third tug, Alexia’s fingertips ghosting over your now hard nipple, before deserting it completely.
She snaked her hand back up your chest, her index finger tracing the hollow of your collarbone, before gravitating up to your chin and tilting it away from Mapi and Jenni, onto one of the queen mattresses in the room.
Lucy and Ona.
Fucking smug, bitchy Ona.
She was on her knees up the front of the bed, her head and naked chest pushed straight into the white sheets of the hotel bed.
Even with Lucy pounding into her from behind, naked from the waist down and only wearing her sports bra, she still managed to muster up the strength to send a condescending wink your way.
It was undeniable the way that Ona’s presence affected you, it felt like it was just you and her in the room, as you shared eye contact that held so much power.
“Do you want to be where Oni is? Bent over and in absolutely no control?”
You shake your head, it’s a honest answer, because in this moment you don’t. Whilst what Ona is experiencing looks incredible, it’s not what you’re yearning for, and watching her makes you certain of that. You don’t know what it is you do want, but it isn’t that.
“Mm, okay, if not that, how about Aitana?”
She turns your chin the rest of the way, to the other queen bed in the room.
Aitana is a whole other sight, your eyes fall to the same muscles that you’d been previously appreciating, and then to everything around her.
You know why she picked Ingrid and Frido, because just the sight of the two of them is so erotic that the shivers that it sends down your spine.
There’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to leave a puddle behind whenever Alexia lets you up.
Watching Aitana laid directly on top of Ingrid, Ingrid pumping her hips up and down, in and out of Aitana’s pussy. Frido is hovering from above, her hands palming Aitana’s ass as she thrusts in and out of Aitana’s ass, at a more regular pace. There is sunshine and midnight coloured hair shadowing it all, Ingrid and Frido are all over her, their hands, their bodies, their hair, just them. Aitana is caged in by them, and she looks glorious whilst doing it.
“Is that what you want? To be used by two other people until you don’t remember what day it is. You can have it, if you want it, anyone here would give it to you.”
You shake your head once again, Alexia’s hand moves it’s way down from your chin, snaking down to your neck, and squeezing it for just long enough that you begin to feel the pressure.
“You don’t want that, you don’t want what Ona has, you don’t want what Jenni has?”
You shake your head, Alexia’s hand possessive along your throat.
She uses it to maneuver you back to facing her, her hand drawing your head up until you meet her eyes.
“You don’t want what they have, you don’t want to admit that you deserve to have that, you don’t even want to admit you had a good game.”
You look at Alexia, indifferent.
“You might as well go back to your room for the night if you don’t want anything from me.”
Alexia’s teasing you, baiting you, and you know it, but her tricks work on you all the same.
It must be the way your eyebrow crinkles, or your lips quiver, or your throat bobs underneath her hand. Either way, you know she picks up on whatever tell it is that you let off.
“So you do want something from me?”
Alexia’s hand secures itself to the middle of your neck, her hand’s large enough that it stretches from the base of your throat to the top, her fingers are close to being able to wrap fully around it. When she flexes them, the veins pop against your skin, and you swear that you almost see stars.
When she tightens it, you almost moan on default.
“So tell me then, what do you want?”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
don't hate me for leaving it on a cliff hanger... trust me... the delayed gratification will be worth it! for now I'm just happy I managed to write something and post it for you guys. anyways I'm going to retreat into my cave now! PLEASE let me know your thoughts and PLEASE leave whatever reblogs, likes and comments you can, love y'all and hoped you enjoyed !!
🫶🫶🫶🫶
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?
if this doesn't end with a contract renewal.. i might just delete the app 👀
🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀
Chapter 4
It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.
Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.
It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.
The city was still asleep when you left her. The sky was a deep blue fading into grey, the hush before sunrise casting a strange calm over the streets as you slipped into your car, heart heavy and full at once. Alexia had fallen asleep again for just a few minutes, curled beneath the blanket on her couch, hair still damp from your shared heat, one hand stretched toward where you’d been lying only moments before.
You’d kissed her forehead before leaving. Quietly. Reverently. No words. She didn’t need them. Now, hours later, you stood on the runway beside your teammates, the private jet humming behind you, the buzz of the semifinal beginning to settle into your chest like caffeine. Focus had returned—sharper than ever. But underneath it, beneath the press calls and the tactical briefings—there was her.
Still on your skin. Still under your nails. Still in your head. You looked down at your wrist. The bracelet. Barça colours. Two white beads. Two ones. Eleven. Your thumb brushed over it as you boarded the plane.
Across the aisle, Maya leaned in. “You’re weirdly calm.”
You shrugged, lips twitching. “I’m not calm. I’m just ready.”
Liv, already half-asleep beside her, muttered, “You say that like you didn’t sneak off to see your lucky charm last night.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” Maya said with a smirk. “It’s a flex.”
You settled into your seat, the engines roaring to life beneath you. You didn’t respond—not out loud. But you did glance out the window, the early light catching on your bracelet as the plane lifted off the ground. You were leaving for war. But you were carrying her with you.
Back in Barcelona, Alexia stirred awake to sunlight and an empty space beside her. She reached out, fingers brushing the couch cushion where you’d been, and smiled to herself. On the coffee table sat your jersey. And on top it, folded once, a note in your handwriting.
Don’t watch the scoreboard. Watch me.
She read it twice. Then she leaned back with a sigh, heart pounding, already counting down the hours until your next return. Semifinals were next. And this time, you weren’t just playing for the win. You were playing for the chance to win it all.
The wheels hit the tarmac in Milan with a soft thud, and your world shifted into overdrive. From the moment you stepped off the plane, it was a blur.
Camera crews. Sponsors. Staff. Schedules. Microphones shoved in your face before you even reached the hotel. You had barely adjusted to the Milan air before you were whisked into your first media session. Hair still damp from the plane bathroom sink, laces again barely tied, and someone was already asking:
“Do you feel pressure to lead this team to another historic win?” “Are you distracted by recent online noise?” “Any comment on Alexia Putellas’ tweet last week?”
You kept your answers clipped, professional, nodding politely, eyes forward. You’d trained for this—on and off the court. Smile when necessary. Speak when needed. Focus where it counts. The minute the press conference ended, it was straight to the training courts.
No time for breath. No space for nerves. Milan was cold, the sky grey and brooding, and the wind whipped up outside during your open session. Cameras lined the sidelines. Reporters watched every movement, every shot you took, every time the coach shouted your name.
You dug in harder. Every sprint, every drill, every set. You weren’t going to give them a headline about fatigue or distraction. You were here to prove something—to them, to yourself, maybe even to her. Still, the whirlwind didn’t stop. Dinner was late. Meetings even later.
By the time you made it back to your hotel room, it was after 9pm. You dropped your duffel by the bed and collapsed on the mattress, fully clothed, mind still buzzing with plays, matchups, film clips you couldn’t un-see. You stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, adrenaline still thrumming beneath your skin. Then you looked down.
The bracelet on your wrist caught the faint hotel light. Red. Blue. Two white beads. Two ones. You reached for your phone without even thinking, heart pulled toward her like gravity.
One unread message waited from hours ago.
Alexia: Play your game. The rest will follow.
You smiled to yourself, thumb brushing the screen before you typed back.
You: I will. Hope you liked your present
You didn’t wait for a reply. You slid the phone under your pillow, closed your eyes, and let the storm of the day settle. In two days, the lights would come on. In two days, the world would watch. But tonight—just for a few hours—you let yourself breathe.
—
You were in mid-morning practice in Milan when your phone started blowing up. At first, you ignored it. The group chat with Liv and Maya was always chaotic—memes, chaos, half-baked tactical jokes. But when Maya let out a loud gasp across the court, you knew something was up. “What?” you called out, dribbling casually toward her.
She turned her phone to face you, eyes wide, grinning like she’d just seen a celebrity scandal. “You’ve seen this, right?”
You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at the photo on her screen—and your brain short-circuited for a second. It was a picture of Alexia. Walking into the stadium for her own pre-match duties that day. Sunglasses on. Fresh blowout. And wearing a Barça basketball jersey. The one with your last name on the back and the big #11 stitched in bold white. The one you intended for her to wear in the privacy of her own home,
The caption beneath the post said
Alexia Putellas arrives for her game repping [Your Name]’s jersey. Is this a soft launch part two or what?!
And the replies. Forget it. The internet was melting down.
“THE JERSEY??? THE. JERSEY?????” “So we’ve passed matching bracelets and now we’re just wearing each other’s kit. Casual.” “Alexia Putellas wearing her girlfriend’s number like a proud WAG, I’m fine.” “Is this... is this canon??” “Plot twist: she’s just supporting Barça basketball. Right?? RIGHT???”
Your heart thudded in your chest—not from nerves this time, but from something warmer. Something that made you want to jump on a plane back to Barcelona and kiss her in front of every camera lens in the world.
Maya was still grinning. “That’s your jersey, isn’t it?”
“She’s just supporting the team,” you said quickly, trying to play it cool—even though your ears were hot and your smile was threatening to break your face.
Liv jogged over, phone in hand. “Oh, the locker room’s gonna scream. Her teammates probably are too.”
You sighed, but you were smiling. Hard. “She really wore it?” you asked quietly, mostly to yourself.
Maya nodded. “To her game. Into her stadium. Repping you. That’s not just support, that’s a statement.”
You looked down at your wrist. The bracelet was still there—anchoring you. Then you looked back at the court. “Alright,” you muttered, smirking now, refocusing. “Guess I’ve got a game to win. Can’t let my number one fan down.”
Liv rolled her eyes. “You two are disgusting.”
“Championship-level disgusting,” Maya added with a laugh. You just grinned and stepped back onto the court, locked in—because this time, your name wasn’t just on your back. It was walking into stadiums across the world on hers, too.
Back in Barcelona, the cameras were rolling as the team made their way onto the pitch for warmups. The sun was dipping low, casting a golden hue across the stadium, and the crowd was already buzzing—half for the game, half for the players they adored. But tonight, all eyes locked on Alexia. She jogged out onto the field, leading the squad in her crisp pre-match warmup kit, hair pulled back, face calm. Classic captain energy. But the cameras—sharp-eyed as ever—zoomed in fast. It wasn’t her boots this time. Not her armband. Not even the glimpse of the jersey she’d arrived in earlier. It was the bracelet on her wrist. Red and blue beads. Two white ones. Each with the number 1.
Instant chaos.
“SHE HAS THE MATCHING BRACELET OH MY GOD???” “Two 1s. It’s the number 11 again. This is insane.” “They are doing this on purpose now and I refuse to believe otherwise.” “So it’s not just emotional support, it’s FULL matching accessory energy.”
Screenshots hit every social feed within minutes. A slow-motion clip of Alexia stretching on the sideline, bracelet catching the light as she adjusted her socks, was already being edited into fan videos with romantic music. And her teammates noticed.
Patri gave her a look mid-stretch—eyebrows up, smirk fully loaded. “Nice bracelet, Capitana.”
Alexia didn’t even blink. “Team colours.”
“Right,” Patri said, drawing the word out like it had layers of meaning. “And the white beads?”
Alexia tied her boot tighter, expression cool. “Lucky numbers.”
A few of them laughed, others nodded knowingly, and within seconds, the bracelet had taken on a life of its own. Alexia jogged past the media row, focused and unfazed, but the photographers didn’t miss it. The bracelet was captured in perfect clarity as she clapped toward the crowd, her wrist flicking just enough to catch the sunlight again.
You saw it during a team video review session. Maya was scrolling through social and nearly choked on her water when the clip popped up. “She’s wearing your bracelet,” she whispered, passing you her phone like it was contraband.
You stared at the screen for a second, caught in the slow-mo loop of Alexia walking across the pitch—bracelet fully on display, no hesitation. She told you she didn’t have a matching one. You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked down at your own wrist… and smiled. Matching. Loud in the quietest way. Two cities. Two games. One silent, sparkling connection wrapped around your wrists. The world could speculate. You both already knew what it meant.
The video review session wrapped a little earlier than expected, which was rare. You were collecting your things when Coach called out across the locker room. "Sit tight for a minute—don’t head out just yet."
You froze mid-zip of your hoodie, glancing toward the screen you’d just been analysing game tape on. She gave a small smile and nodded to the staff member by the laptop.
“We figured, since most of you have been sneaking updates anyway…” she said, very pointedly not looking at you. “Might as well watch it properly.” The screen flickered to life, switching over to a live stream.
Supercopa de España Femenina Final. Barcelona vs. Real Madrid.
The whole room shifted.
Maya whooped, “LET’S GO,” while Liv immediately slid back down into her seat. You didn’t say anything. You just blinked at the screen, lips parting, because there she was.
Alexia.
Leading her team out, wearing the captain’s armband like it was sewn into her skin, calm and focused as ever.
You hadn’t expected this.
Coach glanced at you, just once. “Consider it... team bonding. Club supports club.” You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried.
For the next 90 minutes, you and your entire squad were glued to the screen. And what unfolded was absolute domination.
Barcelona came out firing. Real Madrid never stood a chance.
1–0 in the 8th minute.
2–0
3-0 before halftime.
By the time the fourth goal went in, Liv was standing on the bench screaming, and even Coach was nodding in quiet approval.
Then the fifth? Maya started the chant: “Alexia! Alexia!”—and the room joined in without hesitation.
It came in the 85th minute. You could feel it coming before it happened. Alexia picked up the ball at the edge of the box—curled it into the top corner with effortless precision.
The room erupted. Your teammates were on their feet, shouting, cheering, celebrating like it was your final. You didn’t even realise you were standing too until someone pulled you into a hug.
You couldn’t stop smiling. You weren’t even trying to play it cool anymore. The camera cut to Alexia blowing a kiss to the crowd, hand briefly touching the bracelet on her wrist—and your heart flipped. Because even in a 5–0 masterclass, she’d made you feel like part of it.
After the final whistle blew and the Barcelona players lifted the Supercopa trophy, your entire team was clapping, whistling, laughing.
Someone—probably Maya—filmed you with your hands on your head, grinning like an idiot. The video made it online within the hour.
🎥 @[YourTeamHandle] “When your sister team wins the #Supercopa and your locker room goes wild 🇪🇸💙❤️”
[📸: video of your squad celebrating Alexia’s 85th-minute screamer] “No. 11 supporting No. 11. 🫶”
The comments, as always, lost it.
“LOOK AT HER FACE WHEN ALEXIA SCORES 😭😭😭”
“You can’t fake that kind of joy.”
“That is real. That is SPORTSWIFE ENERGY.”
“I’ve never seen someone so proud. She’s LIVING.” “Not the team being fully invested in their captain-in-law.” “Alexia scoring the fifth was like a love letter, I swear.”
Today was the day. Semi final day for you, the buzz of Alexia’s win the night before long forgotten.
The hotel lobby was buzzing with pre-game energy—coaches double-checking schedules, staff sorting gear, players stretching, pacing, zoning in. The team bus was idling out front, clock ticking down to departure for the semifinal.
But before the chaos swept you away, you were granted a moment.
A small pocket of calm.
You stepped through a side corridor near the elevators and found them waiting—your family.
Your mum was already holding her phone up, clearly trying not to cry while snapping a picture of you in full team kit. Your dad, ever the quiet anchor, stood beside her with his arms crossed and the proudest smirk you’d ever seen.
Your older sister, standing tall as ever, was next to your brother and sister-in-law, who gave you a quick wave before nudging your niece forward.
And there she was four years old, bouncing in place, wearing an oversized jersey that nearly swallowed her whole, a tiny version of your number 11 on the back. Her curly hair was tied in two uneven puffs, and she clutched a little homemade sign that read:
“Go Auntie! Score lots!”
Your heart nearly burst.
You knelt down and opened your arms, and she sprinted toward you, throwing herself into a hug that knocked the air from your lungs—in the best way.
“Are you gonna win?” she asked seriously, peeking up at you with wide, expectant eyes.
“I’m gonna try really hard,” you whispered back, brushing hair from her face. “But even if I don’t, you still proud of me?”
She nodded furiously. “Duh. You’re my hero.”
You blinked hard.
Your brother clapped a hand on your shoulder while your mum quietly dabbed at her eyes. “No matter what happens today,” your dad said, voice thick but steady, “you’ve already made us proud.”
You stood slowly, hugging your mum, then your sister—who whispered in your ear, “Play like it’s for everything.”
“I will,” you promised.
Your brother handed you a folded note. “From all of us. Open in a bit.”
You nodded, carefully tucking it into your bag, right next to your water bottle and your game towel. Your sister-in-law passed you a small paper bracelet—clumsily made, colourful with marker scribbles and the words:
“Auntie’s magic!"
You tied it on next to the real one.
Just before heading toward the team, you took one last look at them—your family, your why, all standing together, cheering you on like it was the final.
You turned, heart full, focus sharp.
And walked toward the biggest game of your career, carrying their love with you—on your wrist, in your chest, and all the way to the court.
The moment you stepped onto the team bus, it all clicked into place. The pressure didn’t disappear—it sharpened. It no longer felt like a weight to carry. It felt like fuel.
With your duffel slung over your shoulder and your game headphones in place, you slid into your seat, gaze focused out the window. Paris passed by in flashes—grey skies, flashes of traffic, blue and red team flags waving outside the hotel. You could still feel your niece’s tiny arms around your neck, her voice echoing in your head,
“You’re my hero.”
You exhaled slowly, calming your nerves. Maya flopped into the seat across from you, giving you a long look before asking, “You good?”
You nodded. “Better than good.”
She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Family fix that for you?”
You didn’t answer right away—just glanced at your wrist, where two bracelets now sat side-by-side: the Barça-coloured one with the twin 1s… and the new, lopsided ‘Auntie’s Magic’ one, drawn in bright marker by your four-year-old hype woman.
“Something like that,” you murmured with a smile.
The bus rolled forward. No music, no noise yet. Just the quiet rhythm of teammates finding focus in their own ways. Some tapped knees. Others mumbled plays. You closed your eyes briefly, centring yourself.
When you opened them again, you reached into your bag and pulled out the note your brother gave you.
You hesitated—then unfolded it.
The handwriting was messy, full of overlapping words like everyone had squeezed in a line:
No matter the score, we already brag about you like you’re a world champion.
You play with fire. Keep doing that.
From your favourite sibling—you’re the GOAT.
Make history, kid. But mostly—have fun.
At the bottom, in scrawled marker, your niece had written in giant letters:
GO AUNTIE GO!
With a crooked heart drawn beside it.
You folded it carefully and placed it inside your jacket pocket—close to your chest.
—
By the time the bus pulled up to the arena, the city had shifted. Milan hummed with electricity. Fans were already outside. Cameras lined the walk toward the tunnel.
The staff gave you the signal. It was time.
You stood with your team in the tunnel, bouncing slightly on your toes, the court just out of view. The arena lights glowed ahead. Whistles, cheers, and chants thundered just beyond the wall.
Your heartbeat synced to it. Maya nudged your arm and leaned in. “Ready?”
You nodded slowly, eyes locked forward. “Let’s make history.”
Then the announcer called your name. And you stepped into the light.
The lights hit you like a wall of heat as you stepped out onto the court. A roar rose from the crowd—not just noise, but energy, thick and alive and vibrating through your chest. The court gleamed beneath your sneakers. Flags waved from the rafters. Music thumped through the speakers as the announcers rattled off names, hyping up the crowd. You barely heard yours—you were already zoning in.
The entire stadium was electric, and you felt it in your bones. You glanced at the scoreboard—still blank, still untouched. The calm before the storm. Your team spread out for warmups. Coaches shouted instructions, but it all faded into the background. Your breathing slowed. You stretched. Let your muscles settle into rhythm.
The minute the coverage started on Alexia’s television it fell quiet, you were all they were talking about, Alexia was locked in on the TV, oblivious to how many of her teammates had joined her for the game “It’s a historic run this Barcelona side have been on, they are dominating in every competition they are competing in, and all talk is putting that down to (your name) she just brings something out these players we didn’t see last year”
“That’s right, the way she moves around the court, her confidence her ability to change the play, the amount of triple doubles this woman has achieved this season has broken all records.”
“Not only is she the leading points scorer she’s also leading in the assists to, she’s not a selfish player. Barcelona really need to lock her down if they want there women’s basketball team to continue to be successful”
“It shocks me they’ve yet to lock her down to a new contract” Alexia furrowed her brows, “It’s crazy to me to bring in a player of her calibre in for only one season. They have her for two more months and then after that, who knows where she’ll end up, but it’ll be a sad day if she leaves Spanish Basketball because what she’s done for the sport here is incredible. Last year you had maybe a thousand people at this game, this year is a packed sold out 19 thousand strong crowd. That’s the your name effect”
“The last we heard there were discussions on keeping her at Barcelona but I did hear she had at least 5 WNBA teams show significant interest in her”
Alexia sat frozen, her grip tightening around the remote as the broadcast continued. The energy in the room had shifted her teammates and family were murmuring about the weight of the moment, but she barely registered it.
She didn’t know. She hadn’t known.
The words echoed in her head, louder than the TV itself. She had always naïvely, not thought about the fact you may not be in Barcelona forever. That Barcelona was as much a home to you as it was to her. That this season wasn’t just a stepping stone but the beginning of something long term.
Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as the analysts continued.
“It would be a shame for Spanish basketball to lose her. What she’s done here is unprecedented.”
“She’s a generational talent—Barcelona need to do everything in their power to keep her.”
“But is that enough? If the WNBA comes calling, how do you say no? That’s the dream right?”
Alexia’s jaw tightened. She didn’t realise she’d stopped breathing until Patri elbowed her lightly.
“You okay?” she asked, chewing popcorn with casual concern.
Alexia nodded quickly. “Fine.”
But she wasn’t.
She had no idea.
She watched as the camera zoomed in on your face during warm-ups—focused, sharp, the bracelets still visible on your wrist. You looked calm. Like you were ready.
But Alexia wasn’t.
Her hands fidgeted in her lap again.
“You think she’d really leave?” one of the younger players asked quietly, almost in awe.
Alexia looked straight ahead, masking her emotion behind a calm, composed smile. “She’s spoken about as one of the best women’s basketball players, if she gets a better offer why wouldn’t she? I wouldn’t blame her either”
But inside? She hated the idea of you leaving.
--
The energy in the arena was suffocating, the kind of electric buzz that crackled in the air and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A sold-out 19,000-strong crowd was packed into the stands, screaming themselves hoarse as the final minutes of the game ticked away.
Barcelona: 84 | Opponents: 84 |
15 seconds left
Your chest was heaving, sweat rolling down your temple as you dribbled at the top of the key, eyes flicking across the defence. You’d been battered all night—double teams, hard fouls, and a brutal elbow to the mouth that had left you with a bloody lip in the third quarter. But you weren’t coming off. Not with everything on the line.
Coach hadn’t even needed to draw up the final play. Everyone knew the ball was going to you.
You started your move with 10 seconds left, crossing over, getting your defender on their heels before driving hard to the right. The moment you saw the help defence slide in, you threw it to Maya in the corner. She faked the shot, but her defender closed too fast.
5 seconds left
Maya swung it back to you at the top of the arc. You caught it, planted your feet, and let it fly.
Time slowed.
The ball arced high, spinning perfectly toward the rim as the buzzer sounded—
A second later.
Nothing but net.
Game over.
For a split second, there was silence. Then the arena erupted. The sound hit you like a tidal wave. Deafening. Absolute madness. You barely had time to react before you were tackled Liv was the first to reach you, wrapping her arms around your neck, her legs around your waist, nearly taking you down. Then came Maya, Claudia, the entire bench mob, screaming and jumping as the crowd lost their minds.
Barcelona was going to the final. Second trophy of four coming within touching distance.
The weight of the moment hit you like a freight train. You had done it. For the first time in history, Barcelona’s women’s team was heading to the championship final game, a chance to win the trophy.
The cameras were on you now, someone shoving a mic in your face as you tried to catch your breath. Your lip was still bleeding, your body aching, but all you could do was grin, overwhelmed, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest.
You barely heard the reporter’s question. Something about history. Something about pressure. Your mind wasn’t even in the arena anymore. You were just overcome.
The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins as you sat at the press conference table, your jersey still damp with sweat, your lip still split from the brutal elbow in the third quarter. The buzz in the room was electric reporters murmuring excitedly, cameras flashing, your teammates laughing and celebrating beside you.
Barcelona was heading to its first-ever final, and everyone wanted to talk about it. You fielded the first few questions easily—your thoughts on the game, the atmosphere, that buzzer-beater. You grinned as Liv elbowed you playfully when the reporter called it one of the most clutch shots in Barcelona basketball history.
“I mean, we knew the ball was going to her,” Maya said into her mic, shooting you a knowing look. “We’d be idiots not to. She lives for moments like that. She’s the only person I’ve ever met that loves that pressure”
Laughter rippled through the room, and you smirked, shaking your head. “I don’t know about living for it, I just didn’t want to go to overtime.”
The reporters ate it up, the cameras flashing faster. But then, the question came. Direct, cutting through the energy like a cold blade.
“There’s been a lot of talk about your contract situation (Your name), with Barcelona only having you under contract for two more months. Given the WNBA interest, is this your last season here?”
The laughter died instantly. Your teammates shifted beside you, the air in the room changing as every reporter leaned forward, recorders in hand. You didn’t hesitate. You set your mic down, leaned back in your chair, and exhaled sharply before giving a blunt, final answer.
“Now’s not the time for that conversation.” Your tone left zero room for follow-up. Cold. Unshakable. Maya smirked beside you, clearly amused by the tension in the room. Some of your other teammates chuckled under their breath, but the message was loud and clear. You weren’t talking about it. Not now. Not when your team was on the verge of history. The reporter opened his mouth to push, but you didn’t let him. You leaned forward, eyes sharp, and said, “Next question.”
Silence.
Then, slowly, another reporter spoke up, pivoting the conversation back to the game, to the championship ahead. The room exhaled, the pressure shifting. But your message had been sent. The press conference had settled back into its usual rhythm—questions about the game, the team’s mindset heading into the final when a reporter in the back cleared his throat, steering the conversation somewhere you hadn’t expected.
“We noticed Alexia Putellas wasn’t in the arena tonight for such a historic moment. She’s been seen at several of your games this season. Was there a reason for her absence?”
You barely blinked, but you felt Maya shift beside you, clearly sensing the sudden shift in energy. The room waited, pens poised, recorders held a little closer. You kept your tone even, uninterested in feeding the media anything extra. “Alexia has her own season to focus on. She’s a professional she’s got her own priorities. She and her team won the Supercopa not a couple of hours ago, she’s busy”
The reporter pressed on. “Still, considering the magnitude of this win, one might have expected her to be here. Does her absence say anything about your friendship..relationship?”
Your jaw clenched for a fraction of a second, but you smoothed it out before anyone could catch it. “I don’t see how this is relevant to basketball,” you replied, voice firm, shutting it down before it could become a headline. Liv smirked beside you, clearly entertained by your bluntness, while a few of your other teammates stifled amused glances.
The reporter hesitated before reluctantly pivoting back to questions about the game. But even as you fielded the next round of inquiries, something nagged at you. Because they didn’t know. They didn’t know she had unintentionally set up a watch party. They didn’t know she had spent the entire night glued to the screen, watching your every move, wearing your jersey. They had no idea that she had been just as invested—if not more—than the people screaming in the stands.
But for the first time, she had chosen to stay in the background. And that meant something. You were ignoring the glaringly obvious reason that you were in Paris. She back in Madrid hours post her own win.
Your phone buzzed on the table beside you—face down, out of sight—but you knew. You just knew.
It was her.
And suddenly, the game, the questions, the noise of the press room—it all faded.
Because whatever Alexia had to say? That was the only thing that mattered now
You subtly flipped it over, glancing at the screen.
Alexia: You looked good out there. Even with the bloody lip. Kinda hot, actually.
You bit your lip to keep from grinning, shaking your head when the pain shot through you. But before you could type a response, Liv, sitting beside you, leaned over just enough to catch a glimpse of the message.
A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face.
“Ohhh,” she murmured under her breath, barely audible over the noise of Maya answering a question in her usual professional articulate manner. “That was not a ‘congrats on the win’ text.”
You shot her a side-eye, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Mind your business.”
Liv simply leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, thoroughly enjoying herself. “Can’t help it when it’s right there.”
Alexia: So, are we gonna talk about how you nearly gave me a heart attack? Or should I just accept that you enjoy stressing me out?
You exhaled sharply through your nose, a small smirk creeping onto your lips. Liv leaned in slightly, managing to catch a glimpse of the message before you could lock your phone.
You: I like keeping you on your toes.
Alexia’s response came immediately.
Alexia: We’ll see how much you like it when you get back here.
“Ohhh,” she whispered under her breath, barely moving her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. “She’s mad. Mad.”
You bit back a laugh, keeping your face neutral, though the corners of your mouth twitched.
Still staring ahead at the next reporter, Liv nudged your knee under the table, mouthing, “You’re in trouble.”
That was it. You lost it. You tried to hold back the laugh, but the way Liv was fighting her own smile made it impossible. A small snicker escaped, and Marta, sitting on the other side of Liv, turned toward you in confusion.
“Something funny?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
You cleared your throat, masking your laughter with a cough, but Liv was no help her shoulders were shaking silently as she desperately avoided eye contact. When you both made eye contact you both burst out laughing, you covered your face as you laughed, “What’s so funny?”
“It’s not even funny” you laughed, your laugh was winding down but soon as you looked at Liv again you lost it again, “I’m sorry”
Maria squinted suspiciously before shaking her head, returning her focus to the press. “You now know the answer to why we never normally have these two in the same press conference”
Your phone buzzed you peered
Alexia: If you’re laughing at me, I won’t be happy
You tilted your phone to Liv who’s mouth dropped
Liv finally whispered under her breath, still grinning, “You’re so dead.”
You just smirked, tapping out a quick reply. “Sorry, what was your question?” You glanced as your thumbs were still moving
You: Are you ever happy?
You as a sign put your phone in your lap, cheeks warming slightly, and shot Liv a look.
She read everything from your face and chuckled, muttering, “Yup. You’re so done for.” You exhaled, shaking your head, but your grin never faded. Because you weren’t sure if Alexia was mad, exasperated, or just playing with you. But one thing was clear you couldn’t wait to find out.
The press conference didn’t go on much longer, Maya, nudged you. “You ready to get out of here?”
“Yeah,” you said quickly, standing up and pocketing your phone, avoiding Liv’s smug look.
As you all made your way out of the press room, Liv caught your arm for just a second, whispering, “Tell her I said ‘hi.’”
You snorted, shaking your head as you pushed the door open. “You’re annoying.”
Liv grinned, eyes twinkling. “And yet, you love me.”
You laughed, shaking off the last of your nerves. Whatever was waiting in Alexia’s next message, you’d deal with it soon enough.
The second you stepped into the locker room, away from the cameras and press, you pulled out your phone. Your teammates were still riding the high of the win, laughing and chatting as they made their way each grab bottles of the awaiting celebratory drinks, but your focus was entirely on your phone.
Alexia: They’re replaying you looking all moody after the elbow. It’s sexy.
You tapped on Alexia’s message, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.
You: Oh, so now you like me bloody and bruised? Good to know.
A few seconds passed, then
Alexia: Always knew you were tough, but seeing it like that? Yeah… definitely not a bad look.
You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head. Just as you were about to respond, Liv brushed past you, tossing a teasing look over her shoulder.
“Tell her to keep it in her pants,” she quipped, loud enough for Mayam and a few others to hear.
Maya perked up immediately. “Ohhh, Alexia? What’s she saying?”
You shot Liv a glare while Maya practically lunged to peek at your phone. You pulled it away just in time. “Nothing. Mind your business.”
“Not a chance,” Maya grinned. “You’re all over the news, and your ‘not-girlfriend’ is suddenly very chatty? We’re invested.”
“Deeply invested,” Liv added, clearly enjoying herself.
You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone into your jacket pocket. “You’re all unbearable.”
“You love us,” Maya quipped.
You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”
The teasing continued as you fully engaged in the chanting and banging of the walls, but the moment you had a second to yourself after they’d subsided, you pulled your phone back out.
You: How’s my biggest fan feeling after watching that?
Alexia’s reply was almost instant.
Alexia: Proud. Also, frustrated because you’re an idiot for not dodging that elbow more the I watch it.
You grinned, leaning against the locker.
You: Part of the game
Alexia: Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
You hesitated for a moment, fingers tapping against the screen. The conversation was lighthearted, teasing, but something about her words, about her absence tonight lingered in your mind.
You: Wish you were there.
A pause. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Alexia: Me too.
You exhaled slowly, staring at the message. For the first time all night, the win, the noise, the celebration—it all faded into the background. Because this wasn’t just some playful back-and-forth. This was something else entirely. It was too much for you so you changed the tone throwing Alexia for a loop
You: Was a good game you’d of learned a lot.
The locker room was buzzing, music blasting, champagne already being popped despite Coach’s weak protests, teammates laughing, reliving the final moments of the game like they hadn’t just lived it in real-time. You should’ve been fully in the moment. But your eyes kept flicking to your phone, Alexia’s last message sitting heavy in your mind.
Me too.
It wasn’t just words. It wasn’t just a casual response. It meant something.
“Are you even here right now?” Liv’s voice broke through your thoughts, amusement dripping from her tone. She leaned on the locker next to you, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.
You blinked, forcing a smirk. “Yeah, I’m here.”
Liv scoffed. “Mmm-hmm. And I’m the Pope.”
You rolled your eyes, pocketing your phone. “Drop it.”
Maya, freshly drenched in celebratory champagne, appeared on your other side, grinning ear to ear. “Oh, no way. What’s going on?”
“Alexia,” Liv answered for you, smirking.
Maya’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh. Did she finally confess her undying love? Is she proposing? Did she—”
You shoved her lightly. “You two need hobbies.”
Liv shrugged. “This is our hobby.”
Maya nodded, completely serious. “You’re far more interesting than our actual lives.”
Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. You felt both Liv and Maya shift to peek over your shoulder. You turned your back immediately, shooting them a warning glare. “Touch grass, both of you.”
Maya clutched her chest dramatically. “You’ve changed.” Ignoring them, you pulled out your phone, your heart kicking up just a little faster.
Alexia: I’m still up.
A slow smirk forming on your lips
You: What a coincidence. Me too.
Alexia: Call me when you’re done celebrating?
There it was again. Something unspoken.
You stared at the message for a second before quickly typing back.
You: Give me ten minutes.
You felt eyes on you and turned to find Liv and Maya grinning like they’d just won the lottery.
Maya held up her hands. “I won’t ask.”
Liv, however, smirked. “Just don’t say anything stupid when you call her.”
You scoffed. “When do I ever say anything stupid?”
Both of them exchanged a look.
Maya patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Godspeed.”
Shaking your head, you grabbed your jacket and slipped out of the locker room, your pulse quickening just a little. Because as much as you loved celebrating with your team, there was only one person you wanted to talk to right now. And she was waiting for your call.
The night air was crisp as you stepped outside the arena, the distant sounds of celebration still echoing from inside. You pulled your jacket tighter around you, took a deep breath, and tapped Alexia’s name on your phone. It barely rang once before she picked up.
“Took you long enough,” Alexia teased, her voice warm and familiar.
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Had to survive the post-game interrogation first. Liv and Maya were unbearable.”
Alexia laughed softly, and the sound instantly eased the last of your nerves. “Let me guess—they saw my texts?”
“Oh yeah. They were ready to write fanfiction.”
Alexia hummed knowingly. “Sounds about right.” A comfortable silence settled for a second, the weight of the game, the win, and the night still lingering between you. “So,” Alexia started, her voice softer now. “How does it feel? You just made history.”
You exhaled, rubbing the back of your neck. “Honestly? It still doesn’t feel real.”
“It is.”
Her certainty made something settle deep in your chest. “I just wish you were there,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
There was a pause on her end, then a soft sigh. “Me too.” The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip. “I wanted to be,” she continued. “I had the whole watch party going, but it wasn’t the same.”
You smiled slightly, picturing her in your jersey, surrounded by her teammates, Alba probably making a whole event out of it. “You had a whole crowd watching me?”
“Of course,” she said simply. “I wasn’t missing that.”
Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “Well, we’re in the final now,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Plenty of time to show up.”
Alexia chuckled softly, but there was something unspoken in the pause that followed. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Plenty of time.”
But you both knew that wasn’t entirely true. The unspoken thing—the contract, the future, the uncertainty—hung between you like an invisible thread, waiting to be pulled. You weren’t ready for that conversation tonight. So instead, you teased, “You’re still picturing me with a bloody lip, aren’t you?”
Alexia laughed, a little breathless. “I hate how well you know me.”
You smirked. “I have a talent for reading you.”
“Oh yeah?” she mused. “Then what am I thinking right now?”
You pretended to consider. “Hmm… you’re wondering when I’m getting on a plane back to Barcelona.” Her silence spoke volumes. “Am I wrong?” you pressed.
“Not even a little,” Alexia admitted.
You grinned, shifting on your feet. “Soon.”
“Good,” she said, her voice softer now. “I’ll be waiting.” You exhaled, the weight of the night suddenly feeling a lot lighter. “Try to get some sleep tonight, cariño,” she murmured, her voice sending warmth through you. “You’ve got a final to prepare for.”
You smiled. “And you’ve got a flight to book to Paris.” The final was in Paris.
She laughed, shaking her head. “Go celebrate, idiot.”
“Goodnight, Alexia.”
“Goodnight.”
You ended the call, exhaling deeply, the city buzzing around you. You had just made history. But somehow, she was still the only thing on your mind.
The streets of Paris were alive, buzzing with energy, but nothing matched the euphoria radiating from you and your teammates as you spilled out of the team bus and into the bar your coach had reserved. The night was yours, and for once, you weren’t thinking about anything else—not Alexia, not the contract talks, not the endless media speculation.
Tonight was about celebrating.
The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins as you stepped out of the hotel lobby, where a fleet of black cars was waiting to take the team to your celebratory dinner. The night air was crisp, the city still buzzing from the historic win just hours earlier.
Inside the cars, the mood was electric—laughter, cheers, and even an impromptu chant started by Maya that had the entire squad hyped all over again.
“You do realise we only made the final, right?” Liv teased, adjusting the sleek blazer she had opted for instead of a dress. “Not saying we shouldn’t be celebrating, but it’s not like we won the whole thing yet.”
Maya rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. We made history tonight. Do you know how many Barcelona teams before us have tried and failed to do this?”
“All of them,” Claudia added, grinning. “So yeah, we celebrate.”
When you pulled up to the restaurant—a high-end spot that the club had booked out exclusively for the team and staff—you were met with flashes of cameras from across the street. The media was already outside, eager to get a glimpse of the team that had just shaken the entire league.
Inside, the energy was even louder. The coaching staff, club executives, and even a few familiar faces from other Barcelona teams were there, raising glasses in your honour. As you took your seat at a long, lavishly set table, a waiter immediately poured you a glass of champagne.
“To making history!” one of the coaches toasted, raising his glass.
The entire room erupted, glasses clinking, cheers echoing against the walls. You leaned back slightly, taking it all in—the faces of your teammates, your team, all of you standing on the precipice of something massive. Dinner was chaotic in the best way possible—stories from the game, wild reenactments of the final shot, playful jabs at each other for missed free throws or sloppy turnovers. Someone started a tally of who had gotten the most fouls throughout the season, and of course, your name was high on the list.
“This one,” Liv announced dramatically, pointing at you with her fork, “has personally put at least five people on the injured list this season.”
You held up your hands in innocence. “Not my fault they don’t move fast enough.”
Maya howled in laughter. “They’re still talking about that brutal screen you set last month.”
Liv shook her head, sipping her drink. “You love being the villain.”
You smirked, raising your glass. “Only if it gets us the win.”
By the time dessert came around, the mood had shifted slightly—still celebratory, but also a little more reflective.
“We really did it, huh?” Marta mused, stirring her spoon in her coffee.
“We’re not done yet,” the team captain reminded her. “One more.”
“One more,” you echoed, nodding. And that was the reality of it. The biggest game of your career was still ahead. But tonight was about the journey. About this team. And about taking a second to appreciate the moment before the real battle began.
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 3: 36 hours in Munich
Word Count: 8k
⚽️
You’re in the locker room, post-session. Freshly changed but, pulse still settling, water bottle half-drunk and rolling somewhere near your bench. Everyone’s moving slow — stretches, recovery gear, shower queues. Typical post-training lull.
But you’re pacing already packing away, quicker than normal, you normally linger for longer. You sit finally. Jacket half-zipped. Legs twitchy, breath short, heart doing sprints while your teammates are winding down.
You check your phone for the sixth time in two minutes. Still nothing. Still soon.
“Alright,” a voice cuts through behind you. “Who is it?”
You look toward the voice. Georgia. Leaning against the wall, towel over her shoulder, one brow cocked. You blink. “What?”
“You’re all… shifty.” She waves a vague circle around you. “Nicely-dressed, hair down. You keep checking your phone like it's gonna grow lips.”
You try to brush it off. “It’s nothing.”
Georgia doesn’t even flinch. “Liar. Spill it.”
You stare at her for a second. You weren’t going to tell anyone. But something about her tone — casual but not cruel — makes your chest loosen. And you need to say it out loud. Just once.
You sigh, grab your other boot, and sit. “She’s flying in.”
Georgia pauses. “She?” You assumed Beth would of blabbed by now.
You swallow. “Alexia.”
That name lands like a stone in a calm pool. Georgia blinks once. “Putellas?”
“Yeah.”
She’s staring now. Like full-body-turn, jaw-slightly-dropped, towel-falling-off-the-shoulder staring. “For… ?” she tries.
You sigh a hand going through your freshly washed hair. “For a day.”
Her mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again. “As in…”
You shrug, but you can’t help the way your face warms. “Yeah. As in that. She followed me after the home game against Barca, after the away game, that's when she first started DM'ing me" You smile at Georgia's mouth hanging open.
"Saying what?"
"Football stuff mainly, about the games, but after the last game at Wembley, she asked if she could come here to see me. I said yes.”
Georgia whistles low. “Bloody hell. You’re actually—” she stops herself. “Wait. Are you nervous?”
You nod, fast and helpless. “I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”
She laughs, loud and bright. “You scored a free kick at Wembley in front of ninety thousand, but you’re sweating because the Queen of Barcelona herself is flying in for a sleepover?”
You put your hand out, "You say it like they're not both just as equally massive" You groan, head in hands. “Why did I tell you.”
Georgia grins. “Because you needed to.” She slaps your back once, warm and steady. “She’ll have a nice time I'm sure. And you're interesting when your social battery is full. Just don’t overthink it.” You look up. Georgia’s still smiling — not teasing now. Just sure. “Go get the girl from the airport,” she says. “Don't over think it, just take it for what it is, it's her idea to come here so let her lead what it is"
You roll your eyes. But you’re nodding too. Because yeah — it’s real now. She’s coming. And you have to be ready.
“Meado knows about mine and Alexia’s conversations, she doesn’t know about her coming. If you know, you need to freak out about this when I’m gone”
⚽️
The car is parked just beyond the pickup loop, engine idling low. Your hoodie’s half-zipped, one hand gripping the steering wheel, the other drumming nervously against your thigh. You’ve been here twenty minutes early, but you’d never admit it.
Your phone lights up with a text.
Alexia: Just got my bag. Coming out now.
You swallow hard.
You glance in the rearview mirror, tug at your hair, check your reflection. You don’t even know why — it’s her, you’ve already been through matches and mud and bruises together — but somehow, this is different.
It’s real. And quiet. And outside the lines. The terminal doors slide open again. A few people walk out. Not her. Another group. Still not. Your fingers tap faster.
Then there she is. Alexia. Dressed in all black, sunglasses pushed up into her hair, duffel bag over her shoulder. She walks out calm, casual, that familiar captain’s posture in every step. But her eyes are already searching.
And the second she sees you, they soften. You watch her approach through the windshield, heart thudding so hard you’re sure she’ll hear it before she even opens the door.
She pulls it open and slides into the passenger seat with that impossible grace, dropping her bag between her feet. You look at her.
She looks at you. And for a second, neither of you says a thing.
“Hey,” you breathe, voice barely above the hum of the engine.
“Hey,” she says back, softer.
You both smile. It’s awkward and perfect and so much. “I can’t believe you’re actually here,” you say as you pull out into traffic.
She leans back in the seat, eyes still on you. “I told you,” she murmurs. “I didn’t want to miss you.”
The city rolls past in a blur of grey and gold. Low sunlight spills across the dashboard, and the soft thrum of music — something wordless and warm — fills the quiet between you.
You’re both a little awkward. Not painfully so. Just… cautiously new.
It’s strange, this version of her — in your passenger seat, seatbelt clicking into place, fingers drumming lightly on her thigh. She’s looking out the window, but keeps glancing at you when she thinks you won’t notice.
You notice. “Airport was easy, then?” you ask, just to fill the silence.
She nods. “Very. One person tried to sneak a photo. But I gave them the look.”
You smirk. “The full ‘Putellas Death Glare’?”
“Level three only,” she says, mock serious. “Mild warning.”
You laugh under your breath, relaxing a little. Her accent’s thicker in person, softer in a car. You don’t know why that makes your stomach twist the way it does.
She glances at you again, a little longer this time. “It’s weird,” she murmurs. “Hearing you talk without a crowd around us.”
You smile. “You’ll get used to it.”
You make it through another light, and the silence stretches — still easy, but expectant.
Then suddenly — you freeze. “Oh shit.”
Alexia blinks. “What?”
You wince. “I forgot to tell you something kind of… important.”
She turns in her seat, curious. “What did you forget?”
You drum your fingers on the wheel. “I have a dog.”
Alexia blinks again. Then a slow smile tugs at her lips. “That’s what you forgot?”
“Well, yeah,” you say, already cringing. “I just—I meant to tell you. I’m not one of those people who spring dogs on people. He’s sweet. I swear.”
She’s laughing now — full, rich, effortless. “You make it sound like you’ve got a bear waiting at the door.”
“He’s just… enthusiastic,” you say, biting your lip. “His name’s Teddy.”
Alexia tilts her head, teasing. “Named after?”
“Teddy bear. Don’t judge me.”
She holds up both hands. “No judgment. But I can’t believe you didn’t lead with that.”
You glance at her. “Still time to turn around, you know.”
She smiles wider, looking straight ahead again. “I came here to see you,” she says softly. “Teddy’s just a bonus.”
And just like that, the nerves quiet. Just a little.
⚽️
You pull into the parking spot in the street, heart suddenly faster than it was on the pitch at Wembley.
Alexia’s quiet beside you, seatbelt undone, hands folded in her lap. But you feel her eyes on you as you kill the engine and sit for a second longer than necessary.
“This is it,” you say, finally, looking up at your loft apartment on the third floor
She nods. “Cute street.”
You grin. “Cute flat.”
She smirks. “Cute dog?”
You shoot her a look. “He’s trying his best.”
You both laugh as you get out. The early evening air is cool, the sky dipping into that soft lilac blue. You grab her small bag from the boot, and as you unlock the door, you hesitate.
“He might bark.”
“I can handle it,” she says, smiling.
You push the door open. It takes exactly one second.
Teddy barrels around the corner, all paws and excitement, nails tapping on the floor like a drumroll. His tail is going wild, and he’s already launching toward you when he spots the new presence behind you.
Alexia steps in, closing the door behind her. Teddy freezes. Then bolts straight for her.
You open your mouth to intervene—“Teddy, no!”—but before you can, Alexia’s already crouching down, calm and soft.
“Hola, precioso,” she murmurs, holding out a hand. And Teddy melts.
Tail wagging, head pressing into her palm, tongue ready for her cheek like she’s his long-lost soulmate.
You blink. “Well,” you mutter, “traitor.”
Alexia looks up at you, grinning as she scratches behind his ears. “He has taste,” she says. “Clearly.”
You lean against the doorframe, watching her — hair falling into her face, Teddy now rolling onto his back like he’s never known loyalty — and something in your chest settles. Warms.
Alexia stands, finally, brushing dog fur from her knees.
“Welcome to Germany,” you say, quieter now.
She doesn’t look away when she answers. “Thanks,” she says. “It already feels like a good idea.”
And for the first time all day, you believe you can relax. Because she’s here. This is just the beginning.
You toe off your shoes by the door, glance back to find Alexia standing just inside, Teddy still sniffing reverently at her shoes like he’s found royalty. Her bag’s at her feet, her jacket draped over her arm.
You clear your throat. “Right—um. Tour.”
She smiles like she’s already charmed. “I’m ready.”
You lead her into the main space — open-plan living room and kitchen. The walls are clean, but lived-in. A few photos on a shelf — one of the squad after a cup match, another of you and Beth pulling stupid faces at the camera. A soft throw blanket is half-fallen off the back of the couch. A candle you forgot you lit earlier is still flickering on the coffee table.
“This is the, uh—living-slash-existing space,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “Teddy thinks it belongs to him.”
Teddy immediately hops onto the couch, circles twice, and settles like you’ve just proven his point. Alexia grins.
You lead her into the kitchen, flicking on the under-counter light. “I don’t cook much, but the kettle works. Coffee pods are in here.” You tap a cupboard. “Mugs — there.”
She opens it, scans the shelves. “All mismatched.”
You shrug. “I collect them. Kind of.”
“I like it,” she says, softly. “It feels like someone lives here.”
You duck your head, smiling.
You show her the bathroom next — small, clean, stocked with too many hair ties and one towel you warn her not to use because it’s definitely Teddy’s now.
And then the hallway. Two doors.
“That one’s mine,” you say, thumb over your shoulder. “The other’s yours while you’re here.”
She doesn’t hesitate. Just peeks inside. A double bed, made neatly. Fresh towels folded at the foot.
She steps inside. Smiles softly looking around more.
You clear your throat. “I didn’t want it to feel weird.”
“It doesn’t,” she says. “It feels like you thought about it.”
“I did,” you admit.
It slips out quieter than you mean it to, but you don’t take it back.
Alexia meets your eyes. “Thank you. For having me.”
You nod toward the room. “Make yourself at home, yeah? My place is your place.”
She steps a little closer. Not much. Just enough that you feel her presence like a hum. “I already feel at home,” she says.
And the way she says it. It makes your chest ache. In the best way. You raise your eyes when they moved away from hers, "I'll um, leave you to unpack" you take a step back, "Teddy" you call, he appears around the foot of the bed, "Come" you give Alexia one final look and you walk back down the hallway.
She smiled opening her bag as she heard you chatting away to Teddy about getting him some treats, asking for various tricks from him.
⚽️
You tried to cook. You really did. But somewhere between boiling the pasta and burning the garlic, you gave up and ordered takeaway. Alexia didn’t mind. In fact, she looked almost relieved.
Now you’re both curled up on the couch, watching a show on a streaming app neither of you are paying attention to, warm plates in your laps and the soft, flickering glow of your fairy lights stretching across the ceiling.
She’s in one of your hoodies now. You hadn’t meant to offer it — just handed it over without thinking when she mentioned how cold planes make her feel.
It swallows her in all the right ways.
Teddy’s curled at your feet. Loyal again. For now.
“Okay,” she says mid-bite, glancing at you. “I need to know something.”
You look over, wiping your fingers on a napkin. “What?”
She gestures with her fork. “Do you actually like this pasta place, or is it just close?”
You fake a gasp. “You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that,” she says, trying to hide her smile. “I just—your face when you handed it to me said, ‘This is the best I’ve got, but I know it’s not the best in the world.’”
You laugh. “Alright, yeah. It’s proximity-based love.”
She hums thoughtfully. “Respect.”
The TV plays something forgettable in the background — neither of you are really watching it. The kind of background noise that just fills in the edges of something far more focused. Like the way she’s sitting. One leg folded beneath her, turned just slightly toward you. Or the way you’re watching her mouth more than listening to her words.
She puts her plate down on the coffee table, wipes her hands, then leans back. “You were nervous,” she says suddenly.
You blink. “When?”
“Earlier. At the airport. In the car.”
You roll your eyes. “Was it that obvious?”
She smiles, soft and real. “A little.”
You look down at your plate, then back at her. “I just… didn’t want it to feel weird.”
Alexia tilts her head slightly. “It doesn’t. You make it easy.”
That catches you off guard. You blink once, then set your plate down too. The silence stretches. But it’s not awkward. It’s warm. “I’m glad you came,” you say.
She leans her head back against the couch, eyes on you now in that slow, deliberate way she does everything. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” she says.
Alexia is fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie — pulling at the hem with her thumb like she doesn’t realise she’s doing it. She’s not really looking at you. Not often. Just quick glances. Then back down. Then away.
You’re talking about random things. Easy things. Football. Training. Travel. Things you are confident you have in common.
She tells you about a weird airport coffee she had in Zurich. You tell her about the time Teddy accidentally got locked in your bathroom for 20 minutes and emerged looking personally betrayed.
And every now and then, there’s a pause that lasts a little longer than it should. But neither of you fill it. You just let it be. Eventually, you nudge your leg gently against hers. “You’re quiet.”
Alexia shifts. “Am I?”
You smile. “A little. For someone who just flew here to hang out with me.”
She huffs a quiet laugh. It’s barely there. “I’m just…” She trails off. Shrugs. “I’m not good at this part.”
You tilt your head. “What part?”
She stares at the coffee table like it’s got answers. “The talking part.” You wait. She finally looks at you — really looks. “I know how to show up to a match,” she says, voice low. “How to lead. How to win. That makes sense to me. But this?” She gestures between you. “This is…” She doesn’t finish.
You finish it for her. “New.”
She nods. And for a second, you think maybe she’s going to stand up, shift away, hide behind something safe. But she doesn’t. She just sits there. Awkward. Present. Willing.
You offer a small, understanding smile. “We don’t have to figure it all out tonight.”
She exhales, a little lighter now. “Good. Because I didn’t bring a tactics board.”
You both laugh. Softly. Easily. She doesn’t say anything else for a while — just leans back again, arms crossed over her chest now, head tilted slightly in your direction.
Eventually, she mumbles, almost like it’s for herself, “I’m glad I came too.” You nudge her foot with yours, with a gentle smile.
Alexia’s sitting sideways on the couch, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out slightly, your hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. You’re close, but not quite touching.
The conversation’s slowed to a hum — soft music talk, playlists, half-confessions about guilty pleasure songs. She mentions a Catalan band you’ve never heard of, and while she’s scrolling through her phone to find a song, your eyes drift downward.
And then you see it. A couple of faint lines on her knee. Pale, clean, but unmistakable. The scar. You pause. Not out of shock — you knew. You remember the coverage, the months out, the comeback.
But seeing it? That’s different. It’s not just a story now. It’s her. She notices your eyes drop. And for the first time all night, she goes still.
“Yeah,” she says softly, not quite looking at you. “That’s… that.”
You meet her eyes again. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hide. But there’s something guarded in her voice. Like she’s used to people staring at it, asking about it, expecting something from it. You don’t ask. You just nod once, gentle. “Looks like strength,” you say, matter-of-fact.
Alexia’s brow furrows, unsure if you’re serious. But you are. She shifts slightly — not closer, but more open somehow. Her hand moves instinctively toward her knee, fingers grazing the scar once, like she’s reminding herself it’s still there.
“Sometimes it feels like I left a part of myself in there,” she murmurs. “The version of me from before.”
You let that hang. Then, quietly, “The version of you now scored against me. Twice.”
She huffs a breath. “Only one actually went in.”
“Still counts.”
She glances at you — and her smile is tired, genuine, laced with something like gratitude. Not for the words. For the way you didn’t try to fix it. Just saw it. And stayed.
The playlist she queued has faded into a quiet acoustic hum — soft, wordless, like it knows it shouldn’t interrupt. The light in the room has gone warm and low, one lamp casting golden arcs over her face as she leans back into the couch, knee still bent, hand still ghosting near the scar.
You don’t speak. You wait. And eventually — slowly — she does.
“I didn’t think I’d come back,” she says, voice low, eyes fixed on the ceiling like it’s easier not to look at you. “Not really.”
You blink, still, letting her keep control of it.
“Everyone kept saying I would. That I’d be fine. That I was strong, that I’d be back in a year. But inside…” She swallows. “I didn’t feel strong. I didn’t even feel whole. I felt… like I’d been cut out of myself.”
You shift just slightly. Not closer — not yet. But enough to let her know, I’m here. She breathes, slow.
“I’d watch games and feel like I didn’t belong anymore. Like I’d already been replaced. And I didn’t want anyone to know how scared I was because… I’m not supposed to be scared. I’m her, you know?” She finally looks at you now. “La Reina” You meet her eyes, steady. She adds, barely audible, “But I felt like glass.”
The words hang in the room — fragile, but not broken. You nod once. Then say the only thing you really believe in this moment. “I think you’re better now.”
Her brow pulls, confused. “What?”
You lean back, resting your head on the couch, looking up like she did. “You’re smarter. Sharper. Your passes don’t just thread — they cut. You’ve got control most people don’t even understand. And there’s a weight to the way you move now, like you know exactly what it costs to step back onto the pitch.”
You turn your head to her again.
“I’ve watched you before. Really watched you. You were always brilliant. But now?” You shrug. “You’re something else.”
Alexia stares at you, mouth parted slightly — like no one’s ever said it that way. Not like that. Not to her. She doesn’t say thank you. She just shifts — this time closer. Not dramatic. Just enough. Her shoulder brushes yours. Her knee bumps your thigh. And she lets out a breath that sounds a little like relief. “Thank you,” she murmurs eventually, eyes back on the scar. And then, softer: “I’ve never said that stuff out loud.”
You nod. “I know.” The quiet returns — not heavy this time. Comfortable. Like something sacred just happened, and you both know it.
She’s close now. Arm resting lightly against yours. Your hoodie sleeves bunching at her wrists. The scar still visible — but no longer raw. You glance down at her, the way her gaze has softened since she spoke, how her edges feel less guarded, like your living room gave her permission she didn’t even know she needed.
You swallow once. Think. Then speak. “You know… when I moved to Germany, people said it was career suicide.”
Alexia turns her head slightly, brows faintly drawn. Listening now. Not out of politeness. Intention. You stare ahead.
“Agents stopped calling. Interviews dried up. One coach — someone I used to really trust — told me I’d disappear. That I’d ‘fade out quietly.’” You huff a laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “I hadn’t even unpacked yet.”
Alexia is silent. Not interrupting. Just there.
“I’d scroll through social media and see all the squad updates, the camps, the conversations I wasn’t in anymore. And I thought… maybe they’re right. Maybe I peaked.”
You pause. Swallow.
“I started believing it. Like I was a mistake that was just waiting to happen.”
Alexia shifts slightly, her arm pressing into yours, grounding you.
“But then,” you continue, voice quieter now, “I played. I worked. And I kept showing up. And slowly… something changed. Not in them. In me.”
Alexia tilts her head. You glance at her.
“I stopped playing to prove people wrong,” you say. “And I started playing like they didn’t get a say.”
There’s a pause. And then—so soft you almost miss it—she says, “I noticed.”
You look at her. She’s watching you now — full on. Not blinking. Not shrinking. And when she speaks again, it’s steady.
“You didn’t disappear. You became better.”
You smile, but there’s a knot in your throat. Because you know she means it. And you never expected to hear it from her. Alexia leans her head back against the couch, her body still relaxed but her voice dipped low again.
“I know what that doubt feels like,” she says. “And I know how heavy it is to prove yourself to people who already made up their minds.”
You nod. “It’s exhausting.”
She murmurs, “And lonely.”
The room goes quiet again. But this time? Not lonely. Just two people sitting in a space neither of you were sure existed — honest, open, real. No spotlight. No pressure. Just you and her. And the ache you’ve both come back from.
⚽️
It’s late.
So late the playlist stopped a while ago. So late the city outside your windows feels like it’s on mute. You both stretch at almost the same time — that lazy, reluctant movement that means okay, maybe we should sleep but neither of you want to break the quiet just yet.
You stand first. Alexia follows. She’s still in your hoodie, tugging it down slightly, bare feet padding across the floor as you walk her to the guest room — side by side in a hush that feels warmer than anything words could’ve done.
You pause at the door.
She turns to face you, one hand on the doorframe. Her hair’s a little messy now, eyes slightly glassy with exhaustion. Her voice, when it comes, is soft and almost shy.
“Thanks for tonight.”
You smile, slow. “Thanks for coming.”
She nods, then looks down like she might say something else. But she doesn’t. You step back slightly, hands in your hoodie pockets, eyes flicking to hers.
“Goodnight, Alexia.”
She looks up at that. And for a second — just one second — the look on her face says everything else she didn’t say. Then she nods, once. Barely a smile. But it reaches her eyes. “Goodnight.”
She slips into the room. You don’t linger. Just turn toward your own — quiet footsteps down the short hall. You push the door open and Teddy. Right there, already curled up in the middle of your bed. One eye open, tail thumping lazily against the duvet like, about time.
You smile, rubbing the back of your neck as you sit on the edge of the bed. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You pick it up.
Alexia: Sleep well. You talk less than I thought you would. I liked it.
You stare at the message for a second, then type back:
You: You talk more than I thought you would. I liked it too.
Teddy sighs dramatically. You laugh under your breath. Then switch off the light. And for the first time in a long time, you fall asleep not needing to prove anything. Because she’s here. And you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.
⚽️
You wake to the smell of coffee. And the distinct sound of Teddy betraying you. You roll out of bed, hair a mess, hoodie tugged low over your hands, padding barefoot into the kitchen where—There she is.
Alexia.
Still in your hoodie. One sock on, one foot bare. Mug in hand, eyes still puffy with sleep, standing at your counter while Teddy leans against her legs like he’s never loved anyone else.
She glances up when you walk in, and her smile is soft. Unbrushed. Unfiltered. Real.
“Morning,” she says, voice husky.
You squint. “How’d you find the biscuits?”
She holds up the mug in salute. “I’m elite. And you left a post-it that said ‘left cupboard, top shelf, if teddy won't leave you alone'.”
You grin. “I knew past-me had potential.”
She turns back to the counter, pouring more water into the kettle, while Teddy attempts to wedge himself between her and the cabinets, tail sweeping the floor like a metronome.
“You realise he’s using you,” you say, grabbing a clean mug.
“He can use me all he wants,” she says, reaching down to scratch his ears. “He’s warm.”
You watch her — the way her fingers slide under Teddy’s collar, the way her mouth twitches when he tries to climb into her actual lap. It’s not a moment. Not a capital-letter Event. But something in your chest aches anyway.
Because she looks right here.
You grab the eggs, start cracking them into the pan. She pulls down two plates without being asked. Neither of you talks much. Just a few sleepy comments, heads bumping once as you both reach for the cutlery drawer.
When you sit across from her at the little kitchen table — plates steaming, dog underfoot — she catches your eye as you tuck your leg up under you. She doesn’t look away. Not for a while.
You hold it. You hold her. And the smile she gives you. It says I see this. I feel it. I’m here.
After breakfast, you throw a hoodie over your tee, pull on your trainers, and rattle Teddy’s lead. He loses his mind, of course — spinning, barking, pawing at the door like it personally wronged him.
“You wanna come?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder at Alexia.
She shrugs. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
She throws on a coat of yours on hook, slips into her trainers, and follows you out the door — hair tied up, sleeves rolled down, sunglasses perched on her head like she forgot the sun lives here too despite the cold.
You walk through quiet neighbourhood streets, Teddy darting side to side, nose in every hedge. You and her? Side by side. Not touching. Not saying much. But every now and then, you catch her watching you. And when you glance back— She doesn’t look away.
You loop around the quiet end of the park, the noise of the street fading behind you, and find your bench — tucked under a tree just starting to bloom, a little weathered, sun-warmed. Teddy bounds ahead, lead dropped loose in your hand, tail sweeping in wide arcs like a painter’s brush.
Alexia sits first, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying not to take up space but still wants to stay close. You drop beside her, leg stretched long, hands resting over your thighs.
For a while, you both just sit. Watching Teddy. Letting the quiet settle.
Then Alexia speaks, voice dry. “You really weren’t kidding about him being enthusiastic.”
You glance at her. She’s staring at Teddy, who’s currently rolling in something deeply questionable on the grass. You sigh.
“Yeah but he’s loyal.. until someone has better snacks anyway.”
She snorts. “I didn’t even have snacks.”
“Exactly,” you say, nudging her foot with yours. “He’s just shallow.”
She smirks, then leans back a little, adjusting the sleeves of your coat again. “He’s got taste, though. He likes me.”
You raise a brow. “Are you calling yourself a snack?”
“I’m not denying it.”
You laugh — sharp, sudden, surprised. And it makes her smile wider “You’ve got this whole mysterious captain thing,” you say, squinting at her. “But secretly, you’re kind of cocky.”
She tilts her head, smug. “Only when I’m right.” You roll your eyes, but your grin’s too soft to mean it. There’s a pause. Then, more gently “I like this,” she says, not looking at you now — just forward, at the dog, at the path.
You shift, the warmth of her words settling low in your ribs. “This?” you echo.
She nods. “The quiet. You. Teddy. This bench.” She pauses, then smirks again. “Even your coat.”
You laugh, quieter this time. “You make it look better than I do.”
“I know.” She meets your eyes then. And the silence that follows doesn't last long until you're leaning into each other laughing about it.
You clear your throat, picking at a thread on your sleeve, when the little old lady that you see everyday was eyeing you with annoyance, "So, um… are you always like this when you’re off the pitch?”
Alexia blinks. “Like what?”
You shrug. “A bit smug. Surprisingly funny. Secretly soft.”
She narrows her eyes, mock offended. “Secretly?”
You smirk. “I mean, the brand is very serious captain with cheekbones that could cut glass.”
Alexia hums. “Cheekbones and a scar. Very dramatic.”
“Oh, absolutely. You’re one trench coat away from being a Bond villain.” That gets a real laugh — full-bodied and sudden. She leans her head back against the bench, still smiling.
Then, “You make this easy,” she says, softer now. “Being here.”
You glance at her. And for a second, it’s all there again — the pitch, the free kick, the weight of it all.
But here, it’s light. You bump your knee gently against hers. “I’m glad you came, Alexia.” She doesn’t look away this time.
“I am too.”
You stretch your legs out in front of you, glancing sideways at her — Alexia, sitting there so casually now, one foot tucked beneath her, face tilted toward the sun like she’s been here a dozen times instead of just once.
You reach down to pat Teddy’s back as he wanders close.
Then glance at her.
“Do you like clichés?”
She lifts a brow. “What kind of question is that?”
You shrug, casual. “Like, romantic comedies. Grand gestures. Saying the same dumb things everyone else does. Standing on famous streets pretending you’re having an authentic experience.”
Alexia leans back, lips twitching. “You’re stalling.”
You grin. “Maybe.”
She squints at you now, playful. “Okay. Ask me properly.”
You turn toward her fully, arms folded over your chest like you’re about to deliver something serious.
“Would you like to do all the ridiculously cliché tourist things in Munich with me today?”
Alexia’s head tips slightly to the side, considering.
You keep going.
“I mean the whole deal — the Marienplatz selfie. Pretending to care about the Glockenspiel. Giant pretzels. A walk through the Englischer Garten where I’ll tell you lies about German history I definitely make up.”
Her smile creeps in slowly — then fully.
“I want lederhosen photos.”
You gasp, dramatically. “That’s advanced cliché.”
“I’m committed.”
You laugh. “God help us.”
She leans in slightly. “Only if you wear them too.”
You groan. “I’ve made a mistake.”
“You offered.”
You hold her gaze for a second, heart kicking a little louder now beneath all the lightness.
And she’s still smiling.
But there’s something genuine behind it.
Like maybe, for the first time in a long time, she’s just saying yes to a day that doesn’t come with pressure, or cameras, or expectations.
Just you.
She nudges your knee with hers. “So? We going or what?”
You whistle for Teddy. “Marienplatz, prepare yourself.”
⚽️
You start with Marienplatz. Because of course you do.
The crowds are already gathering under the watchful clock of the Neues Rathaus, phones out and necks craning toward the tower. You know the Glockenspiel starts at eleven. You’ve seen it a dozen times. It’s slow. It’s slightly underwhelming. But you still pretend like it’s sacred.
“People clap after this?” Alexia murmurs beside you, watching a small bronze knight rotate in a slow, juddering circle.
“Every time,” you whisper back. “It’s powerful.”
She gives you the driest look you’ve ever seen and it almost takes you out.
You snap a selfie right there — her unimpressed expression next to your exaggerated awe. It’s perfect. You don't even check it before saving.
From there it’s Viktualienmarkt — where you insist on finding the most absurdly oversized pretzel possible. Alexia watches you barter with a vendor and somehow ends up paying instead. She splits it with you anyway. You walk through the stalls like locals, even though you're both definitely not.
You buy her a little pin shaped like a beer stein. You stick it to her jacket pocket. “Souvenir,” she says.
You end up in the Englischer Garten by early afternoon, the kind of place where the trees stretch wide and people picnic like they’ve got nowhere else to be. Teddy loses his mind over a pigeon and nearly pulls Alexia into a fountain.
You don’t let that one go quietly. “Two time Ballon D'or, and you still couldn’t hold the line.”
“It was a very fast pigeon.”
You laugh until you’re leaning against her, shoulder to shoulder, catching your breath while Teddy runs victory laps around you both.
At the beer garden, you sit under the shade of chestnut trees, and Alexia orders something she can’t pronounce while you pretend to translate and definitely make it worse.
She tries white sausage and doesn’t hide her reaction.
You raise a brow. “Too real?”
“I can mark out midfielders. I can’t defend this texture.”
You toast anyway.
Later, you wander without purpose — through side streets with painted shutters and ivy-streaked balconies, past musicians playing under archways and little kids holding balloon strings tight to their wrists. Alexia keeps her sunglasses low on her nose, watching it all.
“I get why you like it here,” she says.
You glance over. “Yeah?”
She nods, then adds softly, “You fit here.”
It sticks.
You end up near the river as golden hour starts to take the edge off the buildings. There’s a stone ledge overlooking the water. You sit. She leans back on her hands, face turned to the sky.
“Okay,” she says finally. “This was... fun.”
You grin. “You sound surprised.”
“I am. I didn’t think cliché could feel like this.”
“Like what?”
She glances at you. Her expression doesn’t change much — but her voice does. “Easy.”
You don’t say anything for a second. Just smile. Then bump her knee gently with yours. “Think we earned ice cream?”
She tilts her head. “Is that part of the cliché package?”
“Obviously.”
You walk back into the city with cones in hand, Teddy leading the way again, tail wagging like a metronome keeping time with your steps.
And somewhere along that walk — maybe crossing a street, or brushing hands as you trade bites of each other’s flavours — something soft settles between you.
Not tension. Not expectation. Just understanding.
⚽️
You swing by the flat first — the front door barely closed before Teddy flops dramatically across the hallway floor like he’s survived something immense.
Alexia kneels down beside him, ruffles behind his ears, and says, “You’ll be alright without us.”
He sighs like he won’t.
You both change quickly — nothing fancy, just different hoodies, fresh faces, the kind of casual that looks better on her than it has any right to.
The bar you pick is a local one — tucked into a side street off the main square, part wine bar, part café, part 'we might have regulars but we won’t pretend to know your name unless you want us to.'
You take the corner table. The lights are soft and golden, the walls cluttered with mismatched frames and shelves of wine bottles. You order a bottle of white you’ve had before — one you hope she’ll like — and a snack board that arrives faster than expected: warm bread, cheese, olives, salted almonds.
She looks around, impressed. “You bring all your international friends here?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Only the ones who knock me out the champions league.”
“Fair,” she says, hiding a smile behind her glass.
You’ve barely had a sip before you reach into your bag and pull out a battered Uno deck.
Alexia blinks. “You brought cards?”
“They have them as you walk in. I’m competitive,” you say, shrugging. “And brave.”
She laughs once, short and sharp. “You’re going to regret this.”
“I’ve already accepted that.” You deal. And it begins.
It starts civil. Friendly. Smirks over skips. Light jabs when she stacks draw twos. You both pick at the snack board between plays, hands brushing occasionally as you reach for the same olive.
But by the second game, It’s personal.
She slams down a reverse like it’s a tactical sub in a final. You pull a draw four from your hoodie pocket like a weapon of war. She narrows her eyes. You lift your brows, mock-innocent.
It’s deadly serious. It’s ridiculous. And you’re both grinning like you haven’t stopped since this morning.
The bar starts to fill in slowly, but your little corner stays quiet — like a bubble you haven’t noticed growing around you. Just you, her, your wine glasses catching the light, and a stack of discarded cards that tells a very messy, very entertaining story.
Somewhere between games, you pause — mid-sip, watching her draw her hand.
“Are you always like this?” you ask. “Lowkey evil under all that calm?”
She looks up, unbothered. “Only when provoked.”
You laugh, leaning back. “Remind me not to cross you again.”
She smirks, eyes flicking up at you over her cards. “You already did,” she says, laying down a wild card.
The round ends. She wins.
You groan dramatically and throw your cards onto the table. She raises her hands in mock celebration, then quietly steals another piece of cheese from your side of the board.
“You know,” she says casually, chewing, “This might be the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
You blink. She doesn’t look up right away — just flips the deck over and starts reshuffling it absentmindedly.
But you’re watching her. And there’s no doubt in your mind. She means it.
⚽️
The walk home from the bar is slow. No rush. No real conversation either. Just a lot of little smiles. Shoulders brushing sometimes. The city quieter now — streetlights pooling in soft circles at your feet.
When you reach your building, you both slip inside quietly, Teddy greeting you at the door with a sleepy grumble and a thump of his tail.
You toe off your shoes, hang your jacket, glance over at her — and then, impulsively:
“Wanna see something stupid?”
Alexia blinks. “Not usually the way someone convinces me to follow them, but… sure.”
You grin.
You lead her through the flat — past the living room, into your bedroom. Teddy hops onto the bed like he’s reclaiming his kingdom. You move to the window — the one you always leave cracked just a little — and unlatch it the rest of the way.
You glance back at her.
She’s standing with her arms folded, watching you like she’s bracing for something truly ridiculous.
You duck out first — onto the sloped bit of roofing just beyond the window, socks scraping softly against the tiles. You crouch low, then stand carefully, balancing with practiced ease.
You turn and beckon. Alexia just stares. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
She steps closer, looks out.
The drop’s not that bad. 22 feet, maybe. But the tiles are slick with dew, and there’s no railing, no barrier, no sensible adult supervision.
“This is wildly unsafe,” she mutters.
You just smile. “Come on. I’m not gonna let you fall.”
She glares at you, muttering something in Catalan that sounds very judgmental. But you can see it — the twitch at the corner of her mouth. She’s not really mad.
She’s just concerned. Which somehow only makes it better.
After a few more seconds of muttering under her breath, she sighs dramatically, steps up onto the ledge, and eases herself through the window with surprising grace — a little unsteady at first, reaching for your hand instinctively.
You catch it. Steady her. “See?” you say, squeezing her fingers lightly. “Easy.”
“Still stupid,” she mutters.
But she doesn’t pull away. You lead her a few steps up — careful, slow — until you both settle onto the slightly flatter part of the roof, side by side, legs pulled up to your chest..
She finally looks up the whole city stretches out in front of her.
The rooftops curve into the skyline, lights twinkling like fallen stars. The dark river cuts a lazy path through the buildings. A few stray sirens whine in the distance, but mostly it’s just quiet. Wide and open and impossibly still.
Alexia exhales — a soft, almost disbelieving sound. The corners of her mouth lift. And whatever worry she had before melts off her shoulders.
“Okay,” she says, voice lighter now. “Maybe it’s worth the risk.”
You bump your knee against hers. “Told you.”
You sit like that for a long time — no rush, no plan. Just the two of you, the city breathing around you, your hands close enough to touch if you dared.
Every now and then, you glance over and catch her watching the lights, the horizon, the night itself like she’s letting herself believe she could belong to something this simple.
The climb back in through the window is quieter than the climb out.
Alexia moves slower now, heavy with the kind of tired that comes after a day full of laughter and nowhere to be but here. She drops softly into your bedroom, feet padding across the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands again.
You follow behind, closing the window gently behind you.
Teddy’s already curled up on the bed, barely lifting his head to acknowledge your return. He gives Alexia one approving thump of the tail. You’re not sure if it’s for coming back safely or for still being here.
You rub at the back of your neck, eyes a little hazy, wine long gone.
Alexia stands in the doorway to the guest room now, hand on the frame. Her expression is soft — not sleepy exactly, just settled.
She looks at you. And it hits again — this moment. How simple it is. How much it means. You lean against the wall across from her, arms crossed loosely, smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
“I’ll make sure you don’t miss your flight in the morning,” you say.
She smirks faintly. “You better.”
“I’ll set three alarms.”
She lifts an eyebrow. “Four.”
You laugh, quiet and tired. “Pushy.”
She shrugs. “Punctual.”
The pause that follows isn’t awkward. It’s full. Of all the things neither of you are saying right now. But it’s okay. You already said so much.
She shifts slightly, head tilting. “Today was…”
You nod. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t finish the sentence. She doesn’t have to.
You step forward, and without thinking, you pull her into a light hug — not long, not heavy, but enough. Enough to feel the warmth of her hoodie, the steady beat of her breath, the soft slide of her hand as it rests briefly on the back of your head.
You pull back just a little. She’s still close. “Goodnight, Alexia.”
Her eyes flicker — tired and unreadable, but warmer now “Goodnight.”
She steps into the guest room and closes the door behind her with a gentle click. You exhale.
Teddy stretches across your bed with a groan like he just ran the city.
You flick off the hallway light, pad back into your room, and crawl beneath the covers.
The room is dark now. But your chest is full. And your alarms are definitely set. Tomorrow she leaves.
⚽️
The alarms buzz you awake just after six.
Teddy barely lifts his head as you stumble into the kitchen, yawning, the world outside still caught between night and day.
Alexia’s already up. You find her sitting on the edge of the couch, tying her sneakers — hair messy, hoodie slung loose over her frame, backpack by her feet.
She looks up when you walk in, and there’s a small, tired smile waiting for you. “Morning,” she says, voice thick with sleep.
You hum a reply, rubbing your eyes. Neither of you rush.
You load Teddy into the backseat. He whines a little, sensing something is different. The drive to the airport is quiet — warm coffee cups in the holders, the radio playing something soft neither of you bother to change.
She leans her forehead against the window once, watching the fields blur into concrete. When you pull up to Departures, you leave the car idling, glancing over at her.
She’s already unbuckling her seatbelt, but neither of you move right away.
The city is waking up outside. You’re wide awake here. Alexia shifts in her seat to face you. “This was…” She trails off, the words sticking again.
You smile, small. “Yeah. It was.”
She fiddles with the ring on her finger.
You grip the steering wheel lightly. “You’ll make your flight.”
She nods. “Thanks for not letting me oversleep.”
You bump your shoulder against hers gently. “Thanks for making it hard to say goodbye.”
That gets a real smile — tired, fond, a little crooked. She opens the door, stepping out into the sharp morning air. You get out too.
You meet her around the back of the car — not rushed, not dramatic. Just standing there, with a sea of taxis and early travelers moving around you like another current you’re not ready to step into yet.
She shoulders her bag. You jam your hands into your hoodie pockets.
Then — simply — she steps closer. You think she might hug you. You think you might need her to.
But instead, she reaches up — slow, careful — and hooks one finger lightly around your hoodie drawstring. Tugs it once. Soft. Playful.
“Text me when you get home,” you say, even though you’re already sure she will.
Alexia nods. “You too.”
And then — because she knows when to let things stay perfect — she turns and walks toward the entrance. You watch her weave through the doors. She doesn’t look back. Not until she’s just inside, bag slung over one shoulder, ticket in hand. Then she does. Just once.
She finds you through the glass — through the crowd and the noise and the press of the world. She smiles. Small. Sure. Enough.
You lift a hand. She does too. Then she’s gone, swallowed into the current of the airport.
You stand there a moment longer, breath fogging in the chill, Teddy’s nose nudging your hand.
You pat his head. Then you climb back into the car. And drive home, to grab a few more hours of sleep before training.
-
jayreece08 liked this · 2 weeks ago -
xxarora103 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
ri1576638ey liked this · 3 weeks ago -
anoniem12345 liked this · 3 weeks ago -
selina-123s-blog liked this · 4 weeks ago
-
evaswiftie1027 liked this · 1 month ago -
lenorelovesgirls liked this · 1 month ago -
lw6lover liked this · 1 month ago -
cycloneflames liked this · 1 month ago -
hricordo liked this · 1 month ago -
aggcap01 liked this · 1 month ago -
daydreamingaboutsunsets liked this · 1 month ago -
rxmcl liked this · 1 month ago -
bootylushminion liked this · 1 month ago
-
the--carousel liked this · 1 month ago -
honneythatsgay liked this · 1 month ago -
mischelmayleys liked this · 1 month ago -
scarlettputellas liked this · 1 month ago -
exilecardigan liked this · 1 month ago -
maddhatter02 liked this · 1 month ago -
riasthings liked this · 1 month ago -
marta41 liked this · 1 month ago -
marielacam99 liked this · 1 month ago -
azzifuddglazer liked this · 1 month ago -
user705082 liked this · 1 month ago
-
thatfootball-girl liked this · 1 month ago -
mika1517 liked this · 1 month ago -
pitaia-vermelha liked this · 1 month ago -
unvswrld liked this · 1 month ago -
drowning-inthe-bluenile liked this · 1 month ago
-
goldminesandsunshine liked this · 1 month ago -
masjaah93 liked this · 1 month ago -
fancyqueensworld liked this · 1 month ago -
belynhabarboza liked this · 1 month ago -
weluvvvvpaigebuevkerss liked this · 1 month ago -
annyymartinez liked this · 1 month ago
-
hash64 liked this · 1 month ago -
aimee1040 liked this · 1 month ago -
jen-weav liked this · 1 month ago
-
0imjustawoman liked this · 1 month ago -
lilly228 liked this · 1 month ago
-
angelmishie01 reblogged this · 1 month ago -
angelmishie01 liked this · 1 month ago
-
sarashealz liked this · 1 month ago -
sasatata liked this · 1 month ago
-
shixndbsosmcnc liked this · 1 month ago
-
frankoceanlover66 liked this · 1 month ago -
iceraven00 liked this · 1 month ago -
smothtarg liked this · 1 month ago
-
leahsmainbitch liked this · 1 month ago
