Dreaming In Blaugrana
Dreaming in Blaugrana
The first rule of being Cat Culer? Don’t break character.
No talking. No gestures that are “too human.” Be goofy, be silent, be the lovable cat that makes kids laugh and grown players roll their eyes—but in a fond way.
You were good at it. Almost too good.
What started as a fun, side gig to make some extra money during your internship had turned into something... more. Somehow, you’d given Cat Culer a personality—something between chaotic little sibling and emotional support animal. The fans loved it. The staff loved it.
And now, annoyingly, the players did too.
You weren’t just the mascot who danced during warm-ups and waved from the sidelines anymore. You were in it. Integrated. Like some strange, silent member of the squad who just happened to be covered in fur and couldn't speak.
Sometimes, the team would warm up around you. Vicky had started a ritual of kicking the ball at your feet to see how many times you could clumsily bounce it back before tripping over your tail. Aitana once tied a sweatband around your paw during a training session and told the staff you were “rehabbing an injury.” Even Patri tried to teach you the team handshake—painfully slowly, like she was working with a toddler.
But it was Mapi who first saw you as something more than a walking cat suit.
At first, she just teased you, like she did with everyone. She tossed her training bib over your head once and told you to “earn your spot.” She’d sneak behind you and tug your tail, then whistle innocently like she wasn’t the one who did it. Classic Mapi chaos.
But after a few weeks, the teasing turned into something more familiar. Something gentler.
She’d wave you over during breaks, gesture for you to sit beside her on the bench like it was normal. She started talking to you—not just playful jokes, but actual talking. About how training had gone. How she was tired of certain drills. How the new boots she got were “literally trying to kill her.”
You couldn’t respond, of course—not in words. But you’d nod, shrug, act things out when it felt right. You became her sounding board.
Some days, she brought an extra snack and just handed it to you without a word. A granola bar. A piece of fruit. Once, an entire slice of pizza smuggled in a napkin, handed off like contraband.
One quiet afternoon, she flopped down beside you on the grass after training, her curls still damp, and sighed. “You know,” she muttered, “you’re actually a decent listener.”
You mimed writing that down in a little notebook. She snorted.
“Don’t let it go to your head.”
It started with a dare.
Something stupid—classic Mapi.
“Bet you can’t nutmeg me,” she challenged, already halfway into a pair of too-big goalie gloves she’d found in the locker room. The rest of the team had filtered out after training, and the sun had started dipping low, casting long gold shadows across the empty pitch.
You—still suited up as Cat Culer—pretended to crack your knuckles, gave her a dramatic nod, and stepped up to the ball.
Mapi widened her stance like she was guarding the Champions League final.
You tapped the ball forward, danced left, feinted right—and slipped it between her legs.
She let out an indignant squawk and spun around. “No. No way. That was illegal. There’s dark magic in that foam.”
You threw your paws up in celebration and did a full-body wiggle, which only made her groan louder.
“You are such a menace,” she said, laughing. “I swear, I don’t know how none of us have figured out who you are yet.”
You sit down on grass slowly, gave her a thumbs-up with one plush paw.
She walked over and plopped down beside you. “I’ve always wondered who’s behind that thing, you know. Like—do they hire a stunt double? Is it one of the interns?” Her eyes glinted, teasing.
You froze.
Mapi nudged your foam elbow with hers. “You gonna tell me or is this a lifelong secret kind of situation?”
There was a beat of silence. Then another.
And then—without letting yourself think about it too hard—you reached up, grabbed the mascot’s oversized head, and pulled it off in one slow, silent motion.
The air hit your face like a wave.
Mapi blinked. Her mouth parted in surprise, eyes scanning your features like she was making sure she was seeing right.
“No way,” she whispered. “You?”
You gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Surprise.”
For a second, she just stared. Then—suddenly—she burst out laughing.
“Holy shit,” she said, slapping her thigh. “You’ve been Cat Culer this whole time?!”
You nodded, heart pounding.
“You’re the intern! The one who helps with post edits and carries tripods like they’re sacred.”
“Guilty.”
Mapi grinned wide, shaking her head. “I can’t believe I’ve been emotionally bonding with the intern in a cat suit.”
You rubbed the back of your neck. “I didn’t mean for it to be a thing. It just kind of… became one.”
Her smile softened a bit. “Hey. Your secret’s safe with me, okay?”
You met her eyes—grateful, nervous, kind of dizzy. “Thanks.” You preferred it that way Because when the suit came off, you weren’t Cat Culer.
You were just… you.
The new girl.
Quiet. Polite. The one who held boom mics just out of frame, who adjusted camera angles in the rain, who edited clips at midnight so the club’s socials would be ready for the next day.
Technically, part of the media team—but more like the background noise of it. Your job was to capture the spotlight, not stand in it.
You’d shared maybe four conversations with Alexia outside the suit. And "conversations" was a generous word. They were more like transactions.
“Lighting’s too harsh.”
“Where do I stand?”
“Let me know when this is done.”
No eye contact. No small talk. Not even a nod.
She wasn’t mean. Just… clipped. Cold. Efficient. She said what she needed to say and moved on. You were just another staffer in black Barça gear with a badge around your neck and a checklist in your hand.
She didn’t know your name. Probably didn’t realize you had one.
You could’ve been swapped out for someone else the next day, and she wouldn’t notice.
And it hurt.
Even though it shouldn’t have.
You told yourself it was fine. She had other things to worry about—pressure, performance, expectations that never seemed to loosen. She didn’t owe you anything. She didn’t have time to smile at every intern fumbling with a tripod.
But still…
It was strange. Jarring, even.
Because when you were in the suit—when the fur was zipped up and your face was hidden and your voice silenced—that’s when she smiled. When she sought you out. When she saw you.
Not the person underneath. Not the girl with tired eyes and a half-eaten protein bar in her pocket. But the character. The mask.
Cat Culer was allowed into her world.
You weren’t.
And no matter how many times you told yourself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t personal—
It still felt personal.
But in the suit?
She looked for you.
She laughed with you.
Like she didn’t even realize that just an hour earlier, she'd walked right past you—barely sparing a glance, barely recognizing you as a person, let alone the one she’d end up sitting beside in silence, sharing a moment that felt achingly close to something real.
Something you wanted to be real.
It was confusing. Unfair, even.
Because outside of the suit, you were no one.
Just the girl behind the lens. The one holding the mic.
The one taking up space but not attention.
You were used to being behind the scenes, but this? This was different.
She didn’t just ignore you. She didn’t see you.
Not until you stopped being you.
And yet you kept coming back.
Today was one of those rare, quiet afternoons—the kind where time slowed down just enough for your thoughts to catch up to you. No matches. No press. Just the sun low in the sky, spilling gold across the grass like it was painting over everything you couldn’t say out loud.
The stadium was mostly empty. A few distant voices. The echo of water running in the showers. The sharp, clean scent of freshly cut pitch.
You could’ve gone home. Everyone else had.
You should’ve.
Instead, you suited up.
You weren’t even sure when it had stopped being part of your job. When slipping into the oversized fur and foam had become something you needed. Maybe it was gradual. A slow shift you didn’t notice at first—how Cat Culer started feeling safer than your own skin.
When you wore the suit, no one judged.
No one asked questions.
You didn’t have to perform you, you just… performed.
And they loved you for it.
The players—especially Mapi—treated you like family. Even the staff smiled more. Fans waved, kids screamed your name. But most of all… she saw you.
Alexia.
In the suit, you were someone worth walking toward.
Someone worth talking to.
She would joke. Nudge you with her elbow. Give you that quiet little smile she rarely wore around anyone but teammates. A smile that felt rare, almost private. Like a gift.
And yeah, maybe you shouldn’t have let yourself read into it.
But how could you not?
When it felt like the only time she actually saw you was when you were hidden behind fur and mesh eyeholes?
The irony stung. That she connected with the version of you that wasn’t real—wasn’t even allowed to speak. That this—this character you created to survive the sidelines—was somehow more lovable than the real thing.
And still, you pulled the head over your face.
Still, you zipped it up.
Because the truth was…
It hurt less to be seen as a cartoon than to not be seen at all.
The suit was hot. Suffocating, even.
The kind of heat that stuck to your skin, that crawled down your spine and made every breath feel a little heavier. But you didn’t take it off.
You couldn’t.
Not yet.
You stayed near the edge of the pitch, wandering the sideline with your usual exaggerated movements—half warm-up, half act. Knees high, arms flopping in all the wrong ways, tail swaying with each bounce. The sort of routine that had become muscle memory now. Familiar. Safe.
It was stupid, probably. No one was watching. No cameras. No kids. No coaches.
Just the empty stadium stretching around you, golden light pouring in from the last slant of the sun, and a silence so thick it felt like it could swallow you whole.
And then—
“You know you’re not on the clock, right?”
You turned so fast your oversized feet nearly tripped over themselves.
Alexia stood by the railing, one arm resting casually against the metal, the other folded across her chest. She was still in her Barça training gear, hair damp from a quick shower, the tips of it curling slightly as they clung to the sides of her face. Her expression was unreadable—half teasing, half tired. But she was smiling.
At you.
At Cat Culer.
Not the girl inside.
You gave a familiar shrug—shoulders high, paws out, head tilted dramatically to the side like a guilty cartoon.
She let out a quiet laugh. Just one breath. Soft, but real.
“You just like the attention, don’t you?” she said, stepping down from the railing and walking toward the bench behind you. “Can’t go one day without being a menace.”
You placed a paw to your chest in mock offense, shaking your head like how dare you?
Another breath of laughter, and she sank down onto the bench with a heavy sigh, legs spread, elbows resting on her knees. The kind of posture that said I’m done for the day. That she didn’t have to be Captain Putellas right now. Not here. Not with you.
It wasn’t the first time she’d sat near you like this.
But it never failed to catch you off guard.
Slowly, cautiously, you lowered yourself beside her. The fur brushed her sleeve for just a second. Your heart skipped.
Alexia was quiet. Just breathing. Letting the air fill in the spaces between the words she wasn’t ready to say. Then finally, voice low: “I think my legs are turning against me.”
You made a small stretching motion, cartoonishly showing off your ‘injured’ legs in solidarity. She smiled without looking at you.
“I’ve done, like, eight interviews this week,” she muttered. “They ask the same stuff every time. Like they want me to say something groundbreaking, but only if it sounds good in a headline.”
You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to.
That was the thing about the suit. You couldn’t speak. So you listened. You heard people in ways you never could outside of it.
She sighed again, voice softer now. “I think I’m just tired of being who everyone expects me to be.”
That line hit you straight in the chest. Deeper than anything else she’d said.
Because you knew that feeling.
More than you wanted to admit.
“I’m the captain. The face of the team. I can’t mess up. Can’t be off. Can’t even be quiet for too long without someone thinking something’s wrong.”
She turned her head slightly, eyes on the pitch, but her voice was directed toward you. “But you… You don’t care about any of that, do you?”
You slowly shook your head.
Not in judgment. Not in pity. Just… listening.
“It’s nice,” she murmured. “Being around someone who doesn’t expect anything.”
She paused.
Then: “I talk to you more than I talk to half the staff.”
You went still.
There it was. The part that always hurt.
You were part of the staff. She’d walked right past you hours ago, when you were setting up lights for post-training interviews. She’d looked through you like you didn’t exist. Like your presence didn’t matter.
But now? In this suit? You were someone she opened up to. Someone she could breathe around.
And you couldn’t say a single word back.
You lifted your paw and gently bumped it against her shoulder. Just once. A plush, silly gesture. A peace offering. A silent I’m here.
She looked over, and for the briefest moment, her face softened. Not the public smile she wore for cameras. Not the polite mask she used in interviews.
Something smaller. Warmer.
“You’re not so bad, gato.”
You wanted to tell her it was you.
That you weren’t just this suit. That you were listening.
That you saw her, even when she didn’t see you.
But the words stayed trapped inside the costume.
And your silence made it easier for her to keep pretending.
She stood with a quiet grunt, brushing imaginary dust from her sweats.
“See you around,” she said. Then paused.
Added, more gently:
“Don’t work too hard.”
And then she walked off. Just like that.
Leaving you on the bench, still in the suit, paws resting in your lap, body aching from the weight of everything you couldn’t say.
The stadium was quiet again. Empty. Still.
She didn’t know you.
Not really.
But for a moment—for that moment—she saw something in you.
Even if it wasn’t the version you wished it had been.
It was getting harder. Harder to keep track of which version of yourself people were talking to. Harder to separate the suit from the skin underneath. Harder to pretend it didn’t sting when Alexia smiled at Cat Culer like an old friend… and barely nodded at you the next morning in the media room.
You were crouched low behind the training cam—hoodie up, fingers adjusting the focus, keeping quiet like always. You liked the quiet. You had to. It was easy to disappear when no one was looking for you.
Alexia passed behind you. You felt her presence before she even spoke.
“Camera’s in the way,” she said.
Not cold. Not cruel. Just… indifferent.
Like she was speaking to a wall. Or a chair. Or another piece of equipment she didn’t know by name.
You muttered, “Sorry,” and scooted out of the way.
She didn’t pause. Didn’t glance down. Didn’t realize you were the same person she’d sat with on the bench yesterday, shoulder to foam shoulder, sharing pieces of herself like secrets whispered into the night.
You watched her walk off, and something hollow settled in your chest.
It wasn’t her fault. Not really. You weren’t someone she was supposed to notice.
You weren’t a teammate. Or a coach. Or anyone with enough authority to be worth remembering.
You were just… staff.
One of dozens of faces tucked into the background of her world. The quiet girl behind the lens. The one who clipped post-match quotes and adjusted microphones and sent edited reels for approval before most people had even finished their breakfast.
You were the one who waited in tunnels for interviews to wrap, who carried backup batteries in your pockets and held Cat Culer’s oversized head in your lap during travel so it wouldn’t get crushed under gear bags.
You did your job. You blended in.
You shifted back behind the camera, hit record, and told yourself it didn’t matter.
But it did.
Because you remembered every moment. Every soft glance. Every laugh.
Even if she didn’t know they’d ever been yours.
And every day, it got harder to pretend that being half-seen was enough.
But later that afternoon, suited up and pacing the tunnel outside the pitch, tail swaying in loose, idle arcs behind you, you felt her before you saw her.
It was always like that with Alexia.
A shift in the air. A weight in the silence. Like her presence had its own gravity, and you couldn’t help but be pulled toward it.
“Guess who’s early today?” came her voice from the tunnel entrance—low, teasing, touched with something lighter than you ever heard when she talked to media or press.
You turned, paws to your chest like who, me?
Alexia grinned, and you felt it hit you square in the ribs.
“I knew it,” she said, stepping closer, arms crossed over her chest in that relaxed, effortless way that made her look like she belonged to the moment. Not the captain. Not the face of a franchise. Just... a woman with tired eyes and a crooked smile.
Her tone with you was different here. Softer. Unpolished.
Not the rehearsed charisma she pulled out for interviews. Not the carefully edited warmth of someone used to being seen from behind a lens.
Just real.
She leaned her shoulder into the wall beside you like it was habit now—like finding you here was part of her routine. Like you were her routine.
“You’ve got good timing,” she said, tilting her head slightly toward the field. “Mapi and Patri are already out there arguing over who gets to play with you first. Pretty sure Patri has a full game plan. Tactics and everything.”
You let out an exaggerated shiver, paws flailing in mock fear, and Alexia laughed—really laughed.
And something in your chest cracked open just a little more.
“I swear,” she said through a breath, shaking her head, “you’ve got everyone wrapped around your paw.”
She paused.
Then added, offhand—but too easily:
“Even me.”
Your whole body went still.
Even me.
You knew it was just a phrase. A playful throwaway. Something she didn’t even think about.
But you felt it anyway. Like it had weight. Like it had meaning.
And worse—you wanted it to.
You lifted your plush thumb in a slow, shy thumbs-up, and she rolled her eyes in that familiar, fond way. But there was something behind it. A softness that didn’t exist anywhere else. Not with the press. Not with the fans.
Just here. Just with you.
She nudged your foam shoulder with hers—gentle, warm. Nothing anyone else would notice. But to you? It was enough to make your knees weak inside the suit.
And you hated how much you wanted to lean into it.
How much you wished you could stay in this stupid costume just to stay in her orbit a little longer.
Eventually, the rest of the players filtered onto the field in waves—half-laced boots, tangled ponytails, loose energy from a long day and not enough sleep. The air buzzed with lazy chaos.
You stepped out with them, tail bouncing, paws waving, and instantly Mapi was on you—trying to toss a training bib over your head, shouting “Get over here, ratón!” while you ducked and scrambled and flailed dramatically in slow-motion.
The girls were in stitches. Patri egged her on. Ingrid filmed the whole thing. Someone tossed you a cone like a weapon and you wielded it like a sword.
But through it all—every dance, every ridiculous skit, every exaggerated pratfall—you felt her watching.
Alexia.
Not hovering. Not orchestrating.
Just… present. Just there.
You heard her laugh when you tackled Mapi and held her down in victory. Heard her whistle when you attempted the latest TikTok dance and butchered it in the best way.
You didn’t have to look to know her eyes were on you. You could feel it.
And then the cameras arrived.
Lights. Lenses. Boom mics and branded windbreakers. They swarmed like a reminder that this was still a job, still a performance.
But when Alexia leaned in—quietly, casually, just loud enough for the crew to hear—it didn’t feel like performance at all.
“You’re the real star of this team, huh?” she whispered near your foam ear, voice low and laced with a grin.
You froze for half a second.
Then nodded.
What else could you do?
You were sweating inside the suit. Your heart was a thunderstorm.
But on the outside, you were calm. Cute. Carefree.
You were the mascot she liked.
Not the girl she didn’t see.
Later that night, long after the stadium had emptied and the echo of cleats had faded into memory, you sat curled up in the dim glow of the media office. The only sound was the quiet whir of the desktop fan and the occasional click of your mouse as you scrubbed through hours of footage.
Your hair was still damp from the world’s fastest shower, the scent of hotel soap clinging faintly to your oversized hoodie. Your knees were pulled tight to your chest in the rolling chair, ankles crossed, fingers moving on muscle memory. The kind of work you could do half-asleep.
But you weren’t asleep. Not even close.
You were too focused on the screen—on every frame where Cat Culer bounced through training, taunting teammates and soaking in the chaos. You zoomed in. Watched it again. Slowed it down.
Alexia, in the background.
Her eyes.
Tracking the mascot.
Not once. Not twice. Over and over.
Lingering in shots she didn’t need to be in. Smiling at moments no one else caught. Laughing, just slightly, even when the camera wasn’t on her.
You paused the clip.
Frame by frame, you scrolled to the moment her gaze landed right where yours would’ve been—if she’d only known who she was really looking at.
It wasn’t in your head.
It wasn’t.
She saw you.
Just not… you.
A quiet knock against the doorframe jolted you from your spiral.
“Yo,” came a familiar voice.
You blinked, turned, and found Mapi lounging casually in the doorway. She looked like she’d just finished a shower herself—hair damp, socks mismatched, water bottle tucked under one arm and a bag of off-brand chips in the other.
She gave you a once-over, like she was evaluating your life choices. “You’re always here. Don’t you ever sleep?”
You tugged your hoodie down over your knees, suddenly aware of how small you looked in the chair. “Deadlines,” you mumbled.
Mapi made a noncommittal sound and strolled in, dropping into the seat beside you without asking. She peered at the monitor. “You were on fire today. The kids are gonna eat this up when it goes live.”
You blinked. “You mean… Cat Culer?”
She raised an eyebrow, giving you a sideways glance like don’t play dumb.
“Obviously.”
You let out a soft laugh, but it didn’t sit right in your throat. There was something about the way she was looking at you now—curious, amused, but… sharper than before.
You felt your smile slip. “What?”
Mapi tilted her head, eyes narrowed slightly. “Nothing,” she said slowly. “Just... you and the gato. Same height. Same build. Same—how do I put this nicely—chaotic little limbs? I am suprised I didn’t realized it before or others… you are really good at hiding ”
Your heart tripped over itself.
She tapped a chip to her bottom lip thoughtfully. “You’re not, like... secretly training for Cirque du Soleil, are you?”
You shook your head too fast. “No. I mean—I just—”
Careful.
Mapi snorted. “Relax, I’m joking. Kind of.”
Your eyes darted back to the screen, needing somewhere to hide. Alexia’s face was frozen mid-laugh, body tilted toward the mascot, eyes soft in a way that made your throat go dry.
Mapi followed your gaze. Her voice dropped, just a little. “You know… she likes her.”
Your hands stilled on the keyboard. “Who?”
She gave you a look. “The gato.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. “She likes the mascot?” you said, hoping that maybe answer of that question would make it sting less.
“Yeah,” Mapi said with a shrug. “More than she likes most people.”
She said it so easily. Like it was no big deal.
But it was.
Because it meant Alexia had made room in her heart for something that wasn’t you.
It meant the warmth wasn’t meant for your name, or your face, or the real version of yourself sitting here, half-curled in an office chair with tired eyes and raw nerves.
She liked the suit.
She liked the part of you you could never keep forever.
You stared at the screen again, at the still image of her laughter, frozen in time. So close. So far away.
“That's something,” Mapi had said.
It was.
And it wasn’t.
Because you knew how this story usually went.
You were the invisible girl. The one behind the mask.
The one who stayed after the lights went out, cleaning up the pieces of other people’s moments.
It was an off-day for media staff—no filming assignments, no urgent emails, no TikTok drafts or caption rewrites waiting in the queue. The team had a closed training session, no press allowed, just players and coaches and the hum of routine.
By all accounts, you should’ve stayed in bed. Slept in. Breathed.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you were there before most of the players, slinking in through the side entrance with your staff pass tucked inside your hoodie, like even that was too bold. You walked slowly, deliberately, as if convincing yourself that every step was justified. As if the weight of the camera slung across your shoulder was reason enough.
Maybe it was habit.
Maybe it was something lonelier than that.
Because staying home meant silence. Meant stillness. Meant your mind running laps around itself with nowhere to go—loops of what-ifs and what-are-you-even-doing and she-laughed-at-you-yesterday-but-was-it-real?
So you came here instead.
You didn’t suit up. The costume was still in the staff locker room, tucked into its usual oversized duffel bag like some sleeping beast. Today, you couldn’t bring yourself to put it on. Not yet. Not until you figured out why you needed it so badly.
Instead, you lingered at the edge of the pitch, hugging your hoodie tighter around yourself as you fiddled with the camera. Checking battery levels that didn’t need checking. Adjusting light exposure even though the sun hadn’t moved. You acted like you were preparing to shoot something, like you were gathering B-roll for a nonexistent project.
Truth was, you didn’t know what you were doing.
You just… couldn’t not be there.
The players began arriving in pairs and small clusters, loose and sleepy from the early hour, their voices carrying in bursts of Spanish and Catalan. Some waved. Some nodded. Most didn’t notice you at all. You blended in like always—part of the furniture. A blur behind the lens.
Then she walked in.
Alexia.
Even from across the field, she changed the air. It was subtle, but undeniable. Her stride was confident, loose hoodie tied around her waist, hair scraped back in that way that made her look effortlessly in control. People shifted as she passed. Some greeted her. Some didn’t dare. But all of them noticed.
You watched from your corner, not daring to lift your camera, not even pretending now.
You told yourself it was curiosity. Professional habit. A media reflex.
But really, it was gravity.
She had it. That quiet pull. That way of moving like she belonged to the space and the space belonged to her.
You told yourself not to stare. Not to expect anything.
Still, you searched her face from afar—looking for a trace of recognition, some hint of softness she only ever gave the mascot.
But her expression was unreadable. Focused. Her eyes scanned the field, the layout, the drills—not you.
She never looked in your direction. Not once.
And that should’ve been okay.
You weren’t her teammate. You weren’t her friend. You weren’t anyone.
But the silence where her smile used to be?
It echoed.
You adjusted the lens on your camera—though it didn’t need adjusting—just to give your hands something to do. Just to remind yourself you were real. Even if she didn’t see it.
Especially because she didn’t see it.
And maybe it would’ve been easier if she had never laughed with you.
Never leaned into your shoulder.
Never whispered, “Even me.”
But she had.
And now every glance that didn’t come your way hurt more than it should.
Because she saw the suit.
Not you.
Not yet.
Maybe then it wouldn’t have mattered that she didn’t look at you today.
But she had. And it did.
You busied yourself filming Mapi and Ingrid warming up—banter, light jabs, the usual chaos. It was easier to focus through the lens. The viewfinder gave you distance, let you pretend. Through it, everything had edges. Framing. Control.
You could hide behind autofocus and ISO settings and pretend the gnawing in your chest wasn’t real.
Mapi was spinning a ball on her finger while Ingrid shouted something half-sarcastic in Norwegian when you caught movement from the corner of your eye.
Mapi jogged over.
You dropped the camera slightly, instinctively straightening up like you’d been caught doing something wrong.
She squinted at you under the morning sun, sweat dampening the edge of her hairline. Her tone was quieter than usual. Gentler. “You good?”
You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just… needed some extra footage. B-roll. Might use it for the mini-doc.”
Mapi didn’t buy it.
Didn’t even pretend to. She crossed her arms, hip cocked slightly. “You’re filming warmups on a closed training day. You didn’t even tell Carla you were coming in.”
You shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just wanted to be useful.”
Mapi gave you a long look. The kind that peeled back your layers even when you weren’t ready. She tilted her head slightly, lowering her voice. “You know you don’t have to put on the suit every time you want to be seen.”
That hit harder than you expected.
You let out a half-laugh—dry, automatic. “I’m not trying to be seen.”
She raised a brow, unimpressed. “Then why do you look like someone kicked your dog?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
You blinked too fast and looked back down at your camera, adjusting your grip like that was the problem. Like if you just focused hard enough, everything else might fade.
Mapi didn’t press. But she stayed close, silent for a beat longer than usual. Then, without warning, she gently bumped her elbow into yours.
“For what it’s worth…” she murmured, “I think she’s starting to notice.”
Your head snapped toward her. “What?”
Mapi didn’t look at you. She tilted her chin toward the field instead, voice low, unreadable. “Look.”
Your eyes followed the motion.
There, just past the midfield line, stood Alexia. Hands on her hips. Posture loose but alert. Her gaze drifted across the field—casual, scanning—but when it passed over you… it paused.
She looked once.
Then again.
Slower this time.
Like she was trying to place something. Like she didn’t quite understand why she was looking at you at all—but couldn’t help it.
Your pulse stuttered.
Mapi didn’t say anything, but you felt her watching you carefully. Not with judgment—just that quiet, unnerving perceptiveness she slipped into when she thought people were hurting.
“She doesn’t know it’s you,” Mapi said finally, voice low. “But something in her does. You’re not as invisible as you think.”
You swallowed hard.
Didn’t answer.
Because if you did, you weren’t sure what would come out.
Later that afternoon, you suited up.
You told yourself it was for content. Just a few silly videos to keep engagement up. Something harmless for the socials—Cat Culer doing crossbars or mimicking warmups or being chased by Mapi again.
But deep down, you knew.
You did it because you missed the way Alexia looked at you when she thought you were someone else.
Because the ache of being ignored that morning hadn’t gone away. And this? This was the only version of yourself she saw.
The moment your paws hit the edge of the pitch, the atmosphere shifted.
Patri lit up and waved like you were a long-lost sibling. Ingrid shouted something loud and impossible to decipher, but her grin said enough. Mapi didn’t even hide her smirk—just threw you a lazy salute and mouthed, “Showtime.”
And then there was Alexia.
She turned as if pulled by instinct. As if she’d felt you before she even saw you.
And she smiled.
It wasn’t wide or showy—barely even noticeable if you weren’t looking. But you were always looking.
It was a smile that reached the corners of her eyes. That softened her whole face. That made your stomach twist.
She walked over like she always did now, no hesitation, no curiosity. Like you were already part of her routine.
“You’re late,” she said, arms crossed, eyes bright with quiet amusement. “We had a whole debate earlier. Mapi swears you dance better than half the team. I told her she’s dramatic. Don’t make me look bad.”
You covered your face with your paws and gave a sheepish head shake—me? never.
Alexia snorted. “Coward.”
So you gave her a tiny shimmy. Just enough to get a laugh. Foam hips swaying in exaggerated rhythm.
It worked.
Her laugh was instant—unfiltered and real—and it tore something open inside you.
Because it wasn’t a laugh she gave to the cameras. Or to reporters. It was the kind she gave when she forgot to guard herself. The kind you’d never heard outside the suit.
You couldn’t help it. You leaned into her, just slightly.
She bumped her shoulder against your padded one without missing a beat. The same way she always did. It felt like a secret ritual now. A quiet way of saying you’re here.
Then—quietly—“You’ve been weird lately.”
You stilled.
Her tone wasn’t suspicious, exactly. Just… observant.
“Not bad weird,” she added quickly, glancing toward the field. “Just different. Like you’re… distracted.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held your stupid foam paws in front of you and tried not to panic.
“Don’t know what it is,” she said, quieter now, almost to herself. “Just feels like something’s shifted.”
Your breath caught.
She was noticing. Maybe not enough to connect the dots. But enough to feel it. Enough to sense that something wasn’t adding up.
You raised one paw and tapped your chest, then pointed at her—You know me, the motion said, you already do.
Alexia looked at you, really looked. Her eyes lingered like they were searching for a crack in the surface. A tell. Something to anchor what she was feeling.
She gave you a crooked smile. The kind that felt too intimate. Too knowing.
“Yeah. Maybe I do.”
Your heart stuttered.
Because maybe she did.
And maybe she didn’t.
But whatever this was—it was slipping past the boundaries you’d built. She was reaching into something you weren’t sure you could keep hidden much longer.
And the longer you wore the mask, the more it started to feel like it was the real you.
Or worse—like it was the only version she wanted.
That night, long after the sun had dipped below the horizon and most of the players had filtered out with echoes of laughter and slamming lockers, you stayed behind.
You told yourself it was to finish uploading footage, to organize the next day’s social queue, to label files and adjust sound levels.
But really—you were hiding.
Your back ached from hours of crouching. Your hands still trembled, your whole body buzzing from the heat and adrenaline that clung even after the mascot head came off.
It sat on the desk now—Cat Culer. Big foam smile. Empty eyes. Watching you.
Mocking you.
You stared back at it like it had betrayed you.
Because in a way, it had.
She’d fallen for someone who wasn’t real. Not entirely. Not fully. And the terrifying part wasn’t that she might find out.
It was that maybe she never would.
The door creaked open.
You froze.
Footsteps. Light. Familiar.
Then a voice—casual, distracted. “Sorry—forgot my charger.”
Your stomach dropped.
You turned just as Alexia stepped into the room.
She paused instantly.
Eyes on the suit first—still clinging to your body, tail and torso intact—then slowly lifting to the mascot head on the table. And finally… your face.
Your real face.
Exposed.
Still flushed. Still damp from the heat.
The room shifted. The silence tightened.
Her brows pulled together, confusion flickering behind her eyes. She opened her mouth like she might say something—then stopped.
Her expression flattened. Neutral. Guarded.
“I, uh…” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the locker behind you, though she didn’t move to grab anything. “I didn’t know you were…”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
Didn’t have to.
The air between you was full of everything she didn’t say.
You wanted to speak. To explain. To apologize. To do something rather than nothing. But nothing made it past your lips.
She lingered there for one breath. Then another.
And finally, her voice low and distant, she said, “I gotta go.”
She turned before you could answer. Before you could stop her.
The door clicked shut behind her.
And just like that, the silence returned.
The only sound left was your own breath, shallow and uneven, echoing back at you through the empty grin of the mascot head beside you.
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Alexia exhales slowly, rubbing her temple as Emilia lets out another frustrated huff.
It’s been a long day. From the moment she woke up, Emilia has been on edge. First, she didn’t want to wear the clothes Alexia picked out. Then, breakfast wasn’t right -her toast was too crispy, her juice too cold. Every little thing has been a battle, and Alexia’s patience is wearing thin.
Now, in the middle of the grocery store, apparently it was all coming to a head.
“Mami, I want it,” Emilia says, gripping the bright pink doll box with both hands.
Alexia shakes her head. “No, mi amor. Not today.” She had no problems buying Emilia the things she wants, and she often does anytime the little one asks, but she had no intentions of rewarding bad behaviour.
Emilia’s lower lip wobbles. “Pero, Mami…”
Alexia crouches down, steadying herself. “Listen, you have not been good today, chiquitina. Lots of tantrums, sí?”
Emilia drops the box and crosses her tiny arms. “No.”
Alexia sighs, reaching out to tuck a curl behind her ear. “You have, mi amor. And when we are not good, we don’t get treats.”
Emilia stares at her for a second, processing the words. Then, without warning, she stomps her foot. “I want it!”
Alexia’s jaw tightens. “Emilia-“
“I want it!” Emilia repeats, louder this time.
A few shoppers glance their way. Alexia feels her patience slip further, her fingers pressing against her temple.
“Emilia, enough,” she says, voice firm.
Emilia, however, is past the point of reasoning. “No! I want it, I want it, I want it!”
Then, to Alexia’s absolute horror, Emilia throws herself onto the floor, kicking her legs and wailing. Alexia closes her eyes briefly.
She knows this is normal -knows that kids have days like this, knows that Emilia is just overwhelmed, overtired, or maybe both. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier when her child is screaming in the middle of the grocery store. She takes a deep breath, then kneels beside her.
“Emilia,” she says, voice low but steady.
Emilia doesn’t respond, just cries harder.
“Mi amor,” Alexia tries again, resting a hand on her back. “You need to get up.”
Emilia shakes her head against the floor.
Alexia exhales, her patience thinning even further. “Emilia. Now.”
Still nothing.
Alright.
Alexia leans down, slipping her hands under Emilia’s arms and lifting her effortlessly. Emilia kicks, fists pounding weakly against Alexia’s shoulders, but Alexia doesn’t budge.
“Shhh,” she murmurs, rubbing slow circles against Emilia’s back, her free arm beneath Emilia’s behind to keep her supported. “Respira, chiquitina.”
Emilia sniffles, face pressed into Alexia’s neck, and Alexia sways gently, rocking her in the middle of the aisle.
“It’s okay, mi amor,” she whispers. “I know you’re upset.”
Emilia lets out a muffled sob.
Alexia sighs, kissing her temple. “But this is not how we ask for things, sí?”
There’s no response, but the kicking stops and Alexia takes that as progress. She walks them toward a quieter section of the store, away from the curious glances and whispered conversations. She finds a bench near the pharmacy and sits, keeping Emilia cradled in her arms.
For a while, neither of them speak. Alexia just holds her, rubbing her back in slow, soothing motions.
Eventually, Emilia’s sniffles quieten.
Alexia tilts her head slightly. “Better?”
A small nod.
Alexia brushes her curls back. “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong, chiquitina?”
Emilia shifts, her little fingers twisting into Alexia’s hoodie. “I don’t know.”
Alexia hums, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “That’s okay.”
Emilia sighs, rubbing her eyes. “I just feel yucky.”
Alexia’s heart softens instantly.
She cups Emilia’s cheek, tilting her face up slightly. “Mi amor, you can tell me anything. You know that, sí?”
Emilia nods. “Sí.”
Alexia kisses the tip of her nose. “Even when we feel bad, we have to try to be good, sí?”
Another nod, this one more hesitant.
Alexia smiles gently. “And when we are not good, we do not get treats.”
Emilia pouts. “I know.”
Alexia chuckles, squeezing her a little tighter. “Do you want to help me finish shopping?”
Emilia nods.
“Vale.” Alexia stands, settling Emilia on her hip. “Let’s go, chiquitina.”
Emilia rests her head against Alexia’s shoulder, her tiny arms wrapped tightly around her. From that moment forward, Emilia doesn’t cause any more trouble, but she doesn’t let go of Alexia either. She stays wrapped around her, her small arms slung around Alexia’s neck, her head tucked right under Alexia’s chin
Alexia doesn’t mind -not really. She’s used to Emilia being clingy on her bad days. It’s just, as strong as she is, shopping with a five-year-old stuck to her hip isn’t the easiest thing in the world.
“Mi amor,” Alexia murmurs, adjusting her grip on Emilia as she reaches for a carton of milk. “I need both hands.”
Emilia shakes her head and clings tighter.
Alexia sighs, balancing the milk in one arm and maneuvering the cart with her foot so she could place the milk inside. It’s ridiculous, really, but she makes it work.
Emilia puffs out a tiny breath. “Mami.”
Alexia hums, absentmindedly scanning the cereal aisle for Emilia’s favourite. “Sí, chiquitina?”
“I’m sorry,” Emilia whispers.
Alexia shifts her hold, pressing a kiss to Emilia’s forehead as she pats her behind softly. “I know, mi amor.” She assures.
“I was naughty,” Emilia mumbles.
Alexia shakes her head. “You were upset. It happens.”
Emilia sniffles. “Still feel bad.”
Alexia cups the back of her head, rubbing her thumb in slow circles. “We all have bad days, chiquitina. Even me.”
Emilia lifts her head, looking at her with wide, serious eyes. “You do?”
Alexia nods, shifting the little one so she was settled on her front as opposed to her hip. “Sí. Sometimes I am grumpy too.”
Emilia frowns. “But you don’t cry on the floor.” She points out.
Alexia chuckles. “No, but sometimes I want to.”
Emilia giggles, a soft little thing that makes Alexia’s chest warm.
“You’re not mad at me?” Emilia asks, her voice small.
Alexia shakes her head. “Never, mi amor.”
Emilia exhales, nestling back against her. “Okay.”
Alexia runs her fingers through Emilia’s curls. “Almost done. Do you want to help me pick some fruit?”
Emilia nods but makes no move to get down, and Alexia smiles to herself as she grabs a few more things before finally heading to the checkout. Emilia still doesn’t let go, even when the cashier coos at her and tells her how cute she is. Emilia just burrows deeper into Alexia’s hoodie.
By the time they get to the car, Emilia has gone completely quiet.
Alexia buckles her into her car seat, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Tired?”
Emilia nods, rubbing at her eyes.
Alexia smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Let’s go home, mi amor.”
The drive is quiet. Alexia keeps one hand on the wheel, the other stretched toward the back, letting Emilia hold onto her fingers. When they get home, Emilia doesn’t even have to ask Alexia to scoop her up again.
“Nap time,” Alexia whispers, carrying both Emilia and the groceries inside, setting the bags on the counter before making her way into the living room.
Emilia doesn’t argue, just curls into Alexia’s arms, clinging like a little koala.
Alexia sighs, settling them both onto the couch. Emilia shifts, making herself comfortable on Alexia’s chest, tiny legs straddling her hips with her head nestled under her chin.
“Mami?”
“Hmm?”
“I love you.”
Alexia’s heart melts instantly. She tightens her hold, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of Emilia’s curls. “I love you too, chiquitina. So much.”
And just like that, Emilia drifts off, safe and snug in her mami’s arms.
**
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@ceesimz @marysfics @girlgenius1111 @codiemarin @simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan @ktgoodmorning @chelseacult
well good morning to me, cold shower time 🥵
tied | alexia x reader
— You agreed to keep your relationship with Alexia a secret, thinking you could handle it. But when she ties Kika’s hair before your first El Clásico, doing the pre-game ritual she used to do only for you, the jealousy hits harder than you expect. So, Alexia decides to remind you that it’s just you who she wants.
tags/contains:: 18+, mdni, hair pulling, strap r!receiving, rough sex, dom!Alexia, secret relationship, dirty talk, tldr: you get jealous that alexia ties kika’s hair before a game so she makes it up to you by using her hands as a ponytail in bed, not edited or proofread, 6.5k words inspired by hair tie— ty for the inspiration! @elliesanqel
masterlist | do not repost or plagiarize
When you were newer to the team, Alexia took you under her wing – adjusting your shin guards, including you in team banter, buying you snacks randomly, giving you a ride to training whenever you needed it. Everyone joked that she was your "team mom" or "older sister," which always made you uncomfortable because that wasn’t how you ever saw her.
To you, she was never the “team mom”... mainly because you had a massive crush on her.
And with every nice thing she did for you, and every game you played with her, your infatuation with the Barcelona captain grew. You never said anything to her or to anyone about it though because you never thought that you’d have a chance. She was seven years older, and your captain. There were also probably a hundred thousand other girls who were lined up for her.
Besides, you always thought she just saw you as another one of the younger players who she felt responsible for. No matter how badly you wanted to believe that the way she was treating you was different or special, it just felt safer to assume you weren’t.
Then came the night after the team party. She had offered to drive you home, like she had so many times before, and you, a little too drunk and reckless, agreed. You don’t know how it happened but somehow your inebriated self thought it would be smart to confess your massive crush on her, which turned out to be the right thing to do because soon enough, you were making out in her car.
And luckily for you, you started dating Alexia after that.
Alexia and you agreed that you wouldn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t about shame, just… caution. You were still figuring each other out, and with the age gap, the team dynamic, Alexia just ending a previous long-term relationship, and her being your captain, you didn’t want complications.
Besides, you were only a few months into dating. It just felt right to keep it a secret until you two were dating long enough to figure out your relationship dynamic.
Keeping it a secret was okay for you, even thrilling at times. Sneaking kisses in the locker room when no one was around, catching her hand just for a second too long, playfully patting her ass to see her jump. Alexia played along but was always the careful one.
So careful, in fact, that she never treated you any differently from the rest of the team. She teased the others the same way she teased you, adjusted their shin guards before matches, and even took different teammates out for coffee or dinner to check in on them. You never questioned it. That was just typical Alexia. That was what made her a good captain. None of it remotely bothered you.
That was until Kika arrived.
You liked Kika. She was funny, full of energy, and a ridiculously good player. The two of you hit it off immediately, even making plans to hang out outside of training. Everything was fine… until you started noticing how close she and Alexia had gotten.
Alexia always made an effort with new players, but this felt different. She was always touching Kika, throwing an arm around her shoulders, picking her up and spinning her around like it was nothing. They had inside jokes, little moments of shared laughter that you weren’t part of. You tried not to let it bother you. When you brought it up casually, Alexia just shrugged and said she saw Kika as a little sister, but something about it didn’t convince you. Maybe it was because months before when one of the players was teasing her about you, she said the same thing.
But your last straw came right before a game. You had approached Alexia like you always did, holding out your hair tie and giving her that familiar look. By now, it had become a ritual.
You had grown superstitious over the past season, convinced that whenever Alexia tied your hair before a match, she passed some of her midfield skills onto you. It sounded ridiculous, but the results spoke for themselves. Almost every time she did it, you either scored or assisted.
Alexia never questioned it. She always agreed, sometimes teasing you about it but never refusing. She liked doing it, or at least you thought she did.
It had become a quiet moment between the two of you, something intimate before a game that never gave away the nature of your relationship to others. It was one of the few intimate, personal things you could do in the locker room without getting an eyebrow raise.
However, this time, she held up a hand before you could even get closer.
"Wait, Kika asked me to tie her hair too." Alexia said it casually, as if she didn’t know just how important it was to you. “I’ll tie your hair after I do hers.”
You froze, dumbfounded, staring as she turned to sit beside Kika, brushing her hair and chuckling about something.
You were seething. You’ve been trying to keep your jealousy in check, always convincing yourself that Alexia was just being the good captain she always was, but this just felt different. It wasn’t just that she turned you down; it was the way she did it so easily, like it wasn’t even a second thought. She knew how much this meant to you, especially today. This was your first time starting against Real Madrid.
Superstition aside, you also needed that quiet moment with her to keep your nerves grounded before an important game. You took a deep breath and made your way to Aitana instead.
“Can you tie my hair?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.
Aitana’s face lit up with surprise. “It’s your first time asking me,” she said, grinning as she patted the space on the bench beside her. You sat in front of her, letting her use her comb to brush your hair up. Aitana was happy to help you out, knowing how important this superstition was to you, even feeling honored you allowed her to take part in it but her curiosity got the best of her.
She snuck a glance toward Alexia, who was now playfully tugging on Kika’s ponytail, laughing at something she said. “Are you just asking me cause Alexia’s not available?” She asked, as she began tying your hair up neatly.
You huffed, rolling your eyes at the sight of your girlfriend playfully pulling Kika’s hair. “No, I just thought you’d be luckier this time,” you lied.
Aitana hummed, smiling. “Aw, that’s cute,” she commented. “Seriously thought you were only going to me cause you got replaced.”
Even though you knew Aitana was teasing, it stung a bit. You pouted. “Not at all,” you responded, loud enough for Alexia to hear. “Especially since you’re my favorite Ballon d’Or winner.”
Aitana laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, okay,” she said, tapping your shoulder to signal that she was done. “Since you’re such a kiss ass, I’ll give you one of my lucky headbands to wear.”
You smiled at Aitana, thanking her as she handed you one of her headbands. “Thanks, Aitana!” You gushed loudly before wrapping the tiny girl into a hug.
You surreptitiously looked over to see if Alexia was looking but she was too busy playfully swatting Kika with a brush. Oh, she’s so gonna pay for that.
A goal, three assists, a nearly perfect passing rate, and a Player of the Game title later, you were practically beaming as you were getting interviewed about your performance.
After all the talk about the game and the team’s performance, you made sure to throw in a comment about how you couldn’t have done it without Aitana helping you out with your pre-game superstition, joking with the reporters that you were gonna have her do your hair every game from now on. Everyone in the team seemed to poke fun at it, teasing Aitana that they also wanted their hair done before every game now.
Alexia didn’t react differently, laughing along with everyone else, completely oblivious to the fact that you had been rubbing it in her face that you were pissed off at her and even pointedly ignoring her after the match.
She only noticed something was off when you told her you were grabbing your stuff from her car and hitching a ride with Jana instead, who had asked you to go out for some drinks.
Her eyebrows furrowed as she followed you to her car, confusion all over her face. “Are you mad? What did I do?” she asked, genuinely baffled. “Why are you riding with Jana? I thought you were staying over for dinner.”
You pulled your overnight bag from the backseat of her car and slung it over your shoulder. “If you think you did nothing wrong,” you said vaguely. “Then maybe you didn’t.”
Alexia groaned. “Can’t you just tell me?” she pressed, her tone edging into frustration. “Why are you in such a pissy mood? We literally won today because of you. We should be celebrating.”
“I know,” you shot back, shutting the car door. “Also, just so you know, Aitana will be doing my pre-game ritual from now on.”
Alexia blinked, still lost. She stepped in front of you, blocking your path. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing,” you shrugged. “I just think she’s luckier, that’s all.”
You tried to move past her, but she was faster, pressing both hands against the car on either side of you, caging you in.
“Cariño,” she huffed, exasperated. “I’m tired from the game. I’m starving. I just wanna go home, order takeout, and cuddle. Can you please just tell me what the fuck I did wrong so we can make up and do that already?”
Before you could answer, a voice called out. “Capi?”
You both turned to see Sydney standing a few feet away, looking awkward. Her eyes widened slightly as she registered that you were the one Alexia was practically pinning against a car.
You both stepped apart immediately.
Sydney hesitated. “Uh… was I interrupting…”
“No, no, it was nothing. I was just—”
“She was just putting her bag in my car,” Alexia cut in smoothly. “She needs a ride, and who am I to say no to the MVP, right?”
Sydney gave a cautious laugh. “Uh… okay…” She didn’t look convinced. “Jana and Ingrid are getting dinner and asked me to find you guys.”
Alexia shook her head, smiling at the teenage Swede. “I’d love to, but Y/N’s in a hurry cause she has to meet her landlord, and I have to drive her.”
You shot her a look in disbelief that she was blatantly lying to Sydney just to trap you in the car. Alexia met your gaze with a pointed one of her own. “Right? You said your landlord said something about a leak.”
“Yeah… my landlord…” you muttered through gritted teeth.
Sydney still looked skeptical but nodded. “That sucks, but we should all hang out soon.”
Alexia beamed at her, reopening the back door and gesturing for you to put your bag inside. Reluctantly, you tossed it in, playing along for Sydney’s sake. The second Alexia shut the door, she immediately opened the passenger side and motioned for you to get in.
You forced a smile at Sydney before climbing inside, seething at Alexia’s trickery. The moment she got into the driver’s seat, you groaned, already beyond irritated.
“Drop me off at my place,” you said flatly. “I’m not in the mood for dinner with you.”
Alexia frowned as she pulled out of the parking lot. “What is up with you? You never act like this. What did I do?”
“You don’t think you did anything wrong, so why does it matter?” you shot back, crossing your arms and staring out the window.
Alexia groaned. “Obviously, I fucked up, but can’t you just tell me what I did?” She complained. “Is it because I told Pere to sub you out at the 80th? You were obviously tired and Sydney needed minutes too, you know.”
You scoffed. “Why the fuck would I be mad about not playing a full 90? I was exhausted.” You retorted. “I want Sydney to get her minutes in too, y’know?”
“Then what is it?” Alexia demanded.
You ignored her. Alexia sighed, feeling annoyed by the fact that you were choosing to be passive-aggressive instead of talking it out with her. She looked over to you, hair still damp from your quick shower after the game. You were dressed in your typical, post-match gear of sweats and a tank top but this time, you had a new thin headband hanging from your neck.
She furrowed her eyebrows, as she looked back onto the road. “Since when do you wear headbands?” She asked sincerely. “Those don’t look like mine either.”
You rolled your eyes ignoring Alexia, who hummed in thought as she tapped her steering wheel. “Oh, is that one of Aitana’s?”
“Yeah, what does it matter?”
Alexia hummed again. “Nothing, I just… didn’t notice you wearing it a while ago on the pitch.”
“Yeah, cause I’m sure your eyes were somewhere else.” You muttered it under your breath but Alexia was still able to hear most of it.
She frowned. “Huh? What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing,” you responded, much to her annoyance.
At the stoplight, Alexia reached over, resting a hand on your thigh. “Come on, baby. Just tell me what I did wrong.”
You finally looked at her. Her eyes were soft, searching yours. As much as you wanted to stay mad, you just sighed and turned away again.
“You just seem into someone else,” you admitted quietly.
Alexia’s brows knitted together. “Someone else? Who?”
You continued to ignore her, perceiving Alexia’s genuine confusion as feigned perplexity. Why does she have to play dumb about it?
She started thinking, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “Is this because I hugged Ona after I scored?”
You didn’t respond. She glanced at you, then back at the road. “Because I said ‘you too’ to a fan who called me pretty?”
Still nothing.
Alexia sighed, drumming her fingers on the wheel. She chuckled. “Because I stole a fry off Ingrid’s plate at lunch?”
You clenched your jaw. It was obviously none of those things. Alexia took another look at you, gaze falling once more on the headband around your neck. Then she realized.
“Wait… are you jealous of Kika?”
Your body tensed before you could stop it.
Alexia let out a small laugh. “No way. Is this about me tying her hair?” She shook her head, still grinning. “Cariño, it was just a ponytail. You think I’m cheating on you because I tied someone else’s hair?”
That was it.
“It’s more than that, Alexia.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through her amusement. You turned to her, face clearly pained.
Her smirk faded.
“You’ve been paying attention to her all day and ignoring me.” Your voice didn’t waver, but there was something raw underneath. “You used to always hug me a lot before a game but now you just hug Kika and Patri and everyone else, and you don’t even hug me or even give me a pat on the back.”
“And you’ve also been joking around with Kika a lot and you don’t even bother to tell me what your inside joke is. I just feel like a third wheel whenever I hang out with you two.” You felt kinda embarrassed showing her your jealous side like this but you couldn’t help but explode at her poking fun at you being upset.
You paused to breathe, cheeks growing flush. “And yeah, I’m mostly mad cause you didn’t tie my hair before this game.You know how important that ritual is to me.” You explained. “Especially now. It was my first time starting against Real Madrid and you just left me hanging.”
You turned away from her again. “I just feel replaced and forgotten, okay?” You said, voice low. “I agreed to keep us a secret cause I thought you’d at least do a good job of reassuring me about your feelings.”
Alexia exhaled, nodding as she gripped the steering wheel. She finally understood. In trying so hard to avoid showing favoritism toward you as her girlfriend, she had gone too far in the opposite direction: ignoring you without even realizing it.
The truth was, she had only been spending so much time with Kika because the Portuguese player was the only one loud and energetic enough to keep her distracted. It was easier to let Kika shove her phone in her face, forcing her to watch ridiculous TikToks, than to risk staring at you too much, making it obvious to everyone how much she wanted you.
She sighed again, her voice softer this time. “I’m genuinely sorry, cariño.”
You didn’t respond.
Alexia reached over, squeezing your thigh gently. “How can I make it up to you?”
Silence.
“Just tell me what to do,” she added, eyes flicking to you briefly. “I don’t want you feeling like this.”
Still, you said nothing, arms crossed as you stared out the window. Alexia sighed, accepting your silence but refusing to let it stay this way.
By the time you got to her apartment, you were still upset. You had tried arguing with her, insisting she take you home, but Alexia had ignored every protest, pulling into her parking spot like it wasn’t even up for debate.
Now you sat at the edge of her bed, back turned against her. You tapped through your phone, eyes scanning the Uber app for a car to ride, hoping you could still meet some of your teammates for some drinks. You knew if you went home, Alexia would just follow you there and badger you. At least with friends, there was no way Alexia would talk to you about it or even follow you; she was way too cautious about keeping your relationship a secret.
Behind you, Alexia was changing into a tank top and soft cotton shorts. As your girlfriend peeked at you, checking to see if you were still upset, she immediately sees you trying to book an Uber. “Cariño,” she groaned. “Don’t go.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond.
She walked over and crouched in front of you, putting her hands on top of your phone so that you’d be forced to look at her. Her hazel eyes searched yours, earnest and a little tired.
“I’m sorry I brushed you off earlier,” she said. “You know I wasn’t trying to ignore you. We agreed to keep things quiet, so I was just trying to play it safe. That’s all.”
You looked at her, jaw tense. “I know but you didn’t even bother talking to me before the game and you know how important that game was to me.”
Alexia exhaled, slow and quiet. “You’re right. I should have. I’m trying now, though. Can we please just... stop fighting?”
“It’s too late, Alexia.” You said it low, averting your gaze from her. “Let’s just talk about it some other time. I’m not in the mood to talk.”
She held eye contact for a while before deeply sighing. She just stood up, gave a small nod, and stepped away. You assumed that was the end of it; Alexia never liked fighting. You returned to your phone, starting a message to Jana to let her know you’d catch up soon.
Alexia sighed again as she walked towards her closet, reorganizing some things. Once she left the room, you felt more at ease texting your friends, telling them you’ll be booking an Uber to the bar to meet them. You presumed Alexia left the room to do some chores; she always got into tidying whenever you two fought. She said it helped her clear her brain and calm down.
But your time alone in her room was short-lived. Just moments later, your girlfriend was back and you were suddenly feeling the bed dip beneath you as she crawled onto it.
“What are you doing?” You furrowed your eyebrows, looking over your shoulder.
Alexia settled on her knees behind you, already running her fingers through your hair. “Let me tie it up for you,” she murmured.
You turned slightly, confused. “Now? What’s the point?”
“Just let me,” she said, tone even. “Then you can go, if you still want to. I just want to know I did something to make things right. Even if it’s inconsequential.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. Your attention returned to your phone, typing half a sentence before her hands began to move again. Fingertips gliding gently against your scalp with a slight firmness to them, massaging, tugging through tangles with careful ease. You felt your shoulders drop and your eyes flutter, your body betraying you.
Alexia noticed.
She smiled faintly as she worked, kneading slow circles into your scalp, brushing your hair back before gathering it into a neat ponytail. Her fingers moved with precision, like she had done this a hundred times.
Then she paused.
Her hand tugged gently at your hair, tilting your head back slightly. Her face was close now, just beside your cheek. You could feel the warmth of her breath. “Let me make it up to you,” she whispered. “I’ll show you that I only want you.”
Before you could answer, she tilted your head to the side and pressed her mouth to your neck. Her lips were soft and warm, taking in the flesh of your neck between them. You gasped, resting your phone beside you, afraid you’d drop it with your now trembling hands.
While one of Alexia’s hands held your hair in a firm ponytail, the other slid around your waist, creeping up beneath your shirt. Her fingers grazed the edge of your bra, moving slowly, deliberately. She traced the lace of your bra with her fingertips, teasing you.
You should have stopped her and snapped at her. You should have told her that sex wasn’t gonna make you less upset and jealous, but something about her mouth on your neck rendered you speechless and weak.
Her hands slid higher, fingers curling over the fabric of your bra cup before tugging it down. Your breath hitched as she took your breast out of your bra, letting it hang over the bra. She cupped your bra with her hands, feeling the plush flesh against her palms. Then, sge rolled your nipple between her fingers, teasing, as her mouth slowly latched to your neck again.
You bit your lip, torn between moaning and moving away.
Alexia’s hand let go of your hair as she used both her hands to swiftly take your top off of you. She threw it off the bed before she continued planting wet, deep kisses on your neck, both hands playing with your nipples, rolling and pinching them in between fingertips.
Her mouth peppered kisses from the base of your neck to your ear. You could feel her lips on the curve of your ear and the warmth of her breath emanate into your skin. Her breath sent a shiver through you. “You wanted your hair tied so badly, yeah?” she murmured.
Before you could even respond, Alexia pulled you by the waist, moving you further into the bed. She got up from the bed as swiftly, moving back to the side of the bed where your feet were still hanging. Her expression was unreadable, but her hands were impatient, tugging at your sweats and sliding them down with a rough kind of urgency. You barely had time to react before her hands gripped your thighs and pulled you toward the edge.
Suddenly, Alexia had placed her hands under your thighs, pulling you towards the end of your bed, now just clad in your underwear. With fluid control, she flipped you over, easing you on to your stomach. Her hands positioned your legs apart, hips raised, body exposed to her entirely. You gasped as she gathered your hair again, holding it tight like a makeshift ponytail.
You gasped as Alexia took a handful of your hair, pulling your head back with it. She gathered all the other loose strands, using her hand as a makeshift ponytail. You could feel the stinging pain radiate through your scalp, making you wince. “You want this, cariño?” she asked, voice low and close. “Is this what you’re in such a bad mood for?”
You bit your lip, then felt her weight settle against you, the front of her body pressing into your cunt. She pulled your hair a little harder, hips rolling into yours, and the sensation made your breath hitch. That was when you felt it, the bulge underneath her shorts. It was undeniable. You could easily tell from the shape of it, the feel of it against your clothed cunt.
Did she actually put on a strap while I was pissed off at her.
“Answer me,” she whispered in your ear in a calm voice, distracting you from your thoughts.
You gulped and hesitated, only for Alexia to pull back again on your hair. You gasped at the stinging pain. “Yes,” it came out hoarse and strained from your throat.
Alexia smiled as she adjusted so her hand was balling up your hair closer to your scalp, making it less painful. It was a looser grip but she was still in control of you clearly. She used the same hand to push your head down onto the bed. You moaned out as you felt her fingers press from behind you. She teasingly traced the folds of your cunt that were now soaked and clinging to the almost translucent fabric of your underwear. A whimper escaped your lips as she used her hand to pull your underwear to the side, your wetness practically dripping as she did.
Alexia licked her lips subconsciously as she let go of your hair, swiftly pulling down her shorts to expose the silicone member attached to your waist. You were able to look back behind you without your girlfriend holding your hair, and your eyes widened as you saw that it was the translucent dildo that you both never bothered using because you always thought it was too big for you.
“You’re gonna take all of this for me,” Alexia said. “I want you to take all of this in so I forget about how big of a brat you’re being even when I already apologized for nothing.”
She pulled open the drawer beside the bed, grabbing the familiar bottle of lube. Without hesitation, she poured it over the length of the thick toy, spreading it with slow, deliberate strokes. Her eyes met yours and she smirked. “Take a deep breath, cariño.”
You inhaled deeply, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you felt the tip of the toy press against you. “Now exhale.”
Your breath left you in a shaky moan as Alexia pushed forward, driving the toy inside you in one deep, controlled motion. The force sent you sprawling onto your forearms, cheek against the sheets, hips still tilted up for her.
She started a slow rhythm, her hands firm on your hips, then one hand tangled roughly into your hair again, keeping your head pressed down onto the bed. As soon as she was more confident about her thrusts and her pace quickened, she pulled your head up with a practiced grip, your back arching with the pressure. A smirk grew on Alexia’s face as you moaned out loud at the pain you felt with your hair being pulled.
“Even when you’re being a pain about it,” she murmured, breath catching with effort. “The way you get jealous? It’s so hot.”
Another string of moans spilled from your lips as she kept driving her strap into you. The room echoed with the slick sound of your wetness and the sharp slap of her thighs against your ass. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as the thick toy stretched you open and your head throbbed with the pain from the hair pulling, and somehow, the sting only made the pleasure sharper.
“It’s hot because I get to remind you just how much I want you,” Alexia growled, voice low and ragged from exertion. “I get to remind you I’m the only one who gets to pull your hair like this. The only one who gets to fuck you dumb with my dick.”
Alexia always loved dirty talk but not like this – not so raw, so unfiltered and filthy. The edge in her voice made you tremble, made your moans louder. Her grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you in place as she picked up her pace, every thrust deeper, rougher. With her other hand she pulled on your hair firmer, keeping a steady control of you.
The head of the strap kept nudging at your cervix, pushing you closer to the edge. It was the first time that a strap was so massive that it was practically filling you completely; you knew you’d have a bruised cervix after this but right now, all you could feel was Alexia and every inch of her inside you.
“F-fuck,” you moaned, tension twisting tight in your stomach like a knot ready to snap. Your back arched instinctively, hips grinding in small, desperate movements, chasing every inch of sensation. Alexia saw it in the way you moved, the way your thighs trembled. A knowing smirk curved her lips as she let go of your hair, letting your face drop against the mattress.
“Put your hands behind your back,” she said, voice calm but commanding.
You didn’t even think twice. Moving quickly, you brought your arms behind you, wrists meeting at the small of your back. Alexia’s large fingers wrapped firmly around them, holding you in place.
She pushed your wrists deeper into the curve of your back, forcing your face and chest into the sheets. The position felt humiliating in the best way, like you were giving her complete control of your body. The mattress was cool against your cheek, the contrast sharp against the heat radiating from your skin.
Alexia moved behind you with ruthless precision, her strap hitting deep with each thrust. Her hips met the backs of your thighs with a wet slap, over and over. Your moans came louder now, obscene and desperate, as the sensation became almost too overwhelming. Her grip on your wrists only tightened, steadying you as your body started to shake beneath her.
Your head pressed further into the bed, cheek dragged across the sheets, makeup smeared into pale linen. But none of it mattered to Alexia. If anything, it turned her on seeing you dishevelled and leaving your mark on her pristine bed.
“You like that?” Alexia said with some roughness to her voice. “Being held like this. Now do you believe me when I say I only want you? That you’re the only one who I get to fuck like this?”
You tried to answer, but only a muffled whimper came out. Your body was already betraying you, back arching harder, thighs quivering under her touch. Alexia just laughed softly and adjusted her grip. “Good girl,” she whispered, before slamming her hips into yours again, harder this time.
“Alexia!” You moaned out loud as you felt the tension in your stomach build up even more, almost pushing you over the edge. “I’m going to cum.”
She smiled, propping one leg up on the edge of the mattress to give her more leverage and control. She let go of your wrists to hold on to both sides of your waist, firmly keeping you where she wanted you. She continued to thrust against you. The sensation of the base of the strap bumping against her own clit was also pushing Alexia towards an orgasm, but she didn’t wanna cum until you did.
Just as your orgasm surged closer,your phone suddenly rang. The sound sliced through the moment like a knife. You flinched. Alexia stilled mid-thrust, glancing at the screen lighting up beside you.
It was Jana.
Just as your finger hovered above the decline button, Alexia spoke up. “Answer it. She might still think you’re still on the way to meet them.”
You hesitated, biting your lip, then reluctantly took the call. Awkwardly angling your body, you glanced back at Alexia — her strap still steady inside you, her gaze unreadable. She simply raised both brows and nodded at the phone.
“Hello, Jana?” you said, putting the call on speaker, since holding it to your ear was impossible in your current position.
“Hey, are you on the way?”
“Oh, I don’t KNOW–” you gasped, the words escaping louder than intended as Alexia suddenly thrust into you again You looked back at her, eyes wide in disbelief. She just smirked, continuing her rhythm, slow but deliberate. You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow a moan.
“Oh my god, what happened?” Jana asked, alarmed. “Did you slip? It sounded like you saw a ghost.”
“N-no, I just…” You couldn’t continue your thought, trying too hard to focus on choking down your moans as Alexia thrusted into you. “I just gotta finish something real quick.”
Jana paused, then asked, voice audible confused. “Wait, so, are you still coming?”
Alexia let out a quiet laugh at the phrasing. You shot her a glare, but she only shrugged. You struggled to form a coherent sentence, brows furrowed as Alexia picked up her pace again. “Uh, I think – uh…”
Alexia chuckled again before bending over slightly, resting some of her weight on your back as she plucked the phone from beside you. “Jana, she’s gonna have to cancel.” Alexia said, speaking for you.
“Alexia?” Jana’s voice through the phone said, audibly confused. “Wait what happened? Is she okay?”
You looked back, breath caught, locking eyes with Alexia. A mischievous smile curled at her lips. “She’s fine,” she said sweetly. “She was just shocked now because I asked her out on a date.”
“A date?!” Jana shrieked, voice crackling through the speaker. But before she could say more, Alexia ended the call and tossed your phone aside. Her eyes found yours again.
“No more sneaking around,” she said, her voice low and certain. “And you don’t have to act like a possessive, jealous mess anymore.”
Alexia’s smile grew more mischievous as she rested her hands on your hips again. “Now, let me fuck you like a good girlfriend.”
You smiled, dazed and breathless but the expression barely lasted a moment. Your face contorted again, eyebrows knit together, a sharp gasp escaping your parted lips as Alexia thrust into you once more. Her thrusts were fast and unrelenting. Each stroke was deep, purposeful, her hips snapping forward with precision and hunger.
You could feel your moans grow louder, any attempt at control long gone, your voice trembling with every punishing thrust.
Alexia could feel the tension coiling in her core, her own orgasm building rapidly. But she held it back. Her rhythm grew messier, less measured but it didn’t lose its urgency. If anything, she fucked you harder, grunting low under her breath as her thrusts remained quick and relentless.
Your moans turned to desperate, near-incoherent sounds, your hands now gripping the sheets like a lifeline. Each movement of her hips drove you closer to the edge until one deep thrust completely sent you over it.
Your entire body arched, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips as the climax crashed into you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. Pleasure flooded every nerve, and your limbs went slack beneath her.
Still, Alexia didn’t stop right away. She kept thrusting, riding the high of your release, chasing her own. A few more messy, fast strokes… and then she cursed under her breath, the tension finally snapping inside her.
She stepped back with shaky legs, pulling the strap out of you slowly. Then she collapsed beside you on the bed, her body half-draped across the sheets, chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath.
You were still on your stomach, eyes fluttering open only when you felt her gaze. You turned your head just enough to meet her eyes. She smiled at the sight of you, exhausted and used, covered in your own sweat but still utterly gorgeous with cheeks flushed and lips swollen. She felt that you were always at your prettiest whenever she just fucked the living shit out of you.
“Did that make it up to you?” she asked, breathless but cocky, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.
“No,” you responded, pouting before pointing at your disheveled hair. “Does that look like a ponytail to you?”
A couple days after the game, you were back to training. You had expected things to be a little different, expecting Jana to have spread the news already but it just seemed normal… a bit too normal.
Everyone seemed to not want to bring it up, staying quiet as you walked into the locker room. But there were subtle hints that told you everyone knew.
Patri winked at you when you passed by her. Ingrid tried to act normal but she nudged Mapi in a not-so-subtle way, wiggling her eyebrows and pointedly looking towards Alexia shortly after. Jana widened her eyes at you with an annoyed look, probably pissed you didn’t call her back to tell her everything.
You did your best to pretend not to notice, not knowing how to react to it. When you thought about being more public with Alexia, you didn’t think about how much teasing you’d potentially face with your teammates.
After putting on her boots and straightening up her clothes, Alexia walked up to your locker, putting a hand up on the door of your locker. She smiled warmly at you, eyeing you. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks, suddenly feeling everyone’s eyes on you.
You blinked at her. “What?”
She nodded toward your wrist. “Hairtie,” she smirked. “I know it isn’t a game but I just wanna do it for you.”
You hesitated for a second, but she gave you that look — the are you gonna make this weird or not? one — and you sighed, turned around, and handed it over. Alexia started tying your hair with practiced ease. No teasing, no flirtatious whispering. Alexia knew that your relationship was known by all your teammates at this points but that didn’t mean she had to put on the PDA everytime. She was still a captain after all.
The second she finished, there was a beat of silence.
Until Aitana, who had been previously left out of the loop by the other teammates, pulled back from Ona whispering to her. She had a shocked look, visibly surprised by the news that you two were apparently now dating.
“Wait… so is the hair tying a kink?” Her voice came out a little too loud, cutting through the silence.
The room erupted.
Cata let out an actual shriek. Patri nearly fell off the bench laughing. Everyone started laughing loudly as if they had been holding in the entire time.. Even Pere paused in the doorway, eyebrows slowly rising.
Alexia just looked at you with a smile, “She’s not completely wrong.”
The locker room exploded again. You covered your face with both hands, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.
“No more secrets, right?” Alexia said as she shrugged, clearly enjoying herself.
a/n: sorry this took too long. i was TIRED ASF after a job i had to do last saturday and had to rest the day after then i had class and yeah whatever. i hope this is worth it! i started doubting myself with this fic and nearly did not post it so please BE NICE and dont send hate if u think this sucked ass aaaaa masterlist taglist: @write287 @idonhaveablog12345 @ace-of-baked @maeshoneyles @pinkygirliee @haloo256 @wosolipa @tenyleas @lynchloverr @footy-lover264 @kellyscooneycross @rikuwashere24 @barcelonafem24 — @gozzi-1154 @floppy-03 @daniwhatwhat @sapphicdarlingx @dfwspky @miss-americana22 @lilibach @liloandstitchstan @tikitakatia @beeversblues
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.
🤣🤣🤣
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”
😭❤️🩹
learning curve part 5
alexia putellas x reader [& r's nephew] after a hectic and rushed morning, will gets sick. r and alexia take care of him. later in the week, r and alexia lose to real madrid, and will tries to help. fluff + hurt comfort 🙂
—
It seemed as though for every obstacle overcome, another one almost immediately presented itself. Every time you were able to push some doubt you had about yourself out of your head, another one replaced it. And every time, Alexia was there to ground you back to reality. She had enough confidence in you that it was okay when you didn’t really feel it in yourself.
And as time passed, your own confidence grew, and it seemed like Alexia’s did too. Until it was shaken.
Mornings in your household were pretty routine. Alexia got up, giving you time to sleep in as she got Will up and ready for the day. At first, you’d felt bad that she was taking the morning with him and you weren’t doing anything. But, as Alexia argued, you did almost the entirety of his bedtime with him, while Alexia pretended not to fall asleep on the sofa. And Ale liked having time with him in the morning, and she was awake anyway.
The two of them had their own special little morning routine, which included a walk around the neighborhood and Will spending 10 minutes picking his outfit out. It was practiced, at this point; Will and Alexia moved through the morning with purpose while you moved through the morning practically half conscious until your coffee kicked in, normally just as you were leaving the house to drop Will at school and head to training.
This morning, however, was neither routine nor practiced. You and Alexia had been up later than you’d intended. Normally, her internal clock woke her up without fail. It seemed that not getting her 9 hours had messed with her internal alarm, and she was roughly shaking you awake just 20 minutes before you had to leave.
“Amor. Amor. We overslept, levántante!” Alexia was almost frantic.
You groaned, batting her hand away from your shoulder. She was usually much nicer when she woke you up, though the circumstances obviously wouldn’t allow for the few minutes she normally spent stroking your hair and kissing your face.
“If you do not get up right now, we won’t have time for coffee.” Alexia called over her shoulder, heading down the hall to get Will up.
And with that, you were scrambling out of bed and stumbling into the bathroom. What followed was a very chaotic and very rushed 20 minutes, but you managed to make it out of the house in time, travel mug of coffee in hand. Will was eating his breakfast quietly in the backseat on the way to his school, Alexia driving calmly like she hadn’t acted like a maniac to get everyone out of the house on time, and you were trying to make your hair look less like Alexia had very clearly had you on your back the night before.
Alexia pulled into the dropoff line, and you reached back to undo Will’s car seat buckles.
“Have a good day, buddy. We’ll see you later.” You told him, ruffling his hair as he gave you a small smile.
“Love you Tia, love you Ale,” he called, opening the door and carefully climbing down out of the car.
You only really had time to think once you were driving towards training, half your coffee already gone. It was more than a little odd that you and Alexia had been allowed to oversleep. Will woke up at roughly the same time everyday, and in the rare event Alexia didn’t get him up, he got her up. Today, though, he’d still been sleeping when she’d gone in to wake him, almost an hour and a half later than normal. It hadn’t struck you as odd until you’d thought about it for more than 5 seconds, but once you had… you were retroactively trying to analyze your nephew’s behavior in the short time you’d been with him that morning.
“Did something seem off to you? With Will this morning?”
Alexia hummed, thinking. “No. A little quiet, I guess. Maybe he didn’t sleep well.”
You nodded, going over Wil’s behavior that morning. Quiet felt like it was only part of it, but Alexia was always more observant than you.
“You’re right. He’s fine.”
“He’s fine.” Alexia echoed, reaching over to grab your hand and lace your fingers with hers. She glanced over with a reassuring smile. “You’re overthinking. He’s okay.”
You returned her smile, trying to convince yourself. There was just this nagging feeling in the back of your head, one you couldn’t get rid of. Will’s face as you dropped him off this morning kept popping into your head, and maybe you were imagining things, but it seemed different than his usual smile. His goodbye had been quieter, and you could have sworn he walked slower into the building than normal.
You shook your head, squeezing Alexia’s hand and trying to focus on her next to you before you began to freak out over nothing. Will was fine.
—
Will was not fine. He’d woken up feeling positively awful, like everything in his body wasn’t working right. His head felt cloudy and his brain felt slower than normal. He’d barely been able to eat even a few bites of his breakfast before he had to give up, his stomach turning. He was warm when he woke up, his dinosaur comforter and matching sheets pushed to the bottom of his bed, but so cold his teeth were chattering in the car on the way to school, even wrapped in his new Barcelona sweatshirt. [Alexia had brought it home for him two days ago, despite you telling her he didn’t need anymore clothes. Alexia was always bringing him home little things she saw that made her think of him, and those were his most favorite things. The brontosaurus ornament from the christmas shop she’d gone to with you, the glow-in-the-dark shoes she’d brought home from a nike photo shoot, the spiderman keychain to attach to his backpack she’d gotten in the airport on the way home from an away game.]
Will wanted nothing more than to go home and burrow under the knit blanket you kept on the couch. He didn’t even care if you didn't let him watch the TV, as long as the icky feeling that filled his entire body went away soon. He thought about saying something, telling you he didn’t feel well.
But then he’d remembered what Alexia had said the night before, about today being an important training session before you played Madrid over the weekend. Will wasn’t quite sure how long training was, but he assumed it was like school, and you’d be gone all day. And Will knew that football was your and Alexia’s job, and his Dad had always told him how important jobs were. When Will still lived with his Dad, he hadn’t been allowed to stay home sick, because his Dad couldn’t miss work.
If anything, your and Alexia’s job seemed even bigger and more important than his Dad’s job. If Will said he was sick, one of you might have to stay home with him and miss training. That would be making way too much trouble, Will had decided. So, he’d put on a brave face and gone to school.
Maybe, when he got home, he could say he was extra tired, and take a nap on the couch with one of you. Maybe you’d lay with him on the couch and scratch his back like you did when he had a bad dream. He had to get through the school day first, a task that was feeling more and more impossible with every passing second.
—
The call came after the gym session. You always kept your phone on you now, as the adult responsible for a small child. It was a beautiful day, the kind that you pictured when you’d signed with Barcelona. Sun shining, warm on your skin. Your muscles ached in the best way, and though your worry for your nephew persisted somewhat, Alexia had been very reassuring. You walked with her now, from the gym out to the pitch, chatting easily about some gossip her sister had told her on the phone. It was funny, how you spent practically all your time together but you never ran out of things to talk about. Your teammates teased you for it, how you were constantly together, attached at the hip.
Your phone rang, but Alexia kept going on about Alba’s horrible co-worker, assuming it wasn’t a call you’d need to take in the middle of training. Yet when you pulled it out of your pocket and saw it was Will’s school calling, and Alexia caught a glimpse of the caller ID over your shoulder, she cut herself off abruptly.
“Hello?” You answered, stopping just off the pitch. You motioned for Alexia to go ahead without you, as Pere was calling everyone to gather around him, but she just rolled her eyes, leaning her head closer to try to listen.
“Hello, is this Will’s guardian?”
“Yes. Is everything okay?”
“Well, we have Will here in the nurse’s office, and…”
You listened intently, as did Alexia, though there was something heavy now weighing on her mind. You’d told her that something wasn’t right with Will that morning. And she hadn’t listened. She’d been more focused on reassuring you and calming your anxiety, not pausing to think whether you might be worrying for a good reason.
The nurse explained that Will had gotten sick in class, and needed to be picked up right away. Alexia was telling one of the assistant coaches who had wandered over that there was a family emergency and you both had to go before you’d even hung up the phone. As soon as you did, though, you turned to Alexia, face pinched with concern.
“Ale, you can stay–”
“No.” Alexia said assuredly, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the building. “We will both go get him.”
Through your concern, your heart felt like it grew in size. Alexia never missed training voluntarily. Never. But now, she was rushing out with barely any notice to go with you to get Will, and you were reminded of how lucky you were to have her with you in this.
Even if she wasn’t thinking the same thing about herself in that moment.
—
The two of you rushed into the nurse’s office, panicked to a level that the nurse was not unfamiliar with. It was always the same with first time parents, when they had to come get their sick kid from school for the first time. The panic was always the same, you and Alexia practically breaking down her door in your haste to get to your nephew.
“Will,” you sighed, some of the stress and anxiety leaving your body at the sight of him in front of you. He was curled up on his side, tears still falling, pale and shaky, yet you were with him now, and that made it a little better.
“I’m sorry.” Will whimpered, sitting up shakily and wiping at his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay, mi amor, don’t be sorry.” Alexia cooed, crouching down in front of the small cot and leaning in to kiss Will’s temple. She followed up with her hand right after, pressing it to his forehead and feeling the heat of his skin. He had a fever. How had she missed this?
Carefully, you pulled Will into your arms, lifting him easily.
“Please don’t be sorry, Will. I’m sorry we didn’t realize you weren’t feeling well.” You told him, slowly rubbing his back as he cried.
“I threw up in class and everyone saw.” He sobbed, burying his face in your neck. Your heart broke, and one look at Alexia told you hers was doing the same.
“I’ll sign him out.” Alexia murmured, resting one hand on Will’s back for a moment before heading to the desk, Will’s dinosaur backpack comically slung over her shoulder. You began to walk with your nephew out of the building and to the car, hearing his cries begin to slow.
When you finally got him buckled into his seat, after some convincing required to get him to let go of you, you felt his forehead just as Alexia had.
“Oh, buddy, you’re burning up.” You murmured.
Will’s lip was still trembling, but he tried to smile at you. “I’m… I’m okay.”
You could have laughed at how visibly untrue that statement was, but nothing about this was funny. Not even Alexia wearing Will’s backpack out to the car, much too small on her back.
You just kissed the top of his head, shut his door and headed around to the passenger seat. The car was quiet for a minute as Alexia backed out of the parking lot, only just noticing how poorly she had parked in her haste to get to Will.
“Are we going to football?” Will piped up quietly from the backseat. He’d come a few times, when he hadn’t had school, and he was hoping you and Ale would just bring him there so you wouldn’t miss work.
You and your girlfriend exchanged confused glances, Alexia studying him in the rearview mirror.
“No, bud, we’re going home. You’re sick, you need to rest.” You replied.
You weren’t expecting Will to start crying again, but the sound of his sniffling soon filled the car.
“But… but work is important. You can’t miss just for me!”
You twisted around in your seat to look at him, reaching out a hand to rest on his knee. His little face was flushed red, from sickness or emotion you weren’t sure. It shattered your heart that he would ever presume that football was more important than him.
“Will, you are much more important than work. So much more important.” You told him, tilting your head slightly to make eye contact with him.
“Cariño, did you feel ill this morning and not tell us because we had training?” Alexia cut in, the question practically burning on the way out.
A moment passed before your nephew nodded slightly. You half wanted to tell Alexia to stop the car so you could get into the backseat and pull Will into your arms, and half wanted Alexia to just run you over. You weren’t sure where he’d gotten the idea to lie about being sick, but it felt like a massive failure on your part.
“If you’re sick, baby, you have to tell us so we can take care of you. You don’t need to worry about football or training or anything; you come first, okay?”
“Will, you are the most important to us. More than football, do you understand?” Alexia asked, her voice shaking slightly with emotion.
Will nodded, his brown hair flopping into his eyes as he did so. “Okay.”
—
Alexia felt like the guilt could crush her. She never never wanted you or Will to think that football was more important to her. Yet here Will was, so sick his little body was shaking, but he’d tried to power through so he wouldn’t interrupt training.
It was with this guilt in her mind that she hovered uncertainly over the sofa, watching as you tucked Will under her favorite knit blanket, the one she preferred when she was sick, too. Alexia assumed neither you nor Will would want her around in that moment. You, because she’d talked you out of being rightfully worried for your nephew. And Will, for making him feel like he came second to her.
She was minutes away from offering to go to the grocery store and get the ingredients to make soup, just so she could have an excuse to call her Mami in the car and tell her how badly she messed up.
Well, how badly she thought she messed up.
“Okay, buddy. What can I get you? A snack? Soup? Anything?” You wondered, brushing his hair out of his face.
Alexia’s thoughts were still racing as Will’s gaze flicked over to her.
“Pancakes?” He wondered quietly, giving you a half smile. You chuckled, not sure why you thought he’d ask for anything else.
“Of course. I’ll go make them.” You stood, freezing when Alexia cleared her throat and spoke shakily.
“No, I can. You stay here with him.” She said quietly.
You raised your eyebrows, something about your girlfriend’s demeanor throwing you off. She seemed miserable and close to tears, somehow. Frowning, you opened your mouth, ready to ask her to join you in the kitchen for a minute so you could figure out what was wrong.
Will beat you to it, though. “Tia, sit with me?”
Will wasn’t looking at you, though. He was looking at Alexia. Her gaze flickered between yours and Will’s for a moment, completely dumbstruck.
“M-me?” Alexia asked, wringing her hands together. It had been a while since you’d seen her like this, so visibly upset when she was normally the picture of composure.
It didn’t seem to push Will off, though, because he just nodded. “Tia Ale sit with me. Tia go make pancakes.”
Will had called Alexia… Alexia the entire few months he’d been here. Sometimes Ale, but never anything else. You were Tia, and Alexia was Alexia. Until now, apparently.
Alexia could have sobbed, truly. Just when she’d been thoroughly convinced she was a horrible.. guardian or whatever she was, Will had innocently asked for her to sit with him, and fixed every doubt that was gripping her heart.
And you… you were looking at her with tears in your own eyes, a smile on your face. There was no annoyance on your face, no blame in your eyes. You just looked happy.
Maybe she hadn’t messed up as bad as she thought.
Without another word, Alexia sat on the couch, sliding under the blanket with Will and tucking him into her side. He snuggled right against her, his face still slightly pinched with discomfort, but seeming a lot more comfortable now.
After a minute of silence, Alexia now beaming at you from the couch, Will looked away from the TV back to where you were standing, watching the two of them fondly.
“Tia? Pancakes? Please?” He reminded you.
You nodded with a small laugh, leaning down to kiss his temple, and Alexia’s before heading into the kitchen.
You really loved your little family.
—
Will admittedly didn’t know much about football. He knew that you and Alexia were very good, knew that you both worked very hard. He knew Barcelona wore the blue and red colors, and he’d learned the numbers that appeared on the back of your kits. Though he’d yet to attend a match, he’d watched most of them from Eli’s couch while she gave him all the snacks he could ever want.
Will was watching when you and Alexia lost to Real Madrid, and Eli tried to explain to him the significance. All he really took away from that conversation, though, was that you and Ale would be sad, and he should probably give you hugs to make it better.
He’d done so when you picked him up from Eli’s, allowing Alexia time to head home and decompress. Will hugged you tight, Alexia even tighter once he got home and saw the frown on her face. It was late in the evening, already past his bedtime, and the two of you were very quiet.
Will thought he sort of knew how you felt, because he didn’t like losing the games at recess, either. There wasn’t much he could think to do, though. He’d barely been home 10 minutes before you were asking him to go get his pajamas out, so he could start getting ready for bed. You and Alexia walked in a few minutes later, after having a tense whispered conversation in the hall, one that Will did not miss.
He could tell you were both upset, but you tried your best not to let it show that you were somewhat upset with each other. It always happened after a loss, especially one like this. You and Alexia would be tense, snap at each other. It was a different situation entirely now that Will was here, his little face gazing up at the two of you, wide eyed, where he sat tucked under his covers.
He’d put his pajamas on himself, and both you and Alexia cracked smiles when you noticed his shirt was on backwards. He smiled back, wordlessly holding out his favorite book for one of you to read.
You took it, perching on the edge of his bed while Alexia leaned in the doorway, exhaustion causing her eyes to droop. Will looked between the two of you as you opened the book.
“Are you fighting?”
Alexia’s eyes were on you, you could tell, waiting for you to take the lead. You didn’t quite feel like looking at her, so you smiled softly at your nephew, running a hand through his brown curls.
“No, bud. We’ve just had a long day.”
Will looked dubious, even as Alexia nodded along.
“It sounded like you were fighting. In the hall. When you said Alexia was being mean and Alexia said you didn’t care about her feelings.”
You froze at that, not quite sure what your response was supposed to be. You were so tired, too tired to figure out how to explain that you and Alexia were just having a small argument to Will. Every part of your body ached from the physical match that had been played, and you swore you still felt as cold as if you’d stepped out of the rain just a minute ago and not several hours ago.
Just before you were about to stumble your way through some explanation, Alexia cleared her throat.
“We aren’t fighting, cariño. Your Tia and I just care a lot about football, and when we lose, it makes us sad.”
“That’s what Eli said, that you would be sad, and I should give you a really big hug.”
Alexia smiled softly, stepping further into the room, but not quite approaching you. You still wouldn’t look at her.
“She’s right, your hug made me feel so much better. Your Tia and I hate losing, and sometimes we aren’t very nice to each other after we lose. But we aren’t fighting, just… disagreeing.”
Will thought for a moment, his fingers fiddling with his navy blue spiderman pajama top.
“You should be better at losing.” He said finally.
You snorted, and Alexia laughed. Will smiled proudly, even as you shook your head in mock disbelief.
“Says the little boy who flipped the board over when he lost at checkers yesterday!”
Will giggled, and the tension was broken. Mostly.
Neither of you wanted him to carry the weight you were feeling, feel sad just because you both were. You kept his nighttime routine as normal as possible, reading his book and tucking him in, both of you kissing his forehead before heading out.
Alexia didn’t say anything as you headed to your shared bedroom, but to be fair, neither did you. It was a bit early for the two of you to head to bed, but after the day you’d had, both of you knew sleep would be the best thing.
Pajamas on, you and Alexia slid into bed, the room still silent. It only took a minute after you flicked the light off for the bed to shift, Alexia’s warm body sliding closer until she was pressed up against you.
Tired of being mad, you turned into her, resting your head against her chest as her arms encircled you. A deep sigh escaped you, and you felt like it was the first real breath you’d had since the full time whistle had blown.
“I’m sorry. I was harsh, and I shouldn’t have been. I love you.” Alexia murmured, lips pressing a kiss to your hair.
You snuggled closer, inhaling again the scent of her. “I’m sorry too. You’re allowed to be upset, I shouldn’t have tried to fix it when you just needed to feel it.”
“And we both need to get better at losing.” Alexia replied. You could hear the small grin in her voice, feel her chest shake slightly as she chuckled.
“Apparently.” You agreed.
“Goodnight, mi amor.”
“Goodnight my Ale.”
And just like that, everything was fine again. Everything was fixed.
—
Will woke early the next morning. As was his routine, he got up and headed for your room to wake Alexia up. She was an early riser, didn’t mind getting up with him and letting you sleep in. Most of the time, she was already kind of awake, scrolling on her phone.
This morning, though, when Will pushed the door open and peaked his head in, Alexia wasn’t awake. She was out cold, head practically shoved under her pillow, while you slept completely on the other side of the bed, one arm hanging off the side of the bed. You both looked very comfy, and Will remembered last night, how tired Alexia had seemed. She’d practically fallen asleep in his doorway standing up.
Thinking for a moment, Will turned around and headed back to his room. He grabbed his ipad out from his backpack, the one he took with him for the car trip to Eli’s. He wasn’t technically supposed to have it now, but he figured that you wouldn’t mind if he let you sleep. He grabbed his headphones, too, his favorite blanket and his most favorite dino, Robert. As quietly as he could, he crept back down the hall and into your room. Climbing up on the bed, he took advantage of the ample space between the two of you, settling back against the pillows under his blankie. He plugged his headphones in, tucked his dino under one arm, and pressed play on his favorite dinosaur show.
This way, you both could keep sleeping, and he didn’t have to play alone somewhere by himself.
—
You awoke to small, insistent hands pulling at the comforter so it covered more of you. Before you could open your eyes, little hands pushing into the blanket, tucking it in nice and tight around you. Groggily, you cracked an eye, finding Will’s face just a few inches away. He looked… guilty, like he’d looked when he broke the vase on the coffee table, and you were immediately alert.
“What’s up bud?” You whispered, conscious that Ale was still asleep on the other side of your nephew.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean t’wake you.” Will whispered back. “You looked cold.”
“What are you doing in here, hm? You should be in your bed.”
Will pulled a face, tugging his headphones off his head. “But it’s late and I was bored.”
You clocked the sun peaking in between the curtains, startled to realize it was much higher in the sky than it should have been. It was at least 10, and Will always got up before 7:30.
“Oh, buddy, it is late. I’m so sorry, why didn’t you wake one of us up?”
By one of us, you meant Alexia.
Will just shrugged, shyly smiling at you. “You were sad last night. And when I’m sad, you tell me it makes my body tired and that’s why I’m more sleepy. So you needed more sleep too, you and Tia Ale.”
Your heart melted and you pulled the small boy down into your arms, squeezing tight.
“You are the sweetest boy.” You told him.
Will beamed, squeezing you back. “I got my ipad even though I wasn’t supposed to.”
Leaning back, you brushed his messy hair off his forehead. That was what the guilty look was for. As if you’d be upset with him for wanting to let you both sleep, but also not wanting to be by himself. As if you’d be mad he brought his ipad in here and put on his Dino show and wore his headphones and tucked the blankets around you because you looked cold.
“That’s okay, buddy.” You replied. “You are so thoughtful to let us sleep in.”
“Tia Ale says it’s important to be thoughtful and kind.” Will said, echoing something you knew Alexia told him every morning before he left for school. It was something her Mami had always said to her, Alexia had told you once.
“Alexia is right.” You nodded, settling back into the pillows with Will now laid in your arms. Next to him, the mattress shifted, and a raspy voice piped up.
“Alexia is always right.” Ale said sleepily, not even opening her eyes as she blindly reached to pat Will on the head. Will laughed, a sound that was quickly becoming one of your favorites in the world.
For a few minutes, the room stayed silent, Will laid between the two of you, for the moment content to sit still. You were still waking up, and Alexia could probably barely be considered awake.
“Hey, Tia?” Will murmured, breaking the quiet peacefulness of the morning. You hummed for him to continue. “Can I call my Daddy?”
Sometimes you forgot. You shouldn’t forget, but you did, and you knew Ale did too. Sometimes things just went so well, Will fit so perfectly into your family that you forgot the circumstances under which he was here. And when you remembered, you were instantly filled with guilt. Like you were stealing something from your brother. You should be talking more about Leo, calling Leo more often.
Will wasn’t yours, but he was. It was a difficult line to walk, a difficult thing to balance. Will wasn’t your son but you felt like a parent. Alexia felt like a parent, had taken to being one so easily. But Will wasn’t your son. He was your nephew, and the last thing you wanted was to try to take the place of Leo.
As you pulled your phone out, dialling the number for the prison, you wondered if you’d ever figure out how to fit into Will’s life without feeling like you weren’t doing enough, were doing too much. You wondered if you’d ever feel like you were doing right by your brother, and right by Will.
You were torn from your spiral when the call connected. Instead of the usual robotic voice stating you would soon be connected through to Leo, it was the same robotic voice, telling you the call had not been accepted. There were plenty of reasons for Leo not to pick up the phone, plenty of real, valid reasons. For some reason you couldn’t explain, though, your stomach had dropped. Something about it felt wrong, especially knowing that Leo knew Will liked to call Sunday mornings.
You glanced over to where Will was poking at Alexia’s face, where she was pretending to be going back to sleep. He was laughing, and you could see Ale fighting a small smile herself. With a deep sigh, you forced a tense smile onto your face.
“Will?” The boy turned towards you, face lit up with excitement as he reached for the phone. “I’m sorry, baby, your Dad couldn’t pick up. He’s… he’s busy.”
The smile fell from Will’s face, the room suddenly feeling a few degrees colder. Alexia’s eyes flew open, fixed on Will’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment.
“Oh. Okay.” He whispered, fidgeting with his fingers in his lap.
It was like the life had been sucked out of him. You thought hard, trying to think of anything you could offer him or promise him that would lift his mood again. Alexia beat you to it.
“Hey, cariño? Do you want to go out for pancakes?” She suggested, resting a hand on Will’s back.
Still staring at his hands tightly clasped in his lap, Will slowly shook his head, much to your astonishment. Will never turned down pancakes, especially at his favorite breakfast place. You didn’t go often because it was a ways away, and normally, the suggestion would have had him skipping around the room with joy.
“No thank you.” He mumbled, sniffling. His small fist came up to rub at his face and your heart broke even more. Alexia looked like she was in physical pain, fighting the urge to pull Will into a bone crushing hug.
Carefully, you shifted back down in the bed, opening your arms for your nephew. He practically lunged forward, wrapping his arms tight around your neck and shoving his face into your shoulder.
“Oh, buddy.” You murmured, wishing there was something you could say to make it better.
There wasn’t.
Alexia ran a hand through her disheveled hair and moved closer, wrapping her arms around you both as she kissed the top of Will’s head. One of Will’s hands unwrapped itself from around your neck, moving to grab a fistful of Alexia’s sweatshirt. Like he was trying to be as close to the two of you as possible, as if you could protect him from what he was feeling. You wished you could, more than anything.
The three of you sat there in silence, all deep in thought, and you knew neither you nor Alexia would move until Will moved.
What you didn’t know, though, was that this was the first of many unexplained declined calls from Leo. Just the beginning of a sudden complete silence you couldn’t begin to explain to yourself or to Will.
—
:) cranked this out in between studying. hope you enjoyed ❤️🩹
OOPSIES | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson
-> based on this request!
grumpy masterlist
alessia though she had been careful. she really did.
it wasn’t like she or leah had put a name to whatever was going on between them yet. it was still uncertain, still new and they were still figuring it out.
but when leah had came over for dinner that night, it felt.. easy. too easy and too natural for it to be a one off thing.
you had been your usual self throughout the evening, not thinking anything different about leah being over for dinner. you just chatted away about your day at nursery, showing off your newest drawing - a very abstract depiction of a cat is what you insisted it was, and giggling anytime leah made a funny face at you across the dinner table.
so by the time bedtime rolled around, you’d gotten through your usual routine of stalling - asking for five more minutes, for one more bedtime story, then one more sip of water then claiming you were too comfy to sleep and then finally after what felt like an eternity to alessia she was able to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight.
the house was quiet. or at least it should have been.
you had been lying in your bed, tossing and turning as you held your esme the elephant close to you as you could hear the soft murmur of voices downstairs.
you knew you were supposed to be asleep. but curiosity got the better of you
so as you slid out from beneath your bed, padding quietly out of your room, careful to not make any noise as you avoid the squeaky floor boards.
the landing was dimly lit by the glow from downstairs, and as you reached the top of the stairs. sitting down on the very top step, hugging your knees tightly into your chest.
and from your spot through the gaps in the banister you could see the front door where your mummy and leah were standing.
leah with her coat on, keys jangling in her hand by her side as she was clearly about to leave.
but instead of just saying the usual goodbye, leah hesitated and smiled in a way you couldn’t quite place.
then to your surprise as a small gasp fell quietly from your lips, leah leaned in and kissed your mummy.
it wasn’t a long kiss. just a short, soft press of the lips. but your little brows furrowed deep as you watched, confused.
you didn’t say anything, didn’t even make a sound. you just stayed curled up on the top step, watching as your mummy let out a quiet giggle, nudging leah towards the door
“go,” your mummy murmured, still smiling, “before you convince me to make you stay.”
leah grinned, “i’ll text you when im home.”
with one last glance, she slipped out of the door, the lock clicking softly behind her.
you waited. staying still for a few minutes, just to be sure leah was really fine before you slowly made your way down the stairs.
your mummy, now tidying the living room moving the empty glasses from the coffee table looking up in surprise when she saw you.
“lovie?” her brow furrowed, “what are you doing up, baby? you should be asleep.”
you rubbed at your eyes, playing up your usual tired look, “i-i can’t sleep.”
alessia just sighed, placing a hand on her hip, “you’ve been in bed for ages, lovie. what’s keeping you up?”
you just shrugged tiredly, “dunno, my eyes won’t go to sleep.”
alessia gave you a knowing look before walking closer to you and bending down to scoop you up in her arms. “alright, sleepyhead. let’s get you back to bed ey?”
you rested your head on your mummy’s shoulder, letting yourself be carried back upstairs, all while keeping your little secret tucked away.
you didn’t ask about the kiss. didn’t say anything at all. not to your mummy. not to leah.
instead, three days later, you told beth and lia
—
it was a quiet afternoon at the arsenal training ground.
beth and lia were lounging in the players’ lounge, chatting away over a cup of coffee while you were sat on the floor, entirely focused on the colouring book in front of you - your mummy busy getting some treatment.
you had a rainbow of crayons spread out across the floor, your tiny hands busy as you filled in the picture of the under water world with bright blue scribbles.
the room was calm, peaceful. until out of nowhere, you looked up and announced, “mummy kissed someone”
beth and lia both froze.
lia blinked, her coffee cup halfway to her lips, “you what?”
you, still colouring, repeated matter of facts, “my mummy kissed someone.”
beth, always the one for the gossip, immediately leaned forward, eyes alight with interest, “who?”
“the pretty one with the yellow hair,” you said, still focused on your drawing, as if this wasn’t an absolute bombshell of information.
beth and lia exchanged a glance. “do you mean—” beth started, then cut herself off as realisation dawned on her who you were talking about.
you finally looked up, tilting your head like they were being very slow to understand, “leah.”
lia choked on her drink. beth, stunned into silence for all of two seconds, suddenly grinned. “wait, what?”
you just nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “i wasn’t supposed to see.”
beth turned to lia, barely able to contain her excitement. “did you know about this?”
lia shook her head, still looking mildly bewildered. “no. did you?”
“nope.” beth turned back to you as you were still busy colouring in. “when did this happen?”
you just shrugged. “i was supposed to be sleeping.”
beth bit her lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “and why are you telling us?”
you looked confused. “‘cause you didn’t know.”
beth did laugh then, ruffling your hair as you pouted as she made you go slightly out the lines on your picture. “you definitely are your mother’s daughter.”
you just beamed. beth and lia, meanwhile, had some investigating to do.
—
beth caught alessia at training not long after, practically vibrating with excitement.
“so…” she started, dragging out the word. “are you seeing anyone?”
alessia frowned, tugging off her warm-up jacket, wondering where the sudden randomness of the question had came from. “uh… why?”
beth bit back a grin. “no reason.” lia standing just behind beth, snorted. “that’s a lie.”
beth ignored her. “just curious, less.”
alessia looked between them, her stomach twisting with something suspiciously close to dread. “you don’t—why are you asking?”
lia finally took pity on her. “because your daughter told us she saw you kissing someone.”
alessia’s stomach dropped as she stared at them trying to see if they were just joking - they didn’t look like they were though. “she what?”
beth was grinning now, looking like she was having the time of her life. “yep. tiny just came right up to us and said, ‘mummy kissed someone, but I wasn’t supposed to see.’”
lia nodded, clearly amused as well by the situation. “and when we asked who, she just shrugged and said, ‘the pretty one with the yellow hair.’”
alessia groaned, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “oh my god.”
beth practically cackled. “so, just imagine our surprise when we realized she meant leah.”
alessia wanted the ground to swallow her, right there in the middle of the training pitch.
“so how long have you two been sneaking around?” lia asked casually, far too entertained by alessia’s clear discomfort of the conversation.
“we haven’t—we’re not—we’re just—” alessia stumbled over her words, her face burning bright red.
beth cut in gleefully, “oh my god, you are sneaking around.”
“i hate both of you,” alessia muttered, dragging her hands down her face as she groaned.
beth slung an arm around her, barely holding in her laughter. “listen, I think it’s great. you and lee. you just might want to be a bit more careful.”
lia nodded, biting back a smirk. “you know. before you traumatize your child.”
beth snickered. “or before she spills the beans to someone else. beady little eyes, less. they see everything!”
alessia just groaned again, shoving beth off her as the other woman cackled. and, just as if things couldn’t get worse, leah walked up.
beth and lia smirked at each other, the same knowing look on their faces. “oh,” beth murmured, low enough for only alessia to hear, “this is gonna be fun.”
alessia barely had time to compose herself before leah joined them, wiping a bit of sweat off her forehead from the warm-up drills. she glanced between them, brows raised.
“right, what’s going on?” she asked, instantly suspicious. “why are you all looking at me like that?”
beth grinned, brushing off leah’s words casually as alessia tried and failed to get a word out “oh, no reason.”
leah narrowed her eyes. “i don’t believe you.”
alessia could already feel the heat creeping up her neck as she avoided leah’s gaze entirely, focusing intently on tying and re-tying the lace of her boot like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
lia was the first to break. “we were just telling lee the very interesting story that tiny told us today!”
leah frowned. “tiny?”
beth hummed, practically vibrating with excitement. “yeo. she told us she saw her mummy kissing someone the other night.”
leah went still as if time had just stopped entirely as alessia squeezed her eyes shut.
beth, loving every second of this, continued, “and when we asked who it was, she just shrugged and said, ‘the pretty one with the yellow hair.’”
leah’s mouth fell open slightly. “she what?” alessia groaned. “oh my god, please stop.”
beth cackled. “absolutely not.”
leah blinked, trying to process, then turned to alessia. “wait—so she saw?” alessia buried her face in her hands. “apparently.”
leah let out a breath, running a hand through her hair before chuckling. “i mean… i thought we were being careful.”
lia smirked. “clearly not careful enough.”
beth, still grinning like the Cheshire cat, wiggled her brows. “you two have been sneaking around, haven’t you?”
leah smirked. “and what if we have?”
alessia groaned again. “le, please don’t encourage them.”
leah just laughed, bumping her shoulder against alessia’s. “well, i guess now that we’ve been exposed by tiny, we don’t have to keep sneaking around anymore.”
alessia peeked up at her. “you’re way too calm about this.”
leah grinned. “i just think it’s funny.”
beth nodded enthusiastically agreeing with leah. “oh, it’s hilarious.”
lia snorted. “especially since tiny told us like she was giving us the most casual piece of information in the world.”
alessia let out a long, suffering sigh. “of course she did”
beth leaned in, lowering her voice to a teasing whisper. “i hope you two realise we’re never letting you live this down.”
leah threw an arm around alessia’s shoulders, grinning. “oh, i wouldn’t expect anything less from you beth!”
alessia just shook her head, knowing this was going to haunt her forever. but when leah squeezed her shoulder, sending her a small smile, she couldn’t help but smile back.
maybe being caught wasn’t all bad.
—
that night, after training, alessia coming home from having dinner at her parents house. you seeing your grandparents and getting rid of some extra energy, alessia got you home and into your pyjamas, letting you pick out a bedtime story and tucked you in as usual.
just as your mummy was about to stand up and leave, you grabbed her hand.
“mummy?” alessia sat back down. “yeah, baby?”
you looked at her with wide, sleepy eyes. “are you and lele girlfriends now?”
your mummy just blinked wide, surprised at your question, “why do you ask that?”
you yawned, snuggling deeper under your cozy covers. “‘cause you kiss her and you always smile when she’s here.”
alessia felt something warm settle in her chest. she tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “i don’t know yet, lovie. we’re still figuring it out.”
you considered your mummy’s words for a moment, then nodded, seemingly satisfied.
“okay,” you mumbled, already half-asleep. “i like her.”
alessia smiled. “i know you do.” she pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “now go to sleep, you little troublemaker.”
you giggled, eyes already fluttering shut as alessia stood up and turned off the lamp making sure to put your night light on, she shook her head to herself.
beady little eyes, indeed.
we are the only team in europe to have won the champions league on both the men and women's side, and now both teams are into the semis! 💙 ❤️
not me having watched them live for the first time on the worst day ever in Turin. i gotta go and watch them win... need it for my mental health (MAYBE NEXT YEAR)🔵🔴
caro reminiscing about the last 4 champions league finals in a row, including one "where she wanted to go home" 😤
source: esport3 on instagram
göteburg 2020-21: raise the cup for the first time
turin 2021-22: the worst. i wanted to go home
eindhoven 2022-23: the first goal because i knew that we would win it
bilbao: 2023-24: irene's stop with her head on the crossbar because yes, it is our day and we will win.
🙌🏼❤️
putellas vs. putellas | stargirl
pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader
summary: usa and spain play each in a friendly, making it the battles of the putellas
warnings: none
notes: enjoy!
You sit in the locker room, legs crossed and eyes closed, breathing steadily as the music pulses through your Beats headphones. You’ve been in this position for nearly half an hour, unmoving and silent, a sharp contrast to your usual chaotic energy. The tension is electric. You’ve been counting down the days to this game, but now that it’s here, you’re trying to keep yourself grounded. You can’t afford to lose focus. Because today, you’re facing Spain. And not just Spain. You’re facing Alexia.
Your jaw tightens. You’ve gone against her before, in practice, in pickup games at the park, even in one-on-one battles in your backyard. But this is different. This is for real. On the world stage, with fans watching and commentators ready to analyze every move. It’s Putellas versus Putellas.
Your stomach twists. You know how she plays. You’ve studied her since you were a kid. You’ve learned from her. Hell, you probably mirror her more than you care to admit. Which means she knows exactly what to expect from you too.
“Wow,” Alex Morgan says, leaning against her locker and staring at you. “I’ve never seen her this quiet.”
Megan Rapinoe slips on her jersey, raising an eyebrow. “I know. It’s unsettling.”
“She’s in the zone,” Crystal Dunn observes. “Leave her alone.”
Tobin Heath chuckles from across the room, watching you with curious eyes. “Apparently she’s been playing with some of them since she was a kid.” She jerks her chin towards Emily Sonnett, who’s standing awkwardly in front of you, waving a hand to get your attention. You don’t budge.
“Hey, Estrella!” Emily calls out, voice cheerful. “You good?”
You don’t even blink.
“Wow,” Emily mutters, shaking her head. “She really is ignoring me.”
“It’s weird,” Megan comments, eyes wide. “She usually never shuts up.”
You take a deep breath, the music in your ears pounding rhythmically, blocking out the noise of the locker room. You’re in your own world, visualizing the game, running through scenarios in your head. You’re going to mark Alexia. You’re going to defend against her, attack her, beat her. Because for ninety minutes, she isn’t your family, she’s not your mother. She’s your opponent.
The tunnel buzzes with energy as you step onto the pitch, shoulders squared, face set. The Spanish national anthem plays, and you sneak a glance down the line. Alexia stands tall, hand over her heart, eyes fixed straight ahead. A chill runs down your spine.
She looks different. Not the warm, caring Alexia from home. Not the one who nags you to clean your room or sneaks extra food onto your plate when she thinks you haven’t eaten enough. This Alexia is cold, focused, every bit the captain and legend the world sees her as.
Your chest tightens, but you refuse to let it shake you. The whistle blows. The game begins.
The first time you encounter her, it’s in midfield. You step up to intercept a pass, only for her to sidestep with effortless grace, flicking the ball past you like it’s nothing. You spin around, chasing after her, teeth clenched. She’s fast, faster than you anticipated.
She glances over her shoulder, smirking. “Too slow, Estrelleta.”
Your blood boils as you double your efforts, pressing hard every time she gets the ball. She spins away, shielding it like she’s done a thousand times in your backyard battles. But this isn’t home, and you aren’t backing down.
You shoulder into her, disrupting her balance just enough. She stumbles, and you steal the ball, sprinting down the field.
She’s fast, but you’re faster. You hear her footsteps behind you, feel her breath on your neck as she tries to close the gap. You drop your shoulder, feint right before cutting left, leaving her a step behind. The crowd erupts as you whip a cross into the box, inches from Cata’s head.
Alexia glares at you, eyes blazing. “Really?”
You grin, cocky. “What? Can’t keep up, vieja?”
Her jaw drops and you take the opportunity to bolt down the field before she can retaliate.
The game is brutal. Every time you touch the ball, she’s there: marking you, blocking your path, using every trick in the book to throw you off balance. You shove back just as hard, elbows digging in, shoulders colliding. Neither of you hold back, each challenge fiercer than the last.
You swipe the ball from her again, twisting sharply, but she’s on you like glue. No passing lanes. Nowhere to go. You struggle for control, twisting and turning, and then she leans in, voice low and smug. “You’re predictable.”
Your vision goes red. “Shut up.”
She laughs, and you can hear the satisfaction in it.
You dig in, using your body to shield the ball. And then, with a quick backheel nutmeg, you slip the ball through her legs. She freezes and the US bench erupts.
Sonnet’s cackling reaches you over the chaos. “OH MY GOD, SHE JUST DID THAT TO HER OWN MOM!”
Alexia recovers fast, chasing after you, her voice sharp. “That was dirty.”
“You’re just mad I got you.”
She shoves you as she runs by, not enough to foul, but enough to make her point. You laugh, knowing you’ve gotten under her skin.
The game is a war of attrition. You get fouled, hard, and before you can even react, Alexia is towering over you, hands on her hips. “Get up.”
You smirk. “Worried about me?”
“Not even a little.”
When she falls, you stand over her, offering a hand. She slaps it away, getting up on her own.
“Nice try.”
You laugh. “Still stubborn, huh?”
“You’d know.”
The match drags on, intensity never dropping. With ten minutes left, Spain equalizes, and you curse under your breath. 2-2.
You and Alexia battle until the very last second, neither willing to concede an inch. The final whistle blows. A draw.
You’re drenched in sweat, bruised, exhausted. You turn to Alexia, expecting a glare, but instead, she walks over and slings an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your temple.
“Good game, Estrelleta.”
You roll your eyes, shoving her off. “I hate you.”
She laughs, ruffling your hair. “Sure you do.”
Tobin jogs over, shaking her head. “That was insane. You two are menaces.”
Alexia grins, eyes softening. “She’s worse.”
You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, she pulls you into a hug, tight and warm.
“I’m proud of you,” she whispers, voice quiet against the noise of the stadium.
Your chest tightens, the fire in your belly fading.
“I’m proud of you too,” you mumble into her shoulder.
Alexia guides you towards the stands, neither of you say anything, just exchanging a glance before scanning the crowd for the three people you know will be waiting.
Eli stands near the barrier, wearing a jersey, stitched perfectly down the middle. One side is the deep red of Spain, ”PUTE” written on it and part of the number eleven proudly displayed. The other is white, “LLAS” on the top and the rest of eleven emblazoned across it. It’s ridiculous, it’s dramatic, and it’s so Eli.
You grin. “Dios mío, you actually wore it.”
“I had to,” she sniffs, eyes suspiciously shiny as she tugs it tighter around herself. “My girls, both of you, playing on this stage, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime moment.”
Alexia sighs, shaking her head. “You’re getting sentimental.”
“Of course I’m getting sentimental!” Eli huffs, grabbing Alexia’s face with both hands, ignoring her protests as she presses a loud kiss to her forehead. “My little alegría captaining Spain! And you—” She turns to you next, gripping your face just as tightly. “My estrella, playing like you were born for this.”
You groan but lean into it anyway. “You’re gonna make me cry.”
Alba and Olga stand just behind her, both of them grinning. Olga crosses her arms, nodding toward Alexia. “You got cooked by a teenager, mi amor.”
Alexia scowls. “I did not—”
“Nutmegged,” Alba chimes in, biting back a smirk.
“That was one time!”
You preen, puffing your chest. “And I’ll never let you forget it.”
Alexia turns to Eli, desperate for backup, but Eli just sighs dramatically, wiping at her eyes. “I don’t even care about the score,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “Seeing you two out there, fighting, giving everything, I am just so, so proud.”
You glance at Alexia, expecting another eye roll, but she just nods, quietly accepting the words.
Eli pulls both of you into a crushing hug, and for once, neither of you resist.
You’re barely settled in your chair when Alexia, sitting beside you, nudges you with her knee.
“Try not to embarrass yourself,” she murmurs, just low enough for you to hear.
You scoff. “That’s your job.”
The interviewer, clearly amused by the dynamic already, starts with the obvious question. “Estrella, this was your first time facing Alexia on the international stage. What was that experience like?”
You lean forward, resting an elbow on the table. “Terrifying. She’s so serious when she plays, I thought she was gonna disown me on the spot.”
Alexia rolls her eyes. “That almost happened after you nutmegged me.”
“Nutmegged?” The interviewer’s eyebrows shoot up, and you grin as Alexia groans.
“Oh yeah,” you say smugly. “Clean through the legs. The bench was losing it.”
Alexia shakes her head, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I have to deal with this publicly now.”
The interviewer laughs. “Alexia, what was it like playing against someone you’ve practically raised?”
Alexia exhales, glancing at you before answering. “It was… strange. I’ve seen her grow up, seen her train, so I knew she was good. But today, I realized just how good she is.” She pauses, then smirks. “Still reckless, though.”
“Reckless?” you echo, affronted. “You fouled me like five times!”
“You were running straight at me like a bull! What was I supposed to do?”
The interviewer can barely contain their laughter. “It was a very physical game between you two.”
You cross your arms, mock-offended. “She’s mean.”
Alexia scoffs. “And you called me vieja on live television.”
“Can I plead the fifth?”
“This isn’t America.”
The interviewer shakes their head, thoroughly entertained. “Final question, what was said between you two after the game?”
Alexia glances at you, something softer in her gaze now. “I told her I was proud.”
You clear your throat, suddenly feeling warm under the attention. “And I said the same.”
For a moment, the playful banter is gone, replaced by something genuine, something real.
The interviewer smiles. “That’s beautiful.”
Then Alexia turns to you. “But I’m getting you back for that nutmeg.”
“Oh you wish.”
🥰🥰🥰
In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.
Part 11 Other Parts
Word Count: 7k
The kitchen is filled with soft afternoon light, filtering lazily through the open window. It’s quiet, save for the low hum of music playing from the speaker on the counter and the soft clatter of you rummaging through cabinets.
You're barefoot, hair scraped up haphazardly, a t-shirt that's definitely not yours slouching off one shoulder as you pull ingredients out for lunch. Simple. Easy. Normal.
Or it would be, if not for the way Alexia hovers, not in the obvious way. She's subtle about it, or at least, she thinks she is. Leaning against the counter just a little too close. Reaching around you for the salt when she doesn’t need to. The brush of her fingers against the small of your back as she passes, feather-light but deliberate.
It's different now, there’s no more careful distance, no more pretending it’s platonic.
She's more tactile. Casual, but not. Her hand lingers at your waist when you’re slicing vegetables, her arm grazes yours as she leans in to taste whatever you’re cooking even though you know she doesn’t really care how it tastes right now.
You glance at her out of the corner of your eye as she shamelessly dips a finger into the sauce, popping it into her mouth with an exaggerated “Mmm.”
“You’re annoying,” you murmur, bumping her hip with yours.
“I’m charming,” she corrects, eyes glinting, but her hand slides to rest at your lower back again, thumb stroking slow, unconscious circles through the thin fabric of your shirt.
It sends a quiet thrill through you, you try, really try, to focus on the pan in front of you. “You’re distracting.”
“That’s not a no,” she murmurs, voice lower now, closer, her breath warm near your ear.
You shoot her a look, but there’s no bite behind it. Not when her fingers are still tracing soft, aimless patterns against your back. Not when her body is pressed just shy of touching yours, her presence curling around you like heat.
Alexia, of course, acts like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you didn’t have your hands all over her just this morning. Like you haven’t both crossed a line that neither of you are pretending to care about anymore.
When you plate up the food and move to set it on the table, she catches your wrist, not enough to stop you just enough to make you look at her.
Her thumb brushes once, twice, over the inside of your wrist. “Thanks for lunch,” she says, soft, but there’s weight to it, not just for the food, for everything.
You don’t answer right away. You don’t need to, the smile you give her says enough, as you both sit to eat, her foot nudges yours under the table. Light. Thoughtless. Like it belongs there.
⚽️
Later in the day, the house fills up again with voices, with footsteps, with the unmistakable sound of a three year old on a mission.
Mateo arrives like a tiny whirlwind, his little arms overloaded with toys mismatched, colourful, spilling out of a too-small backpack he insists on carrying himself.
“I brought everything,” he declares proudly, dropping the bag with a dramatic huff in the middle of Alexia’s living room. “Because Coco said we’d play.”
You can’t help but laugh, crouching down to his level as you watch him unzip the bag with the seriousness of a man about to negotiate a world cup final.
“You came prepared, huh?” you tease, ruffling his hair. “What’s in there? The whole toy store?”
He beams. “Almost. Mami said I could pick my best ones.”
Irene just shakes her head, fond but exasperated, as she and her wife settle onto the sofa with Alexia, slipping into easy conversation.
Mateo proudly pulls out a small army of action figures, you notice the subtle shift in his posture his eyes darting toward the hallway, his little shoulders pulling in. Following his gaze, it doesn’t take you long to spot why, Teddy.
The picture of chill, Teddy is padding over with his usual friendly curiosity, tongue lolling lazily out, tail giving a slow, lazy wag, but to Mateo, it’s a different story.
The toys suddenly don’t seem that interesting, he edges subtly closer to you, almost hiding behind your leg, his hand curling into your shorts.
You soften instantly. “Hey, buddy,” you say gently, crouching down again to his level. “That’s Teddy. He looks big, huh?”
Mateo nods, wide-eyed, his little fingers gripping you a bit tighter. You glance at Teddy, who, bless him, must sense the nerves, he stops a good distance away, sitting down with that perfectly patient doggy expression, ears perked, head tilted, tail giving a slow, reassuring thump on the floor.
“Teddy’s the biggest softie you’ll ever meet,” you explain. “Loves belly rubs more than anything. He’s basically a giant pillow that breathes.”
Mateo’s brows furrow, suspicious, but curious.
“You know what?” you add, lowering your voice like it’s a secret. “He’s actually a little scared of new people too, but when he sees someone is kind, he relaxes. Like magic.”
That gets you a thoughtful look, you extend your hand toward Teddy, giving him the signal to stay put, and gesture to Mateo.
“Wanna give it a try? You don’t have to touch him. You can just say hi from here.”
Mateo hesitates, eyes flicking from you to Teddy and back again, but then he puffs out his tiny chest, brave, determined and waves his hand in a quick, jerky motion, “Hi, Teddy.”
Teddy’s tail wags a little faster, Mateo glances at you, and you grin. “See? He likes you already.”
Little by little, Mateo inches closer, dropping into a cautious crouch, his toys temporarily forgotten. He watches as Teddy stays perfectly still, gaze soft, waiting for Mateo to set the pace, and then tiny fingers reach out. Just the tips, barely grazing Teddy’s fur. Teddy, in true golden retriever fashion, responds with a slow, happy thump of his tail and a lazy lean forward, until Mateo’s fingers are buried in the soft fur behind his ears.
A giggle bursts out of Mateo before he can stop it. “Soft,” he says, amazed.
You glance up to see Alexia watching from the sofa, her mouth tugged into a smile that’s softer than you’re used to seeing. Something warm settles in your chest. “Look at you, already making best friends,” you murmur, giving Mateo’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
He looks up at you, beaming. “I like him” And with that, the toys come back into play, Teddy now firmly accepted as part of the gang.
⚽️
Alexia’s footsteps echo lightly down the hallway as she returns from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel, brow furrowed at the sound of absolute chaos coming from the living room.
Laughter. Full-bodied, uncontrollable Mateo’s tiny giggles bubbling over, joined by yours loud, can’t-catch-your-breath laughter and somewhere beneath that, Irene and her wife are laughing too, the quiet, helpless kind of giggles that come when you're around others laughing you can’t help but get dragged under.
Alexia rounds the corner, towel still in hand, brows raised. “What is going on?” she asks, voice amused, eyes narrowing suspiciously.
You’re on the floor, half-sitting, half-toppled over, clutching your stomach, tears in your eyes, barely able to breathe. Mateo is sprawled next to you, red-faced from laughing so hard, wheezing out little gasps between his peals of giggles.
You can't explain, you just begin waving a hand in the air like you’re physically batting away your own laughter, you gasp some air before the laughter continues.
Mateo nods vigorously, hair flopping into his eyes, absolutely useless with how hard he’s still laughing. He tries to explain, gets out one garbled word “Rawr” before dissolving again into helpless giggles, flopping dramatically against your side like it’s too much.
Alexia’s eyes flick from him to you, then to Irene and her wife who are both just as amused as Alexia, giggling into their hands, seeing how happy this stranger made their son.
“Oh my god,” Alexia mutters, exasperated but smiling now, shaking her head as she leans against the doorway, watching the ridiculousness unfold. “I leave the room for two minutes…”
You’re wiping at your eyes now, breathless, the laughter finally starting to taper off into little aftershocks. You manage to look up at her, face flushed, grin wide.
“Mateo’s got jokes,” you say, voice still shaky from laughing. “And sound effects. Very realistic.”
Mateo immediately presses a finger to his lips, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Secret joke,” he whispers loudly. “Only for Coco.”
Alexia just watches you, and even as she rolls her eyes, her lips curve into that soft, almost fond smile that’s becoming dangerously familiar now. “You’re encouraging him,” she accuses, though there’s no heat behind it.
“Absolutely,” you reply shamelessly, giving Mateo a high five that sets him off into another giggle fit.
Alexia shakes her head, but her eyes linger on you a moment longer and there’s something in her gaze that says more than she’ll say out loud right now.
"Do you need a hand with dinner Ale?" Irene's wife smiled, it didn't take much persuasion before Irene and her wife were in the kitchen helping.
You’re on the living room floor, legs crossed, as Mateo lines up his little army of toys with all the focus of a general preparing for battle. He’s explaining the intricacies of some very serious dinosaur alliance when you catch the sound of hushed voices drifting in from the kitchen.
Irene’s voice is unmistakable. Light. Probing. “So… how long are we pretending this is just ‘friendly’ hospitality, Ale?”
There’s a pause. The clink of dishes. The soft scrape of a knife against a chopping board. Alexia’s reply comes slower, careful. “What do you mean?”
Irene’s wife snorts. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been hovering around like a golden retriever yourself today. I thought Teddy was the dog, not you.”
Mateo tugs at your sleeve, oblivious, asking if you thought the big dinosaur or the little one is faster, but your brain is only half here. Your ears are firmly in the kitchen.
“I’m being a good host,” Alexia says, far too innocent, but you can hear the smile in her voice. “I'm being a good friend, she's in town because of her situation with Bayern I trying to make it better, and why would she pay for a hotel when I have so much room here. I'm just helping my friend out. Is that a crime now?”
“You don’t get flustered when other houseguests walk into the room,” Irene points out, dry as ever. “Or touch your back. Or breathe the same air.”
There’s a brief beat of silence. You can imagine Alexia’s expression, that carefully schooled face, the little purse of her lips when she’s caught out but refuses to admit it. “I like her,” she says finally. Quiet, but sure.
Mateo’s still chattering away, showing you how to properly play with an action figure dinosaur, but your attention flickers again when Irene’s wife softly adds, “Good, because she’s good for you, Ale. You’re different with her.”
“I know,” Alexia admits, and there’s something so unguarded in her voice now it nearly floors you.
Mateo climbs into your lap mid-battle, tilting his head up at you with a grin. “Coco, you’re not listening,” he scolds, tapping your cheek with his little finger. “You have to focus.”
You smile down at him, ruffling his hair. “Sorry, boss. I’m back. Let’s save the world.” But as you dive back into his toy universe, the knowledge hums quietly beneath your skin.
“Okay, Ale. Serious question,” she says, tone deceptively light. “Why are you being so secretive? You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”
“I’m not being secretive,” Alexia mutters, too defensive to be convincing.
“You are,” Irene’s wife chimes in, “But it’s cute. In a frustrating, emotionally repressed way.”
Alexia exhales, setting down the knife, her hands braced against the counter. There’s a moment where she looks down, gathering herself, and then she shrugs casual, but her voice is quieter when she speaks, “I was waiting to see if I could really trust her.”
That stops you. You’re still, so still, even as Mateo launches his toys into some epic battle beside you. Irene’s smile softens, but she doesn’t let her off the hook. “Because…?”
Alexia’s fingers drum lightly on the counter. “Because she’s heard things. Things I’ve told her. Things I haven’t told many people. Things she could’ve easily… leaked. Or twisted.” She pauses, glancing up for a breath before dropping her gaze again. “But she didn’t. She hasn’t.”
There’s a vulnerability in her tone now, barely concealed, like this truth costs her something to say aloud.
“I think she likes me for me,” she admits, voice small. “Not for the name. Not for what comes along with it.”
Your chest twists. A tangle of emotions wraps tight inside you. Annoyance, sharp and immediate because she tested you, she dangled trust like something you had to earn.
Pride, fierce and undeniable because you had passed, whether she’s outright said it or not, but mostly sadness. That heavy ache for her. For the history packed into those words. For the wrong people she’s trusted before, the scars she’s clearly still carrying.
“I get it,” Irene says softly, after a beat. “But you know you don’t always have to keep it from your friends, right?”
As you quietly gather Mateo’s toys into a little pile, pretending you aren’t listening, you feel her words settle in your chest, heavy and real.
⚽️
The clink of cutlery and soft murmur of conversation fills the dining room. It’s an easy atmosphere, laughter lingering from earlier, wine being slowly sipped. You’re sitting next to Alexia, who’s close enough now that her thigh brushes yours under the table, subtle but deliberate.
Then Lucia, with that curious tilt of her head, casually drops it into conversation like it’s just another side dish. “So… what actually happened with your coach? You two seemed close. But now,” she shrugs lightly, “it’s quite obviously tense.”
The table quiets just a fraction. Not awkward but attentive. Alexia’s fork stills. You consider brushing it off, a joke, an evasive answer, but the truth feels easier now, maybe because of what you overheard earlier. “I slept with her daughter,” you say simply, stabbing a piece of roasted pepper. “And then I left in the middle of the night.”
Lucia’s brows lift, but she doesn’t look surprised. Irene huffs a quiet laugh into her glass. “It wasn’t… casual, at least not for me. I thought we were. I don’t know. Starting something I guess.” You glance down at your plate, jaw working for a second before you continue, you told other people a lie, to save face mainly. It's never nice to think someone doesn't like you for genuine reasons. “But when she was asleep, her phone lit up. Group chat.” You let that sink in. “She’d texted them. Bragging. That she’d ‘ticked me off the list.’ Her words, not mine.”
Alexia’s head turns sharply towards you, her lips parting slightly, but she says nothing.
“I couldn’t stay after that. Not even until morning. Felt like a bloody idiot.” You pop the bite of pepper in your mouth, chewing as if the bitterness wasn’t lingering elsewhere.
Irene exhales slowly. “That’s rough.”
You shrug like it’s no big deal, even though you know it was. Still is, sometimes. “I guess I needed to learn that lesson once, right?” You flash a smile, light but not quite reaching your eyes. “Not everyone wants you for the right reasons.”
The words hang there. You don’t need to look to know Alexia’s gaze is on you. Lucia nods, but her eyes are softer now. “Still, that says more about her than it does about you.”
There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. You feel Alexia’s hand brush yours again under the table, this time her pinky hooking around yours for a second longer than necessary. It’s small but it’s loud in its own way.
⚽️
Later in the evening, while the grown-ups are back to clearing dishes and sharing stories over a bottle of wine, Mateo’s settled himself beside you on the living room rug again. He’s got two plastic dinosaurs in each hand, giving you a very serious rundown of which one would win in a fight, a T-Rex or a Spinosaurus.
“Spinosaurus is bigger,” he insists, eyes wide. “But T-Rex has stronger teeth.”
You nod sagely. “You know, my dad would love this debate.”
Mateo’s head snaps up so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash. “Why? Does he like dinosaurs too?”
You grin, leaning back on your hands. “He doesn’t just like them. He’s a paleontologist. That’s his job. Studying dinosaurs. Digging up fossils.”
Mateo’s mouth falls open. A tiny, perfect what?! hanging in the air.
“No way.” He squints at you, like you might be pulling his leg. “That’s a real job?”
You chuckle. “It is. He travels all over to dig sites. Has a massive collection of bones at home. Real ones. Not toys.”
Mateo looks absolutely floored. He drops his dinosaurs into your lap, completely betrayed by his plastic versions now. “That’s so cool,” he breathes, eyes wide as dinner plates. “Does he have a T-Rex?”
“Not a full one,” you say, playing along, “but he worked on a dig in Montana where they found parts of one. Big teeth. He showed me when I was little.”
Mateo’s bouncing now, practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s the coolest dad job ever. Way cooler than my Mama's spreadsheets.”
You can’t help but laugh at that, ruffling his hair. “Don’t tell her you said that.”
He leans in conspiratorially. “I won’t if you show me a real dinosaur bone one day.”
“Deal.”
From across the room, you catch Alexia watching you, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. There’s something soft in her gaze, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
"Do you want anything boss man? I'm just going to get a drink?"
"I'm ok coco"
You head into the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water more out of habit than thirst. That’s when Alexia’s suddenly there, moving in beside you like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything. “Hey,” she says softly, voice pitched for just the two of you.
You glance sideways, and she’s close, too close for this to be casual. Leaning against the counter, one foot crossed over the other, arms loosely folded, but her gaze sharp and thoughtful.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she admits, cutting straight to it. “About your coach’s daughter. The text you saw.”
You shrug, trying for nonchalant, but it lands closer to guarded. “Old story now.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But it explains a lot.”
You glance at her, brows ticking up. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
A corner of her mouth lifts, but there’s no teasing in it. Just that same softness from earlier. “Like why you look at people sideways when they get too nice. Why you act like you’re always waiting for the punchline.”
You go still, the truth of her words striking deep.
“And why trust isn’t something you give easy,” she finishes, voice low.
You huff a breath, looking down at your glass, swirling it like you’ve got something important in there. “Yeah, well. Can’t all have the pick of everyone, can we?”
It’s sharper than you mean. A defense mechanism. But Alexia doesn’t flinch. “No,” she agrees quietly. “But we both know what it feels like when people want you for the wrong reasons.”
That pulls your gaze back to her and you see it, see her, not the superstar, not the badge. Just a woman who’s been burned, same as you. “I heard what you said to Irene,” you admit, voice soft now. “About testing me. About needing to be sure.”
A flicker of guilt crosses her face, but she holds your gaze. “I’m not proud of that,” she says. “But I needed to know if you were here for me. Or for…” she gestures vaguely, “everything else.”
“And now?” you ask, more curious than confrontational.
Alexia’s lips press together, thoughtful, before she steps just a fraction closer. “Now I think you’re the most patient person I’ve met,” she murmurs. “And I’m starting to feel like the idiot for not making a move sooner.”
Your breath catches, heart hammering louder than it should. “I told you,” you say quietly, “patience is a virtue.”
Her smile turns warmer. “You’re too good at this game.”
“Not a game, Alexia.” You let that sit between you.
⚽️
The house is quiet again. The dishes are done, Mateo’s toys tucked back into his backpack, and Irene and Lucia have said their goodbyes with warm hugs and knowing looks after Mateo charmed his way into a sleepover. It was obviously pre-planned on his part, he took the initiative to pack some PJ's.
You and Alexia are on the couch now lights low, some random episode playing but neither of you are watching it. Your legs are stretched out, your socked foot lightly brushing her bare shin. The casual closeness is anything but casual now.
She glances at you during a quiet part of the episode. You feel her eyes before you see them. Your gaze flicks over and meets hers and this time, nothing hesitates.
She leans in slowly, deliberately, her hand brushing your jaw, and then she kisses you. Soft. Sure. The kind of kiss that isn’t about fireworks. Your lips part for her just slightly, and the kiss deepens by a breath, a slow press of mouths that says everything the two of you haven’t. You chase her for half a second when she pulls back.
Her eyes stay closed for a moment longer, like she’s memorising the way this feels. And when they open, she’s smiling quiet and real.
Small footsteps patter down the hall. You both freeze, instinctively pulling apart just in time for Mateo to round the corner in his pyjamas, clutching a small stuffed dinosaur.
His eyes find you instantly, then flick to Alexia, his little brows furrow.
“You were kissing her,” he announces accusingly, pointing a stubby finger at Alexia.
Alexia’s eyes go wide. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.
Mateo stomps forward, tiny and determined, clutching the dinosaur like a weapon of moral judgment. “She’s my friend,” he tells Alexia, firm and scandalised. “You’re not allowed to kiss her.”
Alexia’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She looks at you for help.
“Mateo,” you say, still trying to catch your laughter before it comes out, “you kissed me on the cheek six times earlier and told me we were the best of friends”
“That’s different!” he says with all the righteous fury of a three year old. “We had a deal!”
Alexia clears her throat, trying very hard not to laugh. “I didn’t realise I was in competition with a dinosaur prince.”
“You are!” he shouts dramatically, and flops down onto the couch between you, arms crossed, glaring at Alexia using all his might to try and move her over on the sofa.
You lean down, whispering, “He might be harder to win over than Irene.”
Alexia mutters, “Apparently.”
Mateo squints up at her. “I’m watching you.”
Alexia grins now, accepting the challenge. “I’m very scary.”
He doesn’t look convinced. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen her look more amused. The three of you sit in silence for a second, the episode still playing in the background. Mateo yawns dramatically.
“You can stay,” he tells her finally, like a king issuing a decree. “But no more kissing.”
You and Alexia share a look over the top of his head her eyes warm, yours laughing.
“No more kissing,” you promise, lips twitching.
"I make no such promises" you can't help the giggle that escapes when Mateo turns his head to Alexia and she seems to recoil at the look she was getting.
⚽️
Mateo had fallen asleep squarely in the middle of the sofa sprawled between you and Alexia like a pint sized buffer, one hand still clutching his stuffed dinosaur and the other loosely resting against your leg. His soft snores had been the final cue that it was time to carry him up to one of the guest rooms.
You scoop him up carefully, his head lolling against your shoulder, and carry him through the hallway with slow, quiet steps. Alexia watches you go with a little smile playing at her mouth, one of those soft ones, the kind you pretend not to notice but feel anyway.
Once upstairs, you tuck him under the blanket, he stirs a little, mumbling something in Spanish in sleep-heavy, but then, just as you start to ease away, his eyes flutter open, small and round and glassy with sleep.
“Do you really like Auntie Ale?” he asks quietly, voice small in the hush of the dim room.
You blink, heart tugged. Then smile gently. “Yeah, Mateo. I like her very much.”
He nods slowly, as if this confirms something important, and snuggles deeper into the pillow. “Can she come tuck me in too?”
You brush your hand through his hair. “I’ll go get her.”
You step back into the hallway and pad downstairs, Alexia is still in the living room, one leg tucked up under her, turning the TV off, she looks up as you enter.
“He asked for you,” you say softly.
Alexia arches a brow. “Is he okay?”
You nod. “He just wants you to come tuck him in.”
Alexia chuckles, standing heading back up the stairs. You head back up after grabbing your phone but, something makes you pause in the hallway by the door, just outside Mateo’s claimed room, drawn by the soft murmur of their voices.
“Are you comfy now?” Alexia asks gently, her voice like velvet in the quiet.
“Uh-huh.” A pause, then, Mateo says very seriously, “You can make her your girlfriend now.”
Alexia is clearly caught off-guard. “What?”
Mateo yawns. “Coco. You can make her your girlfriend.”
Alexia’s voice is light, but there’s something breathless underneath it. “Why do you say that, Mateo?”
He shifts under the covers, half-asleep but earnest. “Because she passed my tests,” he mumbles. “She’s nice and she played with me and she made you smile a lot.” Another pause. You can almost hear Alexia blinking, “She told me she really likes you too,” Mateo adds, like it’s a secret he’s been holding in all day.
Silence and then Alexia’s voice, barely audible: “She did?”
Mateo hums, already sinking back into sleep. “Mhm. She said it when I asked.”
Alexia says nothing else for a moment. You picture her there, sitting beside his bed in the soft light, her hand resting on the blanket, staring down at this kid who just knowingly played matchmaker.
Finally, softly, you hear her say: “Okay. Thanks, Mateo.”
You step back, quietly making your way to Alexia's room, it was quiet expect the hum of your phone on the bed as you got changed, as Alexia pads in softly on bare feet your already part way through your phone call.
You’ve got your back to her, one hand braced on the windowsill, the other holding your phone to your ear. You don’t see her, don’t know she’s there and so you speak freely.
“No, I get it. I know it changes things.” Your voice is low, tired, but steady. Alexia pauses just inside the doorway, out of sight but close enough to hear you clearly. Something in your tone stops her. You exhale into the phone. “Look, I didn’t want anyone to lose their job. That was never what this was about.”
Another beat. You shift your weight, shoulders tense.
“I’ve made a decision. There’s no going back now. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make, leaving like that especially under those circumstances but I meant what I said, I can't play there now.”
Alexia stays where she is, quiet as a ghost.
“I’m not staying, no matter who they bring in next what assurances they give me. I know it changes the dynamic, but I’ve already committed to what’s next. I owe it to myself and to them to follow through on that.” There’s a long pause where whoever’s on the other end replying. You nod silently, then say quietly, “Tell them I said thank you. For everything.”
Another pause.
“Yeah. I’m okay. I will be.”
You hang up, your head drops, and for a moment you just stand there, eyes closed, fingertips pressing into the windowsill like it might keep you upright.
Then you turn and freeze, Alexia’s in the doorway now, arms crossed, leaning against the frame. Her expression is unreadable, soft and still. You blink, startled. “How long?”
“Long enough,” she says gently.
You hesitate, the air thick with unspoken things. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” you say finally.
“I know,” she replies.
“I made my choice,” you say, more quietly now. “I had to. Even if things… changed after.”
She pushes off the frame and crosses the room slowly, her gaze never leaving yours. When she stops in front of you, she’s close not touching, but closer than she needs to be. “What happened?”
“My head coach got let go this morning.”
Alexia’s brow lifts, a flicker of surprise in her expression. “Seriously?”
You nod. “The club’s already promoted the assistant. He’s taking over.”
Alexia takes a step further into the room. “You okay?”
You shrug, somewhere between relief and conflict. “It’s… weird. She was part of the reason I left, but not the only reason.”
Alexia watches you for a moment, reading you like she always does, calm, quiet, patient. “Does it change anything?” she asks.
You shake your head slowly. “No. I told them it doesn’t. I’ve already made my decision, and I’m following through on it.”
There’s a flicker of something in her eyes curiosity, and something deeper. “What did you decide?” she asks softly.
You meet her gaze, steady now. "I signed with Barca yesterday before I left"
Alexia’s eyes widen just slightly a blink, a twitch of her mouth like she’s caught between trying to stay composed and wanting to beam. She shifts her weight onto one foot, then crosses her arms tighter like she’s trying to keep the emotion from spilling over.
“You… you already signed?” she says, voice a little higher, quieter than usual.
You nod, watching her. “Yesterday, right before I left. We made it official.”
A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she tries to keep it subtle, but it’s hopeless. Her dimples betray her before her mouth does, and her eyes go bright even as she dips her head, suddenly shy. “I didn’t think I’d be nervous hearing that,” she mutters, half to herself, half to you.
You take a step closer, bumping her gently with your shoulder. “You’re blushing.”
“I’m not blushing,” she says quickly, flustered now, laughing a little.
“You kind of are,” you tease, grinning.
She rolls her eyes, cheeks pink anyway, but she can’t stop smiling. “It’s just… after everything. I know how much this decision meant to you, and I didn’t want to be part of the pressure.”
“You weren’t,” you say, and you mean it.
Alexia looks up at you, the shyness still soft around her eyes, but there’s something else there now something steadier, warmer. “I don’t really know what to say,” she admits.
You shrug. “You could say congratulations. Or. Just an idea, maybe finish what we started last night”
That pulls a real laugh from her, quiet and fond. “That is very good idea”
“Well, then,” you say, as she begins reaching out to curl her fingers gently in your shirt, “I just gave you a pretty good reason to kiss me.”
Alexia’s fingers twist gently into the fabric of your shirt, and there’s a beat of silence where you both just look at each other, soft, charged, inevitable.
Then she pulls you in, the kiss is warm and hungry all at once, not rushed, but with a certain urgency. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left, your bodies pressed together like they’ve known for a while what they wanted.
You barely notice the shuffle backward until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed. She sinks down, taking you with her, lips never leaving yours.
There’s laughter between kisses light, breathless as you straddle her, that giddy, heady kind that bubbles up when nerves meet something longed for.
Her mouth breaks from yours only for a second. “You sure you don’t want to go back to the guest room?”
You raise an eyebrow, leaning in again. “Not even a little bit.”
Alexia hums a soft, amused sound as she with an overwhelming ease holds you against her with one arm lifting turning and laying you on the bed reattaching her lips to yours with more urgency than before.
Her touch grew bolder, her fingertips deftly lifting your shirt and sliding it up your sides and over your head. Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, each beat echoing in the quiet room. Alexia's eyes roamed over your bare skin, a soft smile playing on her lips as she took in the sight of you. Then she leaned in, her breath warm and sweet as she placed a trail of kisses along your neck, her mouth moving with a purpose that sent your thoughts spiraling.
Her fingers found their way to the clasp of your bra, releasing it with a practiced ease that made you gasp. Your breasts spilled into her waiting hands, and she cupped them gently, her thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks. Your breath caught in your throat as she lowered her mouth, her tongue tracing delicate circles that sent waves of pleasure crashing through you. You arched your back, offering yourself up to her, desperate for more of her touch.
Her mouth moved down, her kisses growing more insistent, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. Alexia's hands found the button of your jeans, undoing them, and then sliding them down your legs. Leaving you in nothing but your lacy underwear.
She murmured in Spanish, her voice thick with desire, as she slid your panties off. You felt a blush creep up your neck, but the way she was looking at you made you feel anything but embarrassed. You were alive, on fire, ready for whatever she had in store.
Her fingers began to explore, gliding over your most sensitive spots, setting every nerve ending alight. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every stroke, your body responding to her touch with a fervor that surprised even you. Alexia's eyes never left yours, the intensity of her gaze making you feel as if she could see into the very core of your soul.
And then she was kissing your body again, her mouth moving down your body, her tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When she reached the apex of your thighs, she paused, her breath hot and tickling. The anticipation was unbearable, your entire body taut with need. But she didn't disappoint. Her tongue slipped inside you, and you moaned, your hips bucking involuntarily. She took her time, savouring every part of you, her movements deliberate and precise just like on the football pitch. You felt your climax building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within you until it finally broke, sending you spiralling over the edge with a cry of pure ecstasy.
Alexia pulled back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder. How did she know exactly what you needed? How could she make you feel like this?
She repositioned herself between your legs, her own desire evident in the way she was looking at you. Her fingers began to work their magic again, and you felt yourself building back up to that peak, the sensations more intense than before.
Her mouth found your clit, sucking gently as her fingers plunged inside you. You writhed beneath her, your hands tangled in her hair, urging her on. The world outside the bedroom faded away, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of passion and pleasure.
You felt your orgasm approaching, a crescendo that seemed to build forever, and when it finally crested, you moaned out her name, your body arching off the bed. Alexia's eyes never left you, her gaze a mix of triumph and hunger as she watched you come apart in her hands.
As your breathing began to even out, she kissed her way back up your body, her lips lingering on your stomach, your breasts, your neck, until she reached your mouth. Her kisses grew gentle again, almost tender, as she unbuckled her own pants, sliding them down her legs.
You could see the outline of her arousal through her panties, and the sight of her made you ache to touch her.
With trembling hands, you reached down and slid the fabric aside, revealing her to yourself. She was wet and ready, and you didn't hesitate to dip your fingers into her warmth, feeling her quiver against your touch. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a deep, throaty groan.
Alexia's hips began to rock against your hand, and you felt your own desire stirring once more. You leaned in, your mouth finding hers again as you matched the rhythm of your fingers to the movement of your tongues. You could feel her tightening around you, her breath coming in short gasps as she approached her peak. As she came, her body tensed, and she buried her face in the crook of your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. You felt her release, the warmth of her against your hand, and the tremble of her muscles. It was intoxicating, the power you had over her, the intimacy that you shared in this moment.
Neither of you got much sleep that night, hands and mouths wouldn't stop exploring, if you did fall asleep, it was only temporary as you both seemed to wake up at the same time and hands would wander again silently.
⚽️
It starts with Alexia as she casually tosses herself over with a sigh and a stretch, taking up the middle of the mattress like it’s instinct.
You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Comfortable?”
She shrugs, already turned onto her side. “Just getting settled.”
You catch the way she subtly shifts again, back angled toward you now not quite obvious, not quite an invitation, but unmistakable.
You're on your back behind her, heart warm. “Ale.”
“Si?” she says, too innocent, gaze fixed stubbornly on the wall.
“You’re trying really hard not to ask me to cuddle you.”
Her voice is muffled in the pillow. “I’m not trying, I’m succeeding.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I’m just... lying like this because it’s more comfortable. Nothing to do with you.”
"Ok" you smile and dramatically roll the other way, "Sleep tight" you feel the bed shift as Alexia seemingly looks over her shoulder to see where you were.
"If you wanted a cuddle, I'd allow that"
You laugh softly, "You'd allow it huh?"
"Si" you hear her sigh as she settles back down, there was silence, deafening silence but you knew that wasn't the end of it, "Cold isn't it"
You laugh roll over slid her hand over her waist and up her body to her chest and drag her back into you, snug against your chest. She melts instantly, sighing again this time quieter, softer. Her fingers find yours under the blanket and link.
After a moment, “Happy now” you whisper against the shell of her ear, she nods unable to wipe the smile from her face, "The great Alexia Putellas, a little spoon. Who would have thought it.
Alexia makes a small noise of protest that’s entirely undermined by the way she nudges herself closer, tucking herself firmly into your space. “Si,” she mumbles. “But don’t get cocky about it.”
You smile into her hair. “No promises.”
A quiet beat, then she adds, voice barely above a whisper, “When do you have to go back to Germany?”
You exhale slowly, letting your nose brush gently against the back of her neck before answering. “Day after tomorrow,” you murmur. “Got the last game of the season and need to pack up my things. Say goodbye. Sort out all the boring grown-up stuff.”
Alexia nods, silent for a moment. Then, quieter: “You okay with going back?”
You think about it honestly. The flat that doesn’t feel like home anymore. The training ground that feels like a chapter that’s already ended.
“Yeah,” you say finally. “It’ll be weird, I think. Bittersweet. But I’m ready to close that door.”
“Do you think… you’ll get to play the last game before the break?”
You’re quite a second, thinking. “I hope so. They haven’t said anything official yet, but I’m fit. If they want to show I’m still part of the squad, even just off the bench... maybe. Get to say bye properly”
Alexia nods slowly. “Would that be weird for you? Playing again, after everything?”
You breathe in, then out. “A little, yeah. But it also feels right. To go out properly, not just... vanish. I’d like that.”
She hums, the sound thoughtful. “I’ll keep an eye on the match. Even if it’s just a few minutes, I want to see you play there one more time.”
-
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