Capi Mami - Alexia Putellas X Barcelona Femini

❤️❤️

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

You and Alexia tell your family and friends

Another evening, as you changed into one of Alexia’s oversized hoodies to head out for a casual dinner with some of her teammates, she stood in the doorway watching you yet again

You caught her smirk in the mirror. “What?”

Alexia’s grin grew. “You think no one’s going to notice if you keep dressing like that?”

You tugged at the hoodie, making a face. “It’s comfortable.”

She walked forward, arms slipping around your waist, hands immediately finding your bump. “It’s obvious,” she murmured, her thumbs brushing the curve. “You’re getting rounder.”

You groaned dramatically. “That’s what you want to say to your pregnant wife?”

She laughed, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I love it,” she murmured.

You sighed, melting into her touch. “It’s getting harder to hide.”

“Why are we hiding it?” she teased. “We should get you a shirt that says, ‘Pregnant with a footballing legend.’”

You rolled your eyes. “No one is finding out until the all ok on the next scan. That’s the rule.”

Alexia huffed. “Fine. But after that, I’m buying you all the tightest maternity shirts.”

You smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

—

It starts off slowly—small things.  

Burt, your gentle giant, begins following you more closely than usual, shadowing you from room to room like your fluffy, silent bodyguard. Ernie, your little stubby-legged sidekick, starts curling up right at your feet every time you sit, instead of his usual spot squished up next to Burt or on his throne of pillows.  

At first, you think it’s just them reacting to how unwell you’ve been. You’re barely eating, you nap constantly, and your movements are slower, cautious. They’re just being protective.  

But then, one morning, it becomes obvious.  

You’re stretched out on the sofa, wrapped in a blanket with a mug of cold ginger tea resting on the coffee table. Alexia is in the kitchen, fussing with toast and muttering to herself in Catalan about how plain crackers shouldn’t be this hard to make appealing.  

Burt ambles over first, lumbering with his usual lazy grace, and without hesitation, lowers his head and rests it gently—delicately—on your stomach.  

You blink, freezing for a second.  

“Hi, buddy,” you murmur, scratching his ear. “You comfy there?”  

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t nudge. Just… rests.  

And then Ernie trots over, climbs halfway onto your lap like he’s always done, and nudges his little head just under Burt’s, resting it right against your belly.  

You stare down at them, a lump forming in your throat.  

They know.  

Somehow, without being told, without a single ultrasound photo or whispered secret, they know.  

They know there’s someone new in there.  

Alexia walks in and stops mid-step, eyes softening instantly at the sight of all three of you. “Mira’t,” she says gently, smiling so wide it makes your chest ache.  

“They know,” you whisper, your hand resting on Burt’s big, warm head. “They know I’m pregnant.”  

Alexia comes to kneel by the sofa, brushing a hand across Ernie’s back and then resting the other gently on top of yours. “Of course they do,” she says softly. “They’re family.”  

You glance down at the two of them—Ernie snoring softly, Burt’s eyes watching you like he’s guarding something sacred.  

“They’re going to be so good with the baby,” you whisper.  

Alexia kisses your temple, her hand still over yours, over your belly, over everything the four of you are now protecting.  

“They already are.”

—

It was already one of those days where everything felt like it was moving too fast.  

The crucial scan was scheduled for 5:30pm—a big one. The kind where you’d finally be far enough along to see real definition, measure growth, maybe even hear more than just the rapid-fire thump of a heartbeat.  

You were nervous. So nervous.  

And Alexia was still at training.  

She’d promised—sworn—she’d be done by 4:30, back home by 5:00, and the two of you would go together, hand in hand like you always did.  

But 4:45 came. Then 5:00.  

And you were still standing in the hallway, dressed, holding your water bottle and your folder of notes and appointment letters, watching the front door like it might open on its own.  

Your phone buzzed.  

Alexia 🖤  

Training ran over. I’m trying to leave now. Don’t wait. I’ll meet you there. I’m sorry, mi amor. I’m coming as fast as I can.

You stared at the message, heart sinking slightly. You understood—God, you did. It wasn’t her fault. She’d been pulled for media, and then a short team talk had somehow turned into a full breakdown of the last three matches.

But still.  

You wanted her there.  

Especially today.  

---

By the time you made it to the clinic, your hands were shaking slightly, your nerves setting in. You checked in, sat down, and texted her.  

You: In the waiting room. Room 4. I’ll stall them if I can.  

No reply.  

You assumed she was driving.  

The nurse called your name at 5:37. You stood, hesitating—wanting to beg for just five more minutes—but the words wouldn’t come.  

You followed her in, lying down on the exam table, the same room where you’d been told there was no heartbeat. You hoped it wasn’t an omen.

Your eyes fluttered shut. Please, please let this be different.

Just as the nurse rolled the machine closer, the door burst open.  

Alexia.  

Out of breath, flushed from sprinting, her Barça hoodie half-zipped, boots clomping awkwardly against the linoleum floor.  

“Lo siento, lo siento, lo siento,” she panted, holding up a hand to the nurse as she crossed the room in two long strides. “I ran from the car park. I’m here. I’m here.”  

You let out a shaky breath that turned into a laugh, and the nurse gave you both a soft smile. “Perfect timing. Let’s take a look, shall we?”  

Alexia immediately took your hand, her forehead resting against yours for a second. “Never again,” she whispered. “I swear, I’ll walk out mid-training next time if I have to.”  

You squeezed her fingers. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”  

And then—  

The sound.  

That perfect, powerful heartbeat, stronger than last time.  

And on the screen a tiny, clear shape. Arms. Legs. Movement.  

Your baby.  

You felt Alexia's hand tremble in yours as the two of you stared, breathless, overwhelmed, absolutely undone.  

She whispered, voice cracking, “That’s our baby.”  

And this time, you were both exactly where you were meant to be.

—

The soft whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of the heartbeat fills the room like music. You can feel Alexia’s grip on your hand tighten, not painfully—just grounding, like she needs to hold onto something before her heart floats right out of her chest.

The nurse smiles at both of you, adjusting the angle of the probe slightly. “Your baby is measuring beautifully,” she says kindly, her voice warm and calm. “Let me show you a few things.”

You both lean closer to the screen, eyes wide as the grainy black and white image pulses with life.

“Here’s the head,” she says, pointing gently with her cursor. “You can see the curve of the skull here, and this shadow is the brain starting to form. Strong and symmetrical.”

You gasp quietly, heart stuttering. “That’s their head?”

Alexia’s face is soft with awe, her eyes fixed to the monitor like it holds the entire universe. “Dios mío…”

“And right here,” the nurse continues, shifting the view slightly, “are the arms—little hands starting to form at the end.” She chuckles softly. “Look at those fingers.”

You actually see them. Tiny, wiggling, real fingers.

“They’re moving,” you whisper, voice caught in your throat. “They’re really moving.”

“They’re practicing already,” the nurse grins. “Busy little one.”

You look over at Alexia, whose eyes are completely glassy, her lips parted in stunned wonder. She hasn’t blinked once.

She clears her throat, voice slightly hoarse. “Our baby has hands.”

“And feet,” the nurse adds, tilting the probe again. “Look at those toes.”

You both laugh, and you feel a tear finally slip free, tracing a warm path down your cheek. Alexia catches it with her thumb before it can fall further.

The nurse takes a few more measurements before clicking a button. “Would you like a printout of the scan?” she asks gently.

You nod immediately. “Yes, please.”

Alexia, still slightly in shock, lifts her hand. “Can we—uh, can we get more? Like, the extras? Whatever you have.”

The nurse raises an eyebrow, amused. “Photos, USB, key rings, digital files?”

“All of it,” Alexia says without missing a beat, reaching into her jacket for her wallet. “We want everything.”

You snort a laugh, your heart swelling. “Are you buying out the baby merch stand?”

“If I could frame the heartbeat and hang it in the hallway, I would,” she says without a hint of irony.

The nurse chuckles, handing you a warm set of glossy scan prints. “Here’s your first photo album, then.”

You take them in trembling fingers, staring down at the blurry but perfect image of your baby, your heart thudding in time with theirs.

Alexia wraps an arm around you as you sit up slowly, careful not to smudge the prints with your fingertips.

You lean into her shoulder and whisper, “We’re really doing this, aren’t we?”

She presses a kiss into your hair, her voice low and steady. “Yeah, mi amor. We are. And they already have the best nose I’ve ever seen.”

You laugh into her shoulder, holding the scan to your chest. And for the first time, in a long time, your joy doesn’t feel careful.

It just feels real.

—

The car is quiet. The kind of quiet that feels sacred.  

You're parked just outside the clinic, the soft hum of Barcelona’s evening settling around you, people passing by unaware that in the small, private world of your car, something extraordinary has just happened.  

Alexia sits in the driver’s seat, keys still in the ignition but engine off, her body angled toward you, legs tucked slightly beneath her as she holds the envelope of scan photos like it’s made of glass.  

You’re beside her, curled slightly sideways in your seat, seatbelt off, one leg folded under the other, eyes still fixed on the black and white print in your hands.  

The baby is small, but there’s no denying they’re there. A shape. A form. Arms. Legs. Fingers. A heartbeat.  

“Look,” Alexia says softly, holding one of the scans up to the light as if it’ll help her memorise every single detail. “That’s their little hand. You can see it.”  

You nod, eyes welling again. “I know. I still can’t believe it’s real.”  

Alexia gently slides one of the scans into your lap, her voice reverent. “This one’s my favourite. The profile… they have your nose.”  

You let out a wet laugh, dabbing at your cheeks with your sleeve. “Alexia that’s biologically impossible.”  

“It does” she says firmly, grinning even as her voice shakes with emotion.  

The grin fades slowly as she stares down at the photo again, her expression softening. “They’re ours.”  

You glance at her. Her eyes are glassy again, lashes damp, and she’s not trying to hide it.  

“I was so scared to go to this appointment,” you admit quietly. “I couldn’t stop thinking about last time. What it felt like to walk out of there empty.”  

Alexia reaches across the centre console, slipping her hand into yours, weaving your fingers together. “I know. I felt it too. Like I was holding my breath the whole time.”  

“But we walked out with this.” You hold up the scan, your thumb gently brushing over the shape of your tiny baby. “We walked out with them.”  

She squeezes your hand. “We walked out as parents.”  

The word hits you like a soft thunderclap.  

Parents.  

You sit in silence for a moment, just feeling it.  

The responsibility. The beauty. The miracle of it all.  

You gently turn to her and whisper, “Do you think Burt and Ernie will be jealous?”  

Alexia snorts, blinking through her tears. “They’re going to be obsessed. Burt’s going to be a bodyguard, and Ernie’s going to teach them how to sneak food off plates.”  

You laugh, wiping at your eyes. “We’re going to have a baby. In a few months, we’re going to be waking up to cries, and diapers, and chaos… and it’s going to be the best thing we’ve ever done.”  

Alexia leans over, her forehead resting gently against yours, her other hand still clutching the envelope of scan photos to her chest.  

“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” she admits, her voice barely a breath. “But I’ve also never loved anyone the way I love you. Or wanted anything more than this with you.”  

You smile, brushing your nose against hers. “We’re doing this together. Every second of it.”  

She kisses you softly—slow and full of promise—then pulls back just enough to whisper:  

“Let’s go home, mamá.”  

And just like that, everything feels right.

—

Eli’s home always felt warm.

It was the kind of place where love was stitched into the very walls, where the smell of home-cooked meals clung to the furniture, where laughter echoed through the hallways even on the quietest nights.

And tonight, it was no different.

Alba was already nursing a glass of wine, chatting animatedly about something ridiculous that happened in her life, while Eli busied herself serving up far too much food for just the four of you.

But you were struggling. The smells of everything—the garlic, the roasted meat, even the faint scent of wine—had been assaulting your senses since you walked in the door.

Alexia had noticed immediately. And so had Eli. Her sharp eyes flicked toward you as she placed a bowl of food in front of you, her brow furrowing slightly when she saw how pale you looked. “Mi amor,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Are you still sick?.”

You forced a smile, pushing your food around with your fork. “I’m fine.”

Eli narrowed her eyes slightly, unconvinced. “You haven’t touched your food.”

“I’m just not too hungry,” you tried again.

That made everyone go silent.

Alba blinked dramatically, looking between you and Alexia. “Since when are you not hungry?”

Alexia let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. “Mami, I think we have something to tell you.”

Eli froze.

Her eyes widened slightly, her hands stilling over the napkin she had been adjusting. “Tell me what?”

You exhaled, setting down your fork. Your hands trembled slightly as you stood up from your chair, suddenly feeling so many emotions at once. Then, slowly, you reached for the hem of your hoodie and lifted it—just enough to reveal the small but undeniable bump that had begun to form.

Eli gasped.

Alba nearly choked on her wine.

“I get morning sickness in the mornings and the evenings,” you murmured, a soft but certain smile on your lips. “because, I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, no one moved.

Eli’s hand came up to her mouth, eyes wide, her entire body still as she stared at your stomach.

Alba’s chair scraped against the floor as she pushed back from the table, standing so suddenly she nearly knocked over her glass. “Wait, WHAT?!”

You laughed softly, pulling your hoodie back down as Alexia reached for your hand, her warmth grounding you.

“You—” Eli blinked rapidly, looking at you, then at Alexia, then back at you. “You’re pregnant?”

You nodded, feeling tears sting your eyes at the sheer emotion in her voice.

Eli let out a soft sob and immediately wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a warm, desperate embrace. “Mi niña…” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

You melted into her, feeling the weight of the moment settle deep in your chest.

Alba, on the other hand, was still staring at you both like you had just told her the world was ending.

“You—” She pointed wildly between the two of you. “You’re pregnant?!”

Alexia smirked. “Yes, Alba.”

Alba blinked. “Like, for real?”

You let out a breathy laugh, wiping at your eyes. “For real.”

Her eyes widened further. “But you—” She frowned slightly. “I didn’t even know you were trying yet?”

You swallowed hard, glancing at Alexia before turning back to them. “We kept it private. We, um—” You hesitated before inhaling deeply. “We’ve actually been trying for a while.”

Eli pulled back slightly, concern flickering in her gaze. “Cuánto tiempo?”

You squeezed Alexia’s hand, finding strength in her touch. “This is our fourth attempt.”

Eli’s breath caught. “Four?”

You nodded, biting your lip. “The first two times didn’t work. The third time… we got a positive, but we lost the baby.”

Alba let out a soft oh under her breath, her expression instantly shifting to something more serious. Eli’s hands gripped yours tightly, her eyes shining with pain and understanding. “Mi amor,” she whispered.

You offered her a small, grateful smile. “But now, this time… we feel so lucky.”

Eli wiped at her eyes, sniffling before letting out a watery laugh. “I can’t believe this.”

The moment wraps around all of you like a warm blanket—arms tangled, breath hitching, emotions hanging heavy in the air.  

Eli’s still clutching you tightly, murmuring soft blessings against your hair, one hand now splayed protectively over your bump like she already considers herself a guardian of the little life growing inside you.  

Alexia leans into your side, her eyes locked on yours like she’s still trying to absorb the reality of what’s happening—her wife, her mother, her sister, and your baby all woven together in a moment you never knew your heart needed so badly.  

And then, you notice it.  

Alba.  

She hasn’t said anything since her initial outburst. She’s stepped back from the hug, standing slightly off to the side now, hands wrapped around herself. Her face is unreadable for a moment, her jaw tight, her eyes glassy.  

Alexia turns her head, still holding you close. “Alba?” she says gently. “You okay? We’ve just told the most incredible thing is happening to us and you look like you couldn’t care any less”  

Alba blinks, like she’s only just noticed the attention shifting to her. Her lips press together, her throat bobbing once. “Yeah,” she says quickly, but her voice cracks halfway through.   She tries to brush it off with a shaky laugh. “I’m—God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”  

And then it happens.  

Her voice breaks completely, and she brings a hand to her face, trying to stop it, but the tears are already slipping down her cheeks.  

You and Alexia freeze.  

“Alba…” Alexia says softly, stepping toward her. “Hey, hey, what is it?”  

Alba tries to speak but chokes on the first word. She lets out a sob, frustrated and emotional and completely unguarded—so unlike her usual chaotic, firecracker self.  

“I’m just—” She laughs and cries at the same time, wiping at her face. “I’m so happy. I’m so happy you’re pregnant and I—” She stops, breath catching. “I didn’t know how much I wanted this for you both until you said it out loud.”  

Alexia pulls her into a hug immediately, arms wrapping around her younger sister with such force that you feel it in your chest.  

Alba clings to her, burying her face into Alexia’s shoulder like she did when they were kids, when things were overwhelming, when she needed someone to hold her while she felt.

Eli stands beside you, eyes still damp, her hand sliding back into yours with a squeeze.  

You watch Alexia whisper something into Alba’s ear, soothing, loving, and Alba nods through her tears, pressing her forehead to her sister’s chest.  

“I thought she was sick,” Alba murmurs. “I thought something was awfully wrong, I’d convinced myself we-you’d loose her and i didn’t know how we’d handle that, you were so sick that night, you looked so sick and it looked like you’d lost weight, it scared me”  

Alexia huffs a small, tearful laugh. “You idiot”

You walk over quietly and slide your hand into Alba’s. She looks at you, still tear-streaked, and lets out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “I’m fine, i speak to my doctor all the time” you showed your bump again, “It’s just morning sickness, i promise, i’m doing everything the doctor tells me to, to make sure the baby and I are healthy through this little bit”

“I’m going to be a Tía.”  

“You’re going to be the most chaotic Tía ever,” you say with a grin.  

“I’m going to buy them the loudest toys known to man.”  

“Absolutely not,” Alexia says immediately.  

All three of you laugh through the tears. And standing there, wrapped up in love, in emotion, in family—you know it more than ever.  

This baby is already surrounded by a world so full of love, they’ll never go a day without feeling it.

You gently tug your hand free from Alba’s and slip it into your coat pocket where, carefully folded and protected like a sacred treasure, the scan photo has been tucked away since the clinic visit.  

Your fingers tremble a little as you unfold the paper, the soft crinkle drawing Eli’s and Alba’s attention immediately.  

“I have…” you begin, voice still thick with emotion, “…something I want to show you.”  

Alexia, still standing with one arm around her sister’s shoulder, glances over at you with that soft, knowing look—the one that says I know how much this means.  

You hold the photo out toward them, your thumb brushing over the image like you can’t quite believe it’s real, even now.  

“From our last scan,” you say gently. “We saw everything. Their head, their hands… we even heard the heartbeat again.”  

Eli gasps softly and moves in close, her hand coming to rest over her heart the second her eyes land on the image. Her lips part, and her breath catches. “Ay, míralo…”  

Alba steps beside her, peeking over her mother’s shoulder. At first she’s quiet, her eyes scanning the blurry but unmistakable shape of the baby—so small, curled like a comma, but there.  

“Is that their…?” she starts, pointing clumsily to the head.  

Alexia steps in, smirking. “Yes. That’s the head. Not a potato, like you’re probably thinking.”  

Alba laughs through a sniffle, nudging her playfully. “I wasn’t going to say potato!” A beat. “...But it does kind of look like one.”  

Eli swats her gently, but she’s still crying, her thumb now tracing the edge of the photo like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever held.  

“They’re perfect,” she whispers. “Already perfect.”  

You step closer to Alexia, letting her wrap an arm around your waist, her hand automatically resting against your bump.  

“I’ve stared at this photo a hundred times already,” you admit, resting your head on her shoulder. “And every time I do, it hits me all over again—they’re real. They’re ours.”  

Alba reaches for the photo, asking softly, “Can I hold it?”  

You nod, and she takes it gently, like she’s afraid she’ll break it. She stares at it for a long moment, then looks up at you and Alexia, her expression open and vulnerable in a way you rarely see.  

“I’m going to love them so much,” she says quietly. “You don’t even know.”  

Alexia smiles, her own eyes misty again. “We do know. We’ve discussed it at length”  

The four of you stand there in Eli’s kitchen—food forgotten, hearts wide open, surrounded by the smell of roasted garlic and the sound of quiet sniffles.  

And in that moment, with your scan photo passing from hand to hand, something settles in the room.  

This baby is already home.  Already loved. Already theirs, too. You step back from the circle of warmth in Eli’s kitchen, cheeks still flushed from all the tears and laughter, your heart full but pounding with a new kind of anticipation. You’d been waiting for the right moment to do this. And now, watching Alba cradling the scan photo like it’s made of stardust and Eli still dabbing at her cheeks with a napkin, you know maybe you were ready to reach out to your own family. 

Alexia reaches for your hand, pulling you gently into her side, her voice soft and low against your ear. “I love you.”  

You smile into her shoulder, tears prickling your eyes again. Eli steps forward, pulling you into a hug again, whispering, “This baby is already so lucky. So loved.”  

And in that moment, wrapped in her arms, Alexia’s hand on your back, Alba quietly swearing she’s going to be the “cool emotional aunt,” you feel it again—  

That this little life growing inside you has already built a family bigger than blood.  

They’ve built a home.

Alba is still standing there in the kitchen, one hand clutched to her chest and the other holding the framed scan at arm’s length like she’s trying to mentally zoom in. Her eyes are narrowed, tongue poking out slightly as she inspects the grainy image with ridiculous focus.  

Then, she says it.  

Totally serious.  

“I’m telling you… they have your nose.”  

You blink. “What?”  

Alexia perks up instantly, standing straighter beside you like a lightbulb just went off. “Thank you!” she exclaims, pointing at her sister. “I said the same thing when we left the clinic!”  

You gape at them both. “How—how can you possibly tell that from a grainy black and white scan that looks like it was taken with a potato?”  

Alba smirks, triumphant. “You can totally tell. Look at this little bump on the bridge! That’s you.”  

Alexia crosses her arms with a smug grin. “Exacte. I said they had your nose, and you told me I was being ridiculous.”  

You throw your hands up, exasperated but laughing. “Because it is ridiculous! You do remember it was your egg, right? Your DNA? I’m just the deluxe human incubator in this equation.”  

Alba gasps. “Did you just call yourself a deluxe human incubator?”  

Alexia bites her lip, trying not to laugh. “That’s going on a T-shirt.”  

You groan dramatically, dropping into the chair. “You two are unbelievable. The baby is genetically yours, Alexia. Your egg.”  

Alexia shrugs, still staring at the scan like she’s searching for clues. “Maybe. But they’re growing inside you. And if they’re already getting your attitude—”  

“—they’re definitely getting your nose,” Alba finishes.  

You cover your face with your hands. “I regret telling you anything.”  

But you don’t, not really. Because when you peek through your fingers, they’re both grinning at the scan like it’s a masterpiece, like this blurry photo has already revealed an entire person.  

Your person.  

Alexia catches your gaze, her teasing fading just enough for something softer to settle into her expression. She kneels beside your chair and places a hand on your belly, gentle and sure.  

“Regardless of whose nose they have,” she murmurs, “they’re ours. Every little bit.”  

You smile through the warmth rising in your chest, brushing your fingers through her hair.  

“Yeah,” you whisper. “They really are.”  

And just like that, even with all the bickering and chaos, the room is full of peace again. A quiet knowing. A family already falling in love with someone they’ve never met.

—

Something shifted as the second trimester arrived.

It wasn’t dramatic—there wasn’t a switch flipped overnight—but it was definitely noticeable. Your nausea, while not entirely gone, began to give you some grace. You could finally keep food down, you started sleeping better, and the fatigue that had made your limbs feel like lead slowly began to fade. You started to feel more like yourself.

Except… not quite.

Because this version of you? This new, radiant, glowing, tingling version of you? She was insatiable.

At first, you thought it was just a fluke—a flurry of hormones shifting as your body adjusted, a couple of blush-inducing dreams that left you tangled in sheets and aching in a way you hadn’t felt for weeks. But then it kept happening.

A lingering glance from Alexia while she dried her hair. The way her hand would rest lazily on your thigh as you lay on the sofa. The sight of her in her training gear, all strength and casual swagger, or standing at the kitchen counter in a hoodie and nothing else, humming softly to herself.

It did things to you.

You tried to play it cool at first. A few stolen kisses while she made breakfast. Your hands wandering a little lower than usual as you cuddled in bed. Her hand cradling your bump during a sleepy embrace would have you biting your lip, trying not to press into her palm.

But Alexia, of course, noticed.

She always did.

And she definitely wasn’t complaining. One night, lying on the couch with your head in her lap while she mindlessly scrolled through Netflix options, your fingers were tracing slow, lazy circles on her knee. You weren’t really paying attention to the screen. You were watching her. The curve of her jaw, the way her lips curled in thought, the subtle flex of her thigh under your head. You shifted slightly, pressing a little closer.

Her eyes flicked down. “You okay?”

You nodded, eyes hooded. “Yeah. Just…”

She tilted her head, smirking. “Just what?”

You hesitated, then whispered, “I really want you right now.”

She blinked, caught off guard—but only for a second. That knowing smirk deepened as she leaned down and brushed a slow kiss against your lips. “You’re glowing,” she murmured, her hand smoothing down over your bump. “And kind of dangerous right now.”

You grinned against her mouth. “Dangerous?”

“You’ve been giving me that look for a week. I’ve been trying to behave.”

You shifted again, this time straddling her lap slowly, wrapping your arms around her neck. “Don’t.”

Alexia’s hands slid to your hips instinctively, her breath catching. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You leaned in, pressing your forehead to hers. “You won’t. I feel good, Lex. Really good. Better than I have in months.”

She kissed you then—deep and slow, the kind of kiss that said she’d been waiting for you to feel like this again, the kind of kiss that didn’t just ignite your skin but centred you. That night was soft and careful and full of laughter and breathy sighs, full of the quietest kind of fire. Alexia’s hands cradling your body like she was holding something precious. Her lips mapping your skin slowly, reverently, like she’d missed every inch of you and wasn’t going to waste a second more.

She didn’t rush you. She didn’t push. She followed your pace, your need, your rhythm. And God, you needed her. Not just the closeness, not just the aching low in your belly. You needed her—the warmth of her breath on your shoulder, the press of her lips to your bump as if thanking it for giving you back to her like this.

After, she held you with one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand resting on your belly, her thumb brushing soft strokes over the curve of it.

“I missed us,” she murmured into your hair.

You nodded, still catching your breath. “Me too.”

And she smiled against your skin, whispering, “Let’s make up for lost time.” You laughed—soft and satisfied—already knowing that with her, you had all the time in the world.

—

You were standing in front of the mirror, tugging gently at the hem of the flowy black top you’d chosen for the night. It draped comfortably over your bump—still not obvious to the untrained eye, but enough that you’d started reaching for looser fits out of instinct.

Behind you, Alexia was sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping on her trainers, one eyebrow arched in focused determination.

You turned slightly, smoothing your shirt again. “Hey, Lex?”  

She grunted in response, still battling her shoes.

“I think… I want to tell Carla tonight.”  

She paused, looking up like you’d just said you were moving to the moon. “Tell Carla what?”  

You gave her a look. “About the baby.”  

Alexia blinked. “Wait—you haven’t told her yet?”  

You shrugged a little, avoiding her eyes in the mirror. “No, I mean… I kind of assumed you had?”  

She stood slowly, eyes narrowing. “No, I figured you would. She’s your best friend.”  

“I know, but I thought maybe with all the training, and the away games, and how close you two have gotten, it would’ve just… slipped out.”  

Alexia stepped behind you now, her hands resting lightly on your shoulders. “Mi amor, Carla thinks your ‘stomach bug’ is the longest-running flu case in Europe.”  

You winced. “Okay, yeah. Fair point.”  

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I just assumed you told her ages ago. She’s going to lose her mind.”  

You turned to face her fully, nervous energy fluttering in your chest. “Do you think she’ll be upset we waited this long?”  

Alexia shook her head immediately. “Not for a second. She’ll probably cry, and then call you dramatic, and then demand she gets to be godmother without even asking.”  

You laughed, because it was so Carla.  

“She just means so much to me,” you said softly. “I think part of me wanted to tell her when it felt safe. When it felt real. And now that it does… I want her to know.”  

Alexia cupped your face, her thumbs brushing your cheeks gently. “Then tell her. Tonight. I’ll make sure everyone’s distracted so you two can have your moment.”  

You smiled up at her, heart swelling. “You’re good at this whole supportive wife thing, you know.” 

She smirked, pressing a kiss to your lips. “I’m practicing. I hear pregnant women can get needy.”  

You pulled back with a playful glare. “Excuse me?”  

“Emotionally needy. Physically clingy. Obsessed with their gorgeous footballer wives.”  

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your bag and swatting her with it lightly. “You wish.”  

She caught your hand and kissed your knuckles, then rested it gently against the curve of your stomach.  

“Carla’s going to be so happy,” she said softly. “She loves you. And she’s going to love them too.”  

You nodded, heart full, nerves buzzing just a little.  

It was time.  

And tonight, you were finally going to share your biggest joy with one of the people who’d loved you through everything.

The restaurant was loud in that comforting way—ambient, warm, filled with clinking glasses and voices layered over upbeat music. The team had already taken over a long table at the back, some players halfway through their first round of drinks, laughter echoing as Mapi recounted something dramatic with hand gestures big enough to nearly take out a waiter.

You and Alexia walked in hand-in-hand, her thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles, grounding you the way she always did when you were buzzing with nerves. She leaned in as you neared the table, voice low and teasing against your ear.

“You’re going to cry when you tell her, aren’t you?”

You scoffed. “Please. I’m perfectly composed.”

Alexia smirked. “You got misty-eyed at a baby socks display last week.”

“That was different. They were tiny and knitted.”

She laughed, gently squeezing your hand one last time before breaking away to greet her teammates. “I’ll buy you ten pairs if it helps you breathe right now.”

You scanned the table, and there she was—Carla, sitting on the end, already waving when she spotted you, her grin wide and chaotic as always. She made a space instantly, scooting over with a dramatic “Finally! Took you long enough!” and motioning for you to sit beside her.

You sat, nerves rolling like thunder in your chest.

“Hey, stranger,” she said, bumping your shoulder. “You look…” Her eyes narrowed, studying you for half a second too long. “…a little tired. Still fighting that virus?”

You smiled carefully. “Sort of.”

Carla turned her body toward you slightly, sipping from her drink. “You okay though? You’ve been kind of… I don’t know. Not off, just… low profile.”

Now or never.

You wet your lips and set your bag down beside your chair, shifting slightly so your knee touched hers. “Actually… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. For a while. I just—wasn’t ready before.”

Her brows lifted immediately, and the playful energy dimmed into something more focused. “Okay. What’s going on?”

You swallowed thickly, glancing down at your lap for a second before looking back at her. “I’m pregnant.”

Carla stared.

You waited.

For once in her life, she said nothing.

“I know,” you said gently, watching the shock ripple across her features. “It’s been a long road, and we weren’t sure it was going to happen, but… we’re in the second trimester now. It’s really happening.”

Her hand came to her mouth, eyes already glassy. “Wait. Wait—shut up.”

You laughed softly. “Carla—”

“You’re pregnant?!” she whispered fiercely, smacking your arm before launching herself across the small space to throw her arms around you. “You’re—oh my God, you’re—why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you held onto her. “I wanted to. We just… had a few scares. I needed to feel like it was real before I could share it.”

Carla nodded against your shoulder, still gripping you like she might not let go. “God, I’m so happy. I’m so—like, I don’t even know what to say. You’re going to be the best mama.” When she finally pulled back, she sniffled and immediately tried to laugh it off. “Ugh, I hate you for making me cry in public.”  

You wiped at your own eyes. “It had to be you tonight. I couldn’t keep it from you anymore.”

“Wait—does everyone else know?”

You shook your head. “Just family. You’re the first person from the team.”  

Her eyes went huge. “I’m honoured. I’m actually—Oh my God, does this mean I get to be the fun godmother?”  

You laughed. “You kind of already are.”  

She wiped under her eyes again, then glanced over your shoulder, and her expression shifted to mock-serious. “Tell Alexia if she doesn’t give me godmother rights, I’m stealing the baby.”  

Alexia, returning to the table with two glasses of water, slid into the seat next to you and arched an eyebrow. “Stealing our baby?” she asked dryly, handing you one glass.  

Carla grinned through her drying tears. “You heard me.”  

Alexia glanced at you, then at Carla, then smiled softly. “You can be the godmother. But only if you agree to babysit when we haven’t slept for three nights in a row.”  

Carla lifted her glass dramatically. “Done. I’ll even bring snacks.”  

The three of you clinked glasses quietly while chaos bubbled around the rest of the table. But in that little corner, with laughter and tears and secrets finally spoken, everything felt a little more real. A little more whole.  

The night hums on around you—dishes clinking, conversations overlapping, laughter rising every so often from one end of the table or the other. Carla’s still next to you, now proudly pointing out baby items on her phone she thinks are essential, including, for some reason, a bassinet shaped like a race car.

You’re in the middle of politely telling her the baby doesn’t need its own pit crew when someone stops beside the table.

“Ingrid!” you say brightly, your smile wide and honest.

She returns it, but it’s soft—slightly tight around the edges. Her eyes drift over your face, studying you in that careful way people do when they’ve been worried.

“Hey,” she says quietly, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Can I… just check in for a second?”

You nod immediately, and Carla wordlessly scoots over to give her space.

Ingrid crouches slightly to be more level with you, her eyes kind. “I didn’t want to crowd you, but I’ve been meaning to ask if you’re okay. Alexia said you’ve been unwell for a while… and when you didn’t really talk to Carla the other day, I—” she hesitates, her brow furrowing, “—I just got a bit worried.”

Your heart tugs, the genuine concern in her voice making your chest ache in a surprisingly tender way.

You glance sideways, toward Alexia, who’s been watching the exchange quietly from the other side of you. Her eyes flick to yours, and you see it there—the guilt, the unspoken truth she’s been holding onto.

She hadn’t told them because it wasn’t just her story to tell. But maybe it was time. Maybe it was time to let everyone in.

You rest your hand over Alexia’s on your knee, giving it a light squeeze.

“Lex?” you say softly. She meets your gaze, and you offer her a small, reassuring nod. “I think you should tell them now. While we’re all here.”

Her brows lift slightly. “You’re sure?”

You nod again, heart pounding in your chest, but the relief already washing over you like sunlight breaking through a long winter cloud. “I’m ready,” you whisper. “We’re ready.”

Alexia leans over and presses a soft kiss to your cheek, then turns, reaching gently for Ingrid’s hand to pull her upright.

Ingrid looks confused for a moment, eyes darting between you both, before Alexia clears her throat—just loud enough to catch the attention of those closest.

It doesn’t take long. One person notices, then another, and within seconds, the whole table begins to quiet. Heads turn. Conversations pause.

Alexia stands slowly, still holding your hand. Her voice is calm, but her eyes are lit with something electric, something trembling but proud.

“I know a few of you have been wondering why this one here,” she says, nudging you gently, “has been a little MIA lately.”

The girls around the table start murmuring—some smiling already, some just curious.

“She’s been dealing with a lot,” Alexia continues, looking down at you with soft adoration, “but not because of a bug. Or stress. Or anything of the other lies I’ve told you.”

You stand now too, the nerves bubbling under your skin like champagne, but Alexia steadies you with her hand in yours.

“She’s pregnant,” Alexia says simply.

A stunned beat.

Then—

“WHAT?!” Mapi shrieks.

“No jodas—”

“OH MY GOD—”

Chaos erupts.

Voices raise, chairs scrape as half the table jumps up in excitement. Mapi launches herself over the table like she’s diving for a trophy, nearly knocking over a candle in the process. Aitana’s mouth is hanging open in disbelief. Ingrid’s hands are covering her heart, her face softening with every second.

Carla is grinning like the cat that got the cream, proudly taking credit like she was the one who made the announcement.

And in the middle of it all, Alexia has her arm around you, her head bent to yours as you both soak in the sound of pure, unfiltered joy.

When Ingrid finally reaches you again, she doesn’t say anything right away. She just wraps you in the warmest, most genuine hug.

“I’m so happy for you,” she says into your shoulder. “You’re going to be incredible.”

You close your eyes, heart full. For the first time, you feel it completely. Now they all know. And they already love your baby like they’ve been waiting for them too.

The noise eventually settles—if only slightly.

There’s still laughter and excited voices bouncing around the room, a few players wiping away surprised tears (Aitana’s pretending not to, but her red nose gives her away), and the waitstaff bringing over more drinks and desserts with cautious smiles, clearly clocking that something big just happened.

Alexia hasn’t let go of your hand since the announcement, and you don’t want her to.

Carla’s still beaming, whispering something about how she’s going to ‘crash every family photo’ and ‘bring a suitcase to the hospital,’ while Ingrid quietly rests a hand on your back like she’s still anchoring you to the moment.

And then—of course—Mapi stands on her chair.

She clears her throat dramatically, raising a glass of something sparkly that definitely wasn’t what she originally ordered. “Everyone. Please. Shut up and give me the floor. For once in your lives.”

A few groans, some cheers, and at least one “don’t fall, Mapi” echo from across the table, but the room does fall quiet—albeit with amused, expectant grins.

She turns, facing you and Alexia directly now, her gaze more focused than usual, her smirk softening into something almost reverent.

“I make a lot of noise,” she begins, eliciting a collective “¡sí!” from the table. She ignores it with a wave. “But tonight I want to make noise for them.”

She nods at you. Then at Alexia.  

“You two have been through a lot. We all know that. And you’ve built something together that’s… unbreakable. Something strong. Something soft. Something that all of us admire more than we probably say.”

Alexia shifts beside you, clearly trying not to get misty-eyed already. You squeeze her hand tighter.  

“And now,” Mapi continues, lifting her glass higher, “you’re bringing someone new into that love. A tiny person who’s going to be ridiculously lucky from the very first breath they take. Lucky to have two mamis who already love them more than anything. Lucky to grow up with warmth and safety and laughter—and the best damn football education in the world.”  

Laughter breaks across the table, but it’s gentle, affectionate.  

Mapi’s voice softens, but her words ring clear.  

“To the little one—who doesn’t even know yet how loved they already are. Who’s going to be raised in a world full of strength, softness, and chaos. We can’t wait to meet you. We’ve got your back already.” She pauses, then adds with a wink, “And if you come out with great hair and questionable jokes, we’ll know exactly who to blame.”  

You and Alexia both burst out laughing as everyone lifts their glasses, the entire table echoing in chorus:  

“To the baby!”

The clinking of glasses surrounds you, a symphony of celebration.  

And as you press your forehead to Alexia’s, both of you laughing, a little teary, you whisper, “They’re going to have so many people in their corner.”  

Alexia nods, eyes shining. “The best team we could ever ask for.”  

And in that moment, with love wrapped around you in every direction, you feel it in your bones—this baby isn’t just coming into a family.  

They’re coming into a legacy.

Such a good, well written and well thought story! Loved the banter. Need more fics like this..

And through the clouds, I see love shine

About when, on a Wednesday in a restaurant at Barcelona, you watch it begin again

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader

》 words count: 12.8k

》 fight a losing battle [idiom]: also known as “losing game”, to try hard to do something when there is no chance that you will succeed, a failing effort or activity 

Your last relationship ends so badly that you consider abstinence from everything – processed sugar, alcohol, and even people. A period of deep cleansing, as if you could purify every cell of your body, like a celebrity spiraling from rehab to full-blown identity crisis.

This emotional state explains why you find yourself on a one-way flight to Barcelona, all your things crumbled in a backpack.  A rash impulse led you to declutter your belongings, a wishful attempt of turning into a completely new person just because your closet is now half what it used to be.

The decision to straight-up flee is rushed and quite terrifying, much like many of your recent choices.

Elena, your best friend since you were barely old enough to share made-up stories and Barbie-like careers, thinks you’re going mental. She nearly cries when you decide to donate your vintage Christian Lacroix jacket, but you’re convinced it’s the only way to get a new lease on life, so she mourns in silence.

The loudest reaction comes from your brother, who, if you could be mature enough to admit it, is the only voice of reason that almost resonates in your head. 

Almost.

Despite your stubbornness, you accept the offer of hospitality from one of his university friends, who gives away a spare room. You don’t plan on staying in a hotel for gods know how long, and you certainly don’t have the patience to search for an apartment. You’re not completely out of mind, if they want to help, so be it. 

Barcelona is brighter and feels as welcoming as you hoped, though that might just be the nicer weather and the fact you’re far from your problems. And your ex. 

The first month flies by in a rush of Catalan cafeterias, art galleries, and little boutiques that refill both your closet and your spirit. 

The people here are kind enough to put up with your attempts to speak the language, humoring you since you’re oh-so-sure that eleven consecutive days on a passive-aggressive app have made you fluent.

The places you visit and the ones strangers recommend are loud enough to ignore the voices of reason in your ear that start to sound a lot like your brother’s.

Still, there’s only so much one can do to avoid responsibilities and self-consciousness.

“You need a job”, Ricardo states one morning, finding you in the kitchen eating cold pizza, still in the clothes you wore two nights ago.

Your closet isn’t as limited anymore.

“I’ve saved enough money to enjoy my vacation, thanks for your concern”

“I thought that was the money saved to buy a house with your ex”

“I do not have an ex nor a house to worry about, do I?”

As soon as the pizza starts to taste like regret, you’re ready to end the conversation to sleep the rest of day away. 

Ricardo means well, you know that. 

He’s a nice guy and a good roommate, but, like your brother, he’s overprotective and likes to gossip a little too much. Sometimes, it’s surprising how much he knows about you. Most of the time, it’s just annoying.

“I’m want to say– maybe a routine could be good for you”

“I have a routine”, you retort, knowing it’s a fat lie.

You’re out of the bed before eleven only if you didn’t sleep through the night before, wandering around the city with no real destination until something, somehow, catches your attention.

It’s not a bad thing per se, but it’s not a sustainable lifestyle.

“You quit a well-paid accounting job, right?”

“Ricardo, I swear, I’m this close to reporting you for stalking”

His laugh is too loud this early in the morning, but the comfort of bantering with someone who knows you is too familiar to ignore. Even if most of his insight comes from your nosy brother.

They both need to find a hobby that doesn’t involve judging your questionable life choices.

He sips his coffee while studying you, assessing how risky it would be to keep pushing the subject.

Apparently, he feels brave enough.

“My friends’ restaurant could use some help”

~

You’re not sure if Ricardo downplayed it or if he’s just blissfully unaware, but his friends don’t need some help – they need a miracle. 

That’s what happens when you get scammed by your bookkeeper. 

Despite not being really familiar with Spanish tax laws and regulation, it’s clear as the day someone exploited every possible loophole in the profitable business run by three way-too-trusting men. The truth becomes evident as you examine their accounting ledger, your frown deepening with each passing moment.

You have been to their restaurant before, and have loved it.

The place is cosy and carefully maintained. The food is prepared by a grumpy man from Puerto Rico named Paco, who, after twenty years in Barcelona, learned just enough cursing in Catalan to run the kitchen. Local bands play live on the weekend and someone’s mom made sure everyone is nice and well mannered. The worn wooden tables are witness of countless shared meals. 

Pedro and Paul, the other two owners, can only be described as a comedy duo with a really questionable sense of style and even worse jokes. But they’re nice enough, definitely good company when you have a bad day. They can turn it upside down so quickly, for the better or the worst.

However, Ricardo tells you how much the restaurant means for his friends and the local community, guilt-tripping you into helping them to fix their finances.

The truth is, you love math and numbers so much that a challenge like this excites you more than it’s appropriate to admit.

Hence, you agree to help them for far less money you could have asked anyone in the same situation.

They take it as a promise to make sure the business keeps running and organise a dinner with way too many people to celebrate your help.

“I’ve barely started looking into it, Pedro”, you complain, not used to such enthusiasm.

“¡Cállate y bebe tu sangría!”

You meet Alba that same night.

She’s nice and quick-witted, no one is safe from her clever remarks. It feels nice, the way she makes sure you’re included when everyone seems to forget you’re still learning Spanish from a green bird on your phone, and that, in most conversations, you relate more to vibes than actual words.

Flirting is a universal language, though.

If her hand brushes on your arm a couple of times you make sure to smile and get closer, and if you lean into her with the excuse of needing a translation she makes sure to whisper right into your ear. There’s a note in her voice that makes you feel at ease.

Of course, Ricardo ruins everything.

“I’m starting to think you’re running from tax collectors, not your ex”

It’s a good joke, you know it is nothing more than that. But it suddenly reminds you how messy your life is and how out of place you feel sometimes.

Not just far away from home, but also far away from everything familiar.

A job for a company you hated but paid good money; friends you didn’t see as you’d liked, but who knew damn well when to drag you out of your apartment – and out of your own head. A boyfriend who barely tolerated your love, but somehow always managed to say and do the right things at the right time.

Every morning, you wake up knowing what to wear for work, what numbers to punch into the computer to get the needed results, and how to act to be sure you’re not too much.

You’re not running away from just your ex, you’re running away from your life as known until finding out about the cheating. 

“¿Todo bien?”, Alba asks, noticing how you miss the opportunity to jab Ricardo. 

It takes you a moment to register her reassuring hand on your arm and the talks moving to a completely different topic.

“Yeah, sorry, just tired”

“You better get used to the Spanish nightlife”

“It’s pretty much all I’m doing so far”, you admit, slowly sipping a beer and making sure your annoying roommate doesn’t hear a word about this.

The rest of the dinner passes without too much trouble, despite not remembering most of the names and following even less of the conversations. 

Alba stays close and you blame the spicy food for the way your face reddens when she bids her goodbye with three kisses and a promise to meet up with less people.

“It’s a surprise”, Ricardo comments, his grin spreading across his face as soon as you settle onto the couch to debrief the day’s events.

It’s starting to look a lot like a new routine, a tradition in the making.

“What? Something my brother didn’t mention?”

“¡Ay, claro!”

“I hate you”

“I had no idea Alba is your type”

You have to give credit where due, he displays incredible reflexes. He dodges the pillow you throw at him, your punch barely grazes his arm, and your kick misses his shin by a mile.

To be honest with yourself, you’re not really sure who is your type. 

Not even getting in the mind-space to think about your ex, the past relationships you care about to recall all look pretty different. There’s no consistent pattern, not a clear preference in haircuts or any kind of colours, not a style that catches your attention more than another. 

The only thing most of your exes have in common is tiring you to the bones and leaving your life making you trust less and less in others. 

Maybe you do have a type.

~

It’s not a date, you both agree on that.

She doesn’t ask about the infamous ex, she’s good company and even a nicer distraction.

But your mind drifts and, as you recount the highlights of how that relationship crumpled in slow motion, it becomes clear as the day you shouldn’t be with someone until you’ve committed to a good therapist.

It’s not fair to anyone, but it’s definitely not fair to Alba.

You kiss her anyway, and she makes you promise to let her be your first date as soon as you’re ready to get back into the game again.

~

“Ricardo told me your ex is un cabrón”

If not for the possibility of blemishing your otherwise spotless record, you could have shoved Pedro down the hill you’re currently struggling to climb, losing too much dignity. 

The guy looks like he had one beer too many, but he’s surprisingly in shape and apparently unaffected by the whole hike so far. 

“Am I the only topic of conversation he has?”, you ask, mostly to buy a few more seconds to catch your breath.

“Creo que sí”

You raise the finger as you outpace him to keep going.

The sun has set, casting a warm, golden hue across the clear Barcelona sky. Despite Pedro knocking on your door when it was barely socially accessible to be at someone’s place, it takes the two of you more time than necessary to reach this point of the trail.

Not close enough to the top yet, but definitely too late to turn back without regrets. 

It’s mostly his fault.

The view is impressive, and the Catalan knows too many fascinating details to not be amazed by the nature around.

“¿Estás bien?

“Cabrón is a nice word”

“It’s not”

“No, it’s– I mean it’s not a bad enough word to describe him”, you clarify with a faint smile as Pedro slows his pace.

Your final destination is just a few steps away.

It may be the pleasant company, a good friend you’ve discovered in an unexpected place at the most unexpected time of your life. It may be the warm rays of sunshine that tickle your skin or the ache making your legs feel alive. It may be the weight on your chest, the one that crushed good intentions and caused too many sleepless nights, now becoming smaller under a new sense of resolve.

It may be for many different reasons, but for the first time in more than you’re comfortable looking back, it feels better.

“It was a good relationship”

He gives you a moment, sitting on the slightly damp grass next to your sprawled figure.

“It was good, until it was really bad. But it’s hard to do anything about it when you’re doing such an impressive job at hiding all the signs”

“A bad relationship can’t be blamed on just one person”, he tries to reason.

“It can”

“Guapa, mira–”

“No, it can. He was controlling, aggressive, and incredibly talented at making me take all the blame and the shame”, you admit, for the first time out loud, “My only fault was pretending to ignore when I finally saw it all for what it really was”

As you gather the strength to rise to a more dignified position, you almost expect Pedro to hug you or be the over affectionate Spanish stereotype he usually is.

Instead, he’s looking somewhere away in the sky, pensive.

You feel the need to reassure him, “I’m fine now, I–”

“No, lo siento, lo siento”, he turns with a small, yet genuine smile, “We don’t know each other that well”

“You’re hurting me now, I thought we were friends”

“We are, tonta!”

Pedro raises and his large hands, marked with tiny cuts, extend to pick you up. He paves the way down the hill with no words, and for the first time since you meet the man, the silence it’s a surprise. 

It’s not uncomfortable, maybe just a little unsettling.

And short-lived.

“We don’t know each well”

“You already said that”

He shoves you playfully, not impressed by your attitude, but used to it.

“Lo que quiero decir es que– you’re a good person, I can tell, even if we don’t know each other for long”

“Don’t get soft on my right now”

“You’re a good person and you love good, you have to keep loving”, he states, so casually, “Once you know love, you should never try to forget”

~

“At this point, I’m pretty sure you hit your head hard enough to go mental and somehow no one noticed”

“I miss you so much, Elena”

Your phone is precariously balanced on a glass of wine as you cook a recipe Paco scribbled on a piece of paper. In Catalan. 

It makes less sense than his finance decisions, but you’ll take it.

Your best friend’s face is half out of frame but you can clearly point out every step of her beauty routine. It’s a grueling and painfully long process, her boyfriend is way more patient than you about it.

But tonight Ricardo is out for his bi-weekly pottery class, and you’re happy to indulge her just for the sake of spending some time together, even if it’s through a screen.

Not like there’s a slight chance you’d say it out loud.

“What are you trying to cook?”, the eyebrow in frame raises skeptically.

“No idea”, you admit, coming to the conclusion the number you’re looking at is five and there’s no way this dish needs so many onions.

“Good, now, let’s track back to your mental instability”

“And you ask why I am in different country?”

The wasp she lets out is so loud, and the silence that follows is so deafening you look at the screen to make sure the call is still on. She can be so dramatic.

“Don’t joke about it, I’m still grieving”

“I’m still alive”

“Barely”, she mutters.

Elena is a good friend, despite the theatrics. 

When the world seems a little too much to handle, she turns into a safe space for you to be at peace. When you’re overthinking the stupidest choices, she always has a comforting, new point of view. 

To people who don’t have the privilege to know her well enough, she may look shallow and too noisy. The truth is, you’ve never met someone so aware of herself and her life that she perfectly understands how to give due weight to even the smallest things. 

And she doesn’t keep quiet, she loves loud and proud. 

You learned to hold yourself back. You were forced to.

That’s the biggest lesson she’s still teaching you.

“Just saying, you’re surrounded by hot, Spanish people–”

“Happens when in Spain”

“You’re allowed to have fun!”

“I have plenty, thank you very much”

A strange smell comes out of the pan as the lid is lifted, prompting you to close it and pretend it’s not even there for the rest of the night. Not planning to call a poison center, ordering takeout is how you opt to end this cooking attempt.

If Elena thinks you paused the video to piss her off, it is on her.

When your best friend’s face pops up on the screen again it’s so serious you’re tempted to hang up for real.

“I mean it in a good way, don’t get me wrong, but taking a leave of absence and flying to Barcelona is the most selfish thing I witnessed you do in forever”

“I’m actually thinking of quitting for good and going freelance”

“See?”, she gushes, although she can’t be taken seriously with a panda-shaped face mask on, “You like to do your nerd-numbers-shit again, you’re trying new things, even if you clearly can’t be trusted in the kitchen–”

“Fuck you, that man can cook, but for sure can’t write”

“You’re making friends, not as amazing as me, but we’ll take it!”

Trying to argue could be useless and, honestly, you have no arguments.

“You’re fine, you’re doing good”, she smiles, and you miss her a little bit more.

This time you say it out loud, and she cries.

~

The guys are planning something.

By now, you know them well enough to sense trouble the moment you step into the restaurant.

Paco wears a grin that’s almost creepy, a beam blasted across his face, while Pedro is cleaning the tables with unnecessary vigour and his usual commitment is taken to an unusual level.

They’re clearly waiting for something to happen, lingering around as you try to explain to Paul, the musketeer you pointed as the most reliable when money is on the line, how to delay a payment reminder.

“Okay, what is wrong with them?”, you ask, trying to recall a single reason why you put up with these people’s ethics.

You only need one.

“No te entiendo”

“Tú me entiendes perfectamente”

“Your español is getting so good, ¿lo sabes?”, Pedro chimes in, and you’re sure whatever they want, you’re not going to like it. 

Paul is usually the voice of reason, the emotionally adult one. Why is he looking at you like he’s about to commit the worst betrayal?

“We were thinking–”

“I’m scared when you guys think”

“We are allies, feminists, and strong supporters of women in male dominated fields, equality–”

“Please, shut up”, you interrupt as if the conversation is physically hurting you.

“Barça is playing the Copa on Saturday. We organise una fiesta every year when they come back, es una tradición”, Pedro cuts in, feeling like the best way to get to the point is to dive straight into it.

“What if they lose?”

“Ellas no pierden”, Paul’s voice is so final you don’t dare to object.

“Cool, fine, why are you acting like this party is something I’ll not like?”

“We pay for it all”

It’s nice.

It is a really nice gesture, knowing how much they care about their community and their friends and apparently the women’s side of their favourite club. 

Then you remember they have a huge debt to pay up because an asshole took advantage of their kind hearts and the accounts are just starting to make sense again.

“It’s a good thing”, you admit out loud, “But–”

When Paul starts a passionate rant about the team’s season so far and how sure he is they are gonna win those trophies all over again, apparently setting a new record for the sport itself, it’s not strange to feel thrilled too.

Even Paco joins the excitement at the prospect of adding another title to the collection.

You have been in Barcelona long enough to understand football is a big deal here, and you can’t deny it’s really wonderful to see three big guys hyping up their club – women’s and men’s side alike. 

Pedro looks at you like he knows you’re about to crumble.

“They better win then”, you agree, pretending it takes a lot of thinking.

They wrap you in a group hug so welcoming you don’t have the heart to tell them the restaurant can’t really afford to pay out an entire party right now, on a weekend, literally planned for a football team and their mothers. 

You’ll make sure the numbers check out later.

You meet Alexia that same night.

Alba makes the introductions, and you shake her hand a moment too late and too long than socially acceptable.

You’re busy shifting your gaze back and forth. 

They look alike. A lot. But somehow, they’re also so different.

You make a mental note to dig up some old pictures of a younger version of yourself and your brother.

“She’s the reason this party won’t bankrupt the guys”

“I’ve heard only good things about you”, Alexia admits.

If a slight redness tints your face it’s due to the compliments, not the feeling of her eyes on you, or the way your body seems to jolt awake.

“All lies, probably”, you try to compose yourself – get a fucking grip, “They’re just impressed ‘cus they can’t count to save their lives”

The laugh that leaves the older woman’s lips is the most melodic sound you’ve ever heard. Something in the way her face lights up and her features relax makes your chest ache with a surprisingly comfortable feeling.

A desire to make her laugh again.

And that is what you do all night.

The girls are way too excited – deservedly so, after another title added to their already impressive collection. The live music is loud, the food and the drinks come in flows. You’re too busy to mentally estimate the costs.

When one of Alexia’s teammates decides you’re her new favorite person in the whole restaurant, you’re perfectly fine with it. Just because she’s funny, not because she seems to have an impressive amount of stories to tease her captain with.

When Paul hands you another beer, you sip it without a care of keeping count. Just because you’re allowed to get loose, not because you noticed Alexia is making sure everyone will not regret a drink too much tomorrow. 

When Alba drags you to the makeshift dance floor, you let yourself feel the music and the bodies around. Just because the party is definitely worth it, vibrant, not because her sister joins the group at the same time.

You go home, much later than intended, with an unfamiliar feeling prickling beneath your skin and a somehow familiar pair of eyes stuck in your head.

~

The first time you end up in the stands for a football game is purely by accident.

An unmistakable electric buzz fills the air, lingering all the way from the parking lot to the seats that seem to keep filling. Everyone is smiling and chanting, sporting just two different colours but expressing their support in an unique way. 

The games you endured watching on TV to spend a few hours with your brother as a kid can’t compare to the real thing.

You never imagined finding yourself in such a place, but when in Rome. Or, well, when in Barcelona.

It’s all on the Putella sisters, to be honest.

You meet Alba in the most unusual place you could think of, or being yourself in the first place. A sports shop.

Planning to go on the hike a stranger at the restaurant pointed out, you need appropriate trekking shoes. Since the decluttering phase is officially over, you looked up one of those obnoxious places that sell overpriced sports-related shit.

Not the kind of shop you’d picture Alba willingly entering.

“Mind you, I actually like sports”, she objects.

“Do you?”

She giggles as your head tilts in a mocking way, “Vale, I like watching more than doing the sports”

“No way!”

The bags she’s dragging out of the shop are the only thing stopping her from not-so-playfully smacking you. It’s surprisingly easy to tease each other.

She reminds you of Elena, who called this morning to discuss how to act now she discovered where her boyfriend hides the ring. As if she hasn’t been snooping around for months.

Not entirely her fault, the poor guy left the jewelry’s receipt with the car keys at the entrance.

“Are you?”, the younger woman asks.

“What?”

“A sports person”

“My brother used to kick footballs at me when we were kids, the only sport I ever pretended to be remotely interest in”

Her smile dims slightly.

For some reason, that seems to have been the wrong thing to say.

“Have you been to a Barça game yet?”

“What if I’m a Madridista?”

That’s even worse, apparently, since Alba dramatically drops the bags to gasp in shock. Her acting of a heartbreak is surprisingly convincing.

A second voice chimes in out of nowhere, “Don’t even joke about it”

Alexia’s comment is dead serious, you can tell, with just the hint of a grin on her lips as a clear giveaway that she’s more than comfortable teasing a person she barely knows.

You’re definitely not going to complain.

The hat she’s wearing hides half her face, but you can see her lighting up behind it.

“What if I’m not joking?”

“Alba, you said she is a nice person”, the midfielder complains, a huff escaping her lips as she adjusts the weight of the bags she’s carrying. 

Did they just raid the whole shop?

“Bold to you to assume I can’t be a nice person and a Madridista”

“Please, don’t fight her on this, she’s gonna be insufferable”, Alba complains, playfully rolling her eyes at her sister’s antics and your teasing.

“No, she needs to be educated. She’s coming to El Clásico with us”

As simple as that.

You find yourself in the home section of the stadium for one of the most anticipated games of the season.

Or that’s what Alexia is ranting about all the way to your seats, going off about the rivalry and basic football knowledge you have to thank your borther for drilling into your brain against your will.

It’s all worth it when her blush spreads across her face as she realises, in the middle of her fourth attempt to explain with yet another example, that you actually do know what offside is.

Alba watches the interaction closely, amused by how easy it is for you to tease Barcelana’s captain and how comfortable she seems to be around you, despite not having known each other for long.

A couple of minutes before kick-off, Alexia returns from wherever she went – one mission in mind. She takes her place on your side, handing you a Blaugrana jersey, “You can’t sit here without wearing the right colours”

Maybe wearing a white t-shirt was a bit too much.

You burst out laughing, opting to put in the item immediately to avoid upsetting the filled seats around you, “How’d you find your own at a men’s game?”

“I happen to be pretty beloved around here”

“Did you hear that, Alba? La Reina is bragging!”

The only reason she doesn’t retort is due to the referee’s whistle announcing the start of the game, followed by a surprisingly enjoyable night with the two sisters.

~

Summer in Barcelona is nothing like you pictured it.

The streets are filled with tourists, too many people crammed in too little spaces. Complaints about the crowds and the chaos drown out any excitement. You have to remind Pedro that it’s awful, but it’s good for business.

Sometimes, it’s too hot to even think of leaving the comfort of your place. Fans blow in every room because, of course, the air conditioner broke the day it was turned on. 

Sometimes, it’s so loud you don’t need to ignore the voices of doubt in your head, subdued by everything that’s happening around you.

Sometimes, it’s exactly the kind of life you can see yourself living.

Your brother came to visit for a week, spending more time teasing you with Ricardo than doing anything else. You hate it, but you missed him too much to complain.

Maybe you pulled some strings to make his dream of visiting Camp Nou come true, just so you could look cool, but then what?

He’s as happy as a kid in a candy store, and all you have to do is endure an overexcited guided tour and bribe Alexia with overpriced drinks the night after. Totally manageable.

Your therapist announces her vacation like it’s not the worst news she’ll be sharing, leaving you with tasks to occupy the time. You dutifully completed them all, never quite managing to shake the nerd label off, and, quite frankly, you pay her too much to not do her homework.

Some tasks seem a little over the top, though – signing up for a dating app is definitely not how you’ll get over your ex.

You started hanging out with a group of passionate excursionists. Perhaps a bit too excited about life in general, but nice enough to follow during their hikes.

Pedro joins when he can, most of the time, someone from the Barcelona team manages to invite themselves. 

Since you and María aren’t allowed to be on your own, Ingrid or Esme supervise. It may be an overreaction, but the last time you two were alone, you sprained your ankle and the defender got nasty cuts on her legs before the trip even started, so you can’t really judge them. 

If you say Alexia is a better hike partner than most is just to piss María.

That summer in Barcelona makes you miss your family and friends back home a little more than usual, but it’s also the first time in months that you feel like you’re actually living your life – not just letting it flow right through you. 

~

When the new school year starts, Irene and her wife come to the restaurant a couple of times before Paul suggests that you could be the perfect person to help their son with his math homework.

Your attempt to explain that you really are not qualified to teach in a different language goes completely ignored.

They’ve already tried different tutors, and Mateo seems to hate them all. You accept, mostly because of the kid’s puppy-dog eyes.

The two of you fell into an easy routine. Once a week, he would lend you basic grammar school manuals and children’s books to help with your Spanish, and you would explain math to him in the simplest way possible.

It goes well.

Mateo decides pretty soon you’re his new favourite person, and you basically become one of Irene’s as well.

That’s how you find yourself on the sideline during a Barça training session, reading a book about a dog that doesn’t know how to bark while Mateo is too pleased with himself, checking all the math exercises he nailed. 

“Good one?”

You raise your gaze, shielding your eyes from the sun enough to point out Alexia’s silhouette.

The weather is still too warm for your comfort, making you question the girls’ mental stability for running lap after lap under such conditions with a smile on their faces. 

Sports people are scary.

“You look too good to be someone who just finished training”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Derogatory”, you clarify, pushing your stuff aside so that Alexia can sit beside you on the sideline. 

She’s drinking some sort of sport drink like she’s just eaten sand, and this close, she looks human. She’s grinning, enjoying the sun picking at her skin and Mateo’s passionate explanation of the math exercises he’s done all by himself.

The training session is wrapped up, she stays until Irene comes back from the changing room, washed and dressed, ready to take the little boy home.

The blonde lingers a bit longer, talking about books she loved growing up and how she takes management courses when she can. You find out Penélope Cruz is both your favourite actress, but the midfielder acts shocked when you tell her you haven’t watched her favourite film. 

That night, you put it on and change the language setting, live-texting Alexia all your reactions.

Halfway through, you’re pretty sure she’s watching it too.

~

Almost nine months after booking that life-changing one-way ticket to Barcelona, you buy another one to go back home.

With a return ticket in hand.

It’s your mother’s birthday, so you kind of have to.

Recently, she’s been repeating a new favorite line, rambling about the uncertainty of life and the precariousness of old age. She’s barely in her 60s and has less back pain than most people of your generation, but she’s not willing to listen to reason. 

You come to the conclusion you can’t lose any more points against your brother in the unspoken sibling race for your parent’s love. So you book the flight, pack a suitcase big enough, because you literally have nothing to wear left behind, and mentally prepare for the investigation your family will conduct. 

The tension in your shoulder melts away the moment your brother wraps his arms around you in the airport terminal. 

“You grow up so much”

And, just like that, he’s your annoying, stupid older brother again.

“I didn’t miss you at all”

“I can see you holding back tears”

“You’re literally crying!”, you accuse with a grin on your lips, lightly punching him.

“Just wait until mum sees that new tattoo”

The truth is, your mother is too busy peering deep into your soul to care about the tattoo. 

It takes two days of constant reassurance that you’re working, eating, and sleeping properly; a ceramic salamander figurine – maybe overpriced, but a gift meant to make an impression; and Elena backing up your story to calm her worries.

Barely enough to get you through the rest of the week unstretched.

“She’s just worried”, your best friend tries to reason, sipping a flashy pink drink that you’re not even sure is made from real fruit.

“I moved to Barcelona, not a war zone”

“Oh, so now it’s permanent?”

The shit-eating grin spreading across her face should annoy you, but you have to admit she has a point.

At first it was just an impulsive decision, an urge to run away from everything and everyone. Then, without really realising it, the Catalan city started to feel a lot like a place to settle in, to let your wings spread wide open.

Now you almost call it home.

The waitress interrupts your flow of thoughts, saving you from Elena’s pointed gaze long enough to be properly distracted by the huge amount of food presented. He leaves with a charming smile, but you’re genuinely too focused on the salty chips to notice.

“Are you pregnant?”, you ask, looking as she almost chokes to avoid comically spilling her drink on you.

“The Spanish heat fried your brain?”

“What? You didn’t even have soft drink when we were underage”

Elena pauses for a moment, weighting if knocking over you the rest of the pink beverage could be worth it. It takes genuine pondering.

She decides to take the highest road.

“Are you dying?”

“Are you taking comedy classes in Barcelona?”

The last time your best friend was this over the edge it was because of a pregnancy scare. First year of university, and her boyfriend at time wasn’t really the guy you’d take home for Christmas. A memory that doesn’t help her case right now.

You slip under the dim lights of the bar, a classy spot where she hangs out with the women from her pilates class. A shiver runs down your back, a bad feeling overcoming deep inside you. 

Then, she speaks up.

“I’ve already bought a wedding dress”, she admits, as if she’s confessing a crime, “It’s a size smaller and I have to–”

“Elena, for fuck’s sake, I thought you were actually dying!”

“It is, indeed, a tragedy”

“He hasn’t even proposed yet”

“Details”, she chugs the rest of the drink, smirking and grabbing the last chips you’re too shocked to care about.

The same waitress hovers around your table, drawn in by the loud exchange and your clear distress, “Excuse me, is everything okay?”

He’s young, charming enough for this to be just a gig while he waits and hopes for his acting career to take off. However, he looks genuinely concerned, his gaze shifting between the deep frown and your friend amused grin.

“All good, she’s just dramatic”, Elena points at you with the straw, before delivering the final blow, “And she is single”

The poor boy’s face lights up, naively thinking the commotion was a creative way to play matchmaker.

What a mistake.

You don’t even dignify her with a glance, rolling your eyes before addressing him directly, “Excuse her, she’s panicking because her long-time, overly in-love boyfriend still hasn’t popped the question”

“That’s not–”

“And I’m not interested”, you finish, kind but firm.

He leaves with a nod, cheeks slightly red.

Elena watches him disappear as you sip your own drink, studying you the way she used to when you were confused teenagers who didn’t know how to deal properly with all those feelings and real-life emotions.

“Oh”

The reason you still encourage her goes beyond your understanding.

You’re not starting to question it now, “What?”

“You like someone”

“Elena, I swear–”

“No, no, it’s just–”, her gaze softens as she looks at you, teasing and playful attitude making space for her most supportive side, “It’s good to see you, you know, welcoming back some happiness”

It doesn’t matter how she’s always capable of reading you like a book, like you’re a poem she knows by heart but she’s never tired of.

After all the years and the lessons you’ve learned together, it feels so comforting to know there’s someone out there who deeply understands you. Who truly sees you.

You don’t deny it, you don’t retort to her observation. 

That's not the point right now.

~

You break the promise made to Alba.

Kind of.

It’s early in the morning, the sun has barely risen in the sky, but it’s the perfect time to arrive at the little market. It arrives every two weeks, with vibrant stalls full of everything – though you understand half the things the vendors say. The freshness of the fruit and the unique clothing finds you always manage to come home with are totally worth it.

Alexia is buying vegetables and, judging by the passion she shares with the old lady in front of her, discussing important geopolitical questions.

You enjoy the exchange, taking a moment before approaching.

She jokes about the fact you’re up before the clock even hits double digits, laughing at your retort about fighting with the elderly over groceries. 

The footballer suggests breakfast in a cosy place not far from the market, the promise of fresh bakeries enough to convince you.

It’s not a date.

But you walk side by side, bags lightly colliding sometimes, and before you know it, you’ve arrived at the café. Alexia holds the door open, pointing out her favorite pastries. She scoffs, unamused, when she realizes your questions distracted her long enough for you to pay for both your orders.

It’s not a date, obviously.

But you sit at a table in the far corner of the café for almost three hours, talking about everything and nothing. The bubble you find yourself in bursts when Ricardo calls, complaining that you’re late for lunch, despite insisting on making a reservation.

“We should do this again”, she says as she hugs you goodbye, a smile lighting her entire face.

It’s not a date, but it definitely feels like it.

You remembered the promise you made to Alba, to save your first date for her once you feel ready, just a second after realising how badly you wish to go on a real one with her sister.

~

You refuse categorically to celebrate your birthday at the boys’ restaurant.

They could make a big deal out of it, insist on paying for everything, and you couldn’t let that happen. After months of knowing them and the “Barcelona way” of celebrating loved ones, you can’t let them be in charge of this. 

Also, the bills are finally adding up. They can afford it, you can’t let them do it – at least, not emotionally speaking.

So you host a little party at your place – your place, because Ricardo says you basically own it as much as he does after the bathroom’s makeover. 

The small kitchen quickly turns into chaos the moment Paco takes charge and ropes Ricardo into helping. Pedro shows up with decorations and a banner that was most likely used for his little sister’s. Paul, however, closes the restaurant that same afternoon, brushing off your protests and reassuring you that your birthday is more important than the evening’s earnings.

You can’t find it in yourself to fight them.

The apartment fills with laughter and a vibrant energy that eases the weight pressing on your chest when overthinking takes hold. Balloons cover nearly the entire floor, raised voices and the scent of spices travel from the kitchen. 

Your friends from the hiking group arrive in waves, immediately hitting it off with some of Barcelona’s team. You’ve grown close to a few of them through your relationship with Irene’s family and the one Ingrid and Frido practically forced on you.

Some regular customers from the restaurant also show up, people you’ve grown pretty comfortable with after spending so much time there during the first weeks of taking over the accounting job.

There’s also a nice girl you met at a concert, who Elena stalks on social media to make sure she’s not a serial killer.

Alba and Alexia are the last ones to arrive.

Your life in Barcelona is full of new people, new experiences and adventures.

At your lowest point, you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be loved out loud.

And those people are the loudest you ever met.

The noise around the apartment subsides just as most of the guests leave. The music is turned down to a minimum, because of the late hour and Pedro’s questionable taste, as he hasn’t let go of the speaker once all night.

The small group gathers around the couch, drinks in hand, still willing to celebrate with you. 

“I’m just saying, I think they taste the same”

The entire room erupts in protests at Ricardo’s comment.

“Absolutely no”, Pedro chimes in, seated on the edge of the armchair with a half-drunk beer in hand, “Black olives are made to be a pizza topping, green ones are perfect for everything else”

“What do you even know about pizza topping?”, you interrupt with a grin, “You put pineapple on yours”

Somehow, the complaints grew louder, the room buzzing with indignation.

“What’s wrong with that? Pineapple is a great pizza topic, you’re just too pretentious to admit it!”

“Can we move on from the pizza argument?”

“Oh, no, let’s get into it!”, you wave your hand dismissively, “Pedro, please, tell everyone what you put on first, cheese or sauce?”

“Fuck you”

“You work in a restaurant”, Alba says, her voice laced with disbelief. 

“I’m not the one cooking, am I?”

“Thank God!”

The conversation quickly turns on poor Pedro, who now finds himself defending his questionable taste and own belief.

Alexia, who’s been quietly sipping from her glass, looks at the scene with a raised eyebrow before turning to you, relaxed on the couch beside her, “Honestly, I never imagined pizza to be the thing that ends a friendship”

“I’m just happy we’re not talking about pineapple anymore, that’s a sin”

“You started this”, she points out, giggling. 

Ricardo shrugs from his spot on the floor, amused but staying out of it for now. 

“It’s my birthday, I can do whatever I want”

“Oh, por favor”, Alexia says with a playful roll of her eyes, nudging the paper crown still perched on your head, “This must have cut off circulation to your brain”

You gasp, your dramatic antics in full display, fueled by the time, the alcohol, and, likely, the footballer’s shoulder still brushing against yours.

“You’re just jealous you’re not the only reina in the room”

“Keep dreaming”, Alexia responds with a grin.

The proximity lingers in a way that’s not just playful. It’s comfortable, like an inside joke no one else is allowed in on.

Ricardo watches the interaction from the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering on you and the blonde for a moment longer than necessary. He notices how her cheeks redden slightly, the way you look a little different – softer, at ease.

Alba catches the moment too, still pretending to be involved in the pizza argument. She notices the quiet exchanges and private moments that have unfolded all evening. The way you and her sister have fallen into a different rhythm, a different world.

She’s seen it before.

There’s something between you two, something unspoken, but not quite hidden. She wonders how long it’s been there, how long it’s been that way.

But, like Ricardo, she keeps her thoughts to herself.

The rest of the group laughs, the debate seems to fade into a more relaxed conversation that doesn’t involve food or questionable life choices.

As the night goes on, the teasing continues, but, underneath the surface, there’s something deeper.

There’s the way you lean in a little closer to Alexia when someone says something ridiculous, how your eyes linger on her when Pedro makes a joke and you think no one is watching.

There’s the way Alexia’s knee brushes yours when you laugh, how her fingers dance on your arm simply because you’re close enough to.

There’s the exchange of gazes and smiles, quiet signs of complicity in the loud room.

~

Ricardo waits to the tune of three days before cornering you.

You mention being a bit homesick after your birthday and the Putellas sisters literally drag you to have dinner with them at their mom’s. Eli is the sweetest woman ever, going above and beyond to the point of making that one pie you mentioned once being your favourite. 

The house is filled with memories and tender gestures, a haven of support and a desire of caring for your own that squeezes your heart with a bittersweet beauty. Spending the night there makes it clear how Alexia and Alba were raised, revealing the roots of their kindness.

“You had fun?”

It’s a miracle you don’t drop dead on the floor right there, Ricardo’s voice echoing from the middle of the couch in the dark room.

“Why are you lurking like a fucking killer?”, you shout at him when your heartbeat slows down enough to let you come up with proper words.

“I was waiting for you”

You don’t even dignify him with a response, watching how he’s sipping from a mug like a scene from the shittiest b-movie you can think of.

Crossing the room to sleep the unease away, the guy’s next words make you stop right where you are, “You need to come clean with her”

“What are you talking about–”

“You like Alexia”

It’s not a question, there’s no doubt in his voice.

There’s not a single reason to even try to fight his assumption or your own overthinking.

You reach for the seat next to him on the couch, noticing the second mug just when he offers it to you. It’s a fruity tea you enjoy hot, with way too much honey and not a drop of milk – exactly like the one in your hands. 

The silence wrapping around is comforting in a way that makes sense just because it’s the two of you, sipping tea in the quiet darkness of the room.

“I do”, you admit after a while, even if you don’t need to. 

“I know”

“That obvious?”

“Yeah”, your roommate confirms with a soft smile.

He doesn’t tease, he doesn’t accuse you of anything.

It’s so typically Ricardo that you feel a surge of affection, a need to embrace him and accepting the support of someone who, in a twisted and brotherly way, looks out for you – and your heart. So you do just that, jumping into his arms without a care of your reputation or of the almost-empty mugs.

The man, despite the surprise of your reaction, is ready to hold you for how long you need.

Turns out, you need it a lot.

“Sorry, sorry”, you say after a couple of minute, trying to pull yourself together, “I didn’t see it coming”

“Me being so observant and clever or you falling in love with Alexia?”

“I’m not in love with Alexia”

“Yet”

He’s lucky the tea is not hot anymore.

“I’m not in love with Alexia”, you repeat. 

Not yet, resonates in your head – your own mind betraying you. 

Yes, Alexia is beautiful. Yes, you two apparently clicked perfectly right the moment you met. Yes, recently the time together doubled the time spent with anyone else. You can admit you like Alexia, the therapy is worth the commitment and the money put into it. 

But being in love?

It’s a good feeling, the one that makes her cheeks flush crimson when your smile catches her gazing. Even better, the one that fills you with pride when Alexia’s laugh resonates in the room because of something you say or do. 

It’s an exciting force, the one that unsettles your stomach when she reaches for you just for the sake of touching – of feeling you close. Even better, the one that makes you two sure of finding the other in a room full of people just when needed. 

It’s so terrifying close to love, what it’s blossoming.

You want to fall in love with Alexia.

Ricardo raises from the couch, taking the mugs and putting them on the sink to be dealt with tomorrow. An annoying habit you’re sure he keeps up with just to annoy you.

He returns a minute later, “Are you going to do something about it?”

You don’t miss a bit, “Yes”

“Let Alba know first”, he says with a serious note in his voice, “She liked you”

~

The stadium buzzes with the loud roaring of fans and the sharp, clean scent of freshly cut grass under the rain. Barcelona dominates the pitch, their control of the midfield a suffocating grip as the opponents scramble, desperate for a counterattack. 

Between miscalculated slides and short passes, Alexia weaves through defenders in a blur of motion and focused energy. She’s calm when the ball is glued on her feet, sparkling to light, her presence igniting the pitch, as soon as her teammates take over. 

Patri finds her captain just outside the box and you lean forward, smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

You may be new to the whole thing, new in the Blaugrana’s home stands, but you learn quickly and you know exactly what Alexia’s movement means. 

The shot curves perfectly, the stadium exhales a collective gasp as the goalkeeper’s fingertips fail to reach it. The ball hits the bar loudly, the sound echoing before it flies out of the pitch.

Beside you, Alba lets out a whoop, clapping her hands with a grin stretching across her face, “She’s out for blood”

You laugh, not like anyone could disagree.

Barça is winning by three goals, outrunning the defence and shooting as if they need to score at least three more to sleep peacefully tonight. 

The poor goalkeeper will have nightmares for sure.

“She really want to take home that ball”

“She’s playing to impress”, Alba points out, not so subtly.

You chuckle, her remark flying over your head, “She’s just– good, I guess”

“Good? ¡Por favor!”, the younger Putellas scoffs, rolling her eyes, “She’s acting like a ballet dancer out there, doing pirouettes and running around like she has two sets of lungs”

As to prove her sister’s point, Alexia nutmegs another midfielder and executes another perfect movement, clearing the field for Aitana to set up Vicky for a chip goal.

The crowd erupts, but Alba’s attention remains fixed on you.

“¡Mirala!”, she says, pointing at the pitch where the team is hugging and celebrating, “That was another ‘look at me, soy la Reina’ moment!” 

“Your sister is the most competitive person I’ve ever met”

“Competitive? Chica, she’s showing off! And don’t even get me started on the way she keeps looking up here, fixing her hair between plays– It’s ridiculous”

You watch as Barcelona’s bubble dissipates and they get back at their positions, Alexia waves towards your seats, her face illuminated by a radiant grin.

Your cheeks flush slightly, a mixture of amusement and something else.

The game keeps on with the same level of excitement, and even more shots on target. They win narrowly, unconcerned by their soaked clothes, lingering happily in the rain to sign autographs and chat with supporters.

Alexia immediately seeks out you and Alba, trying to embrace you both despite your not-so-playful protests. The damp material of her kit clings, accentuating her defined muscles, and your thoughts stray to less innocent territories.

Alba sends her sister to the changing room, accepting the kiss landed on her forehead and watching as you nod like an idiot when she leaves with the promise to be back in no time, her hand lingering on your arm.

“¡Ay, esto es increíble!”, she interrupts your thought flow, tilting her umbrella just enough for a stream of rain to drop on your face. 

“Alba!”

“You’re not exactly subtle either, ¿sabes?”

The stadium noises fade into a distant hum. The air between you thickens, the playful banter morphing into something more charged and intentional. Your fingers fidget with the edge of your jacket, avoiding the younger woman’s gaze.

“How long have you known?”, you ask.

“The moment I introduced the two of you, idiota!”, she says, her voice teasing, “But I knew for sure at your birthday’s party”

“Nothing happened between us”

Alba’s smile softens, a gentle understanding dawning in her eyes, “I’m not blind and I know my sister pretty well. And honestly? I think it’s cute, you two glow when you’re together. She likes you. A lot. And you like her too"

Your shoulders relax, “I do. I really like her, Alba”

The wave of relief that washes over you is comforting.

You don’t owe her anything, and Alba definitely doesn’t owe you anything. But it’s good to know this love growing between you and Alexia is real, people around you see it too. People you care about support it.

Your smile spreads naturally on your face when you spot Barcelona’s captain approaching, hair still wet but changed in warm clothes.

Alba doesn’t miss it, nudging you with her elbow just before her sister’s close enough to hear, “It’s good you feel ready to date again, and I’m happy it’s her”

~

“I’m going to say it just once, so listen carefully”, you stop in the middle of the road with a stoic face, “Please, don’t make me regret our entire friendship”

The grin on Elena’s lips tells you everything you need to know, but you give her the benefit of the doubt. Because she’s your best friend, because she knows how to behave.

But she’s your best friend, and she’s not going to behave.

Her visit is not unpleasant, just unexpected.

It’s barely six in the morning when loud bangs on the front door wake you up and almost scare Ricardo to death. He takes it well enough, greeting Elena and going back to sleep the shock away. You, on the other hand, think of leaving her waiting outside until it’s socially acceptable to show up. Her immediate embrace is a clever attempt to smooth your annoyance.

She booked a red-eye flight for a hit and run, so you take her around Barcelona all day and agree to a late night out in a club Alba suggested you join with some of her friends.

“Relax”, she says, skipping steps like a kid as you approach the place.

“Elena, I’m serious”

“Why are you so stressed? Oh– oh, I know!”

She turns around in her heels, too graciously for someone with shoes so high and such low alcohol tolerance – you two may not be in your early 20s anymore, but you figured pregame was necessary this time around.

Her good resolution of not drinking alcohol crumbled as soundly as it started.

“Is she here too?”

“I don’t know what–”

“This mysterious woman you can’t shut up about, who is so great you have heart-shaped eyes but I can’t know her name”, she interrupts, grabbing you by the shoulder as you approach the club’s entrance. 

It’s not like you’re hiding Alexia, or your feelings for her.

She’s a frequent topic of conversation with your best friend, you’re comfortable sharing the moments between the two of you and the way your heart beats at a completely different rhythm around the Barcelona’s captain.

But Elena can be protective, and curious.

All she needs is a name, and she’s going to find out if Alexia has ever got a bad grade in primary school. The teasing for liking a football player? You aren’t ready for that either.

“Yes, she’s here and I need you to–”

“This is the best day of my life!”, she doesn’t even let you finish, leaves you right there, flashing the bodyguard at the entrance a huge smile and sweet talking her way in – even though they have your names as vip guests.

“This is going to be the worst day of mine”, you mutter to yourself, following after her.

The energy in the club is charged with a dangerous combination of freewill and alcohol. The place is packed and colored lights go on and off with the music, bright enough to see who’s in front of you, but not enough to make your decision clear. Not tonight.

Alba sees you first, waving her hand to catch your attention so you join them in a secluded table in a corner of the place.

You don’t even ask how Elena is already seated in the cool leather booth, talking animatedly.

“She’s funny”, Alba comments after greeting you with a hug.

“Don’t believe a word she says”

The younger girl’s laugh mixes with your best friend’s, and you know your fate is sealed when a guy hands her a drink. 

You look around the table, noticing some people from Alba’s close circle and some you met in passing at the restaurant or at a Barcelona’s game.

“She’s in the bathroom”

Your body betrays you before a coherent thought can leave your brain, your cheeks redding to the tips of your ears. 

“Told you, you’re not subtle”, Alba comments, too amused at your reaction.

As if she knows you’re talking about her, as if a magnetic energy forces your body to get closer and closer, Alexia’s gaze locks with yours as she approaches the table, followed by a vaguely familiar face.

She greets you with a dimpled smile and a welcoming hug, it may look like months passed but it’s been a matter of days. The black top she’s wearing emphasizes her toned stomach, and your fingers itch to trace the subtle sheen of sweat crossing her back – a sign she’s been dancing for a while now. 

You’re fashionably late, regardless of the time Alba suggested you to be here. Spanish people are stragglers, you have learned it at your own expense.

“Are you ready?”, the footballer asks.

“For what?”

“You owe me a dance”

“Absolutely not!”, you protest, trying to escape her hug.

“Oh, yes”, she smile, her arm around your waist dragging you even closer, “You made fun of my dancing moves, now you have to prove yours”

Next time, you will think twice before sending the blonde every single comment you found online about a TikTok video one of her teammates posted after a huge win. In your defence, you find it very cute.

The dance floor is filled with people, dancing in fluid movements like you learned Spaniard are comfortable with. A sea of arms fling around, bodies smoothly moving to feel each other. The music vibrates with a bass so deep that your ribs pulses at the same rhythm.

Alexia guides you in a less crowded section, far enough from the table so Alba and Elena can study every single movement, but out of earshot. 

You try to ignore the thought of your best friend gossiping with Alba.

Thinking, however, is the last thing you do when Alexia’s hand finds the small of your back, skin waking up by the slight hint of touch.

It doesn’t really matter how you managed to get this close, how the music runs through your bodies with an unmistakable energy and desire to get even closer. Your arms rise to frame the blonde’s face, her grin growing as soon as she notices your reaction.

It’s not like either of you is hiding the attraction, the pulsing needs to be together. To talk, to touch, to be around one another. It’s always been there, you just never acted on it.

“Are they like that all the time?”, Elena asks, still studying the way you seem to speak a different language with Alexia.

“I’m thinking about locking them somewhere until they kiss or whatever”

The disbelief is clear in Elena’s voice, “Are you sure they haven’t kissed yet?”

“If I know my sister, she must be really fucking scared”

“If I know my best friend, she must be really fucking stupid”

The two nod before bursting in a loud laugh, clicking their glasses. 

Almost an half an hour later, you find them like that, giggling and talking as if they have known each other for years and not just met. Alexia raises an eyebrow, silently questioning if she needs to hold back Alba’s enthusiasm – Elena is matching it without a problem, and that’s what really worries you. 

“And that’s how she ended up with the sister of her blind date”

“That’s not how it happened, at all”, you complain, hitting your best friend’s arm as she decide telling the worst stories possible is the best way to spend the night.

“Must have been a great date”, someone jokes.

“I’m a fantastic date, thank you so much”

“I can confirm”, Alba says with a teasing grin, raising her empty glass as you flip her off with an equally open smile on your lips.

Alexia, on the other hand, straightens up a bit at the exchange, switches her gaze between the two of you, almost taken aback, “You two dated?”

“I told you”, the younger girl retorts.

“I thought you were messing with me”

The change in her posture is subtle, but you’re close enough to feel it. Close enough to notice the way she moves her knee, breaking contact with yours, her fingers toying with the ring on her pinky.

Alba is a bit too drunk to pay attention to the footballer’s dampened mood, not affected anymore by that one date with you so long ago.

She told her sister about it when she first clocked in her interest for you, hoping to clear the way for her to do something about it – a sort of blessing.

Turns out, Alexia’s so sure she was teasing her, lying about it just to annoy her.

Thankfully, your best friend reads in your face the panic and drifts the conversation on a completely different topic. 

The rest of the night passes in a blur of laughs, questionable drinking choices, and more dancing. 

Every single attempt of catching Alexia’s eyes fails miserably. She’s not ignoring you, she doesn’t leave her seat next to you, and her touch is light but grounding. Your mind, however, spirals in a way it hasn’t in months.

It’s late when the group decides to call it a day, stumbling out into the cool, damp air of Barcelona. No one is sober enough to even think of driving, the decision to summon taxis rather than risk the roads is unanimous. 

A strange intimacy settled inside the car. You and Alexia sit in the back, while Alba, in the middle, sleeps on the older woman’s shoulder with soft snores. Elena is deep in conversation with the Catalan driver, despite not speaking a word of the language. The city lights flash outside, blurred by a light drizzle that you trace with a finger against the window.

Upon reaching Alexia’s apartment, you insist on helping her carry her sister inside, ignoring her half-hearted protests. Your best friend, armed with a winning smile and a ‘thank me later’ attitude, somehow manages to convince the driver to wait for you outside.

The place is quiet when you enter, amplifying the tension that crackled between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s never uncomfortable.

You and Alexia carefully settle Alba onto the bed, the soft glow of a bedside lamp casting long shadows across the guest room. Each gentle adjustment of her sister’s blanket, each soft whisper to ensure her comfort, stretched out the delicate balance. 

It’s minutes later, right by the front door, that something snaps.

Before you can reach the handle on the way out, the footballer’s fingers wrap around your wrist.

There’s urgency in the way her body feels stirred by an electric discharge all of a sudden, her voice low, “You dated?”

“What?”, your confusion is mostly prompted by Alexia’s distressed tone.

“You dated my sister?”

“No, we– I mean, we went out like one time and I was, clearly, still fucked up by my ex– It’s not like we actually dated or something”

“She said–”

“She was joking”, your hands cupping the blonde’s face seems to do wonder at calming her, but you still feel the need to clarify the situation, “I kissed her, once, then found a good therapist and said to her I wasn’t interested like that”

“Are you interested like that?”

“Alexia, I just said–”

“No, no”, she interrupts shyly, never dropping her gaze, “Are you interested in me like that?”

Despite the voices still filling doubts in your head, kissing her is the easiest, most natural thing to do at that moment. 

Her lips are soft, warm, and taste faintly of sweet drinks. Her breath mingled with yours, a shared rhythm in the quiet intimacy of the kiss.

A current of interest, desire, and care pulls you closer. There’s complicity and belonging, mingling with curiosity, and the thrill of uncharted territory.

And there’s Alexia, right in front of you, vulnerable and exposed and trusting enough to lay her emotions in your hands. Making you feel so safe that you don’t even have to think about doing the same.

So you kiss again, trying to convey how sure you are about your feelings. Because the insecurities and the questioning silence when Alexia’s heartbeat syncs with yours and her hand caresses your face.

The sharp honk coming from the taxi outside is the only reason why you separate.

~

The late afternoon sun drapes over the Barcelona streets as you and Alexia stroll, fingers laced together. 

It’s a familiar feeling now, holding hands after a date.

You have explored hidden hikes, shared tapas after her games, and even attended a couple of flamenco lessons. Nothing too different from what you’ve already experienced. 

Except, of course, for the kissing.

And there’s been a lot of that.

Your phone buzzes, interrupting Alexia’s recall of Vicky’s last attempt of convincing her to do another stupid trend. You drop her hand, your fingers flying across the screen, muttering in concentration.

The footballer raises an eyebrow, complaining playfully, “Am I annoying you?”

“It’s this stupid bird!”

“Still fighting with ser y estar?”

“I’m sorry, my Spanish teacher is a tease and gets distracted five minutes after promising to help me study”

“She sounds like an incredible teacher”, she counters, too pleased with herself as she hints at your last private tutoring.

Despite your best effort, the other woman had other plans. The sentences she whispered right at your ear, with a raspy voice and a note of teasing in every single movement of her lips, made your resolution crumble in a matter of minutes. The books, not even opened, fell off the bed with a kick of her foot.

You do, however, learn some new words.

Your cheeks flush at the memory, “Shut up!”

“I said nothing”

You ignore her grin, still welcoming her embrace as she pulls you closer to help with the lesson.

“This app is useless! Why do those Spanish animals always do weird things? It’s making me questioning my entire existence”

“Tan dramática”, Alexia snorts, nudging you with her hip, “Why are you even using that thing? You can learn everything you need from me”

“I’m trying to actually learn something here”, you retort, faking annoyance, “Besides, you’re not always available for Spanish lessons. I want to get better, impress the locals”

“After more than a year?”

“Never too late”, you grin, “Just wait, I’ll be ordering in flawless Catalan in less time than it took you to ask me out”

Alexia stops in her tracks at your teasing, taken aback by your admission and by way of calling her out for the stalling after the first kiss you shared. She may have needed a little push then, trying to find the best moment to ask you for a real date to just blur it out in the rush of a late game night you attended.

You continue walking, too focused on the lesson to acknowledge the blonde’s momentary pause.

“Wait, I thought you were taking Spanish lessons”

“Yes, from you and the stupid bird, but I have an actually tutor for Catalan”

“You’re learning Catalan?”

“I live in Barcelona”, you say, matter of factly, but the flush creeping up on your cheeks betrays you.

The truth hangs in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken. It isn’t about fitting in, not anymore. It’s about her.

To understand her better, wrapping deeply into the fabric of her world. It’s commitment, to the city and to a future that you can’t picture without her in. It’s a promise, somehow, to bridge any gap and to learn her culture, her soul. 

Alexia’s gaze lingers, the weight of your growing feelings both exhilarating and inevitable.

She told herself she set a pace comfortable for you, respecting your need to get better with loving yourself and trusting others.

But you’ve been ready for this love for quite some time now.

The way you open up with her, hold her after a long day, and gently kiss the creases around her lips when she smiles. The way you not just proudly wear your heart on your sleeve, but you hand out your emotions to be seen. The way you make her feel safe enough to be vulnerable, to be taken care of. 

The way you’re learning to love her by learning to love everything that makes her who she is.

A nervous flutter, like trapped butterflies, stirred in your stomach as Alexia catches up to you. You could feel the energy radiating from her, the subtle scent of her perfume, a mix of wood and something undeniably her.

“Estic enamorada de tu”, she confesses, cheeks slightly tinted but her voice so firm, so sure. 

“I know what that means”

A smile, genuine and carefree, grows on both your lips. You study her face for a moment, finding nothing but pure care and a force that feels like arms keeping you safe and warm.

Nothing but love. 

The way you kiss her is almost too intense for a late afternoon in the streets of Barcelona, but barely enough to convey all the emotions that you discovered and learned to welcome in your life again. 

You may not be ready to say out loud you’re falling in love with her too, not yet. But the firmness of your hands on her face, the happiness lightning in your eyes, the resolution conveyed by your kiss.

She knows.

~

On the day you declare the restaurant officially debt free, Paco lifts you up off the ground, spins you around with ease and plants a loud kiss on your forehead.

Paul’s reaction is a bit tamed, even if he declares he’s going to name his firstborn after you. Still single and hopeless romantic, you’re not sure how much to read into his words.

Pedro cries, of course he does, but he also hugs you in a way that conveys almost too much not to shed a few tears yourself.

It’s not difficult for you to admit you own them more than they own you. 

Taking care of the restaurant’s ledger and the guys’ enthusiastic opinion about your accounting job opened a lot of small businesses’ doors. The idea of opening your own office never even crosses your mind, not planning on entangling yourself in a structured system anytime soon. The new apartment you rent has a small room that works just fine as a study.

You will still keep an eye on them, though, not sure enough your finance lessons really drilled in their heads. 

“So, you’re finally letting us treat you with dinner?”, Paul asks, serving you up with way too many pleasantries. 

“I already have someone who pays for me”, you retort, playful smirk on your lips.

“¡Ay, I thought you were taking me out tonight!”, Alexia complains next to you, keeping up with the joke as she pretends to not be interested in the food anymore. She can be such a dork.

“Wait, am I crushing a date?”, Alba intercepts from the other side of the table.

“You’ve been crushing our dates since the day we met!”

The laughs that erupt are loud enough to catch the attention of the other patrons, thankfully not really annoyed by the chaos. The truth is that, despite being a menace of a group, it is not like you can drag your friends in any other place without the risk of getting banned forever. 

It’s a familiar scene. The restaurant feels like a second home now, one that you built on your own around people that truly see you, support you and never miss a chance to tease you.

So you shake your head at Ricardo’s antics and glare at Alexia when she keeps teasing her sister, effortlessly distracting her with light movements of your fingers on her knee. 

The conversation flows between shared memories and inside jokes, carrying the night away until your table is the only one left. Not planning on leaving the place anytime soon. And as you sit there, surrounded by your friends, questionable recalling of stories, and the magnetic pull of Alexia’s presence, you just know that this is it. 

This is your life, your love, your chosen family.

Then Pedro has to ruin the moment, persuading everyone you have to make a toast for whatever reason. You try to fight it, embarrassed and quite frankly taken aback by the respect and genuine admiration this people seems to feel for you. 

A subtle nod of your girlfriend’s head, her hand finding yours beneath the table, is all you need to indulge with their antics.

“To us”, you say, raising a glass, “To finally getting our shit together!”

Laughter and cheers fill the restaurant, everyone congratulating each other for the most random things and joking around as if life could always be this simple.

Alexia’s hold tightens, her eyes meeting yours. Her face lights up in a way that never fails to make your own heart grow. 

“T’estimo”, you whisper, just for her to hear. 

Your love is usually so loud. A love that grows unexpectedly, but burns with a fierce and tender flame. But your promises are quiet. A silent acknowledgment of commitment that goes beyond, that stretches confidently into the future. 

Together.

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.

Could you write leah x alessia x reader where less getts a yellow card in a match and y/n isn't best pleased about it so leah tries to get them to make.uo with eachother

she just hiiits different in an arsenal kit. also PSA just because i write this does not mean i actually ship less x leah in real life! also decided to make it a red card for the extra drama

seeing red II a.russo x l.williamson

you anxiously bounced your leg from where you sat watching your girlfriends play at the emirates, sighing with a shake of your head as alessia was given a yellow card for shoving someone in the back.

ever since she'd joined arsenal her confidence on the pitch had clearly grown and you weren't the only one who'd noticed that she was more aggressive in her style of play.

so had liverpool who were clearly targeting both her and katie, the infamous card receivers of the team their reputation proceeded them. katie was already on a yellow but had at least calmed down somewhat, knowing that next came the dreaded red.

but that didn’t stop them. so whether it be pulling shirts, taking out legs, yanking on hair, liverpool were doing all they could under quite a laid back referee to wind both girls up, and it was working.

you watched as alessia and several of her team mates started to protest the card, the blonde throwing her hands around and reenacting how she was pulled back by her hair just a few moments before the shove. which admittedly the liverpool played had acted up in their dramatic falling to the ground and front roll.

you bit your lip nervously before leah finally stepped in, gently pushing alessia away and pulling her to the side, getting in her ear about hopefully calming down as kim stepped in to speak with the referee, obviously apologizing on her players behalf as he nodded and blew the whistle for play to resume.

you watched with a frown as alessia shoved leah away with an annoyed shake of her head, your other girlfriend sighing and jogging back to her position as alessia readied herself to play on.

you hoped she'd calm down, surely now she was on one card she knew she just needed to suck it up and be careful. there was only ten minutes plus stoppage time left, you knew she could do it you just hoped alessia felt the same.

turns out, she did not.

within five minutes of the first card you watched as one of the players held her back by her shirt as she shot for goal, meaning the blonde went tumbling to the ground and kicked it out instead earning the opposition a goal kick.

well that seemed to just about do it.

within a few seconds alessia was back to her feet, rounding on the liverpool defender and grabbing her shirt in her balled fists, getting in her face angrily as the girl held her hands up clearly trying to show she wasn't involving herself.

then things got worse. having had enough alessia harshly pushed the girl to the ground, sending her falling onto her ass before storming off, ignoring the referee's whistles after her, already knowing what was coming.

sure enough came the second yellow, and then the red, your girlfriend already making her way to the tunnel, shoving leah away who tried to comfort her.

your lips pursed into a thin line of disappointment at the older girls behavior, having warned her multiple times about this new often reckless attitude and how it was going to bite her in the ass.

and here the proof was in the pudding.

thankfully even now down to ten beth managed to score, putting them up 3-1 and clenching the win. nine minutes of injury time added on to play and you watched with wide eyes as your other girlfriend raced down the pitch for the final corner of the game.

then with a perfectly angled kick from frida, your blonde lover put her head to it and it sailed into the back of the net. you cheered loudly and proudly, blowing leah a kiss as her eyes found yours with a cheeky grin and the whistle blew to end the match.

waiting for your girlfriends to both join you in the family and friends box you busied yourself chatting with their team mates loved ones. knowing alessia would likely be getting quite the talking to not only from leah but her coach, it didn't surprise you as you were one of the only few left waiting.

eventually you spotted leah enter first, making a beeline right for you with a beaming smile. "well hello beautiful." the blonde rasped, picking you up into a hug and spinning you around as you grinned, pecking her a few times on the lips and mumbling how proud you were of her.

"you're looking very waggy today my girl." leah winked, nodding to her jersey which sat on your top half, alessia's puffer on over the top of that as the prada sunglasses you'd stolen from one of them sat on top of your head.

"waggy hm?" you grinned, spotting alessia entering over leahs shoulder, glancing around until she spotted you both. leah noticed the way your face changed at the sight, sighing as she realised you were clearly upset with the other girl.

"hey love, take it easy on her." leah warned quietly in your ear as alessia joined you both. "hi gorgeous." the tall blonde grinned in your direction opening her arms for a hug, chewing her gum with a smug smile that was annoyingly attractive.

"can we go please?" you directed the question to leah, grabbing your bag and completely blanking alessia who scoffed. "what did i do?" she asked her other girlfriend with a frown as you brushed past her heading for the exit.

"you know exactly what you did less." leah rolled her eyes, gesturing for the two of them to follow you as alessia huffed.

"it's not my fault they were all picking on me today, you even said i was being targeted!" alessia defended herself to leah who only hummed, having already ripped into her girlfriend about the card once the match had finished.

"yes and i also warned you about retaliating being giving them exactly what they wanted. but did you listen? no. you big dope!" leah shoved the taller girl as they hurried after you into the elevator.

"so unfair." alessia mumbled, crossing her arms and you felt her eyes burning into you longingly but you held firm, leaning into leah who wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

as the three of you reached alessia's car you kissed the oldest blonde goodbye, having driven yourself this morning while they'd driven together needing to be there earlier. "hey!" alessia called after you with a frown as you quickly walked off to your car, again completely blanking her.

"oh you have some serious grovelling to do." leah chuckled in amusement as she slid into the passenger seat of the mercedes, alessia shooting her a dirty look as she slammed her door closed.

"help me." the younger of the two requested with a pout, leah rolling her eyes and leaning over to kiss it away. "fine. but you still need to make it up to her, you know how worried she already gets about injuries the last thing she needs on her mind is worrying about cards and fist fights love." leah warned sternly buckling herself in.

"i pushed her over i wasn't gonna get in a fist fight with her! well...not yet."

~

returning home both girls arrived after you, your car already parked in the driveway as they made their way inside. as alessia struggled to take her trainers off leah ventured away to find you, seeking you out where you stood in the kitchen.

you glanced over with a soft smile seeing leah enter, the older girl kissing your cheek hello and snagging a protein smoothie out of the open fridge where you'd been trying to work out what to cook for dinner with what you had.

alessia entered next, leah sending her a look as she pulled herself up to sit on the counter and your other girlfriend cautiously made her way over to you. when you refused to look over she attempted to go in for a hug, grunting as something shoved into her stomach.

looking down she realised you held out a protein smoothie effectively blocking her from touching you, which she accepted as you closed the fridge and moved over to leah. you leant against the counter in between the blondes legs, pulling out your phone and resting your head back against her chest as you flicked through for recipe ideas.

"baby please come on. i'm sorry!" alessia put down the drink and frowned at you from across the room. "are you?" you spoke sharply, glancing at her as she hesitated. "well-" the brief pause was enough for you as you scoffed, quickly exiting the kitchen as they both heard you flop down into the lounge instead.

"yeah nice one, genius!" leah rolled her eyes, hopping down from the counter and shoving the taller girl with a shake of her head. "what! i'm sorry i got a red for it but i'm not sorry for standing up for myself. did you want me to lie to her?" alessia huffed, annoyed at your lack of attention toward her.

"she can still hear you, idiots!" you yelled out from the lounge with a roll of your eyes, flicking on the tv to drown them out.

"go and shower, i'll talk to her. and when you get out this contains a brain. try to use it yeah?" leah knocked harshly on alessia's forehead as the younger girl smacked her hands away with a scowl, storming off to the bathroom.

"don't." you warned as leah appeared at the end of the lounge, looking down at you with an amused smile. "what?" leah feigned innocence, gesturing for you to sit up as she sat down, your head falling to her lap as her fingers carded through your hair.

"where's this come from babe? we've both been carded before." leah asked quietly after a few moments, still playing with your hair as you sighed and rolled onto your back, looking up at her. "i know. but they were clearly trying to target her today, and the more she gives in and kicks off the more thats going to happen." you started to explain where you were coming from.

"and if that keeps happening and she gets on the wrong end of a poor tackle or something she might..." you trailed off as leah nodded in understanding, knowing that ever since she'd done her acl your worries for them both being injured had grown ten fold.

now knowing your anger was coming from a place of worry, leah bent down to tenderly kiss your forehead as you sighed. "you need to tell her that then sweets, she might actually listen to you." leah cautioned as you nodded, knowing she was right.

"we're letting this overshadow the fact someone scored today though!" you remembered suddenly, moving to sit up and straddle the blondes lap. "oh you noticed that did you? was nothing!" leah waved it off casually with a shrug before sending you a beaming grin, pulling you in for a kiss.

her hand coming to rest on the back of your head deepening the kiss you both failed to notice alessia return, the striker rolling her eyes at the sight of the two of you making out, jealously pumping through her veins as she threw herself down on the other end of the lounge with a scoff.

the noise caused you to pull away, resting your head on leahs shoulder and looking to the grumpy blonde across from you. "go on." leah murmured in your ear, patting your bum with a firm look as you nodded and stood up.

alessia looked up as you kicked her feet apart, moving to stand between them and stare down at her with an annoyed look on your face. though as promised you explained just why you were so frustrated with her, features softening as guilt flooded alessia's at the confession.

the striker was quick to apologise, this time sincerely and with a promise she would try her very best to be more careful and considerate.

with a nod of acceptance you collapsed into her awaiting arms which wrapped around you, your legs wrapping around her waist as she shuffled forward, squeezing you tightly and mumbling how much she loved you in your shoulder as your hands pressed at the back of her head and you nodded.

moving your hands to gently rest on her cheeks you kissed her sweetly, thumbs caressing her jaw as the striker kissed your palms with a soft smile, the tall girl melting into a puddle every time you showed her any sort of affections.

“but don’t entirely lie gorgeous, you find it quite hot when we get angry on the pitch.” alessia grinned knowingly, her large hands moving to squeeze your thighs teasingly. “maybe just a tiny bit.” you left millimetres in between your fingers making alessia laugh, one of your favourite sounds.

"excuse me. third girlfriend is feeling a bit left out here!" leah interrupted the sweet moment from the other end of the lounge with a frown as alessia's grip on you tightened and your head fell to her shoulder, glancing to leah with an amused smile.

“come here then stroppy.” gesturing for her to move closer the three of you shuffled around until you were comfortable, your body wedged in between them as your top half rested against leah, your legs draped across alessia's lap as the girl massaged your feet.

your girls.

Bonmatellas moment at the end 😁

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMBwUREJy/

look how quickly she went over to check on aitana. always paying attention to what's happening 🥹

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.

Tia Alexia And Her Mascot

Alexia Putellas x Mila

The gym was quiet except for the rhythmic sound of Alexia Putellas’ breathing and the occasional clang of weights hitting the floor. She was deep into her training session, pushing herself to be in the best shape possible. The Champions League quarterfinal second leg was coming up, and nothing mattered more than being ready. Her focus was razor-sharp, her expression serious, and her mind locked in.

That was, until she heard the unmistakable sound of tiny feet running across the gym floor.

Alexia barely had time to put the weights down before a small, dark-haired blur skidded to a stop a few feet away from her.

Mila.

With her messy hair, rosy cheeks, and an ever-present twinkle in her eyes, Mila was a walking ball of energy. She had likely spent the entire morning running around, climbing on things she shouldn’t, and making her mothers chase after her.

But right now, something was different. Instead of launching herself at Alexia like she usually did, Mila hesitated. She fiddled with her fingers, glancing at the ground, looking almost… unsure.

Alexia wiped the sweat off her face with a towel, then sat down on the bench. She narrowed her eyes slightly, studying the little girl in front of her.

“Mila?” she called softly.

No response.

Alexia’s brows furrowed, concern creeping in. Mila was rarely ever quiet, let alone hesitant around her.

“Come here, pequena,” Alexia said, patting her lap.

Finally, Mila took small steps toward her, her usual confidence replaced by shyness. She climbed onto Alexia’s lap, wrapping her arms around her neck in a tight hug before pulling back slightly.

“Tia… I have a question,” Mila mumbled.

Alexia smirked, tilting her head. “A question? That sounds serious.”

Mila nodded solemnly.

“Okay,” Alexia said, gently brushing a few strands of hair from Mila’s face. “Ask away.”

Mila took a deep breath, playing with the hem of Alexia’s training shirt. “This week is the semifinals.”

Alexia chuckled. “Oh really? I had no idea.”

Mila giggled, but her nervousness quickly returned. She hesitated for a moment, then finally said, “I want to be your mascot.”

For the first time in a long time, Alexia was truly caught off guard. She blinked, her usual intensity softening into pure surprise.

She had thought about this before, of course. She had watched Mila walk out onto the pitch as a mascot for her moms, for Caroline, for Esmee, Frido, and Kika. And while Alexia had secretly dreamed of having Mila by her side one day, she never wanted to pressure her. She had been waiting—waiting for Mila to come to her.

And now, here she was, asking all on her own.

A slow, wide smile spread across Alexia’s face. Without hesitation, she stood up, lifting Mila into her arms effortlessly.

“You want to be my mascot?” she asked, her voice filled with warmth.

Mila nodded eagerly. “Yes!”

Alexia let out a joyful laugh and tossed Mila up into the air, catching her as the little girl giggled uncontrollably. “Of course, you can!” she said, pressing a loud kiss to Mila’s cheek.

Then, still holding her niece, Alexia turned toward the other players in the gym. “MILA IS GOING TO BE MY MASCOT!” she announced proudly.

Her teammates laughed, some clapping, others shaking their heads in amusement. It was rare to see Alexia like this—so open, so unguarded. But with Mila, she was always like this. Always soft. Always full of love.

---

The tunnel was filled with tension, the anticipation of the match pressing down on everyone. Barcelona was minutes away from stepping onto the pitch, and the entire team was locked in.

But Alexia?

She was looking down at Mila.

Dressed in a tiny Putellas jersey, her dark hair neatly braided, Mila was practically vibrating with excitement. Her small hand was wrapped around Alexia’s, gripping tightly.

Alexia crouched down, her serious expression melting into something gentler. “Are you ready?” she asked.

Mila beamed. “Of course!”

Alexia smirked. “You think we’re going to win?”

Mila gasped, placing her hands on her hips. “Obviously! You have to score a goal for me, though.”

Alexia chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. “I’ll do my best.”

Before she could say anything else, the signal came. It was time to walk out.

Alexia took Mila’s hand again, squeezing it gently as they stepped forward. The moment they emerged from the tunnel, the stadium erupted into cheers, but all Alexia could focus on was the small figure beside her.

This—walking out with Mila, her niece, her little partner in crime—was one of the proudest moments of her life.

She could feel the cameras capturing the moment, but she didn’t care about that. All that mattered was that Mila was there, standing tall, looking up at her with nothing but admiration and love.

As the anthem played, Mila stood in front of Alexia, glancing back at her every few seconds. When it ended, she spun around and opened her arms wide.

Alexia crouched down again, embracing her tightly.

“Good luck, Tia,” Mila whispered.

Alexia kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, mi nina.”

Mila was led off to the bench, where she sat with some of her other honorary aunts.

---

The final whistle blew. Barcelona had won.

Alexia was shaking hands with the opposing players, still catching her breath, when she heard it.

“TIA!”

She turned just in time to see Mila sprinting toward her at full speed.

Alexia barely had time to react before the little girl launched herself at her. Without hesitation, Alexia caught her, lifting her effortlessly into her arms.

“You did it!” Mila cheered. “You scored!”

Alexia grinned, pressing another kiss to Mila’s cheek. “Of course, I did.” She tapped Mila’s nose. “You gave me good luck.”

Together, they made their way around the stadium, applauding the fans. Mila never left Alexia’s side, her little arms wrapped around Alexia’s neck, her head resting on her shoulder.

For Alexia, victories were always special.

But this one?

This one, with Mila by her side?

This one was perfect.

🙌🏼❤️

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.”

this is the fluff i need i’m my life

Sleep? Never.

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

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

A cry.

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

Maybe it’s not real.

Maybe the beach isn’t real.

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

"Baby."

Is this real?

"Baby, wake up."

No, no, no, no, no.

"I don’t want to."

"She’s hungry."

"So go feed her."

"I physically can’t."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It’s been four hours."

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

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

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

Alexia raises an eyebrow. "Gets what from?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alexia snorts. "That’s disgusting."

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

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

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

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

Alexia loses it.

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

"You’re supposed to be on my side."

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

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

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

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

But then—

Minutes pass.

And Alexia doesn’t come back.

You groggily peek at the baby monitor on the nightstand.

She’s still in there.

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

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

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

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

"Babe."

A second later, the monitor crackles.

"What?"

"Come back to bed."

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

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

A guilty pause. Then, "Maybe."

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

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

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

Silence. Then, "Okay, fair."

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

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

"She’s my child," Alexia deadpans.

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

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

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

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

Your breathing slows, warmth settling over you.

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

this might take the CROWN 👑 of all fics

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

Baby Girl Putellas-Segura is here

It started quietly—so quietly—you weren’t even sure at first.

You woke up before the sun, the room still cloaked in the deep grey of early morning. The house was silent, peaceful, the only sound the rhythmic breath of Alexia beside you, her arm draped protectively over your bump like it had been for months now.

But something felt… off.

Not painful, not at first. Just pressure. A strange, deep ache that rolled low in your belly and made you shift beneath the covers.

You lay still, blinking up at the ceiling, one hand drifting to your bump. You whispered softly, barely a breath, “Are you getting ready, little one?”

Another wave hit—not sharp, not dramatic, but undeniable.

You pressed your lips together, your heart picking up its pace.

Could this be it?

You reached for your phone and checked the time. 4:17 a.m.

For the next hour, you lay there quietly, timing each wave of pressure—growing a little stronger, a little longer, a little closer.

At 5:04, one came that made you really grip the edge of the mattress. You sucked in a breath and exhaled slowly, biting back a sound. 

That one felt real.

That one woke Alexia.

She stirred beside you, murmuring groggily, “You okay?” as she blinked herself awake.

You turned your head toward her, your face calm but your eyes glassy.

“I think I’m in labour.”

Alexia was up instantly. There was no slow waking. No sleepy blinking. Just full alertness, all hands and care, her voice suddenly clear and serious. “Are you sure?” she asked, already climbing out of bed and throwing on the first hoodie she could find.

You nodded, voice soft and shaking. “They’ve been getting stronger for the last hour.”

She was at your side in a second, kneeling beside the bed, her hands already on you, grounding you. “Okay. Alright. We’ve trained for this. You’re okay. We’re okay.”

You laughed softly, even through the rising tension. “You sound like you’re going into a final.”

She kissed your knee. “This is a final.”

The next contraction came while you were brushing your teeth. You doubled over the sink, gripping the edge as Alexia rubbed firm, soothing circles into your back.

The hospital bag was already packed—she made sure of that weeks ago. She loaded the car while you paced in the living room, stopping every few minutes to breathe through a contraction, her voice constantly in your ear: “Inhale. Exhale. That’s it. You’re doing so good, mi amor.”

By the time you reached the hospital, the contractions were five minutes apart and sharp enough to take your breath away. But every time you looked at Alexia—her jaw tight with focus, her hand never leaving yours, her thumb brushing your skin in quiet reassurance—you felt stronger.

Admitted. Monitored. Settled.

The nurse smiled kindly as she checked your progress. “You’re definitely in labour,” she said, almost amused by your calm. “And you’re already four centimetres. You’re doing amazing.”

Alexia leaned down, her forehead resting against yours. “Four down,” she whispered. “We’ve got this.”

The day stretched ahead of you—filled with movement, breath, heat, pain, love. The waiting room slowly filled with people: Eli. Alba. Carla. All pacing, texting Alexia’s phone for updates, barely holding back their excitement. But inside that room, it was just you and Alexia and the slow, powerful rhythm of a life arriving. And deep down, with every breath, with every grip of her hand and her steady voice in your ear—you knew:

Your daughter was coming.

And you were ready.

The hours blurred into each other—slow and sharp, quiet and chaotic, all wrapped in the strange timelessness of labour.

Contractions came harder now, stronger. You gripped the side of the hospital bed, the cool metal grounding you as your body swayed forward through another wave. Your forehead pressed against Alexia’s chest, and her arms were around you, steady and solid, her voice whispering low in Catalan, words of encouragement, love, anchoring you.

“You’re doing so well, mi vida,” she breathed, kissing the crown of your head. “She’s almost here. Just keep going. I’ve got you.”

You wanted to believe her. And you did. You really did. Even when you cried. Even when your breath came out in sobs. Even when you clutched her hand so tightly you were sure it would bruise. She never flinched. Never let go. There was a moment—maybe hour six or seven—where it got hard. The kind of hard no one could’ve warned you about. The part where your body felt like it was made of lightning and stone, and everything inside you wanted to scream: I can’t do this.

You whispered it once, barely audible: “Lex… I can’t do this.”

She was crouched in front of you, her forehead pressed to yours, her eyes full of tears but her voice unwavering. “You can. You are. She’s coming. Just a little more.”

You held onto her voice like it was the last light in a storm. And then—finally—the shift. The nurse came in, checked again, and this time her face lit up.

“Alright, mamá,” she said gently, her hand on your knee. “You’re fully dilated. It’s time.”

Everything went very still. Alexia looked at you, her hand still in yours. “This is it.”

You nodded, tears running down your cheeks. “She’s really coming.” The room filled quickly—lights adjusted, nurses moving, voices giving instructions—but all of it faded behind the hum of adrenaline in your blood and the absolute focus in Alexia’s eyes as she stood at your side, her fingers gripping yours tightly.

You pushed. Again. And again.

And with each cry, each push, each burning second of effort, Alexia stayed with you—her forehead pressed to yours, her voice in your ear “Push, amor, you’re almost there. She’s so close. You’re so strong. Just one more—come on. Just one more for her.”

Then—The cry. Sharp, piercing, perfect. A sound that tore through the air and shattered every ounce of pain like sunlight breaking through rain.

You sobbed, gasped, cried out as they lifted her—tiny, slippery, wailing—and laid her on your chest, her little limbs trembling with life.

Alexia’s hand covered hers, and her face broke wide open, crumpling with tears.

“She’s here,” she choked out, laughing and crying all at once. “She’s here, mi amor.”

You looked down at your daughter, your hands trembling as you cradled her, her cries slowly quieting as your skin met hers.

She was everything.

The weight of her, the warmth of her, the reality of her.

“I love you,” you whispered to her, your tears falling into her soft, damp hair. “I love you so much.”

Alexia leaned in, kissing your temple, then your cheek, then the tiny bundle on your chest.

You turned to her, eyes soaked, cheeks flushed. “We did it”

Alexia’s breath caught. “We’re parents.”

Alexia leant down to look more closely at her daughter. The second their eyes met, something in Alexia broke in the most beautiful way. She clutched her tiny arm gently, her lips pressed to her tiny forehead, and whispered:

“Hola, mi vida. I’m your mami.”

And for the first time since it all began— The world was still. Just the three of you. Exactly as you were meant to be.

The room had settled into that rare kind of quiet—soft and sacred—the kind that only comes after something life-changing.

Your daughter lay bundled against your chest, her tiny body rising and falling in rhythm with yours, still so new to the world, so delicate and impossibly real. Alexia hadn’t stopped touching—her hand brushing your hair back, her fingers gently stroking the baby’s wrinkled little feet poking from the blanket. You’d both fallen silent, completely wrapped up in her: her smell, her warmth, her being.

A knock on the door broke through the stillness. A nurse peeked in gently, her smile warm but professional. “Hi, mamas,” she said softly. “Just checking in. How are you both feeling?”

Alexia glanced at you and smiled, exhausted but glowing. “Tired. Happy. Like we’ve just been run over by a miracle.”

The nurse chuckled and stepped closer, eyes dropping to the baby. “She’s beautiful. Has she fed yet?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. We’ve just been… holding her.”

“That’s okay,” she said kindly. “Would you like to try now?”

You nodded, your throat a little tight. “Yeah. Yeah, I think we should.”

Alexia shifted beside you, brushing your hand as the nurse helped guide you through the process—showing you how to position her, how to angle her head, how to wait for that instinctive little open mouth movement. You followed every step. Your hands trembled slightly as you brought her close, your breath catching as you tried to help her latch. She didn’t.

Instead, she squirmed, fussed, turned her head away. You tried again. And again. She cried—a soft, pitiful whimper that shattered you.

The nurse leaned over with gentle encouragement, whispering tips, guiding your hands, but nothing worked. You could feel your chest tightening, frustration building. You were doing everything right—why wasn’t it working?

You looked up, eyes brimming. “Why won’t she latch?”

“She’s just learning,” the nurse said softly. “You both are. It’s completely normal.” But the tears were already slipping down your cheeks.

“She needs me and I can’t even do this—” you choked, voice shaking. “This is the one thing I’m supposed to be able to do, and she’s… she’s hungry and she’s crying and—”

“Hey, hey,” Alexia was beside you in an instant, her arms wrapping around you and the baby, holding all three of you close like she could carry the weight of it. “Stop. You’re doing so well. You’re not failing. Look at me—look at me.” You did. Barely. Her eyes were already glassy too. “You just gave birth to her. She’s brand new. You’re both brand new. You’re allowed to learn together.”

You sniffled, pressing your forehead to hers. “I just… I want her to feel safe. To know she’s okay.”

“She does.” Alexia’s voice cracked. “She’s here. On your chest. Listening to your heartbeat. You’re home to her already.”

The nurse gave you a few minutes, then gently smiled again. “We can try again later, or I can help express some colostrum and feed her that. You don’t have to do this alone.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay. Thank you.”

Before the nurse left, she paused and smiled down at your daughter. “Has she got a name yet?”

You and Alexia looked at each other, then at the baby nestled against you. Both of you shook your heads.

“Still choosing,” you murmured. “Nothing’s felt… quite right yet.”

“That’s okay,” she said kindly, touching your shoulder. “You’ll know when it does.”

When the door closed again, the silence returned. Alexia gently rested her chin on your shoulder, her eyes still locked on your daughter.“She’s strong,” you whispered. “She knew how to fight her way into the world. She’ll figure this out.”

“She gets that from you,” Alexia said.

You kissed the top of your daughter’s head, whispering, “We’ll get it right, little one. I promise.” Even without a name, she was already the centre of your universe. And soon… the name would come. The one that was hers.

—

Alexia hesitated near the doorway, one hand still clinging to the edge of the frame, her body halfway turned back toward you and your daughter—clearly torn between going and staying. Her brows were pulled slightly together, that quiet worry she always carried when it came to you sitting just beneath her surface.

You smiled through your exhaustion, still cradling your baby girl against your chest. “Go, Lex. They’re waiting.”

“But—”

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted softly, your voice thin but firm. “I promise. We’re just going to cuddle and keep trying. I’ll call if anything changes.”

Alexia stepped back toward the bed one more time, leaned down, and kissed your forehead. Then her hand swept gently over your daughter’s back, a whispered “I love you both” falling from her lips before she finally turned and slipped out the door.

The family room wasn’t far. It was a quiet space off the maternity ward, outfitted with vending machines, tired-looking couches, and warm lighting that was trying very hard to disguise how clinical the hospital still felt.

Inside, Eli stood pacing, her eyes flicking between the hallway and her phone, while Alba sat perched on the windowsill like a nervous cat. Carla was sprawled on a couch, clearly trying to act chill but bouncing her leg like she was seconds from exploding. A few of Alexia’s closest teammates were there too—Mapi, Ingrid, Irene—each of them chatting quietly but watching the door with the kind of tension usually reserved for extra time in a final.

The moment Alexia walked in, every head turned.

“Well?!” Alba practically shouted, leaping to her feet.

Alexia couldn’t help the smile that overtook her face. It was tired and emotional and completely soaked in awe. “She’s here,” she said softly.

A chorus of gasps and cheers rang out, and everyone rushed closer. “She’s okay?” Eli asked instantly, her eyes sharp with maternal urgency. “They’re okay?”

“They’re both perfect,” Alexia nodded, her voice cracking slightly. “Tired, but safe. She did so well.”

Eli exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for hours. Alexia stepped toward her and took her hand gently, squeezing it. “She’s okay, mamí. I promise. She’s exhausted and overwhelmed and trying so hard, but she’s okay.”

Eli blinked quickly, nodding, her throat bobbing with emotion. “I just… I needed to hear it from you. I was so worried.”

“She’s stronger than she thinks,” Alexia said softly, and the words came out so full of pride you could feel the love in the room shift.

“Can we see her?” Carla asked, already halfway out of her seat.

Alexia shook her head gently. “Not yet. The nurses want the baby to feed and be checked by the doctor first before any visitors go in.”

A collective sigh filled the room—some disappointed, but no one argued. Alexia smiled again, digging into the pocket of her hoodie.“But…” she said, pulling out her phone, “I can show you this.”

She held it out, and they all crowded close. The photo on the screen was simple: you, propped up against the pillows in your hospital bed, your hair a little wild, your face pale and damp with tears, but your expression so full of love it could stop time. And nestled on your chest—tiny, pink, blinking up at the world like it was all too bright already—was her.

Your baby girl.

There were gasps. Quiet sniffles. A few stunned, whispered “wow”s.

“She’s beautiful,” Mapi said softly, her hand over her mouth.

“She’s real,” Alba whispered, wide-eyed.

“She has your nose,” Ingrid added, nudging Alexia gently.

Alexia smiled, eyes misting again as she took her phone back. “We’re still deciding her name. But she’s everything already.”

Eli stepped forward, cupping Alexia’s face in her hands. “You’re everything,” she said. “The both of you. And she’s going to be surrounded by so much love.”

Alexia nodded, her voice low. “She already is.”

They sat together after that, the group of them huddled in that quiet family room—some laughing, some wiping away tears, all waiting for the moment they’d get to meet the little girl who had just arrived and already taken over all their hearts. And back in your room, holding her close against your chest, you whispered softly into the curve of your daughter’s ear:

“They’re ready for you, baby girl. Whenever you are.”

The door opened softly, and Alexia slipped back into the room, careful not to let it click shut behind her too loudly. The family had calmed—Eli had cried, Alba had nearly passed out from pacing, and everyone had promised to be patient for their turn to meet the baby her teammates promising to return tomorrow since it was late and they had an early training.

She expected to find you resting, maybe dozing off with your daughter nestled against your chest.

What she found instead was you, wide awake, eyes red and glossy, bottom lip trembling as you stared down at the tiny bundle of pink swaddling nestled between your legs on the hospital bed. Her chest tightened instantly.

“Mi amor…?” she said softly, crossing the room in two strides. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t look at her at first. Just kept staring down, blinking too fast, your breaths uneven.

Alexia perched on the edge of the bed, worry creeping into every line of her body. “Hey… talk to me. Are you in pain?”

You shook your head quickly and then, after a beat, your voice came, fragile and quiet. “She looks like him.”

Alexia frowned, confused. “Who—?”

You lifted your eyes to meet hers, and they were shining with tears. “Your dad.”

Alexia froze, her breath catching like it had been yanked from her lungs.

You glanced down at the baby again, gently running your thumb across her soft cheek, your hand trembling slightly. “Her nose. Her jaw. Even the way her little eyebrows sit. Lex… she looks like your dad.”

Alexia didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

You looked up at her again, tears slipping down your cheeks now. “I didn’t see it before, but now that she’s asleep—her face relaxed like that—I just… it hit me all at once. She’s his double.” Your voice cracked on the word. “I never got to meet him. But I feel like I’m holding a piece of him right now.”

Alexia's throat bobbed. Her eyes were wide, glassy, lips parted in stunned silence as she slowly turned her gaze to your daughter. She reached out with a trembling hand and gently brushed her finger along the baby’s tiny brow, her touch reverent.

And there it was. The shape of her eyes. The slight downward curve at the corners of her mouth. The arch of her nose—familiar in a way that felt almost impossible. “Oh my God,” she whispered, her voice breaking completely. “She does.”

You nodded, barely holding it together. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to upset you. But I kept looking at her and I just—Lex, I wish he could see her. I wish he was here.”

Alexia let out a quiet sob, biting her lip hard as tears slipped down her cheeks. She leaned forward, one hand on your leg, the other gently cradling her daughter’s head as if she could feel him in her bones now—like somehow, through all the heartbreak and loss, he had made his way back to her, to you, through her. “I see him,” she whispered, her forehead resting lightly on your shoulder. “I see him so clearly.”

You wrapped your arms around her, holding her as tightly as you could with the baby curled between you both. Neither of you said anything for a while. The silence didn’t need filling. It was sacred. It was him.

Eventually, you leaned back just slightly, your voice a whisper. “Tell me she doesn’t look just like him.”

Alexia laughed softly through her tears, brushing her nose against yours, her eyes never leaving your daughter’s face. “She does,” she murmured. “But she also looks like us. And she’s going to grow up knowing exactly who he was.”

You nodded, reaching down to gently squeeze Alexia’s hand over your baby’s chest. “She already feels like she’s carrying his strength,” you said. “And your heart.”

Alexia looked down at her daughter, her voice catching as she whispered, “Papá would’ve loved her.”

And in that quiet, tear-soaked moment, the three of you sat in a tangle of love and memory—Alexia’s past meeting your future in the form of one tiny, sleeping girl who had unknowingly brought someone home.

The room was dim again, late afternoon light filtering through the half-drawn blinds, casting golden lines across the hospital bed. The noise from the corridor outside was distant now, muffled behind the closed door—just the occasional shuffle of feet or soft call from a nurse.

Inside your little cocoon, it was peaceful. Still.

You were exhausted, but a different kind of exhaustion now. The kind that came with hope, and softness, and the weight of a miracle lying warm in your arms. Your daughter stirred gently against your chest, her lips brushing your skin in that searching, instinctive way. You held your breath, your hand supporting the back of her tiny head, and guided her closer, just as the nurse had shown you hours earlier.

This time—finally—she latched.

Your body stiffened with the surprise of it. Then relaxed, like a wave had passed over you. No fussing. No turning away. No crying. Just her, finally feeding, like she’d known how all along and had simply needed the right moment.

Your eyes instantly filled with tears—this time not from frustration or fear, but from relief so deep it hit your bones. Alexia had been perched quietly beside you in the chair, one leg tucked under her, watching every second with bated breath. When she realised what had happened, her whole body jolted with joy—but she caught herself, clamping a hand over her mouth to stop from cheering aloud.

Instead, she did a silent fist pump.

Then another.

Then leaned forward and gently buried her face against your shoulder, her whole body trembling with relief and pride. Her voice came in a whisper, thick with emotion. “She’s doing it. You’re doing it.”

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I didn’t think I’d cry over this, but—God, Lex—it feels like everything.”

Alexia kissed your temple, then your cheek, then the side of your mouth, her hand cupping the back of your head like she needed to hold you in place, ground herself to this exact second. “She’s incredible,” she whispered.

“She is,” you murmured. Then, a beat. “And I think… I know her name.”

Alexia pulled back just slightly, her eyes wide, searching your face. “Yeah?”

You nodded, your fingers tracing gentle circles on the back of your daughter’s tiny neck. “I keep thinking about what your Mamí said months ago… when we were first talking about names. Sofía. I couldn’t stop hearing it in my head today. And now that I’ve seen her, now that I’ve felt her… I can’t picture her as anything else.”

Alexia blinked, her lips parting in soft surprise. “Sofía.”

You nodded again. “And… I thought we could give her your dad’s name, too. As her second. Juame. It’s soft. Strong. Timeless. And neutral. It belongs to her as much as it belonged to him.”

Alexia just stared at you, eyes glistening, lips trembling like she was trying not to fall apart completely. “Sofía Juame,” she whispered, the name barely audible, like a prayer. She said it again, a little firmer. “Sofía Juame.”

You watched her fall in love with the name in real time.

“She’s going to carry that name,” Alexia said, her hand resting over your daughter’s back. “She’s going to make it mean something. Just like he did.”

“She already does,” you said softly.

Alexia nodded, swallowing hard. Then leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your daughter’s head. “Hola, Sofía,” she whispered. “Welcome to our little family, your furry brothers will love you.” And Sofía, as if she knew, let out the smallest, softest sigh against your skin—completely content.

“You like the name? Don’t just agree because I’ve just birthed her, please be honest”

Alexia gave you the softest smile, “I love her name, and I love that mami picked it and papa is involved to” You kissed before both staring down at the little girl feeding contently.

The room had grown quiet again.

Your daughter slept peacefully in your arms, her tiny chest rising and falling in slow, steady rhythm, one hand curled into the neckline of your hospital gown like she was already claiming you. You were completely wrapped in the moment, your body still sore but your heart so full it was hard to breathe.

A gentle knock came at the door and one of the nurses stepped in, her smile kind.

“Everything okay?” she asked, moving to check on the monitors with quiet efficiency.

You nodded, adjusting Sofía slightly in your arms. “She’s finally sleeping after feeding,” you whispered, pride and relief laced through your voice.

The nurse smiled wider, then looked to Alexia, who was perched on the edge of the armchair near the window, watching the two of you like she’d never blink again.

“Would you like to do some skin-to-skin time with her?” the nurse asked gently, directing it to Alexia.

Alexia blinked. “Me?”

“Of course,” the nurse said. “It’s not just for the birthing parent. It’s a great way for babies to start bonding with Mami, too.”

You watched Alexia’s face shift—surprise first, then something softer, something so deep it nearly cracked her open.

You nodded at her, smiling. “Do it. She’ll love it.”

Alexia hesitated only a second before standing, rubbing her hands together nervously as the nurse helped adjust the chair and handed her a fresh blanket.

She slipped off her hoodie, then her T-shirt, folding them carefully before sitting back down, now bare-chested and visibly emotional. Her skin was golden in the soft light, her breath uneven.

You carefully rose from the bed and walked the few steps to her, your arms wrapped tightly around Sofía. As you lowered her into Alexia’s waiting arms, something in your chest caught.  

Because the moment her skin touched Alexia’s, Sofía stirred.  

Just slightly. Her little head shifted, and a tiny sigh left her lips. Her cheek rested against her mami’s chest like it belonged there. Like she knew exactly who this was.  

Alexia froze.  

Her eyes welled instantly, her lips parting as she stared down at the impossibly tiny life pressed against her heart. One hand cradled Sofía’s head, the other instinctively resting across her back, holding her as gently as if she were made of glass.

“Hola.” she whispered, voice trembling. “Hola, mi pequeña.”

You sat on the bed, watching it all unfold—Alexia blinking rapidly as tears streamed down her cheeks, her breath catching in her throat.

“She’s so small,” she whispered, more to herself. “And she’s… ours. She’s really ours.”

You reached out, brushing your fingers over Alexia’s arm as Sofia settled deeper into Alexia’s chest.

“She knows you,” you said softly. “She’s known you since before she got here.”

Alexia looked at you then, her eyes full of something ancient and powerful and brand new all at once.

“I didn’t think I could love you more than I already did,” she whispered, “and then I saw you become her mamá.”  

Your hand slid into hers, holding her tightly as your daughter slept, skin to skin, heart to heart, between the two people who loved her more than anything in the world.

And for the first time since the moment she arrived—there was only peace.

The family room was quieter than it had been yesterday—less buzzing, more soft murmurs and tired smiles. It had the comforting stillness of early morning, when everything feels calmer, like the world’s holding its breath in reverence for something sacred. Alexia’s teammates long going home having to prepare for practice today leaving behind Eli and Alba.

Eli and Alba were seated side by side on the couch, deep in quiet conversation. Alba had her legs tucked under her, hair thrown in a messy bun, flipping through a baby magazine someone had left behind. Eli was staring absently at her phone, eyes tired but kind, tapping out a message that she clearly wasn’t in a hurry to send.

The door creaked open.

Eli looked up first—and stilled.

You stood just inside the threshold, one arm lightly gripping the nurse for support, the other resting protectively on your belly, even though the bump was now an empty cradle. You were pale, your hair loose around your shoulders, cheeks flushed from the effort of walking, but your eyes were shining. Raw. Brighter than they’d ever seen them.

Eli rose first. Slowly. Like she couldn’t quite believe you were real. Like seeing you there, on your feet, in the same clothes from yesterday and somehow more powerful than ever, was too much.

And then she moved—quickly, wordlessly—and before you could breathe, you were wrapped in her arms.

Tight. Warm. Solid.

You exhaled shakily into her shoulder, and it all came out. The tears. The ache. The overwhelming swell in your chest that had been building since the moment Sofía had been placed on your chest.

You sobbed. Not loud, not frantic—just helpless, soul-deep crying, the kind that came when you’d been brave for too long.

“I did it,” you whispered, your voice breaking open like a flood. “I really did it.”

Eli held you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head like she used to do with Alexia. “Of course you did,” she whispered. “You brought her here. You made her. She’s here because of you.”

You shook in her arms, overwhelmed by the weight of it all—of being a mother now, of the pain, the joy, the immensity of what you’d just done.

Behind you, the nurse stepped out, gently closing the door to give you the moment.

Alba was on her feet now too, watching quietly. And for once, she didn’t interrupt, didn’t fill the space with jokes or quips. She stepped closer slowly, her expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

She brushed your arm lightly. “You look like a woman who just performed a miracle,” she said gently.

You gave a breathy laugh through your tears. “I feel like one. A sore, emotional miracle.”

“You’re allowed,” Alba said. “You earned it.”

Eli eventually eased back, her hands still on your arms, her eyes glassy now too. “How are you feeling? Really?”

You sniffled, wiping your face, voice fragile but sure. “Like I’ve been cracked open. But like… like I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. For her.”

Alba smiled, her voice unusually soft. “She’s got no idea how lucky she is.”

You nodded slowly. “She will. I’ll make sure she does.”

Eli took your hand in both of hers and kissed it. “And we’ll make sure you know how proud we are. Of you. Always.”

You stood there with them, in a quiet pocket of the hospital, heart wide open and full of everything—grief and love and power and softness.

And down the hallway, you knew, Alexia was still holding your daughter to her chest, whispering the world into her ear.

And now you were ready to walk back to them.

Back to your girls. You looked up at them now, your voice soft.

“Do you… want to come meet her?”

Alba’s eyes lit up immediately, but she didn’t jump from her seat like she normally would have. Instead, she blinked fast, the smile she wore a little shaky.

“Are you sure?” Eli asked gently, as though she’d been waiting for your permission, even though her hands twitched like she wanted to run down the hallway.

You nodded. “She’s eaten. She’s sleeping. And I… I want you to see her. I know you want to have a cuddle with her desperately to”

Eli placed her hand over yours and squeezed it once, firmly. “We’d be honoured.”

You walked slower this time, without the nurse, but with your arms looped gently around theirs. The hall was quiet, and each step made your heart thrum with something that felt sacred.

When you turned the corner to your room, you noticed the door was already cracked open, soft light spilling out into the hallway.

You paused in the doorway first— and there she was.

Alexia stood near the window, bathed in the early morning light. One arm cradled against her chest, the other supporting your baby girl—Sofía Juame, wrapped in her pale pink blanket. She was rocking slowly, back and forth in that instinctive, natural rhythm you hadn’t even known Alexia had in her. Her head was bent low, her mouth close to the baby's ear.

And she was singing. A gentle, low lullaby in Catalan, the words soft and imperfect—half spoken, half hummed—but the melody was unmistakably familiar. You’d heard her hum it once before. The night you first talked about having a baby. You didn’t recognise it then, but when you’d asked, Alexia had told you with a quiet smile: “It’s what my dad used to sing to me when I couldn’t sleep.”

She hadn’t sung it since. Until now.

You watched in silence, overwhelmed. Eli, standing just behind you, brought a hand to her mouth and froze. The breath she took was shaky, sharp. You turned and wrapped your arms around her, gently guiding her into the hug she clearly needed but hadn’t wanted to ask for.

She folded into you, completely, her face pressed into your shoulder, her whole body trembling with the emotion of seeing her daughter sing to hers. “I can’t believe this moment exists,” she whispered.

You nodded, your own tears already brimming again. “She’s everything, Eli. She’s everything he would’ve loved.”

She nodded against you, unable to speak for a second, just holding you like a mother would hold a daughter, grateful and grieving all at once. Alba wiped at her face quickly behind you, then whispered, “You have to interrupt her eventually or I’m going to sob in the hallway forever.”

You gave a teary laugh, pulled back from Eli, and knocked gently on the doorframe. Alexia turned slowly, and the look on her face—that look—was almost too much to take. Her eyes were wet, but her expression was completely calm, a kind of stillness only love could bring.

“You’ve got visitors,” you said gently.

She smiled, her lips brushing Sofía’s temple before she stepped back from the window. “Come meet her.”

Eli stepped forward first, still holding your hand, as if she needed to hold onto something solid as she approached the newest member of her family. And when she reached them—her daughter and her granddaughter—she didn’t speak at first.

She just reached out, cupped Sofía’s tiny head, and kissed her softly, whispering something private in Catalan that made Alexia close her eyes, swallowing hard.

Alba finally stepped in too, slower than usual, her voice quiet and cracked. “Okay,” she said, brushing a tear from her cheek as she peered down at her niece. “I get it now. She really is perfect.”

And in that room, wrapped in light and music and history, your little girl rested—held by the arms that would never let her fall.

Alba hovered near the edge of the hospital bed, her hands clasped tightly behind her back like she was physically restraining herself from scooping Sofía up into her arms. Her eyes were glued to the baby, wide and shining, a permanent smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Then she blinked, as if realising something far too important had yet to be said.

“Wait,” she whispered, her gaze flicking between you and Alexia. “Did you name her yet? What’s her name? Don’t tell me I’ve just been staring at her like she’s a work of art and she’s still called ‘baby girl Putellas’ on the charts.”

You and Alexia shared a look—soft, quiet, full of everything you’d both been feeling since you whispered her name aloud for the first time the night before. Alexia gently rocked her daughter in her arms, her hand brushing over the tiny pink hat covering her soft tufts of hair.

You sat up straighter, eyes never leaving the small, sleepy face in Alexia’s arms. “She has a name,” you said quietly. “We wanted to be sure before we told anyone. We wanted to see her first. Feel who she was.”

Alba leaned in a little. “Well? Don’t leave me hanging, I’m emotionally unstable already.”

You took a breath, your voice trembling with emotion. “Her name is… Sofía.”

There was a beat of silence—then Alba’s brows lifted, a smile tugging at her lips. “Sofía,” she said, testing it out.

At your nod, Alba let out a soft laugh. “She actually looks like a Sofía.”

You laughed too, quietly—but it was Eli who hadn’t said anything.

“Her middle name is Juame” You spoke carefully, Alba snapped her head to you, “So I’d like you to officially meet Sofía Juame Putellas Segura”

She stepped forward slowly, her eyes locked on her granddaughter, and then flicked to you, her lip trembling. “Juame…” she whispered. The name barely made it out of her mouth. “You gave her his name.”

You nodded again, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I hope that's ok. We wanted her to have something of him. Something strong. Timeless. Something that… carries him forward.”

Eli’s eyes welled instantly. She brought her hand to her chest, staggered slightly like the moment had taken the breath right from her lungs. “I can’t believe…” she murmured, shaking her head gently, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I suggested Sofía and you… you used Juame. You gave your precious little girl our names.”

You reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly. “She looks like him, Eli. And she’s going to grow up with stories about him, and you, and this family. She’s going to know exactly who she came from. It only felt right when she is that much like him that she has his name”

Alexia’s voice was soft, broken with emotion as she gazed down at Sofía. “We wanted her to carry his name, have his part in her. And we wanted her to carry yours too, in a way. You’re the reason I’m the woman I am. You’re the reason she has this family to be born into.”

Eli couldn’t speak anymore. She just stepped forward and pressed her lips to Sofía’s forehead, her tears falling gently onto the soft pink fabric of her hat. “Sofía Juame,” she whispered again. “He would’ve loved her so much.”

And you knew, in that still, sacred moment—that your daughter had already brought a piece of him back into the world. And that in naming her, you hadn’t just honoured the past. You’d woven it into the future.

Alexia looked down at her daughter for another long moment, then slowly turned toward her mother. “Mami,” she said softly, her voice as delicate as the moment itself. “Do you want to hold her?”

Eli looked up, startled, like she hadn’t dared to ask. Her lips parted, trembling, eyes red-rimmed and watery. She nodded once, unable to speak.

Alexia moved gently, as if she were handing over a piece of the universe itself. She shifted Sofía with careful hands, cradling her like something sacred, then stepped forward and placed her into Eli’s waiting arms.

The moment Sofía settled against her grandmother’s chest, Eli let out a sound that was half a breath, half a sob. “Oh…” she whispered, eyes fixed on the baby’s face. “Oh, mi amor.”

She brought one hand up to Sofía’s cheek, brushing a fingertip ever so lightly down the soft curve of her tiny jaw. Her thumb paused under the baby’s chin, trembling, and then she inhaled sharply.

“She looks like him,” she whispered, voice cracked. “My Juame. She looks just like him, I couldn’t see properly before but I can see him now.” Eli sat slowly, never once breaking her gaze from the baby in her arms. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks now, one after another, no shame, no restraint—just raw, overwhelmed emotion. “She has his eyes,” Eli murmured. “His mouth, too. And that crease between the brows, even while she sleeps—that’s him. I used to tease him about it.” She laughed quietly, brokenly. “He’d furrow his brow when he read, and now she’s doing it in her sleep…”

You felt it in your throat before you even saw it—Alba, standing silently at the foot of the bed, eyes shining and glassy, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “She does,” Alba whispered. “She really does.”

You reached out without thinking, pulling her gently down beside you on the edge of the bed. She didn’t fight it—she just crumpled into your side, burying her face against your shoulder, her quiet sobs muffled but deep. You held her tightly, one arm wrapped around her back, your cheek resting on top of her head as she cried.

“She’s a part of him,” you whispered, your voice shaky, your own tears slipping freely now. “He’s still here because of her. Because of all of you.”

Alexia knelt beside her mother’s chair, one hand resting on Eli’s knee, the other gently stroking Sofía’s back. Her eyes never left them—her mother and daughter, bound now in something eternal. Eli bent her head, pressing her lips to Sofía’s forehead and lingering there. “Mi pequeña,” she whispered, “you are more than we ever dared to hope for.” And the room—filled with three generations of love, grief, legacy, and new beginnings—went quiet, except for the steady breathing of one small girl, who had no idea yet the kind of love she had been born into. But she would. You’d make sure of it.

The hours passed in a kind of dreamlike haze—a slow stretch of time that didn’t quite feel real, as though the whole day had been wrapped in cotton and warmth and the scent of your newborn daughter’s skin.

Eli and Alba never left. Not once.  

Eli sat comfortably in the armchair by the window, Sofía in her arms or resting in the bassinet beside her, her gaze never straying far from her granddaughter’s peaceful face. She was the picture of quiet awe, whispering soft Catalan lullabies and sharing little stories about Alexia’s own baby days that made your heart swell.

Alba, meanwhile, had appointed herself “gatekeeper,” posted proudly at the door like some overexcited security detail—only she wasn’t turning anyone away. She was ushering them in.

One by one, players from Alexia’s team began to filter in, each with shy smiles, quiet laughter, and hands filled with snacks, balloons, or tiny baby gifts they ‘definitely didn’t plan’ but somehow all brought.

The first to arrive was Ingrid and Mapi, Ingrid walked gently into the room with a bouquet of wildflowers and a tiny crocheted elephant tucked into her elbow.

“Oh my God,” she whispered when she saw Sofía. “She’s so small. You made that?”

Alexia grinned, her hand wrapped around your waist. “Perfect isn’t she.”

Ingrid pressed a kiss to your cheek and then Alexia’s, before quietly crouching down beside the bassinet. “She already has your eyebrows,” she whispered. “Poor thing.”

That set off another round of gentle laughter. Mapi however showed up with a pair of pink baby sunglasses and a pacifier that looked suspiciously like a miniature Barça ball.

“She’s got to be on brand,” she said proudly. “And I’m calling dibs on being the godmother who teaches her to swear in at least three languages.”

“She’s not even a day old, Mapi,” you groaned, but your smile was wide and warm.

Later, Irene arrived with a box of pastries and a letter she’d written for Sofía to read when she turned 18, sealed and wrapped in ribbon. You stared at it, speechless.

“I wanted her to know what kind of world she was born into,” Irene said, a little sheepish. “And how lucky she is to have you two as her mamís.”

Alba, already teary again, dramatically shoved tissues at everyone without being asked.

The visits continued all day—sometimes one player, sometimes two. Some stayed only for five minutes, others sat with you a while, cooing over the baby, asking you how you felt, hugging Alexia tightly like they could see how cracked open and glowing she was.

And through it all, Eli stayed. Quietly watching her daughter move around the room, introducing her daughter to her teammates—her sisters. She watched Alexia beam with pride each time someone commented on Sofía’s name, or her full head of hair, or her perfect little pout.

She leaned toward you at one point, her voice low.

“I’ve never seen her look so... full,” she said softly, eyes wet. “She’s always been strong. But this—this love—it’s made her whole.”

You nodded, unable to speak, watching your wife across the room as she gently held Sofía in her arms while Mapi adjusted the baby sunglasses over the blanket.

“She’s never going to remember today,” Eli added, looking at Sofía now. “But I will. Every second.”

And you would too.

Every smile, every cry, every soft “hola, pequeña” spoken from one loving voice to another.  

Your daughter had been born into more than a family. She’d been born into a team. One that would never let her fall.

It was early evening by the time Carla finally burst through the door, as subtle as a marching band and exactly as dramatic as you needed her to be.

“Move,” she barked playfully at Alba, who was still guarding the doorway like a loyal hound with a mild caffeine problem. “I’ve got a medical emergency.”

You blinked up from your spot in the hospital bed, where you were nestled under the covers, your daughter sleeping peacefully in the bassinet beside you, your legs stretched out and aching in that oddly satisfying I-just-made-a-human way.

Carla marched in, sunglasses still perched on top of her head despite the fact that the sun had dipped hours ago, and she was holding—no, presenting—a large brown paper bag like it contained the cure to all earthly suffering.

“I come bearing the only thing that matters right now.”

The smell hit you before anything else—greasy, salty, divine.

You sat up a little straighter, your body instinctively reacting before your brain even processed.

“Is that—?”

Carla grinned, slipping the bag into your lap like she’d just handed over a sacred text. “Double cheeseburger. Large fries. And because I’m the best friend you’ll ever have: large chocolate milkshake. And extra sweet curry sauces. You’re welcome.”

Your mouth opened but no words came out—just a small, awed sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

You looked at her with teary, desperate gratitude. “Carla… I’ve never loved you more in my life.”

Alexia laughed quietly as she peaked at the baby in her bassinet when she made a little noise. “I was literally present for the birth of our child.”

“And yet,” you said, already unwrapping the burger with shaking hands, “Carla brought me cheese.”

Eli chuckled from the armchair, watching you bite into the burger like it was the first food you’d ever tasted. “She’s earned a few points, I’ll give her that.”

Carla dropped dramatically into the empty chair beside your bed, smug. “I’m not saying I’m your real soulmate, but I did time this delivery for maximum emotional impact.”

You chewed slowly, eyes closed, groaning in utter bliss, “You did,” you mumbled around a mouthful of cheeseburger. “You so did.”

Alexia rolled her eyes but smiled, settling beside you on the bed as you reached blindly for a fry like someone starved in a desert.

“She couldn’t eat anything the whole labour,” she explained to Carla, one hand on your thigh. “She was running on adrenaline and ice chips. I offered a banana. She nearly threw it at me.”

“I told you,” Carla said proudly. “When in doubt—grease and dairy.” She leaned forward slightly, peeking at the sleeping baby in the bassinet. “She’s perfect, by the way. Absolutely worth every second of starvation. But I’m not above bribing her into loving me most. I already have a baby-sized hoodie that says ‘Team Carla.’”

You laughed mid-chew, almost choking on your fry, and reached out to squeeze her wrist. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re radiant. And hormonal. So I’ll take my compliments now, please.”

You grinned, wiping your mouth with a napkin. “You’re the best. Seriously. I love you.”

Carla softened, brushing your knuckles. “I love you too. Always. Even when you’ve got milkshake on your chin and hormones in your throat.”

“Charming,” Alexia muttered.

“Truthful,” Carla shot back, winking.

And in that room—full of fries, soft laughter, a sleeping baby girl, and the warm scent of cheeseburgers—you realised that love really did come in many forms.

Some in lullabies.  

Some in family names.  

And some in a greasy paper bag handed over at exactly the right moment.

Your first blind date with Alexia, feels like a whole other world away now, but it was the most perfect shot you ever took.