Not Me Having Watched Them Live For The First Time On The Worst Day Ever In Turin. I Gotta Go And Watch

dumb and dumber: babysitting | blue stars

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: against her better judgement, olga leaves you and azulita to babysit valerie

notes: in estrella’s pov this time!!

“Okay, now remember that Val needs to be in bed by 7:00. 7:30 at the latest. Sometimes, just sometimes we go on to 8:00, but only if she’s had a nap, and you have to make sure she’s had the nap first, don’t just assume. And no, rubbing her eyes isn’t enough, she has to actually close them, because she fake-naps sometimes. She’s sneaky like that.”

You’re sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, Valerie tucked between your knees and currently trying to fit her entire fist into her mouth. Across from you, Azulita’s letting the baby stack squishy blocks on her head. Neither of you are listening. Not even a little bit.

Olga’s pacing back and forth behind you with the binder. The sacred, terrifying, overly annotated Baby Binder of Doom. Color-coded tabs. Page protectors. Laminated bedtime routine chart. You swear it has footnotes.

“She gets her bottle at 6:30, but not too hot! Shake it and test it first, on your wrist, not your tongue, because that’s not sanitary. Bath starts at 6:45, but only if she didn’t eat too slow. If she eats too slow, you can adjust the bath to 6:50, but no later than 7:05 or the whole schedule gets thrown off. I swear to God, if you throw off the schedule—”

Valerie lets out a shriek of joy as Azulita sticks out her tongue and pretends to sneeze. You grin and toss a stuffed giraffe at Azulita’s face. It bounces off and hits Val in the arm. She’s delighted. She kicks your thigh and drools in victory.

“She needs the bunny,” Olga continues, flipping a page like she’s briefing you for combat. “The bunny, not the bear, not the raccoon, not that weird dog Estrella got her from that random shop in Portugal. She needs the bunny or she won’t sleep. If the bunny is missing, I swear—”

“Uh-huh,” you mumble, offering Valerie a crinkly octopus. She throws it at Azulita’s head.

“Storytime must be one book. No more. She will manipulate you. Don’t fall for the pouty face. That’s how we ended up reading Brown Bear, Brown Bear six times in a row last week. We all suffered.”

“Totally,” Azulita says, balancing a plush cow on her forehead. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie.”

Olga doesn’t even pause. “No TV before bed. She only has 30 minutes left of screen time anyway. No fruit after six. And don’t let her near the remote. She knows how to change the channel now and she keeps turning on Spanish soap operas and mimicking the crying.”

You clap once. “Iconic.”

Then comes The Silence. You glance up. Olga is no longer talking. She is staring.

You and Azulita both look up slowly, like maybe if you don’t move too fast she won’t attack. She’s standing there, binder to her chest, face pure exasperation. She looks like a woman who is desperately trying not to scream.

That’s when Alexia walks down the stairs. She looks stunning, hair done, blazer over a fitted shirt, matching slacks. If Olga looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown, Alexia looks like she wants the breakdown to happen so she can laugh at it.

“Everything alright?” Alexia asks, sauntering up behind the couch.

Olga doesn’t answer. She just continues to glare at the two of you. You start sweating. Azulita stops breathing. Valerie throws a block and says, “Taaa!”

Alexia leans forward, taps the back of both your heads like she’s knocking on a door. “Hey. Idiots. Pay attention.”

“Hey,” you say with offense. “I am a professional athlete.”

“You drooled on her sock ten minutes ago.”

You scowl.

Olga takes a deep breath. She sets the binder down with a finality that shakes you to your core. Then, she steps around the couch, stands over you, and says in a tone you’ve never heard before:

“Listen to me very closely. I am ten months postpartum. I have not left my baby alone for more than two hours since she was born. And tonight— tonight I am trusting you two, Dumb and freaking Dumber, to take care of the child I carried for nine months and pushed out of my vagina.”

You flinch. Azulita flinches. Valerie freezes mid-foot chew.

“You are all I have,” Olga says. “And if anything, and I mean anything, happens to my child, you will not be able to hide. I will find you. I will ruin you. You will wish for death. And then, after you wish for death, I will hit you with the binder.”

You nod. Azulita nods. You nod again. You can feel sweat sliding down your back. Your mouth is dry. Val blinks up at Olga and goes, “Ma?”

Then Olga brightens like none of that just happened. “Okay!” she chirps. “Love you girls.”

She kisses you on the forehead. Azulita too. Then Val.

Alexia’s dying. You can see it. She’s holding in laughter with her whole body. She kisses each of you like it’s a funeral, whispering “Good luck,” in your ear like you’re about to go to war. Then the door closes behind them.

You and Azulita just sit there in complete silence.

“…Did she say vagina?” Azulita whispers.

“Yup,” you reply, staring into the void. “She did.”

Valerie, unfazed, claps her hands and lets out a fart noise with her mouth.

You sigh. “Alright. Let’s not die tonight.”

Azulita picks up the bunny and nods solemnly. “For Val.”

You’re lying on the carpet, half-propped up by a pillow you stole from the couch, scrolling through the comments of the live chat with one hand while trying to pick a decent filter with the other. Azulita’s sitting cross-legged beside you, hair in a messy bun, hoodie halfway on, vibing hard as Lil Baby blasts in the background. You can’t lie, Valerie has taste. Kid’s been bouncing in her little baby bouncer for a solid ten minutes like she’s at a festival.

“She’s got rhythm,” Azulita notes, nodding with pride as Val bounces up and down on beat, plastic keys in one fist, sock in the other.

“She got it from me,” you say without missing a beat.

“She got it from her mother’s.”

“Semantics.”

The comments are coming in fast:

"Why are y'all babysitting?? Where is Olga??"

"Alexia left two teenagers with a baby I'm scared."

"IS THAT LIL BABY IN THE BACKGROUND."

"Please show Valerie dancing again I'm begging."

You ignore the comment asking to show Valerie, but take a peek at her, bouncing away like she’s been possessed by the spirit of the beat, drool flying, hair in her eyes, sock now hanging from her mouth like a cigar.

“She’s busy,” you narrate. “She’s got moves. Don’t worry about her.”

And then, mid-bounce, mid-glory, tragedy strikes. Her toy falls. There’s a two-second pause. You make the fatal mistake of thinking she’ll let it go. And then, WAILING.

“OH MY GOD,” you flinch so hard your phone nearly flies out of your hand. The chat immediately blows up.

“LMAOOOOO”

“HELP HER????”

“THE SCREAM??????”

Azulita launches up like she’s on a mission in a spy movie. “I GOT HER,” she shouts, diving for the bouncer.

You remain frozen on live like a deer in headlights, Val screaming bloody murder off camera while Azulita picks her up and starts doing the panicked baby rock. “Shhhh shhhh shhhh,” Azulita mutters. “We got the toy. It’s okay. Life is pain. Let it out.”

“Chat SOS,” you beg into the phone. “How do we get a baby to stop crying?”

"Did y'all feed her????"

"She hungry girl what time is it??"

"Why is Lil Baby still playing turn that OFF and give her a bottle."

"Y’all are literally the worst babysitters l've ever seen and I love it."

You glance at the clock. Your heart drops. “…It’s 6:30.”

Azulita gasps behind you. “FEED THE BABY.”

You end the live so fast. Phone down. Panic mode engaged. “Why didn’t you check the time?!” you shout, sprinting for the kitchen.

“Why didn’t you check the time?!” Azulita shouts back, still holding Valerie who is now actively trying to scream her way out of Azulita’s arms.

“I thought you were on top of it!”

“I’m on top of her! That’s enough!”

You yank the bottle out of the sterilizer and start pouring boiling water into it like your life depends on it. Which it might.

“Do you even know how to mix formula right?” Azulita accuses, hovering near your elbow like the world’s most chaotic nanny.

“Do you?” you shoot back. “I watched Olga do it once. That makes me basically qualified.”

“She was measuring things!”

“I measure with vibes.”

“That’s why I don’t trust you!”

You shake the bottle aggressively, cap it, and turn around to give it to Valerie, but Azulita steps back like you’re holding a weapon.

“Did you check the temperature?” she asks, eyebrows raised.

You glare. “She’s screaming!”

“She’ll scream harder if you give her lava.”

With the most dramatic eye roll in history, you tip the bottle and splash a few drops on your wrist. It’s fire. You scream like you’ve been shot in the arm.

Valerie goes completely silent. And then bursts into laughter. Like real, belly-deep baby giggles.

You stare at her in disbelief. “You enjoyed that?!”

“Iconic,” Azulita grins, rocking her gently. “She laughed at your pain. She’s one of us.”

You mumble something under your breath and start all over again, this time making sure the water is cooled, the formula is right, and no one ends up with second-degree burns. Finally, finally, you hand the bottle to Azulita and she slides it into Val’s tiny hands.

She drinks like she’s been stranded in a desert for days. Ten minutes later, she’s full, burped, and looking at you with those big, innocent eyes like she didn’t just try to rupture both your eardrums.

You and Azulita are collapsed on the couch in exhausted silence.

“…So, bath time?” you say weakly.

Azulita groans. “Binder says yes.”

You scoop up Val, who immediately tries to headbutt your chin, and take her to the bathroom. Setting her on the bath mat, you begin the struggle of undressing a baby who thinks everything is a game and nothing is real.

By the time she’s in the tub, the floor is a crime scene— clothes, toys, a lone sock, a giraffe for some reason.

Valerie, on the other hand, is having the time of her life.

She slaps the water like it insulted her. You are soaked within seconds. Azulita is trying to save her jeans. You’re trying to figure out how a rubber duck made its way into your hoodie.

“Why is she stronger in water?” you demand.

“She’s evolving,” Azulita whispers.

There are bubbles. There is chaos. You are playing with the little stacking cups and suddenly realize Valerie has abandoned her toys to splash the two of you mercilessly.

“She’s targeting us on purpose,” you say, blinking through water.

“She’s smart,” Azulita agrees, shielding her face with a frog toy.

Valerie grins. You’re both doomed. Soaked, exhausted, and humbled, you glance at the clock. It’s only 7:05.

You look at Azulita. “We follow the binder now.”

“Binder is law.”

Val slaps the water in approval. You salute and let the night continue.

Bedtime. It should be easy. That’s what you told yourself. You survived feeding. You survived bath time. You survived the Binder (capital B). Surely putting Valerie to bed is the victory lap. Spoiler: it’s not.

You’re standing in front of the dresser, holding a plain white onesie like it’s a gift from hell itself. “This is boring,” you declare. “She’s not a tax accountant. She’s a baby.”

“It’s soft,” Azulita argues, holding it up to your face. “Feel it. It’s got little clouds.”

“She deserves better.”

“She’s literally going to sleep.”

“She deserves better while she sleeps.”

And that’s how the two of you spend 12 full minutes rifling through her baby clothes like you’re styling her for New York Fashion Week. At one point Azulita tries to convince you to let her wear just a diaper and a cape “so she dreams she’s a superhero.” You tell her to shut up.

Eventually, you both gasp at the same time when you pull out a fuzzy cat onesie in Barcelona colors— dark blue and garnet, complete with little ears on the hood and a tail.

“Look at this masterpiece,” you whisper.

“She’s going to look like a tiny feline queen.” You high-five.

Valerie, for her part, squeals when you show her the onesie and kicks her feet. She knows style. You wrestle her into it with the grace of two people who clearly don’t know how baby limbs bend, and then immediately start a full-blown photo shoot like she’s Baby Beyoncé.

“You’re serving,” you tell her, snapping a photo.

“She is giving feline fashion excellence,” Azulita agrees, angling the light just right.

You post nothing because Olga would actually murder you if her baby ended up on your story without approval, but still, those pics are going in the archives. You send one to the youngsters group chat and Pina sends back seventeen heart emojis while Patri send an odd voice note of her making a cat sound.

Once the fashion show is over, you carry Val to her crib, carefully swaddled, looking like a sleepy little purring Culer. You sit down beside her and look at Azulita.

“Want to tell her a story?” you ask.

Azulita raises an eyebrow. “We don’t know any stories.”

“We make one up.”

“What kind?”

You think for a second. “The Three Little Pigs. But it’s us.”

She grins. “And the big bad wolf is Alexia.”

“Obviously.”

You lean over the crib dramatically, dropping your voice into a narrator tone. “Once upon a time, there were three little pigs. One was Estrella Pig— gorgeous, talented, the favorite.”

“Excuse me?” Azulita interrupts.

“Second was Azulita Pig—cranky, loud, and wore too much attitude.”

“You’re gonna catch hands.”

“And the third was Patri Pig, who was probably just chilling somewhere eating fruit.”

“Valid.”

“And then came the big bad wolf,” you growl, voice low. “ALEEEXIAAAA.”

Valerie is staring up at you both with eyes the size of dinner plates.

“She huffed!” Azulita says, getting into it. “And she puffed! And she told them to get up and go to training!”

“And the little pigs said NOOOO,” you wail dramatically.

Valerie blinks. You blink back. She blinks. Then she claps her hands.

You and Azulita beam. “She loved it!” you whisper.

“Maybe we should just read the Binder to her. It’s got chapters.”

You start flipping through the pages, trying to find the section on babies not sleeping, and find a line that says: If baby is struggling to fall asleep, try singing ‘Rock-a-bye Baby’ softly.

You and Azulita exchange a look. You try it.

“Rock-a-bye baaabyyy…”

“On the treeee tooooppp…”

Valerie screams like you just stepped on her dreams.

“ABORT,” Azulita yells, rocking the crib back and forth.

You panic and lift her out of the crib. “Okay okay okay! You hate lullabies! Noted!”

The three of you migrate to the couch like refugees of bedtime failure. You’re bouncing her gently. Azulita’s rubbing her back. Valerie is still sniffly and grumbling. You’re losing hope.

“Fuck it,” you mutter. “Alexa, play something.”

“Now playing: Not Like Us by Kendrick Lamar,” the Echo says.

You and Azulita freeze. But then… Valerie quiets. Like, completely. She blinks. Looks around and listens. Very intently.

You and Azulita exchange another look.

“Is this her song?” Azulita whispers.

“She’s unbothered. She’s vibing.”

By the second verse, her eyelids are drooping. Her grip on your hoodie loosens. By the third verse, she’s snuggled into your chest, breathing soft and even. You don’t dare move.

“Don’t move,” you whisper.

“I know,” Azulita says. “I think she booby trapped me with her foot.”

Eventually, you feel your eyes getting heavy too. The couch is warm. Valerie’s head is heavy on your shoulder. Azulita’s arm is pressed against yours. Kendrick is still going. You drift off.

When Alexia and Olga come home, it’s quiet. Too quiet for two teens and a baby in the house.

Alexia steps into the living room first, heels clicking softly. Her hand goes to her mouth when she sees the sight:

You, Azulita, and Valerie all passed out on the couch. The baby is still in her cat onesie, curled on your chest. Kendrick Lamar is playing Not Like Us on repeat.

Alexia is so amused. Olga comes in next, expecting disaster. When she sees you all asleep, her mouth opens.

“I don’t want to know,” she mutters.

Alexia shrugs. “They kept her alive. That’s all I asked for.”

Olga sighs, takes the fuzzy blanket off the back of the couch, and carefully drapes it over all three of you. She kisses Valerie’s forehead, then Azulita’s, then yours. Alexia does the same, grinning the whole time.

“Idiots,” Olga whispers fondly.

The lights are dimmed. The door to the hallway closes quietly.

And in the background, Kendrick keeps rapping softly into the night.

well good morning to me, cold shower time 🥵

tied | alexia x reader

— You agreed to keep your relationship with Alexia a secret, thinking you could handle it. But when she ties Kika’s hair before your first El Clásico, doing the pre-game ritual she used to do only for you, the jealousy hits harder than you expect. So, Alexia decides to remind you that it’s just you who she wants.

tags/contains:: 18+, mdni, hair pulling, strap r!receiving, rough sex, dom!Alexia, secret relationship, dirty talk, tldr: you get jealous that alexia ties kika’s hair before a game so she makes it up to you by using her hands as a ponytail in bed, not edited or proofread, 6.5k words inspired by hair tie— ty for the inspiration! @elliesanqel

masterlist | do not repost or plagiarize

When you were newer to the team, Alexia took you under her wing – adjusting your shin guards, including you in team banter, buying you snacks randomly, giving you a ride to training whenever you needed it. Everyone joked that she was your "team mom" or "older sister," which always made you uncomfortable because that wasn’t how you ever saw her. 

To you, she was never the “team mom”... mainly because you had a massive crush on her.

And with every nice thing she did for you, and every game you played with her, your infatuation with the Barcelona captain grew. You never said anything to her or to anyone about it though because you never thought that you’d have a chance. She was seven years older, and your captain. There were also probably a hundred thousand other girls who were lined up for her. 

Besides, you always thought she just saw you as another one of the younger players who she felt responsible for. No matter how badly you wanted to believe that the way she was treating you was different or special, it just felt safer to assume you weren’t.

Then came the night after the team party. She had offered to drive you home, like she had so many times before, and you, a little too drunk and reckless, agreed. You don’t know how it happened but somehow your inebriated self thought it would be smart to confess your massive crush on her, which turned out to be the right thing to do because soon enough, you were making out in her car. 

And luckily for you, you started dating Alexia after that.

Alexia and you agreed that you wouldn’t tell anyone. It wasn’t about shame, just… caution. You were still figuring each other out, and with the age gap, the team dynamic, Alexia just ending a previous long-term relationship, and her being your captain, you didn’t want complications. 

Besides, you were only a few months into dating. It just felt right to keep it a secret until you two were dating long enough to figure out your relationship dynamic.

Keeping it a secret was okay for you, even thrilling at times. Sneaking kisses in the locker room when no one was around, catching her hand just for a second too long, playfully patting her ass to see her jump. Alexia played along but was always the careful one.

So careful, in fact, that she never treated you any differently from the rest of the team. She teased the others the same way she teased you, adjusted their shin guards before matches, and even took different teammates out for coffee or dinner to check in on them. You never questioned it. That was just typical Alexia. That was what made her a good captain. None of it remotely bothered you.

That was until Kika arrived.

You liked Kika. She was funny, full of energy, and a ridiculously good player. The two of you hit it off immediately, even making plans to hang out outside of training. Everything was fine… until you started noticing how close she and Alexia had gotten.

Alexia always made an effort with new players, but this felt different. She was always touching Kika, throwing an arm around her shoulders, picking her up and spinning her around like it was nothing. They had inside jokes, little moments of shared laughter that you weren’t part of. You tried not to let it bother you. When you brought it up casually, Alexia just shrugged and said she saw Kika as a little sister, but something about it didn’t convince you. Maybe it was because months before when one of the players was teasing her about you, she said the same thing.

But your last straw came right before a game. You had approached Alexia like you always did, holding out your hair tie and giving her that familiar look. By now, it had become a ritual.

You had grown superstitious over the past season, convinced that whenever Alexia tied your hair before a match, she passed some of her midfield skills onto you. It sounded ridiculous, but the results spoke for themselves. Almost every time she did it, you either scored or assisted.

Alexia never questioned it. She always agreed, sometimes teasing you about it but never refusing. She liked doing it, or at least you thought she did.

It had become a quiet moment between the two of you, something intimate before a game that never gave away the nature of your relationship to others. It was one of the few intimate, personal things you could do in the locker room without getting an eyebrow raise. 

However, this time, she held up a hand before you could even get closer.

"Wait, Kika asked me to tie her hair too." Alexia said it casually, as if she didn’t know just how important it was to you. “I’ll tie your hair after I do hers.”

You froze, dumbfounded, staring as she turned to sit beside Kika, brushing her hair and chuckling about something.

You were seething. You’ve been trying to keep your jealousy in check, always convincing yourself that Alexia was just being the good captain she always was, but this just felt different. It wasn’t just that she turned you down; it was the way she did it so easily, like it wasn’t even a second thought. She knew how much this meant to you, especially today. This was your first time starting against Real Madrid. 

Superstition aside, you also needed that quiet moment with her to keep your nerves grounded before an important game. You took a deep breath and made your way to Aitana instead.

“Can you tie my hair?” you asked, trying to keep your voice even.

Aitana’s face lit up with surprise. “It’s your first time asking me,” she said, grinning as she patted the space on the bench beside her. You sat in front of her, letting her use her comb to brush your hair up. Aitana was happy to help you out, knowing how important this superstition was to you, even feeling honored you allowed her to take part in it but her curiosity got the best of her. 

She snuck a glance toward Alexia, who was now playfully tugging on Kika’s ponytail, laughing at something she said. “Are you just asking me cause Alexia’s not available?” She asked, as she began tying your hair up neatly. 

You huffed, rolling your eyes at the sight of your girlfriend playfully pulling Kika’s hair. “No, I just thought you’d be luckier this time,” you lied.

Aitana hummed, smiling. “Aw, that’s cute,” she commented. “Seriously thought you were only going to me cause you got replaced.”

Even though you knew Aitana was teasing, it stung a bit. You pouted. “Not at all,” you responded, loud enough for Alexia to hear. “Especially since you’re my favorite Ballon d’Or winner.”

Aitana laughed, shaking her head. “Okay, okay,” she said, tapping your shoulder to signal that she was done. “Since you’re such a kiss ass, I’ll give you one of my lucky headbands to wear.”

You smiled at Aitana, thanking her as she handed you one of her headbands. “Thanks, Aitana!” You gushed loudly before wrapping the tiny girl into a hug.

You surreptitiously looked over to see if Alexia was looking but she was too busy playfully swatting Kika with a brush. Oh, she’s so gonna pay for that.

A goal, three assists, a nearly perfect passing rate, and a Player of the Game title later, you were practically beaming as you were getting interviewed about your performance. 

After all the talk about the game and the team’s performance, you made sure to throw in a comment about how you couldn’t have done it without Aitana helping you out with your pre-game superstition, joking with the reporters that you were gonna have her do your hair every game from now on. Everyone in the team seemed to poke fun at it, teasing Aitana that they also wanted their hair done before every game now.

Alexia didn’t react differently, laughing along with everyone else, completely oblivious to the fact that you had been rubbing it in her face that you were pissed off at her and even pointedly ignoring her after the match. 

She only noticed something was off when you told her you were grabbing your stuff from her car and hitching a ride with Jana instead, who had asked you to go out for some drinks.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she followed you to her car, confusion all over her face. “Are you mad? What did I do?” she asked, genuinely baffled. “Why are you riding with Jana? I thought you were staying over for dinner.”

You pulled your overnight bag from the backseat of her car and slung it over your shoulder. “If you think you did nothing wrong,” you said vaguely. “Then maybe you didn’t.”

Alexia groaned. “Can’t you just tell me?” she pressed, her tone edging into frustration. “Why are you in such a pissy mood? We literally won today because of you. We should be celebrating.”

“I know,” you shot back, shutting the car door. “Also, just so you know, Aitana will be doing my pre-game ritual from now on.”

Alexia blinked, still lost. She stepped in front of you, blocking your path. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged. “I just think she’s luckier, that’s all.”

You tried to move past her, but she was faster, pressing both hands against the car on either side of you, caging you in.

“Cariño,” she huffed, exasperated. “I’m tired from the game. I’m starving. I just wanna go home, order takeout, and cuddle. Can you please just tell me what the fuck I did wrong so we can make up and do that already?”

Before you could answer, a voice called out. “Capi?”

You both turned to see Sydney standing a few feet away, looking awkward. Her eyes widened slightly as she registered that you were the one Alexia was practically pinning against a car.

You both stepped apart immediately.

Sydney hesitated. “Uh… was I interrupting…”

“No, no, it was nothing. I was just—”

“She was just putting her bag in my car,” Alexia cut in smoothly. “She needs a ride, and who am I to say no to the MVP, right?”

Sydney gave a cautious laugh. “Uh… okay…” She didn’t look convinced. “Jana and Ingrid are getting dinner and asked me to find you guys.”

Alexia shook her head, smiling at the teenage Swede. “I’d love to, but Y/N’s in a hurry cause she has to meet her landlord, and I have to drive her.”

You shot her a look in disbelief that she was blatantly lying to Sydney just to trap you in the car. Alexia met your gaze with a pointed one of her own. “Right? You said your landlord said something about a leak.”

“Yeah… my landlord…” you muttered through gritted teeth.

Sydney still looked skeptical but nodded. “That sucks, but we should all hang out soon.”

Alexia beamed at her, reopening the back door and gesturing for you to put your bag inside. Reluctantly, you tossed it in, playing along for Sydney’s sake. The second Alexia shut the door, she immediately opened the passenger side and motioned for you to get in.

You forced a smile at Sydney before climbing inside, seething at Alexia’s trickery. The moment she got into the driver’s seat, you groaned, already beyond irritated.

“Drop me off at my place,” you said flatly. “I’m not in the mood for dinner with you.”

Alexia frowned as she pulled out of the parking lot. “What is up with you? You never act like this. What did I do?”

“You don’t think you did anything wrong, so why does it matter?” you shot back, crossing your arms and staring out the window.

Alexia groaned. “Obviously, I fucked up, but can’t you just tell me what I did?” She complained. “Is it because I told Pere to sub you out at the 80th? You were obviously tired and Sydney needed minutes too, you know.”

You scoffed. “Why the fuck would I be mad about not playing a full 90? I was exhausted.” You retorted. “I want Sydney to get her minutes in too, y’know?”

“Then what is it?” Alexia demanded.

You ignored her. Alexia sighed, feeling annoyed by the fact that you were choosing to be passive-aggressive instead of talking it out with her. She looked over to you, hair still damp from your quick shower after the game. You were dressed in your typical, post-match gear of sweats and a tank top but this time, you had a new thin headband hanging from your neck. 

She furrowed her eyebrows, as she looked back onto the road. “Since when do you wear headbands?” She asked sincerely. “Those don’t look like mine either.”

You rolled your eyes ignoring Alexia, who hummed in thought as she tapped her steering wheel. “Oh, is that one of Aitana’s?”

“Yeah, what does it matter?” 

Alexia hummed again. “Nothing, I just… didn’t notice you wearing it a while ago on the pitch.”

“Yeah, cause I’m sure your eyes were somewhere else.” You muttered it under your breath but Alexia was still able to hear most of it.

She frowned. “Huh? What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing,” you responded, much to her annoyance.

At the stoplight, Alexia reached over, resting a hand on your thigh. “Come on, baby. Just tell me what I did wrong.”

You finally looked at her. Her eyes were soft, searching yours. As much as you wanted to stay mad, you just sighed and turned away again.

“You just seem into someone else,” you admitted quietly.

Alexia’s brows knitted together. “Someone else? Who?”

You continued to ignore her, perceiving Alexia’s genuine confusion as feigned perplexity. Why does she have to play dumb about it?

She started thinking, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. “Is this because I hugged Ona after I scored?”

You didn’t respond. She glanced at you, then back at the road. “Because I said ‘you too’ to a fan who called me pretty?”

Still nothing.

Alexia sighed, drumming her fingers on the wheel. She chuckled. “Because I stole a fry off Ingrid’s plate at lunch?”

You clenched your jaw. It was obviously none of those things. Alexia took another look at you, gaze falling once more on the headband around your neck. Then she realized.

“Wait… are you jealous of Kika?”

Your body tensed before you could stop it.

Alexia let out a small laugh. “No way. Is this about me tying her hair?” She shook her head, still grinning. “Cariño, it was just a ponytail. You think I’m cheating on you because I tied someone else’s hair?”

That was it.

“It’s more than that, Alexia.” Your voice was sharp, cutting through her amusement. You turned to her, face clearly pained. 

Her smirk faded.

“You’ve been paying attention to her all day and ignoring me.” Your voice didn’t waver, but there was something raw underneath. “You used to always hug me a lot before a game but now you just hug Kika and Patri and everyone else, and you don’t even hug me or even give me a pat on the back.”

“And you’ve also been joking around with Kika a lot and you don’t even bother to tell me what your inside joke is. I just feel like a third wheel whenever I hang out with you two.” You felt kinda embarrassed showing her your jealous side like this but you couldn’t help but explode at her poking fun at you being upset.

You paused to breathe, cheeks growing flush. “And yeah, I’m mostly mad cause you didn’t tie my hair before this game.You know how important that ritual is to me.” You explained. “Especially now. It was my first time starting against Real Madrid and you just left me hanging.”

You turned away from her again. “I just feel replaced and forgotten, okay?” You said, voice low. “I agreed to keep us a secret cause I thought you’d at least do a good job of reassuring me about your feelings.”

Alexia exhaled, nodding as she gripped the steering wheel. She finally understood. In trying so hard to avoid showing favoritism toward you as her girlfriend, she had gone too far in the opposite direction: ignoring you without even realizing it.

The truth was, she had only been spending so much time with Kika because the Portuguese player was the only one loud and energetic enough to keep her distracted. It was easier to let Kika shove her phone in her face, forcing her to watch ridiculous TikToks, than to risk staring at you too much, making it obvious to everyone how much she wanted you.

She sighed again, her voice softer this time. “I’m genuinely sorry, cariño.”

You didn’t respond.

Alexia reached over, squeezing your thigh gently. “How can I make it up to you?”

Silence.

“Just tell me what to do,” she added, eyes flicking to you briefly. “I don’t want you feeling like this.”

Still, you said nothing, arms crossed as you stared out the window. Alexia sighed, accepting your silence but refusing to let it stay this way.

By the time you got to her apartment, you were still upset. You had tried arguing with her, insisting she take you home, but Alexia had ignored every protest, pulling into her parking spot like it wasn’t even up for debate.

Now you sat at the edge of her bed, back turned against her. You tapped through your phone, eyes scanning the Uber app for a car to ride, hoping you could still meet some of your teammates for some drinks. You knew if you went home, Alexia would just follow you there and badger you. At least with friends, there was no way Alexia would talk to you about it or even follow you; she was way too cautious about keeping your relationship a secret.

Behind you, Alexia was changing into a tank top and soft cotton shorts. As your girlfriend peeked at you, checking to see if you were still upset, she immediately sees you trying to book an Uber. “Cariño,” she groaned. “Don’t go.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t respond.

She walked over and crouched in front of you, putting her hands on top of your phone so that you’d be forced to look at her. Her hazel eyes searched yours, earnest and a little tired. 

“I’m sorry I brushed you off earlier,” she said. “You know I wasn’t trying to ignore you. We agreed to keep things quiet, so I was just trying to play it safe. That’s all.”

You looked at her, jaw tense. “I know but you didn’t even bother talking to me before the game and you know how important that game was to me.”

Alexia exhaled, slow and quiet. “You’re right. I should have. I’m trying now, though. Can we please just... stop fighting?”

“It’s too late, Alexia.” You said it low, averting your gaze from her. “Let’s just talk about it some other time. I’m not in the mood to talk.”

She held eye contact for a while before deeply sighing. She just stood up, gave a small nod, and stepped away. You assumed that was the end of it; Alexia never liked fighting. You returned to your phone, starting a message to Jana to let her know you’d catch up soon.

Alexia sighed again as she walked towards her closet, reorganizing some things. Once she left the room, you felt more at ease texting your friends, telling them you’ll be booking an Uber to the bar to meet them. You presumed Alexia left the room to do some chores; she always got into tidying whenever you two fought. She said it helped her clear her brain and calm down. 

But your time alone in her room was short-lived. Just moments later, your girlfriend was back and you were suddenly feeling the bed dip beneath you as she crawled onto it.

“What are you doing?” You furrowed your eyebrows, looking over your shoulder.

Alexia settled on her knees behind you, already running her fingers through your hair. “Let me tie it up for you,” she murmured.

You turned slightly, confused. “Now? What’s the point?”

“Just let me,” she said, tone even. “Then you can go, if you still want to. I just want to know I did something to make things right. Even if it’s inconsequential.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. Your attention returned to your phone, typing half a sentence before her hands began to move again. Fingertips gliding gently against your scalp with a slight firmness to them, massaging, tugging through tangles with careful ease. You felt your shoulders drop and your eyes flutter, your body betraying you. 

Alexia noticed.

She smiled faintly as she worked, kneading slow circles into your scalp, brushing your hair back before gathering it into a neat ponytail. Her fingers moved with precision, like she had done this a hundred times.

Then she paused.

Her hand tugged gently at your hair, tilting your head back slightly. Her face was close now, just beside your cheek. You could feel the warmth of her breath. “Let me make it up to you,” she whispered. “I’ll show you that I only want you.”

Before you could answer, she tilted your head to the side and pressed her mouth to your neck. Her lips were soft and warm, taking in the flesh of your neck between them. You gasped, resting your phone beside you, afraid you’d drop it with your now trembling hands. 

While one of Alexia’s hands held your hair in a firm ponytail, the other slid around your waist, creeping up beneath your shirt. Her fingers grazed the edge of your bra, moving slowly, deliberately. She traced the lace of your bra with her fingertips, teasing you.

You should have stopped her and snapped at her. You should have told her that sex wasn’t gonna make you less upset and jealous, but something about her mouth on your neck rendered you speechless and weak.

Her hands slid higher, fingers curling over the fabric of your bra cup before tugging it down. Your breath hitched as she took your breast out of your bra, letting it hang over the bra. She cupped your bra with her hands, feeling the plush flesh against her palms. Then, sge rolled your nipple between her fingers, teasing, as her mouth slowly latched to your neck again.

You bit your lip, torn between moaning and moving away. 

Alexia’s hand let go of your hair as she used both her hands to swiftly take your top off of you. She threw it off the bed before she continued planting wet, deep kisses on your neck, both hands playing with your nipples, rolling and pinching them in between fingertips. 

Her mouth peppered kisses from the base of your neck to your ear. You could feel her lips on the curve of your ear and the warmth of her breath emanate into your skin. Her breath sent a shiver through you. “You wanted your hair tied so badly, yeah?” she murmured.

Before you could even respond, Alexia pulled you by the waist, moving you further into the bed. She got up from the bed as swiftly, moving back to the side of the bed where your feet were still hanging. Her expression was unreadable, but her hands were impatient, tugging at your sweats and sliding them down with a rough kind of urgency. You barely had time to react before her hands gripped your thighs and pulled you toward the edge.

Suddenly, Alexia had placed her hands under your thighs, pulling you towards the end of your bed, now just clad in your underwear. With fluid control, she flipped you over, easing you on to your stomach. Her hands positioned your legs apart, hips raised, body exposed to her entirely. You gasped as she gathered your hair again, holding it tight like a makeshift ponytail.

You gasped as Alexia took a handful of your hair, pulling your head back with it. She gathered all the other loose strands, using her hand as a makeshift ponytail. You could feel the stinging pain radiate through your scalp, making you wince. “You want this, cariño?” she asked, voice low and close. “Is this what you’re in such a bad mood for?”

You bit your lip, then felt her weight settle against you, the front of her body pressing into your cunt. She pulled your hair a little harder, hips rolling into yours, and the sensation made your breath hitch. That was when you felt it, the bulge underneath her shorts. It was undeniable. You could easily tell from the shape of it, the feel of it against your clothed cunt.

Did she actually put on a strap while I was pissed off at her.

“Answer me,” she whispered in your ear in a calm voice, distracting you from your thoughts.

You gulped and hesitated, only for Alexia to pull back again on your hair. You gasped at the stinging pain. “Yes,” it came out hoarse and strained from your throat.

Alexia smiled as she adjusted so her hand was balling up your hair closer to your scalp, making it less painful. It was a looser grip but she was still in control of you clearly. She used the same hand to push your head down onto the bed. You moaned out as you felt her fingers press from behind you. She teasingly traced the folds of your cunt that were now soaked and clinging to the almost translucent fabric of your underwear. A whimper escaped your lips as she used her hand to pull your underwear to the side, your wetness practically dripping as she did. 

Alexia licked her lips subconsciously as she let go of your hair, swiftly pulling down her shorts to expose the silicone member attached to your waist. You were able to look back behind you without your girlfriend holding your hair, and your eyes widened as you saw that it was the translucent dildo that you both never bothered using because you always thought it was too big for you.

“You’re gonna take all of this for me,” Alexia said. “I want you to take all of this in so I forget about how big of a brat you’re being even when I already apologized for nothing.”

She pulled open the drawer beside the bed, grabbing the familiar bottle of lube. Without hesitation, she poured it over the length of the thick toy, spreading it with slow, deliberate strokes. Her eyes met yours and she smirked. “Take a deep breath, cariño.”

You inhaled deeply, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you felt the tip of the toy press against you. “Now exhale.”

Your breath left you in a shaky moan as Alexia pushed forward, driving the toy inside you in one deep, controlled motion. The force sent you sprawling onto your forearms, cheek against the sheets, hips still tilted up for her.

She started a slow rhythm, her hands firm on your hips, then one hand tangled roughly into your hair again, keeping your head pressed down onto the bed. As soon as she was more confident about her thrusts and her pace quickened, she pulled your head up with a practiced grip, your back arching with the pressure. A smirk grew on Alexia’s face as you moaned out loud at the pain you felt with your hair being pulled. 

“Even when you’re being a pain about it,” she murmured, breath catching with effort. “The way you get jealous? It’s so hot.”

Another string of moans spilled from your lips as she kept driving her strap into you. The room echoed with the slick sound of your wetness and the sharp slap of her thighs against your ass. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as the thick toy stretched you open and your head throbbed with the pain from the hair pulling, and somehow, the sting only made the pleasure sharper.

“It’s hot because I get to remind you just how much I want you,” Alexia growled, voice low and ragged from exertion. “I get to remind you I’m the only one who gets to pull your hair like this. The only one who gets to fuck you dumb with my dick.”

Alexia always loved dirty talk but not like this – not so raw, so unfiltered and filthy. The edge in her voice made you tremble, made your moans louder. Her grip on your waist tightened, anchoring you in place as she picked up her pace, every thrust deeper, rougher. With her other hand she pulled on your hair firmer, keeping a steady control of you. 

The head of the strap kept nudging at your cervix, pushing you closer to the edge. It was the first time that a strap was so massive that it was practically filling you completely; you knew you’d have a bruised cervix after this but right now, all you could feel was Alexia and every inch of her inside you.

“F-fuck,” you moaned, tension twisting tight in your stomach like a knot ready to snap. Your back arched instinctively, hips grinding in small, desperate movements, chasing every inch of sensation. Alexia saw it in the way you moved, the way your thighs trembled. A knowing smirk curved her lips as she let go of your hair, letting your face drop against the mattress.

“Put your hands behind your back,” she said, voice calm but commanding.

You didn’t even think twice. Moving quickly, you brought your arms behind you, wrists meeting at the small of your back. Alexia’s large fingers wrapped firmly around them, holding you in place.

She pushed your wrists deeper into the curve of your back, forcing your face and chest into the sheets. The position felt humiliating in the best way, like you were giving her complete control of your body. The mattress was cool against your cheek, the contrast sharp against the heat radiating from your skin.

Alexia moved behind you with ruthless precision, her strap hitting deep with each thrust. Her hips met the backs of your thighs with a wet slap, over and over. Your moans came louder now, obscene and desperate, as the sensation became almost too overwhelming. Her grip on your wrists only tightened, steadying you as your body started to shake beneath her.

Your head pressed further into the bed, cheek dragged across the sheets, makeup smeared into pale linen. But none of it mattered to Alexia. If anything, it turned her on seeing you dishevelled and leaving your mark on her pristine bed.

“You like that?” Alexia said with some roughness to her voice. “Being held like this. Now do you believe me when I say I only want you? That you’re the only one who I get to fuck like this?”

You tried to answer, but only a muffled whimper came out. Your body was already betraying you, back arching harder, thighs quivering under her touch. Alexia just laughed softly and adjusted her grip. “Good girl,” she whispered, before slamming her hips into yours again, harder this time.

“Alexia!” You moaned out loud as you felt the tension in your stomach build up even more, almost pushing you over the edge. “I’m going to cum.”

She smiled, propping one leg up on the edge of the mattress to give her more leverage and control. She let go of your wrists to hold on to both sides of your waist, firmly keeping you where she wanted you. She continued to thrust against you. The sensation of the base of the strap bumping against her own clit was also pushing Alexia towards an orgasm, but she didn’t wanna cum until you did. 

Just as your orgasm surged closer,your phone suddenly rang. The sound sliced through the moment like a knife. You flinched. Alexia stilled mid-thrust, glancing at the screen lighting up beside you.

It was Jana.

Just as your finger hovered above the decline button, Alexia spoke up. “Answer it. She might still think you’re still on the way to meet them.”

You hesitated, biting your lip, then reluctantly took the call. Awkwardly angling your body, you glanced back at Alexia — her strap still steady inside you, her gaze unreadable. She simply raised both brows and nodded at the phone.

“Hello, Jana?” you said, putting the call on speaker, since holding it to your ear was impossible in your current position.

“Hey, are you on the way?”

“Oh, I don’t KNOW–” you gasped, the words escaping louder than intended as Alexia suddenly thrust into you again You looked back at her, eyes wide in disbelief. She just smirked, continuing her rhythm, slow but deliberate. You clenched your jaw, trying to swallow a moan.

“Oh my god, what happened?” Jana asked, alarmed. “Did you slip? It sounded like you saw a ghost.”

“N-no, I just…” You couldn’t continue your thought, trying too hard to focus on choking down your moans as Alexia thrusted into you. “I just gotta finish something real quick.”

Jana paused, then asked, voice audible confused. “Wait, so, are you still coming?”

Alexia let out a quiet laugh at the phrasing. You shot her a glare, but she only shrugged. You struggled to form a coherent sentence, brows furrowed as Alexia picked up her pace again. “Uh, I think – uh…”

Alexia chuckled again before bending over slightly, resting some of her weight on your back as she plucked the phone from beside you. “Jana, she’s gonna have to cancel.” Alexia said, speaking for you.

“Alexia?” Jana’s voice through the phone said, audibly confused. “Wait what happened? Is she okay?”

You looked back, breath caught, locking eyes with Alexia. A mischievous smile curled at her lips. “She’s fine,” she said sweetly. “She was just shocked now because I asked her out on a date.”

“A date?!” Jana shrieked, voice crackling through the speaker. But before she could say more, Alexia ended the call and tossed your phone aside. Her eyes found yours again.

“No more sneaking around,” she said, her voice low and certain. “And you don’t have to act like a possessive, jealous mess anymore.”

Alexia’s smile grew more mischievous as she rested her hands on your hips again. “Now, let me fuck you like a good girlfriend.”

You smiled, dazed and breathless but the expression barely lasted a moment. Your face contorted again, eyebrows knit together, a sharp gasp escaping your parted lips as Alexia thrust into you once more. Her thrusts were fast and unrelenting. Each stroke was deep, purposeful, her hips snapping forward with precision and hunger.

You could feel your moans grow louder, any attempt at control long gone, your voice trembling with every punishing thrust.

Alexia could feel the tension coiling in her core, her own orgasm building rapidly. But she held it back. Her rhythm grew messier, less measured but it didn’t lose its urgency. If anything, she fucked you harder, grunting low under her breath as her thrusts remained quick and relentless.

Your moans turned to desperate, near-incoherent sounds, your hands now gripping the sheets like a lifeline. Each movement of her hips drove you closer to the edge until one deep thrust completely sent you over it.

Your entire body arched, a broken moan of her name spilling from your lips as the climax crashed into you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. Pleasure flooded every nerve, and your limbs went slack beneath her.

Still, Alexia didn’t stop right away. She kept thrusting, riding the high of your release, chasing her own. A few more messy, fast strokes… and then she cursed under her breath, the tension finally snapping inside her.

She stepped back with shaky legs, pulling the strap out of you slowly. Then she collapsed beside you on the bed, her body half-draped across the sheets, chest rising and falling rapidly as she caught her breath.

You were still on your stomach, eyes fluttering open only when you felt her gaze. You turned your head just enough to meet her eyes. She smiled at the sight of you, exhausted and used, covered in your own sweat but still utterly gorgeous with cheeks flushed and lips swollen. She felt that you were always at your prettiest whenever she just fucked the living shit out of you.

“Did that make it up to you?” she asked, breathless but cocky, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. 

“No,” you responded, pouting before pointing at your disheveled hair. “Does that look like a ponytail to you?”

A couple days after the game, you were back to training. You had expected things to be a little different, expecting Jana to have spread the news already but it just seemed normal… a bit too normal.

Everyone seemed to not want to bring it up, staying quiet as you walked into the locker room. But there were subtle hints that told you everyone knew.

Patri winked at you when you passed by her. Ingrid tried to act normal but she nudged Mapi in a not-so-subtle way, wiggling her eyebrows and pointedly looking towards Alexia shortly after. Jana widened her eyes at you with an annoyed look, probably pissed you didn’t call her back to tell her everything.

You did your best to pretend not to notice, not knowing how to react to it. When you thought about being more public with Alexia, you didn’t think about how much teasing you’d potentially face with your teammates.

After putting on her boots and straightening up her clothes, Alexia walked up to your locker, putting a hand up on the door of your locker. She smiled warmly at you, eyeing you. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks, suddenly feeling everyone’s eyes on you.

You blinked at her. “What?”

She nodded toward your wrist. “Hairtie,” she smirked. “I know it isn’t a game but I just wanna do it for you.”

You hesitated for a second, but she gave you that look — the are you gonna make this weird or not? one — and you sighed, turned around, and handed it over. Alexia started tying your hair with practiced ease. No teasing, no flirtatious whispering. Alexia knew that your relationship was known by all your teammates at this points but that didn’t mean she had to put on the PDA everytime. She was still a captain after all.

The second she finished, there was a beat of silence. 

Until Aitana, who had been previously left out of the loop by the other teammates, pulled back from Ona whispering to her. She had a shocked look, visibly surprised by the news that you two were apparently now dating.

 “Wait… so is the hair tying a kink?” Her voice came out a little too loud, cutting through the silence.

The room erupted. 

Cata let out an actual shriek. Patri nearly fell off the bench laughing. Everyone started laughing loudly as if they had been holding in the entire time.. Even Pere paused in the doorway, eyebrows slowly rising.

Alexia just looked at you with a smile, “She’s not completely wrong.”

The locker room exploded again. You covered your face with both hands, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“No more secrets, right?” Alexia said as she shrugged, clearly enjoying herself.

a/n: sorry this took too long. i was TIRED ASF after a job i had to do last saturday and had to rest the day after then i had class and yeah whatever. i hope this is worth it! i started doubting myself with this fic and nearly did not post it so please BE NICE and dont send hate if u think this sucked ass aaaaa masterlist taglist: @write287 @idonhaveablog12345 @ace-of-baked @maeshoneyles @pinkygirliee @haloo256 @wosolipa @tenyleas @lynchloverr @footy-lover264 @kellyscooneycross @rikuwashere24 @barcelonafem24 — @gozzi-1154 @floppy-03 @daniwhatwhat @sapphicdarlingx @dfwspky @miss-americana22 @lilibach @liloandstitchstan @tikitakatia @beeversblues

was it me running 10k in the Barcelona sun? because this is getting hot 🥵

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

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

You weren’t sure if Alexia was actually going to follow through. She talked a big game, sure. But this? This was different. This was her stepping past the safety of online flirting. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she meant it this time. So when training wrapped up and you were cooling down with a few teammates, you weren’t entirely surprised when your phone buzzed.

Alexia: Where are you?

No pleasantries. No hesitation. Straight to the point. You grinned, wiping sweat from your forehead as you typed back.

You: Facility gym. Why? You looking for me?

Read at 2:13 PM. A long pause.

Alexia: Maybe.

Your smirk deepened.

You: You lost or something?

Alexia: No. But you’re about to be.

You frowned at your screen, confused until you heard a voice behind you.

"¿Qué tal, estrella?"

You turned, pulse kicking up a notch. Alexia stood just inside the entrance of the gym, arms crossed, a small smirk playing on her lips.

She was actually here.

And she looked way too confident about it. "Didn’t think you’d actually show up," you said, tossing your towel aside as you took a slow step toward her.

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glinting. "Why? Because you think I only talk and don’t act?"

You shrugged, mirroring her stance. "Haven’t exactly seen you prove me wrong yet."

A flicker of something crossed her face, challenge, maybe. Or irritation. Then, in one smooth movement, she stepped closer, invading your space just enough to make your breath hitch. "You like pushing me, don’t you?" she murmured.

You swallowed, your fingers twitching at your sides. "Maybe."

Alexia hummed, her gaze flickering over your face like she was studying every reaction. Then, her voice dropped lower. "Careful what you wish for."

Déjà vu.

She had texted you those words just hours ago. But hearing them in person? That was different. That was Alexia daring you to finally stop playing games.

You held Alexia’s gaze, your breath steady despite the heat creeping up your spine. She was testing you. Pushing you. Fine. Two could play that game.

You shifted your stance, standing taller, letting a slow smirk curl your lips. “You keep saying that, but I’m still waiting for you to prove it.”

Alexia’s eyes flickered with something dark, determined. “Oh?” she mused, taking another step forward.

You refused to move back. You were locked in now, a silent stand-off, neither willing to be the first to break. A few of your teammates were still lingering nearby, pretending very poorly not to watch. You caught one of them nudging another, both whispering behind their hands. Great. An audience.

Alexia must have noticed too because her smirk widened. “Your team seems interested in this.”

You let out a short laugh. “Can’t blame them. You’ve been running your mouth online for weeks.”

She tilted her head. “And yet, you’re still here. Entertaining it.”

Your jaw clenched for half a second. She had a point. But you weren’t about to give her the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, you shrugged. “Maybe I just like the attention.”

Alexia’s gaze dropped to your lips, just for a flicker of a second before snapping back up. “That makes two of us.”

Damn.

That shouldn’t have hit you like it did. But it did. You were about to respond when one of your teammates loudly cleared their throat.

“So… should we leave you two alone or—?”

You rolled your eyes, finally stepping back from Alexia with an exasperated sigh. “Mind your business.”

Your teammate just laughed, raising their hands in surrender before walking off. Alexia, though, stayed exactly where she was, watching you with that same knowing look. Eventually, she glanced down at her phone. “I should go.”

You arched a brow. “Already?”

She smirked. “I just needed to see something.”

You folded your arms. “And?”

She leaned in slightly, voice teasing. “I got my answer.” Then, before you could react, she turned on her heel and walked away, leaving you standing there heart racing, mind spinning, and absolutely not ready to let her have the last word.

If anyone thought the online back-and-forth between you and Alexia was slowing down, they were sorely mistaken. Because after your little run-in at the training facility, things only escalated. It started with a subtle like on one of your gym photos—one where your arms and shoulders were looking particularly good. No comment, just the quiet acknowledgment that she had seen it.

Then, a few days later, you posted a clip from training—hitting a deep three-pointer with ease. The caption?

Some things just come naturally. ☄️

The fans hyped it up immediately, and you didn’t think much of it—until Alexia replied.

Alexiaputellas: That so?

Short. Simple. Almost dismissive. But you knew what she was doing. So, you baited her right back.

Yourusername: Something you wanna say, 11?

She liked the comment but didn’t reply. Left you hanging. And if there was one thing you were learning about Alexia, it was that she loved to leave you guessing.

Then, the next day, she posted a picture from her own training session sharp focus, locked in. The caption,

Alexia: Nothing worth having comes easy.

No mention of you, no direct callout. But the timing was too perfect to be a coincidence.

The fans noticed.

— She’s talking about YOU, bestie — Oh, she’s so smooth with it — Just date already

Then, to your surprise, Alexia’s teammates got involved.

Irene Paredes commented first.

Irene: Is this flirting? Or are you two actually beefing? I can’t tell.

Then Mapi León.

Mapi: At this point, I think they don’t even know either.

And finally, Patri Guijarro.

Patri: Either kiss or fight because this needs to get a lot more interesting

That was it. The fans were losing their minds.

— EVEN PATRI SEES IT — MAPI BE SO REAL FOR THIS — SOMEONE PLEASE JUST CONFESS ALREADY

And then just as you were about to call it a night Alexia finally responded.

Alexia: Some games take patience.

Your heart kicked. Because now, she wasn’t just playing along. She was doubling down.

You knew Alexia was watching. From the moment your basketball team stepped onto the Barcelona training pitch for a fitness test, you could feel her eyes on you. She wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. The gym overlooked the field, glass windows giving a perfect view of everything happening outside. And sure enough, through the reflection of your sunglasses, you could see her standing there—arms crossed, watching intently. So, if she wanted to watch? You’d give her something to look at.

The fitness test was brutal. Sprint drills, agility work, endurance runs under the unforgiving Barcelona sun. Sweat dripped down your temple, muscles burning as you pushed through each set. And still, you made sure to keep your movements sharp. Effortless. Letting your strength and control show in every stride, every pivot, every flex of muscle as you drove forward with precision.

And when the heat finally got too much you grabbed the hem of your training top and peeled it off in one smooth motion, letting the sun warm your bare skin. You didn’t need to look up to know Alexia had seen it. The shift in energy was instant. A pause in her usual movement, just for half a second. The way she adjusted her stance, fingers twitching slightly at her sides. You bit back a smirk.

One of your teammates jogged past, nudging you with an amused look. “You do realise she’s staring, right?”

“Oh, I know.”

You could feel it.

Even as you finished the final sprint, chest rising and falling with deep breaths, you knew Alexia’s eyes hadn’t left you. And when you finally allowed yourself a glance toward the gym window, you met her gaze directly. She didn’t look away. Didn’t try to hide it. Instead, she arched a brow—almost like she was challenging you.

Your smirk deepened. This game you were playing? It was far from over. 

The fitness test was over however, but you and a few of your teammates weren’t in a rush to leave. The sun was warm against your skin, and after pushing yourselves through relentless sprints and agility drills, a little downtime on the grass felt well-earned. You stretched out, leaning back on your hands, legs extended in front of you as you let the sun soak into your muscles.  

That was when you noticed them. Barcelona’s women’s team, stepping onto the field for their own training session.  

And leading the way, of course, Alexia.  

You felt her presence before you even looked up properly, but when you did—oh, she was already watching.  

Her gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, taking in every inch of you stretched out in the sun. You were still shirtless from training, skin glistening slightly from exertion, and you didn’t miss the way her eyes lingered just for a second longer than necessary.  

She caught herself quickly, but not quickly enough. Because now, you knew. And she knew you knew. Still, she didn’t back down. Instead, she smirked.  

“You tired already?” she called out, voice loud and teasing enough to grab the attention of both her teammates and yours. “Didn’t think basketball players ran out of energy so fast.”  

Some of her teammates snickered. One of your own muttered beside you, “Oh, she’s feeling herself today.”  

You tilted your head lazily in her direction, feigning boredom even as amusement tugged at your lips. “Didn’t realise footballers were so idle they had the time to watch other athletes train.”

The laughter from both teams was instant.  

Alexia arched a brow, and for the briefest moment, you swore she hesitated like she hadn’t expected you to throw it right back at her.  

Then she kept walking, slowing just slightly as she passed where you were sitting. And in a voice meant only for you, she murmured, “Well, you put on quite the show.”  

Her tone was smooth, confident like she wasn’t affected at all. But her eyes betrayed her.  Because just as she started to jog toward her teammates, her gaze dipped one last time trailing down the length of you, lingering at your abs before snapping back up to meet yours.  

You caught it.  

And judging by the sharp inhale she took before looking away, she knew you did too. You grinned, leaning back on your hands again, completely at ease. “Let’s see if you can do better, then.”  

She glanced over her shoulder, still smirking. “Oh, don’t worry,” she shot back. “I always do.”  

And with that, she was gone joining her team, acting like that whole exchange hadn’t just happened.  

One of your teammates let out a low whistle. “Yeah, you’re so in trouble.”  

Maybe. But judging by the way Alexia had just looked at you?  She was too.

As Barcelona’s women’s team started their drills, your teammates were still chuckling beside you, sending each other knowing looks. One of them nudged your side.  

“You’re playing with fire, you know that?”  

You just smirked, stretching your arms behind your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  

Another scoffed. “Right. And Alexia wasn’t just eye-fucking you five minutes ago.”  

You laughed, shaking your head, but you didn’t deny it. Because, yeah, Alexia hadn’t been subtle. And neither had you.  

You stayed on the sidelines, still catching some sun, but now your focus was elsewhere. You weren’t watching the entire Barcelona squad train, you were watching her. And she knew it.  

Because every time she had the ball at her feet, she was sharper. Every pass, every turn, every effortless control of the ball was dialed up, like she wanted to make sure you saw just how good she was.  

Then came the finishing drills.  

Alexia stepped up first. The ball was played into her stride, and without hesitation, she struck it cleanly top corner, unstoppable.  

You let out a small whistle, just loud enough for her to hear. She turned her head slightly, her smirk barely contained.  The next one? She took it first-time, a volley that rocketed into the net.  

Your teammates started laughing beside you. “Oh, she’s showing off now.”  

You just grinned. “Let her.”  

And Alexia just kept going.  

Goal after goal. Every movement precise, controlled, effortless. It wasn’t just about skill—it was about making sure you saw exactly what she could do.  

Then came the final drill, a one-on-one situation with the keeper. Alexia received the ball, dribbled smoothly into the box, then stopped—just for a second—before coolly slotting it past the keeper.  

And when she turned around she didn’t look at her teammates. She looked straight at you.

Like she was daring you to say something. You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on your knees, letting her have her moment before tilting your head. “Not bad.”  

Her brow arched, her smirk growing. She scoffed, shaking her head as she jogged back to her team.  

One of her teammates, elbowed her and said something that made Alexia roll her eyes. But she was still smirking, still stealing glances your way when she thought you weren’t looking.  

Oh, you were definitely looking. And this game between you? It was far from over. It was heating up.

You could feel her eyes on you.  Even from across the field, where she stood with her teammates, pretending to be focused on training you knew exactly who Alexia was watching.  

So, naturally, you decided to have a little fun with it.  

Ona Batlle had come over to chat, casual and easygoing, but you knew what this really was. An opportunity. A chance to push Alexia just a little further, to see how much she could take before she cracked.  

So, you turned on the charm. “You ever consider switching sports?” you asked, smirking at Ona. “I think you’d do well in basketball.”  

Ona grinned, playing along. “Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”  

You leaned in slightly, just enough to make it look like something. “You’ve got speed. Good reflexes. I think you could handle yourself on the court.”  

From the corner of your eye, you caught the subtle shift in Alexia’s stance. The way her jaw clenched, the way she stood a little straighter, like she was resisting the urge to storm over.  

Perfect.  

Ona tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. But would you actually teach me? Or just use it as an excuse to show off?”  

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I’d definitely show off. But I’d make sure you learned something in the process.”  

Ona laughed, nudging your arm playfully. “Sounds like a fair deal.”  

You made a show of grinning back, knowing exactly what you were doing. Alexia knew it too.  

When you flicked your gaze in her direction, you didn’t even try to hide your amusement. And for the first time since this whole thing started, Alexia didn’t smirk back.  

She just stared and when training resumed, she didn’t hold back. Every touch, every pass, every shot—there was extra venom behind it, extra bite. She was playing with a sharpness, a level of intensity that screamed one thing.  

You’d gotten to her. And that was exactly what you wanted.

You weren’t staying.  

You had done what you came to do, run your fitness tests, pushing Alexia’s buttons, and maybe drive her just a little crazy in the process. Was an unexpected bonus.

You were leaving. Just like she had at your practice.  Fair was fair.   You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you walked around the edge to leave, your teammates still lounging behind you, soaking in the sun.  

But you barely made it a few steps off the pitch before you heard hurried footsteps behind you.  

You knew who it was before even turning around.  

“Leaving already?”  

Alexia’s voice was smooth, but there was something beneath it. Something tight. You exhaled a quiet laugh, not slowing down. “Didn’t realise I had to check out with you first.”  

Alexia scoffed, catching up to walk beside you, her pace casual but her presence anything but. “You don’t. Just surprised, that’s all.”  

You hummed, letting the silence stretch, watching as she very obviously tried to keep her eyes on your face. She failed. Her gaze dipped—once, twice—dragging down over your torso, where your shirt was still slung over your shoulder. The heat of the sun had been the perfect excuse to take it off earlier, and you hadn’t bothered putting it back on.  

Now, it was paying off. Because Alexia wasn’t subtle. Her eyes lingered just a second too long, her tongue darting out to wet her lips before she forced her gaze back up.  

You smirked. “Something catch your eye?”  

Her jaw tightened. “You wish.”  

“Oh, I know.”  

You stopped walking, turning fully to face her now, and she mirrored the movement without hesitation. For a second, neither of you spoke. But the tension. It was palpable.  

A slow burn in the space between you, stretching, thickening. Her eyes searched yours, like she was looking for a sign, a challenge, an opening, something.  

And you weren’t about to back down.  

So, you tilted your head, letting your smirk deepen. “I didn’t think you followed people when they were the ones leaving early.”  

Alexia exhaled sharply, her lips pressing together. “I wasn’t following you.”  

You chuckled. “No?”  

“No.” She squared her shoulders. “I had things to do.”  

You stepped a little closer—just enough that you swore you saw her breath hitch. “Right. And those things just happened to be in the same direction as me?”  

She didn’t answer right away. And in that silence, you swore you felt it shift. The teasing, the games—it was still there, but underneath it, something heavier. Something you weren’t sure either of you was ready to name.  

Alexia’s gaze flickered, just for a second, to your lips before she caught herself.  Then, as quickly as she had followed you she was stepping back.  

Regaining her composure. “You should put a shirt on,” she muttered.  

You grinned, reaching for your bag. “Why? Distracting?”  

She didn’t dignify that with a response. She just turned on her heel, walking away without another word. But she didn’t have to say anything. Because you knew. And next time you weren’t going to let her walk away so easily.

You weren’t one to back down from a challenge—especially not one unspoken.  

So, after training, standing in front of the mirror in the locker room, still shirtless, sweat clinging to your skin, you did what had to be done.  

You snapped the picture.  

The lighting was good, your abs looked sharp, and the smirk you wore? Just cocky enough to be annoying.  

Perfect.  

You opened Instagram, fingers hovering over the caption for only a second before typing exactly what you knew would send the world—and Alexia—into a frenzy.  

"Should I do as I’m told and put a shirt on? 🤔"

You hit post.  

And within minutes, the internet erupted.  

@barcaworldwide: WE NEED TO KNOW WHO TOLD YOU THIS. 👀  

@baskethoopsdaily: No. Don’t do it. For the culture.  

@alexiapfans: Someone check on Alexia! Is she ok? I AM NOT OKAY.  

@yourteammatename: I vote no. But if you get fined for this, I was never here.  

@AlbaPutellas: I feel like you’re enjoying this way too much.  

@alexiaputellas: You already know the answer.  

That last comment. Yeah. That’s the one that really got everyone talking.  

Because unlike the others—unlike all the laughing emojis and thirsty replies and teammates stirring the pot—Alexia’s response was… different.  

She wasn’t playing along, not exactly. She was reminding you that she had told you to put a shirt on. That she’d been there, watching, reacting.  

And that was enough to send her fans into a meltdown.  

@alexiaupdates: WE NEED AN INTERPRETATION IMMEDIATELY.  

@spainwntdaily: “You already know the answer” ??????? EXCUSE ME.  

@barcelona_fc_fan: This is the most obvious “I was watching you and you know it” message I’ve ever seen.  

@yournamefanclub: IS THIS OUR ROMANTIC ERA.  

You leaned back in your bath, staring at the screen, the likes skyrocketing, the comments piling up by the second.  

And then, before you could even think of a response, your phone buzzed with a private message.  

Alexia should have let it go.  

She should have ignored your post, pretended it didn’t get to her, pretended she didn’t see it.  

But she didn’t.  

She liked it. She commented on it. And then, hours later, when you were relaxing in the bath, she went a step further.  

Alexia: You’re a menace.

You grinned, typing back.  

You: And yet, you keep engaging.

She left you on read.  But she liked the text. And that said everything.

Your phone buzzed yet again.  

Alexia: You still haven’t answered the question.

You smirked

You: Which one?

Her reply came almost immediately.  

Alexia: Should you do as you’re told?

You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head. She was playing now, pushing this back into your hands, daring you to make a move.  

So you did.  

You took your time with your response, letting your fingers hover over the keyboard before typing.  

You: You tell me, Capitana. You seem to like giving orders.

Read at 9:46 PM.  

No reply.  

For a while, you let it sit, let her stew in it, let her decide whether she wanted to keep going or tap out. And then, when you were sure she couldn’t handle the heat. Your phone buzzed.

Alexia: I like being in control.

Your breath caught just slightly. Oh, she was good. But so were you.  

You could have left it there, let the tension build, let it simmer in the background. But where was the fun in that?  

Instead, you opened Instagram again, snapped another picture—this time, just a teasing hint of your legs and the glass of wine in your hand in the bath—and posted it to your story with a caption that would definitely get a reaction.  

".. whilst waiting on my orders. 👀"

And you knew she saw it.  Because not even five seconds later, you got another message.  

Alexia: Eres insoportable. (You’re unbearable.)

You: And yet, you’re still here.

She left you on read again. But something told you this wasn’t over. Not even close.

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.

Bebita - Alexia Putellas

Summary: Turns out the captain’s toughest rival isn’t on the pitch-it’s her own baby, who smiles for the squad but not for her.

Warning: One adorable baby, one jealous Alexia, and two exhausted parents who are definitely too tired for anything even remotely sexy.

Word count: 2.7

a/n: This is a scheduled post, I'm sleeping.

MASTERLIST

..

The VIP area sat a few rows up–quiet except for the distant thump of the ball and the soft murmur of the crowd. Y/n settled into the seat, baby Clara balanced on her lap. 

Clara’s tiny brunette pigtails bobbed as she wriggled against Y/n’s chest, her hazel eyes fixed on the green pitch below. She was always like that, always trying to move away from Y/n and Alexia, even though she had barely learned how to stand on her own.

Out on the field, Alexia knelt on one knee, cycling through her familiar pre‑match stretch, every motion precise and powerful. 

Clara watched, leaning forward as though she understood that the woman in the Barça kit was her other mama.

“Look, mi amor,” Y/n whispered, angling Clara so she could see. “Do you see Mami?”

Clara squealed happily, reaching out to point. In her other hand, she clutched the battered cat‑culer teddy Vicky had given her.

It had been a gift for Clara’s first birthday, which had happened just weeks ago. How did a one-year-old manage to take off the cat's tails, bite down its ear and unsew its eyes? Y/n wasn’t sure, but she was sure that Clara loved the thing dearly.

Y/n brushed a strand of hair from Clara’s forehead. “She’s getting ready to play for you today.”

Clara shifted, trying to stand. Her little legs wobbled, and she toppled onto Y/n’s thigh with a surprised giggle.

“You’re going to fall,” Y/n laughed, scooping her daughter, sitting her on her lap. “You just learned how to do that–be patient.”

Clara patted Y/n’s cheek, then lifted Cat, pressing it against her cheek as if comforting herself–and everyone else too.

Through the railing, Y/n watched Alexia rise and take a final glance toward the stands, her eyes briefly meeting Y/n’s. 

Alexia gave a single nod, smiling shyly.

Y/n smiled and took Clara’s small hand and waved at Alexia. “Say hi to mami, Bebita.”

Clara babbled excitedly, watching her mom.

Y/n pressed her lips to Clara’s pigtail. “Ready to see Mama in action? The game’s starting.”

Clara kicked her legs and clutched Cat tighter.

Y/n put earmuffs on Clara, and they both waited for Alexia’s first touch of the ball.

..

Y/n stepped down onto the pitch, Clara cradled in her arms, the roar of the crowd fading into a soft hum now that the final whistle had blown. 

Alexia jogged over from midfield, still in her game‑worn kit, sweat-slick hair plastered to her forehead, a smile on her face, both from seeing her little family and from winning the game as well.

Clara’s hazel eyes gleamed–not at Alexia, but at the Cat teddy Y/n held. 

Y/n had just pried it away to stop Clara from yanking out its last button eye, but the little one was too quick; she snatched it back, buried her face in its floppy ear, and squeezed it as if it were the only thing in the world.

“Hey, mi amor–where’s my big winner's smile?” Alexia called softly, holding out her arms for Clara.

Clara peeked over the teddy. 

Y/n wasn’t sure, but somehow Clara has mastered the deadpan face at only one year and two weeks.

Alexia’s brow furrowed. 

Alexia’s brow creased in confusion. “Why so serious, bebita?” she asked, reaching to lift Clara into her arms—but each time she tried, Clara twisted away.

“She didn’t even give me a single grin,” Alexia said, casting a pleading glance at Y/n. “Do you think… is she mad at me?”

Y/n chuckled, rocking Clara gently against her. “She’s not mad, amor. I think she’s just tired.”

“Tired?” Alexia scoffed. “I saw her napping from the pitch.”

“Sleeping surrounded by thousands of people isn’t the same as snoozing at home,” Y/n replied, stepping closer. “But now, can the captain give me some attention?”

Alexia grinned, leaning in for a quick kiss, only to feel something wet against her cheek. Clara was pushing her face away,

“Okay, wow,” Alexia said, feigning offence. “What’s put you in such a mood, huh? Did Mama not breastfeed you today?”

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Of course I did.”

Before Y/n could even get a word out, Vicky and Jana appeared at the edge of the pitch, grinning like they’d just won the lottery.

“Bebita!” they called in perfect unison, spotting Clara from a distance.

Clara’s deadpan expression shattered instantly into a bright, gummy grin–her two little teeth front and centre like she was showing them off. 

As the two girls jogged over, she actually started to wiggle in Y/n’s arms, arms flailing in excitement.

Vicky scooped her up with practised ease, plopping Clara into her lap like they were old besties. 

Jana was already fussing with her pigtails, smoothing them down and cooing sweet nothings that had Clara giggling, soft and high-pitched, the kind of sound that made everyone around them melt.

Y/n and Alexia shared a long, stunned glance.

Alexia crossed her arms, deeply offended. “Wow. Amazing. My own filla [daughter] ignores me but loses her mind for these two.”

Y/n patted her shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. “Don’t pout, campeona. She does love you–just maybe not right now.”

Alexia sighed deeply, leaning over to tousle Clara’s hair in an attempt to salvage her dignity. 

But Clara, nestled happily in Vicky’s arms, gave her a very unimpressed wave–one lazy, pudgy little hand–and turned right back around to cuddle her beloved teddy and friend.

Y/n could swear she saw her daughter frown at Alexia. A warning frown. 

Alexia looked wounded. “Did… did she just glare at me?”

Y/n bit back a laugh. “Maybe. A little. You might have messed with her giggling privileges.”

“I hope she doesn’t expect me to pick her up from parties when she’s older,” Alexia muttered, arms wrapped lazily around Y/n from behind.

Y/n snorted. “Oh? So you’re already planning to let her go to parties now? Because last I heard, you said she wouldn’t be out of our sight until she turned 23 and a half.”

“Shut up,” Alexia grumbled, chin on Y/n’s shoulder, eyes narrowed as more players started to swarm their tiny queen. “She’s supposed to be obsessed with us, not… them.”

Clara, meanwhile, was thriving. Surrounded by teammates, she sat like a baby monarch on Vicky’s lap, accepting all compliments and forehead kisses.

Alexia checked her Samsung watch. Fifteen minutes.

“That’s ridiculous,” she huffed. “I carried her for nine months!”

Y/n said grumpily. “No, you didn’t. I did.”

Alexia rolled her eyes. “Fine. But I’m the one who wakes up every night to change her diaper.”

Y/n gave an exaggerated shrug. “Yeah… that’s fair.”

Alexia had already had enough. She pulled away and marched toward the huddle of players, determined to reassert her maternal dominance.

By then, Clara had migrated from Vicky to Patri, who had Pina crouched in front of them playing peek-a-boo with the intensity of a professional entertainer. 

Every “boo!” sent Clara into high-pitched giggles, her tiny arms flailing like she was trying to fly.

Off to the side, Salma had somehow gotten hold of the Cat Culer plush and was cradling it like a kitten, complete with exaggerated ‘mrow-mrow’ sounds and purring noises. 

Clara was enchanted. She squealed and reached both hands toward Salma.

She swivelled from Patri to Salma, a wide smile spreading across her face. It was a deadly combo: Patri’s over-the-top silly faces and Salma’s soft, ridiculous lullaby cat impressions.

Alexia barely made it back to the group before Clara let out a delighted squeal.

Too much. That was too much joy for one player circle.

Without warning, Alexia swooped in and plucked Clara right out of Patri’s arms.

“Come on, Clara,” she muttered, hoisting Clara onto her hip like a protective mama bear. “You’re ours.”

“Noo!” Patri gasped, hands dramatically outstretched. “Our amiga!”

“She was smiling!” Jana chimed in from seemingly nowhere.

Alexia blinked. “Where did you even come from?”

Jana just pouted and pointed. “She likes me more than you.”

Alexia raised her brows. “She drooled on your shoulder last week.”

Alexia ignored them all, bouncing Clara gently on her hip and muttering like a dramatic villain, “Your amiga needs to sleep in one hour, chicas. Back off.”

And that’s what did it.

Clara’s big eyes blinked once… twice… and then her lip wobbled.

The betrayal hit her in full force.

She let out a wail so dramatic, so raw and heartbroken. How did a baby have so many emotions? Who knows?

Alexia’s face fell in real time. 

“Oh, come on, bebita…” she cooed, trying to adjust her hold, bouncing Clara with expert panic. “Don’t cry. Mama’s sorry–”

“Give her back,” Vicky said, deadpan. 

“No!” Alexia turned, spinning away like she was protecting Clara, “She’s mine. I made her.”

“You did not!” Y/n called after her.  “I made her, remember? Forty-three weeks?”

Alexia didn’t turn around. “Fine, but I clipped her nails yesterday. Let me have this!”

Y/n stepped forward without a word and plucked Clara from Alexia’s arms.

“Shh, what’s going on with you today, huh?” she asked, settling Clara against her chest. Instantly, Clara melted into her, the cries slowing as she rooted for the breast like nothing had happened.

Alexia folded her arms and watched the scene unfold, tapping her foot. “She hates me today.”

Y/n leaned in and kissed her cheek, still swaying with Clara. “She doesn’t hate you. She just wants to party with the girls.”

Alexia’s pout softened. “Next time, she should save a giggle or two for me.”

Clara was nearly asleep by the time Alexia guided them toward the locker room, collecting her things so they could finally go home.

The walk to the car was slow, careful not to wake the tiny diva—but Clara, ever the drama queen, cracked her big hazel eyes open as Y/n buckled her into the car seat.

“Hi, Neneta,” Y/n cooed in a baby voice. “I bet you're gonna stay up the whole drive and absolutely not fall asleep at bedtime, huh? Yeah, of course you will.”

Clara giggled, like she was absolutely planning to sabotage their night.

Y/n frowned, struggling with the seatbelt–it wasn’t going over the right way, and it looked like it was pressing into Clara’s belly.

“Ale, I need help,” she called, glancing over her shoulder.

Alexia appeared behind her, now in a soft, oversized shirt, hair down and still damp from her shower. “What, amor?”

She leaned in to take a look–and that’s when it happened.

Clara smiled. Not just any smile. A big, two-toothed, gummy grin, arms shooting up toward Alexia.

Alexia gasped. Literal tears sprang to her eyes. 

“Oh, el meu tresor, has tornat a estimar la mameta, eh?” [Oh my treasure, have you come back to loving mommy, huh?]

She scooped Clara out of the car seat with no hesitation, kissing her all over while Clara giggled and wrapped a chubby hand in Alexia’s hair.

“Alexia, put her back!” Y/n scolded. “It’s cold! She’s gonna catch a cold!”

“My bebita,” Alexia crooned, ignoring her. “Mine.”

Y/n squinted. Something wasn’t adding up. Then her eyes narrowed in on the baby's fist, twisted lovingly in Alexia’s damp hair.

“Alexia,” she said slowly.

“What?” Alexia asked, still too busy baby-cuddling to notice the growing danger.

Without another word, Y/n stepped forward, gently took a handful of Alexia’s hair, and lifted it up into a mock ponytail.

Instantly–cry. A full-body, soul-deep shriek from Clara that echoed off the parking garage walls.

“What the-?”

Before Alexia could finish, Y/n let her hair fall back down. Clara stopped crying on a dime. She blinked twice, then went back to calmly playing with Alexia’s nose.

“She doesn’t like your hair up,” Y/n deadpanned. “She’s been mad at you all day because you put it in a ponytail. Diva behaviour.”

Alexia stared at her daughter in disbelief. “Is that true, bebita? I’m gonna have to figure out how to play football with my hair down, huh?”

Clara gave her a sleepy little grunt and patted her cheek, as if to say, finally, someone’s catching on.

The car ride home was full of Clara's babble–her favourite form of post-bedtime rebellion.

“She’s giving a full concert back there,” Alexia mumbled, one hand on the wheel, the other holding Y/n’s thigh.

“She’s practising for her world tour,” Alexia said with a small yawn.

From the backseat came a joyful “DA! and “MA!” followed by a long, dramatic sigh…Clara’s version of a mic drop.

Y/n twisted in her seat to look at her. “Clara, it’s sleepy time.”

Clara kicked her feet.

Alexia glanced at her in the mirror. “Bebita, no kicking mami.”

“Maybe she just needs to wind down,” Alexia offered. “You know, like a little story, some quiet time…”

“She just yelled at her own toes,” Y/n said hopelessly. “We’re not sleeping today.”

By the time they pulled into the garage, Clara was still going strong, waving her arms as if she was saying hi to a crowd, but Alexia didn’t care because she was giving her a gummy grin every time she looked back. 

Y/n unbuckled her with a sigh.

“We have ten minutes before she realises she’s a baby and not a woman in her twenties at a club,” she muttered.

Inside, Alexia took Clara while Y/n dealt with the diaper bag and Alexia’s game bag. 

Clara was clinging to her again, arms tight around Alexia’s neck, one hand firmly rooted in her hair like she was personally in charge of keeping it down.

“She’s obsessed with your hair,” Y/n said as she walked into the nursery.

“She has taste,” Alexia replied, swaying slowly with Clara in her arms.

“She has control issues.”

“She gets that from you.”

Y/n shot her a glare, but was too tired to keep it up. Instead, she leaned against the doorway, watching the two of them. 

Clara was slowing down now, her lids heavy as Alexia quietly hummed a lullaby in Catalan, her hand rubbing soft circles on Clara’s back.

It was quiet for a moment, just the gentle and occasional creak of the floorboards under their feet. 

Y/n felt something melt in her chest.

“You’re really good at this,” she murmured.

Alexia glanced over at her, surprised. “At what?”

“Being her mom.”

Alexia’s mouth tugged into the smallest, most fragile smile. “Only when my hair’s down, apparently.”

“She just missed you,” Y/n said, crossing the room to stand beside her. “You’re her favourite, you know.”

Alexia looked down at Clara, whose tiny hand was still tangled in her hair, her face finally tucked into her mom’s neck. “She’s my favourite, too–well, you and her.”

Y/n leaned her head on Alexia’s shoulder, both of them swaying now in the half-lit nursery. Clara let out a soft sigh–peaceful this time–and went limp in Alexia’s arms, fully asleep.

“Victory,” Y/n whispered.

“Don’t jinx it,” Alexia whispered back.

They waited another few minutes, just to be sure, then moved into the quiet routine that every young parent had. 

Alexia laid Clara in the crib. Y/n pulled the blanket up. Neither of them breathed until they were sure she was down for real.

Back in the hallway, Y/n pulled Alexia into a long, slow hug, burying her face in the damp hair. “I vote you never wear a ponytail again.”

Alexia chuckled, kissing her temple. “Deal.”

They padded off to their bedroom, tired and tangled in each other, both grateful that Clara had finally called it a night.

Y/n flopped face-first onto the bed with a groan. “Okay, but we both agree we’re too tired for sex, right?”

There was no answer.

Y/n turned her head slightly. Alexia was already on her side, eyes shut, breathing deeply, completely out cold.

She snorted. “Okay. Guess that’s a yes.”

She reached out blindly, grabbed the blanket, and yanked it over both of them, grumbling softly as she burrowed in beside Alexia. 

“You better be dreaming about me,” she mumbled into the pillow.

..

Hope you guys enjoyed it!

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.

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.

if this doesn't end with a contract renewal.. i might just delete the app 👀

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 4

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

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

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

The city was still asleep when you left her. The sky was a deep blue fading into grey, the hush before sunrise casting a strange calm over the streets as you slipped into your car, heart heavy and full at once. Alexia had fallen asleep again for just a few minutes, curled beneath the blanket on her couch, hair still damp from your shared heat, one hand stretched toward where you’d been lying only moments before.

You’d kissed her forehead before leaving. Quietly. Reverently. No words. She didn’t need them. Now, hours later, you stood on the runway beside your teammates, the private jet humming behind you, the buzz of the semifinal beginning to settle into your chest like caffeine. Focus had returned—sharper than ever. But underneath it, beneath the press calls and the tactical briefings—there was her.

Still on your skin. Still under your nails. Still in your head. You looked down at your wrist. The bracelet. Barça colours. Two white beads. Two ones. Eleven. Your thumb brushed over it as you boarded the plane.

Across the aisle, Maya leaned in. “You’re weirdly calm.”

You shrugged, lips twitching. “I’m not calm. I’m just ready.”

Liv, already half-asleep beside her, muttered, “You say that like you didn’t sneak off to see your lucky charm last night.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” Maya said with a smirk. “It’s a flex.”

You settled into your seat, the engines roaring to life beneath you. You didn’t respond—not out loud. But you did glance out the window, the early light catching on your bracelet as the plane lifted off the ground. You were leaving for war. But you were carrying her with you.

Back in Barcelona, Alexia stirred awake to sunlight and an empty space beside her. She reached out, fingers brushing the couch cushion where you’d been, and smiled to herself. On the coffee table sat your jersey. And on top it, folded once, a note in your handwriting.

Don’t watch the scoreboard. Watch me.

She read it twice. Then she leaned back with a sigh, heart pounding, already counting down the hours until your next return. Semifinals were next. And this time, you weren’t just playing for the win. You were playing for the chance to win it all.

The wheels hit the tarmac in Milan with a soft thud, and your world shifted into overdrive. From the moment you stepped off the plane, it was a blur.

Camera crews. Sponsors. Staff. Schedules. Microphones shoved in your face before you even reached the hotel. You had barely adjusted to the Milan air before you were whisked into your first media session. Hair still damp from the plane bathroom sink, laces again barely tied, and someone was already asking:

“Do you feel pressure to lead this team to another historic win?” “Are you distracted by recent online noise?” “Any comment on Alexia Putellas’ tweet last week?”

You kept your answers clipped, professional, nodding politely, eyes forward. You’d trained for this—on and off the court. Smile when necessary. Speak when needed. Focus where it counts. The minute the press conference ended, it was straight to the training courts.

No time for breath. No space for nerves. Milan was cold, the sky grey and brooding, and the wind whipped up outside during your open session. Cameras lined the sidelines. Reporters watched every movement, every shot you took, every time the coach shouted your name.

You dug in harder. Every sprint, every drill, every set. You weren’t going to give them a headline about fatigue or distraction. You were here to prove something—to them, to yourself, maybe even to her. Still, the whirlwind didn’t stop. Dinner was late. Meetings even later.

By the time you made it back to your hotel room, it was after 9pm. You dropped your duffel by the bed and collapsed on the mattress, fully clothed, mind still buzzing with plays, matchups, film clips you couldn’t un-see. You stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, adrenaline still thrumming beneath your skin. Then you looked down.

The bracelet on your wrist caught the faint hotel light. Red. Blue. Two white beads. Two ones. You reached for your phone without even thinking, heart pulled toward her like gravity.

One unread message waited from hours ago.

Alexia: Play your game. The rest will follow.

You smiled to yourself, thumb brushing the screen before you typed back.

You: I will. Hope you liked your present

You didn’t wait for a reply. You slid the phone under your pillow, closed your eyes, and let the storm of the day settle. In two days, the lights would come on. In two days, the world would watch. But tonight—just for a few hours—you let yourself breathe.

—

You were in mid-morning practice in Milan when your phone started blowing up. At first, you ignored it. The group chat with Liv and Maya was always chaotic—memes, chaos, half-baked tactical jokes. But when Maya let out a loud gasp across the court, you knew something was up. “What?” you called out, dribbling casually toward her.

She turned her phone to face you, eyes wide, grinning like she’d just seen a celebrity scandal. “You’ve seen this, right?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at the photo on her screen—and your brain short-circuited for a second. It was a picture of Alexia. Walking into the stadium for her own pre-match duties that day. Sunglasses on. Fresh blowout. And wearing a Barça basketball jersey. The one with your last name on the back and the big #11 stitched in bold white. The one you intended for her to wear in the privacy of her own home,

The caption beneath the post said

Alexia Putellas arrives for her game repping [Your Name]’s jersey. Is this a soft launch part two or what?!

And the replies. Forget it. The internet was melting down.

“THE JERSEY??? THE. JERSEY?????” “So we’ve passed matching bracelets and now we’re just wearing each other’s kit. Casual.” “Alexia Putellas wearing her girlfriend’s number like a proud WAG, I’m fine.” “Is this... is this canon??” “Plot twist: she’s just supporting Barça basketball. Right?? RIGHT???”

Your heart thudded in your chest—not from nerves this time, but from something warmer. Something that made you want to jump on a plane back to Barcelona and kiss her in front of every camera lens in the world.

Maya was still grinning. “That’s your jersey, isn’t it?”

“She’s just supporting the team,” you said quickly, trying to play it cool—even though your ears were hot and your smile was threatening to break your face.

Liv jogged over, phone in hand. “Oh, the locker room’s gonna scream. Her teammates probably are too.”

You sighed, but you were smiling. Hard. “She really wore it?” you asked quietly, mostly to yourself.

Maya nodded. “To her game. Into her stadium. Repping you. That’s not just support, that’s a statement.”

You looked down at your wrist. The bracelet was still there—anchoring you. Then you looked back at the court. “Alright,” you muttered, smirking now, refocusing. “Guess I’ve got a game to win. Can’t let my number one fan down.”

Liv rolled her eyes. “You two are disgusting.”

“Championship-level disgusting,” Maya added with a laugh. You just grinned and stepped back onto the court, locked in—because this time, your name wasn’t just on your back. It was walking into stadiums across the world on hers, too.

Back in Barcelona, the cameras were rolling as the team made their way onto the pitch for warmups. The sun was dipping low, casting a golden hue across the stadium, and the crowd was already buzzing—half for the game, half for the players they adored. But tonight, all eyes locked on Alexia. She jogged out onto the field, leading the squad in her crisp pre-match warmup kit, hair pulled back, face calm. Classic captain energy. But the cameras—sharp-eyed as ever—zoomed in fast. It wasn’t her boots this time. Not her armband. Not even the glimpse of the jersey she’d arrived in earlier. It was the bracelet on her wrist. Red and blue beads. Two white ones. Each with the number 1. 

Instant chaos.

“SHE HAS THE MATCHING BRACELET OH MY GOD???” “Two 1s. It’s the number 11 again. This is insane.” “They are doing this on purpose now and I refuse to believe otherwise.” “So it’s not just emotional support, it’s FULL matching accessory energy.”

Screenshots hit every social feed within minutes. A slow-motion clip of Alexia stretching on the sideline, bracelet catching the light as she adjusted her socks, was already being edited into fan videos with romantic music. And her teammates noticed.

Patri gave her a look mid-stretch—eyebrows up, smirk fully loaded. “Nice bracelet, Capitana.”

Alexia didn’t even blink. “Team colours.”

“Right,” Patri said, drawing the word out like it had layers of meaning. “And the white beads?”

Alexia tied her boot tighter, expression cool. “Lucky numbers.”

A few of them laughed, others nodded knowingly, and within seconds, the bracelet had taken on a life of its own. Alexia jogged past the media row, focused and unfazed, but the photographers didn’t miss it. The bracelet was captured in perfect clarity as she clapped toward the crowd, her wrist flicking just enough to catch the sunlight again.

You saw it during a team video review session. Maya was scrolling through social and nearly choked on her water when the clip popped up. “She’s wearing your bracelet,” she whispered, passing you her phone like it was contraband.

You stared at the screen for a second, caught in the slow-mo loop of Alexia walking across the pitch—bracelet fully on display, no hesitation.  She told you she didn’t have a matching one. You didn’t say anything at first. Just looked down at your own wrist… and smiled. Matching. Loud in the quietest way. Two cities. Two games. One silent, sparkling connection wrapped around your wrists. The world could speculate. You both already knew what it meant.

The video review session wrapped a little earlier than expected, which was rare. You were collecting your things when Coach called out across the locker room. "Sit tight for a minute—don’t head out just yet."

You froze mid-zip of your hoodie, glancing toward the screen you’d just been analysing game tape on. She gave a small smile and nodded to the staff member by the laptop.

“We figured, since most of you have been sneaking updates anyway…” she said, very pointedly not looking at you. “Might as well watch it properly.” The screen flickered to life, switching over to a live stream.

Supercopa de España Femenina Final. Barcelona vs. Real Madrid.

The whole room shifted.

Maya whooped, “LET’S GO,” while Liv immediately slid back down into her seat. You didn’t say anything. You just blinked at the screen, lips parting, because there she was.

Alexia.

Leading her team out, wearing the captain’s armband like it was sewn into her skin, calm and focused as ever.

You hadn’t expected this.

Coach glanced at you, just once. “Consider it... team bonding. Club supports club.” You couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried.

For the next 90 minutes, you and your entire squad were glued to the screen. And what unfolded was absolute domination.

Barcelona came out firing. Real Madrid never stood a chance.

1–0 in the 8th minute.

2–0

3-0 before halftime.

By the time the fourth goal went in, Liv was standing on the bench screaming, and even Coach was nodding in quiet approval.

Then the fifth? Maya started the chant: “Alexia! Alexia!”—and the room joined in without hesitation.

It came in the 85th minute. You could feel it coming before it happened. Alexia picked up the ball at the edge of the box—curled it into the top corner with effortless precision.

The room erupted. Your teammates were on their feet, shouting, cheering, celebrating like it was your final. You didn’t even realise you were standing too until someone pulled you into a hug.

You couldn’t stop smiling. You weren’t even trying to play it cool anymore. The camera cut to Alexia blowing a kiss to the crowd, hand briefly touching the bracelet on her wrist—and your heart flipped. Because even in a 5–0 masterclass, she’d made you feel like part of it.

After the final whistle blew and the Barcelona players lifted the Supercopa trophy, your entire team was clapping, whistling, laughing.

Someone—probably Maya—filmed you with your hands on your head, grinning like an idiot. The video made it online within the hour.

🎥 @[YourTeamHandle] “When your sister team wins the #Supercopa and your locker room goes wild 🇪🇸💙❤️”

[📸: video of your squad celebrating Alexia’s 85th-minute screamer] “No. 11 supporting No. 11. 🫶”

The comments, as always, lost it.

“LOOK AT HER FACE WHEN ALEXIA SCORES 😭😭😭”

“You can’t fake that kind of joy.”

“That is real. That is SPORTSWIFE ENERGY.”

“I’ve never seen someone so proud. She’s LIVING.” “Not the team being fully invested in their captain-in-law.” “Alexia scoring the fifth was like a love letter, I swear.”

Today was the day. Semi final day for you, the buzz of Alexia’s win the night before long forgotten.

The hotel lobby was buzzing with pre-game energy—coaches double-checking schedules, staff sorting gear, players stretching, pacing, zoning in. The team bus was idling out front, clock ticking down to departure for the semifinal.

But before the chaos swept you away, you were granted a moment.

A small pocket of calm.

You stepped through a side corridor near the elevators and found them waiting—your family.

Your mum was already holding her phone up, clearly trying not to cry while snapping a picture of you in full team kit. Your dad, ever the quiet anchor, stood beside her with his arms crossed and the proudest smirk you’d ever seen.

Your older sister, standing tall as ever, was next to your brother and sister-in-law, who gave you a quick wave before nudging your niece forward.

And there she was four years old, bouncing in place, wearing an oversized jersey that nearly swallowed her whole, a tiny version of your number 11 on the back. Her curly hair was tied in two uneven puffs, and she clutched a little homemade sign that read:  

“Go Auntie! Score lots!”

Your heart nearly burst.

You knelt down and opened your arms, and she sprinted toward you, throwing herself into a hug that knocked the air from your lungs—in the best way.

“Are you gonna win?” she asked seriously, peeking up at you with wide, expectant eyes.

“I’m gonna try really hard,” you whispered back, brushing hair from her face. “But even if I don’t, you still proud of me?”

She nodded furiously. “Duh. You’re my hero.”

You blinked hard.

Your brother clapped a hand on your shoulder while your mum quietly dabbed at her eyes. “No matter what happens today,” your dad said, voice thick but steady, “you’ve already made us proud.”

You stood slowly, hugging your mum, then your sister—who whispered in your ear, “Play like it’s for everything.”

“I will,” you promised.

Your brother handed you a folded note. “From all of us. Open in a bit.”

You nodded, carefully tucking it into your bag, right next to your water bottle and your game towel. Your sister-in-law passed you a small paper bracelet—clumsily made, colourful with marker scribbles and the words:  

“Auntie’s magic!"

You tied it on next to the real one.

Just before heading toward the team, you took one last look at them—your family, your why, all standing together, cheering you on like it was the final.

You turned, heart full, focus sharp.

And walked toward the biggest game of your career, carrying their love with you—on your wrist, in your chest, and all the way to the court.

The moment you stepped onto the team bus, it all clicked into place. The pressure didn’t disappear—it sharpened. It no longer felt like a weight to carry. It felt like fuel.

With your duffel slung over your shoulder and your game headphones in place, you slid into your seat, gaze focused out the window. Paris passed by in flashes—grey skies, flashes of traffic, blue and red team flags waving outside the hotel. You could still feel your niece’s tiny arms around your neck, her voice echoing in your head,

“You’re my hero.”

You exhaled slowly, calming your nerves. Maya flopped into the seat across from you, giving you a long look before asking, “You good?”

You nodded. “Better than good.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Family fix that for you?”

You didn’t answer right away—just glanced at your wrist, where two bracelets now sat side-by-side: the Barça-coloured one with the twin 1s… and the new, lopsided ‘Auntie’s Magic’ one, drawn in bright marker by your four-year-old hype woman.

“Something like that,” you murmured with a smile.

The bus rolled forward. No music, no noise yet. Just the quiet rhythm of teammates finding focus in their own ways. Some tapped knees. Others mumbled plays. You closed your eyes briefly, centring yourself.

When you opened them again, you reached into your bag and pulled out the note your brother gave you.

You hesitated—then unfolded it.

The handwriting was messy, full of overlapping words like everyone had squeezed in a line:

No matter the score, we already brag about you like you’re a world champion.

You play with fire. Keep doing that.

From your favourite sibling—you’re the GOAT.

Make history, kid. But mostly—have fun.

At the bottom, in scrawled marker, your niece had written in giant letters:  

GO AUNTIE GO! 

With a crooked heart drawn beside it.

You folded it carefully and placed it inside your jacket pocket—close to your chest.

—

By the time the bus pulled up to the arena, the city had shifted. Milan hummed with electricity. Fans were already outside. Cameras lined the walk toward the tunnel.

The staff gave you the signal. It was time.

You stood with your team in the tunnel, bouncing slightly on your toes, the court just out of view. The arena lights glowed ahead. Whistles, cheers, and chants thundered just beyond the wall.

Your heartbeat synced to it. Maya nudged your arm and leaned in. “Ready?”

You nodded slowly, eyes locked forward. “Let’s make history.”

Then the announcer called your name. And you stepped into the light.

The lights hit you like a wall of heat as you stepped out onto the court. A roar rose from the crowd—not just noise, but energy, thick and alive and vibrating through your chest. The court gleamed beneath your sneakers. Flags waved from the rafters. Music thumped through the speakers as the announcers rattled off names, hyping up the crowd. You barely heard yours—you were already zoning in.

The entire stadium was electric, and you felt it in your bones. You glanced at the scoreboard—still blank, still untouched. The calm before the storm. Your team spread out for warmups. Coaches shouted instructions, but it all faded into the background. Your breathing slowed. You stretched. Let your muscles settle into rhythm.

The minute the coverage started on Alexia’s television it fell quiet, you were all they were talking about, Alexia was locked in on the TV, oblivious to how many of her teammates had joined her for the game “It’s a historic run this Barcelona side have been on, they are dominating in every competition they are competing in, and all talk is putting that down to (your name) she just brings something out these players we didn’t see last year”

“That’s right, the way she moves around the court, her confidence her ability to change the play, the amount of triple doubles this woman has achieved this season has broken all records.”

“Not only is she the leading points scorer she’s also leading in the assists to, she’s not a selfish player. Barcelona really need to lock her down if they want there women’s basketball team to continue to be successful”

“It shocks me they’ve yet to lock her down to a new contract” Alexia furrowed her brows, “It’s crazy to me to bring in a player of her calibre in for only one season. They have her for two more months and then after that, who knows where she’ll end up, but it’ll be a sad day if she leaves Spanish Basketball because what she’s done for the sport here is incredible. Last year you had maybe a thousand people at this game, this year is a packed sold out 19 thousand strong crowd. That’s the your name effect”

“The last we heard there were discussions on keeping her at Barcelona but I did hear she had at least 5 WNBA teams show significant interest in her”

Alexia sat frozen, her grip tightening around the remote as the broadcast continued. The energy in the room had shifted her teammates and family were murmuring about the weight of the moment, but she barely registered it.

She didn’t know. She hadn’t known.

The words echoed in her head, louder than the TV itself. She had always naïvely, not thought about the fact you may not be in Barcelona forever. That Barcelona was as much a home to you as it was to her. That this season wasn’t just a stepping stone but the beginning of something long term.

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably as the analysts continued.

“It would be a shame for Spanish basketball to lose her. What she’s done here is unprecedented.”

“She’s a generational talent—Barcelona need to do everything in their power to keep her.”

“But is that enough? If the WNBA comes calling, how do you say no? That’s the dream right?”

Alexia’s jaw tightened. She didn’t realise she’d stopped breathing until Patri elbowed her lightly.

“You okay?” she asked, chewing popcorn with casual concern.

Alexia nodded quickly. “Fine.”

But she wasn’t.

She had no idea.

She watched as the camera zoomed in on your face during warm-ups—focused, sharp, the bracelets still visible on your wrist. You looked calm. Like you were ready.

But Alexia wasn’t.

Her hands fidgeted in her lap again.

“You think she’d really leave?” one of the younger players asked quietly, almost in awe.

Alexia looked straight ahead, masking her emotion behind a calm, composed smile. “She’s spoken about as one of the best women’s basketball players, if she gets a better offer why wouldn’t she? I wouldn’t blame her either”

But inside? She hated the idea of you leaving.

--

The energy in the arena was suffocating, the kind of electric buzz that crackled in the air and made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. A sold-out 19,000-strong crowd was packed into the stands, screaming themselves hoarse as the final minutes of the game ticked away.

Barcelona: 84 | Opponents: 84 |

15 seconds left

Your chest was heaving, sweat rolling down your temple as you dribbled at the top of the key, eyes flicking across the defence. You’d been battered all night—double teams, hard fouls, and a brutal elbow to the mouth that had left you with a bloody lip in the third quarter. But you weren’t coming off. Not with everything on the line.

Coach hadn’t even needed to draw up the final play. Everyone knew the ball was going to you.

You started your move with 10 seconds left, crossing over, getting your defender on their heels before driving hard to the right. The moment you saw the help defence slide in, you threw it to Maya in the corner. She faked the shot, but her defender closed too fast.

5 seconds left

Maya swung it back to you at the top of the arc. You caught it, planted your feet, and let it fly.

Time slowed.

The ball arced high, spinning perfectly toward the rim as the buzzer sounded—

A second later.

Nothing but net.

Game over.

For a split second, there was silence. Then the arena erupted. The sound hit you like a tidal wave. Deafening. Absolute madness. You barely had time to react before you were tackled Liv was the first to reach you, wrapping her arms around your neck, her legs around your waist, nearly taking you down. Then came Maya, Claudia, the entire bench mob, screaming and jumping as the crowd lost their minds.

Barcelona was going to the final. Second trophy of four coming within touching distance.

The weight of the moment hit you like a freight train. You had done it. For the first time in history, Barcelona’s women’s team was heading to the championship final game, a chance to win the trophy.

The cameras were on you now, someone shoving a mic in your face as you tried to catch your breath. Your lip was still bleeding, your body aching, but all you could do was grin, overwhelmed, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest.

You barely heard the reporter’s question. Something about history. Something about pressure. Your mind wasn’t even in the arena anymore. You were just overcome.

The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins as you sat at the press conference table, your jersey still damp with sweat, your lip still split from the brutal elbow in the third quarter. The buzz in the room was electric reporters murmuring excitedly, cameras flashing, your teammates laughing and celebrating beside you.

Barcelona was heading to its first-ever final, and everyone wanted to talk about it. You fielded the first few questions easily—your thoughts on the game, the atmosphere, that buzzer-beater. You grinned as Liv elbowed you playfully when the reporter called it one of the most clutch shots in Barcelona basketball history.

“I mean, we knew the ball was going to her,” Maya said into her mic, shooting you a knowing look. “We’d be idiots not to. She lives for moments like that. She’s the only person I’ve ever met that loves that pressure”

Laughter rippled through the room, and you smirked, shaking your head. “I don’t know about living for it, I just didn’t want to go to overtime.”

The reporters ate it up, the cameras flashing faster. But then, the question came. Direct, cutting through the energy like a cold blade.

“There’s been a lot of talk about your contract situation (Your name), with Barcelona only having you under contract for two more months. Given the WNBA interest, is this your last season here?”

The laughter died instantly. Your teammates shifted beside you, the air in the room changing as every reporter leaned forward, recorders in hand. You didn’t hesitate. You set your mic down, leaned back in your chair, and exhaled sharply before giving a blunt, final answer.

“Now’s not the time for that conversation.” Your tone left zero room for follow-up. Cold. Unshakable. Maya smirked beside you, clearly amused by the tension in the room. Some of your other teammates chuckled under their breath, but the message was loud and clear. You weren’t talking about it. Not now. Not when your team was on the verge of history. The reporter opened his mouth to push, but you didn’t let him. You leaned forward, eyes sharp, and said, “Next question.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, another reporter spoke up, pivoting the conversation back to the game, to the championship ahead. The room exhaled, the pressure shifting. But your message had been sent. The press conference had settled back into its usual rhythm—questions about the game, the team’s mindset heading into the final when a reporter in the back cleared his throat, steering the conversation somewhere you hadn’t expected.

“We noticed Alexia Putellas wasn’t in the arena tonight for such a historic moment. She’s been seen at several of your games this season. Was there a reason for her absence?”

You barely blinked, but you felt Maya shift beside you, clearly sensing the sudden shift in energy. The room waited, pens poised, recorders held a little closer. You kept your tone even, uninterested in feeding the media anything extra. “Alexia has her own season to focus on. She’s a professional she’s got her own priorities. She and her team won the Supercopa not a couple of hours ago, she’s busy”

The reporter pressed on. “Still, considering the magnitude of this win, one might have expected her to be here. Does her absence say anything about your friendship..relationship?”

Your jaw clenched for a fraction of a second, but you smoothed it out before anyone could catch it. “I don’t see how this is relevant to basketball,” you replied, voice firm, shutting it down before it could become a headline. Liv smirked beside you, clearly entertained by your bluntness, while a few of your other teammates stifled amused glances.

The reporter hesitated before reluctantly pivoting back to questions about the game. But even as you fielded the next round of inquiries, something nagged at you. Because they didn’t know. They didn’t know she had unintentionally set up a watch party. They didn’t know she had spent the entire night glued to the screen, watching your every move, wearing your jersey. They had no idea that she had been just as invested—if not more—than the people screaming in the stands.

But for the first time, she had chosen to stay in the background. And that meant something. You were ignoring the glaringly obvious reason that you were in Paris. She back in Madrid hours post her own win.

Your phone buzzed on the table beside you—face down, out of sight—but you knew. You just knew.

It was her.

And suddenly, the game, the questions, the noise of the press room—it all faded.

Because whatever Alexia had to say? That was the only thing that mattered now

You subtly flipped it over, glancing at the screen.

Alexia: You looked good out there. Even with the bloody lip. Kinda hot, actually.

You bit your lip to keep from grinning, shaking your head when the pain shot through you. But before you could type a response, Liv, sitting beside you, leaned over just enough to catch a glimpse of the message.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across her face.

“Ohhh,” she murmured under her breath, barely audible over the noise of Maya answering a question in her usual professional articulate manner. “That was not a ‘congrats on the win’ text.”

You shot her a side-eye, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Mind your business.”

Liv simply leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, thoroughly enjoying herself. “Can’t help it when it’s right there.”

Alexia: So, are we gonna talk about how you nearly gave me a heart attack? Or should I just accept that you enjoy stressing me out?

You exhaled sharply through your nose, a small smirk creeping onto your lips. Liv leaned in slightly, managing to catch a glimpse of the message before you could lock your phone.

You: I like keeping you on your toes.

Alexia’s response came immediately.

Alexia: We’ll see how much you like it when you get back here.

“Ohhh,” she whispered under her breath, barely moving her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief. “She’s mad. Mad.”

You bit back a laugh, keeping your face neutral, though the corners of your mouth twitched.

Still staring ahead at the next reporter, Liv nudged your knee under the table, mouthing, “You’re in trouble.”

That was it. You lost it. You tried to hold back the laugh, but the way Liv was fighting her own smile made it impossible. A small snicker escaped, and Marta, sitting on the other side of Liv, turned toward you in confusion.

“Something funny?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

You cleared your throat, masking your laughter with a cough, but Liv was no help her shoulders were shaking silently as she desperately avoided eye contact. When you both made eye contact you both burst out laughing, you covered your face as you laughed, “What’s so funny?”

“It’s not even funny” you laughed, your laugh was winding down but soon as you looked at Liv again you lost it again, “I’m sorry”

Maria squinted suspiciously before shaking her head, returning her focus to the press. “You now know the answer to why we never normally have these two in the same press conference”

Your phone buzzed you peered

Alexia: If you’re laughing at me, I won’t be happy

You tilted your phone to Liv who’s mouth dropped

Liv finally whispered under her breath, still grinning, “You’re so dead.”

You just smirked, tapping out a quick reply. “Sorry, what was your question?” You glanced as your thumbs were still moving

You: Are you ever happy?

You as a sign put your phone in your lap, cheeks warming slightly, and shot Liv a look.

She read everything from your face and chuckled, muttering, “Yup. You’re so done for.” You exhaled, shaking your head, but your grin never faded. Because you weren’t sure if Alexia was mad, exasperated, or just playing with you. But one thing was clear you couldn’t wait to find out.

The press conference didn’t go on much longer, Maya, nudged you. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, standing up and pocketing your phone, avoiding Liv’s smug look.

As you all made your way out of the press room, Liv caught your arm for just a second, whispering, “Tell her I said ‘hi.’”

You snorted, shaking your head as you pushed the door open. “You’re annoying.”

Liv grinned, eyes twinkling. “And yet, you love me.”

You laughed, shaking off the last of your nerves. Whatever was waiting in Alexia’s next message, you’d deal with it soon enough. 

The second you stepped into the locker room, away from the cameras and press, you pulled out your phone. Your teammates were still riding the high of the win, laughing and chatting as they made their way each grab bottles of the awaiting celebratory drinks, but your focus was entirely on your phone.

Alexia: They’re replaying you looking all moody after the elbow. It’s sexy.

You tapped on Alexia’s message, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Oh, so now you like me bloody and bruised? Good to know.

A few seconds passed, then

Alexia: Always knew you were tough, but seeing it like that? Yeah… definitely not a bad look.

You chuckled under your breath, shaking your head. Just as you were about to respond, Liv brushed past you, tossing a teasing look over her shoulder.

“Tell her to keep it in her pants,” she quipped, loud enough for Mayam and a few others to hear.

Maya perked up immediately. “Ohhh, Alexia? What’s she saying?”

You shot Liv a glare while Maya practically lunged to peek at your phone. You pulled it away just in time. “Nothing. Mind your business.”

“Not a chance,” Maya grinned. “You’re all over the news, and your ‘not-girlfriend’ is suddenly very chatty? We’re invested.”

“Deeply invested,” Liv added, clearly enjoying herself.

You rolled your eyes, shoving your phone into your jacket pocket. “You’re all unbearable.”

“You love us,” Maya quipped.

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

The teasing continued as you fully engaged in the chanting and banging of the walls, but the moment you had a second to yourself after they’d subsided, you pulled your phone back out.

You: How’s my biggest fan feeling after watching that?

Alexia’s reply was almost instant.

Alexia: Proud. Also, frustrated because you’re an idiot for not dodging that elbow more the I watch it.

You grinned, leaning against the locker.

You: Part of the game

Alexia: Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

You hesitated for a moment, fingers tapping against the screen. The conversation was lighthearted, teasing, but something about her words, about her absence tonight lingered in your mind.

You: Wish you were there.

A pause. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

Alexia: Me too.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the message. For the first time all night, the win, the noise, the celebration—it all faded into the background. Because this wasn’t just some playful back-and-forth. This was something else entirely. It was too much for you so you changed the tone throwing Alexia for a loop

You: Was a good game you’d of learned a lot.

The locker room was buzzing, music blasting, champagne already being popped despite Coach’s weak protests, teammates laughing, reliving the final moments of the game like they hadn’t just lived it in real-time. You should’ve been fully in the moment. But your eyes kept flicking to your phone, Alexia’s last message sitting heavy in your mind.

Me too.

It wasn’t just words. It wasn’t just a casual response. It meant something.

“Are you even here right now?” Liv’s voice broke through your thoughts, amusement dripping from her tone. She leaned on the locker next to you, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

You blinked, forcing a smirk. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Liv scoffed. “Mmm-hmm. And I’m the Pope.”

You rolled your eyes, pocketing your phone. “Drop it.”

Maya, freshly drenched in celebratory champagne, appeared on your other side, grinning ear to ear. “Oh, no way. What’s going on?”

“Alexia,” Liv answered for you, smirking.

Maya’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh. Did she finally confess her undying love? Is she proposing? Did she—”

You shoved her lightly. “You two need hobbies.”

Liv shrugged. “This is our hobby.”

Maya nodded, completely serious. “You’re far more interesting than our actual lives.”

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed again. You felt both Liv and Maya shift to peek over your shoulder. You turned your back immediately, shooting them a warning glare. “Touch grass, both of you.”

Maya clutched her chest dramatically. “You’ve changed.” Ignoring them, you pulled out your phone, your heart kicking up just a little faster.

Alexia: I’m still up.

A slow smirk forming on your lips

You: What a coincidence. Me too.

Alexia: Call me when you’re done celebrating?

There it was again. Something unspoken.

You stared at the message for a second before quickly typing back.

You: Give me ten minutes.

You felt eyes on you and turned to find Liv and Maya grinning like they’d just won the lottery.

Maya held up her hands. “I won’t ask.”

Liv, however, smirked. “Just don’t say anything stupid when you call her.”

You scoffed. “When do I ever say anything stupid?”

Both of them exchanged a look.

Maya patted your shoulder sympathetically. “Godspeed.”

Shaking your head, you grabbed your jacket and slipped out of the locker room, your pulse quickening just a little. Because as much as you loved celebrating with your team, there was only one person you wanted to talk to right now. And she was waiting for your call.

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside the arena, the distant sounds of celebration still echoing from inside. You pulled your jacket tighter around you, took a deep breath, and tapped Alexia’s name on your phone. It barely rang once before she picked up.

“Took you long enough,” Alexia teased, her voice warm and familiar.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Had to survive the post-game interrogation first. Liv and Maya were unbearable.”

Alexia laughed softly, and the sound instantly eased the last of your nerves. “Let me guess—they saw my texts?”

“Oh yeah. They were ready to write fanfiction.”

Alexia hummed knowingly. “Sounds about right.” A comfortable silence settled for a second, the weight of the game, the win, and the night still lingering between you. “So,” Alexia started, her voice softer now. “How does it feel? You just made history.”

You exhaled, rubbing the back of your neck. “Honestly? It still doesn’t feel real.”

“It is.”

Her certainty made something settle deep in your chest. “I just wish you were there,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

There was a pause on her end, then a soft sigh. “Me too.” The sincerity in her voice made your heart skip. “I wanted to be,” she continued. “I had the whole watch party going, but it wasn’t the same.”

You smiled slightly, picturing her in your jersey, surrounded by her teammates, Alba probably making a whole event out of it. “You had a whole crowd watching me?”

“Of course,” she said simply. “I wasn’t missing that.”

Your stomach flipped, warmth spreading through your chest. “Well, we’re in the final now,” you said, trying to keep your tone light. “Plenty of time to show up.”

Alexia chuckled softly, but there was something unspoken in the pause that followed. “Yeah,” she murmured. “Plenty of time.”

But you both knew that wasn’t entirely true. The unspoken thing—the contract, the future, the uncertainty—hung between you like an invisible thread, waiting to be pulled. You weren’t ready for that conversation tonight. So instead, you teased, “You’re still picturing me with a bloody lip, aren’t you?”

Alexia laughed, a little breathless. “I hate how well you know me.”

You smirked. “I have a talent for reading you.”

“Oh yeah?” she mused. “Then what am I thinking right now?”

You pretended to consider. “Hmm… you’re wondering when I’m getting on a plane back to Barcelona.” Her silence spoke volumes. “Am I wrong?” you pressed.

“Not even a little,” Alexia admitted.

You grinned, shifting on your feet. “Soon.”

“Good,” she said, her voice softer now. “I’ll be waiting.” You exhaled, the weight of the night suddenly feeling a lot lighter. “Try to get some sleep tonight, cariño,” she murmured, her voice sending warmth through you. “You’ve got a final to prepare for.”

You smiled. “And you’ve got a flight to book to Paris.” The final was in Paris.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Go celebrate, idiot.”

“Goodnight, Alexia.”

“Goodnight.”

You ended the call, exhaling deeply, the city buzzing around you. You had just made history. But somehow, she was still the only thing on your mind.

The streets of Paris were alive, buzzing with energy, but nothing matched the euphoria radiating from you and your teammates as you spilled out of the team bus and into the bar your coach had reserved. The night was yours, and for once, you weren’t thinking about anything else—not Alexia, not the contract talks, not the endless media speculation.

Tonight was about celebrating.

The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins as you stepped out of the hotel lobby, where a fleet of black cars was waiting to take the team to your celebratory dinner. The night air was crisp, the city still buzzing from the historic win just hours earlier.

Inside the cars, the mood was electric—laughter, cheers, and even an impromptu chant started by Maya that had the entire squad hyped all over again.

“You do realise we only made the final, right?” Liv teased, adjusting the sleek blazer she had opted for instead of a dress. “Not saying we shouldn’t be celebrating, but it’s not like we won the whole thing yet.”

Maya rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. We made history tonight. Do you know how many Barcelona teams before us have tried and failed to do this?”

“All of them,” Claudia added, grinning. “So yeah, we celebrate.”

When you pulled up to the restaurant—a high-end spot that the club had booked out exclusively for the team and staff—you were met with flashes of cameras from across the street. The media was already outside, eager to get a glimpse of the team that had just shaken the entire league.

Inside, the energy was even louder. The coaching staff, club executives, and even a few familiar faces from other Barcelona teams were there, raising glasses in your honour. As you took your seat at a long, lavishly set table, a waiter immediately poured you a glass of champagne.

“To making history!” one of the coaches toasted, raising his glass.

The entire room erupted, glasses clinking, cheers echoing against the walls. You leaned back slightly, taking it all in—the faces of your teammates, your team, all of you standing on the precipice of something massive. Dinner was chaotic in the best way possible—stories from the game, wild reenactments of the final shot, playful jabs at each other for missed free throws or sloppy turnovers. Someone started a tally of who had gotten the most fouls throughout the season, and of course, your name was high on the list.

“This one,” Liv announced dramatically, pointing at you with her fork, “has personally put at least five people on the injured list this season.”

You held up your hands in innocence. “Not my fault they don’t move fast enough.”

Maya howled in laughter. “They’re still talking about that brutal screen you set last month.”

Liv shook her head, sipping her drink. “You love being the villain.”

You smirked, raising your glass. “Only if it gets us the win.”

By the time dessert came around, the mood had shifted slightly—still celebratory, but also a little more reflective.

“We really did it, huh?” Marta mused, stirring her spoon in her coffee.

“We’re not done yet,” the team captain reminded her. “One more.”

“One more,” you echoed, nodding. And that was the reality of it. The biggest game of your career was still ahead. But tonight was about the journey. About this team. And about taking a second to appreciate the moment before the real battle began. 

LE REINA THINGS 👑💙❤️

TobinHeath 🫶 Alexia Putellas 🤝 Aitana Bonmatí 🤙⚽️

YES!!! Love it 🩵

now a culer | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: school is still… rough, so alexia finds a solution

warnings: school fight

notes: i am genuinely loving writing for azulita

Don’t get it wrong. you didn’t hate Barcelona. It was a beautiful city, full of life, history, and football. The architecture was stunning, the beaches were nice, and the food, objectively, was good. But nothing— nothing could ever compare to LA.

LA had everything for you. Your friends, your school, your culture. You knew every street, every corner store, every mural that decorated the sides of buildings. The people in your neighborhood weren’t just strangers, you knew them, and they knew you. You had history with them. Mr. García, who owned the corner store, always had something for you when you stopped by, chips, a drink, a free snack, as long as you swept up the front of his store. Mrs. Alvarez, the seamstress down the block, had been patching up your old clothes for years because you couldn’t afford new ones. The local grocery store let you stock the juice shelves in exchange for a small bag of groceries. The paletero man that always made sure your favorite paleta was in stock People took care of each other in your LA. It was unspoken, but it was understood.

Barcelona had its own community, its own culture, its own way of life. But it wasn’t yours. It didn’t have your people. It didn’t have the same music blasting from car windows, the smell of carne asada grilling on the sidewalk, or the summer block parties that lasted until sunrise where you danced bachata til your feet hurt. It didn’t have the sound of Spanish and English blending together in a way that felt like home. It wasn’t the streets you grew up on. It wasn’t the familiar faces who had watched you grow. It wasn’t the city that had shaped you. It wasn’t home.

And the culture shock? It hit hard.

The Spanish spoken in Barcelona wasn’t even the same as what you grew up with. You could understand it, sure, but sometimes, the slang threw you off completely. The food was different, too—no more corner taco stands or elote vendors pushing carts down the street. No more bodegas where you could grab a pack of Hot Cheetos and a can of Arizona for a dollar fifty. And the people? They didn’t move like LA people did. Back home, you walked with a purpose, always aware of your surroundings. Here, people strolled leisurely down the sidewalk like they had nowhere to be, like they had never had to be in a rush a day in their lives.

But the biggest difference? The way you carried yourself. In LA, you had to be on guard. Always. You had to be sharp, ready, because life had never given you the luxury of relaxing. You were always prepared for something to go wrong, because it always did. Here, though, everything was so… safe. People left their doors unlocked. Kids walked home alone at night. You saw people with their phones out, not even looking over their shoulders. It made you uneasy. You didn’t know how to exist in a place where you weren’t constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Olga just could not get it. She didn’t get why you always seemed tense, why you jumped at sudden noises, why you always had to sit facing the door whenever you went out to eat. She didn’t get why you never let yourself fully relax, why you kept waiting for something to go wrong. She didn’t understand because she had never had to live like that.

And then there was the biggest adjustment of all: actually living with Olga.

For years, she had been a figure in your life. A presence. Someone who popped in and out, who you called and texted, who sent you money when you needed it. But you had never lived together. You had never had to share space. And now, suddenly, she was supposed to be responsible for you.

And it was a disaster.

You weren’t used to having anyone tell you what to do. You had been living on your own for months, doing whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. So, naturally, you didn’t see a problem with leaving your stuff wherever you felt like it.

Your shoes? Kicked off in the middle of the living room. Your jacket? Draped over the back of a chair. Your gym bag? Somewhere. (You’d find it eventually.) Olga, however, was losing her mind.

“Do you not see the mess you’re making?” she snapped one afternoon, hands on her hips as she glared at the chaos you had left in the living room.

You barely spared her a glance from where you were sprawled on the couch. “I’ll clean it up later.”

“Later when? Next week?”

You shrugged.

And the music. You had always blasted your music at ungodly hours, back when there was no one around to complain. So, why would you stop now? Except now, you had Olga banging on your door at two in the morning, looking absolutely murderous.

“Are you serious right now?” she hissed, shoving open the door. “Turn that down!”

“It’s not that loud.”

“IT IS!”

And then, of course, there was the hoodie situation.

Olga owned nice hoodies. You had noticed this immediately. You had also decided, just as quickly, that they were now yours. You never asked— you just took them. Which made Olga’s blood boil.

“Where is my hoodie?” she demanded one day, hands on her hips.

You pulled the sleeves of said hoodie over your hands, looking at her blankly. “What hoodie?”

“That hoodie! The one you’re wearing!”

“Oh. This? Thought it was mine.”

“It’s not!”

Alexia just watched it all unfold with an amused smile. She had no intention of stepping in. In fact, it would only make it worse. The best thing for her to do was to let the two of you argue then drop you off at school.

You flex and extend your fingers as you stare down at your raw knuckles, the skin cracked, bruised, and stinging with every slight movement. Your hands tremble slightly, and not just from the pain. You sit on a bench outside the principal’s office, your legs bouncing restlessly, teeth clenched, chest tight. You’re trying to breathe, trying to calm down, but the fire inside you is still burning too hot. Why do you keep losing it like this?

You wrack your brain for answers, frustrated and ashamed. You didn’t come here to be the angry kid. You didn’t come to Spain to fight. But everything felt wrong. Your body was tense from the moment you stepped off the plane a few weeks ago. Everything’s been off.

You hate how different the Spanish sounds. Everyone speaks fast, sharp, clipped, nothing like the Spanish you grew up with back home. Your classmates either don’t understand you or mock your accent. Teachers correct you like you’re stupid. You’re constantly trying to translate everything in your head, to blend in, but all it does is make you feel more alone. You squeeze your hands into fists again. The pain grounds you, just for a second.

The door creaks open, and your head jerks up. Olga steps out of the office, her jaw clenched, eyes blazing. Alexia follows behind, calm as ever, but her gaze flicks to you quickly, assessing. She says nothing.

Olga doesn’t waste time. “In the car,” she snaps, voice low and furious. “Now.”

You don’t argue. You stand silently, walking past them both with your head down. It’s déjà vu, the second time in a month. You can feel her eyes on the back of your head, and you’re already bracing for it.

And sure enough, as soon as the car doors close, Olga turns on you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she explodes. “Do you even care about staying here? Do you want to get kicked out of every school in the city?”

You stare out the window, jaw tight, refusing to say anything.

“I’m trying, okay?” she continues. “I’m trying to make this work. I’m trying to give you a good life here. But you’re making it impossible!”

“He was talking about you,” you mutter suddenly.

“What?”

You finally turn, meeting her eyes. “The guy I hit. He was saying disgusting stuff about you. I told him to stop. He didn’t. So I made him.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Nobody disrespects my sister,” you say simply.

Olga exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose as her anger starts to crumble.

“I… okay,” she says softly. “Okay. But Azul, this can’t keep happening.”

You don’t respond. The car ride home is quiet, tense.

Once you pull into the driveway, Olga tries again. “Can we talk more about—”

“I’m miserable here,” you cut in, still staring ahead. “I can’t keep up with the Spanish, people make fun of how I talk, I have no friends, and there’s no girls’ football team for me to play with. I feel stupid all the time. I feel… wrong.”

It hangs heavy between you. You blink back the sting in your eyes, suddenly too tired to fight.

Alexia, who’s been watching from the driver seat, finally speaks up. “I’m taking her to the pitch.”

Olga hesitates but nods. “Go. Just— be careful.”

The second Alexia nods toward the passenger seat, you perk up.

The Barcelona training grounds are quiet, bathed in the soft amber glow of the setting sun. You’re in your element the second you step onto the pitch, your body relaxing as you lace up your cleats. You and Alexia stretch in silence before falling into a one-on-one. The rhythm is familiar, the tension in your chest starts to melt away.

She’s good, obviously, but you manage to dust her with a ridiculous feint and spin move that has her stumbling, arms flailing as you laugh and tuck the ball into the net.

“Not bad,” she says, grinning as she shakes her head.

“You’re getting old,” you tease, jogging backward toward the penalty spot.

“Oh, please.”

Now she’s in goal, sleeves rolled up, expression focused as you line up your shots. One by one, you fire them in. She saves a few, but not all. The pop of the ball hitting the back of the net fills the air.

As you take a breather between kicks, you speak again. “I feel out of place at school. Like I don’t belong. It’s not just the language… it’s everything. I don’t talk like them. I don’t think like them. And there’s no football team. No girls to play with. I feel like I’m wasting my time.”

Alexia watches you carefully from the goal, nodding. “That’s not fair. School’s supposed to be a place that supports you.”

“It’s not,” you mutter. “I don’t even want to go anymore.”

Alexia stands up, brushing her hands on her thighs. “Don’t worry about that part.”

You blink. “What?”

“Just keep playing. We’ll figure the rest out.”

You take your last penalty kick, driving it hard into the top corner. The sound is clean, crisp, perfect. You grin.

Unbeknownst to you, two figures sit higher in the bleachers: Joan Laporta and Pere Romeu. They’ve been watching in silence, tracking your every move.

“She’s raw,” Pere murmurs. “Rough around the edges. But you can’t teach instinct like that.”

“She plays like she’s been fighting her whole life,” Laporta adds. “Because she has.”

“Alexia says she’s a winger, no?” Pere asks.

“Could be more than that, if someone gives her the right support.”

They keep watching as you and Alexia walk off the pitch together, sweaty and smiling, shoulders bumping. You don’t know it yet, but everything is about to change.

Back in the locker room, you clean up side by side, tying your hair back and trading casual banter. Your body aches, but your mind is calm for the first time in days.

The sound of your alarm blaring through your room was what, unfortunately, ripped you from sleep. You groaned, rolling over and slapping your hand against the snooze button with more force than necessary. Your eyes were crusty, your body stiff, and for a moment, you considered staying in bed and faking a stomachache. But you knew Olga would never fall for it.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on your face, and slowly made your way down the hallway toward the kitchen. Your hoodie was hanging half off your shoulder, socks mismatched, and your curls were a disaster. Typical school morning. You already dreaded the day.

What greeted you in the kitchen, though, made you pause. Alexia was standing by the counter, humming softly to herself as she tossed fruit into a blender. She was dressed, calm, and already looked like she had been awake for hours. There were slices of toast on a plate, eggs still steaming, and fresh juice already poured. You blinked slowly at the surreal domesticity of it all.

“Morning, ’Lexia,” you mumbled, rubbing at your eyes as you crossed the kitchen. “Have you seen my backpack? I swear I left it by the couch.”

Alexia didn’t even turn around at first. You heard the whir of the blender as she held the top down, blending with ease. When it finally stopped, she looked over her shoulder at you and that’s when you saw it. The smirk.

“You don’t need it today, nena,” she said coolly, pouring the smoothie into a cup. “You’re coming with me.”

You squinted at her. “Huh?”

She just handed you the smoothie. “Drink this. Get dressed.”

You stared at her like she had grown two heads. “Wait, what do you mean I don’t need it? I have school.”

“No, you don’t,” she said simply. “Not today.”

“Okay… am I in trouble again?”

She snorted and shook her head. “Just get dressed.”

The cryptic vibes were off the charts, but you went upstairs anyway, tugging on some joggers and a fresh hoodie, brushing your teeth quickly before grabbing your sneakers. When you came back down, Alexia was already at the door, keys in hand, sunglasses on like some undercover spy. The whole thing was sketchy—and a little exciting.

In the car, you peppered her with questions.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because it’s a surprise.”

“Is it good or bad?”

“That depends.”

You rolled your eyes dramatically. “You sound like Olga.”

“She learned it from me.”

You pouted, leaning your head against the window as you watched the city blur past. The sun was barely up, streets still quiet. Your nerves were growing by the minute.

When the car finally pulled up to the FC Barcelona training facility, your brows furrowed.

“What are we doing here?” you asked, genuinely confused now. “Am I in trouble for playing here the other day?”

Alexia just gave you a tight-lipped smile and stepped out of the car. “Come on.”

You followed her slowly, legs stiff, anxiety kicking up. It was one thing to kick the ball around with Alexia when the place was empty— it was another thing entirely to walk through the main building in broad daylight. Your eyes darted around as you passed by trainers, staff members, and a couple of players you recognized. No one stopped you, though. Everyone just nodded at Alexia and let her through.

Finally, she led you to a quiet room off one of the main hallways. It looked like an office, kind of. You hesitated at the door, but Alexia gently nudged you forward.

Inside sat a man you recognized from TV—Pere Romeu. He stood when you entered, smiling warmly, gesturing to the seat in front of his desk.

“Buenos días,” he said kindly. “Alexia told me you go by Azulita”

You nodded slowly, heart pounding.

He motioned for you to sit. “I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”

You looked from him to Alexia, then back again. “Um… okay?”

He chuckled. “Relax. You’re not in trouble. Quite the opposite, actually.”

You sat stiffly in the chair, hands fidgeting in your lap. Alexia took the seat beside you, legs crossed casually.

“So,” Pere said, folding his hands. “The other day, Joan Laporta and I were here late, handling some administrative business. On our way out, we noticed someone playing on the pitch. You. With Alexia.”

Your mouth went dry.

“We watched for a while,” he continued. “And what we saw was raw talent. Instinct, drive, creativity, all of it. You play like it’s the one place you feel safe. And when we see a player like that… we pay attention.”

You blinked. “Wait… you were watching?”

He nodded. “Yes. And we’d like to offer you a place here. Not just training— on the senior team.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

“We’ll handle all of your schooling through La Masia’s internal academic program. You won’t need to return to your current school unless you want to. You’ll train, you’ll play, and you’ll study here with people who understand what it means to be an athlete. You’ll be surrounded by others like you. And more importantly, you’ll belong.”

You couldn’t speak. Your brain had stopped processing words somewhere around senior team.

“I know it’s a lot,” Pere added. “But we believe in you. And we want to help you grow not just as a player, but as a person. So… what’s your decision?”

He leaned back in his chair, patient, while your heart thundered in your chest. Alexia turned to you with a soft smile.

And all you could do was sit there, wide-eyed, the weight of everything hanging in the air.