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In A Match Where The Scoreboard Tells Only Half The Story, A Fierce On-pitch Rivalry Between You And

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

Part 11 Other Parts

Word Count: 7k

The kitchen is filled with soft afternoon light, filtering lazily through the open window. It’s quiet, save for the low hum of music playing from the speaker on the counter and the soft clatter of you rummaging through cabinets.

You're barefoot, hair scraped up haphazardly, a t-shirt that's definitely not yours slouching off one shoulder as you pull ingredients out for lunch. Simple. Easy. Normal.

Or it would be, if not for the way Alexia hovers, not in the obvious way. She's subtle about it, or at least, she thinks she is. Leaning against the counter just a little too close. Reaching around you for the salt when she doesn’t need to. The brush of her fingers against the small of your back as she passes, feather-light but deliberate.

It's different now, there’s no more careful distance, no more pretending it’s platonic.

She's more tactile. Casual, but not. Her hand lingers at your waist when you’re slicing vegetables, her arm grazes yours as she leans in to taste whatever you’re cooking even though you know she doesn’t really care how it tastes right now.

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye as she shamelessly dips a finger into the sauce, popping it into her mouth with an exaggerated “Mmm.”

“You’re annoying,” you murmur, bumping her hip with yours.

“I’m charming,” she corrects, eyes glinting, but her hand slides to rest at your lower back again, thumb stroking slow, unconscious circles through the thin fabric of your shirt.

It sends a quiet thrill through you, you try, really try, to focus on the pan in front of you. “You’re distracting.”

“That’s not a no,” she murmurs, voice lower now, closer, her breath warm near your ear.

You shoot her a look, but there’s no bite behind it. Not when her fingers are still tracing soft, aimless patterns against your back. Not when her body is pressed just shy of touching yours, her presence curling around you like heat.

Alexia, of course, acts like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you didn’t have your hands all over her just this morning. Like you haven’t both crossed a line that neither of you are pretending to care about anymore.

When you plate up the food and move to set it on the table, she catches your wrist, not enough to stop you just enough to make you look at her.

Her thumb brushes once, twice, over the inside of your wrist. “Thanks for lunch,” she says, soft, but there’s weight to it, not just for the food, for everything.

You don’t answer right away. You don’t need to, the smile you give her says enough, as you both sit to eat, her foot nudges yours under the table. Light. Thoughtless. Like it belongs there.

⚽️

Later in the day, the house fills up again with voices, with footsteps, with the unmistakable sound of a three year old on a mission.

Mateo arrives like a tiny whirlwind, his little arms overloaded with toys mismatched, colourful, spilling out of a too-small backpack he insists on carrying himself.

“I brought everything,” he declares proudly, dropping the bag with a dramatic huff in the middle of Alexia’s living room. “Because Coco said we’d play.”

You can’t help but laugh, crouching down to his level as you watch him unzip the bag with the seriousness of a man about to negotiate a world cup final.

“You came prepared, huh?” you tease, ruffling his hair. “What’s in there? The whole toy store?”

He beams. “Almost. Mami said I could pick my best ones.”

Irene just shakes her head, fond but exasperated, as she and her wife settle onto the sofa with Alexia, slipping into easy conversation.

Mateo proudly pulls out a small army of action figures, you notice the subtle shift in his posture his eyes darting toward the hallway, his little shoulders pulling in. Following his gaze, it doesn’t take you long to spot why, Teddy.

The picture of chill, Teddy is padding over with his usual friendly curiosity, tongue lolling lazily out, tail giving a slow, lazy wag, but to Mateo, it’s a different story.

The toys suddenly don’t seem that interesting, he edges subtly closer to you, almost hiding behind your leg, his hand curling into your shorts.

You soften instantly. “Hey, buddy,” you say gently, crouching down again to his level. “That’s Teddy. He looks big, huh?”

Mateo nods, wide-eyed, his little fingers gripping you a bit tighter. You glance at Teddy, who, bless him, must sense the nerves, he stops a good distance away, sitting down with that perfectly patient doggy expression, ears perked, head tilted, tail giving a slow, reassuring thump on the floor.

“Teddy’s the biggest softie you’ll ever meet,” you explain. “Loves belly rubs more than anything. He’s basically a giant pillow that breathes.”

Mateo’s brows furrow, suspicious, but curious.

“You know what?” you add, lowering your voice like it’s a secret. “He’s actually a little scared of new people too, but when he sees someone is kind, he relaxes. Like magic.”

That gets you a thoughtful look, you extend your hand toward Teddy, giving him the signal to stay put, and gesture to Mateo.

“Wanna give it a try? You don’t have to touch him. You can just say hi from here.”

Mateo hesitates, eyes flicking from you to Teddy and back again, but then he puffs out his tiny chest, brave, determined and waves his hand in a quick, jerky motion, “Hi, Teddy.”

Teddy’s tail wags a little faster, Mateo glances at you, and you grin. “See? He likes you already.”

Little by little, Mateo inches closer, dropping into a cautious crouch, his toys temporarily forgotten. He watches as Teddy stays perfectly still, gaze soft, waiting for Mateo to set the pace, and then tiny fingers reach out. Just the tips, barely grazing Teddy’s fur. Teddy, in true golden retriever fashion, responds with a slow, happy thump of his tail and a lazy lean forward, until Mateo’s fingers are buried in the soft fur behind his ears.

A giggle bursts out of Mateo before he can stop it. “Soft,” he says, amazed.

You glance up to see Alexia watching from the sofa, her mouth tugged into a smile that’s softer than you’re used to seeing. Something warm settles in your chest. “Look at you, already making best friends,” you murmur, giving Mateo’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

He looks up at you, beaming. “I like him” And with that, the toys come back into play, Teddy now firmly accepted as part of the gang.

⚽️

Alexia’s footsteps echo lightly down the hallway as she returns from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a tea towel, brow furrowed at the sound of absolute chaos coming from the living room.

Laughter. Full-bodied, uncontrollable Mateo’s tiny giggles bubbling over, joined by yours loud, can’t-catch-your-breath laughter and somewhere beneath that, Irene and her wife are laughing too, the quiet, helpless kind of giggles that come when you're around others laughing you can’t help but get dragged under.

Alexia rounds the corner, towel still in hand, brows raised. “What is going on?” she asks, voice amused, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

You’re on the floor, half-sitting, half-toppled over, clutching your stomach, tears in your eyes, barely able to breathe. Mateo is sprawled next to you, red-faced from laughing so hard, wheezing out little gasps between his peals of giggles.

You can't explain, you just begin waving a hand in the air like you’re physically batting away your own laughter, you gasp some air before the laughter continues.

Mateo nods vigorously, hair flopping into his eyes, absolutely useless with how hard he’s still laughing. He tries to explain, gets out one garbled word “Rawr” before dissolving again into helpless giggles, flopping dramatically against your side like it’s too much.

Alexia’s eyes flick from him to you, then to Irene and her wife who are both just as amused as Alexia, giggling into their hands, seeing how happy this stranger made their son.

“Oh my god,” Alexia mutters, exasperated but smiling now, shaking her head as she leans against the doorway, watching the ridiculousness unfold. “I leave the room for two minutes…”

You’re wiping at your eyes now, breathless, the laughter finally starting to taper off into little aftershocks. You manage to look up at her, face flushed, grin wide.

“Mateo’s got jokes,” you say, voice still shaky from laughing. “And sound effects. Very realistic.”

Mateo immediately presses a finger to his lips, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Secret joke,” he whispers loudly. “Only for Coco.”

Alexia just watches you, and even as she rolls her eyes, her lips curve into that soft, almost fond smile that’s becoming dangerously familiar now. “You’re encouraging him,” she accuses, though there’s no heat behind it.

“Absolutely,” you reply shamelessly, giving Mateo a high five that sets him off into another giggle fit.

Alexia shakes her head, but her eyes linger on you a moment longer and there’s something in her gaze that says more than she’ll say out loud right now.

"Do you need a hand with dinner Ale?" Irene's wife smiled, it didn't take much persuasion before Irene and her wife were in the kitchen helping.

You’re on the living room floor, legs crossed, as Mateo lines up his little army of toys with all the focus of a general preparing for battle. He’s explaining the intricacies of some very serious dinosaur alliance when you catch the sound of hushed voices drifting in from the kitchen.

Irene’s voice is unmistakable. Light. Probing. “So… how long are we pretending this is just ‘friendly’ hospitality, Ale?”

There’s a pause. The clink of dishes. The soft scrape of a knife against a chopping board. Alexia’s reply comes slower, careful. “What do you mean?”

Irene’s wife snorts. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been hovering around like a golden retriever yourself today. I thought Teddy was the dog, not you.”

Mateo tugs at your sleeve, oblivious, asking if you thought the big dinosaur or the little one is faster, but your brain is only half here. Your ears are firmly in the kitchen.

“I’m being a good host,” Alexia says, far too innocent, but you can hear the smile in her voice. “I'm being a good friend, she's in town because of her situation with Bayern I trying to make it better, and why would she pay for a hotel when I have so much room here. I'm just helping my friend out. Is that a crime now?”

“You don’t get flustered when other houseguests walk into the room,” Irene points out, dry as ever. “Or touch your back. Or breathe the same air.”

There’s a brief beat of silence. You can imagine Alexia’s expression, that carefully schooled face, the little purse of her lips when she’s caught out but refuses to admit it. “I like her,” she says finally. Quiet, but sure.

Mateo’s still chattering away, showing you how to properly play with an action figure dinosaur, but your attention flickers again when Irene’s wife softly adds, “Good, because she’s good for you, Ale. You’re different with her.”

“I know,” Alexia admits, and there’s something so unguarded in her voice now it nearly floors you.

Mateo climbs into your lap mid-battle, tilting his head up at you with a grin. “Coco, you’re not listening,” he scolds, tapping your cheek with his little finger. “You have to focus.”

You smile down at him, ruffling his hair. “Sorry, boss. I’m back. Let’s save the world.” But as you dive back into his toy universe, the knowledge hums quietly beneath your skin.

“Okay, Ale. Serious question,” she says, tone deceptively light. “Why are you being so secretive? You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

“I’m not being secretive,” Alexia mutters, too defensive to be convincing.

“You are,” Irene’s wife chimes in, “But it’s cute. In a frustrating, emotionally repressed way.”

Alexia exhales, setting down the knife, her hands braced against the counter. There’s a moment where she looks down, gathering herself, and then she shrugs casual, but her voice is quieter when she speaks, “I was waiting to see if I could really trust her.”

That stops you. You’re still, so still, even as Mateo launches his toys into some epic battle beside you. Irene’s smile softens, but she doesn’t let her off the hook. “Because…?”

Alexia’s fingers drum lightly on the counter. “Because she’s heard things. Things I’ve told her. Things I haven’t told many people. Things she could’ve easily… leaked. Or twisted.” She pauses, glancing up for a breath before dropping her gaze again. “But she didn’t. She hasn’t.”

There’s a vulnerability in her tone now, barely concealed, like this truth costs her something to say aloud.

“I think she likes me for me,” she admits, voice small. “Not for the name. Not for what comes along with it.”

Your chest twists. A tangle of emotions wraps tight inside you. Annoyance, sharp and immediate because she tested you, she dangled trust like something you had to earn.

Pride, fierce and undeniable because you had passed, whether she’s outright said it or not, but mostly sadness. That heavy ache for her. For the history packed into those words. For the wrong people she’s trusted before, the scars she’s clearly still carrying.

“I get it,” Irene says softly, after a beat. “But you know you don’t always have to keep it from your friends, right?”

As you quietly gather Mateo’s toys into a little pile, pretending you aren’t listening, you feel her words settle in your chest, heavy and real.

⚽️

The clink of cutlery and soft murmur of conversation fills the dining room. It’s an easy atmosphere, laughter lingering from earlier, wine being slowly sipped. You’re sitting next to Alexia, who’s close enough now that her thigh brushes yours under the table, subtle but deliberate.

Then Lucia, with that curious tilt of her head, casually drops it into conversation like it’s just another side dish. “So… what actually happened with your coach? You two seemed close. But now,” she shrugs lightly, “it’s quite obviously tense.”

The table quiets just a fraction. Not awkward but attentive. Alexia’s fork stills. You consider brushing it off, a joke, an evasive answer, but the truth feels easier now, maybe because of what you overheard earlier. “I slept with her daughter,” you say simply, stabbing a piece of roasted pepper. “And then I left in the middle of the night.”

Lucia’s brows lift, but she doesn’t look surprised. Irene huffs a quiet laugh into her glass. “It wasn’t… casual, at least not for me. I thought we were. I don’t know. Starting something I guess.” You glance down at your plate, jaw working for a second before you continue, you told other people a lie, to save face mainly. It's never nice to think someone doesn't like you for genuine reasons. “But when she was asleep, her phone lit up. Group chat.” You let that sink in. “She’d texted them. Bragging. That she’d ‘ticked me off the list.’ Her words, not mine.”

Alexia’s head turns sharply towards you, her lips parting slightly, but she says nothing.

“I couldn’t stay after that. Not even until morning. Felt like a bloody idiot.” You pop the bite of pepper in your mouth, chewing as if the bitterness wasn’t lingering elsewhere.

Irene exhales slowly. “That’s rough.”

You shrug like it’s no big deal, even though you know it was. Still is, sometimes. “I guess I needed to learn that lesson once, right?” You flash a smile, light but not quite reaching your eyes. “Not everyone wants you for the right reasons.”

The words hang there. You don’t need to look to know Alexia’s gaze is on you. Lucia nods, but her eyes are softer now. “Still, that says more about her than it does about you.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. You feel Alexia’s hand brush yours again under the table, this time her pinky hooking around yours for a second longer than necessary. It’s small but it’s loud in its own way.

⚽️

Later in the evening, while the grown-ups are back to clearing dishes and sharing stories over a bottle of wine, Mateo’s settled himself beside you on the living room rug again. He’s got two plastic dinosaurs in each hand, giving you a very serious rundown of which one would win in a fight, a T-Rex or a Spinosaurus.

“Spinosaurus is bigger,” he insists, eyes wide. “But T-Rex has stronger teeth.”

You nod sagely. “You know, my dad would love this debate.”

Mateo’s head snaps up so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash. “Why? Does he like dinosaurs too?”

You grin, leaning back on your hands. “He doesn’t just like them. He’s a paleontologist. That’s his job. Studying dinosaurs. Digging up fossils.”

Mateo’s mouth falls open. A tiny, perfect what?! hanging in the air.

“No way.” He squints at you, like you might be pulling his leg. “That’s a real job?”

You chuckle. “It is. He travels all over to dig sites. Has a massive collection of bones at home. Real ones. Not toys.”

Mateo looks absolutely floored. He drops his dinosaurs into your lap, completely betrayed by his plastic versions now. “That’s so cool,” he breathes, eyes wide as dinner plates. “Does he have a T-Rex?”

“Not a full one,” you say, playing along, “but he worked on a dig in Montana where they found parts of one. Big teeth. He showed me when I was little.”

Mateo’s bouncing now, practically vibrating with excitement. “That’s the coolest dad job ever. Way cooler than my Mama's spreadsheets.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, ruffling his hair. “Don’t tell her you said that.”

He leans in conspiratorially. “I won’t if you show me a real dinosaur bone one day.”

“Deal.”

From across the room, you catch Alexia watching you, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe. There’s something soft in her gaze, a little smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Do you want anything boss man? I'm just going to get a drink?"

"I'm ok coco"

You head into the kitchen, reaching for a glass of water more out of habit than thirst. That’s when Alexia’s suddenly there, moving in beside you like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything. “Hey,” she says softly, voice pitched for just the two of you.

You glance sideways, and she’s close, too close for this to be casual. Leaning against the counter, one foot crossed over the other, arms loosely folded, but her gaze sharp and thoughtful.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she admits, cutting straight to it. “About your coach’s daughter. The text you saw.”

You shrug, trying for nonchalant, but it lands closer to guarded. “Old story now.”

“Maybe,” she says. “But it explains a lot.”

You glance at her, brows ticking up. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

A corner of her mouth lifts, but there’s no teasing in it. Just that same softness from earlier. “Like why you look at people sideways when they get too nice. Why you act like you’re always waiting for the punchline.”

You go still, the truth of her words striking deep.

“And why trust isn’t something you give easy,” she finishes, voice low.

You huff a breath, looking down at your glass, swirling it like you’ve got something important in there. “Yeah, well. Can’t all have the pick of everyone, can we?”

It’s sharper than you mean. A defense mechanism. But Alexia doesn’t flinch. “No,” she agrees quietly. “But we both know what it feels like when people want you for the wrong reasons.”

That pulls your gaze back to her and you see it, see her, not the superstar, not the badge. Just a woman who’s been burned, same as you. “I heard what you said to Irene,” you admit, voice soft now. “About testing me. About needing to be sure.”

A flicker of guilt crosses her face, but she holds your gaze. “I’m not proud of that,” she says. “But I needed to know if you were here for me. Or for…” she gestures vaguely, “everything else.”

“And now?” you ask, more curious than confrontational.

Alexia’s lips press together, thoughtful, before she steps just a fraction closer. “Now I think you’re the most patient person I’ve met,” she murmurs. “And I’m starting to feel like the idiot for not making a move sooner.”

Your breath catches, heart hammering louder than it should. “I told you,” you say quietly, “patience is a virtue.”

Her smile turns warmer. “You’re too good at this game.”

“Not a game, Alexia.” You let that sit between you.

⚽️

The house is quiet again. The dishes are done, Mateo’s toys tucked back into his backpack, and Irene and Lucia have said their goodbyes with warm hugs and knowing looks after Mateo charmed his way into a sleepover. It was obviously pre-planned on his part, he took the initiative to pack some PJ's.

You and Alexia are on the couch now lights low, some random episode playing but neither of you are watching it. Your legs are stretched out, your socked foot lightly brushing her bare shin. The casual closeness is anything but casual now.

She glances at you during a quiet part of the episode. You feel her eyes before you see them. Your gaze flicks over and meets hers and this time, nothing hesitates.

She leans in slowly, deliberately, her hand brushing your jaw, and then she kisses you. Soft. Sure. The kind of kiss that isn’t about fireworks. Your lips part for her just slightly, and the kiss deepens by a breath, a slow press of mouths that says everything the two of you haven’t. You chase her for half a second when she pulls back.

Her eyes stay closed for a moment longer, like she’s memorising the way this feels. And when they open, she’s smiling quiet and real.

Small footsteps patter down the hall. You both freeze, instinctively pulling apart just in time for Mateo to round the corner in his pyjamas, clutching a small stuffed dinosaur.

His eyes find you instantly, then flick to Alexia, his little brows furrow.

“You were kissing her,” he announces accusingly, pointing a stubby finger at Alexia.

Alexia’s eyes go wide. You slap a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing.

Mateo stomps forward, tiny and determined, clutching the dinosaur like a weapon of moral judgment. “She’s my friend,” he tells Alexia, firm and scandalised. “You’re not allowed to kiss her.”

Alexia’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She looks at you for help.

“Mateo,” you say, still trying to catch your laughter before it comes out, “you kissed me on the cheek six times earlier and told me we were the best of friends”

“That’s different!” he says with all the righteous fury of a three year old. “We had a deal!”

Alexia clears her throat, trying very hard not to laugh. “I didn’t realise I was in competition with a dinosaur prince.”

“You are!” he shouts dramatically, and flops down onto the couch between you, arms crossed, glaring at Alexia using all his might to try and move her over on the sofa.

You lean down, whispering, “He might be harder to win over than Irene.”

Alexia mutters, “Apparently.”

Mateo squints up at her. “I’m watching you.”

Alexia grins now, accepting the challenge. “I’m very scary.”

He doesn’t look convinced. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen her look more amused. The three of you sit in silence for a second, the episode still playing in the background. Mateo yawns dramatically.

“You can stay,” he tells her finally, like a king issuing a decree. “But no more kissing.”

You and Alexia share a look over the top of his head her eyes warm, yours laughing.

“No more kissing,” you promise, lips twitching.

"I make no such promises" you can't help the giggle that escapes when Mateo turns his head to Alexia and she seems to recoil at the look she was getting.

⚽️

Mateo had fallen asleep squarely in the middle of the sofa sprawled between you and Alexia like a pint sized buffer, one hand still clutching his stuffed dinosaur and the other loosely resting against your leg. His soft snores had been the final cue that it was time to carry him up to one of the guest rooms.

You scoop him up carefully, his head lolling against your shoulder, and carry him through the hallway with slow, quiet steps. Alexia watches you go with a little smile playing at her mouth, one of those soft ones, the kind you pretend not to notice but feel anyway.

Once upstairs, you tuck him under the blanket, he stirs a little, mumbling something in Spanish in sleep-heavy, but then, just as you start to ease away, his eyes flutter open, small and round and glassy with sleep.

“Do you really like Auntie Ale?” he asks quietly, voice small in the hush of the dim room.

You blink, heart tugged. Then smile gently. “Yeah, Mateo. I like her very much.”

He nods slowly, as if this confirms something important, and snuggles deeper into the pillow. “Can she come tuck me in too?”

You brush your hand through his hair. “I’ll go get her.”

You step back into the hallway and pad downstairs, Alexia is still in the living room, one leg tucked up under her, turning the TV off, she looks up as you enter.

“He asked for you,” you say softly.

Alexia arches a brow. “Is he okay?”

You nod. “He just wants you to come tuck him in.”

Alexia chuckles, standing heading back up the stairs. You head back up after grabbing your phone but, something makes you pause in the hallway by the door, just outside Mateo’s claimed room, drawn by the soft murmur of their voices.

“Are you comfy now?” Alexia asks gently, her voice like velvet in the quiet.

“Uh-huh.” A pause, then, Mateo says very seriously, “You can make her your girlfriend now.”

Alexia is clearly caught off-guard. “What?”

Mateo yawns. “Coco. You can make her your girlfriend.”

Alexia’s voice is light, but there’s something breathless underneath it. “Why do you say that, Mateo?”

He shifts under the covers, half-asleep but earnest. “Because she passed my tests,” he mumbles. “She’s nice and she played with me and she made you smile a lot.” Another pause. You can almost hear Alexia blinking, “She told me she really likes you too,” Mateo adds, like it’s a secret he’s been holding in all day.

Silence and then Alexia’s voice, barely audible: “She did?”

Mateo hums, already sinking back into sleep. “Mhm. She said it when I asked.”

Alexia says nothing else for a moment. You picture her there, sitting beside his bed in the soft light, her hand resting on the blanket, staring down at this kid who just knowingly played matchmaker.

Finally, softly, you hear her say: “Okay. Thanks, Mateo.”

You step back, quietly making your way to Alexia's room, it was quiet expect the hum of your phone on the bed as you got changed, as Alexia pads in softly on bare feet your already part way through your phone call.

You’ve got your back to her, one hand braced on the windowsill, the other holding your phone to your ear. You don’t see her, don’t know she’s there and so you speak freely.

“No, I get it. I know it changes things.” Your voice is low, tired, but steady. Alexia pauses just inside the doorway, out of sight but close enough to hear you clearly. Something in your tone stops her. You exhale into the phone. “Look, I didn’t want anyone to lose their job. That was never what this was about.”

Another beat. You shift your weight, shoulders tense.

“I’ve made a decision. There’s no going back now. It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make, leaving like that especially under those circumstances but I meant what I said, I can't play there now.”

Alexia stays where she is, quiet as a ghost.

“I’m not staying, no matter who they bring in next what assurances they give me. I know it changes the dynamic, but I’ve already committed to what’s next. I owe it to myself and to them to follow through on that.” There’s a long pause where whoever’s on the other end replying. You nod silently, then say quietly, “Tell them I said thank you. For everything.”

Another pause.

“Yeah. I’m okay. I will be.”

You hang up, your head drops, and for a moment you just stand there, eyes closed, fingertips pressing into the windowsill like it might keep you upright.

Then you turn and freeze, Alexia’s in the doorway now, arms crossed, leaning against the frame. Her expression is unreadable, soft and still. You blink, startled. “How long?”

“Long enough,” she says gently.

You hesitate, the air thick with unspoken things. “I didn’t mean for you to hear that,” you say finally.

“I know,” she replies.

“I made my choice,” you say, more quietly now. “I had to. Even if things… changed after.”

She pushes off the frame and crosses the room slowly, her gaze never leaving yours. When she stops in front of you, she’s close not touching, but closer than she needs to be. “What happened?”

“My head coach got let go this morning.”

Alexia’s brow lifts, a flicker of surprise in her expression. “Seriously?”

You nod. “The club’s already promoted the assistant. He’s taking over.”

Alexia takes a step further into the room. “You okay?”

You shrug, somewhere between relief and conflict. “It’s… weird. She was part of the reason I left, but not the only reason.”

Alexia watches you for a moment, reading you like she always does, calm, quiet, patient. “Does it change anything?” she asks.

You shake your head slowly. “No. I told them it doesn’t. I’ve already made my decision, and I’m following through on it.”

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes curiosity, and something deeper. “What did you decide?” she asks softly.

You meet her gaze, steady now. "I signed with Barca yesterday before I left"

Alexia’s eyes widen just slightly a blink, a twitch of her mouth like she’s caught between trying to stay composed and wanting to beam. She shifts her weight onto one foot, then crosses her arms tighter like she’s trying to keep the emotion from spilling over.

“You… you already signed?” she says, voice a little higher, quieter than usual.

You nod, watching her. “Yesterday, right before I left. We made it official.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she tries to keep it subtle, but it’s hopeless. Her dimples betray her before her mouth does, and her eyes go bright even as she dips her head, suddenly shy. “I didn’t think I’d be nervous hearing that,” she mutters, half to herself, half to you.

You take a step closer, bumping her gently with your shoulder. “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” she says quickly, flustered now, laughing a little.

“You kind of are,” you tease, grinning.

She rolls her eyes, cheeks pink anyway, but she can’t stop smiling. “It’s just… after everything. I know how much this decision meant to you, and I didn’t want to be part of the pressure.”

“You weren’t,” you say, and you mean it.

Alexia looks up at you, the shyness still soft around her eyes, but there’s something else there now something steadier, warmer. “I don’t really know what to say,” she admits.

You shrug. “You could say congratulations. Or. Just an idea, maybe finish what we started last night”

That pulls a real laugh from her, quiet and fond. “That is very good idea”

“Well, then,” you say, as she begins reaching out to curl her fingers gently in your shirt, “I just gave you a pretty good reason to kiss me.”

Alexia’s fingers twist gently into the fabric of your shirt, and there’s a beat of silence where you both just look at each other, soft, charged, inevitable.

Then she pulls you in, the kiss is warm and hungry all at once, not rushed, but with a certain urgency. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left, your bodies pressed together like they’ve known for a while what they wanted.

You barely notice the shuffle backward until the backs of her knees hit the edge of the bed. She sinks down, taking you with her, lips never leaving yours.

There’s laughter between kisses light, breathless as you straddle her, that giddy, heady kind that bubbles up when nerves meet something longed for.

Her mouth breaks from yours only for a second. “You sure you don’t want to go back to the guest room?”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning in again. “Not even a little bit.”

Alexia hums a soft, amused sound as she with an overwhelming ease holds you against her with one arm lifting turning and laying you on the bed reattaching her lips to yours with more urgency than before.

Her touch grew bolder, her fingertips deftly lifting your shirt and sliding it up your sides and over your head. Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum, each beat echoing in the quiet room. Alexia's eyes roamed over your bare skin, a soft smile playing on her lips as she took in the sight of you. Then she leaned in, her breath warm and sweet as she placed a trail of kisses along your neck, her mouth moving with a purpose that sent your thoughts spiraling.

Her fingers found their way to the clasp of your bra, releasing it with a practiced ease that made you gasp. Your breasts spilled into her waiting hands, and she cupped them gently, her thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks. Your breath caught in your throat as she lowered her mouth, her tongue tracing delicate circles that sent waves of pleasure crashing through you. You arched your back, offering yourself up to her, desperate for more of her touch.

Her mouth moved down, her kisses growing more insistent, her tongue darting out to taste your skin. Alexia's hands found the button of your jeans, undoing them, and then sliding them down your legs. Leaving you in nothing but your lacy underwear.

She murmured in Spanish, her voice thick with desire, as she slid your panties off. You felt a blush creep up your neck, but the way she was looking at you made you feel anything but embarrassed. You were alive, on fire, ready for whatever she had in store.

Her fingers began to explore, gliding over your most sensitive spots, setting every nerve ending alight. You could feel yourself getting wetter with every stroke, your body responding to her touch with a fervor that surprised even you. Alexia's eyes never left yours, the intensity of her gaze making you feel as if she could see into the very core of your soul.

And then she was kissing your body again, her mouth moving down your body, her tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When she reached the apex of your thighs, she paused, her breath hot and tickling. The anticipation was unbearable, your entire body taut with need. But she didn't disappoint. Her tongue slipped inside you, and you moaned, your hips bucking involuntarily. She took her time, savouring every part of you, her movements deliberate and precise just like on the football pitch. You felt your climax building, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within you until it finally broke, sending you spiralling over the edge with a cry of pure ecstasy.

Alexia pulled back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder. How did she know exactly what you needed? How could she make you feel like this?

She repositioned herself between your legs, her own desire evident in the way she was looking at you. Her fingers began to work their magic again, and you felt yourself building back up to that peak, the sensations more intense than before.

Her mouth found your clit, sucking gently as her fingers plunged inside you. You writhed beneath her, your hands tangled in her hair, urging her on. The world outside the bedroom faded away, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of passion and pleasure.

You felt your orgasm approaching, a crescendo that seemed to build forever, and when it finally crested, you moaned out her name, your body arching off the bed. Alexia's eyes never left you, her gaze a mix of triumph and hunger as she watched you come apart in her hands.

As your breathing began to even out, she kissed her way back up your body, her lips lingering on your stomach, your breasts, your neck, until she reached your mouth. Her kisses grew gentle again, almost tender, as she unbuckled her own pants, sliding them down her legs.

You could see the outline of her arousal through her panties, and the sight of her made you ache to touch her.

With trembling hands, you reached down and slid the fabric aside, revealing her to yourself. She was wet and ready, and you didn't hesitate to dip your fingers into her warmth, feeling her quiver against your touch. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she let out a deep, throaty groan.

Alexia's hips began to rock against your hand, and you felt your own desire stirring once more. You leaned in, your mouth finding hers again as you matched the rhythm of your fingers to the movement of your tongues. You could feel her tightening around you, her breath coming in short gasps as she approached her peak. As she came, her body tensed, and she buried her face in the crook of your neck, her teeth grazing your skin. You felt her release, the warmth of her against your hand, and the tremble of her muscles. It was intoxicating, the power you had over her, the intimacy that you shared in this moment.

Neither of you got much sleep that night, hands and mouths wouldn't stop exploring, if you did fall asleep, it was only temporary as you both seemed to wake up at the same time and hands would wander again silently.

⚽️

It starts with Alexia as she casually tosses herself over with a sigh and a stretch, taking up the middle of the mattress like it’s instinct.

You raise an eyebrow, amused. “Comfortable?”

She shrugs, already turned onto her side. “Just getting settled.”

You catch the way she subtly shifts again, back angled toward you now not quite obvious, not quite an invitation, but unmistakable.

You're on your back behind her, heart warm. “Ale.”

“Si?” she says, too innocent, gaze fixed stubbornly on the wall.

“You’re trying really hard not to ask me to cuddle you.”

Her voice is muffled in the pillow. “I’m not trying, I’m succeeding.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’m just... lying like this because it’s more comfortable. Nothing to do with you.”

"Ok" you smile and dramatically roll the other way, "Sleep tight" you feel the bed shift as Alexia seemingly looks over her shoulder to see where you were.

"If you wanted a cuddle, I'd allow that"

You laugh softly, "You'd allow it huh?"

"Si" you hear her sigh as she settles back down, there was silence, deafening silence but you knew that wasn't the end of it, "Cold isn't it"

You laugh roll over slid her hand over her waist and up her body to her chest and drag her back into you, snug against your chest. She melts instantly, sighing again this time quieter, softer. Her fingers find yours under the blanket and link.

After a moment, “Happy now” you whisper against the shell of her ear, she nods unable to wipe the smile from her face, "The great Alexia Putellas, a little spoon. Who would have thought it.

Alexia makes a small noise of protest that’s entirely undermined by the way she nudges herself closer, tucking herself firmly into your space. “Si,” she mumbles. “But don’t get cocky about it.”

You smile into her hair. “No promises.”

A quiet beat, then she adds, voice barely above a whisper, “When do you have to go back to Germany?”

You exhale slowly, letting your nose brush gently against the back of her neck before answering. “Day after tomorrow,” you murmur. “Got the last game of the season and need to pack up my things. Say goodbye. Sort out all the boring grown-up stuff.”

Alexia nods, silent for a moment. Then, quieter: “You okay with going back?”

You think about it honestly. The flat that doesn’t feel like home anymore. The training ground that feels like a chapter that’s already ended.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “It’ll be weird, I think. Bittersweet. But I’m ready to close that door.”

“Do you think… you’ll get to play the last game before the break?”

You’re quite a second, thinking. “I hope so. They haven’t said anything official yet, but I’m fit. If they want to show I’m still part of the squad, even just off the bench... maybe. Get to say bye properly”

Alexia nods slowly. “Would that be weird for you? Playing again, after everything?”

You breathe in, then out. “A little, yeah. But it also feels right. To go out properly, not just... vanish. I’d like that.”

She hums, the sound thoughtful. “I’ll keep an eye on the match. Even if it’s just a few minutes, I want to see you play there one more time.”

More Posts from Justareader7 and Others

justareader7

1 month ago

🤣🤣

Top of the League, Bottom of the Class

Summary: Y/n’s got energy for days, jokes for every occasion, and zero patience for schoolwork. Too bad Alexia and Leah are determined to make her study, even during international break.

Warnings: Alexia is a bit...stern at the beginning, but I swear she softens up to our girl y/n!!

Word count: 7.4k

Notes: This was based on a request

Masterlist

The sun was setting over Barcelona's training ground, it was late already–too late for a certain player to be on the pitch. But Y/n was there, happier than ever, with her headphones on while she trained some dribbling skills with one of the dummies.

The training had ended one hour ago, but some players were still at Barcelona’s training ground, although most of them were having physiotherapy sessions or late gym hours–meaning they were far away from the pitch, so there weren’t any chances Y/n would be caught.

Y/n had a whole thing planned out. After training, she took a shower in the changing room, talked a bit with Jana and Vicky before taking her gym bag and saying goodbye, walking through the door as she rambled about how much homework she had to do when she got home.

But when Jana and Vicky took a left in the corridors, Y/n told them she had forgotten her water bottle–again, so she had to go back and get it. Jana and Vicky watched as Y/n walked. The two girls had no idea that their friend was actually planning yet another training session on the pitch.

Although no one could know about Y/n’s late-night rendezvous, because she actually wasn’t allowed to stay in the training center past 6 pm, Barcelona’s team had created this rule because Y/n got so caught up training after-hours that she didn’t do her homework.

Y/n had to balance school, in between being professional players for Barcelona and England, but the girl couldn't care less about school.

Football was her life. It wasn’t just her passion; it was the one thing that made her feel truly alive.

She was a star on the pitch, but when it came to school, she was a different story. Books? Boring. Homework? A waste of time. For her, the only subject that mattered was football.

Her grades were slipping…badly. The headmistress at her school had to call Barcelona’s office to talk about it because Y/n’s parents weren’t in the country, and she had no one to take care of

Of course, Barcelona thought it would be a good idea to assign someone to assist and look over Y/n. A normal club would have hired a teacher, or even a babysitter, but since Barcelona had this weird "Som una família" [we’re family] vibes, they assigned no one less than La Reina, Alexia Putellas herself, to be the one to help her with geometry homework.

At first, Y/n thought Alexia wouldn't take it seriously, maybe just to go to some parent-teacher meetings when necessary. But no, Alexia had made it one of her life responsibilities to get Y/n through math classes.

And that’s why she was hiding from Alexia now. She had told the captain that she was going home just before she met with Vicky and Jana. Alexia just nodded and kissed her on the cheeks as she–very weirdly–was the first to go home.

Y/n could easily fit in another hour or two of training before the center actually closed. What if she had history homework? Barcelona had a big game coming up, plus, international dates were just a few weeks away, and she had been called up to the senior squad again–she had to be in top shape.

So Y/n stayed on the pitch. Her headphones on.

She flicked the ball between her feet to the rhythm of Young Hearts Run Free, lost in the music and movement. She didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching. She only noticed when…

Yank.

A sharp pain ran through her ear as her headphone was pulled out of her head.

"Ouch"! Y/n turned around, rubbing the sore spot. "What the fuck?! That’s child abuse–"

Her eyes found a very, very angry Alexia. Her throat felt dry, as if she couldn't speak.

She was in so much trouble.

Alexia was right in front of her, arms crossed, looking very unhappy. Her hair was down, her make-up was done, and…wait. Was she wearing…a dress? Huh?

"Ale? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, nena," Alexia said sternly. "How many times have I told you to go straight home after training?"

Y/n looked down, playing with the ball on her feet, feeling her cheeks blushing for getting caught.

"I asked you a question," Alexia said– before kicking the ball from y/n’s feet, sending it rolling into the net.

Goal..yay?

"I just need to train more, Ale!" Y/n said exasperatedly, pointing towards the goal as if to prove her point. “International break is c–”

"International breaks do not matter if you fail school!" Alexia said. "You know you need to present a clean school report to play for the senior squad, right?"

"Yes, I know that," Y/n muttered.

"It doesn't seem like you do," Alexia said, casually pulling her phone from her purse and holding it up to Y/n’s face.

Oh no, Y/n knew what that meant.

"You got a 2/10 on your biology test, and then a 3/10 on your math test," Alexia said. "First of all, why am I finding out about it through an email? Why didn't you tell me?

"Because you’d get mad at me just like you’re now!" Y/n shot back

"I'm not mad!" Alexia said, voice tight. "I'm disappointed."

Y/n froze and stared at Alexia.

Y/n felt a cold rush go through her body, setting a weight on her chest.

Disappointed? She could handle being yelled at. She could deal with Alexia being frustrated or angry. But disappointment? Y/n didn’t know what to do with this. It felt wrong.

"I make time on my schedule to help you study," Alexia said, her finger counting off each point. "I buy things you need for school projects, I read the same books you need to read for Spanish class to try and motivate you, and this is what I get in return? Slack?’

Y/n felt her eyes fill with tears. She tried to find something to say, but her usual funny and witty comments that would normally get her out of any serious situation were nowhere to be found.

Alexia was looking at her, her eyes and lips tight, her foot tapping on the grass restlessly. She missed the usual gentle and patient Alexia right now more than anything.

"I know you love football, Y/n, but this," Alexia pointed towards the pitch. "Is only a small part of what your life will look like in the future; you need to be ready for more."

Y/n swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, trying not to let Alexia see her tears, but she failed. She quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of her barça hoodie while looking away.

“You need school to move forward, you can be the very best players on the pitch, but if you don’t give the same effort off of it, you’re not going to make it very far,” Alexia’s voice softened just slightly.

Alexia’s words hung in the air as she watched the girl standing in front of her.

“Sorry,” Y/n said quietly, “I shouldn't have hid it from you.”

"Have I ever made you feel like you needed to hide things from me?" Alexia said, taking a step closer and placing her hand on Y/n’s shoulder as she leaned just slightly to be the same height as her eyes.

Y/n shook her head.

“Exactly," Alexia said, putting a hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “This is the first time I’ve been stern with you, isn’t it?”

Y/n nodded, looking away.

“Will it be the last?” Alexia asked.

Y/n wished she could easily nod along without a second thought, but she also knew how much of a hard time she had with school. But still, she couldn't let it happen again, and couldn't let Alexia get this upset with her.

So she forced the word out. “Yes.”

“Okay, good,” Alexia said. “Let's go. It's late.”

Without another word, Alexia turned toward the exit, and Y/n followed her.

They didn’t talk on the way out, but the silence wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable.

The steady weight of Alexia’s hand on her shoulder, and the way she effortlessly picked up Y/n’s training bag and slung it over her own–it was enough.

Y/n didn’t need to hear the words to know that she was forgiven.

They walked through the car park, the night cold and the postlight brightening the way they made Alexia's black car.

Y/n was already thinking of what to expect from the car drive as she rubbed the sting on her ear from where Alexia had oh-so-graciously removed her headphones and tugged at her ear.

They would probably be in a quiet, awkward ride–just her and Alexia’s disappointing sight and, very occasionally, passive-aggressive grips on the steering wheel as Alexia made sure to put on the worst songs ever known to humankind.

Alexia had given Y/n a bunch of rides, so Y/n followed the usual routine of going to the passenger seat, but to her surprise, there was a woman sitting there,

One Y/n had never met.

Y/n tilted her head, trying to think of every single player of every single women's team in La Liga. No, she wasn’t in any team. Then she thought of the staff of Barcelona… also no.

Yep, Y/n had no clue who this person was.

Y/n slowed her steps, eyebrows furrowing as she took in the unfamiliar woman sitting there.

She was pretty. Dark hair, and soft features, a warm smile was on her lips as she watched Y/n and Alexia approaching.

Y/n stopped right outside the car, looking between her and Alexia with suspicion. "Uh, Ale? Who is this?"

Alexia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as if already exhausted by the interrogation she knew was coming.

"Y/n, this is Olga. Olga, this is Y/n." Alexia said simply. "You go there," Alexia pointed at the back seat.

Olga turned fully in her seat, extending a hand out the window.

"So you’re the famous nena, huh?" Olga said, smiling genuinely. "Alexia talked a lot about you."

"Oh yeah? She did?" Y/n shook her head before immediately nodding. "I like you already… Olga."

She pulled open the back door and climbed in as Alexia slid into the driver’s seat.

Silence settled over the car as Alexia started driving. Y/n had expected her to be better at small talk, but apparently, she wasn’t.

"So…" Y/n leaned forward, poking her head between the front seats. "Who even are you, Olga?"

"Get back to your seat and put on your seat belt," Alexia said sharply. "And…we were having dinner."

"Having dinner?" Y/n asked.

"Sí"

"Where?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes."

"It’s that Italian place near Carrer de Pàdua," Olga finally explained, noticing how Alexia seemed to only give the young girl vague answers. "It’s great!"

"Wait–did you guys go to L'Italiano Perso?" Y/n asked

"Sí," Alexia said again. "We were on a date–"

Y/n’s eyes widened. "Wait. What?" She stopped buckling herself up, being too shocked by Alexia’s revelation.

"A date, Y/n," Alexia said in exasperation, a heavy voice. "You know, when two people who like each other go out…u might not know much about it, but–"

"Since when do you date?!" Y/n interrupted. "And excuse me? I go on plenty of dates! Thank you!"

"Drop it." Alexia sought, tying her hands around the wheel, Y/n could even see the blush of her cheeks

"Oh bloody hell!" Y/n exposed, putting her hand on her own cheeks. "Does your mom know about it? Your sister?"

"If you don’t shut up, I’m stopping at the England embassy to have you deported," Alexia said, deadpanned.

"Ok, that was rude," Y/n said, finishing buckling her seatbelt and leaning her back into her seat. "I can think of a few English people who would love to have me back."

"Let’s get you back to then, maybe this way I can have a proper date once"

The drive was mostly silent after that, Y/n noticed that Alexia's awful music taste was replaced by cool, modern songs. After a few minutes thinking why Y/n saw that it was Olga’s Spotify that was connected to Alexia's car.

Hm. Good piece of information.

That meant that it wasn’t their first date…

Wait. Fuck

Y/n’s stomach sank. Alexia was on a date.

A date that she had to interrupt because of Y/n's stupid irresponsibility

“Oh no!” Y/n said.

“Oh no?” Olga turned to look at her, and then at Alexia, as if the blonde could decipher everything that came out of Y/n’s mouth. “What happened?”

“I ruined your date.” Y/n’s eyes widened. “I'm so sorry, Ale!”

“Nena," she sighed as she held the wheel with one hand and rubbed her temples with the other. “You didn’t ruin anything, don’t worry.”

“No, seriously, I totally ruined your date." Y/n looked between them, horrified. “That’s why you look… so put together all of a sudden! That’s why you were in a dress! I thought that was weird! I’m so–”

“Y/n." Alexia’s voice was sharp, a blush growing into her neck as she avoided making eye contact with Olga, who was biting down a laugh. “Shut. Up.”

Y/n pouted. “But did I really ruin it?”

Alexia sighed. “We were having dinner, and then I got that email about your grades, and I got mad. So I drove to your house, and when you weren’t there, I knew exactly where you’d be.”

"Uh…oops?." Y/n cringed.

Y/n realised she could never be captain. Imagine being on a date and receiving an email from a kid–that wasn’t even your kid– saying they went bad on a test about cell division and having to drop everything to go look for them? Nope.

Olga turned in her seat again, resting her chin on her palm as she looked at Y/n. “You know, if you wanted to sabotage Alexia’s love life, there are easier ways.”

Y/n quickly caught Olga’s teasing tone and smiled at her.

"I wasn’t trying to sabotage, I was just training, I swear!" Y/n laughed, loving watching how Alexia’s eyes rolled.

"Instead of doing your homework," Alexia added, making a U-turn.

Y/n groaned, dramatically. "I get it, I get it, I’m a disappointment, bla bla bla"

"You’re not a disappointment," Alexia rolled her eyes. "Stop being dramatic, you’re just–"

“An academic disaster?” Y/n offered an awkward smile on her face.

“A headache.” Alexia finished.

“You two are fun," Olga said, placing a hand on Alexis's thigh. "It makes me laugh.”

Y/n grinned. "Does that mean I can be the third wheel all the time?"

"No," Alexia said

"We’ll see," Olga said at the same time, winking at Y/n.

Y/n sat up quickly, having a bright idea. "Well, if that’s how it’s gonna be, I might as well ask… Olga, do you know anything about mitosis and meiosis? I’ve got a test coming up..."

Alexia immediately shot a glare at her. "Y/n, no. Stop bothering Olga."

Y/n put her hands up defensively. "Hey, I’m just trying to help my education!"

"Maybe you should help yourself first," Alexia mumbled.

"You know, you should listen to your captain before she strangles you," Olga said, laughing.

Y/n watched as Alexia smirked at Olga…Smirked!

"Okay, ew!" Y/n said, "Was that…flirting? Please stop the car so I can throw up."

"Oh Déu meu, nena, calla!" Alexia snapped.

Y/n squinted her eyes. "I have no idea what you just said, Alexia, but I bet it was rude!".

But then, Y/n noticed something strange.

Y/n leaned forward, confusion in her eyes. "Wait a minute...why aren’t you driving me home?"

"I’m going to school with you tomorrow," Alexia said casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal at all. "It’s easier if you sleep at mine, I’ll drop by your house in the morning so you can get your school bag and then we can head out from the..."

Y/n raised her eyebrows. "What? Why are you going to school with me?"

“They want to talk about your grades and about the next international break –you’ll be three weeks out of school, they want to see how we can organize your school work.”

"Okay, but they can talk to me about it," Y/n said. "Why do they want you there

"Why do they want me there? Nena, did I give you an earful for nothing?" Alexia glanced at her, impatience in her voice. "I’m responsible for you! They want to make sure you’ll have an actual adult looking out for your education."

"So you’re coming with me—" Y/n said carefully. "Like, as a parent?"

"Sí," Alexia replied, completely unfazed.

"Oh, come on, Ale! This is so embarrassing!"Y/n threw herself back into her seat, groaning. "Don’t you have training or something better to do?"

"Sí, I do actually," Alexia simply said. “And I’ll be very happy at training tomorrow if I didn’t have to go talk to the headmistress, but since someone needs to keep an eye on you, I’ll be the one to do it."

Alexia paused for a second, then added, "Also, you’re benched for the next two games."

"What? No!" Y/n yelled.

"Sí."

"You can’t do that!"

Alexia turned to her with a calm expression. "I just did, nena.”

Y/n ran her hands through her face dramatically. “You’re ruining my career, forever.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alexia waved off with one hand. “You’ll survive.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“We’ll see that.”

Y/n groaned again and rolled her eyes.

"You beware, Olga," Y/n mumbled, crossing her arms and looking out of the window. "She’s always this pain in the a–"

"You just won yourself another game on the bench," Alexia said. “Wow, that’s got to be a new personal record, huh?”

Looked at Alexia through the rearview mirror, indignation on her face.

Olga raised her eyebrows, biting back a grin as she watched Y/n’s reaction. She gave her leg a light pat, offering no real support.

"Oh, rough amiga, but maybe you can study a bit while you’re on the sideline."

"You know what, Olga," Y/n said with a betrayed look in her eyes. "I don’t like you anymore."

When they finally reached Alexia’s house, Y/n was determined to get back at Alexia for being so… she wasn't actually sure. A responsible adult?A good guardian? It didn’t matter the reasoning, she just wanted to annoy Alexia.

But now, after meeting Olga, Y/n realized there were even better and more efficient ways to annoy Alexia.

As they stepped inside, Y/n noticed how familiar Olga seemed with the place, so she couldn’t help but smirk, and she formulated a plan.

"It’s your first time here?" Y/n asked, casually tossing her gym bag by the door.

"Nena," Alexia warned, making sure Y/n knew Alexia was very aware of what she was doing.

"Oh, no," Olga said, flashing Y/n a smile. "I’ve been here before… You know, movie nights and stuff like that."

"Oh yeah," Y/n said, dragging out the words with insinuation. "Movie night, I get it," she winked at Olga.

"So where am I sleeping?" Y/n asked, changing her attention from Olga to Alexia.

"Guest room."

"But you only have one guest room!" Y/n protested, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah? And?" Alexia shrugged, her tone casual. "You’re only one person."

"But where’s Olga sleeping?" Y/n pressed, leaning in with a teasing grin.

"In my room," Alexia replied nonchalantly, trying not to make a big deal about it so Y/n wouldn’t make a big deal about it.

But of course, Alexia was wrong.

Y/n shot a playful glance at Olga, eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, okay," she said, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone then…don’t wanna get in the way of more than just the date, you know."

Olga bit back a laugh, but Alexia turned to Y/n with a look that could kill.

"Go. Now." Alexia pointed toward the stairs. "And do all your homework for tomorrow. I’ll check in during breakfast."

All the playfulness drained from Y/n’s face.

"All my homework?” Y/n whined, “It’s a lot of stuff and it’s late already!”

"Should’ve thought of that before sneaking out to the pitch," Alexia said, her voice emotionless.

Y/n groaned dramatically. "I hate you."

"Yeah, yeah. It’s part of the job," Alexia said, waving her off like it was nothing. "Now go."

Y/n did what Alexia asked of her, or at least…she tried.

She had to do homework for basically every subject because she didn’t get any work done during the week, so it was all piling up. She grabbed Alexia’s notebook from her room before accessing her school website and logging in to see every assignment and reading she had to do, and it was a lot.

She began her while lying on the bed, reading slide presentations and watching some YouTube videos about the subjects. It helped a little, but everything was still so blurry in her head.

Why did she have to learn geometry? Or learn about the deep history of every country in Europe?

The girl groaned and closed the notebook, putting it aside.

She was dumb. That's what it was.

Y/n was always the slowest in class, the last kid to learn how to read or to spell, the one you absolutely didn't go to if you had questions about school work. Y/ns teachers also made sure she knew how bad she was compared to other students.

She felt inferior and worthless whenever she was in school. But when she was on the pitch? She was good–one of the best, even!

That’s why she didn't like to do homework, it reminded her how much harder she had to work compared to others just to get a 6/10.

Y/n rolled her eyes and turned around, she turned around a lot before she was actually able to fall asleep.

Y/n woke up to the sound of her phone ringing and vibrating aggressively under her pillow. She barely had time to process what was happening, and she looked at the screen on the phone, confused, reading the name Leah Williamson.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes, knowing exactly why Leah was calling. She had barely survived Alexia’s lecture, and now she is going to have to hear through another one.

With a deep breath, Y/n clicked the green button on the screen. "If this is about the email, I–"

"What email?" Leah's voice came on, slightly confused.

"Hmm… this isn’t about the email?"

"No, this is about you not doing your homework–according to Alexia" There was a pause. "Should I be checking my email too?"

Y/n cursed under her breath before replying. "No! No email. Forget I said that…I just woke up, so I must have, hm, dreamed about…emails"

"Uhum,” Leah said sarcastically. "I’ll be asking Alexia about that later…Now tell me what the hell is going on with you? Sneaking to the pitch? Really?"

Y/n winced. "Leah, I’ve already talked to Alexia about it, I don’t need you too–"

"Yes, you do need me to talk to you because it seems like you think you’re your own person, but you are only sixteen.”

“Leah!” Y/n groaned.

"No, Y/n. You don’t get to complain. You promised you’d take school seriously." Leah said, and Y/n quickly remembered the numerous times Leah had also lectured her about it during camp. "And don’t try the ‘football is all I need’ argument, because you and I both know that’s not true."

Y/n pressed her lips together, knowing full well she wouldn’t win this one. She kept quiet, scared to say the wrong thing and make Leah even more mad.

"I’m serious, Y/n. You need to get your act together. Alexia’s worried!" Leah said. "She told me it wasn't the first time that you played football instead of studying! You need to learn your responsibilities."

Y/n muttered something that Leah couldn't understand..

"What was that?" Leah asked

"I said that Alexia is a snitch."

"She’s a snitch because you didn't tell me first," Leah said. "But since I need to have the Alexia Putellas on my phone giving me updates about your school life, we both decided to do things in our own way."

Y/n gulped, scared of whatever Alexia and Leah had planned together

"You can expect a lot, and I mean a lot of textbooks in your room when you get to camp," Leah said. "I’ll keep a close eye on you here in England, and Alexia will do the same when you’re in Barcelona; we won’t let you keep this on."

"Serious kid," Leah continued. "You moved to Spain on your own at sixteen, you have your own house, you’re talented, but you refuse to do a few math exercises? Come on, mate"

"I’m sorry," Y/n muttered. "I’ll be better, I’m just…"

"What?" Leah asked, her voice softer now.

"I'm dumb, okay!" Y/n blurted out before she could stop herself. "I don’t get things quickly, and it just—it doesn’t stick like it does with other people."

"Hey, don’t say that," Leah cut in, her voice sharp with concern. "Struggling with school doesn’t make you dumb, you’re smart, kid. You wouldn’t be where you are if you weren't."

"It doesn't seem like that most of the time," y/n said in a low voice.

"You might not see it," Leah said. "But the people around you certainly do, that’s why we keep pushing you, we know you can do much better."

"Look, I have to go," Y/n sighed. "Alexia apparently has to go to school with me today."

"Okay, kid, we’ll talk later, then," Leah said. "Good luck with that! Love you, bye!"

"Love you too," y/n said before she hung up the phone and put it aside.

Y/n rubbed the sleep off of her eyes, and that’s when she heard the door crack open.

"You’re not dumb, nena," Alexia said, firm but gentle.

Y/n’s head snapped up. "Ale! Were you…eavesdropping on my conversation?"

"Sí," Alexia replied without hesitation, crossing her arms. "You’re loud, and I was coming to tell you breakfast is ready."

Y/n groaned, sinking further into her seat. "Unbelievable."

Alexia didn’t waver. She leaned forward slightly, her expression serious. "Cariño, listen to me. You are not dumb. Don’t ever say that again, do you understand?"

Y/n hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. "I just have a really hard time with…school.”

“Then we’ll get you help,” Alexia sighed, stepping closer to Y/n and sitting on the bed by her side. “But first you need to try, you can’t give up like that.”

“We’ll figure it out, sí?” Alexia continued. “I’ll talk to your teachers today, and we’ll think of something.

Y/n nodded, a little more reassured. "Okay."

“Girls!” y/n heard Olga calling from downstairs. “Your breakfast is getting cold!”

“Breakfast, huh?” Y/n nudged Alexia with her shoulder. “Should I get used to seeing Olga around?”

Alexia rolled her eyes, ignoring Y/n and extending her hand, palm open.

“Let me see your homework.”

“Oh come on, mate!”

When Alexia said she'd find Y/n some help, she really wasn’t joking.

She had created a whole schedule that balanced football, school, and dedicated study time. She even printed it out and made Y/n hang it in her room, so she’d always know what her day looked like.

Since she was a student-athlete, she only attended school for half the day, doing the rest online. Her schedule was packed—morning classes, lunch, training, online lessons, more training, and homework. That last part? She used to skip it. But now, with Alexia’s plan written out for her, she actually stuck to it.

At first, Y/n thought she’d hate it. That she'd never get used to it. But having a routine was so much easier than doing whatever came to her mind. Plus, her schedule included team study nights, and those turned out to be some of the most fun days of the week.

“I don’t get it,” Aitana said, holding her biology book close to her face, eyes squinted. “It looks so weird.”

Pina turned the book, which was upside down– for her. “Maybe this way is better.”

“No,” Aitana shook her head. “Still weird.”

Y/n was in the middle of writing an essay when their conversation caught her attention. She looked up and scooted close to Aitana and Pina.

“What are you guys looking at?” Y/n asked.

“This,” Aitana said, pointing at the page.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows “Oh, that’s how the replication of DNA goes.” Y/n said casually, coming back to her work. “You know, double string, DNA polymerase, nucleic acids.”

There was silence.

“And since when did you know that?” Pina finally asked.

Y/n shrugged, getting back at her assay. “Just do.”

“Oh,” Aitana muttered, back to the books. “Alexia is for sure going to love that.”

“Please make sure to tell her,” Y/n sighed dramatically. “So she can take me off the bench already,”

Y/n had just finished a painfully online lesson when her phone rang. She barely glanced at the screen before answering.

“What?”

“Hello to you too, sunshine,” Leah's dry voice came through.

“I’m busy,” Y/m said, taking the pencil she was holding off of her mouth before taking a new textbook and putting it on her study table.

“Too busy for your favorite captain?” Leah teased.

“Oh, I didn’t know this was Alexia,” Y/n said, teasing Leah back;

“You’re awful.”

“Not as awful as school,” Y/n groaned, letting her head fall on the open textbook.

“That bad?” Leah hummed.

“I had to write a whole page about the First Carlist War, it took like an hour!”

“Wow, a whole page,” Leah snorted. “I’m impressed you survived that.”

“You said that because you aren’t the one having to write about dead people after an excruciating training session.”

“Yeah, if you actually did your work, maybe Alexia wouldn’t have to babysit you and make that schedule.”

“She doesn’t babysit me!” Y/n scowled. Offended. “I still live alone and-”

“Oh really?” Leah interrupted. “Then what’s that piece of paper in your room that tells you exactly when to eat, sleep, study… breathe.”

“It’s a routine, Leah.”

“Yeah, routines are like fancy for babysitting teens,” Leah said. “But seriously, though, I'm happy you're actually following it, keep it up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Y/n huffed, but her lips twitched in a small smile “Don't worry.”

“Okay, kid, gotta go now,” Leah said. “I’m looking forward to your thrilling Carlist War facts when you get to camp next week.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you listen to them,” Y/n shot back, but it sounded more like a dare.

“Are you really sure this is a healthy way of studying?” Salma asked, eying the situation with doubt.

When Y/n had called her, Vick and Jana to her flat for a ‘Girl’s Night’, a Don Quixote quiz wasn’t something she was expecting.

“It seems like fun to me,” Vick said with a grin. “Go on, Salma, ask her already.”

Salma sighed but turned to Y/n, while Jana stood next to her, holding a pillow threateningly close to Y/n’s face. “Alright—why is the narrator of Don Quixote so different when compared to other books?”

Y/n groaned, “Ugh– okay! The narrator is different because the author itself is the one telling the story. But he, uh, kind of switches styles to first person sometimes to give some insight about the story, so it’s like he’s the narrator and a character,” she said quickly, squeezing her eyes shut, waiting for the impact,

Silence.

“Oh, come on,” Vick said, disappointed, glancing down at the little card in Salma‘s hand .“She’s right.”

Jana lowered the pillow dramatically. “Salma! Ask harder questions!”

“You guys are supposed to be helping me study for my literature test, not trying to beat me up with a pillow!” Y/n complained. “Give me some credit here!”

Salma flipped through the flashcards. “Okay, fine…Um, what does the character Dulcinea mean to the story?”

Y/n widened her eyes and opened her mouth. “Oh, hm, it’s like–”

Whack.

Jana didn't even wait for Y/n to say anything before hitting her on the face–hard.

“Jana!” Y/n complained, shoving the pillow away from her face and rubbing at the sore spot on her nose. “I knew that one! She exemplifies the emptiness behind Don quixote's quest for valor and virtue or some shit like that!.”

Salma hesitantly checked on her notes. “–Hm, yeah, she’s right.”

“See!” y/n said, pointing accusingly at Jana. “I was right, you shouldn't have hit me.”

“Oh, she should have hit you harder for being such a nerd,” Vicky mumbled

“Ok, that’s bullying,” Y/n said. “I'll report you to Aitana.”

...

A week later, Alexia stood with Y/n at the airport, arms crossed as she eyed her sternly. “Do your homework, Y/n. I’m serious. And if you have trouble, FaceTime me and we’ll do it together.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow. "Last time you tried to help me, you didn’t understand it either.”

Alexia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, whatever. Olga helped you, though, so FaceTime her if you need to."

"You’re just trying to find reasons for me to interact with Olga because we’re like.. your favourite people in the world," Y/n smirked.

Alexia ignored the comment and continued, “And I’ll call Leah to make sure you’re keeping up with everything we agreed on.”

"Great. Two captains breathing down my neck. Love that for me." Y/n groaned, throwing her head back dramatically.

"You’ll survive, cariño,” Alexia smirked. “Now go before you miss your flight.

Y/n was a smart girl, so she made sure to finish most of her homework on the flight to England. That way, when she got to camp, she wouldn’t have to stress over schoolwork too much.

“Hey,” Aggie and Grace greeted as they walked into the room.

The three of them were sharing a room at camp, though Aggie had seriously considered complaining about it.

Every night, Y/n sprawled herself and a ridiculous number of books and notebooks across the floor, creeping very closely to Aggie’s side of the room.

“Wanna go out with us?” Aggie asked, leaning in the doorway. “We’re all heading to that restaurant we talked about.”

Y/n immediately looked up from her book, grinning as she pushed herself up, kicking her books aside. “Yes! You know I’ll never turn down a night out–”

“Have you done your math homework?”

The voice came from behind Aggie and Grace. Both girls instinctively stepped aside.

Leah.

Y/n’s excitement disappeared in seconds. Her shoulders dropped, and her grin turned into a frown. “Le, come on! It’s halfway done. I’ll finish it when I get back.”

“No,” Leah said simply. “You finish it first, then you go out.”

There was no room for argument. Leah was already disappearing down the hallway before Y/n could even think of an excuse.

“I hate this.” Y/n groaned dramatically as she flopped onto Aggie’s bed, ignoring the judgment of the girl's eyes. “I hate school. I hate math. I hate Leah.”

“I think she’s still in the hallway,” Grace whispered.

“It’s alright,” Y/n groaned, “she knows how I feel.”

Y/n mourned her lost night out for a short thirty seconds before she had a brilliant idea. She turned around on the bed, facing the girls, her best puppy dog eyes on her face as she silently pleaded for help.

Grace and Aggie exchanged a look. They both sighted, already regretting it.

“Okay, fine,” Grace said. “We’ll help you finish it faster.”

Y/n happily got off the bed and picked up the math book she had so dramatically kicked under the bed earlier. She flipped to the exercises page and showed it to them.

Both Grace and Aggie squinted their eyes.

“Wait,” Aggia frowned, looking at it closer. “What is this? Where are the–numbers?”

“It’s algebra,” Y/n muttered. “It only has letters.”

“How are we supposed to calculate anything if it doesn't have any number?” Grace asked, despair on her face.

“I'm so not going out tonight,” Y/n said hopelessly.

“I mean..” Aggie began hesitantly. “What’s the worst that could happen if you just…didn’t do it?”

“Yeah,” Grace nodded. “It’s not like Leah would, I don’t know…punch you or anything.”

Y/n went still, but then, with a slow and heavy sigh, she closed the textbook, looking at the wall, as if she was staring into the void. “She’d do something much worse than punching me.”

Aggie and Grace shared another nervous glance. “Like–?” Aggie asked.

“She’d tell Alexia,” Y/n said, eyes full of dread.

“Oh,” Grace paled.

“Yep,” Y/n nodded. “And Alexia would definitely make me do some boxing classes with her just so she could punch me in a non-illegal way.”

Aggie swallowed. “Alright,” she said, trying to shake her fear. “Let’s, hm, do some…math.”

Y/n smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

Algebra wasn't easy. At all.

Aggie, Grace and Y/n tried very hard, but they took 30 minutes to do one exercise–and they weren’t even sure if it was right.

“This isn’t working,” Y/n groaned, staring down at the ruined page in front of her. The paper was ripped in half from how many times she had erased her answer. “We need another plan.”

“I know what we could do, actually,” Aggie announced.

Y/n and Grace perked up. “What?” Y/n asked hopefully.

“Lucy,” Aggie said in a lower voice, leaning in. “She could do that in like… 20 minutes”.

Y/n blinked. “Lucy?”

“And since when does Lucy know anything about algebra?” Grace frowned.

“She doesn’t,” Aggie admitted. “But we don’t need her knowledge. We need her personality.”

“You better not make me regret it,” Y/n said, “If Leah knows about it I'm gonna be screwed.”

“Relax, leave it out to me.” Aggia waved a hand dismissively.

With that, Aggie confidently grabbed the textbook and walked out of the room, leaving Y/n and Grace apprehensive.

Half an hour had passed before Aggie finally walked back in, holding the textbook as if she had just stolen it somewhere.

“I did it,” Aggie announced happily.

Grace and Y/n got out of the bed they were sitting on. “No way,” Grace murmured.

“How the fuck did she do that?” Y/n asked, snatching the book from Aggie’s hand, flipping the pages in disbelief.

“She did them all?” Grace asked, peeking behind Y/n’s shoulder.

All forty exercises. All done.

In Y/n’s defense, she had made twenty-five of them before Aggie and Grace had come to the room, so technically Lucy didn’t do all the homework for her– Lucy just… helped.

“What did you do, Aggie?” Y/n asked, mouth slightly open from the surprise.

“I dared her,” Aggie said, shrugging casually.

“You…dared her?” Grace asked.

“Yep! Knocked into her room and said I dared she could do those,” Aggie pointed at the book with her chin. “Lucy’s very competitive, so of course she said yes without asking any questions–she just snatched the book out of my hand and went to work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/n Grace.

“You’re like an evil genius,” Y/n said, shaking her head in amazement.

Y/n sat back, flipping through the pages in awe. “Lucy actually did it. Oh. My. God.”

“Oh, yeah,” Aggie said casually. “And then she asked if there were more.”

Y/n and Grace exchanged wide-eyed glances.

“We have got to use this against her more often,” Y/n muttered. “I feel like we just discovered a gold mine.”

“Exactly,” Aggie smirked. “Now let’s get ready, we have a night out waiting for us.”

The rest of the camp was unfazed. Y/n actually did all of her homework–by herself–and she didn’t even have to ask Lucy to do it. A true miracle.

It was safe to say Y/n was learning something.

Leah and Alexia were proud of her–even though, technically, she hadn’t mentioned the whole algebra episode to either of them.

But it only happened once…It wasn’t like they were going to find out.

She just needed to make sure Lucy would stay away from Leah, or else she would be dead.

Literally dead. Gone.

Football would lose one of ot’s brightest stars.

The flight back home was good.

Y/n actually enjoyed her flight this time because she had no school work to do, a feeling she hadn’t felt in weeks. And the best part? Coming back to Barcelona after winning four games during the international break.

That feeling was great. But not having to take a cab home because Alexia was waiting at the airport for her was even better.

When Y/n spotted the blonde before waving and grinning. She ran to her and practically crashed into Alexia’s arm, her suitcase rolled somewhere behind her.

“I see you missed me,” Alexia teased, wrapping the girl in a hug.

“No, I didn’t,” Y/n mumbled, her face buried in Alexia’s hoodie.

Y/n loved England. It was her home–the place where she grew up, where her real family lived. It reminded her of her childhood, of play dates with her cousin and road trips with her parents.

But Spain was hers. The place she chose, surrounded by people she picked. It was different

“Leah told me you were actually good,” Alexia murmured. “Did everything, didn’t skip any online school.”

Alexia and Y/n walked through the airport.

“Yeah! What can I do? I’m actually smart when I want to be,” Y/n smiled..

Alexia hummed, but this time with a hint of amusement.

“So you imagine my surprise,” Alexia continued casually. “When Lucy texted me–something she hadn't done since she left Barcelona–saying she wanted to do more of your ‘exercises’, that they were cool.”

Y/n froze.

She felt her blood run cold, and she suddenly stopped. Alesia took two steps before realizing Y/n wasn’t by her side.

Alexia turned to look at her, eyebrow raised.

Fuck you Lucy, Texting Alexia? About algebra exercises?

“I, hm– well” Y/n’s brain short-circuited. “I can explain it?”

Alexia just stared.

Y/n’s mouth opened and closed. “So, technically, I did do my algebra homework.”

Alexia gave her an unimpressed, tired look.

“Like… twenty-five of them to be more exact.”

Silence.

“Which is most of them.” Y/n continued. “So you can’t be mad at me for that.”

“Does Leah know about it?” Alexia asked.

“Yes.”

Silence again

Alexia hummed and picked up her phone from her pocket. “So if I just called her right now and asked–”

“No!” Y/n blurted out, taking the phone from Alexia’s hand, “I mean–why bother her? She’s a busy woman! Euro winner and all, let’s not waste her time with…math.”

Alexia breathed through her nose, shaking her head as she calmed down. Then, the tiniest smirk appeared on her face.

Y/n was scared of what was coming.

“You’re helping clean the training center for a month.”

“No!” Y/n said dramatically.

“Sí

“Ale! Are you serious?”

“I am serious.”

“A whole month?!” Y/n rubbed her hands through her face.

“Sí.”

“Even the locker rooms?”

“Especially the locker rooms, nena”

Y/n groaned and dragged her feet after Alexia.

“Will you tell Leah?” Y/n asked, her voice small, hoping it would make Alexia go softer.

Alexia paused for half a second–just enough to give Y/n hope. But then Alexia turned around, an annoyingly fond look on her face.

“That depends,” Alexia said. “Will you start taking your academic responsibilities more seriously?”

Y/n placed a finger on her chin, looking up. “Hmm…define ‘seriously’ first.”

Alexia sighed, already regretting giving the girl any choice.

Please let me know what u guys think!! Hope you liked it!!!

Masterlist

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justareader7

2 months ago

(I hate the fact that in english everything sounds drier. The translator takes away all the flavor)

○ alexia putellas x teen reader (reader has a name in this)

↳ warnings: no warnings.

pt. 1

(I Hate The Fact That In English Everything Sounds Drier. The Translator Takes Away All The Flavor)

A LITTLE HOT-HEADED

The Barça B dressing room had that unmistakable sound of every training session: the dull thud of boots hitting the floor, the rustle of jerseys being hastily changed, the constant murmur of overlapping conversations. Some players laughed, others debated plays, and a few simply changed in silence.

Maya was in the second category. The silent one.

Sitting on the wooden bench in front of her locker, she slowly untied the laces of her boots, letting the sound of the loosening leather fill her head instead of everything else. Her jaw was tight. Lately, it had been like that almost all the time.

Because things at home weren’t going well. Because she wasn’t sleeping well. Because she was sick of hearing the same thing over and over again.

"It’s just ridiculous," Nuria Gómez’s voice cut through the general noise, clear as day. "She hooked up with him for one night, and now she acts like he doesn’t exist. Not a glance, not a ‘how are you.’ Nothing."

Maya didn’t lift her head, but her fingers tightened around the leather of her boots.

She knew exactly who Nuria was talking about. She knew who all that venom was meant for every time she opened her damn mouth.

It was for Helena.

Helena Ferrer, who was at the other end of the locker room, her back turned, stuffing her things into her backpack with too much concentration. Maya knew that gesture. That one that said, I’m pretending not to hear, but every word is scraping against my skin.

And Nuria, of course, knew it too. She knew it and wouldn’t stop.

"I don’t know, I couldn’t live with a clear conscience after doing something like that," she went on, letting out a nasal laugh that turned Maya’s stomach. "Playing with someone and then acting like it never happened. That’s just being a shitty person."

Maya closed her eyes for a second.

Breathe. It’s not your problem.

But that was a lie. Because she heard it every single day. Because Helena never defended herself. And because Nuria wasn’t talking out of some sense of justice or wounded pride. She was talking out of spite.

Maya unclenched her jaw just to grit her teeth even harder.

"Don’t you ever get tired?"

She didn’t say it loudly. She didn’t yell. But the locker room wasn’t that big. And Maya never had to raise her voice to be heard.

The murmur of conversation died down. Not completely, but enough for her to feel several people paying attention. Nuria stilled for a moment. Then she turned toward her with a forced smile, the kind that barely covered the thinly veiled hostility underneath.

"Excuse me?"

Maya took her time straightening up and closing her locker before turning to look at her. Her gaze was calm, but there was something dangerous flickering in her eyes.

"I asked if you don’t get tired," she repeated, her voice low but clear. "Of saying the same shit every day."

Nuria narrowed her eyes, as if she couldn’t believe Maya was getting involved in this. "I didn’t know you had to approve my conversations now."

"I don’t care about your conversations," Maya replied, tilting her head slightly. "I care that you’ve been repeating the same thing for weeks, and honestly? It’s getting old."

Nuria let out a laugh, but there was no amusement in it.

"Right. Because defending Ferrer is your new favorite hobby, isn’t it?"

Maya felt Helena shift uncomfortably to her right, but she didn’t look at her.

"I don’t need to defend her. She didn’t do anything wrong."

"Oh, really? Nothing wrong?" Nuria crossed her arms, leaning forward slightly. "You’d be okay with someone using you for a one-night stand and then acting like you don’t exist? Just like that?"

There it was.

Maya sighed.

"This isn’t about what I would or wouldn’t do."

"Oh, it’s not?"

"No. This is about the fact that you keep bringing it up every chance you get, like you can’t let it go."

The locker room was almost completely silent now. Just the sound of a few bags zipping up, the distant echo of water running in the showers.

Nuria smiled without humor.

"I don’t know why you’re getting involved in this, Maya."

"Because it disgusts me." Maya didn’t blink. "It disgusts me to watch you walk around here, looking for her, waiting for an excuse to throw some snide remark her way. Like a damn dog."

Nuria’s face darkened, her hands clenching into fists.

"Eres una gilipollas."

"Y tú una resentida."

Silence.

Helena let out an almost imperceptible breath.

Maya ran a hand through her hair, not taking her eyes off Nuria.

"You hooked up. It didn’t work. Anyone else would move on. But you, Nuria…"

She took a step forward, just one, enough to lower her voice and make it sharper.

"You have to tear her down every single day because you can’t stand the fact that she used you for one night and never looked back."

The tension in the air was thick, almost suffocating. Nuria’s face was flushed red, but she had no words.

Maya leaned in slightly, her gaze unwavering.

"And if it weren’t for the trouble I’d get into, I’d smash your head against the wall."

Helena let out a breath. Not a gasp, not a 'Maya, stop'. A fucking breath. Like those words had been the only real shield anyone had given her in weeks.

Nuria said nothing.

She couldn’t say anything.

The entire locker room had frozen. No one moved, no one dared to step in.

Maya waited. She gave Nuria the space to respond, to say whatever she wanted. But she didn’t. So Maya shrugged, slung her backpack over her shoulder with the same usual calm.

Then she turned, not bothering to look at anyone else, and walked toward the door.

She left unhurriedly.

The door clicked shut behind her.

And for the first time in a long time, the dressing room was left in complete silence.

🫛🫛🫛

The hallway smelled of liniment and damp grass, filled with that muffled echo of footsteps and murmurs that only lingered after training sessions—when the team was scattered between showers, massages, and unexpected meetings. Maya walked with her jaw clenched, hands shoved into the pockets of her hoodie, and the distinct feeling that this meeting wasn’t going to bring her anything good.

She wasn’t entirely sure why she had been called in. Or maybe she was. The incident with Nuria in the locker room had been too public for it not to reach the coach’s ears.

She stopped in front of the office door and took a deep breath. Counted to three. Knocked twice with her knuckles before pushing the door open without waiting for a response.

The coach was sitting behind his desk, arms crossed, with an expression that didn’t foreshadow anything good. But it was the person sitting to his right that made her frown for a second.

Alexia Putellas.

Maya controlled her reaction. Just the slightest raise of her eyebrows before her face settled back into its usual neutral expression. Don’t get paranoid. Maybe Alexia was just there for something unrelated, maybe they had just finished discussing something before she arrived. Or maybe—and she liked this possibility less—it was about her.

She closed the door calmly and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her chest, as if she were anywhere else and not in an office about to get a lecture.

"If this is about what happened with Nuria the other day," she said before anyone could speak, "I was just following the message you always give us: ‘personal issues don’t mix with football.’"

Silence.

The coach frowned.

"Excuse me?"

Maya didn’t move. Something didn’t add up.

"I had no idea anything happened with Nuria," he continued, looking at her with more interest than she liked. "But now I do want to know."

Shit.

Maya rolled her eyes. In trouble for talking too much.

"It was nothing," she shrugged. "Stupid stuff. Dumb teenage drama, you know."

The coach held her gaze for a moment longer but didn’t press. He just ran a hand over his chin and got straight to the point.

"I called you in because of what happened with the Espanyol player."

Her body tensed instantly.

"Alexia told me what happened."

Maya clenched her jaw. And there it was. She knew it. Her mind went straight to the most obvious conclusion.

Great. Not only did I get a red card during the match, but now they think I was going to start a fight afterward.

She straightened up slightly, arms still crossed.

"Nothing happened," she said flatly. "I didn’t hit her, if that’s what you’re thinking."

Alexia lifted her gaze, looking at her with the same calm she had when analyzing the field before making a decisive pass.

"No one said you hit her."

Maya turned toward her.

"Oh no?" She tilted her head, skeptical. "Then what exactly did you tell the coach?"

Alexia remained relaxed, unbothered.

"I told him about the lack of control you showed during the match," she explained evenly. "About how the Espanyol player was provoking you the entire time and how you reacted."

A prick of discomfort settled in Maya’s chest. She didn’t like being analyzed like that.

"Oh, right. She provoked me, I reacted, and somehow I’m the bad guy."

"No one said you’re the bad guy," the coach interjected. "But you do have a problem."

Maya scoffed.

"My problem is that I don’t let people walk all over me?"

The coach narrowed his eyes, resting his elbows on the desk.

"Your problem is that you let yourself get taken out of the game over nothing."

Maya averted her gaze, biting her tongue to keep from saying the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you think you reacted the right way?" he pressed.

"If the referee isn’t going to do his job, someone has to."

The coach let out a long sigh, as if he were exhausted from having the same conversation over and over again.

"Maya…" He ran a hand down his face. "In football, there are provocations all the time. If every time someone messes with you, you respond with a foul like that, you’re going to get sent off in every match."

Before she could reply, Alexia spoke up.

"If you let them get you out of the game with provocations, you’re giving them exactly what they want."

That comment irritated her more than it should have.

"I didn’t let them take me out of the game. They took me out of the game." She paused. "Which is different."

"It’s not," Alexia countered, still infuriatingly calm. "Porque si cada vez que te tocan un poco los cojones, pierdes la cabeza, entonces te van a manejar como quieran." (Because if every time they push your buttons, you lose your head, then they can control you however they want)

Maya frowned.

She didn’t like how that sounded. Like she was some animal that could be controlled with a few cheap tricks. Like she didn’t have self-control.

But most of all, she didn’t like it because there was some truth to it.

The coach watched her patiently, waiting.

"Do you understand?"

Maya stayed quiet for a moment before answering, her tone clipped.

"Yes."

The coach nodded, though he didn’t look entirely convinced.

"I hope I don’t have to bring this up with you again."

Maya didn’t respond. She simply turned and left the office with the same calm as always, no rush, no sign of anything. But the moment the door shut behind her, she felt something strange in her chest. A part of her was still angry. Angry that they had treated her like she didn’t know what she was doing. But another part, one she preferred to ignore, knew that Alexia and the coach were right.

And that pissed her off even more.

🫛🫛🫛

The night air was cool, but Maya felt like she was burning under her skin. She walked with long, quick strides, her jaw clenched, her backpack slung over one shoulder. As if each step could help her leave behind the coach’s office, the damn conversation, and, most of all, that patient voice of Alexia Putellas repeating things she already knew but didn’t want to hear.

Football was about provocation, sure. Football was about keeping a cool head, too. Pero que no jodan. (But give me a break)

As she stepped past the club’s entrance, her eyes landed on the bus stop across the street. At this hour, the night buses took forever, and the last thing she wanted was to sit around doing nothing, letting her mind spiral over the same thoughts.

She took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of her backpack. Maybe she could walk to the next stop. Maybe that would get rid of this burning feeling in her chest.

Then, a car horn.

Maya frowned, irritated by the sudden noise, and turned her head, ready to ignore it. But she recognized the car before she could.

A black Audi. And behind the wheel, Alexia Putellas.

The passenger-side window lowered with a smooth hum, and Alexia’s voice, calm as always, cut through the night.

"Get in. I’ll take you."

Her first reaction was automatic: say no.

Because she didn’t like being told what to do. Because she still had her pride stuck in her throat after that conversation. And because, honestly, she wasn’t in the mood to spend more time with Alexia.

She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow.

"I’m fine. I don’t need a ride."

Alexia didn’t react. She didn’t look surprised or impatient. She just tilted her head slightly and repeated,

"Maya."

Just her name. Said in that low, steady tone—not quite a command, but not a request either.

And Maya, for some damn reason, didn’t have the energy to keep refusing.

She huffed through her nose and muttered something unintelligible as she stepped toward the car. She pulled open the passenger door and dropped into the seat unceremoniously, shutting the door with more force than necessary.

She didn’t say thank you.

Alexia didn’t seem to expect it.

The engine purred quietly, the only sound in the car besides the distant murmur of nighttime traffic.

Maya stared out the window, arms crossed, her gaze lost in the city lights flashing past. The silence was so thick it was becoming uncomfortable. Suddenly, she was aware of her own breathing. Of every small movement. Of how unnervingly calm the car felt even if her head was hell.

She didn’t dare move a muscle, wondering if Alexia felt the awkwardness too—or if she was just immune to it.

Then, Alexia’s voice broke the silence.

"So, you like smashing heads against walls, huh?"

Maya blinked.

What?

Her first reaction was pure internal panic.

How the hell does she know?

Worse: Did she tell the coach?

She turned toward Alexia, her back suddenly tense.

"Who told you that?"

Alexia kept her eyes on the road, only shrugging slightly. "Vicky told me."

Maya exhaled, rolling her eyes.

Of course.

If there was anyone who knew everything that happened in Barça B, it was Vicky López. And if there was anyone she shared it with, it was Alexia. Ever since she started training with the first team, their relationship had become inseparable. Fans even called them “mother and daughter.”

Maya pressed her lips together, uncomfortable.

"I wasn’t actually going to do it. I just said it."

"Sure."

Alexia smiled slightly, not even looking at her, as if she didn’t believe her for a second.

Maya sighed and slumped further into the seat, annoyed. "Did you pick me up just to give me a lecture on anger management?"

"No," Alexia replied casually. "But if you want me to, I can."

Maya turned to her, half incredulous, half exasperated.

"I’ll pass."

A brief silence settled between them. But this time, it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Maya noticed the atmosphere had shifted. Less tense. Less hostile. And though she didn’t want to admit it, Alexia’s attitude—calm, not pushing her, not lecturing her—was making her anger simmer down.

They reached her building a few minutes later. Alexia pulled up in front of the entrance without a word, simply letting the engine shut off smoothly.

Maya unbuckled her seatbelt and, without looking at her, muttered quickly, "Thanks for the ride." Like it physically hurt to say it.

Alexia didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was steady. "See you, Maya."

Maya gave a small nod and got out of the car without another word.

She closed the door with less force this time.

353 notes View Post

justareader7

2 months ago

cute 🥰😂

Jazz for Peanuts

About the time your daughter shows her attitude

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 words count: +1.1k

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

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

Never been more sure of anything in your life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mama, I’m hungry!”

“I know, we’re almost there”

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

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

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

Traitor.

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

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

A backstabber, your own daughter.

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

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

“Finley!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine, I’ll play nice”

It seems to get better after that.

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

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

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

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“How long?”

And, just like that, peace is over.

“Five more minute”

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

“I said five more minute, Finny”

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

You know it’s coming.

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

400 notes View Post

justareader7

1 month ago

I- I.. can’t 💔💔

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 10

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.

You stood in front of your bathroom mirror, heart hammering like you were about to walk into a final except this time, there were no sneakers, no warm-up playlist, no team huddle. Just the quiet echo of your breath and the weight of a decision that felt bigger than a game.

This was it.

Your final contract meeting with Barcelona.

The gold medal from Paris still hung by the doorway where you’d left it, like a ghost of everything you’d just accomplished four trophies in one season. An unprecedented legacy. You’d done your part.

Now it was their turn.

You tried to steady your hands as you twisted your hair up, pulled on your jacket, smoothed down the front of your shirt. It wasn’t that you weren’t prepared, you were. You’d rehearsed what you’d say, you knew the numbers. Your agent had laid out every offer on the table, both from Barcelona and the ones calling from across the Atlantic.

The WNBA teams weren’t just interested.

They were ready.

Big contracts. Full campaigns. Franchise-level investments.

But that wasn’t the part tying your stomach in knots.

It was the what ifs that buzzed under your skin.

What if they didn’t value you enough? What if this was goodbye? What if walking away also meant walking away from... her?

You hadn’t talked to Alexia about it. Not really. That night in Paris had said everything and nothing all at once. The way she held you like you might disappear. The way you kissed her like you already had.

You’d made love like people who were too proud to admit they were scared of letting go.

Now, here you were zipping up your coat, smoothing trembling hands down your thighs, staring at yourself in the mirror and trying to believe that walking in there was just business.

But your heart didn’t understand contracts.

It only knew the city. The crest. The people. Her.

Your phone buzzed.

A message from Liv: “Whatever happens, you already won. Go get what you deserve.”

You took one last breath. Then picked up your keys. It was time to find out if Barcelona was willing to fight for you the way you’d fought for them.

You opened your apartment door to head to the contract meeting and almost walked right into her.

Alexia.

Still in her post-training hoodie, hair damp from a shower, flushed cheeks from training that had only ended an hour ago.

Your mouth opened. But she spoke, “I didn’t want to text it.”

You swallowed hard. “Text what?”

She reached up, gently brushing her fingers against your arm, then trailed them down until her hand found yours. “I don’t want you to go,” she said softly.

You stared at her, searching her face for any hint of hesitation. There wasn’t any.

“I know the last few weeks have been.. weird. Between us…I don’t know when it stopped being casual,” she added. “I just know that it did.” You let out a shaky breath. “But i’m in love with you. I love you Y/N please don’t go. Stay.”

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stood there in the soft hallway light, hand in hand, two athletes dressed in your respective team gear, looking at each other like the whole world had quieted just for this moment.

Alexia gave your hand a small squeeze. “Say something,” she said gently.

“I can’t do this,” you said, “Alexia. I have a meeting,” stepping back, letting go of her hand like it burned.

Her brows knit. “A meeting?” Her voice sharpened. “That’s what you have to say? You’re just walking away?”

You rubbed your temples, already feeling the weight of everything pressing in, your future, your choice, her. “I’m not walking away. I’m going to get what I’ve worked for my whole life.”

“And what about us?” she snapped. “You’re really going to pretend none of this means anything? That I don’t mean anything?”

You sighed. “Alexia, please. Don’t do this now.”

Her eyes glassed over, jaw tightening. “I didn’t plan to fall for you,” she said, voice low, shaky. “But I did. I love you. And I’m standing here, asking you to stay and you won’t even look at me.”

You turned your face away, your throat tightening. “You’re asking me to throw away something I’ve been fighting for since I was a kid.”

“I’m not asking you to throw it away!” she said, raising her voice. “I’m asking you to see me. To be honest about what this is what we are. You’re just running from it because it’s easier to focus on basketball than deal with your feelings.”

You flinched, then shook your head. “I don’t have the head space for this, Alexia. I don’t. You can’t drop all of this on me right before the biggest meeting of my career.”

“I had to,” she whispered. “Because if I didn’t, you’d leave and I’d never say it and forever wonder.”

Silence fell. The hallway buzzed with tension. Her words lingered in the air like smoke.

You stared at her, heart pounding, lips partedmbut nothing came out. Then you turned, grabbed your bag, and walked out your door.

Alexia didn’t follow. She just stood there in your apartment, alone, eyes locked on the space where you’d been.

—

You barely remember the drive to Alexia’s place just that your hands were clenched on the wheel the whole time and your chest hadn’t stopped burning since you left that boardroom. You weren’t calm. You weren’t even sure what you were going to say. All you knew was you had to say something.

You pounded on her door like your heart was about to break through your ribs.

When it opened, you were met not just with Alexia but her whole world behind her. Her mother, seated on the couch. Her sister hovering near the kitchen. And a few of her teammates still in Barça tracksuits, frozen mid-conversation, eyes wide the second they saw you.

The room was thick with tension. They knew. They all knew what you’d done.

Alexia stepped forward, face unreadable. She opened her mouth to speak. You didn’t let her. “No, don’t,” you snapped, voice cracking. “Don’t say anything right now. You don’t get to drop that on me and then just stand there like nothing happened.”

She blinked, taken aback, but you were already going, fuelled by adrenaline and emotion.

“You don’t get to tell me you love me as I’m walking out the door for the biggest meeting of my career,” you said, voice rising. “That wasn’t fair, Alexia. That was so unfair.”

You could feel every pair of eyes on you, but you didn’t care.

“You know what that moment meant to me. You know, I’ve been fighting for that chance my whole life, and you waited until right then to tell me how you feel?”

Alexia’s lips parted again, but you didn’t stop.

“You think I don’t feel things too? You think this is easy for me? You think walking away from you didn’t rip something out of me?” Your breath hitched. “But I would never ask you to pick me over your career. Never.” You took a step closer, your voice low and rough now. “So what would you do, huh? If it were the other way around? If I begged you to come with me, to give it all up? Would you?”

She tried to answer—but again, you shook your head, cutting her off.

“No. Don’t. Because that’s not the point. The point is you didn’t give me space to even think. You threw your heart at me like a grenade and expected me to catch it.”

Your hands were shaking now. Anger. Hurt. Love. Everything tangled in your throat.

“And I wasn’t ready for that,” your voice had yet to lower. “I still don’t know if I am.”

Silence fell, heavy and raw. You looked around the room at the faces pretending not to stare. Her mother, her sister, her teammates none of them said a word. But their expressions said everything. And finally, you looked at Alexia. Her eyes shimmered, jaw tight, but she still hadn’t said a word.

You swallowed hard. “It’s too much Alexia, I can’t handle this right now I have people constantly wanting a piece of me, wanting commitment, a signature on a contract, a comment, a fucking selfie, I don’t need you doing the same, you have no idea how much pressure I’m under to constantly make the right choice, I don’t need you asking me to make a choice to”

Then you turned and walked out, heart pounding in your ears, not sure where you were going just knowing you couldn’t stay.

—

You didn’t know how long you drove. Past streets that blurred together, red lights you barely registered, the same message from your agent popping up on your phone over and over “We need to know. Clock’s ticking.”

You ignored it.

Your chest felt like it had split open the second you walked out of that apartment.

Your voice still echoed in your own head. Alexia’s silence too.

You hadn’t even meant to say half of it, but it came out like a flood. Like it had been sitting there under your ribs, waiting.

You were terrified.

Terrified of choosing wrong. Of walking away from something real. Of staying and sacrificing what you’d worked for. Of leaving and never knowing could have been.

By the time you finally parked, the sun had sunk low enough to turn everything gold and soft. You didn’t even know where you were just that it was quiet. Just that you could breathe again.

You leaned your head back against the seat and closed your eyes. You didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t answer when she did.

And you were tired. So instead of going back to Alexia, you went with Liv and Maya who had already booked a post-season escape to Greece, and insisted, loudly and dramatically, that you needed it more than anyone.

“Blue water. White buildings. No exes,” Maya had said, grinning as she shoved the ticket confirmation under your nose.

And you’d nodded, packed a bag, and gotten on the flight. Now you were on a boat.

Literally. Out in the Aegean Sea. The sun warm against your shoulders, the breeze tangling through your hair, your legs dangling over the edge of the deck. Maya was already mid-dive, cannonballing off the side with a scream, while Liv lounged in the sun with a drink in hand, sunglasses halfway down her nose as she watched you carefully.

“You haven’t checked your phone in two days,” she said.

You shrugged. “I didn't unpack it.”

She smiled faintly. “Proud of you.”

You looked out over the horizon, clear and endless and yours for once. No decisions. No pressure. No pretending that whatever was between you and Alexia didn’t always circle back to pain.

Just freedom.

“I didn’t want a goodbye,” you said suddenly, surprising even yourself. Liv didn’t press. You stared at the sea. “I just… didn’t want to sit in that silence again, knowing one of us was waiting for the other to say something they didn’t mean.”

Maya surfaced with a laugh, splashing water everywhere. “You two gonna cry or jump in already?”

You stood slowly, stretched, and smiled. “Jump.” And you did.

You dove in clean and headfirst, the water cold and bright and new. It wrapped around you like clarity, like release. Like something finally, finally just for you.

Alexia was somewhere far away, in another country, maybe still waiting. But right now you weren’t.

But back in Barcelona.

The warmth of summer had rolled in gently over the city, but for Alexia, it felt cold. The air in her apartment was still, heavy. The kind of quiet that doesn't come from peace but absence.

She sat curled in the corner of the sofa, knees tucked to her chest, wrapped in one of your hoodies one she had no right to still wear, but couldn't bring herself to fold away. Her phone buzzed on the table for the tenth time that hour. She didn’t look.

She already knew what it was. More news. More speculation. More you.

Every local sports channel had the same thing on repeat: updates about your contract, the mounting pressure on Barcelona to offer more, the leaked offers from WNBA teams huge numbers, huge interest, and the biggest story of all…

Your silence. No statement. No goodbye. No post-game recap. Just... gone.

And today they had photos. You, in Greece. Tanned. Laughing. On a boat. Your smile shining in the sun like the whole city hadn’t been holding its breath waiting for your next move.

Alexia couldn’t take it anymore. She shut off the TV and pressed her palms to her eyes. She tried not to cry. She really, really did.

But her mami had already sat down next to her, one look at her daughter’s face enough to see the heartbreak she was trying to hide “Mi niña,” her mother said gently, wrapping an arm around her. “What happened?”

Alexia shook her head, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I really thought she’d stay.” Her voice cracked so softly it broke her mother’s heart. “I really thought… even after everything… even after how messy we were, I thought she’d fight to stay.”

“She still might,” her mother offered.

Alexia shook her head. “She’s gone. She didn’t even tell me. Didn’t say goodbye. She just left.”

Her mother rubbed small circles on her back. “Maybe she couldn’t say it. Maybe she didn't say goodbye because she couldn't, not to you. Maybe it was too painful"

Alexia stared at her lap, blinking through tears. Paris had felt like a turning point. That kiss beneath the Eiffel Tower, the way you had smiled at her like it meant something again. The way you'd touched her face like you didn’t want to forget it.

And then that night, in the hotel. It hadn’t been sex. It hadn't been a hook up, it meant something. Something neither of you had dared speak aloud.

Alexia wiped at her face with the sleeve of your hoodie, breathing in the fading scent of you. “I think I let her go,” she whispered.

Her mother kissed the side of her head. “Or maybe you were just never sure if you were allowed to ask her to stay and when you did, it was too late.”

And that broke her all over again.

The sea stretched wide and endless around you, nothing but deep blue and gold sun. The yacht bobbed gently on the Aegean, anchored just off the coast of a quiet cove, the perfect post-season escape. Salt clung to your skin, your hair still damp from the ocean. Everything smelled like sunscreen, grilled food, and freedom.

You were lying on a cushioned lounger at the back of the boat, a pair of sunglasses shielding your eyes as you listened to the hum of Maya and Liv chatting somewhere behind you soft, lazy voices full of peace.

No pressure. No crowds. No one expecting you to be anything more than tired and sun-kissed. It had been a few days now. Since Paris. Since the final. Since her. And no one had brought it up. Not Alexia. Not the kiss. Not that night in her hotel room where everything between you slowed down for the first time.

Where it hadn’t just been sex. Where it felt like goodbye, even though neither of you said the words.

You’d touched her like you were memorising her. She’d held you like she didn’t want to let go. But morning came, and you both let it speak the things you couldn’t.

The ache from that night still sat quietly in your chest familiar, patient. Waiting. But now, the two people who knew you best were giving you the most obvious kind of grace.

They weren’t asking. Not about the contract. Not about Barcelona. Not about whether you were staying… or going.

You sat up slowly, pulling your sunglasses to rest on your head.

Maya was stretched out under the shade with a book on her stomach, eyes closed. Liv was dangling her feet off the side of the yacht, sipping from a cold drink, gaze somewhere far off on the horizon.

“Neither of you are gonna ask me?” you said softly.

They both looked up, brows raised, like you’d just interrupted a very chill dream. “Ask you what?” Maya replied, already knowing.

Liv shrugged, lips pulling into a gentle smile. “When you’re ready to talk about it… you’ll talk.”

Your throat tightened just slightly at the calm in their voices, the way they didn’t push. You nodded, quietly grateful. “Thanks.”

Maya lifted her glass toward you. “Whether it’s Barcelona or not, you’ll land where you’re meant to.”

Liv grinned. “And we’ll still make fun of your shitty decision making either way.”

You laughed, the knot in your chest loosening for the first time in days.

The future was still uncertain. But your people they weren’t going anywhere. And for now, under the sun, on the sea, with everything suspended in this warm, golden pause, that was enough.

The sun was melting into the Aegean Sea, painting the sky in soft strokes of orange and lavender as the yacht gently rocked beneath you. The air was warm with salt and quiet, the kind of peace that only came once the noise of winning had settled and the champagne had finally run dry.

You sat with Maya and Liv around a small table on the deck, barefoot, drinks in hand, a soft breeze tugging at the hem of your linen shirt. Laughter had faded into comfortable silence, a half-finished dinner of grilled seafood and pasta still on your plates. Someone had queued a mellow playlist. You’d almost forgotten the world existed beyond this floating slice of stillness.

Until Liv ever the instigator patience wearing thin-set her glass down and asked softly, “So. Are you going?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked out at the endless blue horizon, the world you'd just conquered behind you… and the one waiting ahead still uncertain. “I don’t know,” you said finally. “I thought I would. I mean, I still might.”

Maya leaned forward, chin on her fist. “But?”

You sighed, fingers tracing the rim of your glass. “Alexia.” The name came out before you could soften it.

Liv gave you a look. Not smug. Not surprised. Just knowing.

You continued. “She’s probably, I don’t know… thirty percent of what’s making me hesitate.”

Maya raised her brows. “That’s not a small percentage.”

You shook your head, smiling faintly. “It’s not just her. I love the team. The club. The city. The fans. And… I’m not that far from home here. From my family. I get to see them. They’ve been part of this whole journey. I feel rooted in Barcelona.”

Liv’s voice was quiet. “But?”

You let out a slow breath. “But the WNBA… on paper, it’s perfect. The dream, right? The best league in the world. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Everything I’ve trained for.”

“But it’s far,” Maya added gently. “Really far.”

You nodded. “Eight hours, sometimes more depending which team I pick. But it's not just distance. It's a different kind of pressure. A different kind of spotlight. I know I’d grow there. I know it’d challenge me. And I know I'd do well and thrive and my game would translate. But I don’t know if I’d be happy.” You looked up at both of them, eyes raw, vulnerable. “And I don’t know if that’s selfish or smart.”

Liv smiled softly. “It’s human.”

You stared back out at the water, heart heavy in the kind of way that had nothing to do with doubt, and everything to do with choice. “You know what’s funny?” you said after a moment, voice barely above the waves. “Winning everything this year… it didn’t make the decision easier. It made it harder.”

Because now you had everything. And you had to decide if you were ready to walk away from it. From the dream. Or from the life you never expected to build but had come to love.

And somewhere in between it all, was her, the goodbye you still hadn’t said.

“So,” Maya said, swirling her wine before leveling her eyes at you. “When do you have to make a decision?”

You pushed your fork through the last piece of feta, exhaling slowly before answering. “Three weeks.”

Liv glanced up, her expression sobering. “That’s it?”

You nodded, setting your fork down. “The club’s given me their final offer. No more meetings. No more back and forth. Just ‘Here’s what we’re offering. Take it or leave it.’”

Maya leaned back in her seat, eyebrows raised. “Damn. That’s… kinda cold.”

You shrugged. “They said they need to start planning for what the team looks like post-me. If I go.”

There was a brief silence. Not heavy just thoughtful.

Liv set her glass down. “And what does it look like for you if you stay?”

That was the question.

You leaned back, stretching your legs out, gaze flicking toward the water where the last light of the day danced across the surface. “Comfort. Familiarity. A team I helped build. A city I know.”

“And Alexia,” Maya added quietly.

You didn’t look at her. “Yeah.”

“But?” Liv asked, gently.

You glanced between them, then spoke honestly. “But… I’d be choosing less. Because no matter how much I love playing there, it’s not the best offer on the table, not even close.”

Maya nodded slowly. “So you’d be staying for the badge.”

You met her eyes. “I’d be staying for the people.”

That was the truth. But there was something else beneath it. That night in Paris with Alexia the kiss, the way she looked at you, the way she held you later in that quiet hotel room, like it was something more than just touch, like she knew what you both weren’t saying…

It had felt like goodbye. Neither of you had said it. But you both felt it.

Maybe that was why you hadn’t made your decision yet. Because staying meant more uncertainty. But leaving meant finally letting her go.

Liv reached out and squeezed your hand across the table. “Whatever you choose,” she said softly, “just don’t choose out of guilt. Or fear. Choose what gives you peace.”

"I would hate for you to stay for Alexia and you end up resenting her, because thats so much worse"

And under the Greek stars, with the water lapping gently against the hull, you finally admitted. You weren’t sure peace existed on either side. You knew it was time. “I have to tell you both something.”

Liv immediately looked over. Maya popped another grape in her mouth, then paused. “This sounds ominous,” Maya said slowly.

You nodded once, the heat suddenly sticking to your skin differently. “It is.”

They both waited, the air shifting, the sea breeze no longer enough to cool the tension rising in your chest. “It was before my last meeting with Barcelona,” you started, voice even but heavy. “Alexia turned up at my place just as I was leaving. We hadn’t really spoken after Paris… not properly.”

Maya straightened. Liv’s brows drew together.

You looked out over the water, then back at them. “She told me she was in love with me.” Silence. Neither of them moved. You let the words settle, your throat tightening as you finished, “And I walked out.”

Liv blinked, stunned. “You what?”

“I couldn't deal with it,” you said quickly. “She said it completely serious and I just… couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t process. Not with everything else. So I left.”

Maya let out a slow breath. “Did you talk to her after?”

You shook your head, jaw tight. “Yeah. I went to her place her mum sister and some friends were there and just went crazy on her basically said she was unfair for telling me she loved me and walked away. I haven’t seen her since. Haven’t called. She hasn’t, either.”

Liv sat up now too, arms resting on her knees. “So she said she loved you. And you ghosted her?”

You winced. “I know how that sounds.”

“It sounds like you’re both idiots,” Maya said, though her voice was more gentle than annoyed.

“She asked me to stay to,” you added quietly. “To stay in Barcelona. With her. And I was hours from making the decision and it just… it overwhelmed me. It felt like pressure. Like she waited too long, and then expected me to just drop everything because she finally figured it out.”

Liv was quiet for a long beat. Then she said softly, “And now?”

You looked down at your hands, then up at them again. “I don’t know.”

You thought about her every single day. The last kiss. The way her voice broke when she said it. The feeling in your chest that morning, like something beautiful was being left behind... intentionally.

“She meant it,” you whispered. “I know she did. But I didn’t know if it was love or just fear of losing me.”

Maya nodded slowly, the sun dancing in her curls. “And now you might lose her anyway.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “I think I already did. I could see how broken she was when I left.”

And this time, neither of them said anything, because some heartbreaks didn’t need commentary. Just space. And silence.

The lights in the Palau Blaugrana blazed brighter than ever gold and purple flooding every seat, the court transformed into a stage, the banners of all four trophies draped across the rafters like proof of a dream most teams wouldn’t even dare to speak aloud.

You’d won everything. League. Cup. SuperCup. Continental Final.

The crowd was standing. Cheering. Chanting your name over and over, echoing around the arena where it all began. Where you’d bled, rehabbed, led, and lifted more than just trophies you’d carried a team into history.

And yet…

You were crying. Not small tears. Not discreet.

You were standing centre court, your medals around your neck, your hair still damp from champagne, and your shoulders were shaking. Your eyes were already rimmed red, your cheeks streaked with tears as the club played a montage of the season above the court. Every big shot. Every buzzer beater. Every celebration. Every injury. Every comeback. You. Always you.

You tried to smile through it, tried to wave to the crowd like everything was fine but your bottom lip was trembling and your hands weren’t steady.

Maya had an arm wrapped around your waist, her forehead pressed briefly to your shoulder. Liv wiped her own eyes beside you, sniffling with zero shame.

And the rest of your teammates were struggling. Because seeing you like this, the heartbeat of the team, the one who always held it together was breaking them.

Your coach saw it too.

She crossed the court calmly but with urgency, gently pulling you into a hug right there in front of everyone. One arm wrapped firm around your shoulders, the other cupping the back of your neck as you sank into her.

She whispered something only you could hear. “Whatever happens next, this will always be yours. You gave this city this.”

You nodded into her shoulder, the tears not stopping but becoming quieter. It wasn’t just the emotion of winning. It was the ache of knowing this was probably the end. Your last time in this arena as one of them.

And no matter how many cheers came, how many lights flashed, how many people screamed your name…

It wouldn’t change the fact that the goodbye you hadn’t said yet was already being felt.

The arena was still roaring when someone handed you the mic.

You hesitated. Your hand curled around the black metal, fingers trembling. You stared at it like it might burn you, because speaking meant naming something you’d spent months trying not to.

You looked out at the crowd, at the faces you’d come to know and love. Fans wearing your jersey. Staff who’d treated your ankle like sacred ground. Your teammates still clutching each other on the sidelines.

And then you looked up.

The banners. All four. Hanging there like crown jewels.

You cleared your throat and brought the mic to your lips. Your voice cracked before you even started.

“I’m not great at this,” you began, your laugh watery, brushing at your cheek with the back of your hand. “Talking. Especially when it matters. Especially when it’s this close to… everything.”

The crowd quieted, sensing what you were about to say, but no one moved. No one even breathed.

“This season… I don’t even know how to describe it. We made history. Not just as a team, but as people. We fought through injuries, setbacks, pressure, expectations so heavy they could’ve crushed us. But we didn’t break. We rose.”

You paused, exhaling slowly. You looked at Maya. At Liv. Your coach. Each of them anchoring you in their own way.

“There’s no version of this story without all of you. No version of this success without every single person who showed up every day, even when it was hard. Who stayed when things were uncertain. Who played through pain. Who showed up for each other when we didn’t know how to ask.”

The crowd started clapping again soft at first, then swelling.

You swallowed. Your voice gentled. “And this is the end for me here… this is the last time I wear this jersey, then I just want to say. Gracias!”

Your eyes were glassy again, but your voice didn’t falter now.

“For believing in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. For letting me lead you. For letting me grow here. For letting me leave this court not just as a player, but as a part of this club’s history.”

You looked down for a moment, overwhelmed by the roar rising again. Then back up, straight into the heart of the crowd.

“No matter where I go next, this” you turned, gesturing to the court, the lights, your teammates, "this will always be home. You made me feel like I belonged.”

A pause. A breath.

“And that’s something I’ll carry with me, always. I wish there was a different ending to this story but it's the one I have to accept. Te amo con todo mi corazón, adiós.”

You lowered the mic slowly, letting the words settle, letting the emotion swell.

The arena exploded. Standing ovation. Chants. Cheers. Tears.

And in the chaos, as your teammates pulled you into a hug, the staff and coaches surrounded you like a living, breathing embrace.

The press release went out just after sunrise.

Short. Gracious. Carefully worded by your agent, signed off by both parties, and accompanied by one photo your last walk through the tunnel, back turned, trainers slung over your shoulder.

You didn’t read the headlines. You didn’t need to. You already knew what they’d say.

“Barcelona’s Star Departs.” “Historic Season Ends in Goodbye.” “WNBA Wins the Battle.”

None of them would write about what it really meant. Not the missed calls. Not the silence after the fight. Not the ache in your chest when you handed back your training gear and walked past the football facility door without popping your head in.

You thought you might cry when the flight lifted off. But you didn’t. You stared out the window, the city shrinking beneath you, the crest pressed into your hoodie like it still belonged to you. Willing the plane to England for the post season break to hurry up and land you just wanted a hug from your mum.

You didn’t cry then. Not when you went to yours parents as you thought.

It was when you sat on the floor in your bedroom, and pulled out your phone.

A single message.

From her.

Just a photo.

Of your hoodie.

And underneath, just one line:

“You forgot your jacket.” How it all started.

You didn’t respond. Not because you didn’t want to. But because the words wouldn’t come. You pressed the phone to your chest and sat there in the quiet of your cries for a long time, letting the silence say what neither of you could.

And somewhere, across an ocean, maybe she was doing the same. Because love doesn’t always end with fireworks. Sometimes it ends with a story that doesn't get the happy ending. And a photo you’ll never delete.

170 notes View Post

justareader7

3 weeks ago

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

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justareader7

2 months ago

🥂❤️

Apart of Perfect Shot Series

You and Alexia's wedding Day

The sun is just beginning to rise over Barcelona when you wake up. Soft, golden light filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room. Your heart is already racing before you even fully open your eyes, the realisation hitting you like a tidal wave.

It’s today.

Your wedding day.

You turn your head slightly, expecting to find Alexia beside you, but the bed is empty. A sleepy smile tugs at your lips. Of course, she’s already gone. You had promised each other, no seeing one another before the ceremony. She must have snuck out in the early hours, letting you have one last morning as an almost before you officially become hers forever.

There’s a soft knock at the door before it creaks open slightly. Carla peeks her head in, eyes full of excitement. “Buenos días, future Mrs. Putellas.”

You groan, throwing a pillow at her. “Shut up.”

She laughs, dodging it effortlessly. “Nope, not happening. Get up. We have a wedding to get ready for.”

You sit up slowly, the nerves mixing with the sheer thrill of knowing by the end of the day, you’ll be married to the love of your life.

Carla walks in fully now, setting a cup of coffee on your nightstand. “How are you feeling?”

You exhale deeply, stretching your arms over your head. “Honestly? A little nervous.”

She plops down on the edge of your bed, crossing her legs. “That’s normal. But also kind of ridiculous because let’s be real, you and Alexia have been married in every sense of the word for years now.”

You laugh softly because she’s not wrong.

The next few hours blur into a whirlwind of activity. Your bridal party, Carla, Ingrid, you got Ingrid Alexia got Mapi that was the deal, and a few of your closest friends from work flit around, making sure everything is perfect. There’s music playing in the background, champagne being passed around, laughter echoing through the air.

At one point, Eli arrives, her eyes already glassy with emotion as she cups your face. “You are so beautiful,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “She’s going to cry when she sees you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I think I’m going to cry first.”

Eli chuckles, wiping away the tear that slips down your cheek. “That’s what I brought tissues for.”

The dress is waiting for you, hanging by the window, its fabric catching the morning light in the most breathtaking way. As you step into it, as the zipper is carefully pulled up, as your hands smooth over the delicate fabric, it hits you, this is real.

This is happening.

Ingrid lets out a dramatic sniffle as she watches you. “Okay, yeah. I’m crying.”

Carla, ever the menace, smirks. “We should place bets on how long Alexia lasts before she starts crying at the altar.”

Ingrid snorts. “No way she makes it past five seconds.”

Eli shakes her head fondly. “She won’t even make it to when you walk down the aisle.”

You roll your eyes but smile, already picturing Alexia’s face when she sees you for the first time.

Then, as if on cue, your phone buzzes on the table. A message. From her.

Alexia: No seeing each other before the wedding. But just so you know, I already know you’re the most beautiful person in the world today. See you soon, mi amor.❤️

Your breath catches, your heart skipping a beat.

Carla leans over your shoulder, reading it before dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “She’s so obsessed with you. It’s disgusting.”

You just smile, warmth spreading through your chest. Yeah. She was.

By the end of today, she’s going to be your wife. Eli gave you big hugs and kisses and promises to see you soon but of course she was going to go be with Alexia.

The car ride to the venue feels surreal. The streets of Barcelona blur past the window, but you barely notice them. Your hands are clasped together in your lap, knuckles white as you try to keep your nerves at bay.

Ingrid sits beside you, her presence calm and steady, her hand resting gently on your knee, grounding you in the moment. In the front seat, Aitana is unsurprisingly arguing with Carla over something completely ridiculous.

“I swear, Carla, if you trip and take me down with you, I’m never letting you be in my wedding when it’s my turn,” Aitana huffs, arms crossed.

Carla scoffs. “First of all, rude. Second, you act like you wouldn’t be the one to trip first.”

“You’re literally the one who fell off a treadmill last week.”

“That was one time!”

You tune them out, heart racing as you glance down at your phone. No messages from Alexia this time. The next time you see her, it’ll be at the altar. Your wife-to-be.

Ingrid must sense your nerves because she squeezes your knee lightly. “Breath.”

You take a slow, deep breath, forcing yourself to relax.

“You’ve been ready for this for a long time,” Ingrid continues in that soft, reassuring voice of hers. “She’s waiting for you. That’s all that matters.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and nod. “I know. I just—” You exhale shakily. “It’s a lot.”

Ingrid gives you a small smile. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

The car finally pulls up to the venue an elegant villa nestled along the countryside, the perfect mix of intimacy and beauty. The moment you step out, the warm breeze carries the faint sound of music, guests murmuring softly inside, waiting.

Carla climbs out first, stretching dramatically. “Alright. Everyone still has their balance? No sudden injuries? No broken ankles?”

Aitana rolls her eyes. “Tú eres un caso.”

You laugh, shaking your head, but thenyour breath catches as your gaze drifts toward the grand double doors leading inside.

This is it. The nerves come rushing back tenfold.

Ingrid notices immediately, stepping close. “Babe” she murmurs. “She’s just on the other side of those doors, waiting for you.”

You nod, trying to swallow the wave of emotions building in your chest.

Carla and Aitana exchange glances before stepping away slightly, giving you a moment.

The doors are still closed, but you can feel it, the anticipation, the weight of this moment. Behind them, Alexia is standing at the altar, waiting for you.

Your fingers tighten around the bouquet in your hands. Your heart is pounding. Then, the music shifts.

Your cue.

Carla grins, winking at you. “Showtime.”

Ingrid presses a kiss to your temple. “Go to her,”

You take a deep breath, steady yourself, and the doors begin to open.

The doors swing open, and for a split second, everything is silent.

The music plays softly in the background, the gentle hum of a string quartet filling the space, but you can’t hear it, not over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your chest.

Your breath catches. Because there she is.

Alexia.

Standing at the altar, her hands clasped in front of her, looking like something straight out of a dream. She’s dressed in the most elegant suit, tailored perfectly to her frame, her hair swept back just enough to show the way her jaw tenses, the way her lips part slightly as she takes in the sight of you.

You barely make it two steps before you see it, her eyes are glassy, her chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths like she’s trying desperately to keep it together.

Then, she blinks, and a single tear slips down her cheek. And that’s when it hits you. You were never going to make it down the aisle dry-eyed.

The emotions well up too quickly, your vision blurring as you take your first step forward. Your fingers tighten around the bouquet, your breath shaky, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

Not when she’s standing there looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. Not when she’s wiping away that lone tear, smiling so softly, so tenderly that it makes your knees weak. Not when every step forward is a step closer to forever.

Carla walks beside you, her usual playful demeanor softened by the significance of the moment. Aitana and Ingrid follow just behind, but you barely register anything beyond the way Alexia’s eyes never leave yours.

You can see the way she’s gripping her hands together, her fingers fidgeting slightly like she’s stopping herself from running down the aisle and meeting you halfway.

And God, you kind of wish she would.

The distance feels too long, the anticipation too much.

When you reach the halfway point, another tear slips from your eye, and before you can even think about stopping it, Alexia exhales sharply, her face completely crumbling for a second.

Her lips tremble, and she sniffs, wiping at her face almost angrily, like she can’t be breaking down right now—but she is. Your cool calm collected poised partner of four years, totally is.

You let out a breathy laugh through your own tears, shaking your head. She does the same. You both do.

By the time you reach the front, you can’t hold back anymore. Your free hand reaches instinctively for hers, breaking the traditional etiquette of waiting, but you don’t care.

And neither does she.

The moment her fingers touch yours, she squeezes so tight you think she might be holding on for dear life.

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles, a silent message, a whispered I love you without saying a word.

You sniffle, laughing softly, and whisper, “You’re crying.”

Alexia lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking her head. “Tú también.”

The officiant clears their throat gently, and you realize that technically, you’re supposed to let go of her hand right now.

But neither of you move. Neither of you want to. This is it. The moment before everything changes, before every promise you’ve ever whispered to each other in the dead of night is spoken out loud for the world to hear.

And as you stand there, with the love of your life holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping her grounded, you know—

You’d walk down this aisle a thousand times over. As long as she’s always waiting for you at the end. Everything feels like a blur an overwhelmingly beautiful blur.

The ceremony, the vows, the way Alexia looked at you like you had just hung the stars in the sky every moment is burned into your memory, but it still doesn’t feel real.

Not until you hear it.

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you wife and wife.”

A pause.

A heartbeat.

“You may kiss—”

But Alexia doesn’t wait. She moves before the officiant even finishes the sentence, her hands cupping your face, her lips crashing against yours with a desperate, almost relieved kind of urgency.

And you melt into it. The sound of your friends and family erupting into cheers barely registers. The only thing you can focus on is her, the way her hands shake slightly against your skin, the way she breathes you in between kisses like she’s been waiting a lifetime for this moment.

When she finally pulls away, your forehead rests against hers, both of you grinning so wide it almost hurts.

“You’re my wife,” you whisper breathlessly.

Alexia laughs softly, her thumb brushing over your cheek. “Say it again.”

You beam, tightening your grip on her. “My wife. Mi Esposa”

She kisses you again, short, but full of so much love it makes your knees weak. Then, together, hand in hand, you turn to face the crowd. A shower of white flower petals rains down around you as you make your way back down the aisle, both of you laughing, wiping at your damp eyes, unable to let go of each other’s hands for even a second.

It’s perfect.

But as soon as you step inside the quiet hallway leading toward the garden, away from the noise, the guests, the cameras, Alexia pulls you to the side.

Just the two of you. Finally.

She exhales sharply, as if she’s been holding her breath this entire time, before she wraps her arms around you, burying her face in your neck.

Your hands immediately slip into her hair, holding her close. “Hey,” you whisper softly, “we did it.”

She nods against you, breathing you in. “We did it.”

For a long moment, neither of you move.

You just exist in the silence, in the warmth of each other’s arms, in the weight of everything that just happened.

Then, she pulls back slightly, her hands settling on your waist, her eyes roaming over every inch of your face like she’s memorising you all over again.

“You are so beautiful,” she murmurs. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

You smile, brushing your thumb over her cheek. “Forever.”

Alexia closes her eyes briefly, letting that word settle in before she nods. Then, without warning, she lifts you off the ground, spinning you in a slow, dizzying circle. You squeal, laughing as you grip onto her shoulders.

“Alexia!”

She grins up at you. “I had to. I just married you, I get to do whatever I want now.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but you know she’s right.

Because this is forever now.

Your forever.

Your wife.

The wedding reception is everything you could have dreamed of, laughter, music, love filling every inch of the space. The venue glows under the golden evening light, fairy lights strung above the tables creating a soft, intimate atmosphere. Everywhere you turn, there’s someone smiling, someone dancing, someone toasting to you and Alexia and the life you’ve just promised to share.

Alexia is currently caught up in conversation with some of her teammates, her hand still very much attached to yours like she can’t quite let go yet. It’s been like that all evening small touches, quiet glances, the occasional kiss when she thinks no one is looking.

But there’s something you still need to do before the night fully takes over. You catch Alba’s eye first, then Eli’s. A silent understanding passes between you, and they both follow as you gently squeeze Alexia’s hand in reassurance and slip away from the crowd.

Eli is quiet as you lead her toward the top table, where the two of you wives now will soon take your seats. Alba follows closely, her usual energy subdued, sensing the weight of whatever it is you’re about to show them.

And then, they see it. An extra chair. A place carefully set, just like every other. And, resting in the middle of the plate, a framed picture of Alexia’s father. Eli stops abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. Her hands fly to her mouth as she takes in the sight before her, eyes instantly glassy with unshed tears.

Alba stands frozen beside her, blinking hard, her jaw clenched like she’s trying to keep it together.

You swallow past the lump in your throat, stepping forward gently. “I—I wanted to make sure he was here with you tonight,” you whisper. “With her. With all of us.”

Eli exhales sharply, shaking her head as a tear slips free, but her lips curve into the softest, most grateful smile. “Mi amor…”

You reach out, taking her hands in yours, squeezing them tightly. “I know how much she wishes he was here.” Your voice is barely above a whisper now. “And I know how much he would be, if he could.”

Alba finally moves, running a hand over her face before huffing out a shaky breath. “She’s—she’s going to lose it when she sees this.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh, nodding. “I know.”

Eli reaches out, brushing her fingers over the picture gently, her touch lingering as she takes a slow, deep breath. Then, she looks at you, her expression soft, full of so much love that it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

“She chose well,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “So, so well.”

You sniffle, squeezing her hand. “I’m just lucky she chose me.”

Alba finally cracks, letting out a teary chuckle as she nudges you lightly. “You’re gonna make me cry again,” she mutters.

You laugh softly, wiping at your own eyes. “I think that was inevitable.”

Eli lets out a small, watery chuckle, shaking her head before she pulls you into a hug. “Thank you,” she whispers into your hair. “For this. For loving her.”

You cling to her tightly. “Always.”

As you step back, Alba clears her throat, clapping her hands together to break the emotion swirling in the air. “Okay,” she says, sniffling one last time before straightening her shoulders. “How long do we give her before she notices?”

You smirk, glancing over at Alexia, who is still deep in conversation, completely unaware.

“Not long,” you murmur.

Alexia was in the middle of a conversation with Mapi and Ingrid when she caught something out of the corner of her eye—Eli wiping at her cheeks, Alba shifting awkwardly beside her, both of them standing near the top table where you had just been.

Her stomach instantly twists. She excuses herself without a second thought, her mind racing as she crosses the room.

“Mami?” Her voice is laced with concern as she reaches them, her gaze flicking between her mother and sister. “What’s wrong?”

Eli quickly shakes her head, still dabbing at her eyes. “Nada, mi amor,” she assures softly. “Just… come with me.”

Alexia frowns, not entirely convinced, but Eli reaches for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before leading her toward the table.

Alba doesn’t say a word—just steps aside, swallowing hard as she watches her sister move closer. And then Alexia sees it. Her breath catches instantly, her entire body going still as her gaze lands on the extra chair, the carefully set place, the framed photo staring back at her.

The picture of him. Her father.

A soft, shaky exhale slips from her lips as the weight of it settles in her chest. She doesn’t move at first—just stands there, eyes darting over every detail. The chair tucked in like he really belongs there. The glass set, the plate, the tiny flower laid beside the photo.

Her throat tightens.

Her hand instinctively grips Eli’s, and when she finally finds the strength to glance at her mother, she sees nothing but understanding in her eyes.

“She did this for you,” Eli whispers, squeezing her fingers. “Because she knew.”

Alexia lets out a breathy, broken laugh, blinking rapidly. “Of course she did.”

Eli smiles through her own tears. “She always knows.”

Alexia sniffs, shaking her head as she wipes at her face, trying to pull herself together, but it’s useless.

Because he’s here. He’s with her.

Alba clears her throat beside her, nudging her gently. “She didn’t want to tell you. She wanted you to just… see it.”

Alexia swallows hard, nodding slowly, her eyes locked onto the framed photo.

Her father’s eyes. His smile.

Her heart aches, but it’s a different kind of ache, softer. Lighter.

It doesn’t feel like a loss. It feels like love.

And suddenly, she needs to find you. Her head snaps up, scanning the crowd frantically until finally she spots you, standing off to the side, caught in conversation with a few of her distant cousins.

Without thinking, without hesitation, she moves. She needs you. She crosses the room in quick strides, barely giving you a chance to react before she’s there, wrapping her arms around you from behind, burying her face in your shoulder.

You let out a soft gasp, instantly placing your hands over hers. “Lex?”

She exhales against your skin, nodding before she murmurs, “I saw.”

And just like that, you know. You turn in her arms, tilting her face up gently, and when you see the tears in her eyes, the overwhelming emotion threatening to spill over, you don’t say anything.

You just hold her. She melts into you, tucking her face into your neck, letting out a small, shaky breath.

“I just wanted him to be here with you,” you whisper, running a soothing hand down her back.

Alexia sniffles, pressing her forehead against yours. “He is.”

Your chest tightens as she pulls back just enough to cup your face, her thumb brushing against your cheek.

“I love you,” she whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”

You smile softly, pressing your lips against hers in a kiss that says everything words never could. And as she holds you close, with the sound of laughter and music still carrying through the night, Alexia knows her father is here.

And you are her home.

The reception is in full swingwine glasses clinking, laughter echoing through the villa, warmth filling every corner of the room. You can feel the buzz of happiness in the air, wrapping around you like the soft golden glow of the fairy lights strung above the tables. And then, as the music fades slightly, Eli stands up.

The room hushes instantly, all eyes turning to Alexia’s mother as she clears her throat, her expression soft but full of something deeper something unbreakable.

She glances at you and Alexia, her daughters sitting side by side, hands intertwined under the table. Then, she smiles.

“Buenas noches a todos.”

A wave of quiet chuckles spreads across the crowd as she smirks. “I will not take too long because I know everyone is eager to get back to the dancing, especially Alba, who has already had three glasses of wine and keeps trying to challenge Aitana to a dance battle.”

Laughter ripples through the room, breaking any lingering nerves Eli might have had.

She turns back to you and Alexia, her gaze softening. “Today is a day full of love,” she continues. “Not just because of the two incredible people we are here to celebrate, but because love is what brought us here in the first place. And love is what will keep us together for the rest of our lives.” Alexia’s grip on your hand tightens. “I don’t have to tell you all who my daughter is,” Eli says, glancing toward her eldest child with a twinkle in her eye. “The world knows who she is. A leader, a fighter, the most determined person I’ve ever met. But before she was that before she was the Alexia Putellas that people chant for in the stadium she was just my little girl.” Alexia shifts in her seat, blinking rapidly. Eli exhales, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “And then you came along.” She turns to you now, her eyes filled with something deeply maternal. “I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I knew immediately that you were the one for her. The very first time I saw her with you, there was something different. Something softer in the way she spoke, something lighter in the way she moved.” A lump forms in your throat. “I have never seen her happier than she is with you.” Eli’s voice wavers slightly, but she holds strong. “And as a mother, all you ever want is for your children to find that kind of happiness. That kind of love.” You don’t even realize you’re crying until Alexia reaches up and wipes a stray tear from your cheek. Eli smiles warmly, lifting her glass. “So, let’s raise a toast to my daughter, to my new daughter, and to a love that will last forever.”

The room erupts into applause, glasses clinking as everyone cheers. You turn to Alexia, her face a mixture of quiet emotion and pure love. She leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your temple.

Then, before the room can settle, Alba slams her hands on the table and stands up.

“Alright, my turn!” she announces dramatically.

Carla groans. “Oh no.”

Alexia pinches the bridge of her nose. “This is already a disaster.”

You chuckle, watching Alba pick up her glass and hold it high. “First of all, let’s acknowledge the real MVP of this wedding me because without me, I’m not sure Alexia would have ever admitted she was in love.”

Alexia glares. “That is absolutely not true.”

Alba winks. “Not saying I’m responsible, but I’m also not not saying it.”

Laughter ripples through the room again. She turns to you now, and suddenly, her usually playful demeanor shifts. “I joke a lot, but I need to be serious for a second.” She takes a deep breath. “I’ve spent my whole life looking up to Alexia. Not just because she’s my sister, but because she’s my best friend. And I always wondered if there was anyone out there who could match her who could truly be what she needed.” She glances at you, her eyes shining. “And then you came along. And suddenly, my sister wasn’t just my sister anymore. She was herself in a way I had never seen before. And I knew. I knew you were her forever.” Alexia swallows hard, looking away briefly like she’s trying to compose herself. Alba grins now, raising her glass. “So, as the official bestower of blessings, I give my very important stamp of approval to this marriage. Not that you needed it, but still.”

The room laughs, raising their glasses again. Alexia groans but reaches for her sister’s hand, squeezing it briefly in gratitude.

As the laughter settles, you take a deep breath and stand up. Alexia’s head snaps toward you, her brows furrowing slightly.

“Wait,” she whispers. “I thought—”

You smirk. “You hate public speaking, so I figured I’d do it for us.”

A few amused chuckles ripple through the room. You stand, feeling the weight of Alexia’s gaze settle on you instantly. She wasn’t expecting this. You hadn’t told her. But she hates public speaking, and there’s no way you were going to let her suffer through this part alone. So here you are, standing in front of a room filled with all the people who love you both, your heart pounding as you look at your wife—the woman you are lucky enough to spend forever with. You clear your throat, letting the soft hum of quiet settle over the room before you begin.

“I wasn’t supposed to give a speech tonight,” you admit, smiling slightly as a few chuckles ripple through the crowd. “But I figured since Alexia hates public speaking almost as much as she loves me, I’d do this one for us.” More laughter, but Alexia just shakes her head at you, eyes already shimmering. You take a deep breath. “I don’t really know how to put into words what today means. What she means,” you say softly, glancing at Alexia. “I could stand up here for hours and still never fully explain what it feels like to be loved by her. What it feels like to know that every morning I wake up, she’s going to be there. That every bad day, every hard moment, every time I start to doubt myself she’s there, looking at me like I’m the best thing in the world.” Alexia sniffs, blinking rapidly, but you continue. “She is the strongest, most determined person I have ever met. She puts her whole heart into everything she does whether it’s football, or family, or making sure I never leave the house without a jacket because she swears I always get cold.” Laughter fills the room again, and you pause, letting it settle before continuing. “But more than anything, she is home to me,” you say, voice quieter now. “Loving her is the easiest, most natural thing I’ve ever done. She is my best friend, my greatest love, my everything. And today, I got to promise to love her forever. A promise I would have made a thousand times over.” Alexia wipes at her cheek now, and you reach out instinctively, squeezing her hand before continuing. “There’s someone missing today,” you say, and the room falls completely silent. You feel the shift, feel the way Alexia’s grip tightens around yours, feel the way Eli’s breath catches. “I never got the chance to meet Alexia’s father,” you say softly. “But I wish I could have. Because if the way his daughters turned out is any reflection of the kind of man he was, then I know, I know, he was an incredible man.” Alexia’s chest rises and falls in a deep, steady breath, but her eyes are locked onto yours, unblinking, feeling every word you say. “I’ve heard many stories seeing many videos and many pictures and I see him in Alexia every day. In the way she loves, in the way she fights for what matters, in the way she never gives up. And I see him in Alba, too. In her fire, in her passion, in the way she refuses to do anything quietly.”

That earns a watery chuckle from Alba, and you smile.

“I know that if he were here today, he would be so unbelievably proud. Not just of the woman Alexia has become, but of the family she has built around her. The love she gives. The way she makes the people in her life better just by being in it.” You take a deep breath.

“And I promise you, mi amor I will spend every single day making sure you feel that love. That pride. That safety. Because you deserve nothing less.” Alexia blinks rapidly, her lips pressing together tightly, her free hand lifting to wipe at her cheek again.

You glance around the room then, your heart racing, and then you take a deep breath, and you switch.

“Avui és el dia més bonic de la meva vida.”

(Today is the most beautiful day of my life.)

The entire room gasps.

You hear someone slap the table probably Carla. Someone else mutters “No way.” Alexia’s jaw drops.

“I wanted to take a moment to say something important,” you continue, in perfect Catalan, watching as her eyes fill with even more tears. “Today has been perfect in so many ways, but what makes it truly special is all of you. This family. The people who have welcomed me into their hearts, who have loved me as one of their own.” Her grip on your hand tightens—desperate, overwhelmed. You smile, speaking directly to her now.

“Et prometo que sempre et cuidaré, sempre estaré al teu costat i sempre estimaré cada part de qui ets.” (I promise I will always take care of you, always stand by your side, and always love every part of who you are.)

Alexia makes a choked sound, a tear slipping down her cheek. You take a deep breath, blinking through your own emotions before finishing.

“Gràcies per donar-me la teva vida, el teu amor i la teva família. Sempre seré teva.” (Thank you for giving me your life, your love, and your family. I will always be yours.)

A beat of stunned silence.

Then absolute chaos.

People are cheering. Clapping. Carla is banging the table, half screaming. “WHAT THE HELL?! WHEN DID YOU LEARN THAT?!”

You laugh, cheeks burning, looking back at Alexia only to yelp as she grabs your face and kisses you senseless. The room erupts.

Alexia’s hands are cradling your jaw, her lips fierce against yours, like she can’t hold back. Like she has to kiss you or she might actually explode. She pulls back just enough to breathe, her forehead pressed to yours, her eyes wild with love.

“You, you just” she stammers. “How?”

You grin, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Secretly learned it. Just for today.”

She laughs, breathless, shaking her head. “I cannot believe you did that.”

You smirk. “I’d do anything for you.”

Her hands tighten on you, her lips brushing against yours again. “I love you so much it’s ridiculous.”

You chuckle. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me forever.” And as the entire room celebrates, as Alexia kisses you again softer this time, like a thank you whispered into your lips you know.

You know. This moment, this love, this life it’s yours.

Forever.

The wedding had been everything you had dreamed of—maybe even more.

It had been filled with laughter, with love so thick in the air you could feel it, with the warmth of everyone who mattered most. But now, the music had faded, the guests had gone home, and the two of you had finally stepped away from the celebration into the quiet intimacy of your wedding night.

Now, it was just you and her.

The hotel suite was bathed in soft, golden light, the glow of the city filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

You turned slightly, catching your reflection in the mirror as you reached up to unclip your earrings, but before you could, a voice—low and full of something darker, something deeper—stopped you.

“Don’t.”

You froze, your breath catching in your throat, before turning to face her.

Alexia was leaning against the doorframe, still dressed in the suit she had worn for the wedding—the perfectly tailored black ensemble that had made your heart stop when you first saw her at the altar.

And now, as she stood there, hands in her pockets, eyes dark as they traced over your form, you felt that same breathless ache in your chest.

She looked at you like you were something precious.

Like she was trying to memorise every inch of you.

Her lips curled into something soft, but there was a hunger beneath it, a slow burn flickering in her gaze.

“God,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly. “You’re beautiful.”

Heat flared in your stomach.

She stepped closer, her movements slow, deliberate, like she wanted to savor every second of this.

When she reached you, she reached up, her fingers barely ghosting over your waist.

Her eyes flickered over your dress—the same dress she had seen you in all night, the one she had struggled to take her eyes off of, the one that had nearly undone her at the altar.

Her voice was softer this time, almost reverent.

“You are stunning, mi amor.”

You shivered at the way she said it, at the way her fingers traced lightly over the delicate fabric.

Then she leaned in, her lips grazing your ear, her breath warm against your skin as she whispered,

“How does it feel?”

Your throat was dry. “How does what feel?”

She pulled back just enough to look at you, her thumb brushing along your jaw, her expression pure adoration.

“To be Mrs. Putellas.”

A rush of heat shot through you, warmth curling in your chest and pooling in your stomach at the way she said it.

You loved the way it sounded.

The way it felt.

The weight of her name wrapped around yours, binding you forever to her.

You swallowed, barely able to find your voice. “Say it again.”

Alexia smirked now, a knowing, teasing thing.

“Mrs. Putellas,” she murmured, her lips pressing softly against the corner of your mouth.

You melted into her, your hands sliding up her chest, gripping the lapels of her suit as you tugged her closer.

She let out a soft chuckle, her hands settling at your waist, pulling you flush against her.

“I like the way that sounds,” you admitted breathlessly.

She hummed in agreement, her fingers tracing the outline of your dress.

“I like the way it looks on you.”

Your pulse hammered, your head spinning from the intensity of her gaze.

“Alexia…” you whispered, your fingers twisting in the fabric of her suit jacket.

She tilted her head slightly, studying you, memorising you, before dipping her head to press a soft, lingering kiss to your bare shoulder.

“I love you,” she murmured against your skin.

Your breath hitched.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your heart full to bursting.

And as she took her time, loving you the way only she could—with soft whispers, tender touches, and an overwhelming depth of adoration—you knew one thing for certain.

Being Mrs. Putellas was the most incredible thing in the world.

316 notes View Post

justareader7

2 months ago

new beginnings | something blue

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

summary: your whole life is uprooted after one fall

warnings: deadbeat and neglectful parents, arguments

notes: new series!! i am actually very excited for this one so hope y’all like it. also this is a longer one!!

You pant as the stadium lights blaze down on you, illuminating the slick, rain-soaked pitch. Your lungs burn, your legs ache, but you don’t stop moving— you can’t.

The air is thick with the scent of wet grass and sweat, and the roar of the student section vibrates through your chest, deafening, chaotic. You hear the distant pounding of the drumline, the frantic voices of your coach and teammates shouting instructions, but it all blurs together. White noise.

The scoreboard looms above, flashing 1-1, with the clock winding down. Your heart hammers against your ribs. If the streak ends here, you will never forgive yourself.

A messy clearance sends the ball bouncing, fast, unpredictable, through the center of the pitch. It ricochets off a defender’s shin and lands in your path, a gift wrapped in chaos.

For a split second, everything slows. The world shrinks to you, the ball, and the goal. You barely think. You don’t have time to. Instinct takes over.

With one touch, you push it forward, just enough to create space. A defender lunges in, too late. You see the keeper off their line—hesitating, shifting their weight, waiting for a pass that isn’t coming.

You pull back your leg and strike. The ball rockets off your foot, slicing through the air like a missile. You know it’s good the moment you hit it. The sound— that perfect, crisp contact rings in your ears.

The crowd collectively gasps. It climbs, spinning, curving then dipping, impossibly fast. The keeper scrambles, their hands stretching, but it’s a second too late.

The net ripples and for a second, there’s nothing. Silence. A breath held by thousands.

The stadium erupts. Your name is swallowed by the cheers, by the stomping of feet, by the chaos of bodies surging toward you. Your teammates crash into you, arms around your shoulders, voices wild in your ears. Someone grabs your face, shaking you, yelling words you can’t even process.

The scoreboard flashes 2-1. The final whistle blows. You did it. The streak lives as does your pride.

After the game, the celebration carries into the locker room, shouting, laughter, the slamming of lockers, the sharp scent of sweat and victory. You let yourself bask in it, let yourself feel it. The thrill, the relief, the high of it all.

By the time you step outside, your friends are waiting for you, still buzzing with excitement.

“That was insane!”

“Goal of the season, easy.”

“You’re a legend.”

They throw their arms around you, ruffling your damp hair, laughing, their eyes alight with pride. You try to brush it off, but their energy is contagious.

For a moment, everything is good. Eventually, one by one, they leave, disappearing into the night. The celebration fades. The stadium empties. The high starts to wear off.

And like always, you do what you’ve done after every game.

You take a slow walk along the stands, scanning the seats. Searching. Hoping.

The lights above hum, buzzing faintly in the quiet. The student section is empty now, just rows of vacant bleachers, puddles reflecting the glow of the floodlights. Your gaze drifts over every seat, your breath shallow. Maybe this time.

But the stands are empty. No familiar faces. No one waiting for you. Just like always.

You exhale, pressing your lips together. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You won. That should be enough. But the ache in your chest says otherwise.

The sun is dipping lower in the sky, staining the clouds gold and pink as practice stretches into the evening. The scrimmage has turned playful, full of taunts and laughter, the kind of session where the intensity is still there but the pressure isn’t crushing. It’s just fun… until it isn’t.

You’re dribbling down the pitch, slipping past defenders with ease, the ball glued to your foot. Someone shouts your name in warning, but it’s too late. A tackle comes in hard, way too aggressive for practice. There’s no time to react, no time to brace yourself.

You go down, and the impact rattles through your body, but the second you hit the ground, you know something is wrong. Pain explodes up your arm, sharp and immediate, radiating from your wrist.

You don’t scream, but you let out a harsh, shaky breath, cradling your wrist to your chest as you try to push yourself up only to be met with a wave of nausea as pain tears through your arm again.

“Shit, Azulita—”

“Is she okay?”

“Someone get the trainer!”

Voices swarm around you, overlapping, frantic. The player who tackled you hovers nearby, looking guilty as hell.

Your coach is there in an instant, crouching beside you. “Where’s the pain?”

You try to shrug it off, but even moving your shoulder makes your wrist throb. “Wrist.” Your voice comes out strained.

Someone helps you up carefully, supporting your arm as they guide you toward the sideline. The trainer takes one look and mutters, “We need to get her to the hospital.”

“No,” you fiercely shake your head, “No hospital please.”

“Ríos do not give me that bull today.” Your coach says in rebuttal. “You are going to the hospital. That is that. Am I clear?”

Your eyes start to water but the tears never fall. “Yes, Coach.”

The ride to the hospital is a blur of pain, muted voices, and the occasional bump in the road that makes you wince. Your teammates on the phone try to keep the mood light, cracking jokes, promising to cover your cast in the ugliest drawings possible.

But underneath it all, a weight is pressing down on you.

Hospitals mean paperwork. Paperwork means parents.

You barely process the check-in, the way the nurses poke and prod at your wrist, asking questions, nodding at your answers until suddenly, everything halts.

“Alright,” one of the nurses says, flipping through the forms, “we just need to get a hold of your parents for consent.”

Your stomach drops. They dial the number you gave them. You already know what’s coming. The phone rings. And rings. And rings. Voicemail.

Frowning, the nurse glances up. “Do you have another guardian? A relative we can contact?”

You shake your head, quickly, instinctively, throat tight.

She tries again. Nothing.

“Sweetheart,” she says, softer now, “we can’t give you anything for the pain, and we can’t proceed until we get parental consent.”

The room closes in. Your teammates shift awkwardly, not sure what to say. The nurses murmur to each other. You stare at the floor, fingers tightening around the hem of your jersey, afraid to move, afraid to speak.

You could lie. Say they’re out of town. Say their phones died. Say something, anything. But the truth is pressing against your ribs, clawing up your throat. You don’t know where your parents are.

The minutes stretch long. Nurses come and go, but you refuse to meet their eyes, refuse to say anything. If they figure it out, if they realize you don’t have anyone, what happens next?

Then, a new nurse kneels beside you. She doesn’t push. Doesn’t demand answers. She just speaks, voice steady, familiar in a way you can’t place at first.

“You remind me of my little sister,” she says casually, watching you carefully.

You glance at her. The way she talks, the tone, the firmness, the care, it reminds you of Olga. Your throat tightens.

You don’t mean to say it. You don’t even realize the words are leaving your mouth until they’re already out, quiet and unsteady. “I haven’t seen or heard from my parents in months.”

The air shifts. The nurse straightens. Someone steps out of the room. The mood changes instantly. Your heart pounds. You shouldn’t have said anything. Now, everything is about to spiral.

Olga groaned as the sharp buzzing of her phone cut through the quiet of the bedroom. She shifted slightly, trying to ignore it, but the vibration continued, insistent.

Alexia, half-asleep, only tightened her arms around Olga’s waist, murmuring something incoherent against her shoulder.

Olga exhaled, debating ignoring the call altogether, but something about it felt urgent. Carefully, she pried Alexia’s arm away just enough to reach for the phone on the nightstand, squinting at the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.

Her stomach twisted. Calls in the middle of the night were never good.

Reluctantly, she swiped to answer. “Hello?”

A brief pause. Then, a voice, calm, professional, but carrying a weight that immediately set Olga on edge.

“Is this Olga Ríos?”

“Yes.” She sat up slightly, rubbing at her face. “Who is this?”

“My name is Linda Perez, and I’m a social worker with Los Angeles County.”

Olga frowned, now fully awake. “Okay… what is this about?”

There was another pause, this one heavier.

“It’s about your sister.”

Olga went still.

“She suffered an injury earlier this evening during soccer practice at Willow Canyon Academy. She was taken to the hospital, but they were unable to reach either of her parents for consent to treat her injury. After further investigation, it became clear that your sister has been living without proper parental supervision for several months now.”

Olga’s breath caught in her throat. “Wait—what?”

The social worker continued, voice measured, but Olga could hear the underlying concern. “From what we’ve gathered, neither her father nor mother have been home for quite some time. Their numbers are disconnected or going straight to voicemail. She has no legal guardian available to authorize medical care or provide support.”

Olga felt like the room was tilting. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to process. “You’re telling me she’s been on her own?”

“Yes,” Linda confirmed. “And given the circumstances, her parents are now considered unfit. Without an immediate guardian stepping in, she will be placed into the system as a ward of the state.”

Olga’s stomach dropped. “She’s just a kid,” she said, voice tight, gripping the phone harder. “You can’t—”

“That’s why we’re calling you.” Linda’s tone softened. “You are her closest living relative. If you are willing, you can assume temporary guardianship. However, this is a serious commitment. You would need to take responsibility for her well-being, provide a stable home, and ensure she receives proper care.”

Olga didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll take her.”

Alexia, now sitting up beside her, stiffened at the urgency in her voice. Olga barely noticed, too focused on the conversation.

“Are you sure?” Linda asked. “This isn’t a decision to make lightly.”

“She’s my sister.” Olga was already kicking the sheets off, reaching for the nearest hoodie. “I’ll be on the next flight out.”

“Understood.” Linda hesitated. “Before you go— her injury. It’s her wrist. The doctors believe it’s sprained, possibly fractured. She needs surgery, but without parental consent, they can’t proceed.”

Olga clenched her jaw. “I give consent. Do whatever she needs.”

“I’ll let them know.”

The call ended, but Olga was already moving.

She threw open the closet, yanking out clothes, stuffing them into a suitcase with no real sense of order. Her hands were shaking. How did this happen? How did she not know?

Alexia grabbed her wrist, stopping her frantic movements. “Olga.”

“I should’ve known.” Olga shook her head, running a hand down her face. “She never said anything. I talked to her. I checked in. She never once told me she was—” Her voice caught.

Alexia squeezed her wrist. “You didn’t know.”

“I should have,” Olga snapped, then immediately winced at her own tone. She inhaled sharply. “She’s just a kid, Ale. She’s been alone for months. No parents, no one looking after her and I didn’t know. I should have known! Our dad has always been like this.”

Guilt burned in her chest. She thought back to every conversation, every time she’d asked, How are you? and got a casual, I’m fine in response.

Alexia’s grip on her tightened. “You are a good sister,” she said firmly. “You care. You’re doing the right thing now.”

Olga exhaled shakily, nodding. Alexia let go, only to start folding the clothes Olga had thrown into the suitcase.

“I’ll help you pack,” Alexia said.

Olga blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m coming.”

“You don’t—”

Alexia shot her a look. “Olga.”

Olga swallowed. The tension in her shoulders loosened slightly.

“Okay,” she murmured.

Alexia nodded, zipping up her own bag. “Then let’s go get your sister.”

The last time you saw Olga in person, you were twelve years old. She had come to visit for a month, and for the first time, you felt like you had a real family member, someone who truly cared, someone who loved you. You clung to every moment, every second of that summer, storing them away like treasures, hoping they would last.

Now, sitting in your social worker’s office, your leg bounces a mile a minute. Your fingers dig into the sleeves of your hoodie as you try to steady yourself, but your mind is racing. What if this doesn’t work out? What if she doesn’t want you? What if she sees you now and regrets coming?

The door swings open and Olga barely hesitates before crossing the room in quick strides. The moment she reaches you, her arms wrap around you tightly, pulling you in like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. You tense for half a second then melt into the embrace.

She smells the same, like citrus and something faintly floral. You squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your face into her shoulder, and for the first time in months, you feel something close to safe.

She pulls back, hands still gripping your shoulders, and really looks at you. Her eyes widen slightly as she takes you in.

“You’re so—” Her voice catches, and she shakes her head. “Dios, has crecido tanto.” (God, you have grown so much.)

And you have. You’re nearly the same height as her now— maybe even taller. Your hair is longer, the tips dyed blonde. There are more piercings in your ears, and a small gold hoop gleams from your nose. Olga swallows hard. Her eyes are glassy, but she blinks quickly, shaking off the emotion.

Behind her, Alexia is speaking in low tones with your social worker, nodding as she listens. The woman slides a stack of paperwork across the desk, and Alexia flips through it, occasionally handing something to Olga to sign. It all feels so surreal.

Before you know it, you’re walking out of the office, bags in hand, stepping into the cool evening air. Alexia unlocks the car, sliding into the driver’s seat, while you and Olga settle in the back.

The drive is quiet.

You stare out the window, arms crossed, fingers tapping against your knee. The weight of everything sits heavy in your chest. Olga is here. You’re leaving your home, your LA. It’s happening so fast, and you don’t know how to process it.

Olga shifts beside you, then clears her throat.

“So…” she starts, trying to keep her tone light. “How’s school?”

“Fine.”

“Any favorite classes?”

A shrug. “Spanish.”

She exhales through her nose, tilting her head slightly. “Okay… uh, football? Are you still playing with Legends?”

You nod, still staring out the window. “Well, not anymore.”

Olga rubs her hands against her jeans, glancing at Alexia in the rearview mirror. Alexia gives her a small look that says, Give her time.

But patience has never been Olga’s strong suit. “Zulita,” she tries again. “I know this is a lot, but—“

“I didn’t ask you to come.”

It comes out sharp. Too sharp. You see Olga’s jaw tighten slightly.

“You needed someone to come,” she says, voice edged with frustration.

“I was doing fine.”

“Fine?” Olga scoffs. “Zulita, you were in the hospital alone. You had no one looking after you.”

“I was handling it.”

“No, you weren’t!” Her voice rises slightly, exasperation creeping in. “You’re fifteen! You shouldn’t have to handle it!”

The words hit something raw inside you. The frustration, the helplessness, the months of being on your own, of convincing yourself you were fine—it all bubbles up too fast.

“Well, I did!” you snap. “Because I didn’t have a choice! Because no one else was there!”

The car goes silent. Olga stares at you, her expression shifting from anger to something softer. Something sad. And then, she remembers.

She remembers the way you used to be as a kid— how you would lash out when things got too overwhelming, how your emotions always felt too big for your body, how you would snap and yell because it was the only way you knew how to feel heard.

She exhales, rubbing a hand over her face. “I’m sorry,” she says, voice quieter. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

You glare out the window, arms still crossed, but the anger is already fading into something closer to exhaustion.

You shift uncomfortably. “…Yeah. Me too.”

She huffs a small laugh, shaking her head. “You’re still so hot-headed, Zulita.”

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye, lips twitching just slightly. “Takes one to know one.”

Olga snorts, nudging your knee with hers.

Alexia just smiles from the front seat, shaking her head as she drives.

Spain doesn’t feel like home. You only vaguely remember it— small flashes from the two times your dad brought you to visit Olga. The streets, the language, the way the air smelled different. But those were just trips. You were always going back to LA. Now, you’re here. Permanently. And you hate it.

The Spanish is different. The people are different. The food is different. Everything is different.

Your emotions are a tangled mess, a constant weight in your chest that you can’t shake. You don’t know how to deal with it, don’t know how to explain it, and the one thing that’s always helped, football, has been ripped away from you. You haven’t played since you landed a week ago.

Olga is smothering you. She means well, but it’s too much. She hovers, questions everything, watches your every move like you’re some fragile thing that might shatter at any second.

Alexia is different. She gives you space. She doesn’t treat you like a kid. She sees you not just some troubled teenager Olga suddenly has to take care of, but a person trying to survive in a world that doesn’t feel like theirs. She doesn’t push, just waits.

But none of that stops everything from boiling over.

You never meant to revert to your old ways. The one good thing about Spain was the fact that you had a chance at a fresh start.

But, as you’re sitting at lunch, music blasting in your headphones, trying to block everything out. Trying to breathe, you see it.

A younger kid, probably first-year, backed against a wall, shoulders hunched, eyes darting around like a trapped animal. A taller guy standing in front of him, sneering, shoving his shoulder. Words are exchanged, but you can’t hear them.

What you can see is the way the younger boy’s hands shake, the way he flinches when the older one steps closer.

And suddenly, your body moves before your brain does.

You’re up. Across the cafeteria. Pulling the guy away from the kid.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snap.

The older guy sneers at you. “Who the hell are you, weirdo?”

You don’t think. You react. Shoving. Yelling. Someone grabs your arm, but you shake them off. A fist swings, and suddenly, you’re in it.

Then there are teachers. Hands pulling you back. Your heart pounding.

Before you even register what happened, you’re sitting in the principal’s office, hands balled into fists, jaw locked.

The secretary dials a number. You hear them say Olga’s name.

You shut your eyes and brace yourself. The car ride home is brutal.

“What the hell were you thinking? Do you know how serious this is? You just got here, and you’re already getting into fights? You’re lucky they didn’t expel you! Dios mío, do you know how hard it was to convince them not to suspend you? This is a top school, Azulita!”

You don’t answer. You stare out the window, jaw clenched, fingers digging into your uniform. You take a deep breath and bite your tongue.

Alexia is quiet for the most part, watching you through the rearview mirror.

Then she asks, voice calm, “Did they provoke you?”

You glance at her, hesitating. “…Yeah.”

“Were they hurting someone?”

Your throat tightens, but you nod.

Alexia hums but doesn’t say anything else.

Olga, on the other hand, is still going. Your breaths get more labored, “Olga. Please drop it for now.”

When you pull into the driveway, you don’t wait. You’re out of the car before it fully stops, slamming the door behind you and stalking inside.

Olga moves to follow, but Alexia stops her with a hand on her arm.

“Let her breathe,” she says.

Olga exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair. “She can’t just go around hitting people, Alexia!”

“I know,” Alexia says evenly. “But from what the principal said, and what she just said, she wasn’t fighting for no reason. She was standing up for someone.”

Olga’s shoulders drop slightly.

Alexia gives her a look. “You know better than anyone how she is. She doesn’t just get angry— she reacts. She’s been through a lot. You have to meet her halfway.”

Olga presses her lips together, sighing. “…Yeah. You’re right.”

She takes a deep breath, steadies herself, and heads upstairs to your room.

She knocks. No response.

She knocks again. “Zulita, can we talk?” Silence. Something feels wrong.

She pushes the door open to be met with an empty bed. The window is open. Your phone is on the nightstand. Panic slams into her chest.

“Alexia!”

Alexia calms her down—barely.

“We’ll find her,” she promises, already dialing a number.

The call connects.

“Lucy,” Alexia says, straight to the point. “We need your help.”

It takes a few hours, but they find you. A park, thirty minutes away. A small, empty field. You’re there, by yourself, shooting goal after goal. You don’t even turn when they approach.

Alexia watches as you line up another shot, striking the ball perfectly into the top corner. It’s instinct. You don’t even think, don’t hesitate. Your body just knows what to do.

She and Lucy exchange a look.

Alexia steps forward. “You scared Olga half to death, you know.”

You exhale, resting your hands on your hips. “I needed to clear my head.”

“So you left your phone and ran off?”

“I didn’t think you’d care,” you mumble.

Alexia frowns. “Of course we care.”

You sigh, rolling the ball under your foot. “I just—everything is too much. It’s too different. Spain is different.”

Alexia doesn’t push. She just listens. You stand there, staring at the ball as you line up your next shot, feeling the weight of everything that’s been building up inside you. The silence between you and Alexia stretches, and for the first time, you feel like you can let it out. Let her see the truth of how hard this has been for you. The truth of what you’ve been holding in for so long.

“I’m not used to this,” you say, your voice low but steady, breaking the silence. “It’s… it’s hard, you know? Everything back home just… made sense.”

Alexia’s eyes are focused on you, not speaking, just letting you continue.

You exhale deeply, trying to find the right words. “Back in LA, everything was… routine. It wasn’t easy, but it was my life. You know? I didn’t need to think about it. The corner store, Mr. García, that old man who ran it—he gave me free snacks if I swept the floors for him.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to hold back the emotion that threatens to spill. “He wasn’t rich, wasn’t some big store owner or anything. He was just an old man who liked to help out kids like me. And I did what I had to do. I didn’t complain about it because it meant I got to eat something I didn’t have to pay for. And I felt good doing it. Like, that was a part of me.”

Alexia’s eyes soften as she listens, and you shift uncomfortably, but keep going.

“There was also Mrs. Alvarez, the seamstress who lived down the block. She used to fix my clothes when they tore or when I just couldn’t afford new ones. She’d take the time to patch them up, make them look good as new. And she’d always say, ‘I’ve got your back, mija.’ Even when I couldn’t pay her. She’d make me new stuff too, just out of kindness.”

You pause, feeling the lump in your throat grow.

“And the grocery store? They’d let me stock the juice shelves for an hour or two, and in exchange, they’d give me a bag of groceries. It was the only way I could get some food most times. I mean, I didn’t care, you know? I was just a kid, trying to make it through. But I was making it.”

You stop and look down at the ball, trying to steady your breathing. “Everything back home was like that. A hustle, yeah, but a hustle I understood. It wasn’t perfect, but it made sense. People helped each other out, and you helped them back. I knew how to survive.”

You look at Alexia now, feeling the weight of your confession. “I got a scholarship, you know? A football scholarship to the best program in LA. And it wasn’t handed to me. I worked my ass off to get there. I had to claw my way in, beat out all the other kids who had better coaches, better gear, better everything. But I fought for it. I did it alone. No one helped me get there. It was just me, and I… I made it.”

You can feel the emotion building, the frustration, the anger, the sadness, all of it hitting you at once. “And now, I’m here. And I don’t know how to make it make sense. I don’t know how to fit in. Spain is nothing like LA. The Spanish is different. The people are different. And I feel like I’m… just lost. Like I don’t belong here.”

Alexia doesn’t interrupt, doesn’t offer advice or try to fix things. She just nods, listening, letting you spill everything.

“I didn’t know how to handle that. I didn’t know how to adjust. And yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but…” You clench your jaw, fighting the tears that are threatening to come. “It’s hard to start over. I didn’t think I’d have to do this again.”

Alexia stays silent for a long moment, letting you talk through everything. Then, when you’re done, she finally speaks.

“You’re right,” she says softly. “I can’t imagine how you’re feeling, Zulita. I’ve been in Barcelona my whole life, so this—what you’re going through—this isn’t something I understand. But I can understand that it’s hard.”

You nod, your chest heavy. “I don’t want to be ungrateful. I know this is an opportunity. But it just feels like I’m starting over in a place that isn’t mine. A place that isn’t home.”

Alexia smiles softly. “It’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out all at once. You’re allowed to feel frustrated, to miss home. You’re allowed to take time to adjust.”

You look up at her, feeling a little lighter, a little more seen. “Thanks,” you say quietly.

Alexia’s gaze softens as she watches you, clearly understanding. “But there’s something you need to do. You need to talk to Olga about this. It’s the first step in the right direction, okay?”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering it. You know she’s right, but it still feels hard. Still feels like you’re betraying everything you built back in LA. But Alexia’s words make sense.

And when you finally nod, Alexia adds, “Talking to her is the first step, but we’ll get through this together. All of us. We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

You take a breath and look back at the goal, focusing on the ball again. The frustration, the anger, the confusion—it’s still there, simmering. But for the first time since you got to Spain, you feel like maybe, just maybe, you can start figuring this out.

Maybe you can make this work, too. You sigh, staring down at the ball. “…She treats me like a kid.”

“She treats you like someone she loves,” Alexia corrects gently.

You chew on your lip, kicking the ball toward the goal again. It soars into the net.

Alexia and Lucy exchange another look.

Alexia smirks. “We’re gonna have to get you on a team soon.”

542 notes View Post

justareader7

4 weeks ago

Bonmatellas moment at the end 😁

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMBwUREJy/

look how quickly she went over to check on aitana. always paying attention to what's happening 🥹

75 notes View Post

justareader7

1 month ago

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.

198 notes View Post

justareader7

2 months ago

"Like, it still looks like a car! Just… also like it needs a nap. And a therapist." 😂😂😂

Car Kiss

The moment your car collides with his, two things hit you harder than the airbag that just exploded in your face:

1. This was absolutely not your fault. (Technically.)

2. You did not deserve this.

For a second, everything is still. Your hands are locked around the wheel, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. The scent of burnt fabric and chemicals fills the car, the deployed airbag sagging pathetically in your lap like it just gave up on life.

Then—

"Are you fucking serious right now?!"

A voice—loud, pissed, and very much alive—cuts through your haze.

Your pulse stumbles.

Right. The other driver.

Slowly, stiffly, you peel your fingers off the wheel, every nerve in your body still humming with leftover adrenaline. The heat outside is relentless, pressing against the windshield, turning the inside of the car into an oven. Your skin feels sticky, your dress clinging uncomfortably as you try to process the disaster you just walked into.

You force yourself to move. The door groans as you push it open, and the second you step out, the sun slams into you like it's personally offended by your existence.

The man standing by the other car is fuming.

He's tall, broad, dressed in a crisp white button-down that’s now slightly wrinkled—probably from the sheer force of his frustration. His tie is loosened, his hands are on his head, and his expression is pure disbelief.

"You weren’t even looking!" he accuses, waving a hand toward the wreckage like it’s some kind of crime scene.

You inhale slowly, adjusting your sunglasses, trying to summon even a shred of calm. "Okay, first of all—let’s not jump to accusations."

His nostrils flare. "Look. At. My. Car."

You do.

And—okay. Yeah. It’s… seen better days. The bumper is hanging on by a miracle, the front crumpled in like a crushed soda can.

Then you turn to Alexia’s car.

And feel actual fear for the first time.

The front end looks exhausted. Like it’s seen things and would like to never be perceived again. The airbag is fully deployed, slumped over the steering wheel in silent, tragic judgment. The scent of burnt chemicals still lingers in the air.

You swallow hard. Maybe you should’ve just stayed home today.

"Are you even listening?!" the guy snaps, dragging a hand down his face. "You literally just crashed into me, and you’re acting like—"

"Okay, I hear you," you interrupt, forcing a smile. "I do. But, like… have you ever tried deep breathing? It’s amazing for stressful situations."

His eye twitches. "We're calling insurance."

You're already pulling out your phone. "Great idea!"

Of course, you’re not calling insurance.

You're calling her.

Alexia picks up after two rings.

"Bebé” Her voice is soft, familiar, but there’s an edge to it—like she already knows.

You hesitate.

The airbag. The crumpled hood. The fact that this isn’t even your car.

"Before I say anything," you start, voice syrupy sweet, "just know that I love you."

Silence.

Then—

"What did you do?"

You glance at the guy, who is still pacing beside his ruined car, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like legal threats.

You wince. "Hypothetically speaking, if something happened to your car—"

The silence sharpens.

"—not saying it did, but if it had a little accident—"

"Define ‘little.’"

You peek back at the scene. The wreckage. The airbag’s limp, tragic existence. The guy still looking like he’s one second away from suing you for emotional distress.

"Like… a kiss. A car kiss. Just a very unfortunate, high-speed one."

"You said you needed my car for work."

"I did. And I used it so responsibly. Except for this… one tiny—okay, medium—moment."

She exhales, long and sharp. "Is it bad?"

You hesitate. "...Define bad?"

"Is it drivable?"

"Technically."

"Is anything hanging off?"

"...Define ‘hanging.’"

"You’re actually unreal."

"It’s mostly cosmetic!" you argue. "Like, it still looks like a car! Just… also like it needs a nap. And a therapist."

"Where are you?"

"Outside work. I just parked. But the guy’s yelling about insurance and—wait, hold on—" You lower the phone. "Sir, are we exchanging info, or are you just gonna keep pacing?"

He glares. "Someone’s paying for this."

You sigh, lifting the phone back. "Ale, babe. Help."

"Send me a picture."

"...Are you sure? Wouldn’t you rather hear about it first?"

"Now."

The call ends.

You groan and snap a photo of the wreckage. Then, because you’re already in deep shit, you send another one.

Of your boobs—one of the many emergency nudes you keep saved, because honestly, who doesn’t have a backup plan?

Her reply is immediate.

Alexia:

You are actually deranged.

A few more seconds. Then—

Alexia:

I’m leaving training. Stay there.

Uh-oh.

Fifteen minutes later, an SUV pulls up fast.

Too fast.

The tires bite into the pavement, rolling to a sharp, precise stop. The door swings open, and she steps out.

And suddenly, the heat of the sun feels second to the way she carries herself.

Alexia looks dangerous in the way only someone completely in control can. She’s still in her training gear—dark compression shorts hugging her legs, a fitted Barça tee damp with sweat. Her hair is tied back, loose strands framing her face in a way that should not look as good as it does. She shuts the car door with purpose, her sharp gaze sweeping the scene like she’s assessing an opponent.

First, the damage.

Then, the guy.

Then, you.

You smile delicately, clasping your hands together like the very picture of innocence. "Hi, my love."

"Are you hurt?"

The question takes you by surprise.

You blink. "Huh?"

Her eyes soften—just barely. "Are you hurt?" she repeats.

Your stomach does something weird.

You clear your throat. "No. Just—bruised ego."

She nods once, accepting that, before turning to the guy.

"We’ll handle this through insurance," she states, her tone cool, absolute.

The guy, who had previously been full of righteous anger, suddenly looks… uncertain. "Well, yeah, obviously, but—"

"Give me your details," she cuts in, leaving zero room for argument. "The tow truck is already on its way. We’ll handle the paperwork."

You glance at your phone, realizing you missed the call she must’ve made while driving.

The guy hesitates, then sighs in defeat. "Fine."

Alexia doesn’t waste another second. She turns to you, jaw tight. "Passenger seat."

You hesitate. "I can explai—"

"Passenger. Seat."

Your stomach flips.

Something about the way she says it—calm, but final—sends a thrill through you. You don’t argue this time.

The tow truck arrives as you settle in, the driver stepping out and immediately greeting Alexia with a handshake. She’s already handling it, already making the process smooth, efficient. You watch her through the windshield, chin propped on your hand.

Eventually, she gets back in. Silence settles between you as she pulls onto the road. It lingers for a while, heavy with everything that just happened.

Inside the car, you watch her, awed despite yourself. The way she carries herself. The way people listen to her. Honestly, kind of hot for someone who’s about to yell at you.

You reach over, fingers brushing against hers on the console. Her grip loosens slightly.

"You're mad," you murmur.

She exhales through her nose. "You sent me nudes after crashing my car."

You grin. "Did it help?"

Her lips twitch—just slightly. "You're impossible."

You smile. "But you’re not mad about the boobs, right?" A pause. Then, carefully—

"You crash my car and send me nudes." She shakes her head, half in disbelief, half in something else you can’t quite place. "Honestly. Who raised you?"

You shrug. "A woman with taste."

A pause. Then, carefully—

"Your driving privileges are suspended."

You gasp. "You can’t do that."

"Watch me."

"Babe. My freedom."

She glances over, lips twitching. "I’ll think about it."

You grin, leaning in, voice low, teasing. "I can be very persuasive."

She hums, eyes still on the road but amusement curling at the edges of her mouth.

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