yeeterthek33per

[yeeterthek33per]

Let's Play A Game

Part 2

You thought your initiation into the Barcelona team was complete with that humiliating singing performance. But at the first team bonding night, you find yourself roped into a game of Fuck, Marry, Kill.

Wordcount: 3.3k

Warnings: 18+ for some vulgar language and references to sex

Part 1

You pull up in front of Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment building for the latest team bonding night, Lucy in the seat next to you.

“Do you think Mapi will shut the door in my face? Or just avoid letting me in all together?”

Lucy chuckles. “I’ll stand in front of the peephole. You hide behind me and sneak in before she can slam the door shut.”

You roll your eyes at Lucy. “She should really be over this by now. I have not actually attempted to kill her. It was just a hypothetical answer in a game!”

“Yeah, but you did choose to kill her twice, mate.”

“Okay, oh wise one, you tell me who you would have picked between Jenni, Alexia, and Mapi then.”

Lucy rubs her chin with a hand in thought. “Hmmm, tough one.”

“Really?” you ask in disbelief. “How?”

“I feel like Mapi might be more my type in bed, easier to submit, ya know? But I am curious about Jenni. So do I go for the guaranteed good lay where I get to be in charge or take a risk and maybe it ends up a bust? Or maybe it ends up really fucking good?”

“You never play it safe,” you deadpan.

“You’re right. Okay. Fuck Jenni, Marry Alexia - easy, and Kill Mapi.”

“See,” you argue, pointing a finger at the defender. “You would kill her too!”

“Yeah, but that is once. You did it twice.”

“Fucking fine! Fuck, Marry, Kill - Mapi, Ingrid, and me in place of you.”

“Another tricky one,” she muses.

“How??” you ask incredulously. “The answer is so easy. Fuck me, Marry Ingrid, Kill Mapi.”

Lucy chuckles. “A little overconfident, no?”

You glare at her. “Are you saying you wouldn’t fuck me again?”

“Definitely not saying that,” Lucy states with a grin. “Fuck Mapi–”

Your mouth drops in disbelief.

“Marry you,” Lucy continues, using a finger to press your chin up to close your mouth. “And Kill Ingrid.”

“Kill Ingrid?” you screech. “She’s so nice and pretty and kind. How can you kill her?”

“Well I’d fuck Mapi over Ingrid, again just based on preference. I think Ingrid might be a little too pretty and a little too nice for me, if you know what I mean,” she states with a grin. “And I’d choose to marry you over her because we’d rock the marriage thing I think. Plus all the sex,” Lucy adds with an eyebrow wiggle. “So that leaves her to have to be killed. Luck of the draw.”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I can’t believe you’d kill Ingrid. I’m going to tell Mapi,” you state with a sigh as you step out of your vehicle.

Lucy pauses before slamming your door shut, causing you to glare at her.

“Hey! Treat Georgia with more care, you hear?”

“It’s fucking weird that you name your cars,” Lucy states, shrugging on her jacket as you make towards the apartment lobby.

“It’s perfectly normal, thank you,” you reply.

“And don’t you dare bring up the Fuck, Marry, Kill game to Mapi. She will definitely kick you out of her building,” Lucy responds as you ride the lift up to the 5th floor.

You contemplate it but eventually nod in acceptance as the lift doors open and you both walk towards apartment 517. “Your answers are still atrocious.”

“Thanks, love,” Lucy replies unaffected as she knocks on the door to Mapi and Ingrid’s apartment.

Thankfully Ingrid is the one to open the door. You let out an audible sigh, and she smirks at you.

“Ah, our troublemaker has arrived!”

You frown. “I didn’t cause any of the trouble. You should be pointing that statement at Pina and Jana and Salma.”

Ingrid grins at your response. “Testy. I like,” she says with a wink.

Well, that was something. Unexpected. Confusing. Kind of hot.

You follow Lucy through the threshold and into the open layout apartment. Teammates are mingling in the kitchen and sitting room and even the large outdoor balcony.

You see Jenni give you a glance up and down before she quirks an eyebrow suggestively.

You huff out a laugh and head into the kitchen to find yourself a drink.

Alexia stands there pouring herself a cup of lemonade. It’s a red color this time, which has you on alert.

“Homemade limonada again, Ale?” you question lightly, standing shoulder to shoulder with the captain.

“Sí,” she says softly, honey eyes turning to look at yours. “I made it.”

“Did you really?” you tease. “Will Jenni agree with that statement?”

You see her cheeks flush slightly. “Yes, I made it. Jenni directed from the couch.”

“Ah, quite the duo,” you flirt. “But, um, why’s it red?”

“Strawberries,” the brunette states. “You said you liked the strawberry kind.”

Huh. You did. A few weeks back in practice. And she remembered? She crafted the lemonade for the night around your preference? “That might be the nicest thing anyone has done for me since I’ve arrived here,” you state honestly. “Thank you,” you offer with sincere eyes and a hand squeeze.

The midfielder pushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “De nada.”

“Sounds nice when you speak it,” you mutter as you pour yourself a cup of the beverage.

“Spanish?” she asks with a laugh

“Sí,” you mimic her earlier pronunciation. “When I speak it, it comes out sounding like a cat being tortured.”

“Good thing we all speak a little bit of English,” she says, indicating a small space between her thumb and pointer finger. “You helpless English players would be so lost otherwise.”

“We would,” you agree. “My life would be full of only Keira and Lucy. What a tragedy,” you joke. “Nobody needs that much time with Lucy Bronze in a day,” you add, looking over at your friend who is leaning against the wall with Ona, one forearm pressing into the plaster near the smaller defender’s head, looking like a very flirty and suggestive pose. “Well, except maybe Ona,” you add with a chuckle.

“Oh, yes,” Alexia murmurs into the shell of your ear. “She hasn’t shut up about Lucy since we signed her. I think she has a crush.”

“I think they both do,” you whisper back, watching these two idiots flirt from afar. “Think Ona will keep Lucy on her toes?”

“Sí,’ Alexia mutters around her straw, going back to her drink. “She might eat Lucy. Very fierce that one.”

“More like might eat Lucy out,” you crack without thought, watching as Ona pulls Lucy’s hips towards her own by her belt loops. “Uhh,” you state, brain finally catching up to your traitorous mouth. “Sorry,” you hastily add, glancing at Alexia.

“No sorry,” Alexia chuckles. “Is true. We Spanish are known for our talented tongues,” she states quietly, intense eyes focused on yours. The catalana glides past you to head back outside, fingers just faintly teasing across your lower back.

You gather your cup, suck in a steadying breath, and eventually follow. Jenni sits at the head of the table as if she’s holding court. Alexia lounges across her lap, long, tan legs dangled over the side of the deck chair and on display in her white denim shorts.

Mapi sits there glowering at you from the other end of the table, across from Jenni. Her platinum blonde hair is in a messy bun, hair fraying out all around. She looks like a cross between a rabid pomeranian and malnourished, sickly lion. And all her ire is directed at you. Greatttt.

Mario flanks Jenni’s right side, greeting you with a smile as you settle into the open seat on the striker’s left.

“Hola,” you greet the table.

Mario returns your greeting. Alexia whispers in Jenni’s ear, the striker grinning at you in a predatory way. Mapi snorts in your direction.

“Fun crowd,” you murmur to yourself.

Mariona starts up a conversation about which country has better food: Spain or England. She visits your country frequently, or as often as her packed football schedule allows, as her girlfriend resides in London and plays for Arsenal.

At least she has experience with your home cuisine. More than Mapi who blurts out, “Spain of course! Their food is just soggy beans. Eeuck!” she finishes pointing at you.

Now you’re affronted. How dare she condense the entirety of English food down to soggy beans! The woman has absolutely no sense of culture.

By the time the rest of the team wanders out onto the large patio, bodies claiming the outdoor couch as Ingrid and others bring the dining room chairs outside too for seating, you and Mapi are in a full blown heated debate.

“We have more than beans!” you exclaim loudly, hands flailing for emphasis. “That is like saying all Spainsh food has is paella.”

“Yes, but paella beats out beans 1000% of the time!” Mapi yells, hands on her hips. “Paella is a delicately crafted meal of intent and beauty. Beans are the literal fartbags of the food community.”

“You take that back! Spanish cuisine uses beans too, María!”

You hear Pina and Jana “ooooohh she first named her” from behind you.

Mapi hears it too, teeth bared in their direction until a squeak from Jana lets you know they’ve been cowed into submission by her feral glare.

“We have so much more than beans,” you passionately defend. “Sunday roast, bangers and mash, savory pies, Yorkshire pudding for fucks sake!

“Fish & chips,” Lucy yells out, a hand cupped around her mouth to amplify the sound.

“Yes!! Fish & chips. Fish & chips, María! We have fish & chips.”

“Ooo,” Mapi sarcastically goads. “You have unseasoned fish and soggy fries.”

You, Keira, and Lucy all gasp in unison. And surprisingly Keira is the one to speak up first, an edge to her voice. “Do.not.insult.our.chips.”

Mapi looks a little stunned but offers a small nod to mollify the midfielder who is staring her down, hard.

“We have fish and patates here too,” Patri chimes in with a mischievous grin. “Really fresh, really tasty.”

She just loves to stir the pot.

“Not the same,” you and Lucy say in sync. You turn and give her an appreciative nod.

The English defender chimes in and with backup firmly here to prevent Mapi from continuing to slander English food, you sit back down in your seat. You are only slightly embarrassed that the team watched you and Mapi shouting at each other about food as you both stood, chairs pushed back hastily in your escalation of debate across the patio table.

Alexia leans towards you, voice low. “You are very passionate about food, eh?”

Your ears pink slightly. “No!” you defend.

Jenni chuckles.

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s the Mapi effect. I had to debate her. Because her opinion is so wrong. Doing it for humankind really.”

“Thank you for your service,” Jenni snickers.

Your eyes meet Alexia’s and clock the small smirk on her lips. “You’re welcome,” you reply, eyes dropping to her lips for a second before they glance back up. She saw it, of course. And lets you know with a singular raised eyebrow. Fuck, she is even hotter gazing at you like that.

You clock back into the discussion just in time to hear Vicky make the claim that desserts in England are too sweet. The gall! These Spanish girls are ridiculous.

“They are not!” you jump back in, defending England’s honor. “We own the rest of the world when it comes to pastries and desserts,” you boldly claim.

“Think France might have something to say about that,” Irene states plainly, having spent many years playing in the country known for its culinary abilities (and pastries).

“Nope,” you reject. “We have cakes and puddin’ and Spotted Dick.”

Jenni chokes. “Uh, what?”

The Spanish girls all chortle at your defense including a seemingly not-dessert item. And why would said piece of anatomy being spotted be seen as a good thing?

Lucy comes to the rescue. “Get yer heads outta the gutter,” she rebukes. “It’s a steamed puddin’ with raisins.”

You shudder at the thought. You hate raisins. But even so, you’ll defend England’s honor until the cows come home, terrible raisin desserts and all.

“English desserts are better,” you state with finality as most of the Spaniards scoff.

Alexia just stares. “Maybe we need to treat you to some Spanish desserts then,” she offers quietly. “For research,” she adds.

It feels like a loaded statement. Her eyes raking down your body lets you know it is a loaded statement. One meant just for you.

Jenni grins from behind Alexia’s shoulder, hearing her comment. “We have the best dessert place near ours, you know,” the madrileña adds quietly as conversation around you moves on.

“Is that so?” you ask, tone taking on a breathy quality as you valiantly try to keep your heart steady at what you think they’re implying. You and them. Together. At theirs. To research “dessert”.

“Hmm,” Jenni confirms, bottom lip bitten by her teeth as her mismatched irises stare you down. You feel like prey. Slightly flighty, adrenaline spiking. Your eyes land on the striker’s tattooed hand trailing up and down the exposed skin on Alexia’s thigh and you find your own legs clenching at the memory of what fingers trailing over your skin feels like.

You spend the rest of team bonding night on edge. Jenni’s gaze hardly leaves yours. Her fingers trail teasingly over Alexia as she does so, turning you on mightily as you imagine her hands doing the same to you.

Alexia sits amused, enjoying the feeling on her body but equally watching your reaction to her girlfriend arousing you without even laying a finger on yours. It’s a talent. It’s a tease. It’s a show just for her. And she has the best seat in the house, draped across her girlfriend’s lap and facing directly towards you while everyone else’s attention is pulled to the competitive game of Uno that Vicky has roped most of the team into.

“How do you have so many Draw 4 cards!” Mapi exclaims in irritation at Keira laying yet another one on her pile, the fourth round in a row. That draws your gaze for a second.

Just enough time to see Lucy and Ingrid slipping the English midfielder cards under the table, undoubtedly Draw 4 cards. Maybe Ingrid isn’t as sweet as first glance entails.

You watch Lucy grin at the Norwegian whose only tell is a slight quirk of her lips before it disappears into her wine glass. Lucy turns and gives you a shrug of contemplation. You just know her brain is recalculating her earlier Fuck, Marry, Kill declaration.

No reason to kill Ingrid when Mapi offers herself up as the perfect murder victim, all loud mouth and abrasive personality. And insulting English food to boot.

Alexia’s bare foot trailing up your shin draws your attention back to the duo that are absolutely wrecking your night.

You’re sitting in a puddle at this point, well aware that it’s a little desperate just how turned on you’ve gotten without even being touched. Just the promise of it has you flooded. Embarrassing if you weren’t so bloody aroused.

Alexia slides off Jenni’s lap, the striker’s hands falling to her hips and staying there possessively until the distance between their bodies causes them to drop. The midfielder crouches next to your chair, lips finding your ear, intent on nobody hearing her words but you.

“We’re going to head out,” she murmurs.

Your mood drops. Well shit, there goes the fun.

“We do have the best bakery in town just down the block from us,” she adds, leaning back for a second to search your eyes.

You can feel your arousal rush back and just know your pupils are blown at her proposal.

“Yeah?” you mutter, words barely making their way out of your lips.

“Sí,” Alexia states, thumb brushing circles into your jeans where her hand sits on your thigh, steadying herself. “Want to come with?”

You gulp, eyes closing at the wave of desire flowing down our spine. “Yes” you breathe out.

Alexia nods minutely, taps your thigh twice with her fingers, and then pushes back up to stand.

Jenni and her share a look, and the striker turns to you with a small grin. “I’m going to get our things,” she quietly states, standing up and pulling Alexia in for a quick kiss.

“Meet you at the front door?” Alexia asks softly.

You nod. Silence is all you can manage, mouth dry as reality sets in.

It takes a minute but you stand on somewhat shaky feet. Mariona smirks at you from across the table. She’s quiet, an observer. She doesn’t miss much but knows how to keep her mouth to herself. You appreciate that.

“Say hi to Lia for me,” you state as a goodbye greeting.

“Enjoy ‘dessert’,” she quips back, smirk growing as you blush.

It’s as you walk back inside that you remember you drove Lucy today. You need to discreetly get your car keys to her so she can get herself home, without her alerting the rest of the team as to why your nightly plans have changed.

You find the English defender in the kitchen, picking her way through the food left out. You pop an olive in your mouth and wait until Ona slips back outside before turning to the woman.

“Here are me keys. Can ya get yourself home?”

Her hands still where they were grabbing for a piece of cheese. “Ditching me?” she asks casually, eyes turning to you.

Your gaze is fixed at the front door where Alexia and Jenni are slipping on their shoes.

A wide grin splits across Lucy’s face as she catches onto why you’re bailing.

The two Spaniards finish and wait patiently for you at the front instead of exiting the apartment, further solidifying for the defender that what she thinks is happening is reality.

“Oooh, I get it,” Lucy teases, voice light but quiet.

Your gaze snaps back to her, only slightly apologetic.

She grabs the keys from your hand, slipping them into her trousers. “I can get myself home just fine.”

“Good,” you state, gaze already back on Jenni and Alexia and feet starting to move you in their direction.

“Enjoy your cake,” Lucy teases.

You still for a second. Such a cocky woman. But you love her humor. You smirk back over your shoulder. “Oh you know I will,” you reply with a smirk.

“Luce,” you state before you completely leave the kitchen.

“Mhm?”

“Maybe grab a Spaniard of your own for the night, eh?”

She looks contemplatively at you. “I think I want more than a night,” she states quietly.

“Marvelous - she does too,” you reply, sharing a tidbit from your conversation earlier with Alexia.

Lucy’s eyes trail to Ona outside on the patio who is mid laugh. And you know she’s already down bad for the smaller defender.

Good. Lucy deserves it.

You pad over to the front entrance, slipping into your shoes. The three of you are the only ones left inside, the rest of the team on the patio. The silence is weighty.

Jenni breaks it by opening the front door and holding it for you and Alexia to pass through first.

In the hallway the striker throws an arm over your shoulders as the three of you head for the lift.

“Hope you’re ready for dessert, cari. Because I’m famished,” she states boldly.

“I am known for my sweet tooth,” you reply, smirking.

Alexia snorts, walking slightly ahead of you two in the narrowed hallway.

“Ale too,” Jenni whispers into your ear as her gaze falls to her girlfriend’s ass in her white shorts. “She can’t get enough of the sweet things in life.”

You’re not sure you will either.

Part 3 - coming July 29th

[yeeterthek33per]

something familiar

alexia putellas x reader part 2 of serás mi amiga?

you didn't realise how difficult it would be.

tw - abuse, imprisonment (very light - less than the previous chapter)

5.7k words

hope you all enjoy! thank you all for your messages and thoughts on the first part. I appreciate it so much

~~~~~~

You didn’t fly home the next morning like you had planned. You didn’t tell Eli or Alba that you would stay but you had woken up early and not one part of you wanted to leave. 

Alba had been confused, initially, but she quickly became emotional. Her hug had been just as ferocious as her mother’s, but you didn’t fall apart in her arms like you did in her Eli’s.  

While your interactions with Alba were short, the words she said had been like missiles, tearing through you in quiet, contained explosions that continued to detonate long after the silence returned.  

“She still keeps your birthday in her calendar,” she had told you, blissfully unaware of the trigger she had just pulled. 

Guilt piled on your shoulders. You would have to search her name on google to remember hers. You imagine her opening a new calender each year and writing your name in. Does she do it with excitement? Is it longing? 

Or is it just an old habit that just hasn’t died yet?

She told you that Alexia had gone on a long run, as she does every Sunday. She explained how her sister would run for miles. She would run until her legs wouldn’t take her any further, arriving back home with not an ounce of energy left. Alba shrugged when you mentioned she never used to run on Sundays, dismissing your words because to her, they were meaningless. Alexia didn’t used to be a professional athlete either, she used to be a child. 

You know Alexia is running with a purpose. You just can’t figure out whether she is running as far away as possible from something or if she is trying desperately to run towards it. 

The Alexia you knew would never even move on Sundays. Not without a reason. 

But you realise you don’t know her anymore, you don’t know her birthday, her routines, her friends. You don’t know anything about her life, what makes her happy, if she has a girlfriend. 

Maybe Alexia now would run on Sundays. You wonder, now, what else would have changed. Sometimes, you struggle to remember the little things, the mannerisms and the quirks that you once could recognise like your own hand. 

You can remember how she used to smile at you differently. That lopsided, toothy smile that made your heart flutter every time you saw it because you knew it was just for you. It was different to her other smile, less contained and less formal. You remember the way the palms of her hands would come to rest on her forehead when she was stressed, her fingertips combing her hair back in frustration. 

But you don’t remember everything. You don’t remember if she waved with her hand open or closed. You don’t remember if she used to hug you every time you said goodbye and you don’t remember if she wrote with her left or her right hand. 

But more than anything else, you can remember the sound of her voice, soft and poetic like a melody that you wanted to capture and scribble down on the page. You wanted it to be tangible, something you could grasp with your own hands and keep forever, to listen to whenever you wanted. You spent a long time trying, piecing flowy passages together on your cello, stringing complicated sequences on the piano. You had never been able to create a piece of music as meaningful as her voice. 

You can remember that sound so well that it aches, all of it. The cobwebs and dust that have inhabited the gaping hole that was inside of you since you were torn away from your life have been roused by your memory after being left dormant for so long. Untouched and forgotten in the depths of your past. 

“Alexia doesn’t know you're here,” Alba had stated, the certainty in her voice almost embarrassing, “she would have said.”

Your heart thuds, wanting nothing more than to know exactly what she would have said to her younger sister. Would she have called her up in anger, in excitement. Would it have been indifference or such intimate and powerful care that tears would have been shed. 

You shake your head. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Are you going to tell her?”

My lack of response is an answer in itself, the silence lingering uncomfortably around the room, hooking onto anything it can. While the silence can be broken by Eli, the tension hangs around, unbreakable. 

You are still lost on the never-ending train tracks of your thoughts when there is a knock on your door. You know exactly who it is without even seeing her. 

Eline had messaged you yesterday, asking if you were ok. You were not, really, but you had replied with a simple yes and left it at that. 

“Are you ready to go?” Her voice was unclear, the hotel door muffling it, “we have to leave in five minutes.”

You sigh, running your hands over your face and rolling over in bed. From the moment you woke up this morning, you knew that going home was not something you would be doing today. 

You weren’t entirely sure why. You know that Barcelona holds a part of you, a huge chunk of your life that you cling so tightly onto, knuckles white as you refuse to let it go from your iron grip. 

But you also know that this idea of Barcelona that you have grasped onto is completely different to the Barcelona you exist in now. The city has changed, its inhabitants have changed. You have changed. 

You don’t know why you want to exist in this unfamiliar place. All the bits you remembered, all the bits you loved. Everything has changed. They are all gone. 

The only things that are the same are the tortured and painful memories. The elephant that sits in your Mamma’s house back home was born here, this was its first home. Those things are still lurking in dark corners of the city, in places you will never return to. 

You don’t want to bring all those memories to the front of your mind, you don’t want them hitting you so abruptly with force you know is strong enough to knock you down to the floor. You know they are capable of that, you know exactly how easily they can blow over the precariously built house of cards that is you. 

But something is holding you here. 

It could be those memories, now that they finally have a hold over you again they want to hold you captive and give you no way of escape until they find you, knock you down and leave you as a shell of who you become. Leave you as the ghost of who you once were. 

It could be the unreasonable hope. The idea of seeing her again, of immediately falling back into that easy and comforting relationship. But even the nostalgia has worn off now. You don’t know if any of that relationship is even left in the far corners of yourself or Alexia. 

“Eline,” you mumble, finally pulling yourself out of bed and to the door, “I’m staying here.”

You pull the door open, revealing a neat and put together Eline, suitcase in her hand and the sunglasses on her head pulling her crisply straightened hair out of her face. 

Her face falls when she sees the state of you and you realise it would have been a good idea to look at yourself in the mirror before revealing your morning appearance to someone who respects you as a leading film composer. 

“You have work though,” she whispers. 

You shake your head. 

“I can do it here.”

“y/n,” she looks you dead in the eyes, as if she is trying to rip you open and read the thousands of thoughts that flow through your mind. She would be unsuccessful, the river of thought is emotional, quick. She would be too overwhelmed to even be able to grasp at the water, let alone read what it says. “Are you ok?”

You take in a deep breath, forcing yourself to nod, forcing yourself to smile. 

“I am good, Eline.” It’s a lie, but you don’t know if she can tell. You are not terrible, you suppose. You are not good either. 

You are confused by your surroundings, by your emotions. You feel disorientated even within your hotel room, like you’re trapped within a fever dream. Even if you tried for hours, you wouldn’t be able to put it into words. 

“I will see you soon, but I have to stay for now.”

She pulls you in for a hug, although it feels empty compared to the warmth and ferocity of Eli’s yesterday. 

“I am here to talk if you need me to.” 

You nod again. 

“Promise to tell me if you need me?”

You can’t bring yourself to promise her something that you know you will not do, so you nod, a soft smile on your face. 

You close the door after she leaves, and it’s then that you let yourself exhale. 

You’re not sure if it is a breath of relief or regret. 

~~~~~~

Wieke was confused when you called her late in the morning, having expected you to be at her game that same evening. She is on track to make her home debut in the league, a game that your Mamma was going to as well. 

“What do you mean you’re staying longer, Mozart?” you had told her that nickname was silly once, but she had never dropped it. “You said they only needed you on set for three days and you’ve already been there for five! I really wanted you to be here.”

You could hear the disappointment in her voice. Maybe it was frustration. You knew how excited Wieke was for the game and it pulls at strings in your heart that you had been trying to ignore all day. 

Your sister had always been attached to you, since the moment you first held her in your arms. But that attachment went both ways, just for different reasons.

You wanted to protect her from it all, you wanted her to be happy and safe and blissfully unaware of what you were so blatantly aware of. You used to tell her that you were an ordinary girl, just another boring teenager but the life you got to live was extraordinary. 

It was extraordinary because you had your sister.

Once she had passed the newborn stage, you were with her at any possible moment. You took her with you when you went to Alexia’s and the two of you would sit on the floor just playing with Wieke like she was a real life baby doll, wide eyed and ready to be played with. 

When you moved back to the Netherlands, the only thing that changed was Alexia’s presence. Wieke grew up, she grew into her personality and into her lanky legs that used to be too uncontrollable to kick a football. 

Alexia, you are sure, is the reason she plays. Unknowingly, of course, but your best friend had planted those ideas into her head at such a young age, shoving small balls in front of her face, manipulating her small and pliable body to kick them around the room and into targets. 

But while Wieke idolised the football superstar that was Alexia Putellas, she was absolutely obsessed with you. She looked at you like you hung the stars, like you moved the clouds away from the sky to allow the sun to shine. 

“I wanted to be there too, Wieke,” you respond eventually, sitting down on your bed, “but there will be more games. Lots more games.”

She groans like a petulant child. 

“I only make my home debut once though. You can fly back to Spain tomorrow.”

“Wieke, I can’t!” 

She’s quiet. You know she’s upset, but there is no way for her to understand why you are staying, why you even want to stay in Spain. 

“I grew up here, Wieks,” your voice lowers. It’s softer now, quieter. “I want to catch up with some people.”

“I mean, I get that you lived there for a long time, but that was ages ago,” she sighs loudly, trying to prove a point. “You haven’t been back in 14 years but now a bunch of childhood friends are more important than the biggest game of my club career so far?”

It’s difficult to bite your tongue in these situations. Wieke will never understand the depth of your emotional attachment to Barcelona. Not without understanding the fear that you carried every day, the places you sought safety and how you and your Mamma just barely got through it. 

But her words tug at your heart, a painful reminder of what you left behind, of how abruptly it all ended. 

“I know and I’m sorry, Wieke. They’re not more important than you or your career, alright?”

It is important that she knows that. It’s not a white lie you need to say, nor a piece of honesty that you resent. 

“Just-” she hesitates, sighing quietly into the speaker of her phone, “are you ok?”

You smile, the kind of smile that slips in unexpectedly as you feel the warmth that radiates from your little sister through the phone, engulfing you in a familiar hug. 

“Yeah, Wieke. I’m good,” it’s a little white lie this time, but one that is necessary to not confuse her. To not make her upset. You can’t, not before a big game. “I’ll come over to London when I get back and we can have a few days. I’ll come to a game that Mamma isn’t already going to and I’ll be the loudest person in the crowd.”

“I want you to meet my friends,” she continues, “I want to show you around here.”

She is proud of herself, that you already knew. She is still young, only 18. You remember your Mamma’s reluctancy to let her go, how she would cry in the kitchen late at night when she thought nobody could hear her. She had her struggles, homesickness and sadness, exhaustion and stress. But she is resilient in a way that has always stunned you.  

“I think you will be proud of me, Mozart.”

Your heart cracks. “I’ll be there.”

“You promise?”

Her voice is almost pleading in a way that so beautifully illustrates who she is as a person. Forgiving, but loving. Fiercely loyal and connected to the people she loves. 

You close your eyes, letting a wave of guilt and shame wash over you. 

“I promise, Wieke. I will be there.”

~~~~~~

The coffee shop is small. A little hole-in-the-wall place that would hold less than 10 customers at any one time. 

You think that it is safe, that nobody would find you here.

If you’d have known that was a naive thought, you would have avoided the little coffee shop entirely. 

But it is too late, when you are sitting by the window, your coffee still hot to touch on the table in front of you. 

You hear her before you see her. 

She always was a whirlwind, a flurry of movement, chaotic and energised. It brings you comfort to know that nothing has changed. 

The door is loud when she opens it, a contrast to the soft creaking that it had made when the previous customer entered. She walks in, sunglasses covering her face, a cap sitting on her head. 

14 years ago you would have teased her, pulled fun, told her she wasn’t a celebrity so why was she dressing up like one? But now, you can’t. 

You hold back your smile. 

You don’t take off your glasses. 

Your hands shake slightly, you think it is because of the proximity. She is so close to you, that you could almost reach out and touch her. Hug her. Grab her by the collar and shake her, scream that it was you, that you are sorry. 

That you miss her. That you have never stopped missing her. 

But you can’t. The sunglasses hide who you are. The so easily protect your identity from the world that spins around you. From Alexia. 

You think she would recognise you if she could see your eyes, if brown met green. A lot about you has changed, but the green of your eyes is still the same. 

You don’t take off your glasses. 

But when she turns and faces you, her eyes passing over yours, not a flicker of recognition passes her face. And she is gone. 

She is a whirlwind. She always has been.

But now, she is a whirlwind who doesn’t remember you. A whirlwind who does not even recognise you.

You feel your heart sink into the depths of your stomach. The rhythm slows down again and you slump back into your chair. 

Alexia was the first person you ever loved. 

You think she is the only person you have ever loved. 

And you are still right there, in the corner of the coffee shop. Light flooding through the window, everything just a bit too bright. 

You feel yourself break. Quietly. 

~~~~~~

The music shop you stumble across as you walk through the streets comes as a pleasant surprise, warmth hitting you immediately as you open the door, bells ringing above to tell the owner that someone has entered. 

You feel disorientated as you enter, your head still spinning at a million miles an hour. 

It was so close, but so unreachable. 

You walk towards the row of cellos in the back of the store, their beauty still drawing you in despite your confusion, despite your distraction. They draw you in the same way they had when you were picking out your first instrument when you were eight years old. 

The owner of the shop, you assume, comes and stands beside you. He’s an older man, glasses on the tip of his nose, his hat placed carefully on his greying hair. 

“You can play one,” he says, “if you would like. They are beautiful cellos.”

You nod, moving towards one and pulling it towards you. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, nodding again as he passes you a bow. 

You don’t know why he was so eager to lend you one of his instruments, or if just by looking at you, he realised you desperately needed to get your hands on a cello. You thought your sunglasses would hide the exhaustion on your face enough, but even after a full night’s sleep in a soft hotel bed, your body feels heavy, slackened by something deeper than fatigue. 

He walks away again, back to his office that he came from, and you feel your body relax. 

“A cello?” Your Mamma looked at you with an amused smile as you pointed at the large instrument on the wall of the music shop. “What about a violin? It’s smaller and easier to carry!”

You shake your head. Even at seven years old you were stubborn. 

“The violin is too scratchy,” you mumble, “the cello is nicer, Mamma. Do you really want to have to listen to me learn to play such a high instrument?”

She looks at you, her forehead creasing like she is thinking. She shakes her head, realising you’re right. 

“The cellos are nice, schatje. I think you’ll be great at it.”

~~~~~~

You sit on the chair in your room, the cello now uncomfortable against your shoulder. Your teacher says you’re good, especially since you have only been playing for a year. But she also tells you that you need to practice as much as you can if you want to be great. 

So that is what you do. Your fingers are calloused from the metal strings, which are beginning to rust from your sweat. 

The music sits in front of you, the cello beneath you and the bow in your hand. It’s all there, right there. 

You don’t know why you can’t put it all together. You can’t figure out why this one passage is giving you so much grief. 

Your head is slumped backwards in your chair when your door opens, your cello resting on the floor beside you and the bow sitting on your music stand. 

“Your Mamma says you are frustrated,” Alexia’s voice is teasing, amused. “You can’t play the cello.”

You groan again, standing up and moving to pack away the instrument. 

“I can’t play the cello,” you repeat, emphasising the word can’t. “It’s hard, Ale and I don’t think it will ever get easier.” 

You’ll realise, later, that you’re being dramatic. That the 45 minutes of practice you have done is nothing compared to a lifetime of playing. 

In a years time, this one song will be like a lullaby, simple rhythms, easy hand placement. 

“I used to say that,” Alexia replies, “about football. But look at me now.” She smirks. “I am the best on my team. Better than the boys.”

You snap your case closed, moving it to the corner of your room. 

“I have only been playing for a year, Ale. You have played football for longer!”

She laughs, flopping down on your bed. 

“I was joking, cami. You are great at the cello,” she rolls over to look at you, “I wish I could listen to you play all day long.”

~~~~~~

“Sometimes I want to quit the cello,” it’s a whisper that comes out late at night, so quiet that Alexia wasn’t even sure you’d said it out loud. 

It was a statement that came as a surprise. She thought you were brilliant at the cello, she could listen to the rich and mellow sound for hours without getting bored. She often did, sitting at her desk to finish off her homework as you worked away on the instrument. 

“I don’t think you should,” she sounds unsure, but she turns in bed to meet your eyes, “I think it’s a part of you now, Cami.”

She’s right, you’re sure. You have been playing for seven years now and not a day has gone by that you haven’t played, thought about or spoken about your cello. 

The wood feels like home, somewhere that you can relax, get lost in the sounds of your own music travelling from the strings to your ears and then around the room. It hides you away from the outside, lets you forget about everything else. 

At fourteen years old, you think you have found the thing you love. You like the piano. You’re great at the piano too. But nothing compares to the way you feel about your cello. 

“It’s hard, Ale,” you murmur, although you know you’re being petulant. You know you will wake up and wonder why you even considered quitting, “and I will never be good enough to make it. I don’t even want to go to the royal college, which is where my teacher wants me to go.”

“You don’t have to go there,” she replied simply, “you don’t have to pursue music. You can just… play it.”

You shrug, rolling back over to face the ceiling. 

“I don’t know what I want to do,” you sigh, “I just know that I want to be with you.”

Alexia chuckled. 

“That rhymed, Cami. Maybe you should become a rapper.”

~~~~~~

She sat beside you on her bed as you played, trying to distract you from the wooden instrument you were focused on. 

“I’m bored, cami,” she had laughed, “you’ve been at this song for like, an hour!”

You try and hold back your own smile, your right arm never ceasing it’s movements, “I need it to be perfect, Ale. The recital is tomorrow and my teacher will murder me if I am not outstanding.”

You’re 15 now, almost 16. Your teacher told you that you were finally ready for the senior recital, the one that only the adults could play in. 

Everyone was coming, you Mamma, your grandparents from the Netherlands. Wieke was even coming and your aunt was on babysitting duty in case she got restless. Alexia was going, of course, with her parents and her sister.

You were beyond nervous, but with those nerves also came immense excitement. 

She rolls her eyes playfully and you don’t even need to look at her to see it. “We already know you’re perfect. The song is outstanding.”

“Of course you will say that,” you smirk, “you are a tone-deaf football player who couldn’t tell me the difference between a cello and a violin. And you are obsessed with me.”

“I am not just obsessed with you,” she counters playfully, “I love you. And you love me.”

This makes you chuckle, but your fingers do not stop moving, “yes, Ale. I know.”

“And a cello is like a violin but bigger, and instead of holding it up you get to sit down and play. You chose it because you are lazy.”

You don’t respond this time, moving towards a more difficult passage. You stare more intently at the page and Ale slumps backwards on her bed, defeated. 

Eventually, you finish practice and you think Alexia might start jumping up and down in excitement. 

Instead, she pulls you backwards into the bed, placing a well thought kiss on your lips.

“I want you to play the cello to me for our whole lives, Cami,” she whispers, “I will never stop listening to the words you don’t know how to say.”

“You promise?” 

She kisses you again, looking at you like it’s crazy that you would even question that.

“I promise.”

Neither of you knew that you would be the one to break that promise, not two weeks later. 

~~~~~~

It’s been a month since you got back to the Netherlands. Your cello case has sat in the corner of your new room, dust collecting on the plastic. 

You didn’t understand how the dust could build on one item in your room, yet the rest of your belongings and furniture were pristine. 

But it sits there, staring at you. When you go to sleep, when you wake up. Every time you enter your room it catches your eye, screaming out for attention, for care. 

It misses you, it misses the way your hands fly over the strings, how your head sometimes rests on the neck when you are tired. It even misses when you get frustrated, when you abuse the strings with hard and fast strikes with the bow. 

You miss your cello too, you think. You miss the feeling that would rush through you whenever you took it out of the case, you miss the way the wood feels on your legs, how the strings feel beneath your fingers. 

You miss the sound it makes, the way the notes stir something inside of you. They cheer you up sometimes, they make you sad. They can make you angry or bring tears to your eyes.

It stares at you, but you roll over in your bed to face the door. 

You hadn’t played your cello in your own room for a long time. You hadn’t played it alone for even longer. 

~~~~~~

It had been just you, your Mamma and your sister since you got back to the Netherlands. You had expected to feel relief when your father left, but you didn’t think he would be held back at the airport. 

You could tell your Mamma didn’t know how to feel when she found out he was going to prison. She didn’t want to feel grateful that the money he had spent on the gambling and the alcohol wasn’t from their shared account. She wasn’t surprised that he had stolen it from his work. 

But this letter is different. You can see that as soon as she reads the first line, dropping her bag of groceries to the floor and slumping down into a chair. 

You wouldn’t find out for a few days what that letter said, but it was that night that you finally pulled your cello out of its case, sitting down on your bed and holding it between your legs. 

It felt uncomfortable and unfamiliar, yet it was the most calming thing you had felt since you found out you were leaving Spain. 

You had expected to feel like a stranger in your own skin, like trying to speak through a voice that was not yours. You thought you would lose track of where your fingers were supposed to sit on the strings, the vibrations of a pulse you no longer recognised. 

But it only took a couple of long and slow notes to finally recognise what you was feeling. 

It was something you hadn’t felt in a while. Something that had been overshadowed by the confusion, the whirlwind and the dust building high on your cello case. 

It felt like home. 

The same feeling washes over you as the first notes sing through the small music shop. You don’t realise how much your hands are shaking until they touch the fingerboard, tremors ceasing completely. It’s only been a few days since you last played, but you are instantly comforted by the familiarity the strung instrument brings. 

It’s deep and rich, mellow sounds reverberating from the strings to your ears to the walls around the shop. 

You hear the quiet hinges of the office door creeping open, but you don’t bother to turn around and look at the owner who you know is now leaning against the doorframe, a knowing smile on his face and tears creeping into the corners of his eyes. 

He waits for you to stop before he says anything. He waits for the last sound to fizzle out, your body lighter as all of the pain and stress that has built up is released. 

He says your name. With clarity, with confidence. He says your full name, loud and clear. 

You only blink. 

“You play like her,” he continues. You let out a small sigh of relief, although you are not sure what it is that you are relieved about. “A beautiful tone, but heartbroken. Your music is emotional.”

You turn around and look at him, your sunglasses still covering your eyes. They are a disguise, a mask. They give you something to hide behind as tears well up in your eyes. 

You are not used to feedback on your cello playing. It is something you have kept to yourself for a while now, so it is a surprise that this old man in the music shop can even pick it out. People talk about you. They talk about your ear, how you can compose masterpieces that hit just the right emotions. 

But they don’t often know that the cello was your first instrument. That when they hear those beautiful sounds in the backgrounds of your movie it is actually you playing. You are being recorded as you lay your heart out, sing in the only way you know how. 

“It’s a natural and rare talent,” he continues, his voice almost at a whisper. 

“She grew up here, you know.” 

This is what causes your eyes to widen. You thought that people didn’t know that. When your surname changed, so did your childhood. When you became successful, people only recognised your mother’s surname. 

You associated your father’s surname with Barcelona, with heartbreak and with attachment. 

With Alexia. With sadness.

Maybe it is better if she doesn’t remember you. 

But still, people never connected the dots. 

“She changed her name, but she once played at a recital. My son was playing at the same one.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest. 

“She was only 15, five years younger than anybody else,” he continued, “but she outshone everyone. You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was in awe.”

For the first time in a while, you genuinely have no idea how to respond. 

You feel your heart cracking, you think. Your eyes have filled with tears. This man was right there, so long ago. 

You remember that night with the clarity you wish you had for all of your memories from Barcelona. You don’t think you will ever forget it. 

Everyone came for you. Your family, friends. From up the road, from the Netherlands. 

You had put your heart into that performance. Your soul, your energy. It was a piece of music that you still love, something that you will never lose feelings for. 

You had tears in your eyes on that stage. At fifteen years old. You cried as soon as you were backstage.

You think it was that night, on that stage, that you began to really use your music to express yourself. 

“I will never stop listening to the words you don’t know how to say.”

You won’t forget being that little girl in a new country, having no idea how to communicate with anyone. You won’t forget how an equally little Alexia chose to listen to you in that first week. 

Expression was never easy. You eventually were fluent in the language, but so much of your life, things that constantly plagued your mind, was held back. Hidden. Silent. Not expressed. 

But it raged. It screamed inside of you, fighting desperately hard for a way out, a way to finally tell everyone that it was there, that it was big and loud and scary. 

And that night on stage, it finally came out. 

“She thinks nobody knows, that nobody made that connection,” his eyes sparkle like they hold a rich and meaningful secret, “but I do. I knew as soon as I heard the sound of her cello at the beginning of her first movie.”

You take off your sunglasses, finally meeting the man’s eyes. 

His next statement comes with recognition. 

It was a feeling you didn’t realise you craved so deeply, but as the words came out of his mouth something settled within you. Something deep inside of you sang so loud that it could be heard even from surface level. 

You had thought that recognition in Barcelona was impossible. From anyone.

“I knew it was you.”

~~~~~~ hope you liked it! please let me know what you think

this chapter was not particularly alexia-centric but it is important for character building and understanding of what has happened so the next chapter can be!

[yeeterthek33per]

You were tired of drowning (so you let me sink instead)

-

A/N: Not sure how I feel about this one.

You always knew life would surprise you. You always just had a feeling that at one point life would throw you into a curveball. In the back of your head there was always a sense of knowing that something would curveball you. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the moment the young ultrasound technician looked up at you with a bright smile, held up her fingers and said, “tres.”.

Three heartbeats. Three perfect little girls growing inside you at the same time. Three siblings building an unbreakable bond bound to last a lifetime and to bring endless sacred memories only multiples can experience.

Your breath caught in your throat, tears filled your eyes and you instinctively turned toward Alexia. Her hand was gripping tightly around yours, her thumb trembling softly against your skin. She smiled, but it didn’t quite seem reach the corners of her eyes. You couldn’t tell if it was awe or fear; perhaps both, but it was easily brushed off as something connected to losing the championsleague final to Arsenal the week prior.

You were already picturing it. A house full of life, chaos, laughter. Little shoes crookedly lined up by the door, three car seats squeezed into the backseat, three backpacks scattered in the hallway, three tiny girls calling for their mamá. You saw it all; clear and bright as day.

Alexia squeezed your hand tightly and whispered gently, “We can do this."

And in that moment, you believed her. You believed her with all the might your heart could fit. You believed her so much that if someone had told you what were to happen in less than 8 months; you would laugh and shake your head in disbelief. Like it was all just a distant part of a nightmare.

The pregnancy was harder than anyone could’ve expected: long endless hospital appointments, ungodly amounts of exhaustion, anxiety and frights of all kinds, the weight you felt in your body and in your heart was more than anyone could’ve prepared you for. But you carried those girls with strength and might. A strength only mothers could have.

Their names were picked early on: Estella, Ellie and Esmie. All E’s for Alexia’s mama, Eli. Estella after the Swedish Princess because your grandma’s speciality was Swedish princess cake. Ellie after your childhood friend who passed away and Esmie because it seemed to fit in with the other names.

You two were a team: or at least, that’s what you whispered to yourself in the moments when Alexia grew quiet. She never complained. But she wasn’t there either: not fully. You’d catch her staring longingly into space, missing moments that you were meant to share. She held your hair when you were sick, kissed your forehead at night. A partner anyone could dream of having. But something was drifting; like a ship slowly pulling away from the shore until the cables snap violently. Like her actions were calibrated into her veins rather than acts of love.

You told yourself it was just stress. That things would settle after the birth.

Except; they didn’t.

Three weeks after Estella, Ellie, and Esmie were cleared to go home after a stay in the neonatal intensive care unit, you woke up to the sound of crying and an empty bed. Her side cold as ice. Her things gone. Her closet emptied.

There was no note. No explanation. Just absence.

You called. You texted. You begged. You even talked to Alexia’s mama and sister who was just as surprised as you were.

And after weeks of begging for scraps, you stopped. Because you realized something brutal and true; she hadn’t left by mistake or confusion . She had chosen this. She had chosen to leave her life behind to get to be free again.

And it should have broken you.

In any other story, it would.

With any other women, it would.

But it didn’t.

Because when you looked at your daughters laying next to each other in the crib: tiny fists curled beside their small faces, lips pink, warm bodies breathing gentle puffs of air against each other; you realised that you couldn’t afford to fall apart. The had just lost one parent, and they certainly didn’t deserve to lose another one.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t get angry. You just loved the three little miracles harder than you ever thought you could, desperate to make sure that you could fill the role of two parent’s love.

You moved into the bigger bedroom, the combined guest room and office to make space for your bed as well as their three cribs. It was kind of funny, Mapi and Ingrid jokingly called it the baby central. Your friends helped out, your bestfriend even made a schedule for people to sign up to help you out. The way your village came together for you was unexpected, but it made you have a sense of normality.

You made your house a home again after Alexia had stripped its soul away and left just the shell. You bought three high chairs. You labeled clothes. You read books until your voice felt sore. You bought three pair of cleats, learned how to braid, you comforted every «ouchie» and celebrated every milestone, you cut grapes like your life depended on it and sang lullabies with cracked lips and tired lungs.

You gave them everything life had to offer.

And slowly, the ache in your chest dulled from being a searing wound to a manageable, permanent scar that eventually faded into what was as close to nothing as it could get.

The girls were now your everything.

Estella was the first to talk. Bright-eyed and sharp-tongued, always asking “why.” She liked the stars, like you hoped, and she asked every night if there were “babies on the moon”. She was funny and witty, always trying to make her sisters laugh.

Ellie had Alexia’s quiet intensity. She didn’t say much, but when she did, it mattered. She’d climb anything. Trees, chairs, fences,people. She was always moving, always fearless.

Esmie was your shadow. Sweet and affectionate, but always watching and always thinking. Sensitive. Caring. Empathetic. When you cried silently, she was the first to notice: sometimes even before you knew you were about too.

They never asked much about Alexia. You surely didn’t hide her. There were pictures. Stories. Even videos. You told them the truth: “She needed time. But she loved you so so much.”

And they nodded, accepting the answers that they were given.

The years passed.

Afternoons spent in the garden playing , chasing the ball and swimming. Weekends spent watching them play football with their team. Summer were spent at your friend’s lake house and Christmas at your parents cabin.

They played football in the garden with unmatched socks and scraped knees at all times of the year, even in pouring rain and freezing cold. And you sat there, right next to them watching their every giggle. You saw it early on: their passion. You never pushed: but they followed the legacy in their blood.

By the time they were twelve, each of them had found their own style of playing. Estella had finesse. Ellie had fire. Esmie had vision. They were scouted by Spain’s youth national team within their first season as juniors. Three letters arrived with red crests and official stamps. You cried harder than you had in years.

Not because they were chosen or because you thought they were gonna be the next big thing. But because you had done it. Without another parent. The years of balancing practice and games was finally paying off.

Nothing had been handed to them or to you for instance. You had all worked for it. The hours spent on practice and games and the academy fees were finally paying off. And they were more than okay: they were flying.

Alexia on the other hand, had spent the years flying under the radar.

The first week; She couldn't stand to eat. Any attempt at eating would lead to a full meltdown of feelings pouring down her cheeks.

The second week: She missed an open goal, got two yellow cards and made headlines about her "missing focus".

After one of the many horrible games she played; she went home to the same loud silence that had taken up my mind and soul. She listened to old voicemails where you desperately pleaded her to come home, and reassured her that you wouldn't be mad at her or ask questions or force her to anything; you just wanted help. One voicemail had all three of the girls cry in the background, Alexia vividly remembers it.

She would lay in bed with her AirPods in her ears, phone pressed to the chest listening to her daughter´s cries and her wife's desperate attempt on getting Alexia home. Hearing the tiny cries insantly broke her. Alexia robbed them of two parents. Not only did she run, but she broke their only other mother in the same moment. She robbed the of having two sets of arms to love and hold them, even if that looked like two homes.

Alexia told herself that she was giving them a better life.

But her new house was too clean. Too quiet. To the point where the silence became deafening.

Alexia looked around as the girls under 13’s group that had their first practice together. 25 girls between the ages of 10 and 12 full of butterflies and excitement, parents eager to learn more about what their little girls are about to become a part of. 25 girls having their first meeting with being a part of a national team and the expectations that follows. 25 dreams of being one of the big stars: one that hears her name chanted over the biggest stadiums in the world. They dont know it yet; but 7 of them will one day play for the big team and hear their name being chanted during the World Cup. Her gaze runs across the field, changing her attention from the goal keepers to the attackers.

Then, she notices them, and Alexia instantly freeze out of panic. Three little blonde girls running around the field in a bigger group of five girls.

It couldn't be, she thought the list with names were wrong.

She swiftly pulled the cap closer to her eyes hoping that it bring her desperately needed coverage, but as an assistant coach and part time scout for the senior team; the anonymity is not something she can keep up.

She steals another glance on the girls. Three girls on the pitch, all wearing red and yellow training kits. Her girls. Or perhaps, what was supposed to be her girls. The thought of her worst nightmare becoming reality makes her hold her breath. Out of all sports they could’ve picked, Alexia prayed that they chose anything but football. Anything else, in order to protect them from her messes.

She could recognize them anywhere: even from fifty meters away. Everyone in the team knows who they are because they have been talked about for years already, all the way since their second year in the grassroots. Not because of their last name, because that name was changed. Nobody knows that they are related to Alexia which is odd considering she has spent time analysing them on screen.

Alexia knows the patterns of their runs, the angle of their knees, the way one of them shouts to the others. One has her posture. One has her smile. One moves like someone who already knows she belongs in this field.

She suddenly feel dizzy, and her hands grip the railing tighter. Her heart gets so loud that she practically can’t hear anything but her own heartbeat. She clutchs to the brown clipboard with the other hand.

They don't know that she’s watching. She’s just another face at the youth showcase. Another observer with a lanyard and a baseball cap pulled low.

The thoughts runs through Alexia’s mind are toxic.

ALEXIA POV

I don’t deserve to be seen.

Because i ran.

I held Estella for twenty-one days. Ellie for twenty. Esmie for nineteen. I counted. I made sure i counted the moments. Something to remember them by. Some last precious moments of bliss before I ruined my own life. And then i ran.

I told myself it was mercy. That they deserved more than a half-mother. That she; the love of my life; deserved someone who wouldn’t flinch at 3 a.m. cries and the thunderclap of self-doubt.

I told myself that love meant leaving. That it would be protecting her. I convinced myself so hard that I hid myself from the truth. And I somehow managed to sell myself the lie.

But the deafening silence never left me.

After i ran. Every victory tasted dull. Every crowd sounded like static. I watched every one of their birthdays from afar: screenshots of cakes, updates from mutuals, one image where Estella was in a Barça kit and i wept until i threw up thinking about how it would feel to have my three mascots with me on the field. How my heart would bursts of pride whenever i could bring them to the field after winning a big tournament. Instead, I stand alone; looking at my teammates who all has their families by now.

I often think about what different scenarios would look like, especially if I can’t sleep.

How it would feel to look in the stands during a bad game, only to catch three girl’s eyes and know that they didn’t think less of me. Every birthday missed, felt like another bucket of sorrow and grief was poured onto my head all over again.

I honestly thought time would make it easier. That i would be okay. That it wasn’t selfish. That she would be okay. That I made this decision for the better.

My plead to Mapi sounded similar when Ingrid had received a call from my wife in tears in the early morning. Mapi was beyond furious.

She and Ingrid rightfully took my ex wife’s side.

I convinced myself that everything just needed to settle down and then life would become easy again, just like dusts settles on the old cribs placed up on the attic.

Except, it didn’t. It hurts more than ever when the three miracles are running on the pitch knowing that those three girls were supposed to be my pride and joy. That I was supposed to stand next to my ex-wife, rubbing her back gently while admiring them.

I get snapped out of my own head as Ellie slams a ball into the corner of the net like she’s furious at the world. Like she has a fire to prove herself to anyone that would even doubt her for a split second.

My heart feels like it is about to bursts with pride, but that pride is reserved for my ex. Ellie spins on her heel, before making a beeline to her two carbon copies and hugs other two before the rest of the team joins in.

I wonder if she’s the one who hates me the most.

I wonder if she’s the one who is my mirror.

“Do it now,” i whisper to myself. “Just say hello.”

But my feet won’t move, they feel like bricks that are glued to the ground. I want to run away, again. To hide away in the lockeroom and blame it on bad takeaway. At least just have a minute to myself to ground before I have to talk to her.

And then, in the middle of my chain of thoughs: she stands out from the crowd of parents.

Her.

She’s at the edge of the pitch. Sunglasses, arms crossed over the chest, carefully watching her daughtes every move, nervousness in her shoulders like always. The same woman who let me go without burning my name to the ground. The one who carried three lives and never asked me to earn her forgiveness: but somehow, i want it more than anything else.

My mouth dries. It’s almost like i forget how to stand.

The sun shines off her hair, and something inside me folds in half. Bubbles? Perhaps even butterflies. Admiration for pulling my load while raising the girls.

She hasn’t changed much. She looks tired in a new way: tired but proud. Age has done her good. Her smile lines makes me feel better. They bear witness of her happiness. A part of me hopes that her happiness comes from having a loving wife at home, but it’s a truth that I cannot convince myself of. The smile lines in the outer corner of her eyes are the most prominent, bearing witness of happy memories. Something I haven't had since I left, rightfully so. And she watches the girls like they’re oxygen. Like they are her everything.

Of course, they are.

She was my everything, she was my oxygen. I can only imagine how strongly she feels about her girls.

Not once did i stop loving them. That was the hardest part. How can you love them after leaving them? It feels illegal.

After thinking and dreaming, im instantly pulled into reality.

Me, and her, our eyes meet.

My breath stops.

It feels like I have done something illegal.

But, she sees me and doesn’t flinch. No anger. No surprise. Just a stillness. Her eyes are bright, not in the same way as before but in a new way. I still wonder if she has someone at home waiting for her. Someone to provide for her, someone who helps pay for the girls, who buys them Christmas gifts and wakes them up for Mother’s Day.

I wait for her to turn away. To walk off.

She doesn’t

Our eyes meet again.

It’s only a second, but it expands into something else: like time stops, folds, rewinds.

I remember every moment I wasn’t there.

I see her holding Esmie at 2 a.m, i hear her laughing while Estella shrieks about bugs, feel her hand in mine when we named Ellie together. The life i were supposed to have, flashes before my eyes. Grief fills my heart. I’ve selfishly missed out on 13 years of life. Moments and memories we were supposed to share as a family of five.

Then, my legs starts to move. I walk towards her. It’s like I’m under a spell. Like I can’t stop myself even if I wanted to. As if my legs are my biggest betrayal.

Our gaze meets multiple times. She looks older now, happier. More content, more balanced.

She is only five feet away.

Yet, she doesn’t speak.

Neither do i.

-

Y/N POV

Estella calls out to her sister, something about center wing. Esmie gives a thumbs-up. Ellie walks off the pitch, brushing sweat from her face: and looks directly at you.

Your heart stops, you can see it in Estella’s face.

For a second, her expression is blank.

Then: recognition.

Her eyes narrow. She looks at what was supposed to be her Mami. Then back at you.

And she turns on her heel, wiping her forehead, moving her focus like she’s some professional.

You swallow hard. You feel like the wind’s been knocked out of your lungs. You feel an urge to protect the girls, to tell Alexia to go away and pull the girls from their national duty; but you took their mother away from them; you can’t take football too. This is their moment, their playground. Taking this away would be irreversible damage, it would be selfish.

You feel like your head is filled with cotton, and no words come to your mind.

Still, you speak.

“Hi,” you softly whisper at her, slightly unsure about the whole situation.

You’re not sure if you are talking to the woman in front of you, or your children behind her, or the version of yourself that died the day that she left.

But it’s something.

She blinks. Nods. “Hi.”

And somehow, two letters is enough to breathe again.

-

You saw Alexia again at another event. Team building. You didn't know that she would be there. You convinced yourself that she only came to observe a few trainings, and the thought of meeting her makes you count down hours until the first national duty is over because next time; the parets won't come.

A part of you fears that even more, the girls being stuck with Alexia. That they resent her once they talk to her. That they ruin their chances of playing on the big stage because they are rightfully hurt.

She stands at the edge of the pitch, arms crossed, wearing a cap low over her eyes. But you knew that posture. That hesitation. That guilt.

You couldn’t approach her. Not right away. It wasn’t something you were supposed to do; she chose to have nothing to do with you or your girls. You respected her wishes, and put her before you.

Then.

She approaches you.

“Hi,” she says softly.

You nod. “Hi.”

Then, silence: except for the sound of Ellie shouting to Estella across the field, and Esmie weaving through defenders with the ball at her feet.

“They’re incredible,” Alexia whispered, admiration thick in her voice.

“They are,” you whisper back softly, feeling proud about your girls.

She turns to you with red-rimmed eyes. “I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

Its only now that you notice her drained eyes. How the skin under her eyes are dark, and how her lips are chapped.

You don’t say anything. You don’t say "too late". You just looked at her. Your eyes searching her shameful yet somewhat hopeful eyes. Her desperate to figure out what you wants. What the look in your eyes mean. Your eyes soften at her, and you nod.

And in that look, she knew: the door wasn’t open, but it wasn’t locked anymore either.

[yeeterthek33per]

penalty

alexia putellas x gerwnt!reader

summary: the hardest penalty save of your career

warnings: angst

the sun beats down on the pitch as you stand on the line, hands gripping your gloves tight, the leather already damp with sweat. the loudness feels distant, muffled against the pounding of your heart. 

the spanish players are lined up, one by one, their eyes fixed on you, their determination clear. they are the reigning champions of the world, the team everyone expects to dominate and take the bronze like it was a piece of cake. 

however.. you? you are a wall they will not break. no way. 

ann is out on injury, and all eyes are on you now. the weight of the bronze medal match presses against your chest, heavier than any gear you’ve ever worn. you’ve been here before, in games where the odds were stacked against you… this feels different though. this is the olympics. this is spain you are playing against.  

you adjust your stance, crouching low, eyes locked on alexia as she steps up to take the penalty. 

the world seems to shrink and expand all at once as alexia steps up to the penalty spot. the noise of the crowd surrounds you, a deafening roar, but your focus is solely on her. she adjusts the ball carefully, her fingers brushing against it as if ensuring it’s perfectly placed. 

it’s a ritual you know well. how many times have you seen this exact moment play out at barcelona? this time, it’s different.  

this time, you’re not watching from a distance. you’re not on the same team in barcelona, cheering her on as she steps up to deliver. this time, she’s your opponent. the person you’ve built your life with, the person you moved countries for, the person who sees you in ways no one else does… she’s standing just a few feet away, preparing to beat you.  

the score is 1-0 for germany thanks to giulia.. if alexia scores.. it's equalized. its the last few minutes of the match, so your girlfriend needs this in order for the match to be saved for spain. 

alexia’s face is unreadable, her usual calm determination etched into every feature. ale’s eyes, the ones that soften when she’s with you, are now laser-focused, studying you as if you’re just another obstacle in her way. 

you’re trying, desperately, to think of her as just another opponent, another world-class player stepping up to try and break your streak.  

she’s not though.  

she’s alexia. your alexia. your ale. your home.

your mind flashes to the moments you’ve shared over the years. the conversations in the middle of the night where she confided her fears that she would’ve told nobody else, the way she smiled at you after her acl surgery back in 2022, promising she’d come back stronger. the nights you spent curled up together, her head on your chest, her soft breathing the only sound in the room.  

you remember the way she held you when germany crashed out of the world cup last year. when alexia won the world cup, you kept your disappointment away from her for a while. suddenly, it exploded a month after the loss. you were lost too, and felt like you weren’t going to recover from that exit.

at that time, your tears soaking into her shirt as she whispered, "you’ll get another chance, mi amor. when you do, you’ll prove to everyone just how incredible you are."  

this is that chance.  

you try to shake the thoughts away, grounding yourself in the present. alexia takes a few steps back, adjusting her captain's armband. she looks at you again, her gaze steady, and you wonder if she can see the turmoil in your eyes.  

the referee blows the whistle.  

time slows as she starts her approach. you’ve seen this before.. her technique, her precision, the way she always manages to disguise her intentions until the last possible second. she’s a master at it, and you’ve spent years admiring that skill.  

however, you’ve also spent years studying it.  

your instincts take over as she strikes the ball, the familiar snap of her boot against leather echoing in your mind. you dive to your right, your body moving before you fully process the decision. in less than a second, the ball connects with your gloves, the impact jolting through your arms as you push it away.  

the stadium erupts into a cacophony of cheers and groans, but all you can hear is your own breathing, ragged and heavy. 

you’re on your knees, staring at the ball as it rolls harmlessly out of bounds over the goalpost.  

you saved it.  

the weight of what you’ve done crashes down on you as your teammates rush toward you, their voices loud and jubilant, their hands patting your back, pulling you to your feet as everyone not runs onto the pitch for a group hug. 

germany won. 

you smile, nodding at them, but your eyes immediately search for alexia.  

she’s standing at the edge of the penalty area, her hands on her hips, her head tilted slightly downward. ale’s expression is unreadable, and for a moment, you wonder if she’s angry, disappointed, or simply resigned.  

you feel a pang of guilt so sharp it nearly takes your breath away. you knew this moment might come, knew that playing for your country might mean standing in the way of hers, but knowing and experiencing are two entirely different things.  

this was never supposed to happen. not like this.  

you want to run to her, to tell her it’s not personal, that it’s just football. that feels hollow, even in your own mind. how can it not be personal? how can anything between you and alexia not carry the weight of what you mean to each other?  

your teammates pull you into a huddle, their excitement screaming in the air around you, but your focus remains on her. she finally looks up, her eyes meeting yours across the pitch. for a brief second, everything else falls away. 

it’s just the two of you, connected by something unspoken, something stronger than your careers.  

the moment passes, and she turns away, jogging back to her position as aitana and laia pat her on the back, telling her that she did a nice try in catalan.  

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to focus on the bronze medal, the bronze medal you’ve won once that whistle goes off. there’s still time on the clock, two minutes, still work to be done.

germany needs you to stay sharp, to hold the line, to prove that last year’s world cup heartbreak was just a stepping stone.  

the whistle blows after those torturous two minutes– filled with laura and klara keeping the ball away from your side of the field. as take off your gloves after the match ends.. and you’re hugging many of your german teammates. 

however you can’t shake the weight of what just happened. you’ve played against friends before, against teammates, but never against alexia. never against the person who knows you better than anyone, who has seen you at your most vulnerable, who has been your rock through everything.  

you glance at her every chance you get, looking for any sign of how she’s feeling. but alexia is a professional. she doesn’t let her emotions show, not on the pitch. 

still, you can’t help but wonder if this moment, this save, will change things between you.  

no matter how much you try to separate the game from your relationship, you know it’s not that simple. it never is.  

as you push yourself away from the front of the goalpost, shaking the sting out of your hands, you can still see the disbelief in alexia’s eyes from across the pitch, only you could tell. everyone else probably thinks she is exhausted. 

the bronze medal is yours. you smile, you celebrate with your teammates, but something inside you feels hollow. you’ve done your job, you’ve saved your team, and germany has claimed the medal. 

yet, the joy feels distant, like you’re watching it all from a foggy window.  

your mind drifts, always returning to alexia. your girlfriend, your love, the woman you’ve spent years building a life with. you can’t shake the thought… what does she think? how does she feel?  

you play for barcelona, have since 2021.. and catalonia is her heart, her pride. you’ve just done what you never thought you would.. defeated spain, broken their dreams of an olympic medal.  

will your fans still love you? will they understand that you had no choice? and what about alexia?  

will she hate you for this? can she even look at you the same way after you took something so important from her, something she’s worked for her entire life?  

the thought lingers, twisting inside you, even as the team surrounds you, offering their congratulations. it doesn’t feel like a true win. not yet.  

and then, through the crowd, you see someone.  

lena.  

on crutches, her knee still in recovery from surgery, but her smile wide and her eyes filled with warmth. she approaches you, her arms opening wide as she drops her crunches, and you don’t hesitate. you step into her embrace, letting her hold you as if she can somehow take away the weight on your chest.  

you press your face into your best friend's shoulder, needing this moment of comfort more than you expected. obi’s hug feels like the one thing that isn’t tainted by the competition, the one thing that’s still pure, still good.  

lena pulls back slightly, looking you in the eye. 

“you were incredible out there,” she says in german, her voice filled with pride. 

“that save.. everyone will be talking about it for months.”  

you try to muster a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“it’s fine, obi,” you murmur, trying to downplay it.  

lena doesn’t buy it. she knows you too well. 

“you did something selfless, y/n. it wasn’t just a save. you did it against... the love of your life. that’s hard.”  

your throat tightens at her words. you nod, but the reality of what you’ve done starts to hit harder. 

how do you reconcile this? how do you keep your love for alexia intact while also celebrating the victory with your team?  

“it’s fine,” you repeat, but even you can tell it sounds empty.  

lena hesitates, then places a hand on your shoulder, her gaze softening with understanding. “things will be okay. you’ll see.” but the way she says it—so gentle, yet laced with an undercurrent of uncertainty—lets you know that even lena isn’t entirely sure. 

she’s still healing from her own injury, still grappling with what the future holds for her own life, and maybe, just maybe, that same uncertainty is creeping into her words for you too.  

afterwards, you pace the edge of the pitch, your boots scuffing against the grass as you watch the boring scene unfold around you. the crowd is long gone, the cheers and jeers now a distant echo. 

you’re searching for her.  

alexia.  

it’s been over an hour since the final whistle, and you haven’t seen her since. you’ve tried to focus, to join in the celebrations, but your mind keeps pulling you back to her. you know her too well to believe she’s fine.

alexia doesn’t lose easily, especially not like this.  

you spot her, finally, near the edge of the pitch. she’s standing with her arms crossed, her head down, and you feel an overwhelming need to go to her, to make things right, to say something.. anything.. that might ease the weight she must be carrying.  

before you can take more than a step, someone steps in front of you.  

“y/n,” jenni says softly, her hand coming up to rest on your arm. her voice is kind, but her expression is firm.  

“jenni,” you start, your tone pleading, but she shakes her head.  

“you did what you needed to do. the better team won. maybe give her some space,” she suggests, her words careful, but they still hit like a punch to the gut.  

you knew jenni from your time at psg back in 2017. she was the closest person in your life at that time, being your best friend for the one season that she was there for. in fact, she introduced you to alexia back in 2019. she knows you both.

you blink, caught off guard. 

“space?” you repeat, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. 

“jenni, i just... i need to talk to her.”  

jenni hesitates, her gaze flickering toward alexia before settling back on you. again, she’s your best friend, someone who’s seen you through highs and lows, and she knows how much alexia means to you. however, she also knows alexia.  

“it’s not you,” jenni says quickly, her tone softening as she notices the hurt flash across your face. 

“it’s not. she just... she might need a break. from everything. from everyone. she has not said a single word to anyone yet, only comforting salma for a few minutes and thats it.”  

the words sting, even though you know they’re not meant to. 

“ale thinks she let salma and the rest of them down, doesn’t she?” you ask quietly, your voice barely audible.  

jenni sighs, her hand still on your arm as if to steady you. 

“she does. she’s been carrying the weight for years, y/n. you know that. and after everything—her injury, coming back, proving herself again—she’s scared she’s not the same player she used to be.”  

you know that. 

you close your eyes for a moment, the guilt settling in your chest like a stone. you’ve spent years telling alexia she’s still the best, that she would come back stronger, that the injury didn’t define her. now, after tonight, after that save...  

“and now she thinks that penalty proved her fear,” you whisper, the words like ash in your mouth.  

jenni doesn’t respond right away, but the look on her face tells you enough. you open your eyes and glance back at alexia, your heart aching at the sight of her. she’s still standing there, alone, her head bowed as if the weight of the world is pressing down on her.  

you bite the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to nod. 

“okay,” you say finally, your voice thick. 

“i’ll give her space.”  

jenni looks at you with something like sympathy, squeezing your arm gently. 

“just for now,” she says. 

“she’ll come to you when she’s ready. you know she will.”  

you nod again, but the ache in your chest doesn’t lessen. jenni steps away, leaving you standing there as you watch alexia, your mind racing with everything you want to say but can’t.  

the same alexia who held you when you thought your career was over after germany’s world cup exit. the alexia who told you that you were more than football, that your value wasn’t tied to wins or losses. now, when she needs to hear those same words, you’re the direct reason she’s hurting.  

you stay there a moment longer, the distance between you and alexia feeling wider than it ever has. then, with a heavy heart, you turn and walk away.  

in barcelona four days later, two days after the medal ceremony.. the door to your shared apartment clicks softly as you step inside, the familiar scent of home wrapping around you. tonight, it feels heavier somehow, as if the air itself is weighed down by everything unsaid between you and alexia.  

neither of you have talked since the morning before the bronze medal match, four and a half days ago. 

you slip off your shoes and place your bag by the door, your movements slow and deliberate, your heart pounding in your chest. you know she’s here. ale’s black car was parked outside, and the faint hum of her favorite playlist drifts through the apartment, almost drowned out by your own thoughts.  

walking down the foyer, you find her in the living room, sitting on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, a blanket draped over her shoulders. ale’s hair is loose, falling in waves around her face, and her eyes are fixed on the coffee table, where a glass of wine sits untouched.  

“hey,” you say softly, your voice tentative.  

alexia glances up, her eyes meeting yours for a brief second before she looks away. 

“hey,” she murmurs, her tone flat, distant.  

you hesitate in the doorway, unsure whether to move closer or give her more space. the sight of her like this.. quiet, withdrawn, her usual spark dimmed.. twists something deep inside you.  

“i... i didn’t think you’d be home this early,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.  

“didn’t feel like staying out,” she replies, still not looking at you.  

you frown, knowing some of your non-barcelona spanish friends.. jenni for example, all went to party before the club season starts again. 

the silence that follows in the apartment is unbearable, thick with tension and words neither of you knows how to say. you take a cautious step forward, then another, until you’re standing just a few feet away.  

“alexia,” you start, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. 

“can we talk?”  

she exhales deeply, her shoulders slumping under the weight of whatever she’s carrying. 

“about what?” she asks, her tone almost defensive.  

you falter, your hands wringing together as you search for the right words. 

“about... the game. about us. about everything.”  

alexia shakes her head, pulling the blanket tighter around herself. 

“there’s nothing to talk about,” she says quietly, but the crack in her voice betrays her.  

you sink to your knees in front of her, your hands resting on the edge of the couch. “there is,” you insist, your voice breaking. 

“alexia, please. i need to know where we stand. i need to know if...” you trail off, your throat tightening with emotion.  

ale’s eyes finally meet yours, and the sadness in them is almost too much to bear. 

“if what?” she whispers, her voice barely audible.  

“if you’re going to hate me,” you admit, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. tears prick at your eyes, and you blink them away furiously. 

“because i can’t stop thinking about it, alexia. that penalty. i saved it, and it felt like i was taking something from you...”  

alexia’s eyes widen, her expression softening as she realizes the depth of your fear. she leans forward, her hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “y/n,” she says firmly, her voice steady despite the tears welling up in her own eyes. 

“don’t ever say that. don’t ever think that.”  

you shake your head, the tears spilling over now as you let out a shaky breath. 

“but it’s true. you missed, and spain didn’t get the medal, and now... now i feel like i’ve ruined everything, like i’ve ruined us.”  

ale’s grip on your cheek tightens slightly, grounding you as she speaks. 

“you didn’t ruin anything. yes, i’m upset about the penalty. yes, it hurts to lose like that. but y/n, that has nothing to do with us. i could never hate you. not for that, not for anything.”  

“but—”  

“no,” she interrupts, her voice growing stronger. 

“listen to me. football is not my whole life. it’s not your whole life. we are more than this sport. you are the love of my life, y/n. the one person who has stood by me through everything.. through my injury, my recovery, through what happened with my national team, my fears. i am not losing you over a penalty save, no matter how much it hurts right now.”  

you choke on a sob, leaning into her touch as your tears fall freely. 

“i was so scared,” you admit, your voice breaking. “scared that i’d lose you, scared that you’d resent me.”  

she shakes her head, her own tears slipping down her cheeks as she strokes your skin with her thumb. 

“never,” she says fiercely. “i could never resent you. you did your job, just like i tried to do mine. and if i’m upset, it’s at myself, not you.”  

you let out a shaky breath, the weight in your chest lifting ever so slightly as her words sink in. she shifts forward, wrapping her arms around you and pulling you into her embrace.  

you bury your face in her neck, clinging to her as if she might disappear. her hands run soothingly up and down your back, her touch gentle but firm, anchoring you in the moment.  

“we’ll get through this,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. 

“we always do.”  

you nod against her, the knot in your chest loosening just a little more. because she’s right. this is just one moment in a lifetime of moments, and no matter how hard it feels now, you know you’ll find your way back to each other.  

“i love you,” you whisper, your voice muffled against her skin.  

“i love you too,” she replies, her voice steady, unwavering. “more than anything.”  

you’re still wrapped up in her embrace when alexia pulls back slightly, her hands lingering on your arms as her eyes search yours. they’re softer now, the weight they carried moments ago easing into something warmer, more familiar.  

“can i see the bronze medal?” she asks suddenly, her voice quiet but sincere.  

you blink, surprised by the question. 

“the medal?”  

she nods, her lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. 

“yes. you’ve earned it, and i want to see it.”  

you hesitate for a moment, unsure. there’s still a part of you that feels like showing her might be rubbing salt into a wound, like it might remind her of the loss instead of the victory. but the way she’s looking at you, with such genuine curiosity and care, gives you the courage to stand up and retrieve it from your bag.  

as you pull the medal out, the bronze glinting under the soft light of your apartment, you can’t help but feel a flicker of pride. not just for yourself, but for germany, for what you all accomplished together.  

you hold it out to her, the ribbon dangling from your fingers, and alexia reaches for it with delicate hands. she takes the medal, turning it over in her fingers, studying it as if it’s a priceless artifact.  

“it’s beautiful,” she murmurs, her thumb tracing the embossed lettering on the front. ale’s expression shifts, and when she looks up at you, her eyes are filled with something you can’t quite place.. pride, admiration, and maybe even a touch of awe.  

“you did this,” she says softly. 

“you brought this home for germany. after everything... after the world cup... you gave them this.”  

ale’s words hit you like a wave, washing over the lingering doubts and guilt that have been sitting heavy in your chest. you swallow hard, trying to keep your emotions in check.  

“i just... i wanted to do something for my team since ann couldn’t play,” you say quietly. 

“something to show that we’ve grown, that we’re not the same team that fell apart last year.”  

alexia smiles, and it’s small, but it’s real. 

“and you did. you gave those women something to believe in again.”  

you study her face, looking for any sign of lingering hurt or resentment, but all you see is her..the woman who has always stood by your side, who has always believed in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourself.  

“you’re really okay with this?” you ask, your voice hesitant.  

she nods, holding the medal out to you. 

“of course i’m hurt, y/n. but that doesn’t mean i’m not happy for you and for your team. you deserved this moment. your team deserved it.”  

you take the medal from her, your fingers brushing hers, and the warmth of her touch grounds you.  

“i’m proud of you,” she continues, her voice steady, her eyes never leaving yours. 

“not just for the save, but for everything. for the way you carry yourself, for the way you fight for your team. and for the way you’ve always fought for me, too.”  

ale’s  words bring fresh tears to your eyes, but this time, they’re not from fear or guilt. they’re from love, from relief, from the overwhelming realization that no medal, no match, no save could ever come between you and her.  

you step closer, wrapping your arms around her again, the medal clinking softly between you. 

“thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.  

she rests her chin on your shoulder, her hands rubbing gentle circles on your back. “i mean it,” she murmurs. 

“this doesn’t change us. football is just a part of our lives. you are my life, y/n.”  

you close your eyes, letting her words sink in, letting them soothe the raw edges of your heart. 

masterlist

[yeeterthek33per]

The reason I started watching soccer. Happy Retirement Tobs! No one like her on that field

[yeeterthek33per]

I feel bad for them since Trump wouldn't leave them alone and not listen to shit but then again that's him so

Yeah, honest to god, mans got zero ability to read the room, dude had several players giving him wtf looks, not to mention outright ignoring being told to fuck off elsewhere for a single photo

[yeeterthek33per]

[yeeterthek33per]

the wink is on point this time, alexia 😉

source: samsungespana on instagram

[yeeterthek33per]

Part 4

You go to your cousins wedding in Spain, and you catch the eye of the Alexia Putellas, she unintentionally becomes your plus one

Wordcount: 6k

“Do you want to come in?” you asked quietly, unsure if it was too much, too soon, but already knowing your answer.

Alexia didn’t answer right away. Her gaze searched yours for the briefest moment, then she nodded once, slow, deliberate. “If you want me to.”

You reached for her hand, fingers curling gently around hers as you stepped backwards, guiding her into the room behind you.

She followed.

The soft click of the door behind you hushed the world outside. The room was dim, only the warm glow of the bedside lamp casting golden light across the bed, the edge of the armchair, the curtains that still swayed slightly from the open balcony doors. The air held the faintest scent of your perfume and something floral from the wedding.

You led Alexia inside without saying anything, still holding her hand, your fingers laced like you didn’t want to let go. Neither of you moved quickly everything was slow now, a quiet hum beneath your skin, tension and curiosity and want woven together.

She looked around the room briefly, then back at you, like she was seeing it through you anyway. You stopped near the bed, turned to face her, your hands still joined between you.

Alexia stepped closer, the tip of her shoe brushing yours.

“You okay?” she asked gently, her thumb brushing across your knuckles. It was an honest question, not just a pause before a kiss.

You nodded. “Yeah. Are you?”

Her smile was soft. “I’m very okay.”

You both laughed under your breath. The kind of nervous laugh that comes right before something new.

You let go of her hand only to reach up, your fingers smoothing over her lapel, then sliding up to her shoulder, your palm resting against the side of her neck. Her skin was warm, she leaned into it just slightly, just enough.

“I liked today,” you said quietly.

Alexia’s voice was barely a whisper. “I like you.”

That did it.

You kissed her again, this time slower than on the dance floor no audience, no music. Just breath, just mouths finding each other, more tender this time, more deliberate. Her hands found your waist and yours curled behind her neck. She pulled you closer, but not too fast. Like she was learning every inch of how you fit.

She tasted like red wine and mint and something uniquely her. When your lips parted slightly and the kiss deepened, your fingers slipped into her hair without thinking. She sighed against your mouth like she’d been waiting for that all night.

When you broke the kiss, your foreheads touched, both of you still catching your breath.

“Do you want to stay?” you whispered, not out of insecurity but wanting her to know it was up to her.

Alexia didn’t hesitate this time. “Yes.”

It was that simple. You kissed her again as her jacket slid off her shoulders, as your fingers trailed over the bare skin of her arms. The night wasn’t rushed, it wasn’t wild, it was slow, sweet, the quiet kind of intimacy that felt like turning a page you both wanted to read together.

And for the first time, with no boat, no team, no teasing friends it was just you and her.

Alexia’s fingers trailed lightly down your arms as she looked at you, her gaze soft but intent. You stood facing her, she reached for your hand first, raising it to her lips for a gentle kiss, her eyes never leaving yours. Then, with slow certainty, her hands slid to your waist.

"May I?" she asked, voice quiet but steady.

You nodded, your breath catching a little, her fingers found the small zipper at your back. The sound of it being undone was barely audible over the gentle breeze outside, but it made your heart thump louder. She moved slowly, delicately, as though the dress were something fragile or maybe it was the moment she didn’t want to break.

As the fabric loosened at your shoulders, her hands brushed your skin, making goosebumps rise in their wake. She let the sleeves slide down your arms, letting the dress fall gradually, reverently. It pooled at your feet, and for a long moment, neither of you said a word.

Alexia’s hands came to rest lightly on your sides. Her touch was warm, steadying. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder, her voice low near your skin. “You’re beautiful.”

You smiled, your cheeks warm, a quiet rush moving through your chest as you gently pulled her closer.

Your fingers found the first button of Alexia’s shirt, and with a soft breath, you began working your way down. Each button undone revealed a little more of her, the soft dip of her collarbone, the steady rise and fall of her breathing.

Alexia didn’t rush you. She stood close, her hands resting lightly on your hips, her eyes warm as they held yours. But the moment her shirt started to loosen, she leaned in placing a gentle kiss just below your jaw.

You smiled, your fingers pausing. “That tickled,” you whispered.

Her only reply was a soft chuckle as her lips moved lower, to the curve of your neck. You continued unbuttoning, a little slower now, distracted by the trail of kisses she was leaving her lips finding your shoulder, your collarbone, and the space just beneath your ear. Each kiss was featherlight, deliberate, like she was memorising you inch by inch.

As her shirt slipped from her shoulders, your hands traced over her back, the skin warm beneath your touch. She pulled back just enough to look at you, really look, before brushing her nose against yours with a grin.

“You make me nervous,” she said, her voice playful but honest.

You tilted your head. “Me?”

Alexia nodded. “Yes, but… in good way. Like before a big game.”

You grinned, leaning forward to press a kiss to her chest, just over her heart. “Then I must be special.”

“You are,” she said simply.

Your hands lingered just above the waistband of Alexia’s trousers, fingertips brushing the soft fabric as you toyed with the button, you weren’t in a rush the tension was delicious, but so was the quiet, teasing energy that had built between you.

Alexia’s eyes flicked between your hands and your face as she bit down on her bottom lip, smirking. The tension between you thick with anticipation, but still playful still you and her, the corner of her mouth curved into a crooked smile one that made your stomach flip and you could see something forming behind her eyes, she shifted slightly, her hands brushing along your waist as she tried to stay composed. You could tell she was trying to say something bold it was in the way her mouth curved, the way her brows furrowed just a touch as she searched for the words.

Alexia’s breath hitched almost subtly, her hands sliding along your waist, eyes flickering down to where your fingers paused. There was a playful glint in her expression, one you were starting to know well. Mischief mixed with affection. “I am…” she began, clearly trying to find the right words in English, her accent a little thicker with the moment. Her smile widened as she looked at your hands still at her waistband. “I am ready for… you to make the strip?”

You blinked. “Sorry?” you said, biting your lip to stifle a laugh.

She furrowed her brows, concentrating. “No… like… you take off my pants. Sexy.” She gestured vaguely down her body with a serious nod, as if that helped.

“Oh my god,” you laughed, dropping your forehead to her shoulder as she groaned, clearly knowing she’d said it wrong now.

“I mean… I mean you can do it. If you want. The… taking off. You make the undress.”

You leaned back, grinning up at her. “You are butchering English right now.”

She gave you an exaggerated sigh, hiding her face in your neck. “I was trying to be sexy.”

“You were,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around her, “Just maybe not how you meant to be.”

She pulled back with a smile, eyes crinkling. “Still, you not stop touching me.”

You shrugged, fingers brushing the button again, teasing. “True. Maybe I like your awkward charm.”

“Maybe you like me a lot,” she said, grinning wider.

You gave her a look. “Maybe I do.”

Her hand came up to cup your face gently. “Even when I say the wrong sexy words?”

You kissed her softly. “Especially then.”

“I try to be sexy,” she huffed, clearly trying to stay annoyed but failing as she smiled again.

You leaned in, your lips brushing her cheek. “You don’t even have to try.” Her breath hitched just a little at that, you grinned, your hands still resting at her waistband “And you were,” you teased. “Just… not with the right words.”

She pulled back enough to pout at you. “Then help me say it better.”

You brushed your lips across hers, barely a kiss. “Maybe later,” you whispered. “If you’re good.”

Alexia’s smile returned, playful and defiant. “I’m always good.”

You arched a brow. “Well, now that’s up for debate.” You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head, your forehead leaning gently against hers “Maybe just say it in Spanish. I won’t understand it, but I have a feeling it’ll still have the same effect on me your after.”

Alexia let out a soft laugh, her cheeks pink, but her eyes dark with amusement and something else something warmer, deeper. She leaned in again, her lips brushing against your ear.

She murmured something soft, slow, completely in Spanish. You didn’t have a clue what the words meant, but her voice, her tone, the way her hands found your waist and held you just a little tighter, it sent a spark right through you.

You exhaled a breathy laugh. “Yeah… that’ll do.”

She smiled smugly, pressing her forehead to yours. “Better?”

You nodded, heart thudding. “Much.”

Alexia’s hands slid down your sides, fingers splaying over your hips as she leaned in to kiss you again slow, deep, and full of anticipation. Her hands gripped just beneath your arse, and without so much as a warning, she lifted you effortlessly. You let out a surprised breath, instinctively wrapping your arms around her shoulders, your legs around her waist.

She carried you the short distance to the small desk by the window, one of those odd hotel furniture pieces that never quite seemed to serve a purpose, before sitting you gently on the cool surface. Her hands settled on either side of you, fingers brushing your thighs as her body slotted between them, the warmth of her skin radiating into yours.

Your kiss resumed, more heated now, your mouths finding a rhythm as the press of her against you felt more urgent. Her lips moved from yours to your jaw, down your neck, making your skin prickle and your stomach tighten.

It was slow but electric hands moving tentatively over new skin, lingering at the curve of a waist, the line of a back. There was a gentle kind of wonder in it, both of you discovering each other not in rushed desperation, but with careful reverence.

Alexia’s hands paused briefly on your sides, her breath uneven against your collarbone. She pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You okay?” she asked softly, her accent curling around the words, her thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.

You nodded, smiling, your fingertips running across her ribs. “More than okay.”

The look she gave you in return, tender, a little awestruck said everything. This wasn’t just desire. It was something gentler underneath, something real, either of you said it yet, but it was there.

Your breath hitched as Alexia's lips trailed from your mouth down the line of your jaw, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Her hands, steady and warm, rested at your waist before sliding up your back, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine through the fabric of your bra, unclasping it with ease before discarding it.

The soft, deliberate way she moved made you melt into her, your hands anchoring at her hips as she leaned in closer, the press of her body familiar now yet still new in a way that made your skin buzz with anticipation.

Her mouth reached the top of your chest, her kisses becoming slower, more thoughtful. She wasn’t rushing, there was something in the way she touched you, careful, focused, like she was learning you one kiss at a time. You tilted your head back slightly, letting out a soft exhale as her fingers swept lightly along your ribcage, thumbs brushing just under the edge of your breast.

You whispered her name without thinking, half warning, half plea and she paused to meet your eyes.

"You tell me to stop, okay?" she said, her voice lower, her accent thicker now.

You nodded, heart thudding, fingers threading into her hair gently as your forehead pressed to hers. “I don’t want you to.”

That was all she needed. Her lips returned to your skin, slow and purposeful, as her hands explored more bravely now never rushing, never pushing, just touching, learning, offering.

Her hand was cradled your thigh gently. She kissed your shoulder, her voice hushed against your skin. “Okay?” she asked again, always checking.

You nodded, too breathless to say much, your body already humming with the anticipation she’d so carefully built. Her fingers trailed along the inside of your thigh, patient, exploratory, making your skin tighten with heat. When she finally touched you properly, your hips twitched, breath catching.

It wasn’t rushed it was reverent. Like she was mapping you out by instinct, watching every shift in your face, every sound that escaped you, responding with even more care. The strokes were slow at first, gentle, as though she wanted to give you time to feel every ounce of what she was offering.

Your hands found her shoulder, gripping gently for anchor as the sensations began to build. It was impossible to stay quiet—your breath came quicker, your body arching under her touch as a low moan slipped out before you could stop it.

She kissed the corner of your mouth, whispering something in Spanish you didn’t understand, but it didn’t matter. The way she said it, how her lips brushed your skin every bit of it felt like worship. The rhythm of her fingers deepened, her free hand gently holding your hand as your thighs tightened around her.

It crested slowly waves of pleasure tightening your core until it swept over you completely. Your back arched, mouth falling open in a breathy gasp as the tension broke, release washing over you in pulsing waves. Alexia didn’t stop right away she guided you through it, steady and soft, until the tremors faded and you lay, spent and blinking at the ceiling.

She didn’t ask for praise. She just rested her forehead to yours, brushing back a strand of hair as you caught your breath, still dazed, “Estás bien?” she murmured, voice thick with affection.

You let out a laugh, shaky and breathless, pulling her in for a kiss, “More than fine.”

She kissed you like she didn’t want to come up for air, like she couldn’t quite believe you were real and here with her. Her hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, and in one smooth motion, she lifted you from the desk as though it was nothing.

You gasped against her lips, arms winding around her neck instinctively, legs curling around her waist yet again. The way she held you effortlessly strong, gentle but unshakable made something flutter low in your stomach.

She laughed softly at the sound you made, her forehead resting briefly against yours, she turned and carried you the few steps across the room, lowering you slowly onto the bed, her hands never leaving your skin. She looked down at you for a moment, soaking you in eyes flickering over your flushed cheeks, your lips, the curve of your body resting against the covers. There was something soft and reverent in her expression, like she was taking in every detail.

Then she joined you, sliding over you, her body warm and close, her lips brushing yours again. You kissed slowly, deeper this time, the kind of kiss that told you everything she didn’t say out loud. Her hands found yours, fingers lacing together, grounding you both in this moment just the two of you, nothing else.

You and Alexia moved together, hands roaming, exploring familiar shapes that still felt new in this closeness. The room was quiet aside from the soft sounds you made breaths that hitched, whispered names, the occasional stuttered laugh when touches surprised or delighted. Especially when you'd rolled to your side and she took the chance to smack your ass, "Cheeky" you muttered against her lips.

Your bodies shifted, tangled, equal in rhythm and want. There was something natural about it, like you'd both instinctively known how to match the other. You pressed closer, breath catching as her hands moved, nothing rushed, nothing forced, just the two of you reading each other like your bodies spoke a language all their own.

Her forehead rested against yours as you held each other through it tension building and rising in tandem, like waves threatening to crest at the same time. You could feel her heartbeat thudding against your chest, mirroring your own. The connection between you sparked, deep and overwhelming.

Then it hit together, not loud or dramatic, just an overwhelming rush of warmth and relief and closeness. You both stilled, clutching at each other, riding the moment out with soft gasps and shaky laughs. Your eyes were still closed when you felt her lips brush your temple, her body pressing gently into yours like she never wanted to let you go and maybe you didn’t want her to, either.

☀️

Alexia’s arm draped over your waist, her hand lazily tracing the curve of your hip beneath the sheet. You were still catching your breath, cheeks warm, limbs heavy but content. Her skin was soft against yours, her chest rising and falling gently at your back.

“What do you like?” you asked softly, your voice a mix of curiosity and affection as your fingers idly played with hers.

Alexia hummed behind you, thinking. “Mmm… I like to read. In off-season. Or go the beach. Sometimes cook with Alba.”

You paused, blinking, then turned your head slightly to look at her over your shoulder. “No, I meant… what do you like in bed?”

She shifted behind you, not catching your tone. “In bed?” she repeated, thoughtful. “I like to sleep on the left side. But only if is not near the door. I don’t like that.” Her hand gestured lazily as she went on, “And always window open or fan. Even in winter. I get hot.”

You bit back a laugh, rolling to face her, your nose nearly brushing hers. Her brows pinched in confusion when she saw the look on your face. You grinned, eyes sparkling. “That’s not what I meant, Alexia.”

“No?” she blinked, then her mouth parted a little as she realised. “Ohhhh.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “I mean what do you like in bed. Not in bed, but in bed.”

She gave a half-laugh, half-groan, burying her face in your neck. “You are too much,” she muttered in a groan, the tips of her ears visibly pink.

“You make it too easy,” you teased, nudging her playfully with your knee. “I ask one simple flirty question and you give me a full sleep routine.”

She pulled back, still hiding her blush with a hand. “I thought… I really thought you mean sleep!”

You grinned, curling into her. “We’ll revisit the question. When you’re less… off-season mode.”

She laughed again, more relaxed now, pulling you close. ��Okay, okay. I think next time I ask you confirm first.”

“Deal,” you murmured, pressing your forehead to hers, still smiling.

The quiet in the room settled again, the type of silence that felt full rather than empty your bare legs tangled together under the sheet, Alexia’s thumb brushing lightly over your ribs in a way that felt almost too soft to bear.

She was quiet for a few moments, eyes on your face as if she was thinking hard, searching for the right words.

Then she spoke, voice a little hesitant, “I don’t… want just… how you say…” Her brows pulled together, lips pressing tight as she frowned in concentration. “One time… thing? Like… one night?”

You tilted your head, watching her carefully. “You don’t want a one night stand?”

“Yes! That,” she said quickly, relieved you helped. Then she shook her head firmly. “No. I don’t want that.”

You smiled, heart tugging at how serious she looked. “Okay. So what do you want?”

She huffed, frustrated with her English. “I want… keep see you. After this. I want dates. Real ones. You and me. I take you.”

You bit your bottom lip, trying not to melt completely. “You want to take me on dates?”

Alexia gave a soft groan. “Yes, this is what I say. Why your English have so many… stupid phrases?”

You laughed, burying your head into her shoulder, kissing it softly. “Because you saying them wrong is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

She looked down at you, exasperated but smiling. “I serious. I like you. I don’t want just this night.”

“I like you too,” you whispered, brushing your fingers gently along her jaw. “And I want dates too. Real ones.”

Her expression softened even more, and she leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to your lips slow and sincere. “Good,” she murmured as she pulled back just enough to whisper it. “Then is not just stupid English night stand.”

You laughed into her mouth as you kissed her again, heart aching in the best way possible.

☀️

The soft warmth of morning crept into the room, the light barely filtering through the curtains when you felt the gentle press of lips against your shoulder blade. A slow, lazy kiss, then another and another, a trail of affection that made you stir with a faint smile, your eyes still closed.

You felt her shift behind you the press of her chest against your bare back as her arm draped over your waist. Her breath tickled your ear as she nuzzled close, her voice husky from sleep and her Spanish lilt even softer than usual. “Mm… buenos días,” she whispered. “It’s time for breakfast.”

You mumbled something unintelligible, still half-dreaming, earning a quiet chuckle from her. Her nose brushed the curve of your neck before she kissed just beneath your ear, a little firmer this time.

“Come on,” she coaxed sweetly. “I know you don’t want, but we go… we eat. Then… maybe come back to bed.”

That made you smile as you turned your head slightly toward her, eyes finally blinking open. “You bribing me with food and more bed?”

Her grin was lazy and smug as she tucked a bit of your hair behind your ear. “Is good plan, no?”

You hummed in agreement, still half-wrapped in sleep, and let yourself melt for just a little longer into her warmth before eventually sitting up Alexia following close behind, already reaching for the shirt she’d discarded the night before, still watching you like you were the first thing she wanted to see every morning.

Alexia had disappeared with a soft kiss and a whispered, “I go change, five minutes,” slipping out with her shoes in hand and her shirt half-buttoned. You'd taken the opportunity to freshen up, padding into the small hotel bathroom in nothing but one of the white fluffy towels, your toothbrush lazily working through minty foam.

The bathroom mirror was a little fogged from your shower, but clear enough to spot the moment she came back. You didn’t hear the door, she moved quietly but her reflection appeared behind you, and your eyes met hers in the glass.

She leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, now in a soft linen shirt tucked into loose trousers. Simple, clean, somehow effortlessly perfect. Her hair was a little damp at the ends, and she’d clearly rushed, but she was smiling as her eyes took you in.

“You always look good,” she said, voice low and fond as she pushed off the frame and walked toward you.

You finished brushing, trying not to smile with your mouth full of toothpaste. She came up behind you, meeting your eyes again in the mirror, her hands gently sliding onto your hips over the towel.

You spat into the sink, rinsed, and wiped your mouth before glancing at her reflection again. “You were gone five minutes,” you teased lightly.

“I said five minutes,” she shrugged, like it was a challenge to beat her own prediction. Then, softer “I don’t want be gone long.”

You turned in her arms, the towel still snug around you, and raised an eyebrow. “Miss me already?”

She smiled, pressing a quick kiss to your damp shoulder. “Mucho.”

☀️

As you both left your room, the door clicking shut behind you, Alexia’s hand found yours again with ease, her fingers naturally sliding between yours like they belonged there. You were heading toward the lift to meet the rest of the wedding party for breakfast, and she walked close your arms brushing, her thumb gently stroking the back of your hand every few steps.

In the lift, it only intensified. She let go of your hand just to wrap her arm around your waist instead, her palm resting against the curve of your hip, pulling you slightly into her side. You looked up at her, amused.

She wasn’t trying to hide anything. In fact, she looked content like holding you this way was second nature. You rested your head lightly against her shoulder for a second, a small smile tugging at your lips.

As the lift doors opened, her arm stayed around your waist as you walked through the hotel corridor toward the breakfast area. The corridor was quiet, your steps soft on the carpet. Every now and then, Alexia leaned in to murmur something soft in Spanish something you couldn’t understand but didn’t really need to. Her tone was warm, intimate, her hand slipping a little lower as she guided you forward.

You glanced up at her, playful. “I like this touchy feely version of you.” you said as her fingertips grazed your ass.

Alexia gave a bashful smile, her hand still holding you close. “Touchy feely?”

You nodded, amused. “Yeah… affectionate. Handsy. I could get used to it.”

She looked down at you with a grin, then leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek just as you neared where you needed to be. “Get used,” she repeated softly, “please…”

As you rounded the final corner and the soft murmur of conversation grew louder, you spotted Eli and Alba already seated at the breakfast table near the window, sunlight pouring in and catching on their coffee cups and orange juice glasses. They looked up, spotting you both, smiles already forming.

You felt a flutter in your chest something between nerves and anticipation and leaned closer to Alexia as her hand slid naturally to your lower back again.

“How do I say good morning to them?” you asked quietly, eyes on the table ahead.

Alexia glanced at you, a little smile playing at her lips, clearly charmed by your effort. “Buenos días,” she said gently, leaning closer so the words were just between you. “Say it slow bweh-nos dee-ahs.”

You repeated it softly under your breath once.

“Perfecto,” she whispered, squeezing your side. “They will love that you try.”

As you reached the table, Alexia moved ahead just slightly, smiling at her family. You gave them both a small, nervous smile and said, “Buenos días,” your accent shy but sincere.

Eli’s smile grew warm immediately. “Buenos días!” she said brightly, clearly touched.

Alba grinned, nodding approvingly. “Very good,” she said in English, giving you a wink.

You took your seat beside Alexia, who leaned in as you settled. Her voice was soft and proud. “You’re so cute when you try Spanish.”

You smiled, cheeks warm, glancing between the two women across the table.

Alexia added teasingly, “Now they know you’re polite and brave.”

The warm buzz of conversation floated over the table as the breakfast plates were being enjoyed and coffee refilled. You were halfway through your croissant when a family member arrived, carefully placing a comically oversized card down at the end of the table. It had soft gold lettering on the front and a floral border clearly a wedding card for the happy couple.

You watched with quiet curiosity as Eli carefully pulled the cap off a thick pen and began writing inside, her brows furrowing in thought. Alba followed, adding a cheeky message and an affectionate little doodle that made Alexia laugh under her breath.

You sipped your orange juice, trying not to not look out of place too obviously, when you noticed Alexia subtly pull a napkin closer to your side of the table. She kept her eyes on her family, her hand scribbling something casually with the hotel pen. You glanced down, scrawled in a quick, slightly messy script, you are cute.

A small smile tugged at your lips. You turned your head toward her, raising an eyebrow, but Alexia didn’t look at you at least, not right away. Then, when you least expected it, she tilted her head slightly, her eyes flickering your way with a smug, dimpled grin.

You leaned in just a little, voice low. “You’re distracting me from being polite to your family.”

Alexia shrugged with mock innocence, eyes sparkling. “No. I say truth.”

You tried to keep your cool, but you couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. You picked up the napkin, folding it and tucking it into your bag earning a knowing look from Alba, who’d clearly caught at least part of the exchange.

Alexia leaned in again, whispering, “You save it? You like it?”

You nodded, brushing your knee against hers under the table. “I do. Might frame it.”

☀️

The hotel lobby was quiet except for the low hum of suitcase wheels and the soft chime of the automatic doors opening and closing. You stood near one of the velvet couches with your suitcase upright at your side, your fingers loosely curled around the handle. The morning sun streamed through the tall glass windows, casting warm golden light on the marble floor too pretty a day to be leaving.

Eli was already outside, keeping an eye on the street, her arms folded and eyes occasionally scanning for the arriving taxi. Alba lingered by the check-in desk, pretending to scroll her phone but clearly stalling. She glanced your way now and then, smiling faintly like she knew something neither of you were saying aloud.

Alexia, on the other hand, didn’t pretend.

She stood directly in front of you, her brows drawn slightly, her expression soft but stubborn. Her arms were around your waist for what had to be the third or fourth time in the last ten minutes, her forehead resting lightly against your temple.

"I no like this part," she mumbled quietly, her voice muffled in your hair.

You let out a breathy laugh, trying not to let the lump in your throat form fully. “You’ve hugged me enough times to break a record.”

"Not enough," she murmured, pulling back just far enough to look at you, her hands slid from your waist to your lower back. “You sure you have to go?”

“I don’t want to go,” you said honestly, smoothing a wrinkle in her sleeve with your thumb. “But yes. Real life calls.”

Alexia pouted slightly, then leaned in again, burying her face in your neck for a moment before whispering, “Next time, I go to you.”

You smiled, nodding against her. “Promise?”

“Prometo.” She leaned back, giving you one last squeeze.

From outside, Eli knocked on the glass and waved the taxi had arrived. Alba looked up from her phone with a quiet sigh and started walking toward the doors, Alexia didn’t let go.

Reluctantly, you placed a quick kiss at the corner of her mouth. “I’ll text when I land.”

She nodded, but her eyes followed you all the way to the doors, her hand slipping from yours only when the automatic glass separated you. As the taxi boot popped open, she pressed a hand to the window, watching as you turned one last time to wave.

Even then, she didn’t look away until the taxi pulled out of view.

☀️

You’d barely been home an hour.

The flat still smelled faintly of your suitcase clothes in need of washing, perfumes you don’t remember spraying, a crumpled wedding programme still wedged into a pocket. You’d just showered and pulled on some old pyjamas, your hair damp and tied up, when the buzzer rang.

You paused mid-cup of tea, glancing toward the door with a little frown, you weren’t expecting anyone. Crossing the room, you pressed the intercom button. “Hello?”

“Delivery for [Your Name],” a voice said cheerfully.

Still puzzled, you buzzed them in and cracked open your door. A few minutes later, the lift pinged and opened and the man stepped out with both arms completely full of flowers. Not just flowers a bouquet, massive and absurdly beautiful, the kind you only ever saw in magazines or on Pinterest boards. Soft blush peonies, cream roses, lilac wildflowers, and eucalyptus all carefully wrapped in brown paper tied with a satin ribbon.

You blinked.

“This... is for me?”

He checked the name on his delivery slip and smiled. “Sure is. Enjoy.”

You mumbled a thank you, accepting the weight of the bouquet carefully in both hands. It smelled incredible like summer mornings and something expensive. You set it gently on the kitchen counter, still stunned, before you noticed the envelope tucked neatly within the ribbon.

Your name was handwritten on the front in neat handwriting. You opened it carefully, heart already tugging in your chest.

Inside:

Thank you for being my date. Todo mi amor, A

Your smile spread so wide it almost hurt.

You pressed the card to your chest for a moment, already reaching for your phone with the other hand, this was so Alexia. Effortless romance, quiet intensity, thoughtful beyond words and you missed her already.

You couldn't stop smiling as you held the bouquet in your arms, the flat smelled divine now like florists and fairy tales. You reached for your phone, switching to the front camera, and tilted it toward the mirror.

You stood with your back to the mirror, torso and face behind the bouquet so only your bottom half peeked out. Snap. You uploaded it to your Instagram story with no caption, just a white heart emoji and a smiley face.

It didn’t take long before your phone started ringing. Carmen.

You laughed to yourself, already expecting what was coming as you answered.

“So that’s why Alexia Putellas wanted your address,” Carmen said, no greeting, just immediately calling you out. “I think you need to catch me up, don’t you think?”

You bit your lip to suppress your grin and wandered over to the sofa with the phone. “I was going to tell you, I swear.”

“Don’t even,” she cut in, mock-offended. “You’ve been keeping secrets since the wedding, and now you’re out here getting five-star floral confessions from Spain’s national treasure. Babe. Come on.”

You laughed. “I wasn’t keeping secrets. I was just… figuring it out.”

“Figuring out what? That she’s obsessed with you? Because I could have told you that when she spent thirty solid minutes watching you pour sangria and blushed every time you said her name that night.”

You let out a little groan, flopping back against the cushions, cheeks warm. “Okay, maybe I’ve been in denial.”

“She sent you a literal fairytale garden. That’s not denial territory, that’s main character energy,” Carmen teased. “Right, spill. How did you get to a place where Ale is sending you flowers please? And do not skip anything.”

You glanced over at the bouquet again, still stunned it was real, still stunned she was real. You smiled into the phone. “Okay. It started at your International game, with her asking me to be her date to a family wedding… and then things got very, very real.”

[yeeterthek33per]

stargazing - alexia putellas

word count - 1.9k | summary - as childhood bestfriends, you always hoped something would happen between you and alexia, yet you didn't think it would be whilst you were nervous rambling about stars.

MDNI 18 + - borderline smut

-

the two of you laid on the hill, staring up at the night sky. trying to teach alexia about some of your favourite constellations was a common past time for the two of you, even when you were little, the two of you would spend hours looking at the stars.  

you always loved space, ever since you were young, football was alexia’s thing and space was yours, but you always shared your love with each other. you attended alexia’s game with her name proud on your back, and she would listen to you ramble for hours about your favourite space facts and all the constellations you could name. 

“see ale, that one is the big dipper.” you said, pointing up towards a cluster of stars.

“no no no, that is the aquarius, it’s for me.” you could hear the smugness on her voice as she pushed your hand down and replaced it with her own. 

“the sky doesn’t make constellations for people, you’re only ‘la reina’ on earth.” you huffed, rolling your eyes as she let out a cocky laugh. 

“you’re just jealous amor, one day you’ll get a star too. maybe for your contribution to space discovery.” her shoulder playfully bumping into yours as she put her hand down. 

your heart fluttered as she called you amor, it wasn’t unusual for her to say but the way it rolled off her lips had butterflies erupting in your stomach. you couldn’t help but question how friendly her intentions were. alexia was always subtly touchy with you, her hand would often find your thigh when the two of you were sat next to each other, even if it was just a fingertip, there was always some kind of contact.

a laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it, “that’s ursa major, ale, which is also known as the big dipper, not the sky making stars just for you.”

alexia turned her head to look at you, her grin only growing, “close enough, i like being big spoon too so.”

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile, of course she’d say that.

“you’re lucky you’re pretty,” you muttered, your eyes gazing back towards the night sky, “it’s one of the most recognizable constellations in the northern sky. so many cultures have stories about it, ancient greek cultures saw it as a bear, others a wagon or a ladle. it’s been a guide for travelers for centuries.”

alexia’s gaze didn’t budge as you talk, her eyes fixated on the way you relayed every piece of information off the top of your head, “you really memorized all that?”

“ale, i’ve been studying this for years, it’s all i think about.” you practically snorted, “i’m surprised you haven’t got bored of us spending our time like this.”

her eyes drifted back to the sky, humming softly, “but i like hearing you speak about it, so tell me more.”

you blinked, then pointed upward again, “see those three stars in a row? that’s orion’s belt. he's part of the orion constellation, mythologically he’s a bit of a big guy, but also a show-off, but the stars are cool. that one there,” you tapped the air above you, as if you were actually touching the sky, “is betelgeuse, a supergiant.”

alexia squinted, “uh the red one?”

“yeah, it’s about 700 light years away, which means if it exploded right now, we wouldn’t know for centuries.”

alexia turned her head to look at you again, her voice softer this time, “so that star could already be dead?”

you nodded, “pretty much. that’s the thing about stars, they’re all from the past. every star we see is a message that took light-years to get here, so when we look at the sky we’re always looking back in time.”

“you know,” she said, her eyes trailing the stars in the sky, voice suddenly casual, “when we were little, i used to pretend i could name all the constellations just to impress you.”

you glanced at her, trying to hide the smile that was tugging at your lips, “you named one ‘the big spoon’ ale.”

she smiled softly, “anything to make you smile, carino.”

your voice caught in your throat, which felt like the perfect time to reposition yourself. you sat up slightly, yet leaned back on your hands. you tilted your head back toward the sky, trying to ignore the way alexia’s arm was still barely brushing yours, or the way she copied your movements. 

to distract yourself, you pointed to another section of sky.

“okay, that one there? that’s cassiopeia, see the w shape? in mythology, she was this vain queen who bragged about being more beautiful than sea nymphs, so poseidon got petty and cursed her. that’s why she’s up there, stuck in the sky forever, which is honestly iconic.”

you didn’t look at alexia, not yet. you weren’t brave enough for that, so you just kept going. even with her eyes boring into the side of your head.

“she’s circumpolar, meaning you can see her all year in the northern hemisphere, which i think is cool because it’s like, no matter the season, she’s there. constant.”

you didn’t realize how fast you were talking until the words started spilling.

“and that’s the thing, right? space is huge and terrifying, but also kinda comforting? like, yeah, you could spiral into existential dread thinking about black holes and the heat death of the universe-”

you didn’t get to finish the sentence.

because alexia’s hand reached up to your chin, her hand guiding your face in her direction as she pressed her lips against yours.

soft. steady. unmistakable.

for half a second, your brain tried to keep talking. something about light years or ancient starlight. but then all of that collapsed into nothing-ness the moment her lips pressed against yours, and you forgot every fact you’d ever learned.

when she pulled back, barely, just enough to look at you, her voice was low and certain.

“you were nervous rambling.” she commented, her hand never leaving your jaw, as her thumb moved back and forth across your cheek.

you swallowed hard before barely making a noise, “mhm.”

“it was the best thing i’ve ever heard, but i just had to kiss you.” her lips were still brushing yours when she whispered, voice thick with something heavier than breathlessness.

her smile was slow, like she could feel the way your heart was racing beneath your skin. her eyes flickered between yours and your mouth, indecisive only in how long she could hold back. she leaned in, just enough for her breath to tickle your cheek.

you didn’t move, not yet. the air between you was fragile, as if a single touch could shatter it, yet still, neither of you pulled away.

it felt like time had stood still for a moment, like albireo in cygnus, two stars that look like one from far away, but up close, they’re distinct, orbiting each other in perfect balance. just the two of you, sharing a sky.

“so,” her thumb traced the edge of your jaw, her gaze falling to your mouth, “can i kiss you again?”

you nodded, barely. it was all she needed.

the second kiss wasn’t soft like the first. it was hungry, familiar, like your bodies had memorized each other in seconds. 

all the years where you were silently waiting, waiting for a moment for things to progress, for the two of you to be more than just ‘childhood besties’. everything unraveled in that moment, the tension disappeared completely, and it all felt natural.

her hand slid to the back of your neck, your fingers finding the fabric of her hoodie, bunching it between your knuckles like it was keeping you from floating away. she exhaled into your mouth, and the sound nearly undid you.

your hands pulled her closer, fingers curling into the back of her hoodie, and within seconds she was hovering above you, her weight supported by her arms planted firmly on either side of your head. the space between you vanished.

she didn’t kiss you right away.

her eyes dragged over your face, like she was taking note of every detail. the flushed curve of your cheeks, the way your chest rose just a little too fast, the way your lips parted like you might ask her to stop but wouldn’t mean it.

then she kissed you again.

your hands moved instinctively, sliding under her hoodie, fingers skimming over the warm skin at her waist. she made a quiet sound into your mouth, a half gasp before she dipped closer, letting her body press against yours, just enough to make your heart stutter.

her leg made its way between your thighs, your hips shifted beneath her, seeking more without even realising it. 

you could feel her breath as she whispered, voice barely held together, “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this.”

you didn’t trust your voice enough to respond, so you kissed her again instead, your cheeks flashing bright red, like the stars above weren’t the only things burning.

it was like the years of lingering looks and missed chances had all condensed into this moment. her mouth on yours and your body pinned beneath hers, nothing between you but shared air and heat.

your hands slid up the bare skin under her hoodie, palms grazing her sides, fingers mapping the slope of her back, imagining all the ink that was etched into her skin as your hands moved. hips shifting against yours as her kisses deepened, open-mouthed and breathless.

her tongue brushed against yours, teasing, your hand dipping lower to grip her waist.

"fuck," she muttered, her lips dragging to your jaw, then lower, pressing a trail of heat along your neck. she sucked gently at the soft skin just below your ear, her teeth grazing the spot, and you arched into her before you could stop yourself.

you felt her smirk against your skin. 

“always wondered what you’d sound like,” she whispered.

her hand slid under the hem of your shirt, fingers splayed across your stomach. she touched you like she was learning you by feel, like every inch of you was a constellation she was tracing from memory.

your hips rolled up instinctively, seeking friction, her thigh pressing firmly between your legs, slow, deliberate. the pressure made you gasp, your head tipping back against the grass as stars spun overhead.

she looked down at you then, hair falling around the two of you like a curtain, her pupils blown wide, lips kiss-bruised, her face shining in the starlight.

“i want you,” she muttered, her voice quiet yet somehow still confident.

you nodded, you knew trying to form any words would be a pathetic attempt to say yes, so it was good enough.

her mouth was on yours again, hands everywhere. under your shirt, cupping your breast, thumb brushing across your nipple until your breath hitched and you moaned into her. 

you didn’t know where her hoodie ended and your shirt began, and you didn’t care either.

the shift of her hips against yours made your stomach tighten, every whimper she pulled from your lips only made her move with more intention, more want, the coming hours playing in both of your heads. 

“alexia-”

every kiss grew heavier. on your lips, down your jaw, a few light purple marks across your neck and collarbone.

you felt her smile against your skin when you gasped at the feel of her hands on your hips, her thumb brushing just under the waistband of your jeans.

“you still want this?” she asked, pausing for a moment as her eyes met yours, dark yet comforting.

“alexia,” you smiled, breathless, “i definitely want this.”

she grinned, before whispering against your skin, “then i’m going to make you see stars.”

a/n - i used this prompt list! thank you to the anon who suggested this, i loveddd your idea! i tried to research space info so i hope i've got the right facts. thank you for reading, any feedback/suggestions pop them in my inbox <33 kinda proof read, kinda not x

[yeeterthek33per]

Part 3

You go to your cousins wedding in Spain, and you catch the eye of the Alexia Putellas, she unintentionally becomes your plus one

Wordcount: 14k

This first part is a bit random but it was cut from the end of the last chapter but my followers said I should include it and its needed as it becomes a joke between them

☀️

The sun’s already high and hot as you stand at the edge of the dock, bag slung over your shoulder, sunglasses on to hide more than just the brightness. There's this lump in your throat you’ve been pretending isn’t there, but it’s heavier than your overnight bag.

The yacht behind you looks quieter now, emptier, like it’s already moved on without you. Carmen hugs you tight, swaying you gently, her voice soft in your ear.

“Promise me you’ll come visit. Not just for weddings and hen dos.”

You nod against her shoulder, managing a smile. “Promise.”

When you pull back, she looks at you properly, something knowing in her expression, but she doesn’t say it, she doesn’t need to. “Go,” she says with a grin, “before Alexia changes her mind and leaves you behind.”

You laugh, but your stomach flips as you turn Alexia’s leaning against the car, doors already open, her sunglasses low on her nose, a half-smile tugging at her lips like she knows exactly what kind of effect she’s having on you.

Patri’s in the back, waving dramatically, Jana next to her with a grin like she’s already thinking up something inappropriate to whisper in your ear later.

You climb into the passenger seat, your bag dropped to the floor by your feet. The door shuts with a final sounding click, and just like that Alexia pulls away from the dock.

You glance once over your shoulder as the yacht disappears from view. “Sad?” Alexia asks, glancing sideways at you.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “A little. It was… a good weekend.”

She hums her agreement. “Very good.”

You feel her eyes on you again, but you’re not quite ready to meet them, not yet. Not when the road is taking you closer to goodbye.

The car fills with quiet conversation from the backseat, the breeze through the windows tugging at strands of your hair, and the warmth of the Spanish sun following you all the way down the coast.

You pull the visor down, angling it to catch your reflection in the tiny mirror. Your hair’s a little windswept, lips smudged from the gloss you forgot to reapply, and you sigh before fixing it with your fingertip.

From beside you, Alexia grins, her voice casual and a little proud, “You look very pretty, pillow princess.”

You pause, finger still pressed to your lip.

You blink.

Then slowly turn your head toward her, trying to keep your face neutral. “I don’t think that’s what you meant, so… we’ll move on.”

Alexia frowns, glancing at you briefly before looking back at the road. “Yes? You are pillow princess. You sit, look pretty. No drive. This is right, no?”

You bite your bottom lip to stop the laugh already rising, breath catching in your chest. “Um… Alexia… A pillow princess is…” you glance at the girls in the backseat, suddenly very aware of them trying and failing to pretend they aren’t listening Alexia waits, eyebrows raised. You clear your throat. “It’s during sex. A pillow princess is someone who just… lies there and gets—”

Alexia’s eyes go wide. “No no no!” she waves one hand frantically, mortified. “No! I no talk about sex! No no—ahh… mierda.” Her ears are visibly turning red beneath her sunglasses. “I don’t know what I say. I mean—how you say? Pretty girl in car, who do nothing?”

You’re laughing now, actually laughing, shoulders shaking. “Passenger princess. The term is passenger princess.”

She groans, hiding her face behind one hand as the car swerves slightly, from the backseat, Jana and Patri erupt into laughter. Jana leans forward between the seats, wide grin on her face.

“Pillow princess, huh? Muy interesante.”

“Jana, stop.” Alexia mutters, glaring into the mirror at her.

Alexia groans again, slumping dramatically in her seat. “I never speak English again.”

You nudge her arm playfully. “You'll speak English for me though right?”

She peeks at you the corner of her eye, and even behind the embarrassment, there’s the hint of a smile. “Only for you, muppet,” she mumbles.

You turn back toward the road, heart fluttering in your chest, Passenger princess, pillow princess… whatever you are to her right now, you kind of like the sound of it.

1 month later

The locker room buzzed with its usual pre-match energy, boots being laced, music playing low from someone’s speaker, shirts tugged into shorts, tension and adrenaline sharpening the air.

Alexia sat on the seat in front of her locker, elbows resting on her knees, phone cradled low in her hands. The families group chat was pinging with emojis and last-minute good luck messages, but she wasn’t looking at that.

She was on your Instagram and there was nothing. She refreshed your page again and still nothing new. The last thing you'd posted was a photo from two days ago a blurry snap of London lights at night with no caption, just a sparkle emoji. She’d already liked it the second it went up, twice she’d almost messaged you since then. Three times if she was honest.

She went back to your story, still just the repost of someone else’s reel from this morning. Not even a glimpse of your face, that wasn’t like you. You usually posted something a meme, a silly outfit, a playlist, your morning coffee.

Alexia frowned, thumb hesitating over your name in her DMs, her fingers hovered over the keyboard.

'Hey muppet.' No that was too casual, 'Busy today?' No that was too obvious, 'Why no post today?' Weird and desperate and her English still felt clunky in texts.

She stared at the empty message bar, then back at your little profile picture. The one of you laughing in the sun, taken from the hen do on the yacht, she still thought your smile looked better in real life.

She didn’t know what this was, whatever it was she missed it. She missed you, but she didn’t want to be annoying, or worse someone you’d only ever see as a nice holiday story.

"Vamos, Ale!" Mariona clapped her hands sharply to break the moment, already half kitted, tapping her boot to get Alexia's attention.

Alexia quickly locked her phone, shoved it into her bag, and stood, “Ya voy,” she muttered, but even as she pulled on the red shirt of her country, she couldn’t help but wonder, where were you today? And why did it matter this much to her?

She hadn’t meant to think about you right now, but somehow, you were under her skin and you hadn’t even posted.

Alexia tugged her socks up, trying to focus on her breathing. Her head wasn’t in the right place not totally. She’d been trying to push thoughts of you aside all day, but nothing had worked. Not the team talk, not her boots, not even the plays run-through in her head.

She didn’t know why it bothered her so much, people drift after holiday flings. It’s just what happened, right? Could it even be considered a fling?

Across the locker room, Carmen was adjusting her shin pads, face a mix of nerves and fierce determination. It was her first start and Alexia had been so focused on her own spiral that she’d barely congratulated her properly. She made a mental note to fix that after warm-up.

“Ey,” Carmen called out casually as she stood, glancing Alexia’s way. “Y/N’s here. She’s in the stands with my family.”

Alexia blinked, her body catching the words before her brain did and then a smile broke across her face like the sun slicing through cloud cover. Small, almost sheepish, but instant, she bit it down too late.

“Oh my god,” Patri groaned from across the bench. “There it is.”

Jana burst out laughing. “I haven’t seen her smile like that since we beat Lyon.”

Alexia quickly ducked her head, pulling at the hem of her jersey. “Its nothing,” she mumbled, but it was too late, the grin had betrayed her.

“Nothing?” Patri said, grinning. “You look like someone just promised you a lifetime supply of dulce de leche.”

Alexia’s ears burned. “I just, she here? Really?”

Carmen smirked, catching her gaze knowingly. “You can pretend you’re not obsessed later. Focus now, capitana.”

Patri leaned in with a teasing whisper. “Better play well. She’s watching.”

Alexia rolled her eyes, but the grin kept flickering on her face, like it had a mind of its own. The nerves she’d carried all day melted, replaced by a new heat low in her chest. You were here, you’d come to watch.

She stood a little taller as she grabbed her training bib. “Let’s go,” she said, voice lower, firmer now, but inside, she was already planning where to find you after the final whistle.

☀️

You were already a few drinks deep not enough to be drunk, but just enough for your focus to wander unapologetically. The sun was dipping low over the stadium, heat still clinging to the concrete as fans filtered in around you, all decked out in red and gold. You were in the middle of Carmen’s family row, waving a small Spanish flag her little cousin had thrust into your hand like a gift of national importance and then the players came out to warm up.

You should have been watching Carmen it was her first start, after all. Your cousin’s wife, the reason you were even here, you meant to keep your eyes on her. You tried, but.. Alexia.

She jogged out like she belonged to the pitch. Hair tied up high, focus etched into her face until she spotted something, someone, in the stands.

You didn’t know if she was looking for you. You didn’t want to assume anything, didn’t want to read into things the way you sometimes did when you liked someone too much. But her eyes swept the stands near Carmen’s family and lingered just long enough that your breath caught.

Then she turned, and that was it. Your stomach did a strange little flip as you watched her stretch, flexing effortlessly, her focus back on warm-ups. Her legs moved with ease and control, and you tried, truly tried, not to just watch her body in that kit, but it was becoming a bit of a problem.

She looked unreal out there, confident, composed, and entirely in her element and here you were, fighting the urge to rewind time just to relive the moment she’d looked your way.

You leaned closer to Ben when he tapped you and he whispered, “You should be watching Carmen, right?”

They nodded enthusiastically, eyes wide with pride, you smiled, “I am. Totally. Watching Carmen.” But your gaze flicked back to Alexia again, just for a second, maybe two and that’s when you caught her glance up again, briefly toward your section and this time, you were already looking.

Her expression didn’t change much, not really, but you’d learned her little tells by now the way her mouth twitched slightly, that shift in her eyes, like her guard dropped just for you.

You blinked, heart doing something far too dramatic in your chest, you turned to Ben, "You want anything? I'm going for a drink"

Ben shook his head, "No I'm good thanks"

You were making your way down the stadium steps toward the concourse, the sun hot on your back, your fingers already itching for something cold non alcoholic to drink. The atmosphere was buzzing whistles, chants, the hum of anticipation just before kick-off.

As you reached the railing above the tunnel entrance, movement caught your eye a group of players finishing warm-ups, heading in. Patri was near the back, jogging slowly alongside a few of the others. She looked up and spotted you immediately, her grin wide and knowing.

She pointed, lifting her chin. “Who do you have on your shirt?” she called up, just loud enough to carry, playfully.

You leaned on the rail, flashing her a smug look as you turned just slightly so she could read the name on your back. “Yours,” you mouthed.

Patri squinted, then laughed big and genuine as she jogged backwards a few steps to keep you in view. “You’re brave!” she called teasingly.

You shrugged, but before you could answer, another figure appeared just behind her Alexia. She wasn’t jogging, she was walking, brows furrowed like she was still somewhere between focus and irritation until she followed Patri’s line of sight and saw you.

You weren’t sure if she was already looking, or if the mention of the shirt had caught her attention, but her eyes locked on yours sharp, unreadable. She held your gaze as she passed beneath, a subtle shift in her expression, not quite a smile, not quite a frown, but she saw it. She saw Patri's name on your back and despite herself, despite the game looming and the cameras and the teammates jogging beside her, her mouth twitched at the corners. Just a little.

☀️

You slid back into your seat with a cold drink in hand, cheeks still warm from the sun or maybe from that look Alexia had given you. Your heart hadn't quite settled from it as you tucked your sunglasses back on and reached for your phone, the screen lit up with a notification.

Alexia Putellas Instagram DM: You wear Patri shirt and not mine?

You stared at it, the corners of your mouth immediately tugging up into a grin you couldn’t stop if you tried. You glanced across the field the players weren’t back out yet but just imagining her, likely in the locker room, texting you that, made your stomach flip.

You quickly typed back,

You: What can I say? Patri gave me hers first. Gotta be quicker next time, Capitana.

The second you hit send, you leaned back, your grin getting bigger two seconds later,

Alexia is typing…

She was definitely going to make you pay for that one. Her reply came quickly, as you expected,

Alexia: Wow. Disloyal. This is betrayal.

You bit your lip, holding in a laugh as you watched the little typing dots disappear and reappear again.

Alexia: I not talk to you now.

You shook your head, amused beyond reason, then typed back,

You: You never offered one, so technically this is your fault.

A beat passed before another message popped up.

Alexia: I offer now.Too late?

You hesitated, heart fluttering a little more than it should’ve. Then you replied,

You: Maybe not. Depends what I get with it.

There was a longer pause this time before her next message came through.

Alexia: Shirt... and maybe... something else. If you behave.

You smiled, leaning back in your seat as the crowd anticipation was rising around you. You looked down at her message one more time before typing,

You: Guess I’ll be on my best behaviour then, but only if your shirt fits.

You looked up just in time to see the players reemerge to a warm reception, but your eyes found her like they always did. Alexia walked out at the front, all poise and power and impossible not to watch. She didn’t look up at your section, but you noticed the way her mouth quirked ever so slightly.

☀️

You were surprised how much you actually enjoyed being at the game like really enjoyed it. The energy in the stadium, the roar of the crowd, the little chants echoing every time Spain got close to goal it was infectious way more fun than watching it on TV.

Though, if you were being honest with yourself, maybe the view had a little something to do with it too.

The Spanish team was stunning like absurdly, unfairly beautiful. The kind of team that made you reconsider your entire skincare routine. You caught yourself watching not just the play, but the way they moved fierce, focused, composed, but your eyes, inevitably, always found their way back to Alexia.

She had the ball constantly directing play, always in control, always with that sharp vision and ridiculous precision that made everything look effortless and you weren’t the only one watching her. The people around you reacted every time she touched the ball, like something exciting was guaranteed to follow.

But for you well, it was the added bonus of how good she looked doing it. The way her ponytail whipped with every turn, the sharp lines of her jaw when she concentrated, how she always pushed her teams to get them where she wanted them. You caught yourself smiling like an idiot every time she called for the ball loud, commanding, that voice you could still hear saying 'Hola, muppet' in your head.

And when the final whistle blew, sealing a dominant 4–0 victory, you were probably clapping louder than anyone else in your row. Not just for Carmen, not just for Spain but because you were watching someone you were definitely in trouble over, grinning and high-fiving her teammates like she hadn’t just completely stolen your attention for 90 straight minutes.

You were supposed to just come and support family. Instead, you were falling a little harder for someone you probably weren’t supposed to.

☀️

The locker room buzzed with post-match energy sweaty hugs, congratulatory slaps on the back, the echo of boots against tile, the occasional burst of laughter from teammates replaying their favourite moments. Alexia was sitting on the bench, untying her boots with a satisfied grin still playing on her lips when Carmen plopped down beside her, fresh from her first ever start with Spain and riding the high of a clean-sheet victory.

"Not bad for your first start, eh?" Alexia nudged her gently, glancing sideways.

"Not bad? I’m still shaking," Carmen laughed, shaking out her damp hair with a towel. "But hey, 4-0? Not a bad debut memory."

Alexia hummed in agreement, and for a second they sat in a comfortable silence, just catching their breath. Then Carmen shifted, giving her a slightly mischievous look.

"By the way…" she said slowly, a little smirk tugging at her lips, "She was watching you the whole time, not me."

Alexia turned, pretending not to know who she meant, though the flush rising in her cheeks said otherwise. "Y/N?" she asked casually, eyes on the floor as she peeled off her socks.

Carmen nodded with a teasing grin. “Yep. Thought I’d have her attention for once, being the reason she’s here and all, but no. You had the spotlight, capitana.”

Alexia chuckled under her breath, trying and failing to keep her cool. “Well maybe it’s because we kissed.”

Carmen’s head snapped around so fast you’d think she’d just been slapped. “What?”

Alexia blinked at her, confused by the shock. “I thought you knew?”

“No!” Carmen barked, laughing now. “I did not know! You kissed? When?!”

Alexia hesitated for a second, a sheepish little smile appearing as she looked down at her hands. “On the yacht. In the water. After we jumped.” She bit her lip. “I thought she told you.”

Carmen let out a breath and shook her head, leaning back against the lockers with a soft laugh. “She tells me nothing, honestly, you could tell me you were retiring and I’d believe it before I believed she volunteered information about her love life.”

Alexia raised a brow, genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“She’s private,” Carmen said simply. “Even with me. Even with her mum. Especially with anything that matters.”

Alexia took that in, heart twinging a little. She suddenly felt the weight of that quiet moment on the boat, the way you smiled at her in the water, the softness of that kiss how you’d blushed after, how you never even told your family. She wondered if you really were private or just scared? “I didn’t want to make it weird,” Alexia said quietly, almost more to herself than Carmen.

Carmen glanced sideways at her again, eyes gentler now. “It’s not weird. She clearly likes you.”

Alexia stayed quiet, but the tiny smile tugging at the corner of her mouth gave her away.

Carmen nudged Alexia’s knee with her own, catching the quiet smile on her face. “You know,” she said casually, “Ben text he's in the hospitality with her. If you want to go see her… I’ll come with you.”

Alexia looked up, surprised. “Now?”

“She’s probably hoping to see you,” Carmen said. “And I know you’re not going to go alone to check, so…” She shrugged, tossing her towel over her shoulder. “I’m offering backup.”

Alexia hesitated, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her stomach fluttered at the idea, nerves bubbling under the surface like a shaken bottle. “You think she’d want to see me?”

Carmen gave her a look. “Ale… she flew across countries to come support me, and spent the whole game watching you. I think it’s safe to say yes.”

Alexia rubbed her hands against her thighs, still in her shorts, suddenly nervous in a way that had nothing to do with the match she’d just played. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”

“You won’t.” Carmen’s voice was softer now. “You’re already under her skin, whether she’ll admit it or not.”

Alexia let out a quiet laugh, leaning her head back against the wall behind her. “She makes me nervous.”

“She’s the least intimidating person I know,” Carmen teased.

“Not to me,” Alexia said, without irony. “She looks at me like, like she sees too much.”

Carmen smiled, this time warm. “She wants to see you not your name. That’s the difference.” There was a beat of silence, then Carmen clapped her hands together and stood. “Alright, I’m showering and then I’m dragging you out of here. Get your stuff together. You’re not overthinking this tonight.”

Alexia blinked. “Wait! Seriously?”

“Seriously. We’re going. She’ll love it.”

Alexia stood too, heart racing in a completely different rhythm now. “You’re sure?”

Carmen glanced back at her from the showers, grinning. “I’ve never been more sure about you two being a thing.”

☀️

The hospitality suite was buzzing in a warm, understated way soft music playing under low conversation, the clink of glasses, families gathered around tables with tapas and cava. You were standing by the long window overlooking the now empty stadium, a glass of something sparkling in your hand, chatting politely with Carmen's mum about the atmosphere during the match.

You hadn’t expected to see Alexia again tonight, part of you had hoped, maybe even prepared in your head how you might act if you did. But when you heard your name spoken softly behind you, not in the clipped way most Spaniards pronounced it, but the slow, deliberate way she did your shoulders stiffened on instinct.

You turned and there she was, hair damp from her shower, curls slightly messy, in jeans and a simple white tee that made your stomach drop a little with how casually stunning she looked. Carmen stood beside her, all warmth and smug subtlety as she gave you a small wave.

“Hola, Muppet” Alexia said softly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

You blinked. “Hi.”

Carmen cut in smoothly, “Didn’t want to miss the opportunity to say hi before this one stole all your attention”

Alexia narrowed her eyes at her, but you couldn’t help the grin that formed as you set your glass down. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Carmen, smirking as she gave Alexia a meaningful pat on the shoulder and turned. “I’m going to get a drink and let the two of you be incredibly awkward in peace.”

You watched her disappear into the crowd before looking back to Alexia, whose eyes were already on you that familiar, focused way she always looked when she wasn’t entirely sure what she was allowed to say.

“You played well,” you said, because it felt safe.

Her smile widened, just a little. “Gracias. You wear Patri name, so maybe I try harder.”

You chuckled. “Are you going to bring that up every time?”

“Yes.” There was a beat of quiet, the two of you only half existing in the room full of people, noise melting away like background static. “I didn’t know you’d come,” Alexia admitted. “To watch.”

“I didn’t know I’d enjoy it so much.”

She looked at you carefully, like she was trying to read something written on your skin. “You look, I don’t know. Different here.”

“Different good?”

“Different beautiful,” she said, so quietly you nearly didn’t catch it.

Your face warmed instantly, “You said that before, didn’t you?”

Her mouth curved, knowingly. “You finally translate it, eh?”

You laughed softly, cheeks burning. “I was… waiting for the right moment.”

“Maybe… this is it?”

Before you could answer, someone brushed past behind you and the moment broke just enough for you both to shift, glancing around the room again.

Just as you were about to say you best go see Carmen, she turned to you, voice soft but steady.

“I have… a wedding. Next weekend. Family.” Her fingers toyed with her rings, nerves flickering in her eyes. “Would you come with me?”

You blinked. “A wedding?”

Alexia nodded slowly. “My cousin. Big Catalan family, lots of people, food, dancing… drama.” Her smile twitched wider. “I need someone who makes me laugh and… someone I want to talk to.”

Your heart tripped in a way that made your toes curl inside your boots. “You want me to be your… date?” you asked, just to be sure.

She gave you a sheepish, lopsided grin. “Yes. If you want. But no pressure. It’s short notice. You live in another country. Maybe it’s crazy”

“I’ll come,” you cut her off gently, the corner of your mouth curving.

Alexia’s eyebrows lifted. “Sí?”

You nodded, smiling. “If only to see you try to survive your family asking if I’m your girlfriend.”

She made a face, a small groan slipping out. “They will ask. Many times. They nosey.”

“And what will you say?”

Alexia tilted her head, eyes dancing again as she leaned in just enough for only you to hear, “I say… we’ll see.”

Your stomach flipped, and she looked so pleased with herself that you had to laugh. “I need to find a dress.”

Alexia nodded. “I help. I have opinions.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.”

She reached for your hand again. “So… yes?”

“Yes,” you said, “Take me to your chaotic Catalan wedding.”

“I need your number,” she said, a little awkward, a little charming, “for… plans. Times. Dress code. Family drama alerts.”

You raised a brow, teasing, “You’ve been DM’ing me for weeks and now you want my number?”

Alexia let out a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Instagram no good for wedding details or calling.” She paused, then shrugged. “Maybe I want to hear your voice.”

That caught you off guard. You blinked, then tried to cover your flustered smile by pulling your phone from your bag. “You could’ve asked ages ago,” you said, unlocking it and holding it out to her, open on a new contact page.

“I didn’t want to scare you.”

“Oh, you don’t scare me, Putellas.”

She smirked at that, entering her number with impressive speed. When she handed it back and took her own out, your phone lit up with a new text before you even had a chance to save the contact.

Hola muppet. It’s me. Don’t block. Wedding info coming. Also you looked beautiful tonight.

You snorted at your screen and looked up at her. “Smooth. Real smooth.”

“I try.”

You saved her number, pausing just long enough to label it Alexia 🤎 before locking the phone again.

As the crowd in the hospitality suite buzzed around you family members chatting, waiters clearing glasses, music drifting faintly in from the corridor everything felt oddly still between you and her.

“Call me,” you said softly, stepping back but keeping your eyes on hers. “I want to hear your voice too.”

She gave you that grin again, the one that never quite reached her mouth but always hit her eyes. “I will,” she promised. “And this time… I won’t call you a pillow princess.”

You burst out laughing, nearly stumbling back into your seat. “Oh my God, never forget that.”

Alexia looked mortified but also slightly proud. “I die with that.”

“I live for that.”

Her teammates were starting to trickle back into the suite, so you gave her one last look, lips curling. “Call me, Ale.”

And with that, you turned away her number saved, her text unread again just so you could open it later and smile and the promise of a weekend in Catalonia already buzzing in your chest.

☀️

You were curled up on your sofa, oversized hoodie on, damp hair from a long shower tucked behind your ears, scrolling absently through your phone while a show played low in the background. You weren’t really paying attention to the screen the hum of normality felt grounding after the whirlwind of Spain, the wedding, the match, and her.

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Incoming FaceTime: Alexia 🤎

You stared at it for a second, heart stuttering like it always did when her name lit up your screen. You hadn’t actually spoken on the phone yet just a flurry of texts, memes, the occasional voice note when she was feeling bold and playful with her english, but this, this was new.

You hesitated a moment, brushing your fingers over your hair before answering.

Her face filled your screen instantly, and she looked ridiculously good for someone who’d probably just finished training hair tied back, loose Barça sweatshirt on, cheeks flushed. She was sprawled across what looked like her bed, eyes lighting up when she saw your face.

“Hola, muppet,” she grinned, her voice a little rough, like she'd been shouting or laughing recently.

You grinned back, adjusting your phone so she didn’t get a view of your double chin. “Hi. Didn’t expect a FaceTime.”

“You didn’t answer my message for twenty minutes,” she said with mock seriousness, brows raised. “I think… maybe you are ghosting me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I was showering, dramatic.”

She gave a satisfied hum, like she’d decided she could forgive you. “You look nice.”

You looked down at yourself. “I look like a wet hamster.”

“A very beautiful hamster.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hand. “Do you flirt like this with everyone?”

“Only you,” she said, without missing a beat and you felt it, right down to your stomach. There was a pause, soft now, her expression going a little more serious as she tilted her head. “I wanted to see you,” she said simply.

Your heart flipped. “You’re seeing me now.”

She nodded, quiet for a second. Then, “You still come to the wedding? With me?”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “If the offer still stands, I’d like to.”

She grinned again, clearly pleased, clearly trying to keep her cool and failing just a little. “It’s this Saturday. My cousin. Lots of food. Too many aunts. Very big dress code.”

“Oh no,” you teased, “do I need to buy something appropriate?”

She gave you a look. “No. Just… pretty.”

“Define pretty.”

Alexia smirked, biting the inside of her cheek before saying, “Like you at Carmen’s wedding. Or other day. Or now. Always pretty.”

You leaned back against the couch, unable to hide your flushed grin. “You’re a menace.”

“Maybe,” she said, her accent thick with amusement. “But I FaceTime good, no?”

You laughed. “Yeah, you really do.”

You talked like that for nearly an hour nothing urgent, everything easy. She told you about training, you told her about your boring trip to the supermarket. It shouldn’t have felt special, but it did. Somehow, just the sound of her voice and the way her eyes softened every time she looked at you made everything else feel far away.

As the call wound down, she leaned closer to her screen, voice softer now. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Same time?”

You nodded, trying not to look too giddy. “Deal.”

“Bye, muppet.”

“Bye, Pillow Princess.”

Alexia groaned, dropping her face into the pillow. “Por favor, let it die.”

“Never,” you laughed, ending the call with a wide grin and already missing her face.

☀️

Your phone buzzed exactly at 7:02pm

Incoming FaceTime: Alexia 🤎

and you couldn’t help but laugh. Right on schedule.

You were mid-twirl in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of a silky champagne dress, debating whether it was too much or not enough. The phone, propped precariously on your dresser, reflected your slightly flushed face and tousled hair. You reached for it quickly.

“Hola,” you greeted, slightly breathless, answering with a grin.

Alexia appeared on the screen, damp hair slicked back from a post-training shower, hoodie loose on her shoulders, the familiar warm smile spreading across her face the second she saw you. “You are… what is the word… early ready?” she teased, eyes already scanning your outfit. “Very early.”

“I’m trying things on,” you laughed, stepping back to show the full outfit. “Need to figure out if this is wedding date worthy.”

Alexia sat up straighter on her screen, brows lifted as her eyes tracked over you shamelessly. “You wear this?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I’m not sure if it’s too much.”

Alexia tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “Too much? No. It’s… perfect.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Yeah?”

She nodded, eyes still on you. “Very soft. Very elegant. Very… hard to look away.”

You laughed, covering your face for a second. “I swear you get smoother with every call.”

“I practice,” she deadpanned, then broke into a smirk. “For you, only.”

You twirled again just to tease her, watching the way her eyes narrowed slightly like she was focusing on every movement. “So you approve?”

“Very much,” she said, then leaned in toward her screen. “You wear this, I no dance with my family. I stay only with you.”

“Dangerous,” you said, amused, “I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Perfect,” she said, relaxed now, leaning her chin in her hand. “We be terrible together.”

You both smiled, something warm and quiet settling between you. The call didn’t need to be long. It was just another thread pulling you closer, another evening with your attention solely on each other.

You plopped onto your bed in the dress, phone cradled in your hand. “You know, if you keep calling me like this, I’m going to get used to it.”

Alexia's smile softened. “Bueno. I want you used to me.”

You swallowed the flutter in your chest, fiddling with the silky hem of the dress. “I’ll see you in two days,” you said softly.

“Dos días,” she confirmed, her voice low and promising. Then a pause “And don’t change the dress.”

"I have other options I could show you? I'm not sure, it's a bit out of my comfort zone" you smoothed the material with her hands looking down at yourself in it.

Alexia arched a brow, her smirk immediate. “You have options?” she asked, her voice dipping just enough to make it dangerous.

You sat up straighter on your bed, mock-serious. “Of course I have options. You think I only bought one dress for your fancy Spanish wedding?”

She leaned back in her chair on screen, arms crossed, but the gleam in her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Show me.”

You squinted at her. “Are you asking for a fashion show or just being nosy?”

Alexia grinned, slow and entirely self-satisfied. “Yes.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood up and made your way to the pile of maybe too many dress choices you'd gathered up earlier. You held up a bold red one first. “Okay, what about this one? Very look at me, very 'I’m here with the hot footballer.’”

Alexia tilted her head, considering. “You wear that… I don’t let you leave the hotel room.”

You blinked at her, laugh bubbling out. “That’s not an actual reasoned opinion, ma’am.”

“It is,” she said firmly. “Very serious.”

You reached for the next one a black satin slip that suddenly felt a little too revealing under her gaze. Still, you held it up.

Alexia bit her lip, shaking her head slightly. “No.”

“No?” you echoed, surprised.

“No. Not because I don’t like,” she said slowly. “Because I like too much.”

You raised your brows, pleased. “You have to use your words, Alexia.”

She made a helpless little motion with her hands. “That dress is… dangerous. I don’t speak good enough to explain. But… very bad for my focus.”

You tossed the dress over your shoulder with a laugh, smug now. “Maybe that’s exactly the energy I want to bring.”

She groaned dramatically. “Por favor, wear the first one.”

You looked back at the mirror, at the champagne one. “So… you’re telling me you’re going to be distracted either way?”

Alexia leaned into the camera, her voice soft but unshakable: “Muppet, I am already distracted. You could wear plastic bag and I don’t look away.”

You bit your lip, trying to keep your expression calm as your heart thudded at her honesty. “I was going to try on the green one next,” you said, voice a little weaker than before.

“Save it,” she said, now resting her chin on her hand again. “You wear what you wore now and bring change for after.”

“Why?” you asked, curious.

Alexia just shrugged, her voice calm but flirtatious. “So I can steal your hoodie.”

You laughed, sitting back on the bed again. “I haven’t even packed a hoodie yet.”

“You will,” she said simply, and then with a little smirk “Then it’s mine.”

The silence lingered this time, but it was the good kind, electric, comfortable and yours.

You looked down at your screen. “Okay,” you said, trying not to smile too wide. “But only if you steal it nicely.”

“Siempre,” she replied, eyes warm. “Only nice… for you. Like you stole mine nice”

☀️

It was ridiculously early, your suitcase rolled quietly behind you as you wandered aimlessly through Heathrow’s duty free, trying to kill time without convincing yourself you needed a £200 perfume just because it came with a free cosmetic pouch. You weren’t usually an anxious flyer, not really, but this wasn’t nerves about flying.

This was nerves about her, Barcelona, a family wedding with Alexia Putellas.

You caught your reflection in a display mirror near a sunglasses stand, and you paused. You looked decent and normal like a woman heading on a short-haul flight, not one spiraling internally because a world-class footballer asked you to be her plus one and had FaceTimed you every day since and flirted like she invented the concept.

You sighed and turned away from your reflection, heading toward the snacks aisle like that might help.

You pulled your phone out, half hoping there’d be a message from her something ridiculous or teasing, or maybe just a ‘you at the airport already?’ kind of text. Nothing yet, you debated sending a selfie in front of a giant Toblerone pyramid to tempt fate.

Instead, you wandered past Jo Malone, accidentally let a sales assistant spray something called ‘Wood Sage & Sea Salt’ on your wrist, and immediately felt more expensive than you had any right to.

You passed a group of teenagers in matching tracksuits and wondered if they knew how close they were to losing their minds if they ever found out where you were headed or who you were headed to.

Still, the truth hovered just under the surface of your calm expression, you were flying to Barcelona to be the date of a woman you were undeniably falling for and the flight couldn’t come soon enough.

☀️

You boarded with your boarding pass tucked between your fingers and your bag slung over your shoulder, eyes a little bleary from the early hour but heart racing for reasons you were definitely trying to play cool.

The flight was only half full, thank God, you found your window seat, tucked your bag beneath the seat in front, and slid into place, pulling your hoodie sleeves down as you settled. You leaned back with a sigh, the soft rumble of the plane filling your ears as passengers shuffled past, stowing bags, claiming spots.

Reaching into your pocket, you pulled your phone out to switch it to airplane mode but the screen lit up first with a new message.

Alexia🤎

Bon dia, have a safe flight. See you soon 🤍

Your smile was instant, stupid and completely involuntary. Your flight was at 7am, which meant unless she was already up for some early pre wedding training session and you knew she wasn’t Alexia had either set an alarm just to message you, or had actually woken up naturally and thought of you. Either way, your chest warmed in that soft, fluttery way that had become entirely hers lately.

You typed back quickly, thumb hovering for a moment before you hit send

You’re too sweet. Go back to sleep, menace. See you soon x

You switched your phone to airplane mode and tucked it into the pocket in the front of your hoodie, your smile lingering as the cabin door closed and the hum of the engine deepened.

Barcelona, here you come and somehow, that morning sky outside the window didn’t feel half as bright as what was waiting for you at the other end.

☀️

The wheels touched down on the Barcelona tarmac with a soft jolt, the familiar rumble of slowing engines buzzing through your spine as the plane taxied to the gate. You stretched a little in your seat, blinking at the brightness outside the window still early, but already warm, the promise of sun hanging in the air.

As soon as the seatbelt sign chimed off, you reached down for your bag and slid your phone from the seat pocket. The moment airplane mode clicked off, your screen lit up with notifications but only one caught your eye.

Alexia 🤎

Are you here yet or do I have time to fix my hair?

You snorted softly, trying and failing not to grin like an idiot in a row full of strangers.

Thumbs flying, you typed back

Landed. Your hair looked fine 3 days ago, I’m sure it survived the week.

Barely a beat later, another message buzzed in

Alexia 🤎

So you do stare at me. Good to know.

Your stomach did that annoying fluttery thing again, and you bit your lip to hold back a laugh, cheeks warming.

You slipped your phone back into your hoodie pocket as the queue to disembark began to inch forward, pulse already a little too fast.

Barcelona looked beautiful from the sky, but you had a feeling the best view was waiting just past baggage claim.

You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, stepping out into the warm Barcelona air. It hit you like a welcome sun-soaked and soft, not a single cloud in sight. The concrete outside arrivals shimmered slightly under the heat, and the buzz of voices, car engines, and rolling suitcases all faded for a second when your eyes landed on Alexia.

Leaning casually against the side of her sleek black Cupra, scrolling her phone, totally oblivious. She wore sunglasses pushed up into her hair, tank top clinging to her in the heat, one foot crossed over the other. If she’d meant to look like the cover of some painfully cool magazine, she’d nailed it, but you could tell she wasn’t even trying.

You slowed your steps, just for a moment, watching her with that dumb feeling again like you’d dreamed her up on the plane and she’d actually shown.

You smirked, shifting your bag again as you approached, quiet on your feet until you were only a few steps away. “Is this where the wedding chauffeur picks up the VIP guest?”

Her head snapped up, and when she saw you, her whole face changed a slow, crooked smile blooming that made something in your chest do a full somersault. “You're early,” she said, pushing off the car and slipping her phone into her pocket.

“You’re distracted,” you teased, stopping in front of her. “Bad habit.”

She reached for your bag before you could argue and placed it in the backseat like it weighed nothing, then turned to you, a little closer now.

“I was checking the time,” she said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her own cheek, “and maybe... waiting for a text that said you changed your mind.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “So you didn’t think I’d come?”

“I hoped,” she admitted. “But I’m better with the ball than I am with people.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you said, stepping around to the passenger side, “because I happen to like people. One person in particular who’s very bad at pretending she doesn’t care.”

Alexia shook her head, laughing under her breath as she opened the door for you. “Get in the car, muppet.”

You slid into the seat, heart thumping, after she had opened and closed your door for you, watching her walk around to the driver’s side. You were just pulling the seatbelt across your chest when you noticed Alexia fiddling with the sat nav, one hand tapping in the postcode for the wedding venue. The Cupra was clean and cool inside, the air conditioning already humming gently against the summer heat outside. You shifted slightly in your seat, glancing at her as she leaned forward to double check the address.

Without looking at you, she nodded toward the cup holder between you. “Agua,” she said casually, then flicked her eyes toward you, a flicker of a smile on her lips. “For you.”

You looked down and saw the condensation spotted bottle, cold to the touch, resting perfectly upright in the holder. You blinked, mildly surprised. “You brought me water?” you asked, picking it up.

Alexia shrugged like it was nothing, but the tiniest smile betrayed her pride. “Is hot today and airport water costs, like, ten euro,” she said, eyes back on the screen.

You twisted the cap and took a sip, grinning over the bottle. “You’re thoughtful for someone who calls me a muppet.”

She finally looked at you, smirking. “Muppet need hydration, too.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Honestly, if this football thing doesn’t work out, you’d make an excellent road trip partner.”

“Lucky you,” she said, putting the car into gear, “this is only the beginning.”

The Cupra pulled away from the curb, Barcelona rolling out in front of you sun shining, music low on the speakers, and Alexia beside you with that maddening little smirk.

The city thinned out around you as Alexia merged onto the motorway, one hand steady on the wheel, the other adjusting the volume of the playlist she'd casually thrown on a mix of soft Spanish pop and old English hits that made you smile.

It was easy between you, the silence never too heavy, the conversation never forced. You rested your head back against the seat, bottle of water now wedged between your legs, stealing glances at her every now and then as she focused on the road.

“So,” she said after a beat, glancing at you sideways, “how early did you get to the airport? Five a.m.?”

“Earlier,” you groaned. “Security opened before even the coffee shops did. I wandered duty free like a zombie.”

Alexia chuckled. “Did you buy something?”

“Lip balm and regret,” you replied dryly. “I had three hours to kill and still almost missed my gate because I got distracted by a wall of sunglasses.”

She laughed at that, that soft raspy kind of laugh she had when you weren’t trying too hard. “Very on brand.” There was a short pause before she said, “You travel a lot?”

“Not really,” you shrugged. “I like it, though. Just don’t usually have such enticing reasons to hop on a plane.”

Alexia’s lips pulled into a crooked smile, eyes still forward. “Enticing, huh?”

“Well, I don’t make this kind of effort for just anyone,” you teased.

She gave you a quick glance, clearly biting back something smug, before returning her focus to the road. “Good. I like to be... exclusive.”

You snorted. “You sound like you’re pitching yourself as a limited-edition luxury item.”

“I am limited edition,” she said, mock serious. “Only one Alexia.”

“You forgot humble.”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “You talk a lot.”

“You like it.”

“I didn’t say I don’t.”

The conversation moved easily from there childhood stories, horror travel tales, favourite foods, music preferences. Every now and then you caught her watching you instead of the road for a second too long, and it did something to your chest you weren’t prepared for.

By the time the road signs started pointing toward the outskirts of the coastal town where the wedding was taking place, you were both grinning more freely, conversation flowing like you’d known each other much longer than you had and somehow, it felt like you had.

☀️

You were standing in front of the mirror, twisting one of your earrings into place with slightly shaky fingers. The nerves had crept in not just about the wedding itself, but about seeing her. You hadn’t seen Alexia since you arrived at the hotel between check-in and your frantic effort to shower, do your hair, and fit in a nap before then, time had slipped away.

You glanced at your phone 19 minutes until the ceremony. The knock on the door startled you just as you were adjusting the clasp of your second earring. You padded barefoot across the room and opened it, Alexia was standing there in a tailored suit that clung to her in all the right places. Her hair was swept back, a subtle curl still falling around her face, and she wore a faint, amused smirk, but it was her eyes that gave her away.

She looked at you like you'd knocked the air out of her. “Wow,” she said before you could even greet her. Her voice low, like she didn’t mean for it to come out as openly as it did.

You felt your cheeks heat up instantly. “You like the dress in person to?” you asked, glancing down like you needed to see what you were wearing.

Alexia’s gaze followed, slower than necessary. “Mucho.” Her spanish abandoned her halfway through. “Very... very much.”

You bit your lip, trying not to grin too smugly. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Not bad?” she repeated with mock offense. She stepped forward slightly, close enough for the scent of her perfume to settle around you. “You make me nervous.”

You blinked. “What?”

She chuckled under her breath, stepping back like she’d let herself get too honest. “Nada. Ready?”

You nodded, grabbing your clutch and heels from the bed. As you slipped your shoes on, Alexia leaned against the doorframe, eyes still not leaving you. When you looked back up at her, you asked, “You sure this isn’t too much?”

Alexia didn’t answer straight away. She just reached out and touched your wrist gently, steadying the clasp of your bracelet. “Perfecta,” she said simply. “Let’s go.”

☀️

The sun was low and golden, stretching shadows long across the lush garden as you and Alexia stepped out into the warm hum of the wedding. Laughter bubbled from every corner, kids in flower crowns ran barefoot between the tables, and soft music played somewhere behind a hedge of blooming jasmine. It felt magical.

Alexia walked with confidence, but her steps were slow enough that you never felt left behind. She greeted people with warm smiles, quick kisses on cheeks, and laughter that made you wish you understood more than you did. But then every time she would say something in Spanish, then follow it with a soft, ‘She’s English,’ or ‘ella no sabe español.’ Always gently and always kindly.

You didn’t have to ask what she was doing, she was making sure people spoke to you in English, or at the very least, didn’t overwhelm you with fast, excited Spanish. You noticed it more and more how she stood between you and the chatter when it got too quick, how she translated quietly when someone threw a question your way, and how she never once made you feel like an outsider, even though this was her world.

But it was the little things that hit you harder. The way her hand kept finding the small of your back light, but grounding. Like she was always aware of where you were. When you leaned forward to look at something, or got pulled slightly aside by someone smiling and trying to introduce themselves, Alexia’s hand would be there again, guiding, connecting. A soft touch on your waist, or your elbow, always drawing you back closer.

Once, when she leaned in to say something in your ear some inside joke about the tiny wine you’d both just had you turned your head and caught her watching you.

She didn’t look away and either did you. You weren’t sure what this was, is, between you both, but her touch, her attentiveness, her quiet consideration it all made it feel real. Not just wedding magic or summer-fling real. Something softer, more deliberate.

“You okay?” she asked you gently at one point, her hand at your back again as she guided you towards a small shaded table near the olive trees.

You smiled at her, nodding. “I’m really glad I came.”

She looked at you for a moment, then dipped her head and said softly, “Me too.”

☀️

The chairs were neatly arranged in rows facing the flower-adorned arch, the soft buzz of chatter fading as the guests slowly began to take their seats for the ceremony. The sun bathed everything in warm amber light, the air sweet with roses and citrus. You followed Alexia down the aisle of seats, nerves fluttering in your stomach not from the crowd or the occasion, but from the quiet excitement of being next to her.

She paused beside a row near the front and turned to you with that unmistakable proud little smile. “This is my mami,” she said, nodding gently to the elegant woman already seated, “and my hermana, Alba.”

You offered a warm smile and a soft “Hi,” doing your best to hide how nervous you suddenly were. Alexia, like she always seemed to, noticed. With a subtle but deliberate move, she slid herself into the seat between you and her family, settling in beside her sister so she could still hold your space beside her. A quiet kind of safety wrapped around you with that one decision.

She turned to you just as you sat down, the hum of the string quartet playing in the distance, and gave you a once-over that was so obvious and so bold it made your cheeks warm. “You look…” she paused, her eyes lingering just a little longer than necessary, “so beautiful.”

Your breath caught slightly, the sincerity in her voice knocked the air out of you more than you cared to admit. You held her gaze, both of you smiling, soft and a little shy despite everything that had passed between you already.

But you could feel it her mother’s and sister’s eyes on you both. Watching, reading more than you were ready to admit aloud yet. That only made the warmth rise higher in your chest.

“You’re a menace,” you whispered teasingly, eyes flicking to hers as you reached up without thinking and gently brushed a small eyelash off her cheek.

Alexia blinked. “What?”

“You had an eyelash,” you said, holding it up between your fingers. “Make a wish.”

She looked at it like it was a puzzle. “A wish?”

You nodded, grinning. “You make a wish and then blow it away.”

Alexia laughed quietly, the sound warm and low. “You are very… how do I say… dramatic.”

You arched a brow. “No, I’m romantic."

“Same,” she teased back, lips twitching with a smile as she leaned closer and blew the eyelash gently off your fingertip.

You didn’t catch it, too busy watching her, but her mum and Alba did. The way you looked at her like there was nobody else in the world, and the way she, smiling, relaxed, looked right back at you. A quiet glance passed between mother and daughter behind her. They saw it.

The ceremony was soft and golden, like something out of a dream. The vows floated through the garden air in Spanish you couldn’t fully follow, but the emotion in them didn’t need translation. You sat with your hands folded neatly in your lap, pretending not to notice the way Alexia had gone just a little bit still beside you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught it her hand, hovering just shy of your thigh. Fingers twitching once as if deciding, then retreating slightly, then edging closer again. She was nervous. You could feel it in the tiny shifts of her body. Not the confident, teasing Alexia that had kissed you under a sunrise or given you piggyback rides, this was the Alexia who didn’t want to get it wrong.

You smiled, just faintly, lips curving like you were quietly amused by something in the vows, but you didn’t look at her. You didn’t want to make it harder, then finally you felt her hand rest gently on your thigh.

A featherlight touch at first, testing, questioning. You still didn’t look at her, eyes fixed ahead on the bride and groom, your heart beating just a bit faster now. You could feel her eyes on your face, checking, reading your expression, waiting for a signal. You didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Your smile deepened just a little, still soft and calm and full of affection and slowly, her thumb began to move. A small, steady back and forth stroke on the inside of your thigh.

Still, you didn’t look, you didn’t need to, she knew your answer.

As the final applause rang out and the couple kissed beneath the arch of flowers, guests stood, murmuring soft congratulations and beginning to drift from the garden seating. The warmth of the late afternoon sun settled across everyone’s shoulders, champagne trays already floating through the crowd like bait.

You felt Alexia’s hand give your thigh the faintest squeeze before she stood, smoothing her shirt down and flashing you that small, familiar smile, the one that made your stomach do something stupid. You stood too, waiting for her lead. This was her world, her people, her rhythm, you were just here to follow it.

She held her hand out to you casually, her fingers curling through yours as she leaned in. “Come,” she said quietly, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “We wait here before reception starts.”

You nodded, matching her step as she guided you toward a shaded spot at the edge of the garden where Alba and their mother were already standing, sipping on something fizzy and watching the other guests with mild interest.

Alexia slipped into Catalan with ease, greeting them both as she approached. Alba’s eyes flicked to you and immediately softened into a smile, one that mirrored her sister’s. You gave her a polite nod before Alexia turned to her mum and began speaking gently in Catalan pausing now and then to glance at you as she translated bits back and forth.

“My mum say she is happy to meet you,” Alexia said quietly, almost shy. “She hear… things.”

You laughed softly, just once. “All good things I hope?”

Alba spoke up then, her English clean and confident. “Only good,” she assured with a grin, then gestured between the two of you. “She has not stopped smiling since you got here. It’s… nice to see her like this.”

You tried not to blush, but Eli seemed to catch your embarrassment anyway. She reached out to gently tap your hand with hers warm and maternal before saying something that made both Alexia and Alba smile.

“She says you’re prettier than I say,” Alexia translated, her voice laced with amusement. “She like your dress.”

“Well, she has good taste,” you teased, and that made them both laugh.

You lingered there with them half-understanding, half-smiling, mostly watching Alexia as she navigated the space between you and her family with such soft ease. Every so often her hand would brush against yours again, grounding you in the moment.

You stood quietly beside Alexia, just slightly in front of her, as she spoke softly with her mother and Alba in Catalan. You couldn’t follow the full conversation, at all but you were listening to the tone, the rhythm, and the warmth in her voice. It was comforting, like background music you didn’t need to understand to enjoy.

Her fingers touched your back, barely there at first just the softest drag of her fingertips over the fabric of your dress as if she wasn’t even conscious of it but it sent a ripple down your spine nonetheless. Slow, tracing a gentle line between your shoulder blades, and then drifting lower. You felt the goosebumps bloom instantly, the hairs on your arms rising as your breath caught slightly. You didn’t turn to look at her, if anything, you leaned into it just a fraction, trying not to let your lips twitch with the smile that threatened.

Your eyes wandered to the horizon, where the sun was now halfway dipped behind the hills, the vineyard glowing in its last light. Without thinking, you slipped your phone from your bag and held it up, framing the moment the warm light flaring at the edges, the silhouettes of a few other guests moving through the frame.

You snapped the photo just as Alexia’s voice lowered beside your ear, still mid-conversation with her family but now closer, her body brushing lightly behind yours. “Bonita, no?” she murmured, gesturing subtly to the view, though her eyes weren’t looking at the sky they were on you.

You finally turned to face her, your phone still in hand, the grin on your face giving you away. “Beautiful,” you replied, eyes on her now and you weren’t talking about the sunset anymore.

There was a gentle clinking of glass and the soft tap of a microphone drawing the crowd’s attention. A voice rang out in Spanish warm, celebratory, and clearly ushering the next part of the evening. You again didn't understand any of it, but before you could even glance toward Alexia for translation, her hand tightened around yours slightly. “They say… now we go sit,” she told you with a smile, her voice low and light in your ear.

Before you could respond, her fingers slipped effortlessly between yours, the ease of the motion making your stomach flip. It wasn’t overly romantic or performative just natural. Like she’d done it a hundred times before. She tugged you gently, walking a step ahead, guiding you toward the long tables laid out under strings of lights.

You were the first to arrive to the long table you were on, guests still lingered with drinks and conversations, but Alexia led you straight to your seats near the centre. She held your chair out for you, and once you were settled, she didn’t move to sit down right away. Her arm came around the back of your chair, her body leaning in close, her voice low just for you. “You good?” she asked, eyes searching yours checking in, grounded, real.

You nodded, your heart stuttering a little at how close her face was to yours now, her hand still linked with yours under the table. “I’m good,” you said softly, your smile small, your gaze fixed on her lips.

It happened quickly, naturally like exhaling, you leaned in just a little, and she met you there. The kiss was brief, just a press, soft, lips catching but there was nothing tentative about it. It was warm, confident, hot, despite its brevity. A flicker of something intense and wanting, disguised in something so casual it could’ve gone unnoticed.

When you broke apart, Alexia didn’t move far. She lingered close, her fingers stroking your hand beneath the table, her mouth brushing a smile near your jaw as she sat beside you finally, her eyes glancing sideways. “More later,” she whispered, almost mischievously.

You giggled, unable to help it, the sound escaping before you could even try to stop it. Her voice low, teasing, close to your ear lingered in your mind like static warmth. You leaned in with a sly smile, letting your hand drop casually onto her thigh beneath the table, the contact made her pause.

You didn’t look at her right away, just kept your gaze forward for a moment, your fingers giving a slow, barely-there tap against her leg like it was nothing. Then, turning toward her, you tilted your head slightly and murmured, just loud enough for her to hear

“What makes you so sure I’ll offer more?”

Alexia turned to look at you fully, intently and you saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes before it gave way to something deeper. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and her brow arched like she wasn’t used to being challenged but definitely didn’t mind it.

She didn’t answer right away, she just stared at you for a second longer than she probably should have, and then said, voice thick with her accent but clear with intent, “Because I know how you look at me.”

Your hand stilled on her thigh, a tiny flutter in your chest giving you away even if your expression stayed playful. You swallowed your smile, turned back toward the table, and let your fingers trail slowly off her leg like it hadn’t been a deliberate touch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you replied, cool as ever.

Alexia laughed softly under her breath, leaning just slightly closer again. “Liar.”

As the rest of the guests began filing in, Alexia leaned over and pressed the lightest kiss to your temple. It was barely a second, but it left warmth blooming across your cheek. Her hand brushed your back again as she reached for the menu laid neatly in front of you both.

Her mum, Eli, took the seat to Alexia’s other side, with Alba settling in across from you at the very end of the long table, the quiet shuffle of chairs and hum of conversation building around your little corner of the long table.

Alexia opened the menu and began reading under her breath, scanning the courses before glancing over at you. “Okay…” she said softly, “first is ensalada de marisco, then… ah, paella mixta… meat and seafood, and then dessert. You like this?”

You looked at her, amused. “I’ve never actually had paella in Spain,” you admitted.

Alexia froze, her head whipping toward you like you’d just admitted you’d never seen a football match in your life. “Perdona?” Her brows shot up. “Never? In Spain?”

You tried not to laugh. “Only in England. Like, the ready-made ones at the supermarket, or once at a restaurant in London that definitely wasn’t run by actual Spanish people.”

She blinked. “No, no, no. This is… no. That is not paella. That is rice with lies.”

You burst out laughing, covering your mouth, and her hand came to rest again on your knee beneath the table as she gave you a long, exaggerated look of horror.

“I can’t believe this,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You say this with confidence? In front of my family?”

“I didn’t think it’d offend your whole bloodline,” you teased.

Alexia’s eyes narrowed playfully. “You are lucky you are pretty,” she muttered.

Alba glanced between you both with a knowing smile, clearly catching the tone even if she wasn’t following every word. Eli leaned in and asked something softly in Spanish, and Alexia answered quickly, translating for you a moment later, “My mum asks if you like seafood.” You nodded, and Eli gave a pleased little smile before turning to speak to someone down the table. As the staff began bringing out glasses of wine, Alexia leaned back toward you and murmured in your ear, “We fix this paella problem tonight. Real food, real Spain.”

You looked at her, your smile soft but teasing. “You gonna personally oversee the cooking too, chef?”

She gave you a lazy shrug and that crooked grin that made your heart act stupid. “If that’s what it takes, muppet.”

The starters arrived on delicate ceramic plates a beautifully plated ensalada de marisco, mussels arranged with avocado, crisp lettuce, and a citrusy dressing that hit your nose before your fork even touched it. You’d barely taken a bite before you found yourself humming appreciatively.

“Okay, this is already better than anything I’ve had back home,” you said, leaning slightly toward Alexia with a grin.

She shot you a smug look as she popped a prawn into her mouth. “Told you.”

You turned your attention across the table to Alba, who had just asked about your job. One thing you quickly noticed was how different she was from her sister louder, not as reserved, but still warm and kind with her words. “I teach primary school,” she explained in slow, clear English, “but I’m trying to move toward special education full time.”

“That’s amazing,” you said, honestly impressed. “I imagine that’s a really rewarding job.”

“It is. Hard, but good,” Alba nodded. “The kids… they teach you, also.”

You smiled at that, genuinely enjoying the exchange. “Do you work close to home?”

Alba nodded. “Just outside the city. I like it… slower than Barcelona.” She gave you a curious look, still polite. “You like London?”

“I do,” you replied, “but I think the weather’s trying to kill us.”

That made her laugh, a soft, full sound, and Alexia, who’d been cutting into her salad while keeping an ear on the conversation gave you a quick glance, like she was pleased you were getting along.

As you chatted with Alba, you kept reaching for your wine glass between bites, and each time your arm brushed Alexia’s, it was easy, the whole moment, the food, the warmth, the language shifting around you, and this quiet comfort of being tucked beside Alexia.

“You like it?” Alexia asked softly, dipping her head toward your plate.

“I love it,” you said, then leaned closer to her ear with a little smirk, “Don’t let it go to your head, though.”

Alexia grinned, eyes on your lips for a second too long before she went back to her wine, Alba definitely noticed.

The second course arrived with a flourish steaming plates of vibrant paella, the saffron rice glistening with shellfish, wedges of lemon tucked around the edge. You blinked at the plate in front of you, fork hovering. The prawns, still in their shells, stared back at you. You were used to the convenience of chicken paella back home, where everything was already neatly shredded or deboned this felt like a different sport entirely.

Alexia had excused herself just moments earlier for the bathroom, and before you could even start awkwardly peeling anything, her mami leaned forward and said something quickly to Alba in Spanish.

Alba smiled gently at you and said, “My mami will show you how. It’s easier if you see.”

Before you could even respond, Eli slid into Alexia’s empty seat with a warm expression and no hesitation. She picked up a whole prawn from her plate and, with slow, practiced hands, began to demonstrate twisting the head, peeling the shell back delicately, her fingers moving with the ease of someone who had done this thousands of times before.

You watched intently, then picked up your own prawn, copying her movements exactly. Eli nodded approvingly as you peeled it clean in one go. “Así,” she said with a smile, pointing at the prawn in your fingers. “Perfecto.”

You grinned back, a little proud of yourself, even if your fingers were now slippery and smelled intensely of shellfish. “Gracias,” you said, a little shyly, hoping your pronunciation wasn’t terrible.

Eli beamed and said something else to Alba, who translated with a laugh, “She says you’re better than Alexia.”

That made you laugh just as Alexia reappeared, pausing behind her mother and watching quietly. She didn’t interrupt, just observed arms loosely crossed, head tilted, an unmistakable softness in her eyes as she saw you smiling with her mum, mimicking her technique, completely immersed in the moment.

You finally noticed her standing there and gave her a sheepish look, lifting the perfectly peeled prawn in victory. “Look what I learned.”

Alexia smirked as she moved to stand behind her mum’s chair. “Of course she teach you. She never show me.”

Eli, understanding enough English to catch the tone, waved her hand like she was dismissing Alexia entirely and said something that made Alba snort.

Alexia rolled her eyes dramatically and then leaned down between you and her mother, whispering near your ear, “Traitor. You steal my mother.”

You tilted your head to meet her gaze with a teasing smile. “You left your seat. Fair game.”

Alexia shook her head in mock betrayal, then kissed her mother’s temple before gently nudging her up from the chair with a fond, “Venga, mama.”

Eli stood with a little wink in your direction and returned to her seat. Alexia settled back beside you, legs brushing yours beneath the table. She looked down at your plate, now missing a few prawns, and murmured, “I leave you five minutes and you become paella expert.”

You grinned, “I had a great teacher.”

Alexia just watched you for a beat longer before her hand found your knee again under the table, fingers gentle. She didn’t say anything more, but her smile lingered.

After finishing most of your paella thanks to your honorary seafood masterclass you leaned over to Alexia and whispered, “I’m just going to pop to the bathroom.”

Alba, catching the movement, tapped your arm lightly. “I need it too. Come, I’ll show you where it is.”

You both slipped away from the table unnoticed, weaving between other guests and servers, heels clicking against the stone path that led around the side of the garden venue. The bathroom was tucked inside a small building draped with ivy and glowing lanterns. As you washed your hands beside Alba, both of you laughing softly at how fancy the soap was, you found yourself instantly at ease with her like the friend of a friend you already trusted, and who somehow already knew your secrets.

On the walk back, as the soft music of the reception filtered through the open air, Alba suddenly slowed when she spotted the bar. “You want a shot?” she asked, eyebrow raised, mischief in her grin.

You hesitated, just for the thrill of pretending to consider it, then said, “Only if we don’t tell Alexia.”

Alba laughed, grabbed your hand and tugged you over. “Deal.”

The bartender didn’t ask questions, just poured two small glasses of tequila as Alba gave him a winning smile. You clinked your shot glasses together and both said “Salud!” before throwing them back.

You winced as the tequila burned on the way down, but it was warm and quick and oddly satisfying. You both scrunched your faces before laughing together, Alba fanning her face slightly.

“I needed that,” she said, grinning.

“You and me both,” you replied, wiping under your eyes and catching your reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who’s starting to fall for my sister,” she said, cheeky and matter of fact. You blinked at her, caught off guard, but Alba was already turning toward the path again, hands clasped behind her back, walking as though she hadn’t just dropped a truth bomb.

You followed, laughing under your breath and muttering, “You lot are very bold.”

Alba tossed you a look over her shoulder. “We’re Catalan. You’ll learn.”

As you both slipped back toward the reception, your lips still tingling slightly from the tequila, you spotted Alexia looking around scanning the space, eyes catching yours just as you turned the corner.

She smiled, instantly softening, and you felt it in your chest more than you cared to admit. Alba whispered without looking at you, “She was checking her watch. She definitely missed you.”

You laughed, shaking your head as Alba’s words replayed in your mind, as you both stepped back into the glow of the reception, Alexia's fingertips brushed your arm as you slid back into your chair.

“What you laughing at?” she asked, her voice low, curious, and far too charming.

You looked over at her, giving her an innocent smile. “Nothing. Your sister thinks she’s funny… like you do.”

Alexia raised an eyebrow, glancing past you to Alba who was now settling back into her seat with a far too satisfied smirk. “Ah,” Alexia said knowingly, “she say something?”

You shrugged, lips curving. “You’ll never get it out of me.”

Alexia leaned in just slightly, a playful glint in her eye. “I find ways.”

Her tone made something flutter in your stomach, and you glanced away quickly, pretending to study your wine glass instead. Alexia just chuckled under her breath, resting her arm back along your chair.

Across the table, Alba caught your eye and gave you a tiny wink, you groaned under your breath, grinning anyway. This family, honestly.

☀️

The soft hum of voices and clinking glasses had faded into the background. Dinner was over, the plates cleared, speeches done. Laughter echoed in the open air venue under strings of golden lights as the first dance came and went, and now the night had settled into something quieter, something more intimate.

You had wandered off on your own without meaning to, standing just at the edge of the dance floor, your heels dug slightly into the grass. Chris Stapleton’s Tennessee Whiskey began to play through the speakers slow and smooth, the kind of song that sank right into your chest.

You started to sway gently on your own, arms folded around yourself, smiling faintly as you watched couples fall into rhythm some holding each other close, others whispering in laughter. Your lips moved softly with the lyrics under your breath, familiar with every word.

"You're as smooth... as Tennessee whiskey..." You didn’t realise you weren’t alone anymore not until you felt her.

An arm snaked around you from behind, sliding easily across your chest, fingers brushing the edge of your collarbone, and you froze for a second before relaxing into the familiar warmth of her body pressing gently into your back.

Alexia sang along with you, just as softly. Her voice wasn’t perfect a little unsure of the English but it made you grin without turning your head. You could feel her smile where her cheek almost rested beside yours.

You leaned back slightly into her, her hand squeezing your side as you both swayed in time with the music. Then she stepped around you slowly, her fingertips dragging lightly down your arm before curling around your hand. She pulled you gently, coaxing you forward without saying a word. You went without hesitation, letting her guide you toward the space where the others danced.

She didn’t let your hand go as she turned to face you, her other arm slipping around your waist, settling like it belonged there. Yours naturally went around her neck, fingers brushing the skin at the nape of it.

You swayed together, pressed close. The world narrowed, the music wrapping around the two of you like a cocoon, you tilted your head up to look at her, your lips curling. “Don’t get cocky,” you said softly, teasing.

Her smile deepened, eyes flicking down to your lips and back up again like she was already there. You didn’t give her a chance to be smug. You leaned in first, your lips catching hers in a kiss that started sweet but didn’t stay that way.

Alexia didn’t hesitate her mouth moved against yours with more urgency, her hand flattening against your back to pull you tighter into her. Your fingers tightened in her hair, your kiss deepening as her tongue slid against yours, slow and purposeful.

You kissed like no one was watching and for a moment, you truly didn’t care if they were. The music kept playing, the stars blinked above and Alexia's arms around you felt like the safest, easiest place in the world to be.

Alexia’s hands stayed steady on your waist, warm and sure, her thumbs rubbing gentle, unconscious circles against the fabric of your dress. Your bodies pressed so close you could feel every breath she took, every shift in her weight as the two of you swayed to the slow pull of Tennessee Whiskey.

You pulled back slightly from the kiss, lips tingling, her breath ghosting across your skin. The lights from the venue cast a soft golden glow over her features her flushed cheeks, the lazy grin she was trying and failing to bite back, the unmistakable heat in her eyes.

“You good?” she asked, voice low and thick with her accent.

You nodded, your smile soft and a little breathless. “Very good.”

Her fingers squeezed at your hips before settling again. You rested your forehead against hers, noses brushing. Around you, other couples danced, but no one seemed to pay attention or if they did, neither of you noticed. It felt like you were floating in your own little bubble, untouched by the world.

“You surprised me,” she murmured.

“With what?”

Alexia tilted her head, eyes gleaming. “You kiss me like you do this all the time.”

You let out a soft laugh, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “You don’t exactly make it easy not to.”

That earned you a smirk. She ducked her head slightly, then nudged her nose against yours. “You’re dangerous,” she whispered.

You hummed playfully. “So are you. Maybe we cancel each other out.”

Her smile turned crooked, her gaze flicking again to your lips. “Maybe.”

You danced through the rest of the song and into the next without even noticing the transition. It was something a little faster, but neither of you let go. Your movements just shifted, her hands guiding you with ease, her confidence showing up in every step. You followed her lead and then resisted it playfully just to tease her.

“Are you always this bossy on the dance floor?” you teased, stepping away, spinning yourself before she pulled you back effortlessly.

“I’m Catalan,” she replied with a grin, “we come with opinions.” You laughed, head falling back slightly before her arms locked you back into place, her forehead touched yours again. “But only for you, I try to be gentle.”

Your heart kicked up hard in your chest and just like that, she kissed you again softer this time, slower. Her lips moved with intention, like she was memorising the shape of your mouth, the way you responded to her. One of her hands came up to cradle the back of your neck, keeping you close. It felt like a promise or the beginning of one.

You didn’t realise the music had faded again until the DJ called for everyone to gather near the cake. There was a murmur of laughter and cheers, and Alexia reluctantly broke the kiss, resting her forehead against yours one last time before she pulled away with a reluctant smile. “Come,” she said, tugging your hand.

“Cake?” you asked, breath still uneven.

Alexia nodded. “Yes. And then… later?” The sparkle in her eyes said everything.

“Later,” you agreed, letting her lead you again off the floor and back into the soft, electric chaos of the night.

☀️

The evening had slipped into a soft, sleepy kind of quiet. The music had dulled, guests were starting to drift off in pairs or small groups, laughter still echoing from a nearby terrace as the wedding wound down.

You were just outside your hotel room now, the hallway quiet, dimly lit, the buzz of the day still tingling faintly through your limbs. Alexia stood beside you, close, one hand tucked into her pocket, the other absently brushing the edge of her jacket.

You’d said your goodbyes to Alba and Eli a few minutes ago, each warm and kind in their own way. Alba had given you a teasing smirk and a hug that lasted longer than expected. Eli, despite her limited English, had held your hand in hers and nodded with the kind of motherly affection that said more than words could.

Now it was just you and her Alexia leaned a little into the wall as you turned to face her. “Today was… something,” you said, your voice hushed in the hallway.

Her eyes crinkled slightly, the corners warm. “Yeah,” she agreed. “You make it better.”

That stopped you for a beat, she wasn’t usually so direct, not in words, you gave her a quiet smile. “You say that like I didn’t spend most of dinner trying to understand what your mum was saying with your help.”

Alexia shrugged, her grin crooked. “You tried. She liked you.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded, stepping in closer now. “They both do.”

You swallowed, her eyes were on your mouth again. “And what about you?”

Alexia tilted her head slightly, her voice soft. “You really have to ask?”

You didn’t. The silence stretched in that comfortable way you’d both found too easily around each other. You were close enough to kiss, and for a moment, neither of you did just looked, just breathed.

You put the key in the lock behind you but didn’t push the door open. Her eyes flicked briefly to the handle, then back to you.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked quietly, unsure if it was too much, too soon, but already knowing your answer.

Alexia didn’t answer right away. Her gaze searched yours for the briefest moment, then she nodded once, slow, deliberate. “If you want me to.”

You reached for her hand, fingers curling gently around hers as you stepped backwards, guiding her into the room behind you.

She followed.

[yeeterthek33per]

[yeeterthek33per]

Three weddings and one new love II Patri Guijarro x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2169

summary: Patri and Reader cross paths at three weddings. Each meeting brings them closer, but is it enough for something real to begin?

author's note: hi, like everyone else, we absolutely loved all the woso weddings and inspiration struck. We hope you enjoy the fanfic that came from it. <3

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

Lola and Cristina’s wedding was in full swing.

“Patri, do you remember her?” Leila’s question was innocent enough, but when the midfielder caught sight of you, she nearly choked on the champagne she’d been sipping.

Of course, Patri remembered. How could she not? But somehow, you were even more beautiful than she’d allowed herself to recall.

Noticing the brunette’s stunned expression, you laughed, light and effervescent, like the bubbles rising in your glass: “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”, Patri said, recovering quickly. The midfielder felt the warmth rising to her cheeks. Normally, she was cooler, more composed. She blamed the heat. And the drinks.

“It’s nice to see you too.”, you replied, a soft smile on your lips.

“Are you enjoying the party so far?”, the Barcelona player asked, her voice casual, but her eyes lingering just a little too long.

“I do. What about you? I really like your dress.”, you said.

The sleeveless black dress hugged her figure effortlessly, the ink of her tattoos accentuating her sun-warmed skin.

Patri tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous smile playing on her lips: “Oh, thank you.” She paused, gesturing vaguely. “And yeah, Lola and Cristina know how to throw a party.”

You took a moment to absorb the atmosphere. Laughter drifted through the garden, and even usually composed Alexia was dancing in her pink dress, barefoot and carefree, with the bride.

“I’m not usually a fan of weddings, but this one’s something special.”, you confessed.

Patri grinned: “That’s a big compliment, then. Can I get you another drink?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”, you responded, returning her smile.

Like a true gentlewoman, she returned with fresh drinks for you both, gently clinking her glass against yours. “Cheers.” “Cheers.”

“It’s really beautiful.”, Patri murmured, her eyes scanning the joyful chaos unfolding around you.

You followed her gaze. The couple radiated happiness, surrounded by friends, laughter and the soft golden light of early evening.

Knowing them as well as you did, especially Lola, the goalkeeper who’d stood by you when everything in your career was falling apart, you felt a quiet swell of emotion. “I agree.”, you said, your voice low.

Patri turned to you, a playful tilt to her head:” Would you like to dance?”

Her brown eyes caught yours, deep and steady, and something warm unfurled in your chest. You hesitated, nerves fluttering at the edges.

“Oh, um… sure,” you nodded, speaking almost to yourself.

As you stepped onto the dance floor, the DJ smoothly shifted from a fast rhythm to a slow, melodic song. You both paused, smiling, a little shy, a little amused, before stepping closer.

Her hand found yours, and the space between you disappeared. The movement was easy, natural, like you’d rehearsed it without knowing. There was no need to speak, your bodies seemed to anticipate each other, flowing in quiet synchrony.

The moment, soft and perfect, was suddenly broken by the arrival of Irene, her expression tight with concern.

You watched as Patri’s eyebrows knotted together, looking over to her teammate.

“Patri? Can you help me find Mateo?”, Irene asked, the slightest hint of panic in her voice.

“I…”, Patri hesitated, looking back and forth between you and Irene until she nodded firmly: “Yeah, sure.”

She offered you an apologetic smile: “Sorry.”

You waved her off casually: “It’s fine. I need to check on Andrea, anyway, looks like she had enough to drink.”

With a final wry smile, Patri disappeared into the crowd. She eventually found Mateo several minutes later, sitting calmly beneath a table, hidden by the tablecloth and happily playing with his toy cars. The relief on Irenes face when she saw her son was immeasurable.

Happy to have been of help, Patri returned to where she left you earlier but you were gone.

“Ale? Do you have y/n’s number?”, she asked Alexia who was seated on a table nearby, sipping white wine.

She raised her eyebrows as she took another sip: “I don’t. Why?”

“I…”, Patri started. But what was she supposed to say? That she couldn’t find you after circling the parameter of the big yard three times already. That she felt something between you two and didn’t understand why you had just left?

Before she could find the right words, Leila chimed in, her eyes lighting up with excitement: “You want to see her again?!”

“Yeah?”, Patri answered carefully.

This caused Alexia shoot her a knowing, slightly pitying look. Patri wished she hadn’t even asked at all.

Summer break meant wedding season in the womens football world, so the next ceremony was only a couple days later. It felt like the celebrations were never-ending. But you weren’t complaining, not when it gave you another excuse to wear something fancy.

You were stuck in some small-talk with two men you didn’t know, and it quickly became clear that they were more interested in each other’s opinions than anything you had to say. You stood there politely, twirling the stem of your champagne flute between your fingers and pretending to listen. At least until a bright red jumpsuit caught your attention.

It was Patri, smiling carefully as she walked towards you.

You smiled back at her, grateful to have an excuse to leave the one-sided conversation: “You again. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”

“Hi, I didn’t know you knew the brides.”, Patri greeted you and as she took in your uncovered arms added: “… or that you had any tattoos.”

You smirked at her, catching the way her gaze lingered on your body: “Wow, you underestimate me, Guijarro.”

“I did. I thought…”, she started, her cheeks turning pink.

“You thought I was just the girl next door? I feel like I should be offended.”, you teased, leaning in with a grin.

Clearing her throat, the midfielder defended herself: “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.”, you said quickly, hoping to ease her visible nervousness.

Biting her lip, Patri murmured an apology.

“Yours are really pretty.”, you admitted, lightly tracing the inked lines on her upper arm with your finger. Was this still just friendly chatter between guests, or had it already tipped into flirting? You suspected the latter. You couldn’t help it, the banter between you was too good to resist.

Under your attention, she muttered: “Oh, thanks.”

“Although the tiger might be a bit cheesy.”, you added with a wink.

Pretending to be offended, the brunette shot back: “What? No, it’s cool.”

You chuckled: “Uh-huh.”

Then the mood shifted. A memory surfaced, the last wedding where you’d seen her, and how abruptly it had ended. Your voice softened: “Sorry for vanishing like some kind of Cinderella the last time we saw each other.”

“Is that a thing you do?”, Patri asked, her tone cautious. She didn’t want to be hurt again. The feeling of being left behind was still raw, it hadn’t been a few days ago.

You shook your head.: “Vanishing and leaving a pretty girl behind? No, usually not. At least, not on purpose.”

“So, I don’t have to be scared you’ll disappear again?” she questioned, watching you hopefully.

“No, I won’t do that.” You smiled, heart open. “You want me to stay?”

“I do.”, Patri confirmed, her voice barely a whisper. “I even asked the others for your number.”

“You did?”

Here was the thing, you had all played for the national team together. But after you left for England and refused any further call-ups, not much in the Spanish federation had truly changed. Just fragments. Bits and pieces. And there was still so much left to be desired. Which meant, of course, that none of her football friends would have your contact details.

“I can give you mine now,” you offered, pulling a pen from your small bag and scribbling your number on her arm.

“Thanks,” she responded softly.

“You’re welcome. I’m rarely in Spain these days, but I’m here most summers.”, you explained.

Nervously, she glanced at you, her voice quiet as she hinted at the dance you never got to finish last time: “That’s... fine. I just still owe you a dance.”

“You should do that now,” you replied with a smirk, nodding towards the dance floor. “One of my favourite songs is playing.”

Patri shrugged as if this opportunity was as good as any: “Okay, then.”

You took her hand in yours and led her onto the dance floor.

The music surrounded you both as you started to sway. Patri’s hands settled naturally on your waist, guiding your movements with the rhythm of her own body. She moved smoothly, like water. Almost like the way she played football, you thought.

“You’re surprisingly good at this.”, you smirked.

Patri smiled, lifting an eyebrow: “Surprisingly, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean you’re maestro on the field but the dance floor is very far from a pitch.”, you teased, biting your lip.

She tilted her head, considering for a moment and then said with a slightly challenging tone: “Can’t I be both?”

Her face was so close to yours now, the sunlight catching in her deep brown eyes.

“You can be even more than that.”, you murmured, your gaze locked on her.

You knew she stared at your lips. You waited for her to lean in. Maybe she was waiting for you too. The kiss never came.

And then the moment was gone. You had to leave right after this dance, but you had no idea how much chaos your exit would leave behind.

Later that night, with the music still playing and drinks still flowing, a fine sprinkle of rain began to fall over the wedding and Alexia came running towards her friend group, her high heels dangling from her fingers: “Olga! Leila! Patri is crying… and she won’t tell me why!”

They found her outside, sitting on the venue steps, quietly sobbing and mascara smudging underneath her eyes.

Leila crouched down beside her: “What happened?”

“I had her number but it vanished… just like her.”, Patri sniffed, pointing towards the fading writing on her arm that was almost completely washed away by a mix of sweat and rain.

“Aw, cariño…”, Olga sighed, brushing strands of hair out of Patris face.

“It’s okay. I’m sure we can get her number somehow.”, Leila said softly.

“Promise.”, Olga added, squeezing her shoulder.

Patri wiped her eyes and looked up to them. The crying had finally stopped.

The third wedding was Laia’s. Just as beautiful as the last two ceremonies and with a lot of familiar faces on the guest list.

When you walked in, you noticed one table right away.

“Patri. Get up and stop pouting.”, Ona ordered, elbowing her in the ribs.

Patri was seated next to her, frowning into her champagne glass.

“She’s here!”

“Stop messing with me.”, the midfielder muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Unmoved by her teammate’s theatrics, Ona gave a half-smile: “I’m not. She and Laia go way back to their Atlético days. So come on now.”

Patri’s head shot up: “Wait, are you serious?”

With a sigh, Ona grabbed her arm and gently tugged her to her feet. She turned her toward the other side of the courtyard, where you stood talking to the bride, laughing in the golden dusk.

“I am.”, Ona said simply.

Laia’s voice rang out beside you, warm and sure. She rested her arm on your shoulder: “I hope you’ll come visit me in Barcelona soon.”

You smiled, hugging her close: “Of course I will.” The promise was meant for her, but when your eyes flicked past her shoulder and found the one woman you'd seen at the last two weddings, your heart quietly wondered if the promise might stretch to her too.

Beaming, Laia announced: “I’ll go find my husband.”

“Okay.”

Their happiness was contagious, easy, natural. It was beautiful to see someone you’d known so long marry the man who had cried the moment she stepped into view at the ceremony.

You and Laia shared one last hug. Then, as you turned, you almost stumbled straight into Patri.

“Oh, hi.”, you mumbled, nerves fluttering in your chest.

“Hey.”, she replied, calm on the outside, though her heart was pounding. Three weddings. Third time’s the charm, maybe this was the moment, like in all the films and books.

You gestured toward the happy couple: “Laia and I were just talking, I’ve got to visit her in Barcelona soon.”

“Yeah,” Patri said. “It’s great to have her back.”

You nodded. “You lot are lucky.”

“We are.”

You hesitated, searching her face: “What if I want to see you too, not just Laia?”

Her expression lit up, hope blooming across her pretty face: “You want to visit me?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I really do.”

“I’d like that.”, Patri answered, and stepped a little closer. She kissed your cheek soft, deliberate, her lips brushing just a little too close to yours.

Three weddings and maybe, this was the first chapter of your own little love story.

[yeeterthek33per]

When the Darkness Felt Endless (You Were the Light I Found)

4500 words - I guess this is a middle long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - Maybe this will heal the anxiety - Angst and Fluff - Happy ending - Mentions of depression and prostetics - Please read with care.

Writer's note: wow, wow, wow, you are all so kind! Keeps me going when the creative brain hits. Enjoy this piece while I finally get to work work. See you next week.

The headlines had stopped screaming her name. The lights had dimmed. The cheers faded like echoes in a cold, hollow tunnel.

Alexia Putellas sat in the back of her apartment, hood up, body curled into the corner of a couch she barely remembered buying. The only sound was the ticking of a clock she wished she could rip off the wall. Time was still moving. Everything was moving. Except her.

Her knee still ached, even though the doctors said it was healing. But they didn’t see the part that didn’t show up on scans. They didn’t hear the static that buzzed in her head every time she looked at her boots. Or saw the photos she’d flipped face-down.

Everything inside her was sharp edges and shame. And that voice… her own voice, somehow sounding like someone else. It told her this was who she really was: not the leader, not the fighter, not the hero. Just broken.

She hadn’t been outside in days.

And then the knock came.

It wasn’t loud. Just three soft, almost tentative knocks. Like the person on the other side wasn’t sure if anyone would answer. Or wanted to.

She didn’t move.

The knock came again.

“Alexia.” Your voice was gentle, but it carried something heavier underneath. Like you knew. Like you’d been here, too.

She hated that. That you might see her like this.

Why did you see her like this? You are just one of the neighbors.

“I’m not…” she croaked, but her voice cracked like dry wood. “Just go.”

But you didn’t.

“I brought food,” you said. “You can ignore me if you want. I’ll just leave it here.”

Silence.

“I’m coming back tomorrow.”

That night, Alexia sat with the food untouched on the kitchen counter. Staring at the note you left beside it.

You’re not alone.

She hated how much she wanted to believe it.

You kept coming back.

Every day.

Sometimes with food. Sometimes with nothing but silence and that look. The one that said you see her. Not the athlete. Not the legend. Just her. And she couldn’t stand it.

The third day, she opened the door. Only a crack. Just enough for you to see the bruises under her eyes. Not from fists, but from insomnia and tears.

"You don’t have to…" she started.

"I know," you said. No hesitation. "I want to."

She hated that answer.

Because it didn’t make sense.

People only stay when they want something. That’s what her mind told her. That twisted, looping thought she couldn’t shut up.

What did you want?

Whatever it was, she didn’t buy it.

Fame by proximity? A favor? A story to tell your friends. ‘Oh, I saw Alexia Putellas fall apart once. Up close.’

Or maybe you were just like her… sick with guilt and pretending not to be.

Still, she let you inside that night.

You didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push. Just sat on the floor while she stared at the ceiling. And somehow, in the silence, she cracked.

“They keep saying I’ll come back stronger,” she muttered.

You turned to look at her, eyes soft but honest. "And what do you say?"

She laughed. Bitter, low. "That I’m tired of lying.”

There it was.

The truth spilled from her lips like poison. "I don’t even know who I am without football. Without winning. Without people chanting my name. When it’s quiet like this…" she gestured around the dim apartment, “I can’t hear anything except how much I hate myself.”

Your voice didn’t break, but it trembled with understanding. “I know that feeling.”

She studied you for the first time. Really studied you. There was a weight behind your eyes. Not pity, she would’ve shut down if it were pity, but recognition.

You’d been there, too.

“I used to think if I could just do enough, be enough… maybe I’d stop feeling like a burden,” you said. “Turns out you can accomplish everything and still feel like you’re rotting inside.”

A beat passed. She almost stopped breathing.

Because it felt like you were inside her head.

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“I don’t know. Maybe because when I look at you, I see someone worth saving.” You paused. “And I wish someone had done that for me.”

She turned her face away so you wouldn’t see the tear fall. But she felt your presence, warm and still. Not trying to fix her. Not telling her to “get back up.” Just… there.

The silence between you was heavy, but not suffocating. For the first time in weeks, she didn't feel like she was falling alone.

Later that night, as you left, she murmured it… half asleep, half broken, but clear:

“Luna.”

You turned back. “What?”

“That’s what I’m gonna call you,” she said, voice hoarse. “You’re quiet. But you show up when it’s dark.”

You didn’t reply. But you smiled. And somehow, that smile stayed with her long after the door closed.

One evening, she was distant, colder than before. You noticed it the moment you stepped in. Her eyes avoiding yours. Her body taut like a wire ready to snap.

You became her Luna, the quiet light in her darkest nights.

But even the moon disappears behind clouds.

“Alexia?” you asked softly.

She shook her head, voice sharp and brittle. “I don’t need anyone.”

That cracked something inside you. A fissure that had been growing since you met her. But you held your ground. Refusing to let her slip away.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” you said.

She laughed but there was no humor. “You don’t understand. Nobody does.”

Her voice broke, just for a second, but that was enough.

“I hate who I’ve become,” she confessed. “The injury, the silence, the empty space where my future used to be. Every time I look in the mirror, I hate her. Hate myself.”

The raw pain in her words stabbed you. You reached out, trembling, to touch her arm.

But she flinched.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m broken.”

You wanted to scream, to shout that she wasn’t. That no one was broken beyond repair. But your voice caught in your throat.

Because you knew this was a battle she had to fight inside herself.

Days passed, and the distance grew. Texts left unread. Calls unanswered.

You tried to respect her space, but the silence swallowed you whole.

One night, your phone lit up, a message from her.

“Go away.”

It was simple. Cold.

You stared at the screen. Heart shattering.

But you didn’t reply.

Instead, you showed up at her door the next morning. No words. Just presence.

After a long moment, she opened the door, eyes red and swollen.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.

You shook your head. “You don’t have to apologize for pain.”

Her lips trembled, tears spilling down. “I’m scared you’ll leave. Like everyone else.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promised. “Luna stays through the storms.”

And in that fragile moment, between fear and hope, she let you in again.

She never understood why you kept knocking. Why, out of all the faces in the building, it was yours.

The truth was, you’d never spoken more than a handful of words. Maybe five in total. Mostly just glances through half-open doors or hurried nods in the hallway.

Neighbors, not friends. But something kept pulling you to her door.

Tonight was no different.

Another knock. Three soft taps.

Alexia stared at the door like it was a stranger’s, heart pounding unevenly. She had so many questions, none of which she dared voice.

Why her? Why now? Why someone she barely knew. Someone she’d barely looked at?

She wanted to slam the door. Yo shut out the unknown. But her body betrayed her. The door cracked open.

There you stood. No food. No note. Just that steady, quiet presence.

You said nothing, just offered a small, almost hesitant smile.

She wanted to ask, Why? Why do you care?

But words wouldn’t come.

Instead, she looked away.

“It’s ridiculous,” she finally muttered. “You don’t even know me.”

You nodded slowly. “I don’t.”

“But you keep coming back.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Why?”

You looked down at your hands, then back up… eyes steady.

“Because sometimes, when someone’s breaking in silence, the right thing to do is just... show up. Even if you don’t understand.”

Alexia’s chest tightened.

She hated feeling like a charity case. A project. Someone to be saved. She was a fighter, or she used to be. But now… now she felt like nothing.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she said, voice trembling. “You don’t have to be here.”

You stepped a little closer. Still cautious. Still respectful.

“I’m not here because I owe you. I’m here because I see you. And you deserve more than being invisible.”

Her eyes flicked to yours, searching for something. Hope, maybe, or just the truth.

She didn’t know what to say.

So she said nothing.

And in that silence, a fragile understanding settled.

But the walls were still up.

And the healing… if it ever came… was still far away.

You started staying longer.

Never asked to. Never assumed. Just waited. Always waited for her to open the door first.

The first time she left it unlocked, you stood there for a moment. Unsure whether it was an invitation or an accident. But when you knocked softly and she didn’t flinch, you stepped inside.

She was on the floor, back against the couch, legs drawn in. A hoodie swallowed her frame.

No words. Just your breath in the quiet.

You sat down across from her, not too close. The space between you wasn’t distance. It was permission. She needed that.

The silence stretched until it didn’t feel like silence anymore.

Finally, she spoke.

“You live across from me, right?”

You nodded. “End of the hall.”

Her eyes flickered over you, cautious. “How long?”

“About a year.”

She blinked. That long?

“You ever hear me cry?” she asked bluntly.

You didn’t lie. “Sometimes.”

Her jaw tightened. She looked away. “Bet that was pathetic.”

“No,” you said simply.

She didn’t respond, but something in her posture shifted.

You looked down at your hands. “I used to cry like that, too.”

She glanced up. “Used to?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes still do. Just quieter.”

That earned a dry, bitter huff. Not quite a laugh. But not silence either.

Alexia rubbed at her face. Her fingers trembling. “You know... I thought if I lost football, I’d lose everything. Turns out I did.”

“You didn’t lose everything,” you said.

She met your eyes. Sharp, tired, guarded. “What’s left?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. You didn’t want to say me. Not yet. Not when she barely let you touch her shadow.

So instead, you said, “Maybe something you haven’t noticed yet.”

Another silence. Heavier this time.

Then she asked, voice low, “What’s your name?”

You gave it to her.

She repeated it quietly, testing the sound. And then... without quite meaning to... she said, “Doesn’t suit you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “No?”

She shook her head. “You’re still Luna.”

Your chest ached, but in a good way.

She was letting you in. A little. Enough.

Enough for now.

You didn’t knock.

For the first time in weeks, your knock never came.

The hallway was quiet.

Alexia sat in the dark. Blanket wrapped around her like armor. Phone on the table. Screen blank. No texts. No sounds. Just the ticking again. That clock she still hadn’t taken off the wall.

Her apartment had never felt so empty.

She waited an hour. Then two.

Then three.

Maybe you were busy. Maybe you finally realized she wasn’t worth the effort. She told herself that. Repeated it like a mantra.

This is what people do. They leave. She should be used to it.

But something about your silence was off. Not cruel, not distant. Just… wrong.

So she stood. Pulled on a sweatshirt. Crossed the hallway.

Your door was closed. No sound from inside.

She hesitated.

Then knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

No answer.

Her gut tightened. She knocked again, firmer. “Luna?”

Still nothing.

She didn’t mean to open the door. But it was unlocked, just like hers had been the night she let you in.

She stepped inside.

And stopped.

Your place was dim. Quiet. Lived-in but tidy. And in the far room... she saw the silhouette of you curled up in bed, facing the wall.

“Luna?” Her voice was barely a whisper now.

You didn’t turn.

She walked closer. Slowly. And then she saw it. The empty socket beside the bed. A sleek black prosthetic leg propped against the wall. The skin of your thigh raw and irritated. Like it had fought a battle all day and lost.

You still didn’t turn. But you spoke, voice low and flat. “Didn’t feel like being a person today.”

Alexia blinked. The words were a mirror of everything she’d ever said. Everything she thought only applied to her.

And suddenly, she felt like a thief.

You’d been showing up for her. Over and over. And she’d never once asked if you were hurting too. She never noticed your limp, never questioned your quiet exits. Never even saw the piece of you that was missing. Not really.

She’d been drowning so deeply in herself, she never realized you might be wading through your own hell.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.

You turned your head slightly, eyes tired but calm. “Would it have mattered?”

That answer gutted her.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “It would’ve.”

A long silence.

You gave a tired shrug. “It happened years ago. Car accident. I was in the backseat. Some nights I still dream I’m trapped there.”

She sat down beside your bed, not touching you. Just there.

“I used to think I’d never walk again,” you continued. “Then I thought I’d never be loved. Now I just try to get through the day without wanting to disappear.”

Alexia pressed a fist to her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be.”

“No. I am.” Her voice cracked. “You were always there for me. And I never asked about you. I never even looked.”

You glanced at her, lips curling just slightly. “That’s okay. You weren’t supposed to. You were drowning.”

She blinked fast, but tears slipped through anyway.

“I’m tired of drowning,” she said, voice almost inaudible.

Then, softer still: “Do you want me to stay?”

You nodded, just once.

And for the first time, she lay beside you.

No walls. No armor.

Just two broken people, side by side, in the quiet dark.

The morning sunlight filtered softly through your window, painting your room with pale gold.

Today was different.

Today you were getting a new prosthetic leg.

Your first in months.

The one designed to move. To run. To jump. To feel alive again.

You turned to Alexia, heart pounding with something close to hope.

“I have an appointment,” you said quietly. “Physio and the new leg fitting.”

Her eyes flickered, hesitation written in every line of her face.

“I don’t know if...”

You smiled gently. “I want you to come.”

For weeks, she’d barely left her apartment. The shadows clung too tight. The pain was too loud.

But something about your invitation felt different. Not a demand, but a promise.

She nodded slowly, pulling on a jacket she hadn’t touched in days.

Outside, the air was cool and sharp. A fresh contrast to the stale loneliness of her rooms.

You walked side by side. Tentative but steady.

The clinic was bright, bustling with life and the sharp scent of antiseptic.

You tried on the new prosthetic. Lighter, more flexible. And for the first time in months, you felt the thrill of movement.

Alexia watched, eyes wide, a small smile playing at her lips.

On the way back, you both walked a little taller.

And then, unexpectedly, you saw her.

Eli.

Alexia’s mother.

Her face softened at the sight of her daughter stepping out into the sunlight. Not alone but with you. the stranger who had quietly become her lifeline.

“Alexia,” Eli’s voice was gentle but firm, full of the unspoken worry and love only a mother carries. “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

Alexia’s lips trembled as she gave a nod.

Eli turned to you, eyes bright with gratitude. “Thank you for bringing her out.”

You exchanged a glance. Warm and quiet.

For the first time in a long time, hope didn’t feel fragile.

It felt possible.

The days after the clinic visit were quieter but not empty.

Alexia noticed it first in the mornings.

She woke without the usual weight pressing on her chest, the dark thoughts that tangled her mind overnight still there, but softer... distant echoes instead of a roaring storm.

You were part of that change.

Not because you said anything profound.

Not because you tried to fix her.

But because you simply were... a steady presence in a wrld that had felt fractured and cold.

One afternoon, Eli stopped by. She lingered in the doorway. Her eyes warm and kind.

“I see a change,” she said softly.

Alexia shrugged, unsure if she wanted to believe it.

Eli smiled gently. “Sometimes the right person doesn’t just walk into your life. They carry a light you forgot you had.”

That night, you two sat on her small balcony, wrapped in blankets, watching the city lights flicker.

She turned to you, voice quiet.

“You make this... lighter. Like the weight is still there but I can breathe underneath it.”

You reached out, fingers brushing hers briefly.

“That’s enough,” you said.

Alexia smiled, fragile but real.

In the dark, with you beside her, she let herself hope. For the first time in a long time. That maybe. Just maybe. She wasn’t alone.

The knock was soft but deliberate.

You opened the door to find Alexia standing there. A carefully balanced container in her hands.

“I made lunch,” she said, voice a little shy. “Thought you might want some company.”

You stepped aside, letting her in.

The apartment smelled faintly of warmth and effort. Something she hadn’t done in a while.

You ate together, the quiet between bites feeling less like an abyss and more like a space where something new might grow.

After the last forkful, Alexia looked at you, eyes steady.

“I’m going to the training grounds tomorrow,” she said.

Your heart skipped.

“Rehab,” she added quickly. “I’ve decided I can’t stay stuck. And they have staff there of course. Professionals who can help. Maybe even help you, too. With your new leg.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Would you like to come? Start yours together?”

You blinked, surprised.

“I… don’t really have any training clothes,” you admitted shyly, voice small.

Alexia’s lips curved into a proud, teasing smile. “You can wear mine.”

Your heart fluttered in a weird, warm way.

She caught your glance and laughed softly. “I’m serious. You’re going to need something comfortable. Besides, it’s about time I share more than just my pain.”

The morning sun spilled through the windows as you both prepared for the day ahead.

Alexia handed you a loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants. Her training clothes, worn but clean.

You hesitated, fingers brushing the fabric. Feeling a strange flutter in your chest.

“You sure?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled, a mixture of pride and encouragement in her eyes. “Absolutely. It’s a start. We start together.”

The walk to the training grounds was quiet at first. Neither of you knew exactly what to say, or how to act.

You noticed the way Alexia kept glancing at you. Maybe nervous. Maybe hopeful.

When you arrived, the clinic staff greeted you warmly. Ushering you both into the rehab area.

The room was filled with equipment: parallel bars, treadmills, balance boards. A physical world of challenge and possibility.

You fumbled with the new prosthetic leg, its unfamiliar weight strange against your skin.

Alexia stood beside you, silently offering support.

“Ready?” she asked, voice soft but steady.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Your first steps were awkward and uneven. The prosthetic didn’t quite feel like part of you yet, and your muscles screamed with unfamiliar effort.

Alexia’s own movements were cautious. Shadows of hesitation flickering in her eyes.

But neither of you gave up.

The physiotherapist guided you gently. Adjusting your posture. Encouraging you.

Between attempts, Alexia reached out, squeezing your hand briefly. A small anchor in the uncertainty.

You caught her gaze, and in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

Hours passed in a blur of effort and quiet triumphs.

By the end, you were both exhausted but smiling. The first genuine smiles in a long time.

On the walk home, Alexia slipped her hand into yours.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?” you asked.

“For coming. For staying.”

Your heart swelled.

When you stopped outside her building. The world seemed to pause.

Alexia looked up at you. Eyes searching. Vulnerable.

Slowly, she leaned in and your lips met in a soft, trembling kiss.

It was hesitant. A question and an answer all at once.

The kind of kiss that promises more than words ever could.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you spoke.

But the quiet between you now held something new.

Hope.

And the beginning of something real.

A few weeks had passed since that day at the training grounds.

You and Alexia were officially together now. Girlfriends, as she’d said once. Shy but sure.

Most days, you found yourself spending hours in her apartment. The place that had once felt like a prison but was slowly becoming home.

Today, you two tackled the chaos of her room. Clothes piled on the floor. Unopened letters. And the shadows that still lingered in the corners.

You laughed quietly as you worked side by side. The easy comfort between you growing.

Later, she mentioned dinner at her mother’s.

“You’ll finally meet my mamá properly,” she said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“And my sister,” she added with a smile.

Your heart fluttered, nerves bubbling up. Meeting family felt like a big step. But one you were ready for.

Before you left, you needed to freshen up.

Alexia’s shower was small, built before your accident, not quite made for someone like you.

You hesitated at the bathroom door, voice trembling. “I… might need some help.”

She looked up. Surprise flickering in her eyes.

You’d never seen each other quite like this. Vulnerable, exposed.

But Alexia didn’t hesitate.

She stepped inside, gentle hands steadying you as the warm water glided over your skin. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you close in the tight, steamy space.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly against your ear, her voice trembling with something raw and real. “Thank you for pulling me out of the dark.”

You leaned into her, heart pounding, feeling the weight of those words settle between you like a promise.

When you finally emerged, clean and steady, Alexia smiled softly.

“You’re beautiful,” she said simply.

You blushed, heart full.

Tonight, you’d meet her family.

But for now, wrapped in the warmth of each other, you felt ready for anything.

It still felt surreal. This place was yours and Alexia’s now.

A modest one-floor home nestled in a peaceful neighborhood, spacious enough for dreams and laughter and the quiet moments you both craved.

Boxes sat unpacked in the corners, a testament to new beginnings, but the walls already hummed with the promise of life unfolding.

Today was special.

Alexia had a match.

Her first game back after months of grueling rehab, of rebuilding not just her body but her spirit.

You could see the nervous energy radiating off her as she laced up her boots. Her eyes sharp but filled with a fragile hope.

Her mother was coming with you to watch. Her presence a steady, loving force that somehow made the day feel lighter.

The stadium buzzed with anticipation as you found your seats.

The whistle blew, and she was off.

Watching her move with fierce determination. The joy of the game shining through the sweat and effort, made your heart swell.

Each pass, each sprint, each goal attempt was a testament to her fight. Not just to return, but to reclaim.

Eli beside you smiled softly, whispering, “She’s stronger than ever.”

After the final whistle, you met Alexia outside the locker room, her face flushed. Breathless. Radiant.

“You did it,” you said, pulling her close.

She laughed, a sound of pure relief and triumph.

“We did it,” she corrected, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

----------------------------------------------------------

Writer's note: your thoughts about this one?

[yeeterthek33per]

hereditary

alexia putellas x reader

stuck with my horror story title because cbs with finding a new title. unpacked a lot in this but was a therapeutic experience. am in a weird phase where i feel like my writing styles changing and lowkey think it’s getting worse? idk cant be bothered psychoanalysing myself so i guess we’re all just along for the ride together lol.

warnings: childhood trauma, mentions of addiction, just a lot of trauma

Alexia’s always had a big family. A close family. Especially after her father died, for whatever reason death always seems to be the thing that brings people closest together.

She loves her family, loves the way that her soul immediately feels full in the presence of them.

On an extended scale though, she loves how much you fit in with her family.

Loves how from the first meeting with her mother and sister how you’ve slotted in perfectly, like you’ve been around for Alexia’s whole life.

She’d never really thought about your family, as bad as it sounds. Alexia’s family is everything, it’s one of the biggest parts of her identity and you’ve never been that way. Alexia’s never really thought about it. You just don’t talk about family, you don’t go home unless it’s for national team camp. Since you moved to Barcelona you’ve been so happy to make friends with anyone and everyone you can, you’ve made your own family.

It was what had attracted Alexia towards you the most, the way that even in a completely new city and country you still managed to make a place for yourself. Before your first month at Barca was up you’d already become a part of every inside joke, small group and activity. You had that kind of infectious personality that every person in a room would gravitate towards.

Alexia knew that her case with her family unfortunately wasn’t common for most people, so she’d sort of fallen into the mindset that family for you was just not as big of a priority.

Alexia’s never truly thought much about it, until she’s face to face with it.

You’re out for physio work, even though it’s supposed to be an off day. You’d been having a weird calf niggle and have been undergoing extra treatment to prevent it getting worse.

Alexia’s not in the best mood from having her normal lay-in with you taken from her, Monday mornings (middays) are the one time of the week that she allows herself to enjoy the simplicity of a normal morning undeterred by training or anything else.

She’s hunched over your kitchen counter when a knock sounds against the front door. She immediately assumes that it’s a delivery driver dropping off one of the many packages that arrive weekly due to your online shopping addiction. Alexia doesn’t really think about her outfit consisting of the ratty 8 season old Barca shorts she’s wearing or one of your oversized t-shirts she’s stolen or the way her hair is sticking up in every angle. She walks towards the door in the same sort of haze she’s been in since she was woken up by your alarm at an ungodly hour this morning.

She’s rudely woken from that haze when she opens the door and the person standing in front of her is not holding out a tablet to sign or a package to hand over.

It’s only as she comes up to the door that she realises she’s probably not appropriately addressed for 2pm in the evening.

“Who are you?”

It’s the identical accent that should probably reveal a lot to Alexia but she’s too focused on taking in the person in front of her.

“Lo siento, who are you?”

The person in front of her, the girl standing in front of her is definitely not a person Alexia has met in her lifetime.

“This is my sister's house, so the real question is who are you?”

Sister. Interesting. Alexia supposes that the girl standing in front of her, even with violently box dyed black hair and eyeliner smeared eyelids does in some way resemble you, if she squints really hard.

“Sister?”

Alexia still hasn’t had her coffee, she’s truly struggling to comprehend the new information being fed to her.

“Of course I get given the wrong fucking address. Sorry for disturbing you, have a nice day.”

The woman or girl, Alexia isn’t quite sure, is so frantic, her hands shaking and her jaw clicking as she breathes.

“You’re y/n’s sister?”

The person had just turned around to start walking away but pivots as soon as the words leave her mouth.

“In the flesh.”

Alexia wasn’t even aware you had a sister, and the girl standing in front of her looks and acts so completely different to you that she finds it hard to believe that you are somehow related to this woman.

“Do you… do you want to come inside? She’s at training right now but she should be home in the next hour.”

The girl hesitates for a second, like she’s considering her options and then realises she has no other option.

��Can you-Can you help me with my bags?”

It’s the first time Alexia’s acknowledging the suitcase, backpack and duffle bag that the girl has, like she’s packed for a six week trip.

“Yeah, I’ll take the duffle and suitcase.”

The awkward silence that has overtaken your house for the last hour or so has been hard to navigate. Alexia doesn’t know what to ask a person she knows nothing about, and every time you touch anything you recoil back as if you’ve been burnt. It took twenty minutes for Alexia to guide you and get you to sit down on the couch. You’re like a spooked dog.

She’s had her coffee now and has spent the last little while observing you.

“So you’re the fling?”

Alexia and you have been public for at least a year now, there is more than enough evidence of it on social media. So either your sister has absolutely zero concern for you or she’s living under a rock.

“No, the girlfriend.”

The girl doesn’t say anything but her face shrivels up for a second and it’s enough for Alexia to get an understanding.

“Well my sister is a very important football player so I don’t understand how you fit into the picture.”

Alexia’s English isn’t great but she can detect emotion and the emotion bleeding from this girl is insecurity in its finest form.

“I play football with your sister.”

That silences the girl.

She’s silent until the sound of the front door unlocking echoes throughout the house.

“Ale, you left your shoes in the entryway again, are you trying to make me break my ankles.”

It’s the same sunny sarcasm that you exert everywhere, the same sunniness that makes Alexia feel warm.

“No bebe, sorry.”

She can’t help but think as she listens to your footsteps walk down the entryway that the serenity is about to be snapped in half.

You walk into the kitchen and look fairly relaxed until your eyes catch the suitcase. Then in a very quick succession they spot the duffle bag and then the back pack and finally your sister. Alexia doesn’t know what she expects but your reaction is definitely not anything remotely near what she thought.

“Get out. I’m serious get the fuck out. I’m done with your shit Billie.”

The girl, Billie? Stands up and for the first time since Alexia’s met her, she looks sure of herself.

“Wow, real nice way to greet your own sister after not seeing her for three years.”

Alexia feels like she’s watching a movie as it all unfolds in front of her.

“Half-sister, and you don’t get to show up here. I don’t want to know why you’re here because there will be a motive that I want nothing to do with.”

Alexia’s never seen you angry, beyond white line fever on the pitch you’re such a mellow person, always smiling and laughing. This is so far from that.

“Really? Hit me with the half-sister like we didn’t grow up together. Why do you always have to assume that I want something from you? You’re just so much better because you’re great at soccer, and have so much money that all I could possibly want is something from you, is that what you think?”

It’s so vicious, Alexia would almost prefer for the two of you to be throwing punches then this.

“Well it’s all I’m used to isn’t it, considering my first paycheck was used to pay off drug debt, my first brand deal was used to pay for your bail and my euro winners bonus was used to pay for a lawyer for mom.”

That leaves your sister, Billie? Silent for a while, long enough to think of a comeback.

Alexia feels like she’s intruding, like this moment is not for her in any way.

“Oh you were the one used, of course, because everything bad has happened to you. Doesn't it matter that you left mom and I with nothing when you left to play soccer, that I had to deal with all of mom’s problems on my own at 12, that I had to find a way to provide? No, you were the one who had it though because you lost a few pennies paying for what you left behind.”

Alexia knows nothing, absolutely nothing about your family history. But in this very short span of time she’s learnt a lot.

“Hola, I’m sure you had a rough flight, how about I show you to the spare room and you can shower and have a rest. I’m sure we can figure this all out over some lunch, later?”

You look like you might shoot Alexia.

“No, she’s leaving, there is no way you are staying.”

Alexia is impartial, truly, but the way that this girl, who she hardly knows face falls, she wants to help. She feels like she has to help.

“Bebe, let's just let her settle in a bit, she’s clearly travelled to get here. I’m happy to show you to our spare room, there’s an ensuite and the sheets are fresh.”

You nod your head, albeit hesitantly.

By the time Alexia has shown your sister around the spare room and bathroom you’re no longer in the kitchen. She doesn’t have to go far to find you though.

She doesn’t know what it is about your wardrobe that you find comforting, but whenever you’re stressed or sick or frustrated she never fails to find you lying on the floor.

“Bebe, what was that all about, hmm?’

You’re not crying, in Alexia’s time of knowing you she’s seen you cry twice. The first time was when you broke your arm in training, the second time was when Alexia had first floated the idea of marriage. Right now though you look as close to tears as Alexia thinks a person can get.

“She has to leave. I can’t have her here, she cannot be here right now. I want her out of my house.”

Alexia’s not quite sure what to say.

“She’s your sister, no? Surely you can give her a little bit of your time?”

You look at Alexia like she’s just shot you.

“No, she’s not my sister. As far as I’m concerned she’s nothing. She can fuck right back to whatever hole she’s crawled out of.”

This is a side to you Alexia’s never seen, she’s never seen you break or blunder.

“Bebe, she came all this way, surely she has to be here for a reason.”

You sit up from your position lying down, crossing your legs like a child.

“The only reason she is here is to ask for money. Like always, it happens every few years where she comes asking for money because my mom’s gotten in some kind of trouble or Billie has a debt she has to pay or some other serious matter that the two of them aren’t responsible enough to deal with on their own. She only ever wants one thing. I left England because I was done with it all, I’m done with their shit.”

Alexia’s never hated a family member, she doesn’t understand what it means to feel disconnected from the people that share the same blood as you.

“So you plan to spend the rest of your life separated from your only family? She’s here bebe, she’s here for you, shouldn’t you at least listen to what she has to say?”

The teariness clears from your eyes and is replaced with something that Alexia can only describe as rage.

“I plan to spend the rest of my life away from my addict sister and mother who do nothing but wreak havoc on everything they touch. You don’t understand because I haven’t told you about them, for good reason. I was put into foster care four times before the time I was twelve because my mother chose to buy drugs instead of food for her kids. I moved out of my house at thirteen to live with Keira because my mum forgot to pay academy registration and wouldn’t buy me boots or uniforms and the club was going to kick me out. As soon as I got my first professional contract they were magically back in my life. I have spent the last ten years realising that they want nothing to do with me besides money and this time is no different.”

You’re right, Alexia knows nothing, even the description you’ve just given her is brief. But as the outsider in this whole situation she wants to believe or at least advocate for your sister.

“Bebe, you can’t really blame her if your mother was as bad as you said she was, can you? She’s clearly had a hard life, don’t you think she deserves to at least be heard out?”

The way you shake your head so vehemently makes Alexia feel like there is some kind of history that you’re leaving out. You aren’t an irrational person, not at least in the ways that Alexia has seen you.

“You really don’t understand, you don’t understand what it’s like to have your family use you for everything you have and throw you out like you mean absolutely nothing. I tried to give her an opportunity, paid for her schooling, paid for everything she could have wanted all for her to throw it back in my face and use all of the money for drugs. She’s reckless and a user and I want nothing to do with her.”

Alexia sits down on the floor next to you because the level difference is making her feel uncomfortable. You look so much more vulnerable than she’s ever seen you and she doesn’t know what to do. You've always been so strong and impenetrable and now here you are completely broken in front of her.

“Baby, she’s so young. She can’t be over 20, she’s still a child. You got away because of football, but she’s been stuck her whole life. I know very little about your mother, and I’d love to hear more but a child can’t be put to blame for the environment they were brought up in. You had football, but from what you’ve told me she had nothing, and maybe this is the same as always and maybe you’re right but shouldn’t you give her a chance to be herself?”

The silence makes Alexia feel a bit better, like she might have said something that’s resonating with you slightly.

“I left her when she was 5 with my addict mother. I knew what I was doing, I knew that my mom was an addict and the risk of me leaving my sister with her was but I was so focused on myself. I didn’t go back until she was 10. God knows how many boyfriends and dealers my mom had coming in and out but I was so focused on football that none of it mattered to me. I left her and I hate her but I hate myself for doing that to her and I hate that she’s turned into my mom because I left her.”

It’s then that Alexia witnesses you sob for the first time. She can’t do anything but bring you straight into her arms. You jump into her lap like you’re trying to jump into Alexia’s bones and bury your head directly into her neck. It’s not a normal circumstance but it feels so right.

“Bebe, it’s not your fault. You left because you could and there is nothing wrong with that. None of it is your fault, none of it at all.”

You continue to sob, in a way that makes Alexia’s heart shatter. She can’t truly empathise with this, and she doesn’t know how to give you advice at this moment so she lays into physical contact. She figures out quite quickly that you like your back rubbed so she focuses on drawing different patterns and lines across your back as you continue to cry.

Alexia feels like she’s stuck in the moment, in a time warp of some kind. At least until there’s a knock at the bedroom door.

The door isn’t fully closed, Alexia can see your sister's body stuck in the doorway. She’s completely frozen like she’s witnessing a crime or something else horrific.

“I’m going to leave. I know when I’m not wanted and I think it would be best for everybody here if I’m gone.”

Alexia doesn’t want to speak for you, not in any way. All she sees though as she looks at the girl in front of her is complete fear, and it makes her sad. If any girl on the team who was so young looked the same way Alexia wouldn’t hesitate to bring her in for a hug and do whatever she could to make it better. She can’t overstep here though, even though it’s hurting her from the inside to out by not.

Just as she begins to retreat, you perk up in Alexia’s lap.

“We should talk, you came here for something, yeah?”

You wipe at your eyes like displaying vulnerability at this moment is illegal.

“We don’t have to, I can leave.”

You clear your throat and shake your head, untangling yourself from Alexia.

“Let’s talk, we need to talk.”

You pat down on the carpet next to you and Alexia takes it as her queue to leave.

“I’m going to go and make some food, I think it’s needed.”

Seeing your sister for the first time in years makes you feel icky on the inside. It’s a weird dichotomy of looking at the person that you could have been versus who you are.

“Sit down, this isn’t a standing conversation.”

You’ve slowly become free in the last few years, you’ve felt the pressure and demons from your past slowly exit your body and leave you. But now as you look at your sister it feels like you’re facing them all front on.

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, and I didn’t know you would be training. I didn’t want to disrupt you or anything, it was just-it was an emergency and I had nowhere else to go.”

It feels like you’re sitting in front of a mirror, you don’t know whether to reach out or what to do.

“It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m sorry for reacting the way I did, the last thing I expected was for you to be here and I’m still shocked. You had an emergency? Are you okay, first and foremost.”

It’s weird trying to connect with a person that you’ve never connected with before but probably should have.

“It’s mom, she’s in a lot of trouble. She owes a lot of people money and she’s getting sick and there are people breaking in and trying to hurt us constantly. She needs help.”

Your stomach drops and you try to hide it.

“You’re here for money.”

It hurts a lot. You want to feel good about being right but in the end it actually is just painful more than anything.

“Look, mom’s really struggling. I think she’s developing dementia, she’s always forgetting things and she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore. We just need some help.”

It’s a hard pill to swallow.

“Wow, you’re actually here for money. You are unbelievable. Here I was hoping that maybe you were here to connect or something else, but I guess if it barks like a dog it really is a dog.”

Your sister recoils like she’s offended.

“Look, you don’t understand. You left, you left mom and I. You don’t get to judge us, you fucking left us.”

You feel stronger from Alexia’s conversation, more sure of yourself.

“Yeah I did what most kids did, I recognised when I was in a terrible situation and I found a way out. I’m sorry you couldn’t and you didn’t and I’m sorry that I couldn’t do better for you but I can’t put myself in that situation anymore. I’ve spent the last few years doing everything in my power to make myself whole again. You are not responsible for mom, I could tell you a million different reasons why if you were open to hearing. You might not be ready for that conversation at this moment but when you are I will be here to have it with you. Our mother is not normal, she has problems and it’s not necessarily her fault but it’s also not your responsibility to manage that and I don’t know if it’ll take her dying for you to realise that or if you’ll die believing she’s your responsibility. Either way I’m done, I’m not going to give mom money that I know is going to go towards her destroying her life even more. That’s the little power I have now. Distance was the best thing I ever did and when you feel the same way there is a spare room here for you.”

You know when your sister’s eyebrows crease in the same way that yours do when you’re angry that this conversation is about to get so much harder.

“God that’s all so rich coming from you, miss princess of english football. I have nothing but mom, mom is everything to me and there is no world where I can just leave her, do you even have a conscience?”

You want Alexia back now.

“This has nothing to do with me. It is not your responsibility as a child to care for your parents. Look, stay the night, think about what I’ve said and if you disagree I’ll pay for your flight out in the morning, I’ll drive you straight to the airport.”

Your sister doesn’t seem happy with that response but you think that if you talk about it all for a minute longer than the sickness in your stomach is going to turn into vomit.

“Let’s go eat, you must be hungry after the travel.”

You sit through what might possibly be the most awkward meal of your life. Then you make an effort of collecting all the spare linen and supplies for your sister and making sure she’s settled in before returning to your own room.

It’s a lot earlier than usual for you to be going through your bedtime routine but you don’t feel like you have anything to stay up for.

Alexia and you work in silence as you go through your nighttime routine.

It’s not until the two of you are lying in bed next to each other that she says anything.

“Your talk didn’t go well?”

Her arms are wrapped around your waist the same way she sleeps every night.

“Am I a bad person for leaving them?”

Alexia’s arms tighten.

“No, bebe, not at all.”

Your head is sore from thinking about it.

“Everytime I look at her all I can see is myself and it scares me, that could have been me and it makes me feel bad. Like I should be giving them stuff because I could easily be in the same situation. But also they’re not my responsibility and I don’t want them to be.”

Alexia’s head moves into the crook of your neck and places a soft kiss on your shoulder.

“Bebe at the end of the day it is your life and whatever is going to make you happiest is what is most important. They are not your responsibility.”

You want to agree with her, you’ve worked the last years to convince yourself but now it feels like it’s all crashing down.

You aren’t at all surprised when your sister is nowhere to be seen in the morning. You also aren’t surprised to find every drawer, bag and cabinet ransacked. It sort of comforts you in a weird way of knowing that nothing has really changed. Alexia however is affected.

“Bebe, we need to call the police. What’s stopping her from coming back and robbing us?”

You’re used to the retaliation after you not meeting the expectations that have been set.

“She took your purse, all of your cards and money.”

Alexia’s slightly uncomfortable with how chillingly unbothered you are by the events that occurred whilst you were sleeping.

“I froze all of them before I went to sleep last night. This happens every time after I don’t give them what they want. It’s fine, we’re moving soon anyways. This time I won’t disclose my address. They won’t come back asking for anything else for a while, there was a chance they didn’t even need anything to begin with they just wanted to see how much they could milk from me. This is just what they’re like. No point in being bothered by it.”

Alexia suddenly becomes really grateful that her family has embraced you so much, and she feels the energy that her own mami had told her she felt around you. Like you needed it a lot more than anyone else did. Eli always had a weird way of knowing things that nobody else did.

“I think we should take today off. You should go and see your therapist, or just have a break. Yesterday was a lot.”

Alexia pushes down the feeling in her stomach of discomfort about the whole situation, if you say this is normal then she’s going to treat it like that even if it feels so wrong.

“I’m good Ale, this is just how it is. I’m sorry about it but this is just how it goes for me.”

Alexia suddenly feels a wave of gratitude wash over her that she’s never had before as she looks at your stone set face and the dullness in the back of your eyes. She’s never had to base her family’s love or gratitude off of how she’s contributing to them, she’s never had to provide. She’s never been expected to give everything and receive nothing back.

“Okay bebe, I’m here for you.”

[yeeterthek33per]

Meet You Maybe Never (Chapter 3)

(Magdalena Eriksson x Pernille Harder x Reader)

A/n Been struggling to write, like, a lot, but I promise there is stuff in the works. Anyway, enjoy :)

Content/Warning(s): Fluff, More murals, Minor injury, swearing.

The sweat dripping down your temple sends a shiver down your spine as you hide yourself away from an encroaching member of security.

Normally, Bayern Campus was free to roam for you, but even your position had it's limits.

Considering you were on the roof of the main building on campus right now, you'd say those limits were well and truly breached.

The more you see the frantically searching guards light shine over the concrete pillar you'd tucked away behind, the more your heart races, you breathe out as quietly as possible.

Being caught is not an option, you have to get out.

You'd only been trying to find a better view of a finished mural you'd done on the blank wall at the front of the campus, an area accessible to the public, so as to not draw the wrong attention, but instead of making your way up there out of security view, the yells of a burly blonde man telling you to stop force you away from your path and now you're stuck up here, an area not so available to the public.

Whipping your head back and forth assessing the roofs access points, one ladder down the side that leads to a small accessway down between the buildings and an open doorway down the stairs and into the building, both currently being guarded by security.

Instead, you take the third option, given how badly you don't want to be caught, jumping off the building wasn't completely out of the question, you line up the jump needed to make it across to the shorter building beside it, hoping you can make it across, even though it's a good few metres further down.

Fuck it.

You almost miss the shouts alerting you to the presence of the ensuing guard behind you right as you leap off the building, clearing the gap by a good few feet and rolling across the hard concrete.

Shooting pain up your shoulder makes the return to your feet difficult, and the moment you're upright and running for the ladder back down the building towards the exit you need to get to, the very obvious limpness in your arm prevents an easy escape.

Something must have snapped when you landed.

Cursing the blinding pain, you slide down the ladder, one handed and land about as gracefully as you can given your current predicament, making a straight sprint for the exit.

Panting as you jump on your bike, gripping the handles tightly with severely harsh shoots of ache up the limp muscles, you speed off, flipping the plate back down once you're on the main road, ripping off your mask and sliding it into your bag away from view.

Shit, your shoulder hurts.

The low rumble of your bike as you return to your apartment building's parking lot echoes through the quiet of the night, the occasional whoosh of a car interrupting the purring below you.

As quickly as you can, you jog into the elevator, trying not to make your pain obvious to the random neighbour up with you at four in the morning, avoiding cradling the worsening muscles.

All of this because you couldn't stay away from painting for a couple days.

Or from painting them at least, if you'd picked a better time and place to find inspiration, you wouldn't be stuck with a shot shoulder now.

You enter the barely warmed apartment, cussing when you bump into the doorway on the way in, searing pain finding its way up to the base of your neck now, too.

Grabbing an ice pack out of the freezer, you pull off your shirt, pressing it tight on your shoulder, hissing at the coldness against the already swelling problem.

Why'd you have to go and do that?

If you'd just taken the two seconds to think before walking into the place you work wearing the one thing you'd promised never to mix together with, you wouldn't have an issue, but now you'd most likely have the police to deal with, too.

You only have to lay low for a while.

In the meantime, getting your shoulder checked was going to be annoying, considering you showing up to work with this was almost incriminating.

The hospital at this hour wasn't your next option.

Guess you'll be waiting.

-

Despite the clubs best efforts, they couldn't stop the media from picking up on the information and rumours of the Straßengänger being seen and nearly caught on Bayern Campus.

Another photo finding itself somehow leaked from the security footage of the supposed trespasser, your mask very visible but other than that, nothing.

And thankfully, the circulating questioning from security going around to staff asking if they might know who the person in the photo was, nobody could recognise you and you weren't seen landing and going down the ladder, due to conveniently faulty wiring in the camera pointed over the roof access.

It was a wonder they didn't catch the bike you were riding either.

Going around to various groups of your co-workers and the media managers under you, a few discussing the various happenings from the previous night, not putting much input into the conversations, but listening for anything that might indicate the security have been tipped off.

Nothing of note, and thankfully, a physio at the campus that you're friendly with is all too happy to have a look at the sore shoulder you'd gained from falling from a ladder putting up a new frame in your apartment.

Discovering you'd need a few scans, they send you off to get some scans and speak with a specialist they know.

Turns out, a fully ruptured rotator cuff hurts like hell, especially when you ride a motorbike on a daily basis, now having to catch the bus into the city for the foreseeable future, or at least, be driven.

Letting your boss know you'd have to make use of the campus physios facilities, you accept defeat that you'd spent far too much time running around like you were still a teenager on free climbing camp.

You'd just have to heal up for now, and take it easier than you ever have, who said you can't do a little planning in the meantime, though, right?

The day before the players are set to return to training is the day Magda and Pernille walk into your office looking for you.

Sitting upright from your slouched position over the laptop in front of you, arm still in a sling, you greet them with a warm smile.

"Welcome back ladies, how was internationals?"

You knew how they went already, you kept up with them while they were playing for their country, doesn't hurt to hear it from them, though.

"Very good, very happy with the results, and it was nice to be home for a while, too."

Pernille nods in agreement.

"Not too many wins, but it was definitely well fought."

"That's good to hear, then, maybe I'll get around to watching them."

You chuckle softly, gesturing to the mountains of paperwork either side of you, careful not to jolt yourself more than necessary.

"Paperwork never rests, huh?"

"Never. It's not too bad, though, I'm not doing much else aside from losing my mind sitting here all day anyway."

Pernille's eyes trace over your expression, down to your oddly shaped arm then noticing the outline of the sling over your shoulder.

"Oh no, what happened?"

Concern dawns on the woman's face as she steps around your desk to take a closer fussing look.

Heat creeps up your cheeks as you sheepishly move to give her a less disadvantageous look over your injury from her practically leaning over you.

"It's not that bad, just a little accident at home, I'm doing paperwork so it's really not a big issue."

You follow with a half shrug, a stupid move on your part, because there's a shooting pain down your arm and back, leaving you wincing.

"That wince doesn't look little. What happened?"

Magda joins you both now, concern as you shrug off the jacket you have sitting over you, showing the bruising and surgery stitches.

"Jesus, Y/n, what'd you do?"

"Fell off a ladder is all..."

They share a knowing look over your head.

"Seems dramatic for a ladder fall."

"Ten foot ladder..."

They scan over your face for a few moments, not really believing the quick excuse but let it go, seeing the exhaustion in your form leaning over your laptop.

"Maybe you should take a break for a bit, I know you're busy but maybe take a couple hours away from the desk. Come with us for a walk at least, get some fresh air. Knowing you, you've been slaving away, cooped up here."

You cough, scratching at the back of your neck.

Read you like a book.

"Okay, fair assessment, but sure, I could use a walk."

Standing and stretching, though not too hard, you shrug your jacket back on and close your laptop.

"Seriously though, you pair just got back from your internationals, wouldn't you both want to do something a little less business related?"

Magda shakes her head.

"This isn't business, just making sure a friend is keeping herself healthy and taking breaks when she needs to."

Pernille gives you a pointed look, and you laugh defeated.

"Alright alright. Shall we go, then?"

The darker blonde on your other side nods with a warm smile, careful not to brush against you as she moves to walk through the door, you and her partner following out to the gardened areas around the arena and the pitches.

The weather is cooler outside, so it's nice to be outside in the sun as you take a slow stroll, just getting to breathe in the smell of freshly mowed grass and running garden hoses as the pitches are being maintained for the break.

A couple of the younger teams can be seen out on the pitch kicking around during training.

Not much is said between the three of you, allowing a peaceful level of quiet to fall over the group. Just a way for you to relax, you suppose. That and themselves most likely needing quiet away from the chaos of their own worlds, too.

You occasionally catch a whiff of their perfumes every time the wind blows in your direction, given how close they're both walking to you, not that you find it in you to mind at all.

The whole scene makes your muscles relax and even your shoulder untenses a little given it's freshly operated nature.

It's easier to let go with the people you trust around you.

It's a scary realisation that you find yourself trusting them so quickly.

Not that you shouldn't have expected it given how quickly you latched onto them in the beginning, too.

You'd told yourself not to do this, not to let them in but when you feel the occasional brush from Magda on your left side and Pernille occasionally brushing your elbow on your right, though gentler than her girlfriend to avoid hurting you, you don't find it in you to hate yourself all that much for letting them in.

--------------------------

By the time you've returned to your desk, it's later in the day, around midday after coming back from grabbing food with the pair at a campus café.

After a good hour long walk, followed by some slow chatter, little things like the passing weather, stories from their respective camps, games, stories about how you've spent the past weeks, obviously forgoing the part where you leapt off the campus main building and have been continuously painting, even with your injury.

They ask about your earlier years, before you moved to Germany, before you'd found yourself with the club, before you'd even finished school.

You tell them, most of it, tell them your journey through the media training, how you'd spent years following your dad's footsteps, about how he'd been your idol.

You don't mention why.

The earlier years where you picked up watching football.

The early footage of the US team making it in small shreds to your home country, and your own country's teams upcoming and their journey.

The pair listen on as you delve into some of your passion with the artistic side of your childhood, becoming someone of known talent amongst your teachers, however you don't go into too much detail about what you used to do, just mentions of painting and sketching.

Being both an artistic kid and a sport obsessed kid had your parents, even your ever so artistic father, stressed beyond measure.

But, alas, once you got into university for the business side, they relaxed a little.

Your dad, your creative inspiration, was the most supportive once he realised just what you were doing with the growing local men's clubs, then contracted by a bigger known club in the top division, before finally being hired by your current home, FC Bayern München at the recommendation of a long distance friend.

Ever the protective parents, they were upset at the idea of you leaving them so soon, but you assured them you would be fine.

And that you are, now a few years into the place you call home.

Both Scandis watch as you delve into the deeper parts of your work with keen interest, and something else that you don't recognise in the amused glints that are shared between them every time you get a little too carried away talking about your love of the artistic side of Munich.

"This place on the corner of the nature walk between the south side and the farmland has this gorgeous wall of art along the side that nobody really gets to see if they don't walk that far. Even talking to some of the farmers out there, most of the time, they don't get out that way and it's just beautiful because the people that have found it have changed it so much, made it into this place where artists can go to find inspiration or to just witness beauty like that."

"It sounds amazing, you should show us that area when we get free next. If you would like that is?"

The question catches you off guard.

It looks like it catches Pernille off guard when Magda asks too, sharing a silent glance with an amused look at the now suddenly flustered Swede who meets her eye only for a moment and turns back to you, a hopeful look on her face.

You smile, nodding, a little apprehensive of the repercussions of showing them something so close to you.

And yet, it would be so easy to let them in and show them this side of your life.

"Sure, we've got that meeting on Thursday with the Estée Lauder rep, and then I'm free for the afternoon?"

Nervously, you shift slightly in your seat, hands desperately avoiding fiddling too much with a piece of lint on your pants.

"Of course, and we can take the afternoon to check out that walking trail as well, get out in nature for a while, will your shoulder be alright, though?"

The concern on the platinum blondes face melts your resolve a little further, and you give her a reassuring smile.

"As long as we aren't rock climbing.."

You chuckle to yourself softly, taking another sip of your drink and then lean back in your chair, letting your arm rest itself, ignoring the soft twinge as you move a little to fast for your shoulder to catch up.

Though, they notice you wince as you shift in your seat, a softness crossing Magda's face as she glances from your shoulder to your face, watching your expression.

"I'm fine, just a little twinge."

There's a barely subtle disbelieving look shared between them.

"So, tell us how you managed to fall from a three metre ladder, again?"

You pause, shifting slightly to avoid looking like you're bullshitting them more than you already are.

"The foot of the ladder slipped when I moved a little too fast and the whole move made me slip and fall."

Both of them wince empathetically, making you smile sheepishly.

"It really wasn't that bad, just my being stupid and trying to hang things outside of reasonable safety."

"Still, you got hurt..."

The softer tone makes you look up again, brow furrowing for a moment.

"It's whatever, it happens, I guarantee I've done stupider stuff."

Trying to play it off and change the subject, though judging the look Pernille shoots her girlfriend, it'll probably come back later, you point out the time and suggest heading back to the office as you do have work you're shirking right now.

"Yeah of course, talk later about Thursday?"

You hum, leaving the pair with as least suspicious smile as possible as you duck away from the café, speed walking as soon as you get out of sight.

You really have to get yourself back in order, you're slipping and it's not good.

--------------------------

Thursday rolls around quicker than you'd like, but it also feels like it's taking forever to get here.

You're nervous.

Nervous because of how this is going to pan out.

Nervous because of how Pernille and Magda are going to react in person with you there as someone they know and speak to on a regular basis to several of the works of art that you drew that surely they'd recognise as similar to the work of the Straßengänger.

Nervous because it was your first proper time outside of even a close enough work setting that you'd be spending time with them.

Nervous because this place was special and your two worlds would be colliding and they wouldn't even realise the truth behind it.

Cursing the weather for being as fine as it could be in the cold climate in Munich, you find yourself taking as much time as you can to make yourself presentable and ready to face whatever lies ahead.

Mentally hyping yourself up as you step out your front door, beginning your slow walk to the bus station to wait for the bus, the whole time clenching and unclenching your fist in your pocket, feeling the cool metal of your lucky coin sooth your sweating palm.

Turning and flipping the round object, letting the abrasions in the edges ground you as you reach the silver seating beneath the small shelter by the road.

There's an occasional whoosh from the cars passing by and you nearly miss the slow squealing of the large engined vehicle slow to a stop.

This was going to be a long day.

-

Between the meeting earlier and despite Magda and Pernille's insistence on driving you to the walking track, you're on edge.

You insist on having to catch a bus ride home to get changed and showered and that you'll meet them there, reasoning they live on the opposite side of Munich.

The bus ride to the outer district goes by far too quickly for your taste, leaving you fidgety as the buildings and larger yards fly by.

The stop comes into view and you can see the walking track entrance twenty or so metres up the road, with Magda's car parked in the small assigned spot beside it.

Hopping off, putting on a small smile and removing your hand from your pocket, heading up the road, you spot the blonde pair chatting animatedly, leant up against the car, and then they spot you.

They both smile as you approach.

"Hey you, ready to go?"

You swear the husk in Magda's voice does something to you that you won't acknowledge more than the mild shiver it sends through you.

Nodding, you gesture to the path.

"Let's get to it."

The whole time, walking alongside you, each brush of their form against yours, each time you walk ahead due to each small narrowing in the path carved through the long grass where you can feel their gazes on your form, each time you stop to admire small areas of nature for the serenity and their hands find you in some capacity, mainly on your non injured shoulder and hovering over the small of your back.

The careful watch of both of them as you make your way over a particularly tricky area of land has you more fidgety.

Eventually, you come to the familiar secluded playground between the farm and plantation.

Facing the playground, a large brick wall, painted over and over, whitened to cover various years of graffiti but ultimately turned into an artistic mural by yourself and many others.

Various drawings of the area surrounding the playground, interpretations, and even the occasional ironic sketch of inner city Munich almost like those that draw nature scenery in cities.

Smiling a little nervously, you move to the side to let the pair approach and look over the wall themselves.

The part you don't mention is about fourty percent of these drawings and paintings are yours.

There's even small mini paintings hidden between murals, like trying to sneak them in without making a fuss.

Those mini paintings are various pieces of them.

Magda and Pernille, in various states of happiness, in various states of stoicism, both of them.

Of course, ever the keen eye, they spot them.

Pernille clocks one of her's first.

"Hey Magda, check this out."

She gestures to one particular one of her in her captains band, in Danish uniform.

The Swede walks straight over, kneeling to get eye level with the small artwork, her fingers tracing the mildly weathered paint.

She mutters something under her breath that you just barely make out as:

"So you were here, too."

Deciding to cover your tracks, you wander over as well, pretending to admire the work.

"Looks like another one of those murals we've been seeing lately."

"Yeah, did you catch the new one on campus, Straßengänger was there over the weekend last week."

Swallowing slightly, you nod thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I did see that, ballsy hey?"

The Swede assesses you for a second and you swear you see something linger in her gaze as she nods in agreement, her other half still walking along the wall, fingertips grazing over the heavily painted concrete.

"Something like that, they've been busy, that's for sure."

You only nod as your eyes follow her as she moves to go over the rest of the wall, the pair of them chatting lightly as they admire each piece of work, yours and not.

Spending the time gazing over the newer pieces you've spotted covering old worn paintings that were too worn to really be admired, coming from street artists other than yourself, especially a new one that you don't recognise as your own.

Similar style as yours, similar target audience.

A realisation comes over you as you realise there's someone else out there doing this.

It's a recreation of the one you did back in the quiet districts on the outskirts when they first joined Bayern.

It's less precise, less careful and they didn't get the correct shading on it.

Walking away from it, you go over to where the pair are stood, silently admiring the wall with them, pretending you didn't just see a possible problem arise.

It was probably nothing, probably some artistic kid who looks up to the Straßengänger and is simply practising their works.

Nonetheless, you continue idly admiring the rest of the works.

"You said you liked painting and sketching, you ever think about doing works out here?"

The question surprises you and you try not to let it show too much, though judging by the flicker in Pernille's eyes as she spots it, she sees it in your expression.

"I uh, not really? I guess I've never thought about it. Life's been too busy to, plus, I'd be more worried about getting caught, it's technically not legal to do this."

It comes out less smooth of a response than you'd like due to the mildly shaky nature of your voice, but they seem to accept the answer, Pernille smiling in understanding and Magda nodding, eyes flicking between you and the wall occasionally.

You're not stupid.

You know she's getting suspicious.

Of what exactly, you're not sure, but you know that look.

Almost like a parent gives a kid when they know the kid's done something but they don't know what and they can't interrogate them about it.

Regardless, they both settle into the easy rhythm of talking to you about everything and anything, sometimes sitting quietly, sometimes asking questions, like how many times you'd been out here and if you ever saw someone painting whilst out here.

While you'd been out here dozens of times, you couldn't tell them that.

"Just a couple times, the first time I saw it was by accident, I was on the walking track and found it when I took a wrong turn off the plantation. Then I came back out of curiosity. This is the third time."

You don't want to lie, but if it keeps them off your tail for a while, then it won't hurt too much.

"As for seeing anyone, a few times but never really hung around to confront them or even let them know I saw them. As much as I love street art, you never really know the street artist."

"Right."

It comes from Pernille, who's giving you a small smile with an unreadable look.

Nodding slowly, you gaze over at the wall, still eyeing the mural.

Either side of you, they share a look over your head that you've grown accustomed to, being around them a lot more than normal, though it doesn't stop the small flush creeping up your ears.

This would be a long walk back.

-------------------------

You've been laying low for the better part of a few weeks.

That day at the mural really put into perspective how intelligent they are, and you can't risk outing yourself too quickly.

You know that they know something is up, and frankly, you aren't keen on them knowing when you don't exactly have an escape route with your arm still in a sling.

And yet here you are, stupidly, furiously spraying a can of black paint over a cracked and just barely crumbling wall.

Flash back to two in the afternoon, twiddling a pen between your fingers listening to the rep talk circles around you about the latest complication in scheduling for a shoot.

Magda and Pernille sit opposite, both, although passionate about the subject, even themselves, look like they're trying their hardest to stay focused.

Particularly Magda who's always been the more active of the two, fidgets in her seat every minute or so.

And then back to you, the pen starts tapping against your book lightly in the next two minutes, and thankfully, a resolution comes about.

"We're happy to move the shoot to the fifteenth of June, it'll be tight but it'll fit better with your champions league schedule and you won't have to fly back from Italy so soon."

Both of them agree in seconds, both more than happy to find a solution to the problem that's been plaguing their meeting time for the past hour.

"Amazing, so we just need to sort out the..."

Pernille swears she sees your eye twitch slightly and it seems the rep reads the room finally, sensing the mental exhaustion through the laptop screen.

"Perhaps we should sort this out another time, I'll call you tomorrow to discuss this, Ms. L/n."

You nod and the call cuts off, and as professional as you try to remain, your shoulders, well, shoulder, slumps, the other still cradled.

"Thank god. I love this project but these scheduling meetings are getting drastic."

She notes the twitch in your fingers, the itch to do literally anything but sitting still and finds herself feeling the same.

"Alright, I'll get these papers sorted for tomorrow, in the meantime, I have to be going."

The itch is getting dramatic now, you absolutely have to go do something.

Both of them eye you for a moment, before smiling knowingly.

"Yeah, we best be going as well, I need a stretch after that."

Before they can say much else, you're bidding them goodbye and exiting the room, leaving them to exchange a look between them that would've been more concerning had you not been so focused on getting out of there.

The whole meeting consisted of you writing on and on, and finding yourself constantly distracted in the down moments, to the point the other two noticed it.

They even noticed you doodling on a spare page at the time, something they'd not really paid attention to until now.

And now, here you are, furiously shaking a can of white paint with one hand, the other limp at your side, out of it's sling, which, while stupid on your part, was to at least keep your identity somewhat hidden.

The cool spring afternoon air flowing around you as the paint hits the brickwork distracts you enough that you settle into the routine easier, calmer and dulls the world around for a few minutes.

By the time you're done, the itch is sated and Munich is blessed with another angle of Pernille scoring the goal against Austria, her face alight with brilliance and triumph.

Not your top work, but you're happy enough with it that you can step back from it and smile, the sense of familiarity returning and settling today's stresses.

That is until.

"You know, looking back at that replay, I swear she looked more smug about that goal than she cares to admit."

It makes you jump about ten feet in the air, your heart in your throat and a small curse leaves your lips.

You were caught.

--------------------------

Magdalena had simply decided to go for a run around the city, needing to get some air while Pernille spent the time at their shared home meditating and winding down.

Something brought her to the southern districts, and surprisingly, she finds herself near the area you'd mentioned living in.

Another thing that surprises her.

Just how much you, the creative director, and her and Pernille's newfound friend amongst the club are on her mind.

Her thoughts drift back to that walk a few weeks ago, the way you'd let yourself get lost in the works on the wall, how you'd zoned in on one particular piece.

A recreation of the welcome to Bayern piece from the outer districts.

The one that had started the whole problem of her needing to find the Straßengänger.

Except the one you'd been looking at had piqued your curiosity.

And hers.

It looked like a less intense, and less well done.

A copy perhaps?

The style didn't match what she'd seen of the artists work so far, and she was curious as to why it had piqued your interest, too.

Until she started assessing your responses, the way your attention drifted to the wall every spare second it wasn't on the pair of them.

She'd known you loved art.

But this was different and that had her curious.

A jingle of a metal ball in can.

The familiar sound of can being rattled, and then sprayed.

As she wanders past what looks like an old construction zone, she sees the Straßengänger, right there, spraying away at a wall without a care in the world.

Mostly done, or at least, that's what she guesses, of an artwork of Pernille, this time in Danish colours, celebrating her most recent goal against Austria.

She hesitates, stops to watch for a moment.

The artist doesn't seem to notice her presence so she stays, the whole time until they finally step back from the wall, and she swears she hears them hum in a satisfied way.

Something clicks in her head as she realises just what she's doing and who this is that she's watching.

The words you'd spoken to her just weeks ago echo in her head.

"You never really know the street artist."

Did you think Straßengänger was dangerous?

Did she think Straßengänger was dangerous?

Somehow, she came to the conclusion, that no, she didn't think so.

Or at least, didn't believe it.

So it's no surprise the words are out of her mouth before she can give it much else thought.

Sure, she's smart, but she's also headstrong, and someone who goes headfirst into a lot of things.

And that's why when the person jumps, clearly startled by her presence, she doesn't find herself worried at all.

"You know, looking back at that replay, I swear she looked more smug about that goal than she cares to admit."

The person turns to face her, a look of bewilderment and mild panic in their eye, much different to the unfamiliar look she'd received just a few months ago in their first meeting.

Only this time, there's a sense of familiarity as she approaches, slow, calm steps over to the freshly painted wall, the person tense but unmoving from their position just yet.

"Here I'd thought you'd wait a few days before coming to find the latest work, let the media do their work."

The voice, familiar, gives her an odd sense of composure in the face of the moment she's been thinking about non-stop.

"Here I'd thought you'd have waited a few more days until the Final against Wolfsburg to do any more murals."

Their form relaxes a little.

"Don't get too cocky, all of my murals are victorious ones."

"Here I thought you wanted us to win."

"I do. I'm just not in over my head about it."

A laugh comes from her before she expects it.

"Says the person sneaking around, painting murals of me and my fiancée every other month and not expecting us to go chasing you for it. We have questions you know."

A chuckle fills the air, and for the first time, Straßengänger doesn't feel like a total stranger.

Come to think of it, before now, they never really had.

More like an enigma.

"It was never unexpected. I fully expected questions. You're not stupid. And neither is Pernille. What I didn't expect was how... calm you seem about it. This isn't exactly a normal... behaviour. Would be almost stalker-ish for anyone else. What's different for you?"

"Because you don't threaten us. You've never felt dangerous. Just.... an interesting subject. And frankly, Pernille is fascinated by your works."

"And you?"

Magda's head cocks.

"Me what?"

A knowing look passes through their gaze

"What's so fascinating to you?"

"You are. The fact you're doing all of this."

A cock of the head, and then a nod of acknowledgement and the moment passes before the figure steps back finally, straightening up.

A flicker of something passes in their gaze, and as they turn a little harshly, she thinks she imagines their expression turn to a wince.

They move to leave, leaving her to look over the artwork.

She's nowhere near satisfied with the answers she got, but she's got something now.

And there's something about them that has her more than curious.

Something she'll later share with Pernille, and she'll receive the knowing look from her lover that she's seen all too many times.

Pernille knows her all too well, that curiosity, that determination that will drive her insane trying to solve whatever problems or situations that arise.

That captains edge.

"Hey Magda."

Her name jolts her out of her thoughts again, seeing the artists head pop back around the corner.

It sends something through her, hearing her name like that.

Familiarity?

Shock?

She's not sure.

"Yeah?"

"See you soon."

With that, they're gone again.

And the confusion returns.

--------------------------

A/n Good lord, that's done, not as good as I want it to be, but I'll come back and fix it later.

[yeeterthek33per]

Part 2

You spent your childhood drifting through foster homes, with nothing but a worn photo of two little girls and a note on the back: Your sisters, Alexia and Alba. You never imagined that at 25, after starting a new job, you'd meet them, through your boss who was your sister's girlfriend.

Word count: 11k

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The office is still when you arrive, early sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting soft gold stripes across the floor. You set your bag down, plug in your laptop, and sit for a moment in the silence just breathing.

You’re not sure what today will bring, you’re halfway through replying to an email when you hear the click of the front door.

Olga’s balancing two coffees and a paper bag from that little place she knows you love but never ask for. She glances at you, eyes scanning your face for something she’s clearly already read in your posture. She sets everything down at your desk before heading to her own without a word.

You blink at the coffee then the croissant and spot the note under the napkin.

Eat. I know you probably haven’t yet. — O x

Your throat tightens, she’s typing already, a headphone in one ear, hair still a little damp from the shower, clearly focused on her task, but she glances at you just once over the rim of her screen, a soft kind of check-in that doesn’t require words.

You tear off a bit of croissant, begin to chew. “Thanks.”

She doesn’t look up, just murmurs, “You don’t have to thank me.” A beat passes. “You look rested.”

You smile a little. “I laughed a lot last night.”

That gets her attention, she looks up, really looks at you. There’s warmth there but more than that, a calm relief “With them?” she asks and you simply nod. Olga’s mouth curves into a quiet smile. “Good.”

You take a sip of coffee. Then ask, “You okay?”

She pauses before answering, “I am now.” Olga smiles softly. “I like when you laugh,” she says, like it’s not a big deal, like it hasn’t just quietly set your whole morning aglow.

You look down, cheeks warm. “I like when you don’t pretend to be scary.”

She laughs under her breath. “I’m terrifying, don’t ruin the brand.”

You laugh too and just like that, everything’s a little easier.

There’s so much behind that, and you both know it but neither of you push. You both work, emails, graphics, campaign planning it's ordinary, comforting and through it all, there’s a thread of something stronger than routine. A kind of bond forged in chaos and kept alive by every moment like this.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Wednesday mornings always carry a certain energy. Alexia’s energy.

She arrives like a breeze that leaves the door open behind her, a reusable cup in one hand and her gym bag slung over one shoulder. She’s already halfway into a story about training before she even rounds the corner into the main office. “—and then Mapi slipped, blamed the floor, but literally no one else had fallen all morning,” she grins. “She’s going to be unbearable about it all week.”

Olga’s smile is soft, automatic. “Tell her I said to be careful. I’m not designing another injury post.”

Alexia chuckles, then her eyes find you. “Hey, you.” She gives you that now familiar smile, something warm, tentative, like a thread trying to strengthen itself between two people still learning how to be.

“Hey,” you manage your voice doesn’t match hers, not quite. You’re smiling, but your hands twist your pen a little tighter than they need to.

Alexia drops into one of the spare chairs near Olga’s desk, bouncing slightly with excitement. “So, mamá’s doing dinner Friday. Proper dinner tablecloth and all and no one’s allowed to cancel, I’ve decided.”

Olga smiles again, but it flickers. She’s looking at you now. You nod faintly. “That’s… nice.”

“Yeah,” Alexia says brightly. “It’ll be all of us. You, me, Alba, Mamá. Maybe even a little cava if we behave.”

You laugh softly, but it’s quiet, your eyes drop to your notebook. Olga catches it. Sees the way your shoulders don’t quite settle, the nervous twitch at the corner of your mouth. So she jumps in ever so gently.

“Y/N,” she says, casually, like she’s only just remembered. “Didn’t you say you had plans with Patri that night?”

Your head snaps up, eyes flicking to her. Olga’s face is calm and neutral, but her eyes are soft and searching. You pause long enough that Alexia notices. She looks between the two of you, something cautious knitting behind her eyes. "Erm..." You swallow. “I… might. I don’t know yet.”

Alexia’s smile falters just a fraction. “Oh. Okay. Well, if you can make it, it would be… good.”

There’s so much in her voice that you can’t carry today. You nod. “I’ll let you know?”

Alexia nods too, just once. “Yeah. Sure.”

She rises again with that same energy she walked in with, but it doesn’t quite bounce the same. She kisses Olga on the lips, waves to you, and disappears in a rustle of fabric and keys. In the silence you let out a breath you hadn’t meant to hold, Olga doesn’t look at you right away. She starts typing, deliberate, before saying gently, “You don’t have to go if it’s too much.”

You nod, then shake your head. “I want to.” She looks at you, turning her chair to face you, “I’m just scared.”

Olga’s voice is soft. “I know.” She's up from her chair mug in hand, you go back to work, but not before she reaches over just briefly as she passes and gives your wrist the gentlest squeeze.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s cart has only three things in it, and you’ve already done two laps of the supermarket. “I swear we passed the tortillas like five times,” you mumble, toeing along behind her as she backtracks, again.

“That’s because I wasn’t sure if I wanted soft or crunchy,” she says, barely glancing at you over her shoulder, then adds with a grin, “And now I’m sure I want both.”

You shake your head, watching her compare packets like she’s making a life-altering decision.

The cart squeaks when you push it after she abandoned it in the middle of the aisle. She doesn’t notice, or maybe she does and has no regard for anyone else to engrossed in her tortilla choosing.

You trail her into the next aisle, a row of cereals on one side and a wall of jams and spreads on the other. You lean your elbows on the cart, watching her scan labels. “I’m supposed to go to dinner with them Friday.”

She turns halfway, a box of oats in her hand. “Your sisters?”

You nod. “Alexia invited me like it’s the most normal thing in the world.” You pause. “It probably is.”

Patri doesn’t say anything right away. Just gives you a soft look and sets the oats into the cart like they’re breakable. “You going?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I want to.”

“You don’t sound like you want to.”

“I do. I just—” You blow out a breath and push the cart forward a little. “It feels like if I sit at that table, I’m saying yes to something I’m not sure I know how to be part of.”

Patri turns, leaning on the handle in front of you, her expression gentle. “You’re not saying yes to knowing how to do it. You’re just saying yes to trying.” You meet her eyes, uncertain, she smiles, softer now. “That’s all they’re asking of you.”

You blink fast and look down. “I’m scared I won’t be what they want me to be.”

Patri steps closer, brushing your hand with hers. “Maybe try being what you want to be. Let them figure the rest out.” You nod slowly, the weight of it still heavy but less suffocating in her presence. She pulls you forward by the cart, just enough to make you walk again. “Now help me pick salsa. I’ve been burned before.”

You smirk. “You mean that time you cried over a medium?”

She gasps. “It lied to me!”

You laugh and somehow the aisle feels a little lighter, like maybe you’re already figuring out how to do this. You cuddle up beside her, "What about extra mild for the sensitive midfielder?"

"You're pushing your luck"

You tap her ass as you move away back to the cart, "You love it"

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Your phone buzzes on the kitchen counter, screen lighting up as you close the fridge door with your foot. You almost ignore it, assuming it’s Patri asking if you want to come over after training, but it isn’t.

The notification makes you stop.

New Group: Hermanitas 💜

You stare at the name for a second before opening it and there’s a wave of messages already waiting.

Alexia: i was talking to alba earlier 💬

Alexia: we were thinking…

Alexia: if it helps you feel more comfortable maybe you could bring Patri to dinner? and i’ll bring Olga too?

Alba: only if it’s not weird tho

Alba: like if it makes it worse then ignore us 😅

Alexia: but also you know

Alexia: less pressure maybe

Alexia: more wine

Alexia: more distractions

Alexia: less weird staring from our mamá 👀

Your hand rests on the counter, reading the messages once, then again. You know what Alexia’s doing. You can feel it in every word the careful way she’s reaching, the way she’s making it about options and comfort and not forcing anything. It’s not subtle, but it’s kind, even if it's clearly been orchestrated by Olga.

You thumb out a reply before you can think too much:

You: i think that sounds… actually really nice, thank you 🫂

Alba: ok but like

Alba: not weird couple stuff in front of me

Alba: i’m still adjusting 😭

Alba: I now know how Alexia felt with me

Alexia: you’re the worst

You: 😂 no promises

You surprise yourself… you're not dreading dinner. You’re looking forward to it, even if it is just a little bit.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s apartment is a mess of hair tools, half-dried laundry, and open drawers by the time you settle in front of her mirror again. She stands behind you, toothbrush in her mouth, watching you fuss with your hair for the fourth time. “You look fine,” she says, the words muffled through foam.

You glance at her reflection. “You’re saying that while you’re foaming like a rabid dog. I can’t take you seriously.”

She smirks, rolls her eyes, and disappears back into the bathroom. You breathe out, reaching for your earring the second one shakes in your hand. You're not even sure why you’re this nervous, it’s not your first dinner with them, but it’s the first where you’re walking into a place that didn't feel neutral ground. You’re walking in with Patri, with someone who knows you, there's something terrifying about being known by two different parts of your life at once.

Patri returns a moment later, drying her hands, already dressed loose black trousers, simple white tee, chain necklace. No fuss, just her, effortlessly cool, your comfort zone. She steps up behind you again and rests her hands on your shoulders, you meet her eyes in the mirror.

“You okay?” she asks, quieter now.

You nod. Then shrug. “Mostly. Just… don’t want to mess it up.”

She leans in, presses her lips to your cheek. “You won’t.” You turn your face just a little, catching her mouth halfway, and kiss her back, slow and gentle. She smiles into it, “Besides,” she murmurs, lips brushing yours, “if anyone’s going to embarrass you, it’s definitely going to be me.”

You laugh. “I don’t doubt it.”

She grins and grabs your jacket from the bed, holding it up for you. “Come on then, baby sister. Let’s go meet the wolves.”

You narrow your eyes as you slip your arms in. “Don’t call them that. They’re already protective enough.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” she winks.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The house smells like garlic and roasted peppers. There’s music playing low from a speaker in the kitchen, and Alba’s already poured a glass of wine you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You and Patri arrive five minutes early, but somehow the house is already loud with conversation and laughter. Olga greets you first with a soft smile and a one-armed hug. She’s calm tonight, tucked close to Alexia like always, her presence grounding. Alexia, on the other hand, has her game face on smirk locked in place, eyes full of mischief.

She sees Patri step in behind you, and with all the dramatic flair of a footballer taking the pitch, she plants her feet, throws her shoulders back, and juts out her chest. “So,” she says, voice teasing, “you’re the girl dating my little sister.”

Patri just rolls her eyes, already used to her long-time teammate’s antics. “Do I need to give a what are my intentions speech before or after dinner?” she fires back.

Alexia lets out a laugh and drapes her arm around Olga, grinning. “Just know if you break her heart, you’re benched for life.”

Alba mutters from the kitchen, “I said I’d do worse.”

You make a strangled noise in your throat. “You’re all terrifying.”

“We’re family,” Olga says sweetly. “It’s basically the same thing.”

Everyone laughs even you and somehow that breaks the tension enough for the dinner to feel real. You sit beside Patri who, despite herself, leans her shoulder into yours once the food’s been passed around. Alexia takes the opposite end of the table, but you catch her watching you sometimes not suspiciously, not protectively, just curiously.

Patri reaches for your hand under the table once you squeeze back, “You okay?” she whispers, leaning close.

You nod. “Actually… yeah.”

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Plates are nearly clean, and a third bottle of wine has been opened. The room is buzzing with a warmth not just from the alcohol, but from the laughter, the low music, the way things feel possible tonight.

Alba leans back in her chair, eyeing you over the rim of her glass, “So…” she begins, drawing out the word like she’s testing the water. “You and Patri.”

You feel your cheeks warm before she even asks anything else. Patri quirks a brow and gives her a mock warning look. “Don’t start.”

Alba ignores it completely. “No, seriously. I’m just curious. Like, how did that even happen? You’re so quiet, and Patri’s…” She waves a vague hand. “...Patri.”

Patri pretends to be offended. “What does that mean?”

“Loud,” Alexia offers from across the table, grinning.

“Fearless,” Eli adds, smiling into her wine.

“Annoying,” Alba finishes, smirking as she looks back to you.

You laugh softly, your fingers brushing against Patri’s on your lap beneath the table. “We met in a bar, actually.”

Alba’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”

Patri nods, shrugging casually. “She spilled her drink on me.”

You cringe. “It was one drink.”

“She was so awkward about it I had to buy her a replacement.” Patri nudges your shoulder. “I didn’t even know your name, but you blushed so hard I thought your face would combust.”

Olga grins. “That tracks.”

Alexia sips her wine. “Did you know who she was?”

You shake your head. “No. I mean, I knew the name Patri Guijarro because a friend of mine goes your games, but not her face. Not in the moment though, I was too busy apologising to death.”

Alba laughs, then tilts her head, suddenly more sincere. “So… is it serious?”

You look at Patri, Patri looks at you and she’s the one who says it. “Yeah. It is.”

The table goes quiet for a moment, but not tense just still Alba smiles then, a bit softer. “Good. Because if you hurt her, I will absolutely ruin your life.”

Everyone laughs even Patri, even Alexia, even you but there's a weight to it too. A sincerity beneath the humour. You glance at Alba. “I don't doubt that.”

Alba meets your eyes and nods. “Yeah. I can tell.”

Alexia’s talking football with Olga at the other end who looks bored to death, and clearly she’s only half-listening, her eyes flicking over to your side of the table every so often.

Patri’s watching you, her cheek propped on her knuckles, eyes soft and full. Then she says it, casual but laced with a kind of wonder, "It’s funny, you know… I saw you every week in that bar for weeks and couldn’t build up the courage to speak to you."

You turn to her, a smile already pulling at your lips, the kind that happens without trying the kind only she gets from you. "I know," you say softly, amused. "Your friend Salma told me. Weeks before I spilled that drink on you."

Patri’s eyes widen. "Wait — what?"

You laugh and lean in a little, like it’s a secret meant just for her, "Salma told me you’d been coming in just to see if I was there… but that you didn’t have the guts to talk to me." You lick your lip, "We had a bet going"

"A bet?" Patri sat up

You nodded, "How long it would take you to make a move, I won"

"How much?"

"100 euro"

Patri nodded seemingly impressed, "Nice"

"I bought that jacket of mine you think I haven't noticed you've stole"

"Can we rewind" Olga waves her hand about, "Patri, you were nervous of Y/N?"

Alba snorts into her wine. Alexia, clearly now fully listening, makes a loud, mock gasp. "Patri Guijarro, nervous?!"

Patri groans, sliding down in her chair as she mutters, "I’m never going to live this down."

You nudge her knee with yours, still grinning. "Hey, at least I spilled a drink on the right girl."

Olga, watching the way you look at each other, murmurs just loud enough, “You really did.”

Patri smiles like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. You can tell by the way her fingers brush yours again featherlight, like a question she's already sure of the answer to.

Alba looks between you two, then sighs dramatically. "Gross. I want it. But gross."

Alexia raises her glass. "To nice jackets, accidents, and overly dramatic footballers."

You raise yours, laughing, the glasses clink.

You notice Eli had made her exit part way through the conversation, as you moved through the home after excusing yourself, the laughter softened into background noise, the sound of wine being poured replaced by the scrape of cutlery being cleared and stacked. You slip into the kitchen without really thinking about it, drawn by the clink of plates and the low hum of the tap running.

Eli’s at the sink, alone, she doesn’t look up when you step in but you see the way her shoulders tense, the slight hesitation in her hands as she rinses a dish and places it gently in the rack.

You hover for a moment, "Do you want some help?"

She glances sideways, caught off guard, but nods, "If you don’t mind drying."

You grab a clean towel and take your place beside her. The silence is thick but not heavy, just careful. You dry slowly, matching her pace.

"Dinner was really good," you say. "The potatoes especially. Who made them?"

Eli lets out a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. "That was me. It’s Alexia’s favorite. She always insists I make them whenever we do family dinners."

You smile, placing a plate down gently. "I get it. They were incredible. Comfort food."

She nods, focusing on the next dish. "She used to help me peel them when she was little. Always ended up with more potato on the floor than in the pot."

You glance at her hands older now, but steady. You wonder if they were the same hands that once buttoned your baby clothes, even for just a few short moments. You want to ask her everything. Why she didn’t try to keep you. Why she never tried to find you. Why it feels like she’s afraid to look directly at you now, but you don’t. "I do that too. Fidget when I’m anxious. You were doing it at the table your hands, they kind of… circle each other." She pauses and looks at you. "I thought it was something I picked up at the children’s home. But now I wonder if it’s just... you."

Her eyes shine not quite tears, not yet, but there's weight behind them. Emotion pressed down, for now. She swallows, "You noticed that?"

You nod, "I notice a lot of things. Especially things that feel familiar."

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just places the mug down, steadies herself, "Thank you for helping."

"Anytime," you say and mean it.

"Would you, would you maybe be open to us spending time together, just you and I?"

You nod, "I would"

Eli nods just the once, "Ok" You don't plan anything with her in that moment but its seems it was enough for her in that moment.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The night air is cooler than you expected, brushing against your skin as you and Patri walk side by side, hands almost but not quite touching. She’s quiet, too quiet, you glance over at her a few times, but she keeps her eyes ahead, jaw tight, her pace just a bit too quick for it to be casual.

Finally, you say it. "You okay?"

She stops, not dramatically, just stops.

You turn to face her, brows furrowing, the quiet suddenly louder between you. "What’s going on?"

She shifts her weight, runs a hand through her hair, "Alexia and Alba talked to me."

You freeze. "Okay...?"

She looks at you now, finally but her expression is unreadable. "About us. About… how we haven’t slept together."

Your stomach drops, "What—how did that even—"

"You told them," she cuts in. "You told them something private. Something personal. About me. About us."

"It wasn’t like that," you say quickly, voice shaky. "It just came up. They were being, sisters. Asking questions. I didn’t mean to—"

"But you did," she says, voice rising. "You’ve known them five fucking minutes and you're already telling them things that are really fucking personal?!"

Your eyes sting, you take a step back, "It wasn’t malicious. I was just… trying to connect. Everything’s moving so fast and I—"

She laughs once, bitter and breathless. "Yeah, well, I feel like an idiot now. Standing here, finding out from your sisters that you’re apparently frustrated with how slow I’ve been.

You wince. "That’s not what I said. Patri, I care about you. I wasn’t complaining—"

"You embarrassed me." Her voice breaks a little. Not loud. Just raw. "You made me feel small." Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, she shakes her head. "I thought I was being respectful. Thought I was giving you space. Turns out I was just giving you something to joke about with your new family. She's my friend man, I've known her years, she's my fucking captain!"

You feel the tears hit before you even realise they’re falling. "That’s not fair," you whisper. "You’re twisting this. I didn’t mock you. I’ve never mocked you."

But Patri is already turning away, "I need to go."

"Patri—" She doesn’t look back. You’re left standing under a flickering streetlight, your breath catching in your throat, the sound of her footsteps fading fast into the dark.

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking not really. The air stings your face now, dried tear tracks tight against your skin, footsteps slow and aimless.

You’re still trying to catch your breath when headlights glide up behind you, soft and golden. A car slows and a window rolls down.

"Hey!" It’s Alexia, her voice is too casual, too cheerful like she doesn’t know the world just came crashing down on top of you. You glance over. She’s in the driver’s seat, Olga sits beside her in the front, and Alba peers out from the backseat, concern etched into all their faces. "Thought Patri was walking you home?" Alexia calls.

You stop walking, you feel everything in your body lock into place, your jaw, your spine, your fists. "She was" You give them a look turn and start walking again.

You heard her car start up again and she pulled back along side you, "Y/N Stop, talk to-"

"Are you serious right now?" you snap, your voice slicing through the night. "You thought this was a good time for a chat?"

Alexia blinks. "Wait, what—"

"Of course you thought it was fine!" you yell. "Because everything is always fine for you, isn’t it? You get to be the golden girl the football star, the daughter Eli kept, the sister everyone loves."

Olga opens her mouth like she might say something, but one glance from you silences her.

"You and your whole perfect family keep blowing my life apart. You just waltz in like I should be grateful. Like I should fall to my knees because I finally have a family who want me now that I’m not an inconvenience anymore."

You see Alba flinch in the back seat, her eyes wide, but you’re not done. You take a shaking breath, stepping closer to the window, to Alexia.

"Do you even know what it’s like to spend your whole life wondering why no one came back for you? To look in the mirror and not know a single damn thing about who you are?"

Alexia looks dumbfounded, "What have I done?"

“Don’t play dumb,” you snap, your voice rising fast. “You told her what I said. About us not sleeping together. That was private, Alexia. That was between me you and Alba.”

You shake your head, stepping closer.

“You embarrassed her. You humiliated me. And for what? A laugh? Some bonding moment with your actual sister at our expense?”

She opens her mouth guilt written all over her face but you’re not interested in apologies.

“How am I supposed to trust you after that? You don’t get it, do you?” you say, eyes blazing. “I’ve never had people. Never had someone to protect my secrets, my heart and I let you in. I let all of you in and in five minutes, you’ve already broken something that meant something to me.”

No one says a word, even Alba who usually has something snarky or sharp on hand is silent. Olga’s lips part, but you look at her, and she falls quiet too.

“You and your perfect, shiny family come crashing into my life like you’re doing me a favour,” you go on, voice cracking now. “Like you saving me from loneliness excuses the fact that I was abandoned in the first place.”

You suck in a breath, barely holding it together.

“Do you even understand what it’s like to grow up not knowing why you weren’t wanted? To find out years later that the people you needed weren’t dead, or missing they were just living their lives without you? Cast aside, not spoken of again like you didn't matter”

Alexia flinches and then you deliver the final blow.

“I wish I never found out you were my sister because the reality of knowing you is worse than not.”

You see her shoulders drop, like the air’s been pulled out of her, Olga’s hand subtly reaches for hers, grounding her but you’re already walking.

Toward the alley just ahead dark, narrow, the kind of space a car couldn’t follow through.

“Y/N—” Alexia calls behind you, voice softer now, please in her tone, but you don’t stop.

“Just leave me alone.” And then you’re gone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The locker room hums with pre-training chatter. Boots clatter against tile, lockers slam, and the familiar sounds of music and laughter bounce off the walls. Alexia sits on the bench, tugging her boots on, her mind only half in the room. Her phone buzzes against the metal beside her, she glances down at the screen.

Olga 💬 Incoming Call

She frowns and quickly answers. "Hey, what’s up?"

Olga’s voice is tight. "Has Y/N texted you? Called? Anything?"

Alexia straightens. "No. Why?"

"She didn’t show up to work this morning," Olga says, voice quiet but tense. "I figured maybe she needed space, after… everything last night, but she’s not answering her phone. I’ve text, called and getting nothing."

That gets Alexia’s full attention, she stands, moving toward the corner of the locker room for privacy. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Olga says. "I’ve never known her to just… not show. And after how upset she was"

Alexia bites her lip, eyes scanning the room instinctively. She spots Patri sitting on the far bench, quietly tying her laces, her shoulders a little stiffer than usual. "I’ll ask Patri," Alexia says quickly, she lowers the phone slightly and steps over. "Hey," she says gently. Patri looks up, wary, "Have you heard from Y/N today? Olga says she’s missing work and not answering."

Patri’s expression doesn’t change much, but something flickers behind her eyes. She shakes her head. "No. Haven’t spoken to her."

Alexia waits, but it’s clear she won’t say more. "You sure?"

Patri doesn’t flinch, but she’s quiet, measured, "Yeah. I'm sure."

Alexia nods slowly, uneasy. She steps back toward the corner and lifts the phone again. "Nothing to Patri either," she tells Olga. "She’s not getting involved, though. I think they argued."

Olga sighs through the line. "I should’ve gone after her last night. I should’ve made her come in the car. She looked… broken."

Alexia closes her eyes. "She told me she wished she’d never found out I was her sister."

There’s a pause, "We need to find her, Ale. I'm worried."

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The sun has dropped behind a massive rain cloud by the time training finishes, casting a golden haze over the city.

Alexia’s untying her boots when she hears Patri behind her “Heard from Y/N?”

Alexia turns, heart lurching with the same dread that hasn’t left her chest all day. She shakes her head. “No. Nothing. I keep checking my phone, Olga's been sat outside her apartment door all afternoon waiting for her to come home with Alba”

Patri nods slowly. Then quietly, without ego or drama, “I know where she’ll be.”

Alexia’s brows pull together. “Where?”

“Come on. I’ll take you,” Patri says. “We can grab dumb and dumber on the way.”

The car is silent as it snakes through the city. Patri’s at the wheel, Alexia riding shotgun, and Olga and Alba sit in the back, Olga clutching her bag like it’s holding her together.

No one really speaks. The weight of it all, the fear, the guilt, the silence between people who care too much and said too little fills the space.

They pull up outside the aquarium. The lights inside still glow faintly as the storm draws in, and it’s quiet, save for the gentle sound of the sea nearby.

Olga leans forward from the back seat. “Why here?”

Patri shuts off the engine. “She comes here when she’s overwhelmed. Told me once that the jellyfish calm her down. She used to sneak into the computer room after hours at the children’s home. She'd watch videos of them, said the water made her feel like she wasn’t trapped anymore.”

Alexia’s heart twists, of course she’d run to the sea when everything on land felt too heavy.

Inside, the space is quiet just the soft hum of filtered water and the rhythmic pulse of ocean light refracted through glass.

They walk slowly. Past reef tanks and luminous tunnels. It’s Olga who spots you first.

You’re seated on the floor in front of the jellyfish exhibit. Legs crossed, arms hugged around your knees, face illuminated in shifting blue light. The world has been too loud, too confusing and here, it's just water, movement, breath.

You don’t hear their footsteps at first, but something in the air shifts that makes you look over your shoulder, Alexia is already walking toward you.

She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask if she can, she simply lowers herself to the floor beside you, close but not touching.

You're both quietly watching the tank, then she says softly, eyes on the jellyfish “Papa liked the jellyfish too.”

You blink. She doesn’t look at you.

“He used to bring us here when we were little. Me and Alba. He said they looked like they were dreaming, like they floated between worlds.”

Her voice wavers a little. Still calm, but deep with memory.

“After he died… I couldn’t see a jellyfish without thinking of him”

You say nothing, but your shoulders relax just a fraction, your fingers uncurl slightly on your knee Alexia finally turns her head toward you.

“I’m sorry.”

You glance at her. She holds your gaze now.

“I shouldn’t have told Patri what you said. That was yours and I shouldn't have brought that up with her, it was out of line, I want to treat you as what you are, my sister, but I need to remember how overwhelming it is for you, I don't know how to make this ok”

A long pause, then, you murmur, “Neither do I.”

Alexia breathes in slowly as she nodded, her voice is quieter still, “But I want to try. If you'll let me.”

You barely register there was someone behind you until she speaks, “Can I… have a minute with her?” Patri asks, glancing briefly at Alexia, who nods and quietly gets up, giving you space.

You’re not sure why, but your stomach twists as Patri kneels in front of you slowly, like you might shatter if she moves too quickly. Gently and without asking she reaches for your wrists. You flinch, pulling back sharply. “I didn’t do anything.”

Your voice is more defensive than you meant it to be more ashamed that she needed to check. Patri exhales, sitting back on her heels. She doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you. Not accusing, not angry just worried. “Okay,” she says softly. “Okay. I just… had to check.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look away. You feel small again, like every bad part of you is suddenly visible, impossible to hide. “You should go,” you whisper.

She blinks. “What?”

You look at her then, voice cracking just enough to betray what’s underneath. “You should go. You deserve better than this than me.”

Patri frowns, confused, hurt. “Y/N—”

“You do,” you cut in, firmer this time. “You deserve someone better. Someone more… I don’t know. Attractive. Confident. Normal. Not this boring, broken mess.”

The silence that follows is painful, but Patri doesn’t storm off. She doesn’t argue or try to fix you with some perfect line. She just swallows, eyes glistening slightly, and whispers, “You don’t get to decide what I deserve.”

You can’t look at her, you stare at your hands. The sting of your words still hanging between you both.

Then, more quietly, she says, “Can I ask you something?” You nod, not looking at her, “Did it really bother you that much… that we haven’t had sex?”

You pause, then shrug, not because you don’t care, but because you don’t know how to explain it not properly. Patri waits. She always gives you space like that, but this time, she deserves an answer. “It’s not you,” you say quietly. “I know it’s not you.”

She turns toward you slightly. You can feel her attention on you, even as you keep your eyes on the shifting water.

“It’s me. It’s how I see myself. How I feel in my own skin.” You take a breath, then another. You hate the sound of your voice when it’s this vulnerable. “I know you’re being respectful and I love that about you, I do, but sometimes it makes me feel like… like somethings wrong with me, like I’m not good enough. Not sexy enough. Like you’re waiting for something better to come along.”

You finally turn your head to look at her, your voice barely a whisper:

“I want to feel wanted too.” There’s a long, deep quiet, "you didn't always make me feel like that"

Then Patri shifts a little closer, her eyes gentle but burning with conviction.

“You have no idea how wanted you are,” she says. “You think I’m holding back because I don’t want you?” She shakes her head. “I’m holding back because I do. So much it scares me.”

You blink fast. Her hand reaches for yours slowly, letting you be the one to close the space. You do.

“Don’t ever think for a second it’s because I don’t want you. I do. All of you. Exactly as you are.”

You lower your head placing with the laces on your shoes to keep you busy, then, Patri speaks again, her voice low but honest.

“I haven’t… initiated anything because when we do spend the night together…”

She hesitates, not out of shame, but to be careful with her words.

“…you wouldn't even get changed in front of me.”

You feel your cheeks burn, gaze dropping again. She’s not being cruel it’s not judgment. Just truth.

“So I figured…” she continues softly, “…maybe you weren’t confident in yourself yet and I didn’t want to push you or make you feel like you had to do anything just because I wanted to.” She swallows “I wanted you to want it and the only way I’d really know that… is if you were the one who started it.”

You nod slowly, the sting behind your eyes returning again, "You were right to be mad" You raise your eyes, "But I don't want you to forgive me because you think something happened to me, you need to go be mad"

"Y/N" She watches you stare back into the tank for a moment, before getting to her feet and leaving you behind.

"Well?" Olga asks

Patri sighed, "I think she just broke up with me"

"What?"

Patri shrugs holding her car keys to Alexia, "I'll walk home, take care of her make sure she gets home ok" and just like that the best thing you'd had in years walked right by you like you weren't even there.

The jellyfish glowing and silence holding the weight of everything said and unsaid clogs your mind, until the faint echo of footsteps draws your attention. You glance over as Alexia, Olga, and Alba approach slowly, uncertainly, as if afraid to disturb something fragile.

No one speaks at first, they just stand there, the soft glow of the tank casting bluish light over all of you, reflecting in eyes that still hold exhaustion and unsaid things.

Then, Alba breaks the silence. "They're funny-looking little things, aren't they?"

She squints at the jellyfish drifting behind the glass, her voice casual, even light, but you can hear the intent beneath it she's trying. You blink at her, then turn your gaze to the tank again.

"They don’t even have brains," she adds, frowning. "Just… float around bumping into stuff, somehow still alive."

"Sounds familiar," you murmur, standing up and leaving them behind, you know they're following you, but you've always been good at switching people off to you.

You move slowly toward the massive shark tank, the water dark and swirling with sleek shapes gliding silently through it.

Olga stops beside you, her eyes wide with awe. “I never realised sharks were so... graceful,” she says, watching the shadows move.

You smile softly, stepping closer to the glass. “They’re incredible creatures,” you begin, your voice steady and sure now. “Most people think they’re just mindless killers, but sharks have been around for over 400 million years. They’re apex predators, but they play a vital role in keeping the ocean’s ecosystem balanced.”

Olga leans in, clearly impressed, “Wow, I had no idea. You really know your stuff.”

You shrug, a little shy but pleased. “I’ve always been fascinated by them, their senses, how they detect electrical signals in the water, their social behaviours. It’s like they have this whole world we barely understand.”

Olga's gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, her smile soft, "You broke up with Patri?"

"I don't want to talk about it"

"Ok" Olga nodded, "Do you want us to take you home?"

"Only if you drive and I can sit in the front"

You caught the smile Olga tried to hide, you were aware how childish you sounded but she didn't need to find it funny.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The market buzzes around you the sounds of bargaining, the rustle of paper bags, the scent of spices and fresh herbs hanging in the warm air. You spot Eli before she sees you, carefully choosing tomatoes with the same quiet intensity you’ve seen in the mirror when you’re trying to steady yourself.

You walk up slowly, offering a soft, “Hi.”

She looks over seemingly genuinely pleased to see you, “Mi niña,” she says gently, setting down a tomato and reaching out to give your arm a squeeze. “I’m glad you came.”

You fall into step beside her, letting the noise of the market fill the silences between you. It’s not awkward just tentative, like you’re both learning a rhythm neither of you ever expected to need.

A few stalls in, while she’s weighing peaches, Eli glances at you “Alexia told me what happened,” she says quietly. “About what she and Alba said to Patri.”

You swallow, suddenly fascinated by the uneven cobblestones beneath your shoes. “I didn’t mean to hurt Alexia's feelings,” you murmur.

“I know you didn’t.” Eli’s voice is steady but carries that tired weight, the one that lingers after sleepless nights. “And I want to say this to you, they were wrong for telling her. That was your story, your trust you put in them and they didn’t protect it, they want you to be their sister but they need to act like one towards you to.”

You blink at her, taken aback by the unexpected validation. She picks through some herbs as she speaks, almost absentmindedly.

“It's a hard situation, we're all trying to learn and navigate through something we have no idea how to deal with.”

You nod, throat tight Eli gives your hand a gentle squeeze.

"It just needs some communication and boundary setting I think"

The conversation dips back into quiet as you both drift toward a stall selling fresh pastries. Eli eyes a tray of cinnamon-coated ensaimadas, then glances at you with a little conspiratorial smirk.

“They say the calories don’t count if you’re with company,” she says.

You chuckle. “Who says that?”

“Me. Just now.” She shrugs like she’s daring the universe to disagree.

You both laugh, and it’s real light, unforced. A moment you never imagined having with her, and yet here it is, folded in between fruit stalls and spice jars.

Eli hands you a warm pastry and takes one for herself, nodding toward a bench shaded by a canvas awning. You both sit, elbows brushing, the market humming around you like background music.

After a beat, Eli speaks again, softer this time, “I want you to know something.” You glance sideways at her, she doesn’t look at you yet just picks gently at a bit of sugar on her pastry. “I’m not trying to be the mami I gave up the right to be. I know I don’t get to come back into your life and just… pick up where we didn’t even start.”

You look at her then properly. She finally turns to meet your gaze.

“I just want to get to know you, as you, not the baby I lost. Not the girl I couldn’t raise. Just… the person you are now.”

Your chest tightens, but not painfully more like something protective inside you loosening, just a little.

She adds, quietly, “I want to be your friend. If you'll let me.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I’d like that,” you say. “I think I would really like that.”

She smiles this time with her whole face, eyes shining just a little and two strangers who were never meant to be strangers sit and share sweet pastries in the quiet. After you finish your pastries, Eli doesn’t rush to stand, instead, she stretches her legs a little, brushing crumbs from her lap.

“Do you like flowers?” she asks casually.

You blink, then nod. “Yeah. I mean, I don��t know a lot about them, but… yeah.”

She smiles and tilts her head toward a nearby corner where a small flower stall is almost bursting with colour. “Come on then.”

You follow her, and she walks with purpose not fast, but steady, as though she knows this exact route by heart. When she reaches the stall, she speaks easily with the older man running it, switching from warm Catalan to Spanish as needed. It’s clear she comes here often.

She gestures to a cluster of sunflowers. “These were your father’s favourite,” she says, almost casually but you notice the tremor in her voice.

You glance over, heart quietly thudding. “He had good taste.”

She chuckles softly. “He really did.” Then she looks at you, eyes soft. “You have his eyes, not the colour, in the way they move. Always watching people, thinking.” You feel yourself blush faintly and look away, unsure how to respond. She buys a small bunch sunflowers and white carnations and pays before you can even consider offering, “Come on,” she says gently. “There’s a little bench up by the fountain I used to take the girls to after shopping.”

You follow her again, the bouquet tucked gently under her arm, and as you both sit again, Eli pulls out a little plastic water bottle from her bag and carefully places the flowers inside.

You watch her quietly, something twisting deep in your chest. A strange feeling. Not pain exactly just the ache of unfamiliar comfort.

After a beat, you ask, softly without looking at her, “Do you miss him?”

She doesn’t hesitate. “Every day.”

You pause. “Me too. And I didn’t even know him.”

There’s silence. But it’s full rich and sad and okay, eventually, she reaches over and gently touches your hand. “I’m proud of the woman you’ve become,” she says, voice trembling slightly. “Even if I had no part in making you her.”

You don’t cry not exactly, but the tears sting a little, and when she opens her arms, you don’t even hesitate.

You lean into her and, it feels like maybe something broken got stitched back together, even just a little.

After the fountain, after the tears, and after your arms had finally let go of each other, Eli tilted her head and smiled at you gently.

“We should do something completely superficial now,” she said, swiping at her cheek with a tissue and handing you one too. “Let’s go buy something neither of us needs.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Clothes?” you ask, half-laughing.

“Clothes,” she confirms, already rising and adjusting the bouquet in her bag like it’s simply a companion now.

You both end up walking to a quieter side street, tucked away from the usual tourist mess, into a little boutique that’s airy and bright and smells like lavender and fresh linen. It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t usually step into too polished, too elegant, but Eli seems at home, offering a polite wave to the woman behind the counter, who beams at her like they’re old friends.

“You really know everyone, don’t you?” you say under your breath.

“It’s a gift,” she replies, grinning.

She doesn’t rush you. Instead, she browses lightly, then subtly starts holding things up against you. A pale green sundress. A deep blue blouse. A soft cream cardigan.

You roll your eyes but secretly it’s nice, someone seeing you like this.

“What about this?” she says eventually, holding up a long wrap dress, black with little embroidered constellations scattered across it.

You pause. “It’s pretty.”

“It’s you,” she says simply, then adds with a little wink, “And it would drive Patri mad.”

You flush, laughing. “Okay, now it’s weird you're trying to dress me up for a woman didn't show any interest in me like that”

“I’m observant and I have daughters who gossip like they’re paid to do it.”

You turned back to the mirror to look at yourself in the mirror as you held the dress against you, "Then you probably heard me and her are over because of it"

"I heard. Surprisingly from Olga, not like her to gossip," Eli adjusts the fabric on your dress fussing like any mother would making sure you were holding up correctly, "It's a shame"

You hold your eyes in the mirror on her, "Is it?"

She hums, "I saw the way she looked at you, she cared for you"

"She didn't fancy me, she didn't want to-"

"Sex is not everything my dear, you want to find a woman who is your best friend who makes you laugh without trying because if you marry a dull woman who is great in bed, its not going to be great when you're bed bound with them and unable to" She stopped fiddling, "And you can have a lot of fun before you get to that part teaching them how to do it with your best friend"

You genuinely laughed, "Since you put it that way"

"Plus since my daughters love to gossip with there friends in my ear shot, from what i've heard, you wouldn't need to teach Patri a thing"

"Oh really?"

Eli nodded with a hum, "Really"

Eventually, you try on a few more things. She waits just outside the curtain, tossing in little comments now and then that are actually kind

When you finally step out in the constellation dress, she stills.

Her face shifts proud and quiet and a little sad all at once, “You look beautiful,” she says, not trying to oversell it. Just honest.

"You sure?"

She nods, "It's a little long but I can hem that no problem"

You look at yourself in the mirror. It's been a long time since you agreed. “Okay,” you say softly. “Let’s get it.”

As you change back, she pays for it, despite your protests, and when you step back out, she hands you the paper bag with a little smile.

“Everyone deserves to feel lovely in something once in a while. You especially.”

You leave the shop arm in arm, the sun warming the cobblestones, the weight in your chest just a little lighter.

You don’t talk about the past anymore that afternoon. Instead, you get iced coffees, walk back to her home, and people-watch. You tease her about how nosy she is. She tells you you’re too guarded.

You don’t correct her.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The door creaks as you push it open with your hip, a to go caffeine free coffee in one hand and the weight of a not quite healed argument still clinging to your shoulders. The office is quiet, too early for the usual hum of conversation or clatter of keys, but as you turn the corner, that hush is cut by the unmistakable sound of Olga’s sigh echoing dramatically through the space.

You glance up to find her seated at her desk, legs swinging slightly, head tilted back like she’s been trapped in the worst kind of purgatory, early morning admin with nothing to entertain her.

Beside her, slumped far less dramatically, is Alexia. One foot propped on a chair, hair tied in a messy low bun, her face is unreadable as she scrolls idly through something on her phone. She doesn’t even look up.

Your eyes linger on her a second too long before you catch yourself.

“Morning,” you say cordial but clipped.

Olga perks up immediately, flashing you a grin that feels about five percent mischief and ninety five percent cautious optimism. “There she is. Look at you, up early, looking fresh,”

You don’t answer that. You just give a polite smile, one corner of your mouth barely twitching up, and move past them to your desk.

Alexia finally looks over, her gaze lingers. She opens her mouth like she might say something but then shuts it again.

You pull out your chair, setting down your bag, then your drink, then the stack of papers you’d been meaning to sort through since last week. You focus on that, not on how still Alexia has gone, not on how the silence between you stretches taut like a wire.

“You two still not talking?” Olga asks with a huff, clearly talking to you but looking at Alexia.

You don’t respond, Alexia does, her tone dry. “Apparently not.”

You look up at that, sharp, eyes meeting hers, she doesn’t flinch, she never does. “It’s not about talking,” you say simply. “It’s about trusting.”

Alexia’s mouth tugs into something like a grimace, but she doesn’t push it further. Olga watches you both like a spectator at a tennis match, sensing she’s stepped into the tension without a helmet.

“Right. Cool. Love this vibe,” she mutters, sliding off her chair. “Think I’m gonna go make a very strong coffee and pretend this office isn’t emotionally suffocating.”

She wanders off, muttering under her breath, you and Alexia are left in the silence. You shuffle some papers, she crosses her arms and still she doesn't say she's sorry. You don’t ask her to and maybe that’s what’s worse than yelling. The not knowing if the bridge will be rebuilt or just left to rot quietly, unspoken between you.

The tension in the office doesn’t fade as the morning drags on. If anything, it lingers. You keep your head down, earbuds in, pretending to focus on an old training report that doesn’t need reviewing. But every so often, your eyes flick across the office, watching Alexia pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

She’s been restless since you got here, more than usual, it would be comical, her muttering under her breath, grumbling about the chair being too low, the air conditioning being too cold, and her phone battery mysteriously disappearing even though she’d definitely charged it last night, if it wasn’t so deeply, pointedly irritating.

Olga clearly thinks so. “Ale,” Olga finally groans from her chair, chin on her folded arms on the desk, “if you sigh one more time, I swear to god I’m going to glue your mouth shut with glue.”

Alexia, perched by the window with her injured ankle propped up on a small chair, whips her head around. “I’m just bored, okay? I’m meant to be training. This sitting around doing nothing shit is torture.”

“Oh, I hadn’t noticed.” Olga drags out the sarcasm like it physically pains her not to be dramatic. “You’ve only rearranged the pens on my desk three times.”

You fight the small smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth. You don’t want to find this funny, you don’t want to enjoy anything about Alexia right now, but her pout is so real and so unintentionally childish that you can’t help it.

Alexia glares at Olga, then sighs, again, deliberately and leans back in the chair like she’s being punished.

“I just feel useless,” she mutters. “Everyone’s training, everyone’s doing something, and I’m… sitting here. Waiting to heal.”

That flicker of guilt stings in your chest. You know the feeling stalled, stuck, waiting for something inside you to stop aching. Olga speaks “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before deciding to take on a five a side match against literal children.”

“They were talking shit,” Alexia mumbles defensively.

“They were nine, Alexia.” That earns a short, begrudging chuckle even from you, there’s a pause and then Olga, not bothering to lower her voice, says, “You know, this would all be more tolerable if you weren’t also in your feelings about the whole Y/N thing.”

You freeze, Alexia doesn’t, she just exhales sharply and glares at Olga. “Can you not?”

“What? It’s the truth.” Olga props herself up on one elbow, expression flattened with that all too familiar tone of blunt affection. “You’re moping. It’s annoying and Y/N is literally right there trying to work while you do it.”

You don’t look up, you click something at random on your screen ad you hear Alexia shift. “I’m not moping,” she says too quickly.

“You are and you screwed up and I know you know that and I know you want to fix it, but you don’t know how to do that without being defensive or emotionally constipated.”

You finally glance up, just in time to catch Alexia looking completely murderous, but she doesn’t deny it.

Olga shrugs. “Look, I’m team you two work it out. I am, but either do something about it or stop because I swear to god if you reorganise those pens one more time, I’m going to scream.” You stifle a laugh behind your hand, Alexia throws a stress ball at her, it bounces off Olga’s head with a dull thud. “You throw like you injured your arm not your ankle,” she mutters, catching it lazily.

Alexia doesn’t respond. You keep your eyes on the screen even though you’ve reread the same sentence four times and absorbed none of it.

Then, finally, she moves tentative steps with her good leg, crutch under one arm as she hobbles the short distance across the office toward you.

Olga mutters something under her breath probably a sarcastic prayer or warning but neither of you acknowledge it.

Alexia stops just short of your desk, eyes soft but cautious. Like someone approaching a skittish animal. Like she knows one wrong word and you’ll bolt. “Can I talk to you for a sec?” she asks, voice quiet.

You don't look up right away, you feel her hesitate, but she doesn't walk away. She waits, like Patri used to, but less sure of herself. You sigh when she doesn't give up, close your laptop lid, and glance up expression blank, but not cold.

She shifts her weight awkwardly, adjusting the crutch. “I know you’re still upset with me,” she says, with no forced emotion. “And I deserve that. I do.”

You stare at her a beat longer than necessary. Then finally, you exhale and softly, almost without thinking you ask, “How long are you out for?”

It’s not forgiveness, but it’s not nothing either. Alexia blinks at you, surprised. Then her shoulders loosen a bit. “Three weeks, maybe four. Depends how it heals. Sprained it playing five-a-side with the neighbours' kids,” she adds, half-smiling, a little self-deprecating.

You hum, barely amused. “Heard they were nine.”

“One of them did a roulette nutmeg and called me abuela. I panicked.” You don’t laugh, but the corner of your mouth twitches, she notices but she doesn’t push. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” she says quietly, no speech, no excuse, just that. “What I said to Patri… it wasn’t mine to share. I know that now.”

You nod. Just once. It's small, but it's acknowledgment, “You didn’t mean to hurt me,” you say, your voice calm but not warm.

Alexia shakes her head, eyes a little sad. “No, but I did.”

That hangs between you both for a second, it isn’t a full olive branch accepted but you didn’t break it either and that’s something.

“So…” she starts, way too casual for someone who knows she’s about to prod at something delicate. “You and Patri. Still broken up?”

You keep your gaze forward, flipping aimlessly through your paperwork, even though nothing on it matters. “Yeah. Seems it”

She nods like she expected that. Then, “Because you didn’t have sex?”

You close your eyes for a second, then nod slowly and you were still not looking at her.

Alexia doesn’t miss a beat, “Why did you not just sleep with her then?”

You blink and blink again, then turn to her with the slow, painful precision of someone trying not to yell in a hospital zone. “Oh wow, Alexia,” you say, voice dry as desert air, “that never occurred to me at all.”

She has the decency to wince a little but doesn’t back off. Classic Putellas. “I just meant—”

“What? That I should’ve sucked it up and gone for it? Pretended I’m not completely terrified every time someone sees me without clothes on?”

She pauses and you keep going, not angry exactly, just exposed.

“I didn’t not sleep with her because I just didn't feel like it. I didn’t because I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, Alexia. I didn’t because I was scared she’d look at me and change her mind”

Alexia is quiet now. The kind of quiet that means she’s finally listening instead of trying to fix it with a one-liner and a shrug.

You sigh, shaking your head, rubbing at your temple. “I didn’t need someone to sleep with me. I needed someone to make me feel like I could be seen and still be wanted. She barely showed she wanted me clothed so you can only imagine how I thought she would be when I wasn't”

There’s a beat and then, gently quiet in a way she rarely is, “She did want you. She does want you.”

Alexia stares at you like she’s genuinely baffled, her brow furrowed in that intense, earnest way she reserves for both Champions League finals and your emotional wellbeing.

“You’re beautiful,” she says, like it’s fact, like it's obvious, like it physically pains her that you don’t agree. “Why do you not see that?”

You blink at her, deadpan, then gesture vaguely at her elevated leg, wrapped in ice, her sock rolled halfway down and a grimace still lingering from earlier. “You have an ankle,” you reply, dry as ever. “Why don’t you just use it?”

Her mouth opens slightly, stunned into silence for a second before she bursts into a begrudging laugh, head dropping back against the wall behind her. “Okay, fine,” she mutters, smiling despite herself. “Point taken.”

You allow yourself the smallest smirk before glancing back at your notes, the moment settling between you, you look up just in time to see Alexia limping over, dragging the chair beside your desk.

She plops down beside you with a sigh, resting her ankle on another chair, and then fixes you with a look that already makes you brace yourself. “Okay,” she says, “this is going to be an awkward conversation, considering you're my little sister…”

You immediately groan, putting your pen down. “Do we have to”

“Let me finish,” she insists, holding up a hand like she’s the adult in this sibling dynamic, which somehow makes it worse. You cringe, already regretting whatever impulse let her get within ten feet of you, “Patri thought you were sexy.”

You squeeze your eyes shut like it’ll block out her voice. “Stop it.”

“No, no, listen, before we even knew who you were, she used to go on about you all the time. Always bragging about how attractive you were. Like, stupid obsessed.”

You peek at her, horrified, “Are you done?”

“Not even close,” she says brightly. “She showed you off like a proud dog mami, Y/N. I mean, full-on ‘look at her, isn’t she perfect’ vibes. She’d find any excuse to bring you up and not just about your face either, which, yes, she liked, weirdly.”

You groan again, sinking into your seat.

“She loved that you were funny when you let yourself be. Said you had this dry, clever kind of humour that made her feel like she had to earn your laugh.”

There’s a silence then, not heavy, but not nothing either.

Alexia shrugs, “I’m just saying, it was never about you not being enough. If anything, I think she thought you were too good for her"

You don’t say anything for a second, then, quieter, “She still left.”

Alexia nods, softer now, “Yeah, but maybe she was just doing what you asked her to do”

You glance down at your hands, the silence stretches a little further this time, then Alexia clears her throat and leans back.

“Okay, I’m done being the emotionally available big sister. This ankle is killing me and I’m bored again.”

You huff out a small laugh despite yourself. “You’re the worst.”

“I’m the best,” she corrects, kicking her good foot up onto your desk. “And I deserve snacks for this emotional labour.”

You slide a granola bar across the desk toward her without looking. “Take it and never speak again.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, grinning.

Alexia starts absently fiddling with your pens, spinning one between her fingers before clicking it three times in rapid succession like she’s testing the exact frequency that will break your brain. Then she lines them up not straight, of course, but just off enough to trigger every urge you have to fix them.

You stare at her, “Can you not?”

She grins, “I’m stimulating the creative environment.”

You reach out and unceremoniously shove her foot off your desk, “Stimulate a job. Somewhere else.”

"Can we stop saying stimulate" Olga muttered as she shuddered at the word

She dramatically recoils like you’ve just committed a war crime. “Violence against the injured? Disgusting.”

You glare. “It’s no wonder Alba’s always angry. Growing up with you? I’d be furious every day of my life to.”

Alexia smirks, unfazed. “She is and she still texts me first every time she needs to vent. That’s the power of charm.”

You roll your eyes and start fixing your pens back into their proper place, muttering under your breath. “More like the power of shared trauma.”

“Tomato, tomahto,” she sings, now tapping out a rhythm on the edge of your desk with another pen like a toddler who’s discovered percussion.

You shoot her a look that promises death, “You’re lucky you’re injured.”

“I know,” she grins. “It’s the only thing keeping me interesting this week.” You sigh, long suffering, and reach for your headphones the only line of defence you still have. “I’ll tell Alba you said she’s angry, by the way.”

“I said always angry, not just angry. There’s a difference.”

She laughs like she’s won something, and somehow, you suspect she kind of has.