A/N: Happy Birthday to the queen herself! To the anon that requested this, I hope you like it.
The sun peaking through the blinds was the reason why Alexia woke up. Although, if you were to ask her she would say the lack of your presence was the real culprit.
She buried her head into your pillow. The scent of your wild berries shampoo flooded her senses but the coldness she felt on your side of the bed caused her in groan in disappointment.
Where were you? That was her first question. Alexia soon got her answer when she looks over to the baby monitor. Your son’s crib was empty.
She pushed herself up the bed and reached down to the floor to get her t-shirt you had gladly stripped her of the night before. Her left foot was out the cover but just as she was about to get up she heard tiny footsteps outside the door. What followed made her heart melt.
“Shhh mama, Mami’s sleeping. Need to surprise her” your son’s accent was a mixture of Spanish and English but the latter was that little bit stronger when he spoke in your language.
“I know bubs. That why I told you to stay with me whilst I got everything ready” your voice was one that Alexia could pick out from a mile away.
Jordi, your two year old, tried to shush you again but ended up giggling at the way his mouth vibrated.
It was a sound that Alexia loved and if asked she would say it was her favourite, tied with yours of course.
The door slowly opened. It revealed your son in a tiny birthday hat and you carrying a tray with a selection of food on it.
“Mami, you’re awake” Jordi playfully smacked his head. The dramatics he had picked up from his mami.
“We wanted to surprise you” you told your wife who laid in bed content with the scene in front of her.
“Don’t say it. I say it” the little boy stumbles over to his parents bed.
You wanted to help him get up onto yours and Alexia’s bed as it was rather high for someone his size but you knew he’d stop you. The determination on his face and the way his tongue sticks out the side of his mouth was very familiar.
“Surprise mami” Jordi launched himself at Alexia and peppered many sloppy kisses all across her face.
“Feliz cu-“ you are cut off by your son.
“No mama. I say it” once again Jordi stops you from uttering the words. He wanted to be the first one to wish his mami a happy birthday.
“Feliz Cumpleaños” your son tries his hardest to perfect the pronunciation and the effort alone causes both you and Alexia to smile proudly.
“Gràcies mi pequeño tesoro”
You place the tray down and joined your little family in bed. Jordi was snuggled into Alexia’s side with his head buried in the crook of her neck. You took advantage of the boy’s lack of vision and kissed your wife.
“Happy birthday my love”
Alexia pulled you back in for a couple small kisses.
Jordi eyes you both before pointing to the food. The boy had an appetite bigger than both yours and Alexia’s combined.
“Well, what is this?” Alexia asks him.
“We made breakfast. Look!” He carefully grabs a plate and gives it to Alexia.
She inspects the fruit salad and although she is very grateful for the gesture, she did expect something a little more sugar based.
“There is fruit” Jordi point the colourful bowl “and pan con tomate” his Spanish accent was adorable “juice and water”
“Is there anything else?” Alexia asks him.
“Nope. Mama says no sweets for breakfast” Jordi replies.
It was true. You wanted your son to eat healthily with a few sweet treats. Breakfast however was a time to get the nutrients your bodies needed before the day started.
Your son didn’t seem to care though because he takes a bite of the toast with no further questions.
“It’s my birthday” Alexia pouts at you.
“There’s Panellets in the kitchen” you grab a piece of strawberry out the bowl.
“Mi amor, it’s my birthday” Alexia repeats herself. It was the one day of the year where she secretly loved how much you loved to celebrate her. Every year since you started dating you would bake her a cake. This year she hoped the tradition would continue.
“The cake comes later. We have a game to play”
“Ok. Cake later and some other desserts I think” your wife raised her eyes playfully as she kissed the side of your neck.
A/N: This took me a lot longer to finish than I hoped but it’s done. Grab a drink and get comfy because it’s a long one, in fact I think it’s my longest fic to date.
The world had its questions and you were well aware of the headlines.
Y/N Y/L/N quits football.
Where is Y/N Y/L/N? Here's what we know.
The best in the world has vanished.
If you find Y/N tell her Sarina is looking for her.
The last twelve months had been the hardest in your life. You thought you could prepare for it, that it would easier because you knew it was coming but that wasn't the case. The day it happened was the day your heart broke and as you buried her you knew you were burying part of yourself too.
You left the world speculating as to why you didn't extend your contract with Lyon, why you never signed for another club and more importantly people were wondering where you had disappeared to.
Both your club and country team mates knew about your personal life and the tragedy that happened shortly after the euros.
You missed football, of course you did, but you also needed to take time away to process what had happened. A return date was never set but then the world cup happened. You watched your team mates cry after losing to Spain and you couldn't help but feel partially responsible. The game might have ended differently if you had played.
A decision had been made. It was time to return to the pitch. You had offers before and after the euros. The only question is what teams would still want you?
The sun was setting in Barcelona as the team finished up a late training session. Most of the players stayed behind to take advantage of the free food given they knew once they got home they wouldn't have the energy to cook themselves.
“Lucy your phone is ringing” Ona shouts over to where the English defender is filling her plate.
“Who is it?” Lucy replies.
Ona’s face floods with guilt. Almost as if she shouldn’t be looking at the phone. This sparks interest of those around her but no one more than Keira who sees the name on the screen.
“Y/N” Lucy all but ran back to table after hearing Keira say your name “is everything ok? Where are you? Yes I’m with Lucy. Before I hand you over promise me that you’re ok? Good”
Keira hands over the phone and watches Lucy’s face as she tries to figure out why you called and what you are talking about.
“Yes there are people around me. Ok, I’ll ask”
When you hang up the phone Lucy does as you ask or at least she makes the first step.
“Alexia” Lucy walks around to where the captain is sat with Mapi and Ingrid “Who would I talk about signing a new player?”
“It’s not our job to recruit players but if you know something that might help the club then tell me and I will ask” Alexia wasn’t stupid. She heard your name and now Lucy was asking this. It wasn’t a coincidence.
“I can’t. This is a sensitive subject”
“Vale. Talk to Jona and if he thinks the player is right for the club then he can set up a meeting”
Alexia left the training facility that night thinking of you. You were at the peak of your career, many people considered you the best in the world and if she is being honest she thought you would win the Balon d’Or, not her. That night Alexia watched your highlights for hours, even the ones in the games against her. You really were a once in a generation player which makes it that much harder for Alexia to understand why you walked off the pitch at Wembley and hadn’t been seen on one since.
The next day at training the energy felt different. Lucy and Keira had a sense of happiness that their team mates hadn’t seen before. They would gather around Lucy’s phone but then hide it when somebody came close to them.
Jona came walking into the gym with Xavi Puig right behind him and called over both Keira and Lucy. A couple of players watch the conversation unfold and tried their hardest to read their lips.
“Ingrid, what are they saying?” Mapi nudges her girlfriend.
“They’re talking about Y/N Y/L/N” Alexia was stretching on the floor playing no part in the eavesdropping.
“How do you know?” Ingrid asks her.
“She called Lucy yesterday and then Lucy talked to me about the club signing a new player. I can’t know for sure but that’s what I think is going on”
A couple of days later you landed in Barcelona, greeted by the warm weather and your two England team mates who kept a low key appearance in the arrivals hall. You stop when you are a meter away them. You didn’t know what to do, you hadn’t seen them in almost a year.
“Come here” Lucy throws her arms around you followed by Keira.
“We’re so happy to see you Y/N. We really have missed you”
You remain quiet as you walk to the car. Both of them fill you in on what the team is like and you make sure to remind them that you haven’t officially signed yet.
“Jona mentioned that. You want a trial training session?”
“It’s the right thing to do” you didn’t want any special treatment. You wanted to earn the right to play for the club and not just be handed the contract.
“You could have not played football for 5 years and still run rings round all of us” Lucy knows you the most having played with her at both club and country. You were too humble in her eyes so she took it upon herself to remind you of your greatness from time to time.
“I never said I haven’t played football. That has been the thing to get me through the past 10 months” you didn’t mean to be a downer, in fact you didn’t know what you were saying until it was too late.
“How are you doing?” Keira asks from the front seat and you see Lucy eyeing you up in rear view mirror.
“Some days are harder than others and no day has been easy. She would be happy that I’m here though. She always said that if I didn’t go back to England then she’d want us to come here”
You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name.
“She always did hate the french winters” Lucy laughs at the memories she shared with your wife.
Your mind goes back to just a couple of years ago. Lyon were playing at home and the weather was awful. You saw Natalia in the crowd shivering but still she cheered you on, she always was your biggest fan. Come rain or shine, your girl was in the audience. You hated the thought of playing without her being in the crowd but you also knew she wouldn’t want to give up your career.
“Y/N” Keira gently nudged your knee. It was obvious that you were taking a trip down memory lane and she didn’t want to scare you.
“Huh” you quickly wiped away a tear “Oh we’re here” you grabbed your backpack and jumped out of the car leaving them in the front not knowing what to do.
“Let’s leave her be. She knows we are here and will come to us when she’s ready”
You were in awe as you walked the halls of Joan Camper. The things the team has achieved were that of greatness. It was a club that created legacys and you found yourself feeling something that you hadn’t in a long time; excitement.
Lucy and Keira lead you to the locker room just as they were instructed to. The rest of the team were already out of the field which was part of the plan. There hanging in a corner locker was a training kit for you. You didn’t expect it and you definitely didn’t expect to have been given your number.
“You did this?” You ask the pair.
“Salma did. The team knows you called Lucy and when Salma heard to locker room rumours of you joining she insisted. Between us she is a big fan of yours, bigger than Luce”
“Not possible” the defender joked.
The boots were fastened and you were ready, well almost ready. There was one thing you wasn’t prepared for. You looked down at your necklace. It was a simple gold chain that held two rings: yours and Talia’s.
“I can’t do it” you slumped down in defeat and bury your face in your hands.
“Hey” Lucy crouches down in front of you “they let us wear jewellery for training, you can keep them on”
You walked out onto the field and all eyes fell on you. You felt like a spectacle and you hated the attention. They didn’t know the current version of you, they had only met the old Y/N so you channel her and introduce yourself to them during the next drinks break.
“I know some of us have met as opponents but this is different. I’m Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you all, I hope I can keep up” you make a joke hoping to avoid the elephant in the room.
“We’ll see about that. I’m Alexia” She is the first person to you.
“Lovely to meet you Alexia”
It’s hard to explain the feeling when you’re playing football. It’s as if you mind switches off whilst also been completely focused. It take a few attempts to get into the rhythm that is Barcelona football but you catch on quickly. It comes as no shock to the rest of the team that you play in complete sync with Lucy and Keira. The two of them even stay back at the end to work with you on some movements that you weren’t pleased with.
Some players go shower but a few stay behind, albeit out of sight, and watch you.
“She has a gift” Alexia says to nobody in particular.
“Nobody has seen her in over a year and this is how she is playing. Look, she is running rings around them. How is that possible?” Patri adds.
“Does anybody know where she was?” Pina asks the small group.
“No but I could ask Ingrid or Caro to ask Ada. They are best friends and surely you would tell your best friend where you are going” Mapi forms a plan in her head, one that she will soon find out to be a bad idea.
“Do it” Alexia tells the defender “We are a family here and if she joins us then we have a right to know where she has been”
When Barcelona posted a photo of you signing a contract on their socials the world went crazy. The media were relentless and the fans were quick to show their support for you even though some were skeptical about your sudden reappearance and new team.
You ignored them for the most part as they had no idea what had happened. You fit into the team almost right away and was enjoying every game with Barcelona. You scored on your debut and had been involved in a goal every game since. Months had passed and much to your surprise you had only been asked about the missing year once or twice.
Caro refused to ask Ada about you and Ingrid only did when her girlfriend became obsessed with finding out the truth. Ada’s answer was simple ‘I won’t tell you and if she doesn’t want you to know then you should respect her wishes’.
You remained a mystery though and for the most part the team seemed to forget about your missing year.
When the second international window came that is when things changed and you felt like you made a friend. Mapi still wasn’t representing her country so she reached out and asked if you wanted to meet up for a coffee.
Anybody could easily be intimidated by the blonde but you liked her. She had this energy that made you know accepting her invite was a no brainer. That and you had questions of your own.
“How did you know?”
Mapi places down a a small coffee in a glass; a cortado.
“I asked Keira what you ordered”
A comfortable silence took over as the two of you sipped on your coffees. You found it funny the way Mapi looked at you then her coffee and back to you again. You recognised the signs; you were making her nervous. Why though you had no idea.
You decide to make the first move and you get straight to the point much to the defender’s surprise.
“I spoke with Ada”
This got her attention. You had your suspicions but the look on her face confirmed it. Still, she played along.
“That’s nice. You’re very close, no?” Mapi tried her best to look innocent but you weren’t having any of it and the look on your face told her that.
“She had an interesting conversation with Ingrid. Do you happen to know anything about this?”
She did. You know she did.
“No” you got a sheepish look from Mapi and you wondered if she knew how unconvincing she was being.
“I think you did. I think you got Ingrid to ask Ada about me”
“Lo siento”
“Here’s the thing I don’t understand. I know you all want to know, you’ve been whispering about me for months yet not one of you has come to me and asked me directly. You have been going behind my back trying to dig up information about a time that I clearly don’t want to talk about”
Mapi dips her head. She truly thought that her and the team were been careful but obviously not.
“Maria, I want you to put yourself in my shoes. Would you want to talk about it with strangers when you barely talk to your best friends about it?”
The defender thinks about it for a moment. You had barely left Lucy and Keira’s side but she hadn’t really heard you talking, you were always listening to what they were saying and replying when necessary.
“It was bad wasn’t it?” She asks.
“The worse year of my life” you confess and you can your throat close at the thought of the months in question.
“We are in jail?”
You cannot help but chuckle at her words.
“No, I was not in jail”
“Did you kill somebody?”
“No, I did not kill anybody”
“So no crimes were committed?”
“Is that what you have all come up with? That I broke the law?”
“Most of us, yes. Aitana think’s you were in the hospital because you were sick”
Her response came at the worst time possible. You spit your coffee out when you hear the midfielder’s suspicion.
Technically she was right. You were in the hospital but you weren’t in the hospital.
“I wasn’t sick”
“Clearly. Look at you, you’re huge. I mean you are big. No, you are strong”
“Calm down Mapi, I know what you mean. Thank you”
The two of you stay in the cafe for another hour. You take this time just the two of you getting to know one another. You ask Mapi about her tattoos and she learn’s you have a few of your own which are hidden on your back. When she asks for their meaning you promise you will tell her the stories another time.
You both walk to the metro station and by coincidence you end up of the same train. You get off before her and just before the door opens, Mapi grabs your hand.
“I’ll get them to stop. You don’t owe us an explanation, Y/N”
“Thank you Maria”
You’re not sure what the tattooed defender said but the whispers stopped or so you thought. They stopped whispering in front of you but little did you know the speculations were still going on behind your back. It is early in December when things come to a head and you snapped.
“What do you mean she is staying Spain?” Alexia asked Salma.
“That she is staying her in Barcelona. She said she might go to Valencia for a few days but that’s it” the forward wasn’t sure what to say or if she should have said anything at all.
“And you don’t think that is strange? This is woman who used to love England. The fans called her Queen of England, por dios. How can she be apart of this team if we know nothing about her. She is lying to us” Alexia ranted on and who knew how much longer she would have continued if not for Lucy interrupting her.
“Alexia, that is enough!” Lucy slams her fist on the locker before turning to her captain “She has come to this team and done nothing but good. She plays well for us and gives it her all on the pitch. Off it she makes the effort and yes sometimes she says no to things but isn’t that her right? You stand there as our captain but look at you, you’re nothing but a bully. I am ashamed to say i’m your team mate right now. That girl has been through hell these past couple of years and since coming here all you keep doing is reminding her of what has happened. You are obsessed with her. Look around, no one else is digging for information. No one is making her uncomfortable on a daily basis”
“She is lying to us. She won’t tell us where she was for over a year. She is hiding something and that isn’t fair on us” Alexia tried to defend her actions.
“Isn’t fair? Are you really that self centred? You have no right to talk about what is and is not fair. I don’t care if you are my captain, I won’t stand by you while you treat my best friend like she has done something wrong. You, Alexia, are a —“
“Lucy” The whole locker room turns upon hearing your voice “I have given up on Alexia, it’s time you do too”
“No! I won’t let her talk about you that way. You don’t deserve this”
“No I don’t but —“
“Y/N” Lucy begs you to let her fight you case.
“Walk away Lucy”
A stare down takes place between you and Lucy. A few seconds later the defender grabs her stuff and leaves the room. To everyone else you are calm and collected but Keira recognises the look in your eye, you are furious.
“I want everyone to listen to me and listen good. My past is none of your business. To those who have let the obsession go, thank you. To those that haven’t” you look Alexia dead in the eye “I want nothing to do with you. I will remain civil on the pitch. Other than that I ask you to stay away from me. That’s if you can respect my wishes. I know it has been hard so far”
You quietly gather your things and try to ignore the multiple sets of eyes on you. With each second you can feel your chest getting tighter and you know it is only a matter second before you will no longer be able to control your breathing. You just needed to get out of there, away from prying eyes.
The hallway is the furthest you get. Your mind was filled of flashbacks, the moments that you tried so hard to bury. The past was not a pretty place, not the last year, but you know that it was only a matter of time before it came crashing down on you.
“Y/N, are you ok?” Mapi and Ingrid are by your side, clearly the couple had left just after you.
“Natalia, she, she”
Ingrid and Mapi shared a look, who was Natalia? They had never heard you mention a Natalia before. Both of them didn’t know what to do. Whilst you had become friends with the pair, they didn’t know you well enough to cope with this moment.
Luckily for them Keira appears out of nowhere. The English woman clearly equipped with what to do.
“Get Lucy, now!” She whisper shouted and Ingrid goes running hoping to catch the defender before she leaves.
“Keira—Natalia”
“I know, I know. We can talk about her later if you want. Right now, I need to focus on me. Can you do that?”
You nod your head as tears flow down your cheeks.
“What happened?” Lucy rushes over to you.
“We found her on the floor. She kept talking about Natalia”
“She told you?” Lucy asks shocked. She knew you wasn’t ready to tell them team but in a state of panic you might be let it slip.
“No. She only said her name” Mapi says. She couldn’t take her eyes off you. This wasn’t a panic attack, no she had seen one of those before. This was something much more intense.
A few minutes pass and Keira manages to keep your breathing under control but you’re still not ready to move. Lucy, Mapi and Ingrid stay close making sure to tell anyone who passes to keep moving.
“What is going on?” Alexia asks with concern, a concern that doesn’t reach Lucy in fact her asking is the worst thing she could have done.
“Get away from her” Lucy is up on her feet and pushing Alexia backwards. She would has fallen to the floor if not for the wall behind her “This is all your fault. You see this, you see her, this is what you have done to her”
“Lucy” you reach up and take her hand. The defender used her strength to pull you up.
You, Lucy, Keira, Mapi and Ingrid walk towards the exit of the stadium.
“Y/N” Alexia’s voice is soft and it is only now that she realises she might have taken things too far.
You turn around to face the Catalonian. For the first time since arriving you make no effort to hide the pain you have felt on a daily basis.
“I want nothing to do with you Alexia”
A week had passed and Alexia started to worry about you more so than she wanted to let on. Lucy and Keira were visibly worried about you and kept an eye on you at all times. She was confused at how things got this bad. Yes, she knew that maybe things had been taken too far but you didn’t show rage, your energy radiated nothing. You were numb. The Barcelona captain had no idea how to make things right with you.
You wore a smile on your face in front of the cameras and fans but behind closed doors it’s liked you switched your emotions off. Alexia asked Mapi about you but it seemed that even her closest friend was on your side. The zaragozian and her girlfriend had become close with you since the incident and Alexia didn’t understand why.
One night she found herself knocking on Mapi’s door hoping to find out how things got so bad.
When the captain was let in there is an evident scowl on Ingrid’s face which Alexia did not expect. The Norwegian excuses herself stating that she needed to go to the supermarket.
“Mentiroso” Alexia says to herself.
“Watch it Alexia. She has her reasons” Mapi jumped to her girlfriend’s defence.
Mapi leads Alexia over to the kitchen table and gets a glass of water for the two of them.
“You’re here about Y/N, aren’t you?” her captain nods “I don’t know what to tell you. What happened in the locker room was bad Ale. We didn’t leave the stadium when you thought we did. Y/N used everything in her to make sure Lucy didn’t do something she would regret. I don’t know what happened during those months but whatever we think it is, it’s so much worse. I shouldn’t be telling you this but she kept mentioning Natalia, I don’t know who that is but I think something happened to her”
Alexia thought she felt guilty about the way things went down with the two of you but that failed in comparison to how she was feeling now. To think that you were grieving someone and her questions were it worse for you, well it made her feel ashamed.
She knew that she hadn’t been the most welcoming. Yes, you and her got a long on the pitch and yes, you were ok at training but she hadn’t made the effort she should have to make you feel at home in Barcelona.
“I don’t know how to fix it Mapi. You know I like her, I think she is amazing—“
“You were her biggest fan” the blonde teased
“But what if I’ve ruined any chance for being friends with her? What if what I’ve done is undoable?” Alexia ignores Mapi comment seen as though she knows she cannot deny it.
Mapi was at a loss for words. She always has had her friend’s back but there was something about you which made her want to protect you and Alexia was someone that you needed protection from.
“You need to give her space Alexia. This week alone I have seen you walk towards her then walk away at least 6 times. Y/N even asked me why you were doing it. You’re making the girl feel uncomfortable”
Alexia mentally scolded herself for her behaviour which in her defence she did not think anyone noticed.
“So space?” Alexia asks.
“Space” Mapi confirmed.
Alexia found it hard at first because she wanted nothing more than to make things right with you but she did as suggested, she gave you space. She saw you start to come out of your shell a bit more as December rolled on. The day game before the Christmas break you were playing in Madrid and that is when Alexia heard you discussing your winter plans with Keira.
“Keira, that’s a sweet offer but I’m sure. I’m going to stay in Barcelona, it is my home now”
The Catalonian took a little comfort in knowing you had grown the love her city despite the hostile behaviour.
“Y/N, it’s Christmas. She would want you to be home for that” your friend asked.
“I don’t know if I can handle going back for Christmas. It would hurt too much”
It felt wrong for Alexia to eavesdrop on your conversation so she leaves out of respect.
“She wouldn’t want you to avoid England. The two of you spent years in France and both of you said coming home to England was your favourite thing to do”
“Keira, stop. It was our favourite thing. There is no more our, no us. It’s just me”
Keira could see your hands shaking. This is the first sign of your panic attack so she drops the subject. She does suggest you going away with them for new years and you said you would as long as it isn’t in the UK or France.
The team had one last recovery session before the winter break and it’s safe to say when it was done everyone was more than happy to go home. You wished everyone a Merry Christmas and without knowing it, Alexia is included.
“Feliz Navidad Alexia, por tu y tu familia”
“Gracias Y/N”
To Alexia this was a gift in itself. Maybe you were opening up to idea of forgiving her. After that you quickly grab your stuff and run off to where Ingrid was waiting for you.
After that interaction, Alexia couldn’t stop thinking about you. She also thought she was hallucinating when she saw your name appear on her phone screen. In the rush of leaving the training facility you picked up the wrong bag, only realising when got home a few hours later and your shirt had an 11 on instead of a 7. You texted Alexia asking if you could meet up to get your stuff back. Alexia, at that point was already at her mother’s house so she sent you that address and told her mum that you were coming over.
You tried to ease your nervous as you drove to your captain’s mother’s house. It was going to be awkward, this much you knew but regardless of the place you and Alexia were in, you wanted to make a good impression on her family.
The knock was gentle as you stop on the door step.
“Y/N, hola. Adelante”
You didn’t know that word meant but you put two and two together and guessing in meant come in so that is what you did. Eli leads you to the living room after telling Alba to go get her sister. Eli headed back into the kitchen and left you in the living room. You didn’t want to take a seat, it wasn’t that kind of visit so you looked around and a wall of photos gains your attention.
Alexia couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. She was adorable. Next to her stood her younger sister and behind her, her parents. You didn’t recognise the man so you assume Alexia’s father works away a lot as you have never seen him at a game.
“That’s Jaume, Alexia and Alba’s father” Your cheeks flush in embarrassment at being caught stooping.
“And your husband” you turn to face the woman “I haven’t seen him around, does he work in a different city?”
“Jaume passed away a little over ten years ago”
She is a widow, like you. That is the first thing you thought. In that moment you had so many questions for her but this is a woman you had only just met. It’s not exactly the small talk she would be expecting. The two of you go quiet and you guess she is thinking about her lost love, just as you are thinking about yours.
Alexia comes downstairs, your bag in hand but stops at the door was upon seeing you in conversation with her mother. Alba nudges her forward but she doesn’t move. The two of them watch you.
“Does it ever get easier?” The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it.
The two sisters share a look. They had no idea what you were talking about and by their mother’s response, she didn’t either.
“Que?” As expected, the question catches Eli off guard.
“Living without the person who promised you forever” you turn to face the older woman with tears falling down your cheek.
“Oh Querida, come here”
You feel comfort in her arms and for a brief few seconds you forget that she is a stranger. In this moment she is someone who understands your pain and that is more than enough for you. When you pull away you see Alexia and Alba, you feel extremely exposed.
“Hi. You must be Alba” you wipe the last of your tears and extend your hand towards the younger Putellas.
She swats away your hand and pulls you into a hug.
“So formal” Alba laughs “you’re even hotter in person”
“Alba!” Both Eli and Alexia scold her.
“What? I’m being honest”
“Thank you, I think. Is that mine?” You point the bad Alexia is holding.
“Yes. Sorry for the mix up”
“No, no. It was my fault. I was running late for dinner with Ingrid. I left yours in the hall as I wasn’t sure where to put it”
Alexia stared at you almost as if frozen in place.
“Was I not suppose to do that? I can go get it for you”
“This is the most you’ve spoken to me since joining” Alexia was honest with what she was thinking.
“It must be the Christmas air” you laugh a little “speaking of, you three clearly have plans so I will leave you be”
Eli tries to get you to stay but you can’t. The woman knew too much and even though shared the same pain, you knew it was only a matter of time before the pity eyes came. You also didn’t know how much the two sisters had heard.
Alexia asked and asked what the you and her mother were talking about but the woman refused to tell. The only answer Alexia got was to be careful with you and that not all is as it seems. It seemed to be enough for Alexia but she wasn’t giving up on you, not just yet.
She kept an eye on you over the Christmas break and just as you said you stayed in Barcelona. Alexia all but stalked your Instagram and even went as far as texting you some recommendations. You felt something towards the midfielder and it made you think that you might have been a little harsh on her. You made a mental reminder to speak to her once the break was over.
The first game back was away to Bilbao and it brought you the perfect opportunity to speak to Alexia as the two of you were roomed together. It was late by the time you got there so everyone went straight to their room.
“Oh Y/N I don’t know what happened” Alexia says as she swiped the room key.
“What are you — oh I see”
There was only one bed, albeit a large double bed.
You hadn’t shared a bed in almost a year and you wasn’t sure if you were ready for it. Now you had to find a way to explain this to Alexia.
“I’ll sleep on the floor” Alexia suggests and even though you weren’t ready, you also knew you wasn’t going to let her do that.
“Alexia you are one of the most important players on the team. I cannot let you sleep on the floor. Take the bed, I’ll take the floor”
“Y/N, you are important too. You are our highest goal scorer. I am taking the floor, don’t argue with your captain”
She refused to take no for an answer and you hated it. When you came out the shower Alexia was on the floor and it looked awful. It was almost funny and you couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Don’t say anything. Bed” Alexia laughed along with you.
The room was dark except from the street lights then peaked through the curtains. Sleep wasn’t coming easy to you and by the sounds of tossing and turning, Alexia was struggling too.
“Alexia, come sleep in the bed” The thought of having someone sleep next to you wasn’t something you necessarily wanted but Alexia sleeping on the floor wasn’t fair.
“I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable”
There was something in her tone. She wasn’t talking about sharing the bed with a team mate, she was talking about sharing a bed in general.
“She told you” Eli had to have told alexia about your conversation.
“Who?” Alexia asked even though she knew you were talking about her mother.
“Your mother. She told you about what I said”
“I asked but she didn’t tell me anything. I’m sorry that something happened to your friend”
You sat up upon hearing her condolences.
“My friend. What are you talking about?”
Alexia, now sat up too, looked at you as if saying you know what I’m talking about.
“Natalia?”
She said her name. Nobody had said her name. They knew it would cause too much pain.
In that moment you are brought back to the last time someone said her name. It was the 5 November 2023 in a hospice not to far from your shared home in London. Natalia was the strongest woman you knew and no one would ever come close to her in your eyes. Yet just after Euros she told you that her time was coming, that the cancer was starting to win. You begged her to fight, you weren’t ready to lose her but you knew that you had been on borrowed time for many many years. The last person to say her name was a nurse as your wife took her final breath before she was called home.
“She was my wife” you could feel your nose twitch as a ball of emotion built in your throat. You knew the day was coming when you talked about her but you didn’t think it would come in Bilbao with Alexia now sitting at the foot of your bed.
The Catalonian knew she heard you correctly but she still sat in disbelief. She had no idea you were dating anyone let alone you were married. Alexia could do nothing but watch as you bury your head in your hand as your body racks with sobs. She wants to hug you, to hold you and to tell you to let it out but you weren’t that close.
When you aggressively wipe your eyes you notice Alexia looking prettified and you cannot help but burst of into a fit of giggles.
“I’m going to go get Lucy or Keira or anyone else who isn’t me” your captain panics and makes a bee line for the door. She is stopped in her tracks as your hand grabs her wrist.
“You don’t have to”
She didn’t believe you and that was made obvious as her eyes dart back and forward between you and the door.
“Isn’t this what you have been wanting? To know why I walked away” you pat the side of the bed next to you.
You saw the hesitation is Alexia’s eyes. In that moment she wanted to respect your boundaries and you appreciated that but for the first time in a while the thought of talking about Natalia didn’t make you feel like you would break.
Once she sat down you turn to face you and you saw the look many people had given you. She felt sorry for you.
“I didn’t know you were married”
“Not many people did. We never hid anything. If you look you’ll see her in a lot of photos, she always supported me” you get comfy knowing that this is going to be a long conversation “I’m a private person and all I ever wanted to do was protect her”
In that moment Alexia understood for she too was a private person. She knew that she was in the limelight but she still kept herself to herself off the pitch.
“How did she—“ Alexia stopped talking as soon as she realised what she was about to ask “sorry, I shouldn’t have said that”
“Leukemia” you closed your eyes, took a deep breath and counted to three “she first got it when she was six. We used to take the day off school to go to the hospital. She would call me her emotional support friend” you laugh as you remember the way she made you wear a badge “she won the battle only for it to come back when she was 16 then again at 28. The third battle was the hardest for her and it was the one she lost”
Alexia caught the way you couldn’t look at her whilst you talked about the hardest times of your wife’s life.
“She sounds like a strong woman”
“Oh she was the strongest. She went through so much yet you never would have known it. Natalia had this heart that was big enough to like up the whole world. I wouldn’t be where I am today without her. She supported me in the youths teams, was in the stands when I made my Arsenal debut and moved to France with me when I signed for Lyon. She said she’s followed me everywhere because she knew I’d be lost with her”
When Alexia sees you laughing, she joins in too.
“Things got bad just before the euros. I was so close to withdrawing but she begged me to go. She wanted to see me lift that trophy and I did, I did it for her. I didn’t know how bad it was until afterwards and I made the decision to be by her side. We did all the things on her bucket list. A couple of months later she couldn’t fight it anymore. Her strength was gone and the light was barely there. I was able to be by her side as she took her last breath”
Alexia didn’t stop you as you got off the bed and made your way towards the window. She could tell by the way your hand went straight to your face that you were crying.
“You wanted to know why I walked about?” You turned to face her and in that moment, knowing what she did, Alexia felt guilty. Guilty for reminding you of the loss you had suffered.
“I walked away because I didn’t feel like I had a purpose. For so many years I played for her. I scored to see a smile on her face and I won my trophies so that I can give her my medals. I couldn’t return to Lyon without her and it felt wrong being in England”
“Y/N I’m —“
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry. You didn’t kill her, the cancer did”
You hated it when people told you they were sorry for your loss. Why? Why are they sorry? You heard it so many times that it made you numb.
Alexia could tell that you were feeling a lot right now. She wanted to be there if you wanted to talk more about Natalia but she also knew the importance of changing the subject when it’s needed.
“Can I ask you a question?” She looked at you with a sincere gaze.
“You can. Is it about Na—“
Alexia shakes her head.
“Why Barcelona?”
It is a question that she had been desperate to know. You have now told her why you weren’t ready to go back to Lyon but plenty of teams would have offered you a contract if you announced your return.
“I said it wasn’t about her but turns out it was. Talia loved Spain and Barcelona was her favourite place. I honestly thought I would retire at Lyon but she always said that if she could pick a team I play for them she would choose Barcelona. When I decided to come back, it felt right to sign for Barcelona. Also, Lucy and Keira are here. As you have seen, I have depended on them quite a bit and I knew that it wouldn’t be easy so having someone who knew made everything easier”
You could see Alexia processing what you had told her.
“I’m happy you don’t play for Lyon anymore”
“Yeah, you might be able to beat them now”
Alexia stared you down and you wondered what her next move would be. Turns out you didn’t have to wait long because a pillow soon smacked you in the face.
You both burst into laughter when the pillow fight turns competitive.
“We really should be getting some sleep” Alexia says as she stands.
You took a second to think.
“You can sleep in the bed Alexia. I won’t freak out you know”
“Y/N I can’t. Not now”
“Oh stop. I’m not some fragile little doll that will break if she shares a bed with someone. Now get in bed”
You pull the duvet back and pat the bed. It is only when Alexia gets in that you realise she is on your side and you are on Talia’s.
“You know this is my side of the bed” Alexia says as she gets comfy.
You had your reasons for sleeping on that side. You want to be closest to the door in case someone broke in. You wonder if Alexia has a reason.
“Got to make sure no one comes in and kidnaps you. Buenas noches Y/N”
You fall asleep that night with ease. You no longer feel the weight of keeping your emotions at bay and having Alexia knowing the truth makes you feel at ease around her for the first time since you joined the club.
From that day on things were different between you and Alexia. You found yourself spending more time with her than you did with Lucy and Keira. The two of them found it strange but didn’t question it. Whilst the defender was still very much protective over you, she did see a change in her captain which lead to her giving her the benefit of the doubt.
Life in Barcelona was finally what you imagined. Even in January the sun was shining and the sky was blue, unlike the weather you have been used to. The pain in your heart was still there but for the first time in a long whilst you felt happy or at least the closest thing to it that you could feel. Alexia has invited you to family dinner which happened after every other home game. Her mother and sister made you feel welcome. You had become rather close with Eli as she would often reach out to talk to you and check in with you. She didn’t need to say much, the fact that she could understand was more than enough.
Alba was quite the character and there was never a dull moment with her. She would relentless tease her sister and it had you holding stomach with laughter.
You had received some calls that made you think about a few things. You thought about talking to Lucy and Keira about it but you knew their decision would be biased so you confided in Alexia one night as the two of you walked Nala along Barceloneta. She helped you work though the feelings that the question brought up and by the the time you arrived back to your apartment, which you learnt was in the building opposite to hers, you knew what your decision would be.
During the game against Atleti there was a certain Dutchwoman in attendance. It was the second to last game before the Nations league semi final, a game that England has got to by the skin of their teeth. Barcelona came away with a 2-0 win and a lot of the players stayed out on the pitch afterwards to greet the fans that came to support them.
Sarina stood near the locker room and praised the team as they entered.
“Are you here for Lucy and Keira?” Aitana asked as she walked down the hall.
Behind her walked the two English women, along with Alexia. The latter knew to expect her, it made sense for her to come see you in person. The other two clearly had no idea that their national team coach was coming.
“She isn’t here for them”
Alexia’s words cause Lucy and Keira’s heads to turn in surprise.
“Y/N’s still out on the pitch. She is playing with Irene’s son Matteo, shall I go get her?”
“No, I can wait”
Just as three of them were about to enter they hear your voice followed by a child’s laughter. You walked down the tunnel with Irene and her little boy. Sarina saw just how happy you were and for a brief moment she regretted coming. She questioned whether or not this is what is best for you.
“Gaffa” you saw the look on your team mates faces and chuckled. Surely they knew it was only a matter of time before Sarina came knocking “Let me get showered quickly and we will go”
“But we’re going out tonight. It’s team night” Aitana sulked.
“I’ll meet you guys there”
Alexia and you shared a look. She knew what this conversation was going to be about and she was pretty sure she knew what the outcome would be and she was worried. You squeezed her shoulder and smiled before going into the locker room.
It was over 3 hours later that you finally enter the restaurant that the team were eating at.
All heads turned to you as you walked through the door. The seat reserved for you happened to be next to Alexia which you don’t think was an accident. Lucy and Keira were sat opposite you and you see the look of suspense in their eyes. They hadn’t officially been told what you and Sarina were talking about but they had very good guesses.
The rest of the team were having their own conversations and you didn’t want to make a scene so you nodded your head and that was enough confirmation for them.
“Yes!!” Lucy stood up suddenly and slammed her hands on the table.
“Holy fuck. Lucia, sit down”
Lucy does as her told.
“Our captain is back” Keira said to herself.
You tried your best to include yourself in the conversations around you but your mind kept wandering. You found yourself staring off into the distance. It is only when you feel a gentle hand on your thigh do you realise just how spaced out you were.
“Is everything ok? Did your coach say something because if she did then—“
“Stand down Ale” Alexia’s eye soften at the nickname. It wasn’t a new one for her but you had only just started calling her it and she loved it “I’m just thinking is all. What if I’m not good enough? What if I don’t have a place in that team anymore?” You lean into her and whisper.
“Y/N, they are your team. Yes you took some time away but you lead them for a long time and you told me they knew your reasons. It might take some time to get back into things but you will soon be back to how you were before. Besides if things go well for both of us then we will have a World Cup rematch on our hands and I want to see what might have happened if you played in the summer”
Oh you didn’t think about that. You hadn’t given your upcoming opponents a second thought. Alexia was right. If England beat France then they will face Spain in the national league final.
You thought there might be some awkwardness when you walked through the doors at the England camp but you couldn’t have been more wrong. Each player welcomed you with open arms and the players that you didn’t know as much treated you like everyone else did.
There were a few moments when you got pulled aside by Sarina for what she called her mental health checks. She promised that nothing said between you would be told to anyone else and you chose to believe her. You were honest about how heavy the shirt felt when it had the England badge on and you told her of the nerves you were feeling about playing for your country again.
Alexia had kept texting you to check in and for the most part you told her the truth. It was the day before the match when you got overwhelmed and instead of lying, you chose to ignore her. You knew it wasn’t fair but wanted to stay focused. You could bury your feelings for 24 hours. Alexia on the other had wasn’t going to give up on you.
“Alexia” Jenni nudged her friends leg “Earth to Alexia”
The woman in question had her eyes glued to the her phone as you sent you yet another message.
“What do you want!” Alexia snaps.
“Hey, don’t snap at me. Who you texting? Is it a girl?” Jenni peaked over her shoulder.
“No” Alexia pulled her phone closer to her chest “It’s Y/N”
“Y/N Y/L/N is a girl last time I checked” Jenni couldn’t help but tease.
“She but I don’t like her like that, well I do. Wait! I don’t” Alexia slumps down in her seat “Oh Jenni, I don’t know how I feel”
Jenni hasn’t seen her friend like this in a long while. Normally Alexia knows what wants and isn’t afraid to go for it. This though is different. It’s almost like she knows what she wants but she is hesitating and Alexia doesn’t hesitate.
“It’s ok not to know but something is clearly bothering you. What is it?”
“She is ignoring me”
“Last time I saw you you told me she didn’t want anything to do with you”
So much had changed since then and she didn’t know how to explain it. In the end she told her everything she could without going into the finer details. Alexia confesses her feelings and explains that she cannot get a hold of you and that none on your team mates were answering either.
“Alexia, I may not know why she stopped playing football but I saw the way she played, she loves the sport. Her playing for England again is a big deal. Everyone is talking about her press conference she did this morning, it’s all over social media”
Alexia wasn’t aware of a press conference. She never goes on social media the day before a match because it is quite often a distraction. Jenni picks up on her friend’s obliviousness and gives alexia her phone so she can see what is being said.
Jenni was right. You are everywhere.
Y/N Y/L/N makes her return but what does it mean? Why now?
Sarina Weigman confirm Y/N is the captain of this team despite turning her back on them.
Beth Mead ruled out for Semi final, should be back for final if England are successful.
World Cup rematch? Y/N says that Spain wouldn’t have won if she was playing.
Alexia read headline after headline, article after article. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed so she couldn’t imagine what you must have been feeling. The last headline made the Catalonian laugh because she too had thought about what the outcome might have been if you were playing.
“I think the last one is a stretch” Jenni mumbles.
“We will never know” Alexia is ever more determined to get a hold of you. Just as she was about to call you again, a message comes through.
Hi. Sorry I haven’t been around, it’s been a lot. Thank you for checking in on me Alexia, I promise you I’m ok. Good luck in your match tomorrow.
“She’s ok” Alexia tells Jenni as if the forward was the one who was worried about you.
The next day you wake up and are ridden with nerves. It’s not a familiar feeling and you know that you need to calm down before the game or things will end badly.
Despite protests from your team mates, you will start the game on the bench. It’s the right decision and you make sure to tell Sarina just that. Whilst the team’s recent performances have been spotty to say the least, you refuse to walk back in like nothing had changed. You know you need to earn your place on the pitch with the lionesses.
Spain’s game has an early kick off and finishes just after yours starts. The team get back to the hotel and have organised to watch it the hotel bar. Much to Alexia’s dismay she is called for Media seen as though Spain won and have qualified for the Olympics.
When she finally joins the team she knows that the first half is over but that’s it.
“What’s the score?” She asks anyone who is listening.
“2–0” Ona says.
“That’s—“ Alexia is cut off before she can finish her sentence.
“To Germany” Jenni knows that Alexia would have wanted England to win if for no other reason than you “Y/N is going on for Toone”
She cannot help the smile that tugs at her lips as your number goes on the subs board.
The world watches as Mary runs over to you and gives you the band.
“Welcome back skipper” Mary pushes the band up your arm before you can stop her because she know’s that is what you’ll do. She was there in the captain’s meeting when you told Sarina that you didn’t deserve the captaincy.
“Game on, Maz”
It felt right being on the pitch and wearing the three lions crest. You allow yourself to take in your return but only for a couple of seconds before you turn your attention to the game and the challenge that you face. 3 goals was a lot to ask for when Germany are playing as good as they are. It wouldn’t be easy and it would take everything you had but you never shied away from a challenge and you wasn’t about to start now.
After about ten minutes you found your rhythm and England were playing the type of football they are known for. It doesn’t take long for LJ to make a run and dance around the opposition. You have faith in her but follow her anyways in case she loses the ball. She doesn’t but Frohms does save her shot, she doesn’t save your rebound though.
“Get the ball” You shout to the Chelsea player.
When the match restarts, the lionesses are on the hunt. Shot after shot is taken but somehow the ball stays out the net. England get a corner in the 80 minute and you’re lurking on the edge of the box, ready to make your run. Popp is the one marking you because she has studied you new way of play since joining Barcelona. Chloe’s corner is pin point and no amount of research in the world could stop you from getting the second goal and tying the game.
Alexia finds herself up on her feet with Ona and a couple of your team mates when you get your brace.
“Vamos Y/N” she says.
“You do realise that we will face them if they win” Misa reminds her.
“Right now, I don’t care. She deserves this and I’m celebrating my team mate” Alexia didn’t care if she might face you in the final.
“She told you” Aitana whispers as she pulls her captain down to the sofa “That is why she doesn’t hate you anymore and why you’ve stopped interrogating her”
Alexia does nothing but nod. Her fellow midfielder didn’t need to know anything else and she doesn’t ask for it either. She accepts that the reason must be valid if Alexia has dropped her questions.
There are 4 minutes announced of stoppage time.
When you look up the the score board and see the number you get flashbacks on the euros final. You have been in this position before and came out victorious. Today was going to be no different.
It was huge mistake by Germany when Gwinn takes down Hemp about a meter outside the box.
In the past you have found yourself stood over the ball with Beth but this game it’s Alex who stands beside you.
With her hand over her mouth she gives you strict instructions.
“You’re taking it”
It’s not a question and you don’t argue.
“You have saved us tonight, now get your hattrick”
The amount of faith Alex had in you did wonders but it didn’t settle every nerve running through your body. Free kicks were your specialty, this wasn’t nothing new and the pressure was a familiar feeling.
As soon as you strike the ball you know it’s going in. It’s a hard feeling to describe but many call it shooters instinct, it had never been wrong and it wasn’t now. The ball floated over the wall and went in the further part of the top corner. The shot was unsaveable. You ran over to the bench, more specifically to Sarina, to celebrate with the woman who gave you space and welcomed you back with open arms.
“It’s like you never left”
Her words caught you off guard. For a brief moment you agreed with her but you got hit by the feeling of grief, you looked towards the family section and there was no one supporting you. Maybe some things hadn’t changed but a lot certainly has. When the full time whistle was blown your team mates ran towards you, all of the congratulating you on your performance and your first game back.
It was a weird kind of celebrations that night. The team was split, half wanted to celebrate getting through the final and the other half knew the job wasn’t done, they knew that the biggest task was yet to be faced. Spain had beaten them before and on the greatest stage, the UEFA national league final could either repeat history and England could rewrite it.
The team travelled to Madrid that night, only hours after the game. Upon arrival almost everyone went to their rooms but not you. You knew sleep wouldn’t come easy so you decided to wander the streets of Madrid. It had become a habit of yours, you would walk around and people watch. Every human had their own story to tell and it made you forget about yours.
You had no destination planned yet you found yourself stopping outside a hotel, the one you know from your text messages with Alexia, was the one the Spain team was staying at.
A lot of feelings were running through you and you saw this as the universe’s sign that maybe you should talk about them. You have confided in Alexia since Sarina first reached out to you, she knew more than anyone how you really felt about returning and you talked about this very moment, the hours after your first game when the past is very much present in your mind. You remember the words she told you ‘when that happens you call me’ so that is what you do or at least that is what you go to do.
“Y/N” you hear a familiar voice say. You turn to see Jenni, Irene, Laia and Misa walking towards you.
“Hi guys” your voice is quiet, shy almost and you cannot help the way your eyes scan for Alexia knowing full well that these are the people she spends the most time with.
“What are you doing here?” Misa asks you. The two of you hadn’t formally been introduced but you had scored a brace against her in the El Classico.
“I’m—“
“Here for Alexia” Jenni says with a knowing look and you cannot help but feel like she knows something you don’t.
You can only nod. Apart from Irene, you didn’t know these girls very well and the version of yourself that you show to strangers is very different to the one that your friends see.
‘I can take you to her. We are roommates” Jenni seems sincere with her words but you feel a pang of jealousy. Everybody knew that the two of them used to date, it shouldn’t bother you, you had no right to be jealous yet that is exactly what you were feeling.
You think about it and Jenni can tell you are thinking about it.
“She hasn’t stopped talking about you and I know she will want to see you. She was your biggest fan when we watched the game” Jenni added hoping to create some sense of comfortability.
“She watched my game?” You asked in disbelief. You thought you had no one but maybe you did, maybe Alexia was the someone that was cheering you on but instead of the family area she was cheering you on from the hotel you were currently standing outside of.
“She did. I think she forgot she was Spanish for a minute” Irene says which causes you to laugh.
“I doubt that but I appreciate the support. You know I shouldn’t be talking to you, you guys are the enemy now”
“Yet you came here for our captain, she will be your enemy too. Come on, I’ll take you to her. We wouldn’t want you to be spotted outside our hotel, just think of the optics” Jenni once again says.
“Ok” you nod your head a few times to solidify your answer.
The girls lead you through the hotel but only Jenni and Irene stay with you, Misa and Laia walk ahead. The longer you walk the more you begin wondering if this was a good idea. What if you are overstepping your boundaries. You had no right to be here and could easily be turned away at any point.
You enter the lounge area of the hotel which holds the majority of the Spanish national team yet your eyes search for only one. She see’s you before you see her and is walking over to you with a worried look on her face.
“Estas bien? What are you doing here?” Alexia’s arm rests on your shoulder.
“It was an accident. I was out for a walk and I ended up here” you explained.
“She was asking for you” Jenni says even though technically it wasn’t true. In her eyes she wanted to play matchmaker after it was made evidently clear that Alexia was hesitant to peruse things with you even though she had feelings for you.
“Is this true?” Alexia asks and you nod.
“We won, I returned, I scored, wore the armband and I didn’t have anyone is stands” you whispered so only she could hear you.
The look in your eyes changed. For the first time that night you showed your true emotions. Alexia didn’t need to hear anything else. She grabbed your hand and escorted you to the outdoor seating area. She sat down whilst your paced the patio.
“Y/N, come sit down” Alexia pats the seat next to her and you comply “Are you ok, really? What made you come here to me?”
“I’m not ok but I’m more ok than I thought I would be. It’s been quite a day, that game was —“
“Incredible. You changed the entire play”
“It felt right. I belong on the pitch with the girls, I should never have left” You didn’t register that you felt guilty about your absence until you said the words out loud to Alexia.
“You needed to. You had to process your loss and you returned when you were ready”
Alexia was very understanding, you had to give her that.
“That answers my first question but the second” the Catalonian didn’t want to push but there had to be a reason and until she heard the truth she was filled with worry. You had been walking the streets of Madrid, alone, at almost midnight.
“Why am I here?” You repeated it. Maybe you hoped that hearing the question again would help you figure out an answer, it did “I wanted to celebrate…….with you. I was surrounded by my team, people I consider family yet you were the one I wanted to call and tell about the game”
You dipped your head when you felt yourself getting emotional. You were suppose to be happy but with everything you were feeling you were overwhelmed. On top of what you were feeling you couldn’t ignore the way your heart beat twice as fast because Alexia was sat opposite you with her hand now resting on your thigh.
When you looked up Alexia noticed the the tears in your eyes and was quick to wipe away one when it fell.
“I shouldn’t be feeling this way Alexia, it is wrong” you met her eye as you made your version of a confession.
“You can be happy about playing football again Y/N. Natalia would have wanted you to be”
“Don’t say her name, not now” you shook your head and Alexia’s hand fell back to its prior place on your thigh.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep. I can give you space if that what you need” the blonde stands, ready to leave you be but you grab her hand and pull her back down.
“I don’t want space and that is the problem. I wasn’t talking about the game Alexia. I shouldn’t be feeling this way about you” you shook your head in disbelief. You were sure that your shot of happiness died with your wife but you have developed feelings for Alexia and could no longer deny it.
“Y/N” Alexia cupped your face so that you would look at her but when you did, her hand didn’t move.
“Ale” you melted into her touch. That very touch gave you butterflies and you enjoyed the act of intimacy.
The two of you went silent but each of your thoughts were very loud. Alexia glanced at your lips, you knew what she was about to do and you didn’t stop her. Maybe you should have, maybe you should have pulled away but you didn’t. You didn’t move when her lips hovered centimetres from your own, you let her kiss you. You froze in the moment, like a deer in headlights. It was only when you closed your eyes did you realise what was happening. The kiss felt like you were cheating, it felt wrong yet felt so right.
“You shouldn’t have done that. We can’t do this. It was wrong” you pushed Alexia away and stood up hastily.
You stormed away before Alexia had the chance to speak. All eyes were on you as you walked through the sea of Spanish players. Their eyes went from you and then to Alexia who was running through, trying to catch up to you. She was hot on your heels until you turned to face her. She waited a couple of seconds before taking steps towards you.
“Stop” you say but she doesn’t “No!” you held you arm out to further imply your seriousness.
After that she can do nothing else but watch you walk away from her. Her hazel eyes stayed on you until you were out the lobby doors and onto the streets of the Spanish capital.
Alexia was frozen in place. She has ruined everything by rushing but she felt something when she touched you, she felt a spark and that wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t feel the same thing she did. You told her that had feelings for her, you came all this way to see her. Those things meant something but maybe she had read it wrong, maybe it had all been in her head.
“Alexia, are you ok? You’re crying” Irene appeared in front of her. The woman in question was quick to wipe her eyes in hope that no one else would see her tears.
“I’m fine. It’s getting late, everyone should go to their rooms. We have a final to prepare for and we need to be at our best” Alexia walked away.
The two of you were very quiet in the upcoming days and were laser focused on the task at hand. Beat the opposing team and being the first even UEFA Nations League champions. Both of your team mates could tell something was wrong but they didn’t know what to do. Your team mates wasn’t aware of your late night adventures until Aitana texted Keira to ask if you were ok and told her that Alexia wasn’t after you showed up at their hotel. The English midfielder kept this to herself given that Lucy has only just got started talking to Alexia and there were a few players on the team who’s protectiveness could rival the defenders.
By the time the day of the final came around there was plenty of reason for concern but both teams knew that this is what you had been working towards. Yes, a trophy was on the line but it was the previous trophy that was the topic of conversation.
The first time Alexia saw you was when they arrived for the pitch inspection. You were near the goal with LJ, it has become a new pre match routine for the two of you. Well you did it the game a couple of days ago and you won that so the two of you gravitated towards the goal today.
Alexia wanted to go to you and that is what she was going to do until she felt a hand grab her wrist.
“Alexia”
She turned to face Keira.
“Leave her be”
“I didn’t mean to upset her. We were talking about feelings and then I kissed her, I couldn’t help it. It felt right in the moment” Alexia couldn’t stop talking. It’s like was making a confession and Keira would be the one deciding whether or not it was a sin.
Meanwhile the English midfielder couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Sure she had suspected something was going on between the two of you but she also had a strong sense that you wasn’t ready for anything knew. In her eyes you were still healing.
“You kissed her?” Keira whispered as not to bring attention to their conversation.
Alexia was about to explain further but Keira stopped her as she sure her other team mate coming towards them.
“Lucy is coming. I will talk to you about this later”
It was as if Keira flipped a switch. Her look of concern was replaced with a smile and she even put on a fake laugh so Lucy wouldn’t arrive to an awkward silence. Soon enough it was a gathering of Barcelona players yet Alexia could stay focused on what her friends were saying for you were beginning to walk towards her.
In your eyes you wanted to talk to Alexia and you knew you needed to. The other night was a lot for you to process but you did owe her an explanation for leaving, that much you did know. She looked good as you watched her enter the pitch. You let your eyes linger in the most discreet way possible.
“You and Putellas?” LJ asked you. She wasn’t aware of what happened, nor did she know you were married. In her eyes, you were hiding something and she wasn’t wrong.
“We are friends…..I think. It’s complicated” you admitted knowing that Lauren wouldn’t push you further.
“Uncomplicate it” she suggested.
“If only it was that easy. Let’s head in and get ready”
You felt the change in heartbeat again as you got closer to where Alexia was standing. Your head might have been all over the place but you heart was being very clear in what it wanted only you weren’t ready to admit it.
“Y/N” Alexia shouted to you as you walked past her.
“Hi” for whatever reason, you pulled her into a hug “Good luck today, you’re going to need it”
You both started laughing at the quick change of energy.
“I don’t think it’s us that need luck. We beat you in the summer” Alexia was cocky but she wasn’t confident.
“You didn’t beat me though” you couldn’t help but smile at her.
Your smile was genuine and that is something Alexia took great hope in seeing. Maybe you weren’t mad at her, maybe you just needed a little space.
What you said next doubled that hope.
“Come find me after the game”
Then just as quick as the hope was there, it wasn’t.
“We need to talk”
Those 4 words struck fear in Alexia but she didn’t have the chance to say anything because you were already down the tunnel by the time she came to her senses.
Your was brought up several times in the Spanish locker room and each time all eyes fell to Alexia for she is the one that knew you most. She had learnt how you think, what plays you are going to make before you make them. In her team’s eyes she knew how to stop you. Only it wasn’t that easy. Alexia did knew how you play but that style changes when you are hungry, like you have a point to prove and this game brought both of those things.
“Stop focusing on Y/N! If you focus on how to stop her then you’ve already lost. Focus on stopping her from getting the ball” That is the last thing she said before heading out into the tunnel.
The lionesses were waiting for her, she expected it. It was an intimidation tactic. You weren’t there and that was a surprise, she would have bet good money that you would be in the starting 11. Mary stood opposite her and smirked when she saw the look of bewilderment on the opposing players face.
Alexia wanted to say something, she kept looking back at the team. If she was paying attention she would notice that there was only 10 players on the England side of the tunnel. With her eyes now facing forward she didn’t see you walking towards the front of the line. The sound of your cleats fell on deaf ears.
Her head shot to the side when she caught a glimpse of you standing next to her with the pendent in your hand.
“Capital Y/L/N, nice to see you back where you belong” Alexia covered her mouth, her being well aware that there were cameras on her.
You shake your head at her greeting.
“Captain Putellas. You’re going to wish I wasn’t” you had one last attempt to get in her head.
“No I won’t. Win or lose today, this is something the world, myself included, has been waiting for”
You thought you would get a smart remark not a reply that was genuine.
“Alexia”
“Y/N”
Those were the last words spoken except from a good look after the coin toss.
You called a huddle before everyone got into place. This game was important, not only because of the trophy on the line but it was the lionesses chance at redemption. To prove that it was only one game.
“I want you all to do something for me. Play for right now, not for the past. You cannot change what happened in the summer, no matter how hard you try. Winning today won’t get you the star on the shirt but it can be the reset you guys have been wanting. That loss has been haunting you, I can see it by the look on your faces and I promise you here today that if you play with revenge in your hearts then you will fail. Yes, this is Spain but we are England. We don’t stay down, we get up and fight. We stand together as a team, a pride. We go out there and leave everything on the pitch”
Each player is hooked on every word as you give Mary the signal.
“England on three”
You all come together one more time before getting in position.
Alexia tries to do the same by most of the team is watching you.
“She is going to make it hard” Olga tells her captain.
“She is going to make our lives hell for the next 90 minutes but that’s not to say we can’t give it back. Look at that star on your shirt, we got that by beating this team. Yes, Y/N wasn’t playing but she is one player. As good as she may be, we are better. You’ve seen what everyone is saying, they are calling our World Cup win a fluke, that we didn’t win but England lost. We may have qualified for the Olympics but our job is not done. We have a trophy to win. Vamos Espana”
Just like England did, Spain come together before readying themselves for the game.
The game which starts in the worst possible way for the away team. It seems the your players might be a bit more nervous that they are letting on. Inside the first 15 minutes Salma gets through on goal and sends Spain up 1-0. It wasn’t ideal but it didn’t mean the game was over either. You were playing safe, as a way to get the most out of the team around you. When the first half is done with you haven’t take a single shot on goal.
Spain entered the tunnel happy and England entered it less so.
The atmosphere was eerie in the locker room and you could see the self doubt radiating off your team mates.
Sarina takes the floor and explains all sorts of strategies but nobody is listening. They are in their own head.
“Do you mind?” You walk up to Sarina hoping to have a talk with your team. The coach happily steps aside.
“How many of you are thinking about the World Cup? Raise your hand” nobody does and you decide to call bullshit “You’re lying and I won’t have that. You are telling me none of you are out there thinking of the summer? the picture of them lifting the trophy that should have been yours?”
One by one players begin lifting their hands.
“I can stand here and say I haven’t been good enough. I need to be better and I will be better. In 45 minutes we will be crowned champions. The question is are we going to do it in style or are we going to make it harder for ourselves? We know what we need to do and we will do it”
You leave the locker room and go back out onto the pitch. You are the first one out there and you take a minute to look at the score board. 1-0. You hated to lose but more than that, you hated to let people down. You made the decision to come back and you didn’t do that to come second. You returned to be a champion and to make Natalia proud, you wasn’t doing to let her down. You had spent the past couple of days trying not to think about her and maybe that was the problem. She was your greatest strength, your biggest supporter and she may be no longer with you, you may be beginning to move on but that doesn’t mean you have to forget about her. No, you need to play for her just as you always did.
The first ten minutes of the second half it was like a different team was on the pitch. England were pushing and pressing and Spain were struggling. In the 67 minute was when the game was made even once again. You and hempo were tiring out the defence and it made them vulnerable. On one counter attack they couldn’t keep up. Irene was the only player standing between you and Cata but she could see Hempo running up beside you. She found herself in a lose lose situation so she stuck with you in hopes that the pressure would work, it didn’t. You pull her in just enough to give hempo enough space. At the last minute you passed to your left and she fired the ball into the back of the net.
Game on.
Spain were beginning to tire and the one touch football that was known around the world began to work in favour of England. They were unable to play out from the back because you, Alessia, Hempo and LJ was pressing the defence. It was mind play and it was working.
It was during a corner where things got interesting.
“Keep going!” You clapped your hands to rally the team “we are in their heads, now we end it”
“You’re not in our heads” Alexia says as she chooses to mark you. It was a tactic they hadn’t done yet, so far Jenni had marked you.
“Just you saying that is proof that we are but feel free to prove me wrong” you had a minute to talk as the ref walk talking to Lucy and Irene.
“I will. Let’s make it interesting. You score right now and I’ll buy you a drink later”
“So that means I’ll be taking the trophy and your money? Oh you’re on”
Alexia followed you are you walked around the box as you got into position. You would end up in one or two places; front post or in the middle. Never did she think you would make a run for the back post and swap positions will Lucy. The change caught Alexia out and when the ball hit the back of the neck she shook her head in defeat.
She had played right into your hands. You had pulled her in with your words and left her hanging when you celebrated what would go on to be the winning goal of the game.
You had to take a moment when the game was over. Everyone was celebrating but you and Lucy made the effort to congratulate your club team mates of a game well played.
“Ay, Capi. You’re predictable you know that?” Lucy threw her arms around the Catalonian.
“Lucy!” You slapped her on the back of the head “What she meant to say is you guys played a good game and that we will see you in Paris”
“We’ll see them in Barcelona” Lucy tried to correct you.
“I mean on the pitch as opponents, idiot”
Alexia was to focused on what the defender said first to hear the bickering that was now taking place between the two of you.
“What did she mean?” Alexia asked you.
Lucy gave you a look before leaving the two of you be.
“You once told me that in order to see yourself as the best, you had to beat the best. Tonight you wanted to beat me”
“No, I —“
“You did and that’s ok. I wanted to beat you too. It’s our competitive nature. That need you had allowed us a way in. I didn’t know it would come from a corner, only that in at least one part of the game you will stick to me just so you could say you got the upper hand”
“I should have dropped you off, let Irene pick you up and followed Lucy” Alexia understands the error she made.
“You should have but don’t beat yourself up about it. That wasn’t our first plan or second. Our plan was for Hempo to tire Ona out and for Lucy to get inside Olga’s head. Without those two things happening, we wouldn’t have got the corner in the way we did”
Alexia didn’t know whether to be pissed off or impressed that you read her and her team so well.
“You deserve the win today. Go celebrate with your team”
“I will but remember you owe me a drink. I’ll text you the address of wherever we go. Invite the girls too”
Alexia watched you walk away but there was one more thing she wanted to tell you only she feared it would do more damage than good. In the end she bite the bullet and ran to you.
“Y/N”
“Hi again” you laughed “Do you want another explanation of our strategy? We can always watch the game back when we in home in Barcelona”
Home in Barcelona. There is something about the way you said it that made alexia feel warm and fuzzy inside. She quickly shook her head to rid herself of those thoughts and the overthinking that came with them.
“I just want to say that Natalia would have been proud of you today. Not just today but the other game too. I know it’s not my place to say that because I didn’t know her but you should know that. You—“ Alexia began rambling.
“Breathe. Thank you for saying that. I know she is looking down on me right now with a huge smile on her face and truth is if I think about her too much then I think I might cry so I don’t want to go into that right now. Thank you though”
Alexia couldn’t help but feel like she shouldn’t have said that.
The ceremony went by in the blind of an eye. One minute you are waiting for Spain to collect their medals, the next you are raising the trophy with Mary. Back in the locker room you find yourself staring at the medal on your neck. Never in your professional career had one stayed on your neck for this long and never has the gold felt so heavy. It felt like it was weighing you down so you take it off and stuff it into your back. You would talk about that means with your therapist if you had one.
Later on in the night you found yourself at the hotel bar with the rest of the team celebrating. You tried your best to be happy and part of you truly was but you life off the field was becoming more complicated and hard to ignore.
“Excuse me” you tell the group that included Leah, Georgia, Keira and Lucy.
“Should we be concerned?” Georgia asks.
“Yes but let her have a moment. These past ten days have been a lot for her” Lucy tells her friend.
They watched as you paced back and forth on the balcony. To the English it was warm outside but there was still a chill in the air and you weren’t wearing a jacket. Keira kept looking at her watch asking herself how long is long enough before she goes out to you.
Some of the Spanish team arrive about an hour after the lionesses. Some of them go to the bar, some go to friend but Alexia, well she only had one interest and she couldn’t it or more specifically couldn’t find you. Her eyes scanned the room one, twice and third time. She had her phone out ready to call just as she sees you.
Leah catches her walking towards you and wants to stop her.
“What is she doing” The blonde asks defensively “Y/N doesn’t want anything to do with her”
The Arsenal player has heard about you bust up when Keira visiting England over Christmas.
“Things are different now but I’m not sure this is the right thing to do. Alexia!” Keira shouts her club captain over.
“Hola. Congratulations again. You guys sure know how to party” she tried to be polite even though she had no interest in a conversation with anyone who wasn’t you.
“Thank you” Leah seems genuine “Were you going to see Y/N?”
Alexia nods.
“That might not be the best idea right now. I think she needs a minute to herself. It’s been quite the day for her”
“I know. That’s why I want to talk to her” Alexia knew that you might be been struggling but to her that was all the more reason for her to talk to you.
“She won’t even wear her medal” Georgia adds earning her a shove. As far as the English players are aware, Alexia didn’t know anything.
“That isn’t surprising. Every tournament until this one she has given her medal to Natalia” Alexia says as if it is the most obvious thing but your friends didn’t put two and two together.
“Wait” Lucy says “She told you about her?” Again, Alexia nods.
“When? She hasn’t talked about her since she passed” the defender added.
“After Christmas” Alexia explains but goes no further.
“That’s why she went to you the other night but then you—“
“Keira, I won’t talk about that right now. I just want make sure she is ok and I can’t do that if I am being interrogated by you”
With that Alexia leaves your friends speechless and makes her way towards the balcony.
As quietly as possible, Alexia slides the door open and closes it behind her. She didn’t want to startle you so she watched from a distance. Your face wasn’t puffy so you hadn’t been crying but your posture was stiff so you were stressed.
“They’ve spent the past hour burning holes in the back of my head from their staring yet you have come straight out” you turn to see Alexia resting against the door.
“I owe you a drink and —”
“And yet your hands are empty” you point to Alexia’s hand which as you stated aren’t holding a drink “You can come closer you know. I’m not going to blow”
“I know it’s just that—“
“The last time we were along I ran away crying” you laugh as you think back to that night. Things were going really well until they wasn’t.
“Are you going to let me finish a sentence or are you going to keep talking for me?”
You mumble an apology and signal for her to continue.
“Your friends know I know and I accidentally told keira we kissed”
“Figures. She has been hovering”
The two of you go quiet. It’s not awkward, it’s comfortable but even then it’s not what either of you wanted.
“You said we needed to talk” Alexia didn’t want to push things and you had told her this before the game.
“We do. What happened the other night it—“
“Shouldn’t have happened”
“Who is finishing the other’s sentences now”
“Lo siento”
“As I was saying” you send her smirk so she knows she isn’t in trouble “The other night was very overwhelming for me, not because I didn’t like what happened but because I did. I told you that I had feelings and those feelings are for you Alexia. You make me feel things that I thought I’d never feel again. I promised my heart and love to her Alexia and to feel these things for someone else is like an act of betrayal. It feels wrong but I don’t want those feelings to stop. You kissed me and I knew it was going to happen yet I didn’t to stop it. I shouldn’t have ran away like that”
“It was a lot for you, I understand that” Alexia tried to reassure you that it was ok.
“It was but I should have stayed. You wanted to talk to me and I didn’t give you the opportunity. Just because I lost someone doesn’t mean that it’s only my feelings that matter. I’m sorry Alexia”
Alexia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Since you said the words ‘we need to talk’ she has been trying to think of all the things you could have said, an apology was not one of them.
“Can I say what I would have that night?” Alexia asks and you nods your head whilst closing the distance between you.
“Those feelings you talked about, I feel them too. Things changed between us after you told me and I couldn’t ignore it, trust me I tried. I was also aware of your loss and that this might not be something you are ready for so I talked to my mum one night. She is the only other person I know who has experienced the same loss you have. I told her that I had fallen for you and that I wanted to act on my feelings. You know what she told me? She told me that time heals all wounds but no amount of time is the same. If I wanted to prove to you that I truly liked you then I would need to take it slow so that is what I am willing to do. If you want to pursue this then we will take it slow, as slow as you need. You said it feels like an act of betrayal and I respect that. I won’t push you into anything you’re not ready for”
Alexia reached out for you and noticed once again tears were falling down your face.
“I have made you cry again. I shouldn’t have said anything. Y/N I am so sorry”
“Alexia, these aren’t sad tears” you reach for her hand “I can’t promise you that this will be easy. When Natalia died she took a lot of my heart with her and I don’t know how much is left but I want to share what I have left with you. Please be patient with me Alexia because I don’t know how to do this again. For most of my life it has been her and I but now I get the chance at happiness again, with you. We can take this slow?”
“We will go as slow are you want. I have nothing but time for you Y/N”
Alexia knew what to say and for the first time in a long time you found yourself leaning forward. Just as you were about to kiss her she moves and kisses your cheek.
“Slowly Y/N” Alexia winked causing you to chuckle “How about we go for dinner when we return to Barcelona?“
“I would really like that”
“Me too. Now if I remember correctly I owe you a drink” Alexia holds the door open so that you both can rejoin the party.
“That does seem to be the case. Make it a double. It’s not every day you pull one over on La Reina to score the winning goal” you shoved her playfully.
Summary: Patri's love language might be slightly bullying the person she loves.
It started like most of their mornings; sun on the training pitch, the hum of laughter, and Patri Guijarro finding yet another excuse to make Y/N blush before breakfast.
“Y/N, your laces,” Patri called across the field, grinning. “You planning to trip today or just keeping it for special occasions?”
Y/N groaned but knelt to fix them anyway. “You’d miss it if I stopped giving you material to tease me with.”
Patri tilted her head, that familiar mischievous glint in her eye. “Oh, absolutely. Watching you get flustered is the highlight of my day.”
Alexia, passing by with her water bottle, muttered, “You two are ridiculous,” but she was smiling. Everyone on the team was used to it by now, Patri’s relentless teasing and Y/N’s half-hearted protests. It had become a sort of daily performance that neither seemed eager to end.
What no one knew, or so she thought, was that Patri’s jokes hid something real.
Every smirk, every sarcastic comment, every nudge during drills, all of it was her way of covering how fast her heart raced whenever Y/N smiled back at her.
After practice, Y/N lingered to work on her finishing. She’d been missing easy chances lately, and it frustrated her more than she liked to admit.
Patri stayed behind too, stretching near the goalpost. She watched quietly as Y/N lined up another shot, her brow furrowed in concentration. The ball flew over the bar.
Patri whistled. “You aiming for the moon or the net?”
Y/N turned, sweat glinting on her forehead. “You’re hilarious.”
“Thank you,” Patri said easily, walking closer. “Want help?”
“I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.” She plucked another ball off the ground and set it down. “Try again. But this time—” she stepped up behind Y/N, gently touching her elbow, “—don’t lean too far back when you strike.”
Y/N froze. Patri was close enough that she could feel her breath against her neck. For a moment, all she could think about was how warm Patri’s hand was through her sleeve.
She cleared her throat and nodded. “Right. Don’t lean back too much.”
Patri stepped away, biting back a grin. “Exactly. Unless you want to send it to Madrid.”
Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “You’re insufferable.”
“Your favourite quality about me,” Patri shot back.
Y/N didn’t deny it.
She took the shot again, this time, clean and low into the corner. Patri clapped once, genuine and proud. “See? Knew you could do it.”
Y/N turned to her, smiling despite herself. “Maybe you’re useful after all.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Patri said, mock-serious. “I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”
They shared a laugh, the kind that comes easy, the kind that lingers.
By now, teasing Y/N had become part of Patri’s daily routine; as natural as lacing her boots or jogging warm-up laps.
She told herself it was harmless fun. She definitely didn’t tease Y/N because her laugh made her stomach flip, or because watching her blush was better than scoring a goal.
Definitely not.
“Y/N!” Patri’s voice carried across the pitch. “If you take any longer with those laces, training’ll be over!”
Y/N glanced up from where she was kneeling by the cones, already glaring. “I’m making sure they’re tight so I don’t fall this time.”
“Aw, I’ll catch you if you do,” Patri called back with a grin.
A few teammates snorted. Y/N tried to hide her smile, tugging on her laces harder than necessary. “You’re impossible.”
Patri jogged past, voice dropping just enough for only Y/N to hear. “You secretly like it.”
The way Y/N’s cheeks turned pink was almost too easy. Patri bit back a laugh and jogged off before she could respond.
“Alright, girls, five-a-side!”
The coach’s whistle cut through the morning air, and instantly the pitch was filled with chatter and shuffling boots. Patri stretched her shoulders, eyes already flicking toward Y/N on the opposite team.
Game on.
Patri lived for this kind of thing; high energy, quick touches, little battles that had nothing to do with points and everything to do with pride. Especially when it involved teasing her.
As soon as the scrimmage started, Patri drifted close enough to make sure Y/N never forgot she was there.
“Careful, estrella,” she called as Y/N received a pass. “Don’t mess up in front of your biggest fan.”
Y/N turned, shielding the ball, trying to hide her grin. “You? My fan? Please.”
“Oh, I am,” Patri said, poking at the ball, forcing Y/N to spin away. “I just show my support by stealing possession.”
“Very supportive,” Y/N said, flicking the ball past her.
Patri jogged backward, smirking. “You like it.”
Y/N rolled her eyes. That was the problem.
The game picked up intensity, laughter mixing with competitive shouts. Every time Y/N got near the goal, Patri was right there, pressing, crowding her space, muttering little things that got under her skin.
“Left foot, Y/N... show me that ‘perfect technique’ you bragged about.”
“Don’t miss, no pressure.”
“Need me to take the shot for you?”
“Need me to shut you up?”
“Oh,” Patri grinned, “please try.”
And she did.
When the next pass came her way, Y/N feinted one direction and burst the other, leaving Patri half a step behind. One touch, two... and then, before anyone could blink, she rifled the ball into the top corner.
The net rippled. Aitana whistled.
Patri froze for half a heartbeat, mouth open.
Then she clapped slowly, dramatically. “Okay, estrella. I see you.”
Y/N turned, breathless but smug. “Told you I didn’t need your help.”
“Maybe not,” Patri said, walking over, “but that celebration could use work.”
Y/N laughed. “You want me to bow or something?”
“No, just—” Patri stepped close, her tone dipping low, teasing and soft all at once. “Maybe point to me next time. You know, for inspiration.”
Y/N smirked. “Oh, right. Because that goal was all you.”
“Obviously,” Patri said, bumping her shoulder lightly. “You’re welcome.”
Y/N nudged her back. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, still your favourite.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“I don’t need to,” Patri said, voice warm, eyes glinting. “You're looking at me right now like I’m right.”
Y/N blinked, the words hitting closer than they should. Patri’s grin didn’t waver, but there was something softer under it now, something that made Y/N’s heartbeat jump.
Thankfully, the coach’s whistle blew again, breaking the moment.
After practice, Patri lingered in the locker room longer than usual, pretending to stretch. In reality, she was waiting for Y/N to finish showering.
When Y/N finally emerged, towelling her hair, Patri smirked. “So, what did we learn today?”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “That you talk too much.”
“That teasing improves performance,” Patri corrected, leaning against the locker with exaggerated confidence.
“Oh really?”
“Mhmm. You scored your best goal right after I made fun of you.”
Y/N laughed. “So now you’re taking credit for my training?”
“Obviously.” Patri flashed a grin. “I’m basically your secret weapon.”
Y/N shook her head, smiling in spite of herself. “You’re something, that’s for sure.”
Before Patri could reply, Aitana’s voice cut in from across the room: “Hey, Guijarro! You planning to flirt all day, or are you coming to recovery?”
Patri shot her a look. “It’s called banter, Bonmatí. Look it up.”
Aitana smirked. “Sure. ‘Banter.’ Right.”
Y/N’s face was red again, which made Patri’s grin widen.
Before training the next day, the locker room was filled with the usual chaos; Mapi blasting music, Alexia pretending to ignore everyone, and Aitana scrolling through TikTok.
Y/N sat on the bench, tugging her jersey over her head, chatting easily with Bruna. Patri caught herself watching again, eyes softening before she looked away.
“Okay, that’s it,” Mapi announced suddenly, tossing her phone onto the bench. “Guijarro, we need to talk.”
Patri blinked. “About?”
“You. And your little crush.”
The room went quiet. The locker room quickly started to empty, players starting to head out and warm up, a few remained.
Patri froze. “What crush?”
Aitana didn’t even look up from her phone. “On Y/N.”
“I... what? No!” Patri stammered, voice an octave too high. “I don’t... that's- that’s ridiculous.”
Alexia sighed, shutting her locker. “Patri, we’re not blind. You act like a schoolgirl around her.”
“I do not!”
“Really?” Aitana said, finally glancing up. “Who spent twenty minutes helping her ‘perfect her corner kicks’ yesterday, even though the coach already told her she was fine?”
“That’s called teamwork,” Patri protested.
“Who gave her your hoodie last week when it wasn’t even cold?” Mapi added.
“She looked slightly chilly!”
Alexia crossed her arms. “And who nearly tackled Ona when she said Y/N was cute?”
Patri opened her mouth, then closed it again. “That was a misunderstanding.”
“Sure it was,” Aitana said dryly.
The others burst out laughing, and Patri slumped against the locker. “You’re all insufferable.”
Mapi grinned. “Maybe. But you’re worse. You’re clueless.”
“Excuse me?”
“You have no idea she likes you back.”
Patri blinked. “She doesn’t.”
“Patri,” Alexia said gently, “have you seen the way she looks at you?”
“No?” Patri said, genuinely confused.
Aitana rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, this woman is hopeless.”
Mapi sighed dramatically. “Alright, fine. We’ll spell it out. Y/N likes you. She’s just too shy to say it because you spend every day teasing her into oblivion.”
Patri’s brain short-circuited. “She... she likes me?”
Alexia shrugged. “Pretty sure everyone except you figured that out weeks ago.”
Patri sat there, stunned. The teasing, the blushes, the way Y/N always lingered to talk after practice... she’d thought it was just… Y/N being Y/N. Everyone reacts like that to being teased, right?
Now, the memory of every smile, every shared laugh, hit her differently.
“Wow,” she muttered softly. “I’m an idiot.”
“Welcome to the club,” Mapi said cheerfully. “Now go tell her before she starts thinking you’re just messing with her for fun.”
Patri ran a hand through her hair, flustered. “What if you’re wrong?”
Aitana smirked. “We’re never wrong.”
Later that training session, Patri found Y/N sitting on the edge of the pitch, tying her boots... again.
Some habits never died.
“Hey,” Patri said, walking up. “You training for a world record in shoe-tying?”
Y/N looked up and smiled. “You’d miss it if I stopped.”
Patri laughed, sitting beside her. “You might be right.”
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The late sunlight stretched long shadows across the grass.
“You were pretty quiet in the locker room,” Y/N said after a beat. “Mapi didn’t get to you, did she?”
Patri blinked. “Why would you say that?”
“She was teasing you about something earlier.” Y/N smiled. “You get that exact same face when you’re pretending you’re not embarrassed.”
Patri chuckled. “You know me too well.”
“Kind of hard not to,” Y/N said softly.
The words made Patri’s heart skip. She turned to look at her. “Yeah?”
Y/N shrugged, fiddling with her laces. “You’re not exactly subtle, Guijarro.”
Patri’s breath caught, half panic and half awe. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” Y/N said quickly, cheeks pink. “Just… everyone knows you love teasing me.”
Patri hesitated, watching her. “What if I told you it’s not just teasing?”
Y/N blinked, eyes darting up. “What?”
Patri swallowed hard. “Mapi says I’m clueless, and maybe she’s right. I didn’t realise until today how obvious I am.”
“Obvious about what?”
Patri exhaled slowly. “That I like you.”
Silence. Then Y/N laughed nervously. “You’re joking.”
Patri smiled faintly. “For once, I’m not.”
Y/N stared at her, then smiled, slow and bright. “You really are clueless.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’ve liked you for months,” Y/N said. “Everyone knew that too.”
Patri blinked. “Wait... what?”
Y/N nodded, laughing. “Aitana told me to tell you ages ago, but I thought you just enjoyed torturing me and you wouldn't like me back.”
Patri groaned. “Oh my god. We’re both idiots.”
“Completely,” Y/N agreed.
They sat there for a moment, the tension dissolving into quiet laughter.
Patri finally leaned over, bumping Y/N’s shoulder. “So… what now?”
Y/N smiled. “You could start by not teasing me all the time.”
Patri grinned. “No promises.”
Y/N laughed. “Figures.”
Patri looked at her and for the first time, didn’t hide behind jokes or smirks. “But maybe I’ll balance it out with some compliments.”
“Oh?” Y/N said, teasing now. “Like what?”
Patri’s voice softened. “Like how you’re the reason training feels like the best part of my day.”
Y/N’s smile faltered for a heartbeat, not from doubt but from the weight of it. “You’re really bad at this whole pretending-you-don’t-like-me thing.”
Patri chuckled. “Guess I don’t have to anymore.”
And when Y/N reached for her hand, just a small, quiet gesture, Patri squeezed it gently, her grin returning.
“Finally,” she said with a laugh. “Now I can tease you for real.”
word count - 1.3k | summary - patri disapproves of your pre-match snack... even if its the same one you've been having your entire relationship, she just hadn't noticed.
-
food shopping with patri had become a staple of your weekly routine. even before you were together, you’d casually asked the long time barcelona player if she had any recommendations. somehow, that had turned into sitting in the passenger seat of her car while she drove you to the nearest mercadona, proudly announcing she was about to show you ‘the wonders of spanish supermarkets’.
it didn’t quite match your tesco trips back home, but it had everything you needed, and spending time with patri was a bonus that you were never going to complain about.
even after you eventually moved in together, a year and a half into your relationship, you still made time for your weekly shopping trips. it was an unspoken part of your routine.
patri always pushed the trolley, list clutched in her left hand, calling out items for you to grab and drop in as you went.
“amor, we need pasta,” she called as you entered the next aisle.
you stopped in front of the shelves, scanning the options yet your eyes drifted to a new jar of sauce you hadn’t tried before. you tilted your head, considering it.
before you could reach for it, you felt a warm hand slid onto your waist, thumb resting just above your hip.
“you’ve tried that one, it’s just new packaging.” patri confirmed.
you leaned into her automatically, “but i like roasted peppers.”
“well last time you said it was too ‘peppery’” she reasoned, squeezing your waist lightly before letting go.
you diverted your attention back to the pasta options, grabbing two different pasta shapes, each of you having your preferred pasta shape and both far too stubborn to compromise.
you weaved through the mercadona aisle by aisle, the trolley filling steadily as patri ticked items off her list. every so often she’d bump her hip into yours as you walked, or reach past you to grab something, fingers brushing your hand for longer than necessary.
naturally, a few extras made their way in too, much to her dismay.
“i think we should get these for when the girls come over later,” you said, turning to her with three different bags of crisps balanced in your arms.
“we don’t need all three,” patri reasoned, reaching out to pick one from your selection, “plus everyone’s bringing food so we will end up with too much.”
“but this one’s a new flavour,” you argued, holding up a vaguely labelled ‘extra cheesy’ bag, “and you know i love sour cream and chive.” you added, holding up the other bag.
you gave her your best smile, the one that always worked.
patri stared at you for a moment, then sighed, muttering in agreement, “fine. get both.”
“thank you, amor,” you grinned, dropping them into the trolley before stepping forward to press a kiss to her cheek.
she grumbled something that sounded like a mhm, but she couldn’t hide the smile that tugged against her lips at the contact.
the same thing happened in the chocolate aisle. between your shared sweet tooth and you blaming your period, you somehow ended up with four different chocolate bars in the trolley.
patri shook her head, but she was smiling as she hooked a finger through one of your belt loops and tugged you back toward her, “you’re impossible.”
“you love me,” you said easily, “plus we can make chocolate covered strawberries.”
she kissed your temple instead of arguing, knowing she loved the nights the two of you were bundled up on the sofa, a bowl of chocolate in one hand and strawberries in the other to deny your suggestion.
“cariño,” patri said, squinting at the list, “you wrote ‘pre-match snacks’ but didn’t specify. protein bars? fruit? maybe yoghurt?”
“pickles!” you announced, feet already moving in the direction of the jarred selection.
“pickles?” she echoed, following after you quickly.
you stopped in front of the shelves, reaching for the salty jar without hesitation. when you turned, patri had frozen, the trolley abandoned a few steps behind her, mouth hanging open.
“what do you mean your pre-game snack is pickles?”
“i always have pickles before a game,” you replied, brows furrowed as you looked at her.
she narrowed her eyes, “who are you?”
“well,” you grinned, “i’d hope i’m your girlfriend, teammate, and favourite person in the world.”
she shook her head slowly, “no no, because my girlfriend refuses to eat pickles in burgers because they ‘make the cheese taste funny.’”
“well, they do,” you shrugged, “i don’t think pickles should go in burgers.”
she stepped closer, poking your chest with one finger, “i have personally picked a pickle out of your burger because you were too polite to ask the waitress to leave it off.”
“but this is different, and they help with cramps.” you added, walking past her.
her hand came up to her temple, holding as if she had been struck by a pan, not the realisation that her girlfriend did in fact eat pickles. “how long has this been happening?” she asked, before quickly adding on, “do other people know?”
“i’ve been doing this for like three years,” you said, “vicky literally calls me pepinillo.”
“i thought that was just a weird nickname!” she huffed, “have you been hiding them at home? how have i never seen them?”
“nope. they’re always on the top shelf of the fridge after i open them.”
“oye, i thought they were your dad’s from the last time he visited.”
you laughed as she stood there in the middle of the aisle, completely bewildered with the new knowledge she had learnt.
“i’ve never seen you buy them,” she said, eyes narrowed at you, “where are you getting them from?”
“usually the shop down the road.”
her eyes widened, “you went food shopping… without me?”
“just the corner shop,” you said, “with the nice old man who calls you guapa.”
“you went to see luis without me?” she asked, hand rising as she held it over her heart, “this is worse than the pickles.” she muttered.
you caught her face in one hand and squeezed her cheeks together, smushing her mouth into a stubborn little pout, “you’re being dramatic.”
“i think we may need to break up.” she muttered, though your hand was still squishing her face.
you raised your eyebrows, an amused smile taking over your face, hand dropping from her face, “you’re really going to break up with me over pickles?”
patri tilted her head, eyes flicking briefly down the aisle before returning to you, a slow smirk forming, “i’m considering it.”
you nudged her hip lightly with yours, “you’ll miss me.”
she scoffed, gripping the trolley handle and pushing it forward before you could say anything else, “i’ll miss the person i thought you were.”
-
later you were sat in your living room, the three bags of chips sat open on your coffee table, alongside the selection of snacks that kika, vicky, salma and ona had bought over. maybe three bags was one too many.
you were mid film when patri picked up the tv remote and paused it, the thought suddenly reappearing in her head, “did you guys know she eats pickles before a game?”
a chorus of ‘yes’ came from your fellow teammates, “that’s why she’s pepinillo.” vicky chimed in, directing a teasing smile at you.
“and i bought her back homemade spicy pickles from portugal, she said they were the best she’s ever had.” kika added, a proud smile on her face.
“so everyone knows but me?” patri asked, mouth slightly agape.
the girls couldn’t help but laugh at the shock on her face, “patri, even the chef has a stash of pickles in case she forgets to have one.” ona mentioned. of course the chef knew, everyone did.
“it’s for cramping, i used to eat them all the time when i ran.” salma confirmed.
“this is ridiculous.” patri muttered, though she was slightly annoyed at herself that everyone had noticed but her, how could she miss the one thing you ate religiously before every game?
“i’m not sure i can look at you the same now.” she added, shrugging her shoulders casually.
“amor, i’ve literally seen you drink beet juice before a game.”
“that was one time!” she defended, voice raising slightly, though you were too busy laughing, “and the doctor told me to try it for endurance!”
“we can add beets to our shopping list for next week.” you smiled, pushing her shoulder gently.
she glared at you, shaking her head slowly, “don’t even try.”
a/n - trying something new with the headers, not sure how i feel about it atm! thank you for reading, and thank you @2truthsand1lie for always having ideas that make my brain work!
Beyond the Badge | Alexia Putellas x reader - Part 11
Part 11
Summary : You're Real Madrid Femenino personified, the captain, the one who joined the day the club was born. A 15-2 agreggate against Barça makes you wonder if loyalty is enough, and the Spanish camp that follows only make it worse. You've known Alexia Putellas for years but have never been close. This camp has other ideas for you both.
Pairing : Alexia Putellas x Real Madrid! Reader
Word count : 10.4k
Warnings : 18+ (a small scene)
A/n : A bit late with this one, partly because of a birthday weekend and a left-arm injury, partly because I didn't know how to write it, but it's finally here ! It's more of a transition chapter with a lot of fluff (some angst too, but not much).
Masterlist
-----------
Following lunch, there is a window of free time before the mandatory recovery and video sessions scheduled for later in the afternoon. Your original plan was simple : spending the hour with Alexia in her bed, trying to stay silent while she is between your legs.
Life has other ideas.
Vicky catches as you're stepping away from the dining hall. “Hey ! I really need your help with something, please ?”
“Vicky, I already promised Aitana I’d hang out with her,” you sigh. “Can’t we do it later ?”
“No, because Ona’s going to be around later, please.”
She looks genuinely desperate, pulling out full puppy-dog eyes that make you let out a defeated sigh. “Is this actually that important ?”
She nods frantically.
“Alright, fine. Yeah, I’ll come with you.”
She jumps on you with an enthusiastic hug, and you inwardly pray that whatever this is, it’s worth sacrificing time with your girlfriend. As you walk down the hotel corridors behind her, you quickly pull out your phone to text Alexia, apologizing profusely and explaining that Vicky essentially begged you. You turn off the screen before Vicky can catch a glimpse of the contact name.
As you get to her room, Vicky is fidgeting. It isn't her normal inability to stand still, but rather an ‘I have an announcement to make’ kind of way. You sit next to her on her bed, waiting patiently while she kneads a Stitch plushie so hard it would probably be crying for help if it was conscious.
She locks eyes with you. “How much can I trust you?”
You shrug, trying to keep things light. “I mean, it depends. What did you break ? Who’s coming for you ? Just so you know, if you snoop through Alexia’s room and found another strap, you're on your own.”
“Please, I’m serious.”
The tone makes you stop immediately. You have never heard Vicky this serious about something that wasn’t football. You eye her carefully, sensing the stress radiating from her.
“Hey, what is it, kid ? I promise whatever it is stays between us.”
Vicky looks through the window, her face flushed and refusing to meet your eyes as she mumbles, “I have a crush on someone, and I don’t know what to do.”
You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. You were mentally preparing to hide a body or take the blame for breaking hotel property, not navigate teenage romance.
“Do I know her ?”
She nods in lieu of an answer.
“Okay, so a footballer,” you summarize. You wait for her to elaborate, but it seems her initial bravery evaporated the moment those words left her mouth.
“Who is it ?”
More silence. Her gaze refuses to budge from the window while poor Stitch takes the brunt of her nervous breakdown.
“Vic, hey. I can’t give you advice if you shut down on me.”
“It’s Clara,” she admits, so low you barely catch it.
You freeze, because her attitude is starting to make a lot of sense.
You shift closer, wrapping a warm arm around her shoulders as she leans over to rest her head against yours.
“What do you like about her ?” you ask gently, keeping your tone quiet and safe.
“She’s so sweet, and cute, and we can just talk for hours without it feeling forced,” Vicky rambles, her guard finally dropping. “She keeps me grounded, you know ? She’s way more level-headed than me, I want to be around her all the time, and she gets football.”
Adorable.
You rest your chin on top of her hair with a quiet smile. “So, what do you need from me, kid ?”
“I don’t even know,” she murmurs weakly into your shirt. “Your opinion, I guess. Help.”
You turn your tongue in your mouth, carefully measuring your words. Given the situation, the consequences could end up being huge.
“My initial opinion would be to tell you that having a crush on a teammate isn’t the wisest thing in the world.”
Her shoulders drop. You catch where her heart wants this conversation to go.
“But it’s a bit too late for that. If you’re sure about your feelings, go for it. Just do a little recon first and make sure she likes you back, unless you want to spend the next five years surviving pure awkwardness.”
She falls back onto the bed dramatically. “That’s the problem ! I have literally zero idea how to figure that out.”
“Look for the subtle signs,” you explain. “When you look across the room, is she already staring at you and looking away real fast ? Does she crack up at every dumb thing that comes out of your mouth ? Is she always mysteriously showing up wherever you are ? Stuff like that.”
She turns her head toward you. “Do you think she does that with me ?”
“Do I think?” You furrow your brows, looking down at her. “Vicky, you’re the one with the crush ! How am I supposed to know what she’s doing ?”
“Well, you hang out around us all the time !” she insists, gesturing with her hands. “And, I mean, you’re our captain. You’re observant. You’re experienced—”
“Did you just call me old ?”
She doesn’t even bother to deny it. “Look, I need your help ! Couldn’t you just... try to become her friend or something and subtly bring me up ?”
You roll your eyes. “Vicky, I’d like to point out to you that I’ve finished high school.”
“I have too !”
“Anyway, I am not doing your covert espionage for you. Besides, I barely know Clara.”
The simple sound of Clara’s name makes Vicky flush, making you fight off a laugh.
“If you want a real idea of where her head is at,” you continue, softening slightly, “you should ask someone who actually knows you both well. Have you told anyone else ?”
“I told Jana.”
“And what was Jana’s expert assessment ?”
Vicky grunts, burying her face into her knees. “Jana is useless ! She sees romance in literally everything, so she’s convinced Clara likes me back. I mean, come on, last camp she was dead sure you and Alexia had a secret thing going on. She’s completely delusional.”
Well then, maybe Clara does have a crush on Vicky.
You force out a nonchalant laugh, playing it cool. “Yeah, fair point. Sounds like Jana’s radar for team romance is broken.”
Vicky doesn’t seem to process your reaction at all, far too consumed by her own internal crisis to overthink the brief flicker in your voice.
“Have you told anyone else ?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation away.
“No, nobody who knows both of us,” she says, shaking her head. “I didn't want to make things weird for our friends, especially if there is nothing on her end.”
You let out a soft, resigned sigh. You know there's no way you're winning a logical argument against a teenager in love. “Alright, look. I’ll keep my eyes open and see if I catch a vibe,” you offer, raising a cautionary finger. “No promises, though. Got it ?”
Before you can even finish the sentence, she throws her arms around you in a bone-crushing hug.
That is how you end up seated across from Clara at dinner. Vicky has slyly positioned herself diagonally behind you at the adjacent table, perfectly angled so you can catch every tiny eye contact or reaction.
You find yourself asking, for the thousandth time today, how on earth you let yourself get roped into this.
Alexia slides into the empty chair right next to Clara. If you happen to flash a quick wink toward Jenni when Alexia decides to join your table instead of sitting right next to her, it’s nobody’s business.
Alexia is deep in a passionate explanation to Clara about a tactic that was briefly mentioned during the afternoon video session. Clara is drinking in every word, nodding at every sentence like it's gospel, both of their plates sitting entirely ignored.
You’re sent back to what will soon be a decade ago, your very first call-up for the national team, when you were still wide-eyed and trying to figure out where you fit.
It had been right after your first official video session, and you were hopelessly confused by half of the tactical instructions the coach had thrown at you. Vero Boquete had been kind enough to break it all down for you at dinner, while Alexia sat directly across from you.
Back then, Alexia had worn that exact same expression Clara is wearing right now : brows drawn tight in intense focus, head tilted slightly, nodding along in rapt attention. The only noticeable difference is that Clara has more of a baby face than Alexia had at the time.
It stuck with you because that was the very first time you truly felt like you belonged with the national team. Just sitting around, talking football with your peers. You simply never clicked with Alexia beyond those pitch-side conversations. She already had her established circle with the Barça players, and she’s never been one for small talk.
Whenever the two of you tried to talk about literally anything other than football, it was painfully awkward. Neither of you knew what to say, and you never had enough forced proximity to figure it out. The one time she tried to make friendly conversation about Barça, you instantly shut it down with a blunt, “Real Madrid is way better.” You silently agreed to stay out of each other's orbits after that.
Looking back, it’s crazy how effortless it is to spend years in the same room with someone and never truly know them, especially considering how compatible you are with Alexia. Aitana even told you once that half the Barça girls assumed you were deliberately avoiding them, when in reality you were just minding your own business.
You get hit on the shoulder, a bit too hard in your opinion. “Ow !”
“Oh, sorry ! You just seemed totally spaced out,” Clara says quickly, meeting your gaze with apologetic, wide eyes. Between that and the baby face, it’s obvious why Alexia can never stay mad at these kids for long. “What were you thinking about ?” she asks, tilting her head.
“You just remind me a lot of a younger Ale,” you admit, pointing your fork directly at the woman sitting next to her. “Same face, same expressions, same complete inability to stop thinking about football for five seconds.”
Clara reddens, though she doesn't seem surprised by the comparison.
“I honestly have no idea why everyone keeps making that comparison. We really don’t look that much alike,” Alexia chimed in.
You scan her up and down, an amused smirk tugging at your lips. “Go look at pictures of yourself from back then. You really do.”
Alexia furrows her brows, instantly defensive. “No, I don’t !”
“Ale, I literally knew you when you were twenty-two,” you counter. “You had slightly less of a baby face than Clara does now, but that’s about it.”
“We’re just both brunette,” she mutters, rolling her eyes.
“It’s not just the hair, it’s how you act whenever someone talks tactics,” you explain, leaning back slightly. “The tiny head tilt, the way you refuse to blink like you’re terrified of missing a single detail, the little crease right between your eyebrows...”
Alexia crosses her arms, dropping into a dramatic pout that pulls affectionate laugh out of your chest. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
You’re about to retort, but you feel Clara’s gaze on you and turn to look at her. There’s a flicker of confusion on her face, and it suddenly hits you : you are never this openly familiar with Alexia in public.
“Whatever, Capi,” you scoff, playing it off.
She only rolls her eyes in answer, while the suspicion slowly leaves Clara’s face. Thank God she isn’t the most drama-hungry one of her group. You have a feeling this would be going very differently if Jana was sitting in her seat.
You notice Clara’s gaze drift diagonally across the room instead, a shy smile appearing on her face, and you file that away in your mental evidence folder for Vicky.
The rest of the evening is spent playing Monopoly with a few of your Real and ex-Real teammates, while Alexia has plans with her own circle. You had wanted some alone time with her, but she pointedly reminded you that you stood her up for Vicky earlier. Naturally, she also tried to grill you about what you and the kid were talking about, but you didn't break.
The day of the game against England is one of focus. A win today will officially secure your qualification for Brazil, a fact that hums like an electric current through the entire squad. On top of that, even with the victory two months ago, there is still a deep need to send a clear message to the European champions.
The only almost-alone time you manage to get with Alexia is after morning training, back in your room. She rests securely in your arms, a soft sense of contentment washing over both of you as her fingers idly trace soothing patterns down the side of your leg.
“I told you, it’s just so weird to see,” you hear Aitana whisper, her voice not nearly as discreet as she thinks it is.
“Weird doesn’t even cover it,” Misa mutters right back, seated next to her on Aitana’s bed.
You eye them both, giving them the finger.
Misa doesn't even flinch, a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Does that finger go inside Alexia ?”
Alexia freezes in your arms, while Aitana is seized by a violent coughing fit, choking on her own air. You and Misa both lose it, cackling as you slide out from behind Alexia to high-five with the goalkeeper.
“Ale, oh my god, you should have seen your face !” Misa exclaims, doubled over and still laughing.
Alexia lets out a long groan. You press a tender kiss to the side of her head, and she tugs at your hands, pulling you back into place until you're wrapped around her again, her cheeks still flushed.
“Amor, that was a tame one,” you tease, nudging her playfully.
She throws you a warning glare, but the tough facade crumbles the second you lean in and press a soft peck to her lips.
“Yep, still weird,” states Misa.
Aitana swats at Misa's arm. “You’re the one who started that one ! Honestly, this idiot” she gestures at you, “should have unloaded all those lewd details on you instead of traumatizing me.”
“What exactly have you told her ?” Alexia turns in your arms, her brows furrowing.
Suddenly, the hotel ceiling becomes the most fascinating thing in the entire world.
“Everything,” Aitana answers for you, stressing every syllable.
Misa perks up like a hawk. “Hold on... is there actually stuff that interesting ?”
The room goes dead silent. You can practically feel Misa narrowing her eyes at the shift in the air, her internal radar spiking.
“It cannot be that interesting.”
“Don’t worry, it’s not,” Alexia snaps back.
That brief dismissal doesn’t deter Misa at all. If anything, it only cements her suspicion that there’s gold buried right under the surface. It takes a few seconds, but a delighted "Oh my god" pierces through the heavy silence.
Her gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, a massive grin spreading across her face.
“No,” Alexia states firmly, attempting to shut it down on pure captain authority.
“Ale, your throat,” Misa points dramatically at her friend, whose facial expression suggests she’s seriously weighing the pros and cons of jumping off the 10th-floor window right then and there.
“Misa,” you warn, because you can sense how uncomfortable your girlfriend is becoming.
“Don’t Misa me. How did that happen ?”
“Misa, seriously,” you sigh, running a hand over your face. Alexia has turned a worrying shade of red.
“Oh, just wait until Jenni finds out !” Misa laughs, practically vibrating with excitement.
“Jenni is not finding out,” Alexia fires back, finding her voice beneath the sheer humiliation.
You decide to keep your mouth shut, recognizing that right now is not the time to drop the bomb that you might have already spilled it to Jenni.
“How can you be this much of a prude and still let her do that to you ?”
“Misa, shut it,” you cut in sternly, before Alexia passes out or drops out from the national team. Misa eyes you, trying to gauge if you’re serious. You return a hard stare, and she clamps her mouth shut, sensing that you are not joking around anymore.
You press a soft kiss to the top of Alexia’s head and gently pull her closer, repositioning her against your chest until you hear her quiet groan of satisfaction. Staying carefully away from the subject after that, you manage to smoothly diffuse the rest of the lingering tension.
The afternoon is spent entirely on game preparation. Alexia manages five minutes of peace with you in her room right before the bus leaves for the game. Your tongue spends most of that time inside her mouth. You can’t wait for some uninterrupted time with her, preferably naked.
The bus ride to the stadium is buzzing, you can tell the squad feels good about tonight. During pitch walk, you have a slightly awkward run-in with Lauren James. She cracks a quick joke referencing last camp, clearly throwing out a line to see if you'll bite. You just laugh politely and shut the conversation down cleanly.
The team was right to be confident. It’s a demonstration by your side, securing an easy 4–0 win. It includes a brace by Alexia and, to your displeasure, a late goal by Jenni after she is subbed in. Aitana providing the assist makes the whole thing a little easier to digest.
The bus ride back is a full-blown party with Samba music blasting over the speakers, and even Alexia loosens her grip on her usual stoic captain persona. You catch her doing a little dance, though you know for a fact she’ll swear up and down it never happened if you call her out on it.
While a bunch of the girls gather in someone's room to celebrate the victory, you opt for a peaceful night in your own room, exhausted from ninety minutes on the pitch and in serious need of recovery.
Sleep, however, refuses to cooperate. You finally give up the fight long past midnight and head down to the hotel break room to grab a cup of tea, hoping it might help you unwind.
Jenni is here, because of course she is. You genuinely start to wonder if the universe has a personal vendetta against you. Neither of you says a word as you fill the kettle and set it to boil.
You turn around to look at her. She’s leaning back against one of the tables, a warm mug cupped in her hands. From this angle, you can clearly see the 1994 tattoo on the outside of her wrist. It’s fading, clearly in the slow process of being laser-removed, but seeing it still causes something bitter and ugly to flare up inside your chest.
“Great goal, by the way. Must feel good to get on the scoresheet as a sub,” you say, throwing a playful wink her way.
Jenni tilts her head. “What are you trying to accomplish here ?”
“Just trying to congratulate a teammate,” you answer with an easy shrug.
She lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking her head. “You’re such a shit-stirrer.”
In truth, you have no idea what your end game is here. You just need her to snap. If she gets mad, you get to be mad back, and anger is a blissfully uncomplicated emotion. There’s a quiet resentment brewing inside you toward Alexia for laying all her emotional baggage on you right in the middle of camp, but you can’t lash out at your girlfriend. Jenni, on the other hand, is easy.
“Must be tough,” you remark casually, watching the kettle steam, “getting used to being just another average player.”
Her knuckles turn white around her cup, but she keeps her composure. “Must be hard,” she fires back coldly, “knowing your importance in this team is due to how docile you are.”
“Pretty sure my position on top of Alexia has nothing to do with being docile.”
Jenni chuckles. “You make sex jokes about Ale because you lack self-confidence in every other aspect of the relationship. Being great in bed will only keep Alexia hooked for a few months at best.”
You take the hit silently, clinging to every soft, quiet moment you’ve shared with Alexia outside the bedroom just to numb the sharp sting of the words.
“You seem awfully sure of yourself.”
“No great relationship relies on sex as its foundation,” she replies, taking a measured sip from her mug.
“It’s not the foundation of my relationship.”
“You talk an awful lot about it, then,” Jenni counters, leaning back against the counter with a cold smile. “I mean, I know firsthand Ale is incredible in bed, but let’s be serious for a second, it won’t save it.”
You feel the fire you started beginning to burn you, scorching hot and dangerous. But like an arsonist, you just can’t bring yourself to stop.
“It’s funny how you still think you’re an expert on Alexia when you haven’t been together for years,” you push, leaning in close.
“For someone who was so damn quiet during an important fight, you certainly run your mouth an awful lot with me,” Jenni snaps back, her eyes narrowing.
The kettle beeps, signaling the water is ready, but you ignore it. “Talking shit with you has zero consequences. We’re going to hate each other the exact same amount before and after this conversation.”
Jenni blinks, visibly taken aback by your honesty. “You’re a deeply fucked-up person, I hope you know that,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “What do you think I am ? Your personal punching bag ?”
You shrug in lieu of an answer, letting the silence settle between you.
Jenni eyes you up and down, her expression turning cool and calculated. “You know your relationship with Alexia is built on a foundation of sand. Alexia will act like it doesn’t matter, but I’m sure we both know her enough to know how much importance she gives to the opinions of the people she’s close with. Sure, people like Vicky and Misa like you. But then there’s me, Irene, Mariona, Patri, Mapi... and we both know the list goes on for longer. It’s going to eat her up inside until it breaks the relationship.”
She pauses, watching the hit land. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Jenni intentionally clips your shoulder hard as she pushes past you toward the door. You stand there next to the steaming kettle, knowing damn well that tea isn't going to fix the knot currently twisting in your chest.
The day after beating England is an off day. You and Alexia had been back and forth on what to do with it. Most of the team had pitched in to rent a boat with a skipper for the day, and you originally planned to go. But Alexia campaigned hard for a day just for the two of you.
In the end, the lingering mess with Jenni combined with your need for freedom and uninterrupted time with Alexia won out. You made up an excuse about visiting a friend in Mallorca, while Alexia claimed a last-minute sponsor commitment. It’s a cover story both of you have used in the past, so nobody bats an eye.
To ensure you don't accidentally run into the squad, you use Misa to gather subtle intel on their itinerary. You and Alexia slip out of the hotel long before the rest of the team even wakes up, meeting with Alba and Eli for an early breakfast.
You triple-check with Alexia to make sure she doesn't regret skipping time with her family, but with the end of the season just one match away, she dismisses it, reasoning that she'll be seeing plenty of them soon enough anyway.
Breakfast is spent inside their hotel room, eating room service out on the small balcony. You couldn’t risk going out to a public cafe, not with Mallorca currently crawling with women’s football fans.
The morning starts off quietly, everyone slowly waking up. Naturally, the conversation drifts back to camp, which forces you and Alexia into some uncomfortable lying.
“So,” you start, eager to steer the conversation away from the team. “What have you two been up to in Mallorca ? Especially you Alba, you got here early, right ?”
“What everyone does in Mallorca, enjoying the sea, obviously,” Alba replies. “We also went to Sóller with Judith on Thursday, grabbed Mami from the airport when her late flight got in, and then took a boat trip yesterday before watching your game.”
You nod in acknowledgment. “Judith went back to Barcelona already ?” you ask, curious.
The mood at the table instantly shifts. Alba glares at Alexia, who suddenly finds the hotel pool down below extremely interesting, while Eli gives a heavy sigh.
“She would have loved to be here with us,” Alba says, pointing at Alexia with her knife. “But this one doesn’t think the same.”
“Don't point with the knife,” Eli interjects, placing her hand on Alba’s wrist.
“Only like three people in football know,” Alexia shoots back, her tone sharp with frustration. “It’s not an unreasonable ask for you to keep it from her, Alba.”
“Fa anys que estem junts, per què parles com si fos una noia qualsevol a qui només li interessin les xafarderies del futbol ?” Alba shoots back in Catalan, making your brows furrow at the sudden language shift. [We’ve been together for years, why do you talk like she’s just some random girl who only cares about football gossip ?]
“Quan dius anys, comptes totes aquestes vegades que vas trencar ?” [When you say years, are you counting all those times you broke up ?]
“Noies,” Eli interrupts, her voice low firm. “Stop having the same fight over and over. Alba, let Alexia choose who knows about her girlfriend. Alexia, leave Alba’s relationship alone.”
Both sisters cross their arms and pout simultaneously in a synchronized movement. Looking at them now, there's no doubt they’re related.
“And stop switching to Catalan when there’s someone at the table who doesn’t speak it,” Eli adds, giving them both a pointed look.
The two of them lower their heads, looking like scolded teenagers with their flushed cheeks. You can’t help but chuckle, which earns you a death stare from Alexia.
You reach out and poke her nose. Even though she swats your hand away, it tugs a little smile onto her face. Across the table, Alba makes a dramatic gagging sound that breaks the tension, getting a laugh out of everyone.
“So, you don’t speak any Catalan?” Alba asks, leaning forward on her elbows.
You shrug, setting down your cup. “My best friend is Aitana, so she’s taught me the basics, but I can’t follow a conversation. It could be cool to learn it properly at some point.”
“You don’t need to,” Alexia interjects.
“I know, but I still think it’d be nice,” Then, because you simply can’t resist teasing her, you add, “Plus, then I’d understand what you mumble in your sleep. It’s strictly in Catalan, by the way.”
A deep crease forms between her brows. “I do not mumble in my sleep.”
“You totally do !” Alba insists, jumping on the opportunity. “I’ve been telling you that for years. Tell her, Mami !”
Eli takes a calm sip of her drink, thoroughly enjoying her daughter’s denial. “Alexia, you’ve done it ever since you were a little girl. You just refuse to believe anyone who tells you so.”
“Because I don’t.”
“It’s cute when you do,” you offer.
“Doesn’t matter, because I don’t,” she insists. Despite the defensive pout, you catch the tiny twitch at the corner of her lips, she’s struggling not to break character.
“Honestly, save your breath,” Alba interrupts with a wave of her hand. “We’ve been trying to get her to confess to that for years. She’s never going to admit it.”
It’s officially a challenge, and you have zero intention of losing.
You turn fully toward Alexia, your fingers trailing lightly up the inside of the arm resting on the back of your chair. Throwing in your best puppy-dog eyes, you ask, “You’re sure you don’t, amor?”
She visibly swallows, her eyes darting away for a split second before snapping right back to yours. A light flush creeps up her neck to her cheeks.
“I don’t ?” she attempts. You arch a single eyebrow, your thumb idly caressing the delicate skin over the veins on her wrist. “Maybe... sometimes ?” Her voice drops, small and hesitant, but the concession is unmistakable.
The table bursts out laughing, sending a much deeper red rushing into Alexia's cheeks. “It’s not fair,” she mumbles, glaring at her plate.
“God, you are so whipped,” Alba mocks.
Before Alexia can pull back or cross her arms in defense, you interlace your fingers with hers and lift her hand, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it.
The rest of the meal passes easily over talk of summer break, vacation itineraries, and the upcoming trip to Mexico, leaving the tension of camp feel far away.
It’s still early when you arrive at the boat rental. Misa has texted you to confirm that the team hasn’t even left the hotel yet.
Alexia is still bundled up in a sweatshirt, because apparently 23° isn’t warm enough to warrant a t-shirt. Luckily, the tournament draw didn’t send you to Iceland in February.
With your caps pulled low and sunglasses firmly in place, you navigate the paperwork with the rental agency. They double-check your boat permit before handing over the keys. Alexia lets out a dramatic sigh of relief once you step away, as if the entire fifteen-minute administrative check had taken several painful hours.
While she organizes your stuff on board, you take your position at the helm.
“Am I down bad if I say that knowing you can captain a boat is weirdly sexy ?” Alexia calls out, looking over at you from the aft deck.
You shake your head, feeling a warm blush creep up your neck while she smirks, proud of herself. “You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.
The initial stretch of the ride is quiet in the best way possible. The gentle splash of the sea air and the rhythmic roar of the engine fill the space as you steer, occasionally gesturing toward a scenic view in the distance. You catch Alexia’s gaze alternating between the passing shoreline and you as she stretches out on the deck, letting the sun warm her skin.
Eventually, satisfied with her sunbathing, Alexia stands up and comes to join you at the helm, now down to just her bikini top and a pair of loose white cotton shorts. She presses a lingering kiss against your shoulder before resting her chin right there.
“You’re going to have to claim your 'sponsorship commitment' was outdoors with the tan you’re picking up today,” you observe, a small smile playing on your lips.
“I’ll figure something out,” she says, her voice trailing off with a faint trace of tiredness. She shifts her weight, pressing her body flushed against yours so her head rests against your shoulder.
“Go to sleep for a little bit, amor,” you tell her, pretty sure she’s already halfway there.
A stubborn hum vibrates against you. “No. I’m here for you. Not to nap on a boat.”
A quiet smile touches your lips. Within minutes, she shifts, stretching out across the seating cushions with her head resting comfortably in your lap. Every few moments, your free hand drops from the helm to gently brush through her hair or stroke her warm skin, letting the quiet sea stretch out ahead of you.
You think back over the last few days and the mess that camp has become. A mess that, if you're being completely honest with yourself, is partly your own fault. You know your insecurities and tension aren't making an already volatile situation any easier.
“Ale ?” you speak up, testing the air.
There must be an edge to your voice, because she reacts instantly, sliding her sunglasses up onto her head so her eyes can meet yours. You gently trace the line of her jaw with your thumb, trying to ground yourself as much as her. You look down at her face, momentarily derailed by the worry written in her features, before flicking your gaze back up to the open water ahead to keep the boat on course.
“What’s wrong, cari ?” she asks softly. She takes the hand resting against her jaw, guiding it slightly so her thumb can lightly trace the inside of your wrist, offering a soothing touch.
“I wanted to apologize,” you start, swallowing the heavy lump in your throat. Those words never come easily. “For the mess at camp with Jenni. I know we’re both being... difficult. I should act more maturely when we’re around the team, and I know it matters to you.”
Alexia studies you quietly for a beat. “I heard the conversation you two had late last night. Irene also mentioned the run-in you had a few days ago, even if she had no idea what it was about.”
You freeze. Shit.
“Were you just waiting for me to say something first ?”
“Not really,” she replies softly, her thumb continuing its steady, reassuring rhythm against your wrist. You’re forced to free your hand for the boat driving. “I was planning to bring it up later today. I just didn't want to start our day off with it.”
“Are you mad at me ?” you ask, biting down on your bottom lip.
She shifts, pulling herself up from your lap until she’s sitting beside you again. “Yeah,” she says plainly. “Like Jenni said last night, I really don’t understand what you’re looking for here.”
You can’t exactly tell Alexia the truth. That your anger was directed at the world for the weight of what she had confessed to you, or that Jenni embodies the fear of losing what you two have. You refuse to make her regret opening up to you.
“I don’t know,” you offer weakly, staring ahead at the cresting waves. “Have you ever met someone who makes you angry on sight ?”
She sits in silence for a few seconds, looking out over the sea. “The Real Madrid crest,” she deadpans
You let out a sigh, though despite yourself, the joke cuts through the panic and calms you down. “Ale, please...”
“Sorry, sorry. Have you ever tried to work out the why with Jenni ?”
You focus on the steady hum of the boat beneath your hands, letting the vibration of the helm ground you while you pull together an honest answer.
“We just... never clicked, and I don’t even fully know why,” you say slowly. “I think part of it is her need to be the center of attention. I’ve just never really gravitated toward people like that.”
“We never got along from day one, honestly. I think her loud, center-of-the-room energy just isn't something I naturally feel comfortable around.” You pause, staring out at the open water as a deeper truth bubbles up.
“Plus... I think back then, it bothered me how easily she fit in while I was struggling just to exist in the squad. I was young, closeted, homesick, and insecure. She was a top player, living openly with her girlfriend, and everyone adored her.”
“Sounds like you had a crush on her,” Alexia mocks gently, likely more to make the conversation feel less heavy.
You chuckle, shaking your head. “Fun fact : Aitana said the exact same thing when we talked about it during the Olympics.”
You can feel Alexia’s surprise. “Our special knack for setting each other off goes back years, Ale. The World Cup was just the spark that made us start going at each other instead of just quietly ignoring one another, I’d say. That’s why I brought it up with Aitana, she’s good at psychoanalyzing these things.”
You pause, looking back down at her with a wry smile. “Oh, and as for the crush thing ? We concluded that it was way more about envy than anything else. Like... I have never wanted to fuck Jenni.” You pull a face of disgust at the mere thought.
“Yeah, I can’t really see that happening either,” Alexia jokes, the tension easing slightly. “I didn’t need the image, by the way.”
Then her tone shifts, grounding into something more serious. “While I understand where it stems from now, I really need you to try to bury the hatchet. I’m not asking you to become best friends with her, just stop going at each other’s throats every time you end up alone together.”
In the back of your mind, an ugly truth lingers : part of why you dig your heels in with Jenni is because you finally have something over her, and that "something" is sitting right next to you at the helm. It’s obviously not even close to the reason you’re dating Alexia, but it’s certainly been a nice, p(r)etty side effect. That’s a thought you plan on taking to the grave, it definitely wouldn't go over well with your girlfriend.
“I can try that... for you.”
“Thanks,” Alexia murmurs. She presses a tender kiss against your temple before settling her head back down into your lap. “And maybe... try having an actual, mature conversation with her ? It might clear the air.”
The stillness stretches out until Alexia speaks up again, her tone thoughtful. “You know, Jenni was wrong about what she said regarding our teammates.”
You look down at her in your lap, doubtful. “You really believe that ?”
“Look, I’m not saying there won't be drama initially,” she says softly, reaching out to gently trace your knee. “But they’ll accept it when they see how happy you make me.”
You can’t hold back the silly grin spreading across your features. “Stop being such a simp.” She swats you across the stomach, making you laugh as you catch her hand.
“Also...” she continues, her tone dropping into something more guarded, “can you just... not speak about our sex life with the others ? Please ?”
“Even Aitana ?”
Alexia sighs, rolling her eyes. “At most Aitana,” she concedes.
“Noted, amor.”
Despite her promise to stay awake and spend the day with you, you feel the moment Alexia drifts off. Her breathing evens out, her body going soft against your lap. She doesn't even stir when you cut the boat's engine an hour later for lunch.
Moving as carefully as possible so you don't wake her, you step away to unpack the food you ordered from the rental company. You take a quick look around the horizon, double-checking that no other boats are anchored anywhere near your quiet spot.
When you walk back over to her, she looks so peacefully that you can't resist pulling out your phone to snap a picture. Setting it aside, you crawl over her, lowering your weight to gently lick and bite along her midriff to wake her up. You simply can't help yourself when she looks this good, the usual cut of her abs less pronounced in that resting posture.
Alexia comes back to her senses, letting out a low groan as her hand instinctively reaches up to tangle in your hair, giving it a light, firm tug. “You should have woken me up,” she grumbles, her eyes blinking open lazily.
You just kiss a slow path up her chest and neck, finishing right against her lips. “You were far too cute to disturb. Now move, it’s time to eat.” You drop one last, lingering kiss on her lips before pulling away, heading up to the upper deck with the lunch setup.
Alexia wanders up to the upper deck shortly after, still bearing all the sweet, sleepy signs of someone who was completely passed out five minutes ago. Sitting down across from you, she casually steals the non-alcoholic beer you just opened, taking a sip before handing it back with a teasing smile.
The oysters are fresh, the vegetables crisp, and the atmosphere between you is light. Between bites, the two of you fall into an easy, laughter-filled conversation, trading stories of the most unforgettable meals you've had in random corners of the world while traveling for matches and holidays.
With no other boats appearing on the horizon, you decide to stay put for a while. You both head to the aft deck to stretch out on your stomachs to tan, loosening your tops to keep tan lines to a minimum.
“I can’t believe we’re in the middle of national team camp,” you declare.
Alexia hums in quiet agreement. Her face is buried in her arms, giving you a completely unobstructed view of her back and the gorgeous curves of her body. You’re no better than a man, because God, that ass.
She clears her throat, making you jump. “Cari, I was asking you something.”
You quickly glance back at her face. She’s turned her head, watching you with a knowing expression. “I was lost in thought,” you justify lamely. She arches a single eyebrow, clearly not buying a word of it. You wisely decide not to dig your hole any deeper. “What were you asking ?”
“I asked when we have to return the boat,” she repeats, her lips twitching with smug satisfaction.
Refusing to let her win that easily, you roll over onto your back. Just as expected, her eyes immediately drop to your bare chest, her smugness faltering.
“It depends. We could stay here way longer, but it could also be great to ride the boat more.”
You strongly doubt Alexia heard a single word you just said. In one smooth motion, she shifts over, settling her weight on top of you. Your hands instinctively slide up her bare back to keep her close as her mouth meets yours.
“Ale... we’re in public,” you murmur against her mouth, trying, and failing, to sound like the responsible one.
She pulls back just enough to glance around the empty blue water. “There’s no one here, cari.” Her hands drift upward, fingers skimming the sides of your ribs just under your breasts while her lips trace a warm path down your jawline. A small, helpless sound slips past your lips before you can catch it.
“We’re public figures,” you remind her, reaching up to catch her wrists and guide her hands back down to your hips. “I would very much like to avoid my parents seeing me fuck you because we’re on the front page of Marca.”
She ignores the reprimand, pressing a soft kiss against the pulse point in your throat. “We’re in open water, we’d see a paparazzi boat coming from a mile away.” She nuzzles her way up to your ear, her breath warm against your skin as her tone softens. “Though, obviously, if you really don’t want to, we won’t.”
You quickly weigh your options, coming to the realization that you want Alexia right now. Badly. It’s been an agonizing week of staying in close quarters, constantly around her without a single moment of real intimacy. So, if the bay really is clear...
“Let’s at least move to the bench seat, then,” you give in with a breathy laugh. “The hard deck isn’t going to be comfortable.”
Alexia’s smile turns triumphant. She presses a quick peck to your lips before popping up onto her feet, extending a hand to help pull you up after her.
Once you reach the padded bench, Alexia pushes you down, settling her body over yours once again. Her mouth finds yours immediately, deep and lingering. Neither of you rushes. You let the rhythm stay unhurried and languid, knowing you have all the time in the world right now to just enjoy each other, a that might not happen again for quite some time.
Your hands travel slowly up and down Alexia’s sides, tracing the contrast between her soft curves and firm muscles, her skin still radiating the heat of the sun. She holds most of her weight off you with one arm, her other hand making lazy circles against your hip.
The kiss turns hungrier, the slow buildup giving way to a shared ache. You slide one hand up to her chest, cupping her breast. A low groan escapes her against your mouth when your thumb and index finger find her sensitive nipple, rolling it.
Your other hand slips up to join the first, both of them working over the soft flesh. Alexia lets out a breathless sigh, her forehead dropping onto your shoulder, her breath coming fast and hot against your skin as she shifts onto both forearms to give you free rein.
Your right hand glides downward, nails lightly dragging over the skin of her contracted abs before sliding between her thighs. The heat radiating off her is palpable before you even make contact.
“All of that from a few kisses and me touching your breasts, hum?” you tease.
“Shut up.” Her breath hitches into a whimper as you drag your tongue up the vein on the left side of her neck. You bite down lightly beneath her jawline, feeling her pulse jump under your teeth as she arches her hips down against yours. “Please, cari.”
You're not in as much of a teasing mood as usual, far too eager to hear her moan against your ear. You hook your fingers into her swimsuit bottoms and peel them down her thighs, Alexia impatiently kicking them aside as they reach her ankles.
She is completely soaked. You start slowly as you slide your first finger inside, even though you know her body is more than ready, simply because you love the tiny, breathless whimper it draws from her throat.
When your thumb grazes her clit, her hips grind down instinctively. “Easy, amor,” you whisper against her skin. Your free hand finds the firm curve of her ass, your fingers sinking into her flesh.
You stay in that steady, deliberate rhythm, letting the friction build between you. Alexia tilts her head deeper in your neck when you add a second finger, leaving you intoxicated by her quiet moans and the way she grips around you.
She starts to bite down on your neck to muffle her sounds, but you pull back to escape her teeth. “Marks, Ale. The whole team is gonna think I’m some fuckboy who hooks up with girls at every camp.”
“Would they be wrong ? Fuck.” She cuts off with a sharp gasp as your thumb presses down with deliberate pressure right against her clit.
“There’s only one girl that I want,” you say, your free hand sliding up to frame her jaw, turning her head to kiss her. You can feel the smile forming against your lips mid-kiss. “And what we have isn’t just some casual hookup.”
“Yeah ?” she breathes, her eyes fluttering open to meet yours.
You nod, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her jaw. “Yeah. She happens to be my incredible girlfriend.”
A giddy chuckle escapes her lips, and you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you bring your mouth back to hers.
Your right wrist is starting to ache from the awkward angle, and you can feel Alexia’s arms beginning to tremble under her own weight. “Let’s move, yeah ?” you ask, biting her earlobe. “Back against my front.”
She obliges as you slide your fingers out of her, shifting until her back is pressed against your chest. You sweep her hair over one side so you have full access to one bare shoulder, your hands traveling down her body once again. Your left forearm wraps firmly around her waist to anchor her hips in place, while your right hand slides back down between her legs.
The angle is infinitely better. With every forward thrust of your fingers, the heel of your palm grinds against her clit. Alexia tries to squeeze her thighs together in response to the intense friction, but you quickly lock your ankles over hers, holding her legs parted and completely open for you.
Alexia wraps her arm over her face, burying her mouth into the crook of her elbow to keep her moans from carrying. You don’t think other boats would be too surprised to hear people fucking in Mallorca from afar, but you understand why Alexia might be hesitant.
Leaning into her, you whisper praises right into her ear. “You’re taking me so well, amor. You feel so, so good. If I could have you like this forever, I would. God, I love to feel you pulsating around my fingers. You’re perfect, just wide open for me like this.”
Her body hitches, getting closer as you keep your rhythm steady, not altering what brought her here. Feeling her hanging by a single thread, you catch the cartilage of her ear between your teeth, whispering low against her overheating skin “You’re such a good girl for me, you know that, right ?”
That last whisper is the catalyst she needs. Alexia shudders hard, her body convulsing as her muscles grip your fingers in a tight, breathless climax before she goes limp against your chest.
You gently ease your fingers out of her, careful not to overstimulate her, and bring them right up to your lips beside her face.
“You taste incredible, you’re so good for me, Ale,” you mumble against her skin, pressing a soft kiss to her warm shoulder.
A quiet stillness settles over the boat as her heavy breathing gradually evens out. After a long moment, she rolls over, shifting back around until she’s hovering above you once again, her dark eyes glittering with renewed intent.
“Now,” she murmurs, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across her lips, “I want to be the one who tastes you.”
“I’m certainly not going to stop you,” you smile, your hand tangling gently into her hair as she begins her slow descent down your body.
You're lying underneath her, still panting from your orgasm, when she leans in and sucks at your earlobe. “See ? Still not a single person around,” she whispers mockingly against your skin.
“Fuck off,” you manage back, pushing her down so you can cuddle with her. She smells like a mix of sweat and sunscreen, her body warm both from the sun and everything you just did.
After lying together until your heart rate finally settles, you both jump into the cool, turquoise water to refresh yourselves and rinse off the heat of the afternoon. Once you climb back up to start up the engine, Alexia pulls a towel around her shoulders and plants herself right in the passenger seat beside you, keeping you company for the whole journey back to shore.
The rhythmic lap of the waves and the cool sea breeze fill the quiet between you. Alexia rests her hand on your lap, her thumb making small circles over your skin. Whenever the water clears up and you don't need absolute focus on steering, you lean over to steal a quick kiss from her lips or her cheek.
“You told me once that it was your granddad who got you into boating, right ?” Alexia asks lightly, likely just to start up a conversation.
“Both my grandparents, actually,” you tell her, a warm smile creeping up your face at the memory. “They loved it more than anything. The second they retired, they traded Madrid for a house up near Sanxenxo. I spent almost every break I had up at their place, and my friends came along often. The only catch was that if they wanted to come, they had to come help me train on the pitch every morning.”
The two of you laugh at that. “When I went on my first proper vacation with my friends, I was waking up before sunrise to go train,” Alexia says. “They all thought I was a psycho.”
“I mean, were they wrong?” you tease, glancing over at her.
She smacks your leg in fake outrage. “Coming from the one who literally held their friends hostage as personal ballboys ? Please.”
You just shrug, giving her an innocent look that earns you a classic Alexia eye-roll. “Anyway,” she continues, her eyes twinkling with curiosity, “when did you actually learn how to skipper one of these things ?”
“My grandparents actually had their own boat. Wasn’t as luxurious as this one, obviously,” you gesture around the glittering boat rented for the day. “As soon as I turned 14, they let me take the helm. I started working on my licenses during the summers at 16, got the PNB at 17, and then finished the PER a bit later, right after the World Cup in France.”
“Cari,” Alexia says, her tone dripping with affectionate amusement. “You do realize I have absolutely no idea what any of those acronyms mean, right ?”
You wince, feeling a sudden heat in your cheeks. “Right, sorry. Got a little carried away geeking out there.”
She leans over and presses a kiss to your shoulder, her eyes warm as she looks up at you. “Don’t apologize. It’s cute. You don’t get like that about many things.”
You shrug, a faint smile touching your lips. “Yeah. I guess it’s just something I genuinely love doing that also brings back the best memories, you know ?”
Alexia hums in quiet agreement, her thumb still softly tracing patterns against your leg. “I get it. For me, that’s fishing with my granddad. When I was young, he used to take me up near Santa Eulàlia de Ronçana because the Besòs back in Mollet was too polluted to fish in. We’d fish in the Riera de Tenes instead, it was cleaner after the local conservation efforts. Though honestly, it was never really about the fish. Especially when they introduced the pesca sense mort rule, which drove my granddad crazy.”
She chuckles warmly at the memory. “It was just about having the whole day together in nature. It’s stunning out there, I really should take you sometime.”
“Wait, I went to Bigues i Riells years ago with Aitana,” you recall, searching your memory. “Isn’t that right near there ?”
“It’s super close,” Alexia confirms, her curiosity piqued. “What were you two doing all the way out there ? It’s not near where Aitana is from.”
“One of our friends’ parents had a vacation house there. It was just a nice, quiet few days to unwind and hike around. Like you said, it’s a beautiful spot.”
“Are you sure you’re actually going to enjoy Mexico with me ?” Her voice is steady, but when you glance over, you catch a flicker of vulnerability in her eyes.
You furrow your brows. “Where is this coming from, amor ?”
“It’s just...” Alexia lets out a quiet sigh. “You don’t seem like someone who enjoys a vacation where you just lie around doing nothing, and that’s pretty much the whole itinerary for Mexico. Look at Prague, Bigues i Riells, what you told me about your ex and how you travel with your friends. A lazy resort trip isn't really your thing.”
You ease back on the throttle for a moment, wrapping your arm around her to pull her soothingly against your side. She snuggles close, burying her face into the crook of your neck.
“The plan isn’t just lying around,” you tell her softly, kissing the top of her head. “It’s lying around with you. That changes everything”
Alexia chuckles at the cheesiness, her breath warm against your skin. “Be serious, cari.”
“I’m being serious. We’ll tan, we’ll swim, we’ll eat good food, and do whatever the resort throws at us. Is it my ideal way to travel ? No,” you admit. “But I get to have you to myself, so I couldn't care less where we are.”
“We could always go to Mexico City, there are tons of things to visit there if you prefer,” Alexia offers quickly, the words tumbling out of her. “Or somewhere in the central or southern regions, with all the ancient temples and historical sites. We could even head to South America! It’s still a relatively short flight, and—”
You lean over and catch her lips in a deep kiss to cut her off. It works like an absolute charm. Once she releases a small, breathy sigh, you pull back and refocus your eyes on the open sea ahead.
“Ale, take a breath. It’s booked. We’re seeing your friends and family for a couple of days, and then it’s just four days of downtime for the two of us. I promise you, I’m not going to get bored of you in four days.”
You steal a quick glance at her, but her expression is still lingering with a trace of quiet doubt. “Amor, I promise,” you reassure her gently, squeezing her knee. “I already have those kinds of trips planned with my friends for this summer anyway. Plus, we can always plan a bigger vacation together after Brazil next year. Besides, walking around super crowded tourist hubs together right now isn't exactly great for keeping a low profile, is it ? A luxury resort is going to give us way more privacy.”
“I hate that you make sense,” she complains, though a soft smile tugs at her lips. “You’re gonna hate Ibiza too, aren’t you ?”
“Oh, no, absolutely not. I love the idea of going on vacation with your ex, baby,” you reply, not even attempting to hide the thick irony in your voice.
She ignores your sarcasm altogether, her brain already moving a mile a minute. “We’ll just plan things to do. I’m sure we can get a few of the girls from the team to join in on the activities so it’s not just lying around.”
“Ale, take a breath. That’s way off in the future anyway,” you murmur, leaning over to press a tender kiss against her temple. “Let’s just enjoy today, yeah ?”
She groans softly in half-hearted agreement, giving up the argument. Moving fluidly, she rests her head right back in your lap like she did this morning. Her fingers wander aimlessly over whatever skin she can reach, tracing the line of your stomach, running over your bicep, and trailing softly along your collarbone.
“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs. You catch the quiet praise clearly despite the noise of the sea, feeling an involuntary blush warm your cheeks.
“Gracias, amor.”
“We should definitely do boat rides in Mexico and Ibiza,” she murmurs, a fond look in her eyes. “I really love watching you drive.”
You chuckle, guiding the boat smoothly through the swells. “We could do that, yeah. Today has been pretty enjoyable, after all.”
Alexia flashes you a wicked smirk. Her hand travels upward, her fingertips coming to a deliberate halt just beneath the fabric of your bikini top, making it teasingly clear which part of the “enjoyable” day she’s thinking about. You swat her hand away before she can get any ideas, prompting an exaggerated pout and a whine from her.
“You’re no fun,” she complains.
“Us going missing because I had an accident with the boat after you couldn’t keep your hands off me would be pretty stupid.”
“I don’t know, I’d say it’s a pretty great way to die,” she says, flashing you a unrepentant grin. You just shake your head at her, chuckling.
A comfortable silence settles over the boat once again, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the splashing of the waves against the hull. After a while, Alexia breaks it. “Are you spending a few days in Galicia this summer ?”
“No, I’m not,” you admit with a small sigh. “I haven’t been up there in years, actually.”
“Too many memories ?”
“I just don’t have a reason to go anymore.”
“A house and a boat there seems like a pretty good reason, no ?” she argues.
“We don’t have them anymore,” you admit, the words coming out easily enough, though you can’t quite swallow the sudden lump in your throat. It’s still a subject that stings if you dwell on it too long. “My grandparents had five kids, and they don’t exactly all get along. After they passed, there was no way we were going to share the property equitably. Some of them didn't care much about the house, and even less about the boat, and just wanted the money instead. Which was fair enough, honestly.”
“Why didn’t you buy out their shares ?”
“It happened during my second season with Real,” you explain, looking out over the open water. “I had money at the time, obviously, far more than most people my age. But it still would’ve been a pretty reckless financial decision back then. I was only twenty-three, and in sports, you never know how long a career is going to last. I wasn't sitting on millions back then.”
You can feel her saddened gaze lingering on your face. “If it happened right now, would you buy them ?”
You take a moment to think, unconsciously biting at your bottom lip as you weigh the thought. “Back then, it wasn't even on my radar. Now, I’d take a real moment to think about it. But whether I’d actually pull the trigger ? I honestly don’t know,” you admit with a small shrug. “I’m still careful with my money, even though I have plenty of it now. I can’t stop thinking about the what-ifs, you know ? If I suffer a career-ending injury in training tomorrow, I lose everything, the contracts, the sponsors, all of it. I’d be grateful I was always thrifty.”
“Don’t talk about injuries,” she groans softly, pressing her face into your stomach as if to ward off the bad luck.
“Sorry, amor,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her hair.
The heavy topic fades away as quickly as it came, leaving the rest of the journey completely peaceful. Just the hum of the engine, the salt air, and the quiet comfort of being together.
-----------
A/n : I know this chapter opens a lot of things that don’t get resolved, but I’m hoping to tie the biggest part of the camp plot up in the next chapter (that should be the last one about this camp).
As for when the next chapter is coming out, it's... unclear. Best case scenario, it comes out next Friday. If it doesn't, then it means I couldn't finish it in time before my vacation and it will be delayed by two weeks, so for August 21st.
Also, I don't claim any responsibility for anything inacurate about boats.
The only thing that can be heard in the little villa you rented out is the creaking of the bed and the moans - well sometimes screams - coming from both of you. You and Steph had just gotten married the day prior and are very deep into your honeymoon phase. Which is why right now, in the middle of the day, you are fucking like rabbits. You had ordered many new "bedroom gifts" as you explained it for your honeymoon and are putting them into good use.
"Jesus shit Steph! You feel so good! I can tell you are so close baby, wait a bit for me. Fuck!''
You currently have Steph pinned under you. One of your hands grabbing her throat, The other resting right beside her head. You are thrusting into her at a pace that has you sweating like you just ran a whole marathon.
Steph on the other hand is out of breathe, her nails have raked down your back that is looks like you've attacked by a local iguana. Her voice is hoarse from her moaning your name. She has hickeys all over her neck, chest, belly, legs, literally everywhere you would think, you sucked.
You're leaning over her, pounding into her, and just looking at her face right now is what is going to make you explode. Her eyes half rolled back into her head, mouth gaped open, her arms around your back and her legs just sticking straight up.
"Y/N i'm going to cum. I need to cum baby. Please let me cum. I can't hold it anymore. Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! I'm cumming! Fuck! Aaahhh!"
Cumming together for like the 5th time in 12 hours. You make one last thrust to fully implant the strap all the way inside of her. You hips meeting hers. You lean down to give her a kiss on the lips. Chuckling at the fresh fucked face of Steph. You pull out, disregard the strap by throwing it off to the side of the room and just lay there next to her for a few minutes. No words being said, just both of your deep breaths by trying to catch your breath back up. You turn over onto your side and look at Steph until she turns her head.
"I don't think i will be able to walk for like a week, honestly"
You laugh at that "Good thing we don't have to report back to London for another month"
That earns you a smack on the arm. Both of you sit in a silence for a minute before Steph speaks "Our families don't know"
You nod "We will tell them in time"
"You don't think Caitlin will try to kill you for not telling her? Or me at that? Her little sister marrying her national team captain? I've been playing with her since we were 15"
You grab Stephs hand, twirling your fingers with hers, kissing her hand. "I understand, let's just get through preseason first and then we will make a big grand announcement okay? Plus Caitlin is still reeling with Katie joining Chelsea anyway"
"Yeah that's true, after preseason we can hold a party at our house"
"Deal, now let me go eat you out in the shower"
Steph whacks your arm again "You're such a perv!"
"Only for my WIFE!"
First day back at Arsenal***
It's your first day at training for Arsenal. Caitlin has been here for years and it has been a dream to play on the same club with her. You were just at Melbourne City and when the offer came to come to London, you did not hesitate to say yes. You obviously know some of the other players through Caitlin, but your best friend Kyra being your national teammate makes it more special. The next person being Steph, your new wife.
Caitlin is the first to greet you at the front. She saw your car pull up and ran to give you a massive hug.
"Oi! You pumped for your first day? I'm here to show you around and make sure you don't get lost."
"You do realize this isn't my first time here right? I got a whole tour just last week when i signed my contract."
"Well yeah but I want to give my baby sister another tour in case you missed anything the first time."
"Stop calling me a baby, I'm 24. Kyra is a baby, she's younger than me"
Caitlin brought you around the entire facility. Making sure you knew where to get extra towels for the showers, which machines in the weight room are the best, and which chef to go to when you want the best omelette for breakfast.
You walk into the locker room and Caitlin properly introduces you to everyone. Kyra comes and jumps on you, Leah and Kim give you firm "captain" handshakes, you say hello to everyone else, then you make eye contact with Steph. She obviously gives you a big hug. Nobody thinks anything of it considering you both play for the Matildas.
A few weeks have gone by and it has been amazing. Caitlin asked you where you had been staying since she knew you had not found an apartment yet. You froze because you couldn't just come out and say "well i have been living with Steph because we got married during summer holiday and have been together for 2 years but have been scared to tell you" Steph could see your fear and stepped in "She's been in my guest room Cait, helping her save money until she finds a place"
"Oh that's lovely! Thanks Steph. Makes me feel better knowing my baby sis is in good hands"
Caitlin walks out onto the pitch after that and the breath you let out is massive. You didn't realize how difficult this secret would be. Steph waits until everyone leaves before coming up to you.
"A couple more weeks and we will tell them, i promise"
"Oh i know, I just wasn't expecting her to ask that in front of everyone"
"Come on, we don't want to be late"
Steph starts to walk away but before she can, you grab her hand and yank her back. She looks surprised for a second before you lean close and give her a kiss on the lips.
"Now I'm ready"
On a random Wednesday early in the morning, you and Steph walk into training. Some people are already there in the cafeteria with their breakfast. You and Steph get your meals and take a seat at a table with Kim, Leah, Mariona, Caitlin and Emily. Everyone was having a normal morning, chatting about what tv shows they're watching or books that everyone is reading. That was until Leah noticed something on Steph.
"Hey Steph, when did you start wearing a ring? On that finger?"
Steph looks down at her wedding ring, a simple gold band with a few diamonds encrusted into the band, and looks up at everyone.
"Its a family ring. It was my grandmas and then my moms, She gave it to me a while back and i thought i lost it but i found it so i started wearing it again."
Caitlin perks up when she hears the description. She looks at Stephs hand and back to her sisters hand. No ring. But Caitlin wasn't stupid. She has seen the exact same ring her sister has worn plenty of times. Except Y/N told Caitlin that a friend had given her the ring. So what are the odds that they both started wearing matching rings at the same time..
It has been a couple days since the breakfast ring debacle and Caitlin has been in over drive thinking about it. Like right now she is in the middle of training doing cone drills when it finally pops into her head. She has seen that ring before. The second training is over and everyone heads to the weight room, she makes a bee line straight to you.
Y/N was on a bicycle when Caitlin walks up to her. What started as a normal sister conversation turned into an interrogation type one sided talk.
"Have you found a place yet?"
"No, Steph said i can stay at hers for as long as I would like"
"And you are in her guest room?"
"Obviously Cait, that's where guests usually stay"
"And you guys car pool to work because you haven't found a car yet?"
"That is correct, yes"
"And you guys got married in the summer during holiday?"
"Yes we did"
"I knew it!" Caitlin said in a hushed voice
Y/N looked at her sister, "wait hold on! You tricked me!"
"Of course i did. You think i wouldn't put the pieces together one day? Are you kidding me!"
"We are planning on telling everyone, I swear! Just after preseason ends in a week"
Caitlin looked at you with a soft face "You think i truly care that you have been keeping this a secret?"
"Uhh well yeah i actually did think you would be quite mad"
"Why? Because my little sister is dating one of my oldest friends? or because of who Steph id to you on a professional level?"
"A bit of both if i am honest"
"I only care that you are happy, If Steph makes you happy then so be it. And if i am completely honest, It's about time, Katie owes me 50 pounds"
You stand there in complete shock and dumbfounded. Katie owes Caitlin money?
"Hold on! Owes you money for what??"
"You both think you're so subtle, everyone knows you've been dating. We just never said anything because neither of you said nothing. I bet Katie that you would come back from summer break married, which you did, so I won!"
Your jaw is practically on the ground. Your feet aren't moving. Your brain is practically dead. Caitlin walks away laughing. Steph walks up to you with a serious face.
"What was that about? You look pale"
"She knows, everyone knows, they made a bet"
"I need more information on that"
"Everyone knows we are together, like everyone! Caitlin and Katie made a bet about us getting married and Caitlin won 50 pounds!"
Steph blinks very slowly and walks to the center of the gym, "how many of you knew I have been dating someone for the last couple years!?"
Everyone raises their hands
"And how many of you know that person is Y/N who is now my wife!?"
Everyone raises their hands
Kim: to be fair, i figured it out 18 months ago
Emily: You arrive and leave training every day together
Leah: Y/N literally wore stephs training shorts the other day
Kyra: I had no idea to be fair
She looks at everyone and turns around and walks back over to Y/N. "Well i guess we don't have to throw a big party just to announce it to everyone"
"It would be nice to have everyone over now that it's all out there"
"We thought we were hiding out relationship for two years when in reality, everyone already knew about it. We aren't sneaky at all"
Y/N laughs "Yeah we are not one bit but there is nobody I would be horrible at being sneaky with than you"
Steph leans up and gives Y/N a kiss, which makes everyone start whistling and hollering.
Kika woke before her alarm. That alone should have told her something was wrong. Or right.
Usually, preseason meant squeezing every possible minute out of sleep before coaches demanded fitness tests, recovery sessions, and enough running to make everyone's legs question their career choices. If anyone had asked, Kika would've confidently claimed she was not a morning person. Yet somehow, at 7:18 a.m., she was staring at the ceiling of her hotel room with a grin she couldn't explain away.
Kika rolled onto her side. Her phone sat on the nightstand. She stared at it.
"You're ridiculous," she muttered to herself.
She hadn't expected a message. She certainly wasn't waiting for one. She definitely wasn't reaching for her phone before she'd even opened both eyes. She picked it up anyway. The screen lit up. No new notifications. Kika huffed dramatically before dropping back onto the pillow.
"Embarrassing."
From the other bed came a muffled voice.
"...Who are you talking to?"
Kika jumped.
"I thought you were asleep."
"I was."
"Now I'm awake because apparently my roommate has started having conversations with herself."
"I wasn't."
"You literally said 'embarrassing.'"
"I was talking about... training."
Salma blinked once.
"At seven in the morning."
"Yes."
"You haven't even stood up yet."
"I was mentally preparing."
Salma stared at her for another second before disappearing beneath the blanket again.
"You're a terrible liar."
Kika smiled to herself. Maybe she was. Her phone buzzed. Her heart leapt before she could stop it. She unlocked the screen.
Y/N: Important question.
Kika's grin arrived instantly.
She didn't even try to hide it.
Kika: It is too early for important questions.
The typing bubble appeared almost immediately.
Y/N: It's 7:21.
Kika: Exactly.
Y/N: Aren't professional athletes supposed to wake up early?
Kika: Professional athletes are supposed to sleep.
Three dots appeared again.
Y/N: I apologize for interfering with your elite athletic preparation.
Kika laughed under her breath.
"What?"
Salma's voice floated from beneath the blanket.
"Nothing."
Kika ignored her.
Kika: Ask your important question.
Y/N: How offended are you going to be when Washington beats Barcelona tomorrow?
Kika actually laughed out loud.
Salma threw her blanket down.
"There it is!"
"What?"
"The smile."
"What smile?"
"The one."
Kika looked at her innocently.
"I always smile."
"No."
Salma pointed dramatically.
"You smile like that when you're texting someone."
"I text lots of people."
"Not at seven in the morning."
Kika tried to suppress another grin. Failed miserably.
"You met one girl."
"I met lots of people yesterday."
"The president does not count."
Kika snorted.
"You know what I mean."
She looked back down at her phone.
Kika: We are Barcelona.
Y/N: That's not an answer.
Kika: It is the only answer.
Y/N: Confident.
Kika: Correct.
Y/N: Arrogant.
Kika: You noticed.
The typing bubble disappeared. Returned. Disappeared again. Kika found herself waiting. It shouldn't have mattered. She'd known you less than twenty-four hours. Yet she still watched those three little dots with far more interest than she wanted to admit.
Y/N: Unfortunately.
Kika bit her lip. Unfortunately. Interesting choice of word. Salma had climbed out of bed by the time Kika set her phone down. She stretched dramatically before looking across the room. Salma wandered toward the bathroom before pausing in the doorway.
"So..."
Kika looked up.
"So?"
"...Did the president's daughter text you first?"
Kika tried very hard to look indifferent.
"Maybe."
Salma's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline.
"She did?"
"I didn't say that."
"You literally said maybe."
"I did not confirm anything."
Salma crossed her arms.
"Kika."
"What?"
"You've known this woman for less than a day."
"I know."
"And she texted you before breakfast."
Kika couldn't help smiling again.
"...Maybe."
Salma pointed triumphantly.
"There!"
"What?"
"That smile."
"What is wrong with my smile?"
"It says you're in trouble."
You had made a mistake. Actually... Several.
The first had been asking one of your father's staffers if they happened to know how visiting teams exchanged contact information after official events. The second had been pretending you were asking out of curiosity. The third had been accepting the number once they somehow found it within ten minutes. And the fourth... The fourth had been texting Kika before breakfast. Your phone vibrated. You instinctively reached for it. Your father's newspaper lowered by exactly two inches.
You froze.
"...Good morning," he said.
"It is."
"You seem busy."
"I'm drinking coffee."
"You've looked at your phone six times."
"I have not."
Your mother smiled into her mug.
"You've counted?"
Your father shrugged.
"I got bored after four."
You looked toward your mother. She very deliberately focused on her breakfast. Traitor.
"So," your father continued casually.
"Mm?"
"How was yesterday?"
"It was good."
"The White House tour?"
"Good."
"The Barcelona team?"
"Very nice."
He folded the newspaper.
"...Any particular player stand out?"
Your coffee nearly went down the wrong pipe.
"No."
"No?"
"No."
Your mother cleared her throat. Very suspiciously. You narrowed your eyes.
"...Mother."
"What?"
"You've told him."
"I simply mentioned you seemed to enjoy speaking with one of them."
Your father looked between the two of you.
"Oh."
"No."
"Oh?"
"There is no 'oh.'"
"I know exactly what that means."
"You do not."
He smiled.
"I've been your father for twenty-five years."
You leaned back in your chair.
"I regret coming to breakfast."
"You live here."
"I regret leaving my room."
Your phone buzzed again. You ignored it. Your father noticed.
"...You're not checking it."
"No."
"That's unusual."
"I'm having a conversation."
"You usually check it anyway."
"I've grown."
Your mother laughed.
"You absolutely have not."
You looked dramatically offended.
"I am incredibly mature."
Your father smiled over the edge of his coffee.
"The last time you said that, you accidentally adopted a golden retriever."
"I did not accidentally adopt him."
"You found him."
"He found me."
"You brought him home."
"He looked cold."
"You cried."
"He was adorable."
"You kept him."
"...He's still adorable."
Your mother laughed harder.
"So no," your father said, unable to hide his grin now.
"No particular footballer caught your attention?"
You sighed dramatically.
"...You're never going to let this go, are you?"
"Probably not."
Your phone buzzed again. This time your mother looked toward it.
"...You should probably answer."
"I don't have to."
"You've looked at it three times."
"I have self-control."
Your father smiled.
"...That's definitely the footballer."
You groaned.
"This family is exhausting."
Kika spent the rest of breakfast pretending she wasn't checking her phone every few minutes. She failed. Miserably. Every vibration made her glance down. Every notification that wasn't from you was oddly disappointing. She hated that. Not because she disliked talking to you. Quite the opposite. Because she'd never been someone who waited for messages. Her family sometimes complained she took hours to respond. Now she found herself hoping your name would appear again.
Salma noticed.
Of course she did.
"You know," Salma said while stealing a strawberry from Kika's plate.
"I liked you better yesterday."
"You said I was annoying yesterday."
"I've changed my opinion."
"So quickly?"
"You've become predictable."
Kika frowned.
"I have not."
"You have."
"How?"
"You check your phone every three minutes."
"I do not."
Salma looked toward the device sitting beside Kika's tray. As if on cue... It buzzed. Kika looked down immediately. Salma burst out laughing.
"There!"
Kika pointed a fork at her.
"Don't."
"You are gone."
"I am perfectly capable of functioning."
"You've smiled at your yogurt."
"I absolutely did not smile at yogurt."
"It wasn't the yogurt."
Kika opened the message.
Y/N: My parents are making fun of me.
She laughed. Immediately. Salma slapped the table.
"I REST MY CASE."
Ignoring her, Kika quickly typed back.
Kika: Already?
Y/N: Apparently I'm obvious.
Kika: You are.
Y/N: Excuse me?
Kika: You smiled at me all afternoon yesterday.
Y/N: I was being polite.
Kika: Liar.
Y/N: Maybe.
Kika laughed.
There it was again. That word. Maybe. She had a feeling you hid behind it whenever something scared you. Not because you were dishonest. Because committing to something, even a sentence, felt dangerous. Kika looked down at the keyboard. Then smiled.
Kika: Stop saying maybe with me.
She hit send before she could overthink it. The message sat there. Delivered. Read. No response. Not immediately. For the first time that morning... Kika wondered if she'd pushed just a little too far.
The message remained unanswered for forty-seven seconds. Kika knew because she counted. Not intentionally. At least, that was what she told herself while staring at the small word beneath the message.
Read. No typing bubble. No response. Nothing.
She placed her phone facedown beside her breakfast tray. Then picked it up again approximately three seconds later. Still nothing.
Across the table, Salma watched the entire performance with the kind of fascination usually reserved for particularly dramatic television.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing.”
Salma leaned forward.
“You look like someone just told you training has been extended by three hours.”
“I am fine.”
“You turned your phone over like it offended you.”
“It did not offend me.”
“Then why are you glaring at it?”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Kika pushed a piece of strawberry around her plate. Maybe the message had been too direct. Stop saying maybe with me. It had sounded playful in her head. Confident. Flirty, even. Now it looked different sitting on the screen. Too demanding. Too familiar. They had known each other for less than twenty-four hours. Kika had no right to ask anything of you, especially not honesty. Not when she knew almost nothing about what your life looked like beyond the carefully controlled glimpses the public received. She reached for her phone again.
“I wouldn’t send another message,” Salma warned.
Kika froze with her thumb hovering over the screen.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were.”
“I was checking the time.”
“There is a clock on the wall.”
Kika slowly placed the phone down.
Salma nodded approvingly.
“Good.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“You clearly do.”
Kika opened her mouth to respond. Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it so quickly that her fork clattered against the plate. Salma covered her face with both hands.
“Oh, this is painful.”
Kika ignored her.
Y/N: Okay.
Kika stared at the single word. Okay. Nothing else. No emoji. No teasing response. Just.. Okay. Her stomach twisted.
Kika: Okay?
The typing bubble appeared.
Y/N: You told me to stop saying maybe.
Kika’s shoulders relaxed.
A smile pulled at her lips before she could stop it.
Kika: I did.
Y/N: So I’m trying something new.
Kika: And how does it feel?
The typing bubble lingered longer this time.
Y/N: Terrifying.
Kika’s smile softened. There was honesty in the answer. More than she had expected. More than you usually offered when something mattered.
Kika: I won’t make you regret it.
The bubble appeared again.
Y/N: That sounds suspiciously like a promise.
Kika looked down at the words. She should have made a joke. That was what she normally did when a conversation became too serious. She could tease you about distrusting professional footballers. She could remind you that Barcelona would win tomorrow. She could steer them back toward something easy.
Instead, she typed the truth.
Kika: It is.
This time, your response came quickly.
Y/N: Okay.
Kika read it twice.
Then a third time. Not maybe. Okay. Salma reached across the table and waved a hand in front of her face.
“Have you returned to Earth?”
Kika locked her phone.
“I never left.”
“You have been staring at one message for an entire minute.”
“I read slowly.”
“You speak four languages.”
“That does not mean I read quickly.”
Salma stared at her.
Kika stared back.
Neither lasted more than five seconds before they both started laughing.
“Come on,” Salma said, standing and collecting her tray. “We have training.”
Kika followed her toward the exit, slipping her phone into the pocket of her training jacket. Today was about football. About Barcelona. About ninety minutes on the pitch tomorrow. Not text messages. Not promises. Certainly not the president’s daughter. Kika repeated that to herself three separate times while riding the elevator downstairs. It stopped being believable after the first.
Audi Field was quieter without thousands of supporters filling the stands.
The empty red seats curved around the pitch beneath the late-morning sun, with groundskeepers moving along the touchline and members of Barcelona’s staff arranging equipment near midfield.
Kika stepped onto the grass and breathed deeply. This was familiar. The smell of the pitch. The pull of her boots against the ground. The noise of teammates laughing while they stretched. Football had always been the place where everything else disappeared. School. Expectations. Interviews. Pressure. The constant awareness that strangers were watching her, analyzing her, deciding who she was based on ninety minutes. Once the ball reached her feet, none of it mattered. Usually.
“Kika.”
She looked up just in time to see a ball flying toward her face. She reacted quickly, catching it against her chest. Patri stood several yards away with her hands on her hips.
“Are you joining us today?”
“I am here.”
“Physically.”
Mapi appeared beside Patri.
“Mentally, she is at the White House.”
Kika groaned.
“I knew Salma would tell everyone.”
“I didn’t tell everyone,” Salma called from behind them.
Mapi grinned.
“She only told me.”
“And Alexia,” Patri added.
“And Clàudia,” someone said from farther down the line.
Salma shrugged.
“I told a carefully selected group.”
“You told half the team.”
“The trustworthy half.”
Mapi stepped closer, lowering her voice dramatically.
“So, are we calling her First Lady Kika now, or is that too soon?”
“That is not even how it works.”
“I don’t know American politics.”
“That is obvious.”
Patri laughed, taking the ball from Kika and tossing it back toward the group.
“Come on, lover girl. Focus.”
Kika followed them into the drill, ignoring the warmth spreading across her face. For the next hour, she tried to let football take over. Short passing patterns. Possession exercises. Quick transitions. Finishing drills. Her body knew what to do even when her mind wandered. One touch. Turn. Move. Receive. Pass. Again.
Every few minutes, though, her eyes drifted toward the luxury suites above the halfway line. They were empty. Of course they were empty. The match was tomorrow. You had no reason to be there today. Still, Kika looked. Once. Then again. And again. During a water break, Salma bumped her shoulder.
“She is not going to appear magically.”
“I wasn’t looking for her.”
Salma took a drink from her bottle.
“You know what your problem is?”
“I suspect you are going to tell me.”
“You like her.”
“I met her yesterday.”
“That does not answer me.”
“It should.”
“It doesn’t.”
Kika looked down at the grass. She didn’t know what to call what she felt. Attraction was the obvious answer. You were beautiful. Anyone with eyes could see that. But it wasn’t only that. She liked the way you tried to hide your nerves behind dry humor. She liked that you challenged her without treating her like someone you needed to impress. She liked how you had looked when you spoke about wanting one ordinary afternoon without cameras or security details following three steps behind. She liked that when you smiled at her, it felt private. Even inside the most public building in America.
“It has been one day,” Kika said quietly.
Salma’s expression softened.
“That still doesn’t answer me.”
Before Kika could respond, a coach called them back into position. Salma jogged away with a knowing smile. Kika followed. She still didn’t have an answer. That worried her more than it should have.
You changed your shirt three times. The first one felt too formal. The second one looked like something your mother would wear to a campaign luncheon. The third was too casual. You stood in the center of your bedroom in black trousers and a bra, staring at the open wardrobe as though the correct outfit might materialize through sheer force of frustration. Behind you, Hannah sat cross-legged on the bed eating pretzels from a bag she had found in your desk.
“You own fourteen white shirts.”
“They’re different.”
“They’re white.”
“This one is silk.”
“So?”
“That one is linen.”
“They look the same.”
You pulled another blouse from its hanger.
“What about this?”
“You wore it to a state dinner.”
You looked down at it.
“So?”
“So you’re going on a date, not meeting the Prime Minister of Canada.”
“It isn’t a date.”
Hannah stopped chewing. You avoided her eyes. Slowly, she lowered the pretzel bag.
“You changed your outfit three times.”
“Four.”
“Four times for something that is not a date.”
“It’s dinner.”
“On a rooftop.”
“People eat on rooftops.”
“Overlooking Washington.”
“It has a nice view.”
“With the footballer you have been smiling about since yesterday.”
“I have not been smiling.”
Hannah gave you a flat look.
You sighed.
“Fine. It might be slightly date-like.”
“Slightly?”
“She didn’t call it a date.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did either of you invite anyone else?”
“No.”
“Then congratulations. You’re going on a date.”
You turned toward the mirror again. Your stomach felt strange. Not bad. Just unsettled. You had been on dates before. Plenty of them, technically. Dinners arranged by mutual friends. Drinks with children of donors or diplomats who understood the security concerns and public attention surrounding your family. Most of them felt like interviews. Where did you go to school? What do you plan to do after your father leaves office? Would you ever consider running yourself?
Everyone wanted to understand what being close to you might offer them. Kika hadn’t asked any of those questions. She had asked whether you ever became tired of being watched. Then she had listened to the answer. That was somehow much more frightening.
“What if this is a terrible idea?” you asked.
Hannah’s teasing expression disappeared.
“Do you think she’s a terrible person?”
“No.”
“Do you think she wants something from you?”
“No.”
“Do you want to see her?”
“Yes,” you admitted.
Hannah smiled.
“Then wear the black shirt.”
You looked toward the blouse lying across the chair.
“Why that one?”
“Because you’ve picked it up three times.”
The rooftop restaurant had been closed to the public for the evening. You had protested when the Secret Service informed you. Repeatedly. They had ignored you. Apparently allowing the president’s daughter to have dinner with an internationally recognized footballer in a crowded restaurant was considered an unnecessary security risk. So instead of disappearing into anonymity, you and Kika had an entire rooftop to yourselves. Almost. Two agents stood near the entrance, far enough away to pretend they weren’t listening. Another remained near the stairwell. The restaurant staff moved discreetly behind the bar. Kika leaned against the railing, looking out over the city. The evening sky had turned shades of pale orange and pink, sunlight catching against windows and stretching shadows across the streets below. In the distance, the Washington Monument rose above the buildings.
“This is incredible,” she said.
You stepped beside her.
“It’s better at night.”
“You come here often?”
“Sometimes. The owner is a family friend.”
“So this is normal for you?”
“Unfortunately.”
“I meant having a whole restaurant closed.”
“So did I.”
She smiled, but you saw the understanding behind it. That was one of the things you had noticed about Kika immediately. She didn’t look impressed by the spectacle. She noticed the cost of it. Dinner began easily. You argued about the match. Kika insisted Barcelona would win by at least two goals. You informed her Washington had home-field advantage. She accused you of knowing nothing about football. You reminded her that you had grown up attending Spirit matches. She told you that only made your prediction more embarrassing.
By the time the plates were cleared, the sun had disappeared completely. Washington glowed beneath you. For a while, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable. That surprised you. Most people rushed to fill silence around you. They asked questions or made jokes, afraid that quiet meant something had gone wrong. Kika simply stood beside you at the railing.
“Do you miss Portugal?” you asked.
“Every day. My family. My friends. Food that tastes the way it is supposed to.”
“Barcelona doesn’t have good food?”
“It does. But it is not home.”
You understood that more than she probably realized.
“Do you get to go back often?”
“Not as often as I want.” She rested her forearms against the railing. “Football decides most things. Where I live. When I travel. When I can see my family.”
“You love it, though.”
“Yes. That does not mean it is always easy.”
You looked back toward the city. People often assumed privilege erased difficulty. Your life was extraordinary. You knew that. You had opportunities most people could never imagine. But every extraordinary thing came with boundaries no one saw.
“I miss normal things,” you admitted.
“Like what?”
“Going to the grocery store alone. Taking a walk without someone reporting where I went. Meeting someone without an entire team researching them first.
“Did they research me?”
“They research everyone.”
“What did they find?”
“You have several parking tickets.”
Kika turned toward you, offended.
“That is private information.”
“Nothing is private to the secret service."
You laughed. She laughed. Then her expression grew more thoughtful.
“People think they know me because they watch me play,” she said. “Sometimes I read things about myself and wonder who they are talking about.”
“What do they get wrong?”
“That confidence means I am never afraid.”
The answer caught you off guard. Kika rarely looked uncertain. On the pitch, she carried herself as if every defender existed solely to be challenged. Even yesterday, walking through the White House, she had appeared completely comfortable.
“What are you afraid of?” you asked.
“Not being enough.”
The honesty settled between you.
“For Barcelona?”
“For everyone.”
“My father once told me that public life turns you into a mirror,” you said. “People look at you and see whatever they already believe.”
Kika considered that.
“And what do you see?”
The question made your breath catch. She had turned fully toward you. The city lights reflected in her eyes. You could have joked. You nearly did. Instead, you remembered your promise to try something new.
“You,” you said quietly. “I think I see you.”
Her eyes returned to yours. She leaned closer. You did too. Your phone rang. The sound shattered the moment. You jumped backward hard enough to bump the railing. Kika closed her eyes. You stared at the screen. Hannah. Of course. You declined the call.
“Sorry.”
Kika laughed under her breath, rubbing one hand over her face.
“No. It’s okay.”
“It’s not.”
“No?”
“No.”
Her smile returned. Neither of you mentioned what had almost happened. Neither of you needed to. When you finally left the rooftop, Kika’s hand brushed yours near the elevator. This time, neither of you moved away immediately.
The next evening, Audi Field no longer felt quiet. Music shook the stadium. Supporters filled the stands in Barcelona shirts, Washington jerseys, and scarves held high above their heads. Camera flashes appeared along the barriers as the players emerged to warm up. Kika jogged onto the pitch with the rest of the team. This was familiar. This was football. She passed the ball with Salma, stretched with the group, and tried not to look toward the suites. She failed within thirty seconds.
Suite 14 was empty.
Kika looked away. You had warned her that match-day responsibilities might delay you. There were sponsors to greet, staff members to meet, and enough security coordination to organize a military operation. She knew that. Still, she checked again. Empty.
“Focus,” Salma said, sending the ball toward her.
Kika controlled it.
“I am focused.”
“You just looked at the same suite three times.”
“I like the architecture.”
Salma shook her head. Players were called back toward the tunnel. Kika followed, clapping hands with supporters near the railing as the stadium announcer introduced the teams. Her phone vibrated inside the pocket of her warm-up jacket. She waited until they reached the tunnel before pulling it out. One message.
Y/N: Look up.
Kika stopped walking. She turned back toward the pitch. Then lifted her gaze toward Suite 14. You stood at the glass. Hannah beside you. Your father several feet behind, speaking with one of the club representatives. But Kika barely noticed anyone else. You smiled. Not the polished smile you gave cameras. Not the careful one you wore at official events. The other one. The one that felt like it belonged only to her. Kika smiled back. Then you lifted one hand and pointed toward the field. A silent command.
Go.
Kika tucked her phone away. The nerves disappeared. The noise sharpened. The match waited. And for the first time since arriving in Washington, Kika knew exactly where to look when she needed to remember who she was playing for. The first thing Kika heard when she stepped out of the tunnel was the crowd. Not one sound. Thousands. Voices colliding together. Barcelona supporters chanting from one section. Washington fans answering from another. Music pulsing through the speakers while camera flashes flickered along the edge of the pitch. The noise settled somewhere beneath her ribs. This was the part she understood. The walkout. The anthem. The line of players waiting beneath the stadium lights while officials shook hands and photographers captured every angle. Kika rolled her shoulders and looked straight ahead. She did not look toward Suite 14. Not yet. She had already found you once. That had to be enough. For at least five minutes. Beside her, Salma leaned closer.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
Kika kept her expression neutral.
“How?”
“Trying so hard not to look up.”
“I’m focused.”
“You’re standing backward.”
Kika glanced down. She was, in fact, angled slightly away from the rest of the lineup. She corrected herself immediately. Salma grinned.
“Very focused.”
“Be quiet.”
The referee called the captains forward. Kika bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, forcing her attention onto the field. Ninety minutes. That was all. Ninety minutes of football. She had played hundreds of matches. Bigger matches. More important matches. Matches with trophies waiting at the end and millions of people watching across the world. This was preseason. A friendly. There was no reason for her hands to feel restless. No reason for her heart to beat harder than usual. Then she looked up. You were still standing by the glass. Watching her. Kika forgot the crowd for half a second. You lifted two fingers toward your eyes before pointing at her. I’m watching. Kika smiled. Then the whistle blew. You had attended more sporting events than you could count. Basketball games from court side seats. Baseball games from private boxes. Football games surrounded by donors and lawmakers who spent more time discussing polling numbers than the score. None of them had ever made you this nervous. You stood so close to the glass that Hannah eventually pulled you backward by the sleeve.
“You’re going to leave a face print.”
“I’m watching.”
“You can watch from six inches farther away.”
You ignored her and leaned forward again. On the field, Barcelona moved the ball quickly from side to side. You knew football. Despite what Kika had implied over dinner, you understood formations and passing lanes and the difference between a winger checking inside and one holding the touchline. You knew enough to recognize what Kika was doing. She was restless. Constantly moving. Dropping deeper to collect the ball, then bursting forward before Washington’s defense could settle. Every time she received possession, the crowd grew louder. And every time, your stomach tightened.
“She’s fast,” your father said from behind you.
You turned slightly. He stood beside one of his advisers, jacket unbuttoned and attention fixed on the pitch.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve seen highlights.”
Hannah appeared on your other side.
“Are we all pretending we’re here because of international diplomacy?”
Your father looked at her.
“I am the President of the United States.”
A cheer rose from the crowd. You spun back toward the field. Kika had beaten one defender near the sideline and was racing toward the penalty area. Your hand flattened against the glass. She cut the ball backward toward the center. A Barcelona player struck it first time. The Washington goalkeeper tipped it over the bar. You exhaled. Hannah looked at you.
“You know she didn’t take the shot, right?”
“I know.”
“You reacted like your life depended on it.”
“I’m supporting Barcelona.”
“You own a Washington Spirit jersey.”
“International relations are complicated.”
Your father laughed behind you. You refused to turn around.
The first fifteen minutes passed quickly. Barcelona controlled possession, but Washington stayed compact, forcing them wide and breaking forward whenever they won the ball. Kika liked matches like this. Open enough to invite risk. Physical enough to keep her alert. She received the ball near midfield and turned into space. A defender stepped toward her. Kika shifted left, then pushed the ball right and accelerated past. The crowd reacted immediately. So did the second defender. A shoulder caught Kika as she released the pass. She stumbled but stayed upright.
“Foul!” Salma shouted.
The referee waved play on. Kika turned, ready to argue. Then she heard a faint sound from above the crowd. Someone pounding against glass. She looked toward the suite. You stood with both hands raised in outrage, saying something Kika could not hear. Hannah was laughing beside you. Kika bit back a smile. The ball came back toward her. She turned and chased it. Football first. You later. It was becoming difficult to separate the two. Washington scored in the twenty-third minute. A quick counterattack down the right. A low cross. One touch at the near post. The stadium erupted. Kika placed her hands on her hips while the Washington players celebrated. She hated conceding. Friendly or not.
Across the pitch, Salma caught her eye.
“Still confident?”
Kika glared at her. Salma laughed. As they returned to the center circle, Kika looked toward the suite. You were celebrating. Not politely. Not diplomatically. Actually celebrating. Hannah had both arms around you while you pointed toward the scoreboard. Kika narrowed her eyes. You noticed. Even from that distance, she saw your smile widen. Then you shrugged. Home-field advantage. Kika mouthed two words. Watch me. Your expression changed. The challenge landed exactly as she intended.
“Did she just threaten you?” Hannah asked.
“She said watch me.”
“That sounded threatening.”
“It was not.”
Your father glanced between you and the field.
“You can understand her from here?”
“I read lips.”
“You do not,” Hannah said.
“I understood that.”
“Because she dramatically over-enunciated it.”
You crossed your arms.
“Washington is still winning.”
“For now.”
You turned toward your father.
“Whose side are you on?”
“I’m neutral.”
“You just said ‘for now.’”
“I’m a politician. Neutrality is flexible.”
“That explains a lot.”
On the pitch, Barcelona began pressing higher. The change was immediate. Washington struggled to play out from the back. Passes became hurried. Clearances fell directly to Barcelona midfielders. Kika moved wider, staying close to the left touchline. You watched her lift one hand. A signal. The midfielder carrying the ball saw it. The pass traveled diagonally across the pitch. Kika brought it down against her foot as if the ball weighed nothing. One defender closed her down. Then another. She hesitated. Just long enough to make both of them think she would go outside. Then she cut inside. The first defender turned too late. The second stepped forward. Kika pushed the ball between them. The entire suite moved at once. You didn’t remember grabbing Hannah’s arm. You only realized you had when she yelled.
“Ow!”
Kika reached the edge of the penalty area. A third defender approached. She shifted the ball onto her right foot. For one suspended second, everything slowed. Kika looked up. The goalkeeper adjusted. You stopped breathing. Then she struck the ball. It curled beyond the goalkeeper’s outstretched hand and into the far corner. The net snapped. The stadium exploded. Kika barely heard it. The moment the ball crossed the line, instinct took over. She turned away from goal and ran toward the corner. Her teammates followed. Salma reached her first, jumping onto her back while Patri wrapped both arms around them. Someone shouted into her ear. Someone else grabbed her shoulders. Kika laughed beneath the weight of the pile forming around her. Then she remembered. Watch me. She pulled free enough to turn toward the suites. Her eyes found you immediately. You stood frozen behind the glass. Hannah was screaming beside you. Your father was clapping. Everyone else had become background. Kika raised her arm. Pointed directly at you. The celebration around her changed. Salma followed the direction of her hand. Her mouth fell open.
“No,” she shouted, laughing. “You did not!”
Kika did. She held the point for another second. Then tapped her chest. You. Me. Whatever this was. The cameras followed her gesture. She knew they would. She should have cared. She didn’t.
“Oh my God.”
You couldn’t move. Kika was still pointing toward the suite. Toward you. Not your father. Not the officials seated behind you. You. The stadium screen replayed the goal. Then Kika’s celebration. The camera angle zoomed toward the suite. You saw yourself appear on the screen above the field. Your expression was completely unguarded. Eyes wide. Hand over your mouth. Hannah losing her mind beside you.
“Oh my God, she pointed at you!”
“I know.”
“She scored and pointed at you!”
“I saw it.”
“Everyone saw it!”
That part registered slowly. The cameras. The crowd. The thousands of phones already recording. Your father stepped beside you. His expression was far too amused.
“That seemed specific.”
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“I was going to ask whether that was a standard football celebration.”
Hannah answered for you.
“It was not.”
“Thank you, Hannah.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. President.”
You looked back toward the pitch. Kika was returning to the center circle. Before play resumed, she glanced over her shoulder. You pressed your hand against the glass. She smiled. Washington’s lead had lasted seven minutes. You no longer cared. The rest of the first half moved quickly. Barcelona scored again before halftime through Salma, who celebrated by pointing dramatically at every suite except yours. Kika nearly collapsed laughing. As they walked toward the tunnel, Salma bumped her hip.
“You’re insane.”
Kika grabbed the back of Salma’s shirt and pulled her toward the changing room.
“Keep walking.”
Inside, the coaches reviewed positioning and substitutions. Kika listened. Mostly. She drank water and tried not to replay the expression on your face. She had surprised you. Good. You surprised her constantly. It felt fair. The second half brought several substitutions and a slower tempo. Washington equalized from a corner, and Barcelona responded with a third goal late in the match. Kika played sixty-eight minutes before being replaced. As she walked off, the crowd applauded. She lifted one hand toward the stands. Then, despite herself, she looked toward Suite 14. Your seat was empty. Her steps faltered. Only briefly. She told herself you had responsibilities. Security. Guests. A father who happened to run the country. Still, disappointment settled in her chest as she sat on the bench. Barcelona won three–two. At the final whistle, players shook hands and applauded the supporters. Kika joined the team’s lap around the pitch, signing shirts and posing for photographs near the barrier. She checked the suite twice. Still empty. By the time she returned to the tunnel, she had almost convinced herself not to care. Almost. You waited near the end of the corridor with Hannah and two members of your security detail. The tunnel beneath the stadium smelled like grass, concrete, and whatever cleaning product had been used on the floors. Players passed in small groups. Some smiled when they recognized your father’s daughter. Others looked toward the security agents and wisely kept moving. Footsteps echoed from around the corner. Voices. Laughter. Then Salma appeared. She saw you first. Her entire face lit up. She turned backward while continuing to walk.
“Kika!”
A muffled response came from behind her. Salma looked at you again, then grinned with open mischief.
“You have a visitor.”
Kika rounded the corner. She stopped. The disappointment you hadn’t known she was carrying disappeared from her face.
“You left,” she said.
“I came down here.”
Kika looked toward the security agents. Then at Hannah. Then back to you. For once, neither of you seemed to know what to say. So you stepped forward. Kika did the same. The hug happened without discussion. Her arms wrapped around your waist. Yours circled her shoulders. She was still warm from the match, hair damp near the back of her neck and the faint scent of grass clinging to her shirt. You held her tighter. Just for a second. Maybe longer. The tunnel disappeared. The agents. Hannah. Salma pretending not to watch from ten feet away. All of it. Kika’s cheek rested against your shoulder.
“You scored,” you whispered.
“I told you to watch.”
You pulled back enough to look at her.
“That celebration was subtle.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Everyone knows what you mean.”
“Do you?”
The question was quieter. The teasing faded from her face. You did. At least, you thought you did. You wanted to.
“Yes,” you said.
Kika smiled. Not the triumphant smile she had worn after scoring. Something softer. Something meant only for you. Behind her, Salma cleared her throat loudly.
“We do have a team meeting.”
Kika didn’t look away from you.
“How unfortunate.”
Salma made an offended noise.
You laughed.
“I should let you go.”
Kika’s arms loosened but did not fall away completely.
“You’re still free tonight?”
The question carried more nerves than she probably intended. You thought of the plan you had made. Monuments. Ice cream. A diner Hannah had sworn was open late enough to avoid most of the crowds. An evening without a rooftop reservation or an entire restaurant closed in your name. Just Washington. Just the two of you. Or as close to just the two of you as your life allowed. You looked at Kika’s hopeful expression. Then at the hand still resting lightly against your waist.
“Do you still want to go?”
Her answer came immediately.
“I’ve been thinking about it all game.”
You had changed out of your White House attire before meeting Kika. No blazer. No heels. Just dark jeans, white trainers, and a navy sweater despite Hannah insisting you looked "far too normal."
"That's the point," you replied.
She looked at you over the roof of the SUV.
"You know you're still arriving with three Secret Service vehicles."
You glanced behind you. Three black SUVs. Four agents. One advance vehicle.
"...I hate this."
"I know."
"I just want one evening."
"I know."
"I don't want restaurants closing."
"I know."
"I don't want people moving because I'm walking by."
"I know."
You leaned your head against the passenger window.
"I sound ungrateful."
"No."
Hannah smiled softly.
"You sound tired."
You didn't answer. Because she was right. Being protected wasn't the exhausting part. Being noticed was.
Kika waited outside the hotel entrance wearing dark jeans, a cream-colored hoodie, and a Barcelona cap pulled low over her hair. When the SUV stopped, she looked almost nervous. Almost. You climbed out before the agent could open your door.
"Kika."
She smiled immediately.
"You came."
"I said I would."
"I know."
She rubbed the back of her neck.
"I still wasn't sure."
You tilted your head.
"Why?"
"You have..."
She gestured vaguely toward the convoy.
"...a country."
You laughed.
"I do seem to have acquired one."
"I wasn't sure if they'd let you leave."
"They almost didn't."
She looked toward the line of vehicles.
"I believe that."
An agent stepped forward.
"We'll remain out of sight unless needed."
You nodded.
"Thank you."
As promised, the security detail spread out. Far enough away to give the illusion of privacy. Close enough that you knew exactly where each of them was. Kika noticed you watching them disappear.
"You really can never be alone."
"No."
She looked at you for a long moment.
"I'm sorry."
The sympathy surprised you. Most people were jealous. They saw motorcades and private entrances. They didn't see what those things cost.
"You don't have to apologize."
"I know."
She offered a small smile.
"I just wish you could have one normal night."
"So do I."
Then she held out her hand.
"Maybe we can have an almost normal one."
You looked down at it. Then back up at her. You grab her hand and say
"Lead the way."
Washington at night felt different. The summer heat had finally begun to fade. Street musicians played somewhere in the distance. Tourists wandered between monuments carrying cameras and melting ice cream cones. For once... Nobody recognized either of you. Or if they did... They politely left you alone.
"This," you said quietly, "is my favorite version of the city."
Kika looked around.
"It's beautiful."
"It feels smaller."
"I was thinking the opposite."
You laughed.
"You've never lived here."
"No."
She looked toward the Washington Monument towering above them.
"Everything feels important."
"It usually is."
"You grew up with this?"
"I learned to ride a bike over there."
You pointed toward a nearby path.
"I scraped my knees."
"You?"
"I know."
"I assumed you emerged from the White House fully grown."
You gasped dramatically.
"My secret."
She laughed.
The sound echoed across the quiet walkway.
"You've never had this?"
Kika stared suspiciously at the ice cream cone in your hand.
"I've had ice cream."
"Not from here."
"You keep saying that."
"Because it's important."
She accepted the cone reluctantly. One bite. Her eyebrows lifted.
"...Okay."
"I told you."
"This is very good."
"I know."
She took another bite.
Then another.
"You were hiding this from Europe."
"I don't control American dairy."
"You should."
"I'll add it to my responsibilities."
She smiled before holding her cone toward you.
"Trade?"
You blinked.
"You want mine?"
"Yours is better than mine."
You exchanged cones without hesitation.
Your fingers brushed.
Neither of you commented on it.
You tasted Kikas.
"...No."
"What?"
"Mine is better."
"It absolutely is not."
"It absolutely is."
You laughed.
"I regret sharing."
"You should."
The diner looked exactly like every movie had promised. Chrome walls. Red booths. A jukebox in the corner. The smell of fries and coffee filling the room. Kika spun slowly as they walked inside.
"This is real."
"It would be strange if it wasn't."
"No."
She looked delighted.
"I thought American diners only existed in films."
"You've been watching the wrong films."
The waitress recognized you. You braced yourself. Instead she simply smiled.
"Corner booth?"
You smiled back.
"Please."
No photographs. No fuss. Just menus. You almost wanted to hug her.
An hour later... Their food was mostly gone. Conversation had become easier with every passing minute.
"So..." you asked.
"First relationship?"
Kika nearly choked on her milkshake.
"You ask very direct questions."
"I've been told."
She stirred her drink slowly.
"No."
"No?"
"There was someone."
She smiled faintly.
"A long time ago."
"What happened?"
"Football."
You frowned.
"Football?"
"I moved."
She looked down.
"She didn't."
Silence settled over the table.
"I'm sorry."
She shrugged.
"We were young."
"Did it hurt?"
Kika laughed softly.
"I think everything hurts when you're twenty."
You smiled.
"Fair."
"What about you?"
You leaned back in the booth.
"I've dated."
She waited.
"It never felt..."
You searched for the word.
"Real."
"Because of your family?"
"Usually."
People liked the idea of you. The mystery. The headlines. The access. Very few liked simply... You.
"I spent most of my twenties wondering if people wanted to know me..."
You looked down at your untouched fries.
"...or my last name."
Kika reached across the table. She didn't touch your hand. Not yet. She simply rested hers nearby.
"I wanted to know you before I knew your last name."
Your chest tightened.
"You didn't know who I was."
"I knew you made me laugh."
She smiled.
"I still think that's more important."
The National Mall had grown quieter. The crowds were thinning. The Reflecting Pool stretched ahead of them, perfectly still beneath the lights. Neither spoke. Words suddenly felt unnecessary. Their shoulders brushed. Again. Again. Until finally... Kika stopped walking. You turned toward her.
"What?"
She looked down. Then back up. Her confidence on a football pitch had disappeared.
"I've been thinking."
"That's dangerous."
She laughed.
"It usually is."
Another quiet moment passed. Then... Very carefully... She reached toward you. Not your hand. She waited halfway. Giving you every opportunity to pull away. Instead... You closed the distance yourself. Your fingers slipped between hers. Hand in hand. Intentional. Neither of you looked away. The world seemed impossibly quiet. Even the city felt as though it had taken one collective breath.
Kika smiled.
"So..."
"So?"
"I was right."
"About what?"
"You have very cold hands."
You laughed.
"I cannot believe that's what you noticed."
"I notice everything."
"I find that slightly terrifying."
"I'll use my powers responsibly."
You squeezed her hand.
"I hope so."
They started walking again. Slower this time. Neither willing to be the first person to let go. By the time they reached the edge of the Reflecting Pool, the moon shimmered across the water, turning the monuments into pale silhouettes. Kika stopped once more. This time, she didn't look at the monuments. She looked only at you. There was no teasing smile. No playful challenge. No joke waiting behind her eyes. Only quiet uncertainty. Only hope. Her thumb brushed gently across the back of your hand.
"So..."
You smiled.
"There are a lot of 'so's tonight."
"I know."
She took one slow breath. Then another. Finally, in a voice barely louder than the breeze moving across the water, she asked
"Can I kiss you?"
For one suspended second, you forgot how to breathe. Kika stood in front of you with her hand still wrapped around yours, the Reflecting Pool stretching behind her and the city glowing softly beneath the night sky. She looked nervous. Actually nervous. Not teasing. Not pretending confidence she didn’t feel. Just waiting. Waiting for you. Your heart beat harder.
“Yes,” you whispered.
Kika’s eyes searched yours.
“Yes?”
You smiled.
“Yes.”
Not maybe. The recognition flickered across her face. Her expression softened. Then she stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. As though she was afraid one sudden movement might break whatever had been building between you since the White House. Her free hand rose toward your face. Her fingers brushed your cheek. Warm against your skin. You leaned into the touch before you could stop yourself. Kika noticed. Of course she did. She always noticed. Her thumb moved gently beneath your eye. Then she leaned in.
Just before her lips met yours, she says "They aren't going to tackle me for this are they?''
You laughed and said no. Kika leaned in fully. The first brush of her lips against yours was so soft that, for half a second, you wondered whether you had imagined it. A question instead of a kiss. You answered by closing the remaining distance. Your hand tightened around hers. Kika kissed you again. This time with certainty. Still slow. Still gentle. But real. The sounds of Washington disappeared. No traffic. No distant voices. No agents positioned somewhere behind you pretending not to watch. There was only the warmth of Kika’s mouth against yours and the quiet exhale she released when your free hand rested at her waist. You had expected nerves. Awkwardness. Maybe laughter.
You both pulled away at the same time. Eyes closed. Breathing labored. For a moment, you simply stood there. Your fingers were still intertwined. Kika’s other hand remained against your cheek. Neither of you appeared willing to move first. Finally, you tilted your head.
“Was it worth waiting through dinner?”
Kika pretended to consider the question.
“The milkshake was very good.”
You pulled away slightly.
She laughed and tightened her hold on your hand.
“I’m joking.”
“You should be.”
“It was worth it.”
Her voice lost its teasing edge.
“You’re worth it.”
The words landed harder than the kiss. You looked away instinctively. Kika caught it immediately.
“Hey.”
Her fingers touched your chin, gently turning your face back toward hers.
“You don’t have to hide every time I say something honest.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are.”
“I’m thinking.”
“You look at the ground when you’re scared.”
You glanced down before you could stop yourself.
Kika laughed softly.
“See?”
“You really do notice everything.”
“I told you.”
You looked back at her.
“That’s still terrifying.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Something in her expression made you believe her.
So you nodded.
“Okay.”
Kika smiled again.
Then, because apparently one kiss had made her braver, she leaned forward and pressed another to your lips. Shorter this time. Warmer. Almost playful. When she pulled back, your eyes remained closed for half a second longer than necessary.
“That was unfair,” you said.
“What was?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“You already gave permission.”
“For one kiss.”
Kika’s eyebrows lifted.
“Oh.”
You tried to maintain a serious expression. Failed. She leaned closer.
“Should I ask every time?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She kissed you again. You laughed against her mouth. And just like that, the nervousness disappeared.
They walked the long way around the Reflecting Pool. Neither suggested it. Neither needed to. The path back toward the cars could have taken ten minutes. Instead, they wandered. Kika kept hold of your hand. Sometimes your shoulders brushed. Sometimes she stepped closer for no reason other than because she could. Everything felt different now. Not dramatically. The monuments still stood exactly where they had before. The city continued moving. Your security detail remained nearby. Barcelona would still leave Washington. But the space between you had changed. Before, every touch had been accidental. Now Kika’s thumb moved lazily across your knuckles. Before, every silence carried uncertainty. Now it felt comfortable.
By the time you reached the waiting vehicles, it was well past midnight. One of the agents opened the rear door. You paused. Kika stood beside you, still holding your hand. The evening had to end. You hated that. Apparently, so did she.
“I can ride with you,” Kika said.
You glanced toward the hotel SUV positioned behind yours.
“Are you allowed?”
“I am an adult.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
She frowned.
“You sound like Salma.”
“Should I be concerned?”
“Yes.”
You laughed and looked toward the agent. He gave a small nod. Kika brightened immediately.
“See?”
“You have been approved by the United States government.”
“Finally.”
She climbed into the SUV beside you. The partition between the front and back seats remained lowered, but the darkness offered at least a small amount of privacy. Washington passed beyond the tinted windows. Neither of you spoke at first. Kika rested her head against the seat and turned toward you. You did the same. Your knees touched.
“You’re staring,” you whispered.
“So are you.”
“I asked first.”
“You didn’t ask anything.”
You smiled.
“Why are you staring?”
“I’m trying to remember this.”
The answer erased your smile. Not because it was sad. Because it reminded you why she needed to remember. Barcelona was leaving. Soon. Reality had remained politely outside the evening until then. Now it climbed into the car with you.
“When do you fly?” you asked.
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
The words sat heavily between you. You had known. Of course you had. The schedule had been public for weeks. Knowing didn’t make hearing it easier. Kika looked down at her hands.
“We have recovery in the morning. Then the airport.”
“And then Barcelona.”
“And then Barcelona,” she repeated.
You turned toward the window. The city lights blurred slightly. You told yourself it was because the car was moving. Kika’s hand found yours on the seat between you.
“Don’t disappear.”
You looked at her.
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“People say that.”
Her voice was quiet.
“Then life becomes busy. The distance becomes difficult. Messages become less frequent.”
You thought about the relationship she had mentioned at the diner. Football. She moved. The other woman didn’t.
“Is that what happened before?”
Kika hesitated.
“Yes.”
You shifted closer.
“I’m not her.”
“I know.”
The attention. The headlines that might come from her goal celebration. The reality of trying to know someone who lived thousands of miles away. The possibility that this night meant more to you than it did to her. Kika lifted your joined hands. She pressed her lips gently against your knuckles.
“We don’t have to solve everything tonight.”
“What do we solve?”
She considered the question.
“Whether we want to try.”
Your heart thudded.
“And do you?”
Kika looked directly at you.
“Yes.”
Immediate. Certain. You swallowed.
“Yes,” you said.
Her smile returned.
“Good.”
“That’s it?”
“For tonight."
Kika squeezed your hand.
“We talk. We call. We see what this becomes.”
“Across an ocean.”
“People have survived worse.”
“You say that now.”
“I will say it tomorrow too.”
You wanted to believe her. More importantly, you wanted to give both of you the chance to prove it.
“Okay.”
Kika leaned closer.
“Still trying something new?”
“Yes.”
“Do you like it?”
You smiled.
“Maybe.”
She gasped.
“I told you to stop saying that with me.”
“I know.”
“You are impossible.”
“You still kissed me.”
“I can make mistakes.”
The SUV stopped outside Barcelona’s hotel. Kika didn’t reach for the door. Neither did you. Through the window, you could see Salma standing beneath the hotel entrance with her arms crossed. She was waiting. Kika saw her.
“Oh, no.”
“She looks concerned.”
“She looks nosy.”
Salma tapped her watch. Then pointed toward the vehicle. Kika sank farther into the seat.
“She is never going to let me live.”
“You pointed at me after scoring in front of an entire stadium.”
“That was different.”
“How?”
“I was emotional.”
“And now?”
Kika turned toward you.
“Still emotional.”
Your smile softened.
She reached up and brushed her thumb against your cheek.
“I’ll text you when I’m upstairs.”
She leaned forward. The kiss was brief but unhurried. A goodbye neither of you wanted to name. When she pulled away, her forehead touched yours.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
She opened the door.
Salma immediately grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the hotel entrance. You couldn’t hear the interrogation through the closed window. You didn’t need to. Salma’s hands moved dramatically. Kika covered her face. Then, just before disappearing inside, she turned back. She looked toward the SUV. You lifted your hand. Kika smiled and did the same. Only after she was gone did the vehicle pull away.
Salma waited until the elevator doors closed.
Then she turned.
“So.”
Kika stared straight ahead.
“No.”
“You kissed her.”
“I did.”
Salma stepped directly in front of her.
“Kika.”
“What?”
Kika tried to remain composed. She lasted approximately two seconds. Then her smile broke free. Salma screamed. Actually screamed. Kika lunged forward and covered her mouth.
“Shut up!”
Salma pulled away.
“You kissed her!”
Kika looked away. Salma gasped.
Kika entered the room and slammed the door behind them. Salma threw herself onto the bed.
“My roommate is dating the President’s daughter.”
“We are not dating.”
“That is not a legal definition.”
“You pointed at her after scoring.”
“It was a celebration.”
“You went on two dates.”
“The first one was dinner.”
“Which is a date.''
Salma watched her with a knowing expression.
“You like her.”
“Yes.”
The word came easily.
Salma’s teasing faded.
“A lot?”
Kika sat on the edge of her bed.
“I think so.”
“She lives here.”
“I know.”
“You live in Barcelona.”
“I know.”
Salma nodded slowly.
Then she smiled.
“Good thing phones exist.”
Kika looked toward her own phone on the nightstand.
As if summoned, the screen lit up.
Y/N: Are you being interrogated?
Kika laughed.
Your phone rang at 1:17 a.m. You answered before the first ring finished. Kika’s face appeared on the screen. She was lying in bed, hair loose around her shoulders and the hotel room dark behind her.
“You called,” you said.
“I said I would.”
“You survived Salma?”
“Barely.”
A muffled voice came from the other bed.
“She is lying!”
Kika turned her head.
“Go to sleep.”
Salma appeared briefly at the edge of the screen.
“She kissed you five times.”
Kika’s face turned bright red.
You laughed.
“Goodnight, Salma.”
“Goodnight, First Daughter.”
Kika threw something offscreen.
Salma disappeared.
“I am changing rooms tomorrow.”
“You leave tomorrow.”
“That is unfortunate.”
There it was. Tomorrow.
“Will you still be there tomorrow?”
The question was quiet. Barely awake. Your chest tightened.
“Yes.”
“Promise?”
You remembered her promise at breakfast. I won’t make you regret it.
Kika Nazareth had never been very good at sitting still.
She could manage it when she absolutely had to, during tactical meetings, formal dinners, long flights when the cabin lights had been dimmed and nearly everyone around her had surrendered to sleep, but even then, some part of her was always moving. Her foot bounced beneath tables. Her fingers tapped against her thigh. Her eyes wandered toward anything remotely interesting.
At that moment, the most interesting thing inside the chartered plane was the thin line of sunlight slowly creeping across the floor as they descended over Washington, D.C. Kika leaned toward the window, pressing the side of her head against the cool glass as the city sharpened beneath them.
The Potomac curled through the landscape like a ribbon. Roads crossed and separated. Buildings rose in clusters before flattening again as the plane adjusted its angle. From above, Washington looked cleaner and quieter than Kika had imagined, all pale stone and carefully planned streets.
She had expected something bigger.
Not physically. Politically.
Washington was one of those cities that seemed enormous even when you had never been there. It existed in headlines, history books, films and speeches. Every decision made there appeared to travel outward, crossing borders before the people inside the city had even finished talking about it.
Kika had always pictured it as loud.
Instead, from the sky, it looked almost peaceful.
“Can you see the White House?”
Kika turned away from the window to find Salma leaning across the aisle, half out of her seat despite the glowing seatbelt sign above them.
“No.”
“You are not looking properly.”
“I am looking at the entire city.”
“And still missing the most famous building.”
“You find it, then.”
Salma narrowed her eyes at the window as though determination alone might make the White House appear beneath the plane.
Across the aisle, Patri lifted her headphones from one ear. “It is not going to be directly beneath us, Salma.”
“You do not know that.”
“I know they do not usually fly international football teams over the president’s roof.”
“They might for us.”
“They definitely will not for you.”
Salma gasped, placing a hand over her heart. Kika smiled and turned back toward the window before the argument could develop into something louder.
Several rows ahead, Alexia was speaking quietly with Pere Romeu. Mapi was asleep with her mouth slightly open, her head resting at an angle that would almost certainly leave her complaining about her neck later. Ingrid sat beside her reading something on her tablet, completely unbothered by the fact that Mapi’s shoulder had gradually invaded half of her seat.
Most of the team looked tired.
The flight had been long, the preseason schedule was packed and the time difference had already turned everyone’s bodies against them. They had barely finished one training block before boarding the plane to the United States, where they would play a friendly against the Washington Spirit, attend sponsor events and, most surprisingly, tour the White House.
That last part had generated more discussion than the match.
There had been questions about clothing, protocol, security and whether any of them would be permitted to take photographs. Someone had asked whether they would meet the president. Someone else had asked whether the president knew anything about football.
Mapi had asked whether there were secret tunnels beneath the building. Kika had not given the visit much thought beyond wondering how long she would be expected to behave.
She was excited, of course. Anyone would be.
But it was still a formal tour of a famous building. A beautiful, historic, heavily guarded building filled with rooms they would only be allowed to enter after passing through multiple layers of security.
She expected polished floors, old paintings and a guide who had memorized every date associated with every piece of furniture.
She did not expect anything personal.
She certainly did not expect anything that would matter after they returned to the hotel.
The plane dipped lower, the pressure changing in Kika’s ears.
“Maybe the president will invite us to stay,” Salma said.
Patri snorted. “You would be removed within an hour.”
“For what?”
“Everything.”
“I have done nothing.”
“You have not arrived yet.”
Kika laughed softly, watching the runway rise toward them.
At twenty-two, she had already played in packed stadiums, represented her country and moved away from home to join one of the most recognizable football clubs in the world. She was accustomed to unfamiliar cities and important rooms. She knew how to smile for cameras, shake hands with sponsors and answer questions without accidentally providing the headline reporters wanted.
Still, as the wheels touched the runway and the cabin jolted around her, she felt the familiar spark of anticipation in her chest. A new city always held possibility. Even if they would only be there for a few days. Even if nearly every hour had already been planned for them. Even if the most exciting thing awaiting her was supposedly a historic staircase. Kika looked toward the skyline beyond the runway and smiled.
Washington, D.C.
She had no idea that somewhere in the center of it, you were already trying to find a way out.
--
“You cannot cancel.”
“I am not canceling.”
“You are standing in front of me wearing running shoes.”
You looked down at yourself. The accusation was fair. The navy trousers you wore were tailored and formal enough to satisfy anyone from the communications office, as was the pale blouse tucked neatly into the waistband. The shoes, however, were unmistakably athletic. Comfortable, practical and entirely unsuitable for welcoming one of the most successful women’s football teams in the world to the White House.
You lifted your gaze again.
“I was going to change.”
Your mother gave you a look that suggested she had heard that sentence many times before and rarely believed it.
“You were going to leave.”
“I was considering going for a walk.”
“You had your sunglasses in your hand.”
“It is sunny.”
“And your security detail was waiting by the south entrance.”
“They are always waiting somewhere.”
Your mother’s mouth twitched, but she recovered before the smile could fully appear.
Behind her, the private sitting room looked almost offensively calm. Sunlight poured through the windows and settled over the cream furniture. Fresh flowers sat on the table. Somewhere beyond the door, staff moved through the residence with the controlled urgency that accompanied every official event, no matter how small.
The Barcelona visit was not technically a major event. There would be no state dinner, no international negotiations and no televised remarks from the East Room. The team had been invited as part of a broader initiative recognizing the growth of women’s sports and the increasing partnerships between American and European clubs. Your father was scheduled to greet them briefly before being pulled into another meeting. Your mother would join the reception. You had only been added to the schedule because someone in communications had learned that you had attended several Washington Spirit matches and decided that made you the ideal member of the family to help welcome them. You suspected your presence had more to do with your age.
At twenty-five, you were close enough to the players to make the visit appear less formal. More modern. More social-media friendly. The communications team had used all three phrases. You had responded by asking whether they intended to turn you into a decorative youth ambassador.
They had not laughed.
Your mother had.
“Please change your shoes,” she said.
You sighed. “Do I have to stay for the entire tour?”
“You agreed to.”
“I agreed to attend the reception.”
“You agreed to help welcome them.”
“That could mean many things.”
“It means you will be pleasant, present and available.”
“You sound like my media training coach.”
“I paid attention during those sessions.”
“I did too. That is why I know how to avoid answering direct questions.”
Your mother finally smiled.
It softened her entire face, briefly erasing the careful expression she wore during public appearances.
“You like football.”
“I like watching football.”
“You like meeting people.”
“Sometimes.”
“You speak Spanish.”
“Badly.”
“You speak it well enough.”
“I speak it well enough to ask where the bathroom is and accidentally insult someone’s mother.”
“You are being dramatic.”
“I am the president’s daughter. It is practically in the job description.”
Her expression changed at that.
Only slightly, but you noticed.
Your title followed you everywhere. It entered rooms before you did, stayed after you left and shaped every interaction in between. People were rarely unkind about it. Most were fascinated. Some were intimidated. Others behaved as though meeting you might lead to a personal invitation into the Oval Office. Very few treated it as incidental.
You had lived in Washington before your father’s election. You had attended university, met friends for dinner without security teams occupying nearby tables and gone weeks without appearing in photographs taken by strangers.
Then the campaign had begun.
Your father’s face had appeared on television screens across the country. Your surname had become a topic of conversation. Your old social media posts had been analyzed by people who had never met you. Photographs from years earlier had been reposted alongside headlines questioning what your clothes, friendships or facial expressions suggested about the future administration.
By election night, you had learned that privacy did not disappear all at once. A photograph here. A schedule leaked there. A harmless comment transformed into an opinion you had never expressed. By inauguration day, you had become skilled at saying very little.
Your mother stepped closer and touched your arm.
“It is only an afternoon.”
“I know.”
“And they are young women visiting from another country. They may appreciate seeing a face that is not attached to a briefing folder.”
“I am attached to several briefing folders.”
“Change your shoes.”
You gave her a mock salute. She rolled her eyes and left the room. You waited until the door closed before looking toward the windows.
Beyond the glass, the grounds stretched green and carefully maintained. Somewhere past the barriers, tourists gathered along the fence, lifting phones toward a building they would never see from the inside. You understood their fascination. The White House was beautiful. Historic. Impressive in ways photographs could not fully capture.
It was also strange to live inside a place that belonged to the public. You slept in rooms millions of people believed they knew. You ate breakfast beneath paintings that had witnessed administrations rise and collapse. You could hear tour groups moving through parts of the building while you crossed hallways above them in old sweatpants.
Your phone vibrated on the table.
A message from your best friend, Hannah, appeared across the screen.
Hannah: Have you met the footballers yet?
You: They have not arrived.
Hannah: Please remember some of us are living through you.
You: That sounds unhealthy.
Hannah: Kika Nazareth is going to be in your house.
You: Technically it is the people’s house.
Hannah: Do not start.
You: I have been instructed to be pleasant and available.
Hannah: Try being single and available.
You: I am not flirting with a guest during an official White House visit.
Hannah: Coward.
You locked the phone and dropped it back onto the table.
Kika Nazareth.
You knew who she was. You knew most of the Barcelona players, at least by name. You had followed the club casually for years, though your loyalty belonged more firmly to the Washington Spirit. When the visit was added to the family schedule, you had done what any responsible host would do and reviewed the briefing materials.
Then you had ignored the briefing materials and searched the players online.
Kika’s name had appeared repeatedly. Young Portuguese midfielder. Creative. Fearless. One of Barcelona’s newest signings. Known as much for her personality as her ability to drift between defenders with the ball seemingly attached to her feet. You had watched a few interviews. Then a few more. She smiled often. Teased her teammates. Looked directly at reporters when she answered questions, even when her answers wandered. There was something open about her.
Your phone vibrated again.
Hannah: Wear something nice.
You glanced at your running shoes.
Then toward the bedroom.
“Traitor,” you muttered, although Hannah was nowhere near you.
Five minutes later, you changed into a pair of low black heels. Not because of Kika Nazareth. Because your mother had asked. That was what you told yourself, anyway.
The team hotel sat close enough to the National Mall that several players immediately began planning an evening walk despite repeated warnings about rest and recovery. Kika stood near the window of her room while Salma moved between the beds, unpacking far more clothing than anyone needed for a short trip.
“You brought three pairs of sunglasses,” Kika said.
“The light is different here.”
“The sun is the same.”
“It feels more political.”
Kika turned slowly. “The sunlight feels political?”
Salma held up two pairs of sunglasses. “Which ones for the White House?”
“You cannot wear sunglasses inside.”
“I know. They are for arriving.”
“No one will care.”
“Photographers will care.”
“There may not be photographers.”
“There are always photographers.”
Kika could not argue with that.
Their arrival had already been documented. A small crowd had gathered outside the hotel, holding Barcelona shirts, flags and handwritten signs. The club media team had filmed them stepping off the bus. By the time Kika reached her room, there were photographs online of her wearing headphones and carrying the same travel bag she had owned for two years. Nothing escaped attention for long. She opened her suitcase. Training clothes filled most of one side. Toiletries, trainers and a small collection of outfits occupied the other. For the White House visit, the club had requested smart attire without making it fully formal. Kika pulled out a pair of dark trousers and a cream button-down shirt.
Salma glanced over.
“You look like you are going to a business meeting.”
“It is the White House.”
“We are not negotiating anything.”
“We might.”
“What do you have to offer the United States?”
Kika considered it. “Midfield stability.”
Salma laughed and threw one of the hotel pillows at her.
Kika caught it against her chest.
A knock sounded at the door before either of them could retaliate.
Patri entered without waiting for permission.
“Meeting downstairs in twenty minutes.”
“About training?” Salma asked.
“The visit.”
Kika groaned. “Another meeting?”
“They want to review the security rules.”
“We already reviewed them on the plane.”
“Mapi asked if she could open any locked doors she sees.”
Salma dropped onto the bed. “That sounds reasonable.”
Patri stared at her.
“It was a joke.”
“It is difficult to tell with both of you.”
Kika placed the pillow back on the bed.
“What are the rules?”
“No large bags. No wandering away from the group. No touching anything unless invited. No live streaming. No jokes about weapons, tunnels or stealing historical objects.”
“Those rules sound very specific.”
“They were written after the staff spoke to Mapi.”
Kika smiled.
Patri walked toward the door, then paused.
“Oh, and apparently the president’s daughter will be joining part of the tour.”
Salma sat upright.
“The daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Which one?”
“The adult one.”
Kika glanced toward her.
That description did not narrow it down much.
She knew the president had a daughter. Most people did. Your photograph appeared occasionally in the media, usually beside your parents during formal events or entering some charity function in a dress that would be identified and priced online within minutes.
Kika had seen you before.
She could not immediately remember where.
“She is our age?” Salma asked.
“Twenty-five, I think.”
“Is she single?”
Patri’s expression flattened.
“What?” Salma asked innocently. “It is useful information.”
Kika folded the shirt over her arm. “Why?”
“For cultural understanding.”
“You are ridiculous.”
“You are smiling.”
“I smile often.”
“Not like that.”
Kika threw the pillow this time. Salma caught it with a triumphant laugh. Patri muttered something about both of them being exhausting and left. Kika turned toward the mirror above the desk. Her reflection looked amused. Curious, perhaps. Nothing more.
She had met famous people before. Politicians, musicians, actors, athletes from other sports. The president’s daughter was simply another person connected to an important event.
She picked up her phone. Without thinking too deeply about it, she typed your name into the search bar. Photographs filled the screen. In some, you stood beside your family, dressed in formal clothes with your posture straight and your expression composed. In others, you attended sporting events wearing baseball caps or team jerseys. There were older photographs from university, blurry and more natural, where you appeared to be laughing at someone outside the frame.
Kika paused on one taken at a Washington Spirit match.
You were sitting near the field in a black jacket, your hair pulled back, eyes fixed on the game rather than the camera pointed toward you.
She zoomed in slightly.
“You are researching.”
Kika locked the phone so quickly that Salma burst out laughing.
“I was not.”
“You searched her.”
“I wanted to know who we were meeting.”
“She is attractive.”
Kika placed the phone facedown.
“I did not say that.”
“You did not have to.”
“Get dressed.”
“You are blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Kika picked up the pillow again.
Salma raised both hands in surrender, still laughing.
“You are very defensive for someone who is not interested.”
“I am going to the White House,” Kika said. “That is the interesting part.”
“Of course.”
Kika turned toward the window to hide her expression.
The city stretched beyond the glass, sunlight reflecting from rooftops in the distance. Somewhere among them stood the White House. And inside it, apparently, was you.
Security took longer than expected. The team bus entered through a controlled gate before stopping in an area hidden from the crowds gathered along the public barriers. Secret Service officers checked identification, equipment and approved guest lists while members of the club staff repeatedly counted players as though someone might disappear between the bus and the entrance.
Mapi looked delighted by the entire process.
“This is more exciting than the airport,” she whispered.
Ingrid gently caught the back of her jacket when she began leaning toward one of the security dogs.
“No.”
“I was only looking.”
“You were reaching.”
“I wanted to say hello.”
“The dog is working.”
“So are we.”
Ingrid guided her forward. Kika stepped off the bus and looked up. The White House appeared smaller than it did on television. That was her first thought. Her second was that it looked less like a government building from this side and more like an enormous, perfectly preserved home. White columns rose above the entrance. Windows reflected the afternoon sun. Staff members waited near the doors with welcoming expressions that somehow managed to remain professional.
The team gathered near the entrance. Alexia stood near the front, composed as always. Several of the younger players whispered to one another while club photographers captured their arrival. Kika adjusted the cuffs of her shirt. She had chosen the cream one after all, leaving the top button undone. Her hair fell loose over her shoulders. Salma had insisted she looked good, then ruined the compliment by adding that the president’s daughter would definitely notice her.
Kika had told her to be quiet.
Salma had not been quiet.
A member of the White House staff stepped forward and welcomed them in Spanish before switching to English. The team was led inside, through another security checkpoint and into a corridor lined with framed photographs. The air felt cooler indoors. Kika’s attention moved everywhere at once. Paintings. Tall windows. Floral arrangements. Furniture that looked too important to sit on. Staff members who appeared and disappeared through doors without making a sound. She expected to feel intimidated.
Instead, she felt intensely curious.
How many people worked there? Which rooms were actually used? Did the president ever wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night? Were there places where the family could exist without being observed?
The guide began explaining the history of the ground floor. Kika tried to listen. She truly did.
Then the group ahead of her shifted, creating an open line of sight into the next room.
That was when she saw you. You stood beside your mother near a tall arrangement of white flowers, speaking with one of the senior staff members. Your clothes were simple compared with the formal outfits Kika had seen in photographs: navy trousers, a pale blouse and low black heels. Your hair fell naturally over one shoulder. You were listening to the person in front of you, but your expression suggested your attention had drifted elsewhere. Then you looked toward the arriving team. Your gaze traveled across the group.
Paused.
Found Kika.
For one brief second, neither of you looked away. Kika felt something shift low in her stomach. Not dramatic. Not overwhelming. Just noticeable. Your expression changed first. The polite smile you had been wearing became more genuine, one corner of your mouth lifting slightly as though you had caught yourself staring and found it amusing.
Kika smiled back.
Salma’s elbow struck her side.
Kika did not react.
She remained focused on you as the team moved forward.
Your mother stepped toward Alexia first, welcoming her warmly. Introductions began, formal but friendly, everyone exchanging the same practiced phrases used at official events. You stood slightly behind your parents. Up close, you looked less polished than in photographs.
Not less beautiful.
More real.
There were faint shadows beneath your eyes. A small crease in your blouse near the elbow. A thin silver ring on one hand that you twisted absentmindedly while waiting. Kika watched your fingers move. Then realized you had noticed her watching. Your eyebrows lifted. Kika raised her gaze to your face. You looked entertained.
“Kika.”
Alexia’s voice pulled her attention forward.
Kika stepped into place as the introductions reached her.
Your mother greeted her first, asking about the flight and welcoming her to Washington. Kika answered in English, grateful she had practiced enough not to embarrass herself.
Then you moved closer.
“Kika Nazareth,” your mother said. “This is our daughter, Y/N.”
“I know,” Kika said.
The words left her mouth before she could stop them.
Your eyebrows lifted again.
Kika felt Salma go very still behind her.
“I mean,” Kika continued, “I know who you are.”
“That is usually how this works,” you said.
Your tone was dry. Kika stared at you for half a second. Then she laughed. It slipped out before she could decide whether laughing at the president’s daughter during an official introduction was acceptable.
Your smile widened.
“You looked me up,” you said.
Kika heard Salma inhale sharply.
“I researched the visit.”
“Did the briefing include my face?”
“Not exactly.”
“So you looked me up.”
Kika tilted her head.
“Did you look us up?”
You glanced toward the rest of the team.
“I was provided with extensive briefing materials.”
“That is not an answer.”
Your mother was still close enough to hear. Kika realized it when she saw the subtle smile forming on her face.
You looked at Kika again.
“I may have done some independent research.”
“The whole team?”
Your gaze remained on hers.
“Most of it.”
Kika smiled slowly.
“Most?”
“You were taking too long,” Salma murmured behind her.
Kika ignored her.
A staff member guided the introductions forward before you could answer. Kika moved aside, but not before catching the faint color rising along your cheeks.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The tour continued through the State Floor. Kika listened to explanations about portraits, architecture and rooms named for colors. She admired the Blue Room, the Green Room and the enormous chandeliers hanging overhead.
She also remained aware of you. You walked near the front at first, beside your mother and Alexia. Occasionally you added a comment to the guide’s explanation, usually something less formal than the prepared historical notes. You explained that one antique table was sturdier than it looked because a former first child had once climbed beneath it during a reception. You pointed out a small imperfection in a wall that had survived several renovations.
When Mapi asked whether the building was haunted, the official guide began providing a diplomatic answer.
You simply said, “Probably.”
Mapi immediately moved closer to you.
“Have you seen anything?”
“No.”
“Have you heard anything?”
“Yes.”
Ingrid sighed.
“What did you hear?” Mapi asked eagerly.
“Old pipes.”
Mapi’s face fell.
You smiled. “That is what they told me, anyway.”
Kika laughed from several feet away. You turned at the sound. Again, your eyes found hers easily.
Too easily.
Kika began falling behind the group on purpose. Not enough to draw attention. Only enough that when you stepped away from the front to answer a staff member’s question, you returned beside her instead of reclaiming your previous position.
“You are not listening to the tour,” you said quietly.
“I am.”
“What room are we in?”
Kika glanced around.
The walls were red.
“The Red Room.”
You nodded. “Very impressive.”
“I am observant.”
“You stared at the ceiling for most of the explanation.”
“The ceiling is beautiful.”
“It is.”
You both looked up. Gold detailing framed the chandelier above you. For a few seconds, the conversation settled into silence.
Kika became aware of the distance between your shoulders. Close, but not touching.
“You actually watch football?” she asked.
You lowered your gaze.
“I do.”
“Barcelona?”
“Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?”
“I support the Spirit.”
“That is disappointing.”
“You have been in the city for three hours.”
“And already I know you make bad choices.”
You gave her a sideways look.
“You are playing against them in two days.”
“Yes.”
“So I am supposed to abandon my team because you smiled at me in the entrance hall?”
Kika’s own smile grew.
“You noticed.”
“You were directly in front of me.”
“That is not what I meant.”
You looked away.
This time, the color in your cheeks was unmistakable. Kika experienced a small rush of triumph. The group moved toward another room.
You followed, your pace measured.
“How long have you supported the Spirit?” Kika asked.
“Several years. Before all of this.”
You gestured subtly around you.
“The White House?”
“The circus.”
Kika studied you.
Your tone remained light, but something beneath it had tightened.
“You do not like it?”
“I did not say that.”
“You did not have to.”
You glanced at her.
She recognized her own earlier words thrown back at her and laughed.
“I like parts of it,” you said. “I am proud of my father. I care about the work. But living here is…”
You searched for the word.
“Strange?”
“That is the polite version.”
Kika nodded toward a portrait watching over the room.
“You have many people looking at you.”
“You have no idea.”
“I might.”
The humor faded slightly from your expression. You looked at her more closely. Kika understood public attention. Not at your level, perhaps, but enough to recognize the exhaustion of being observed. The endless photographs. The assumptions. The belief that because someone had watched you perform, speak or smile, they knew something intimate about you.
“You cannot leave without security?” Kika asked.
“I can leave.”
“Alone?”
“No. I can never leave by myself. I have the security team following me every step of the day”
Kika frowned.
“That would make me crazy.”
“It has tried.”
The answer was delivered with a smile, but Kika did not laugh.
You noticed.
For the first time since meeting her, Kika saw your guard rise. Not visibly enough for anyone else to notice. Your posture stayed relaxed. Your expression remained pleasant. Only your eyes changed. She had stepped too close to something real.
Kika softened her voice.
“I am sorry.”
“You did not do anything.”
“I asked too many questions.”
“That is apparently part of your charm.”
Kika smiled.
Your guard lowered again, though not completely. Ahead of you, the group began arranging itself for photographs. A staff member called your name, gesturing for you to stand beside your mother.
You stopped.
“Duty calls.”
“You sound excited.”
“I have taken approximately twelve thousand formal photographs in the last two years.”
“You must be very good at standing.”
“It is my greatest skill.”
Kika looked down at your shoes.
“You changed them.”
You blinked.
“What?”
“Your shoes. They look uncomfortable.”
You stared at her, clearly trying to understand how she had reached that conclusion.
“They are uncomfortable.”
“You had different ones before?”
“I was wearing trainers.”
“Why did you change?”
“My mother asked me to.”
Kika glanced toward the first lady, who was already being positioned near the center of the group.
“Then I am grateful to your mother.”
Your eyes returned to hers. The air between you shifted. It was only a sentence. A harmless piece of flirting, delivered lightly enough that Kika could pretend she had meant nothing by it. But you heard what sat beneath it. Your lips parted. Before you could respond, another staff member called you again. You took a backward step.
“You should stand with your team.”
“You are avoiding my question.”
“You did not ask one.”
“I would have.”
“That sounds like poor planning.”
You turned and walked toward the photograph.
Kika watched you go.
Salma appeared beside her.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You have been speaking for fifteen minutes.”
“That is still nothing.”
“You flirted with the president’s daughter.”
Kika kept her voice low. “She flirted with me.”
Salma stared at her.
Then her face transformed into pure delight.
“Oh, this trip just became interesting.”
“Do not say anything.”
“To anyone?”
“Especially not to anyone.”
Salma looked toward the team.
Mapi was waving Kika into place.
“Everyone already saw.”
Kika followed Salma’s gaze. Patri looked amused. Claudia raised her eyebrows. Even Alexia’s expression carried the quiet awareness of someone who missed very little.
Kika sighed.
“Fantastic.”
She joined the group. Players arranged themselves in rows, taller ones moving toward the back. Kika expected to stand near Salma. Instead, a member of staff guided her forward. Directly beside you.
You looked at her.
She looked at you.
“This seems intentional,” Kika murmured.
“I had nothing to do with it.”
“I believe you.”
“You should not.”
The photographer raised the camera. Everyone faced forward. Kika felt the back of your hand brush against hers. Neither of you moved away immediately. The contact lasted less than a second. Barely anything. Still, when the photographer instructed everyone to smile, Kika did not have to pretend.
The reception was held in a smaller room overlooking the grounds. Tables had been arranged with drinks and light food, though most of the players seemed too aware of their training schedules to eat much. Staff members, club officials and representatives from the Washington Spirit mingled beneath the watch of discreet security personnel. Your father arrived twenty minutes late. The room shifted the moment he entered. Conversations softened. People straightened. Cameras turned.
Kika watched you from across the room.
You changed too.
The playful expression disappeared, replaced by something polished and practiced. You stepped toward your father with a smile, greeting him briefly before introductions began. Kika recognized the transformation because she had performed her own version of it countless times.
The public self.
Carefully controlled. Warm without revealing too much. Present without ever appearing unprepared. Your father greeted the team and spoke about women’s sports, international friendship and the significance of Barcelona’s visit. His remarks were brief but sincere. Alexia responded on behalf of the club, thanking the family and presenting a Barcelona shirt bearing the president’s name.
Photographs followed.
Applause.
More conversation.
Through all of it, Kika watched you perform your role. You smiled at the right moments. Leaned toward whoever spoke to you. Remembered names. Asked thoughtful questions. No one looking at you would have guessed that you had wanted to escape in running shoes less than an hour earlier. Kika found herself wanting to see that version of you again. The one who made dry jokes and admitted the building might be haunted. The one who had blushed when she flirted. The one who had looked briefly tired when describing the lack of freedom in your life.
“Kika.”
She turned.
Alexia stood beside her, holding two glasses of water.
Kika accepted one.
“You are quiet,” Alexia said.
“I am behaving.”
“That is why I am concerned.”
Kika smiled.
Alexia glanced across the room.
Toward you.
Then back.
“She seems nice.”
Kika took a drink.
“Who?”
Alexia gave her a look.
“The president’s daughter.”
“We spoke during the tour.”
“Yes.”
“That is all.”
“I did not ask.”
Kika stared into her glass.
Alexia’s mouth curved slightly.
“Be careful.”
The warning was gentle.
Kika looked up.
“With what?”
“You know with what.”
“I met her one hour ago.”
“And you have looked at her approximately every thirty seconds since.”
Kika opened her mouth.
Closed it again.
Alexia’s expression softened.
“She is not only another person at a sponsor event.”
“I know.”
“Everything around her will be complicated.”
“There is nothing to complicate.”
“Good.”
Alexia took a sip of water. Kika glanced toward you again. You were speaking to a representative from the Spirit, but your attention drifted briefly across the room. You caught her looking. Instead of looking away, you lifted your glass slightly. A private acknowledgment. Kika mirrored the gesture. Alexia followed the exchange.
“There is definitely nothing,” Kika said.
“Of course.”
Before Kika could defend herself further, Pere called Alexia toward another conversation. Kika remained near the edge of the room. She told herself she would stop watching you. She lasted perhaps forty seconds. Then you disappeared. One moment you were near the windows. The next, the space was empty. Kika scanned the room. No sign of you. She should not have cared. The reception would end soon. The team had dinner scheduled at the hotel and training early the next morning. You had your own life, responsibilities and security protocols. Their conversation had been entertaining. That was all. Kika finished her water. Set down the glass.
Then noticed a side door closing quietly near the far end of the room. She hesitated. Alexia’s warning echoed in her mind. Everything around her will be complicated. Kika looked toward the rest of the team. No one appeared to be paying attention to her. She crossed the room. The door opened into a long hallway.
Empty.
For a moment, Kika wondered whether she had imagined seeing you leave. Then she heard the faint click of heels somewhere ahead.
She followed.
The hallway turned once, then opened near a set of tall windows overlooking the South Lawn. You stood with your back to her, one hand braced against the windowsill. You had removed your heels. They sat on the floor beside you.
Kika smiled.
“I knew they were uncomfortable.”
You spun around.
Surprise flashed across your face before recognition settled in.
“You followed me.”
“I was exploring.”
“You were specifically told not to wander away from the group.”
“You remember the rules.”
“I live with the people who make them.”
Kika approached slowly.
“You escaped.”
“I stepped into the hallway.”
“Without security?”
“They know where I am.”
Kika glanced around.
The corridor appeared empty.
“How?”
You pointed toward the ceiling.
A small security camera watched from the corner.
Kika looked up.
Then back at you.
“That is unsettling.”
“You become used to it.”
“I do not think I would.”
“You would be surprised what people can become used to.”
There it was again. That edge beneath the humor. Kika stopped a few feet away. Without the heels, you were shorter than she had first thought. More relaxed too. Your shoulders had lowered. One foot rested over the other against the floor.
“You do this often?” she asked.
“Take off my shoes?”
“Run away from your own receptions.”
“It is not my reception.”
“You are the host.”
“My parents are the hosts. I am decorative.”
“I do not think so.”
“You have known me for one hour.”
“And already I know you are terrible at taking compliments.”
You looked out the window.
The lawn stretched beyond the glass, bright beneath the afternoon sun. Several people moved in the distance, likely staff or security. Kika stepped beside you.
For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence felt different from the quiet rooms they had toured. Less formal. Less watched, despite the camera above them.
You exhaled.
“Do you ever get tired of it?”
“Of what?”
“Being Kika Nazareth.”
Kika turned her head.
You kept your gaze on the lawn. The question caught her off guard. Most people asked whether she enjoyed playing for Barcelona. Whether she felt pressure. Whether she missed Portugal. They asked about her career, her performances, her goals. Very few separated the public name from the person carrying it.
“Sometimes,” she admitted.
You nodded as though you had expected the answer.
“People think that sounds ungrateful.”
“Does it?”
“Maybe.”
Kika considered it.
“I love football,” she said. “I love my team. I know I am lucky. But sometimes people meet me and already decide who I am.”
“What do they decide?”
“That I am always happy. Always confident. That nothing affects me because I laugh.”
You looked at her then.
“Does it?”
“What?”
“Does anything affect you?”
Kika smiled faintly.
“Many things.”
“You hide it well.”
“So do you.”
The words settled between you. Your expression became still. Kika worried she had crossed another line. Then you looked down at your bare feet.
“I am not always sure where I end and this begins.”
You gestured around the corridor.
“The building?”
“The title. The attention. The responsibility. All of it.”
Kika leaned one hip against the windowsill.
“Who were you before?”
You laughed softly.
“That sounds dramatic.”
“I am serious.”
You thought about it.
“I went to class. I complained about assignments. I met friends without anyone searching the restaurant first. I made bad decisions without strangers writing articles about what they meant for democracy.”
“That happened?”
“I wore a shirt to a concert once. Apparently it represented a serious shift in my father’s foreign policy.”
Kika laughed.
You smiled.
“What was on the shirt?”
“A band logo.”
“Very dangerous.”
“Extremely.”
Kika studied your face.
The sunlight from the window touched one side of it, softening the lines created by hours of public smiling.
“You can still make bad decisions,” she said.
“Not without paperwork.”
“I could help.”
You turned toward her fully.
“With the decisions or the paperwork?”
“The decisions.”
Your eyes dropped briefly to Kika’s mouth. It happened quickly. So quickly that she might have missed it if she had not already been watching you closely. When your gaze returned to hers, something had changed. The air felt warmer. Kika’s heartbeat shifted. She knew attraction. She knew what it felt like when someone held her attention, when conversation became charged with possibility. This was stronger than she had expected. Too strong for a hallway conversation during a formal visit. She should have stepped back. Instead, she lowered her voice.
“You still have not answered me.”
“About what?”
“Your research.”
You smiled slightly.
“What about it?”
“Did you research the whole team?”
“I told you. Most of it.”
“Which part did you research most?”
Your cheeks warmed again.
Kika felt her confidence return.
“I watched a few interviews,” you admitted.
“With me?”
“With several players.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“You ask very direct questions.”
“I like direct answers.”
“You are in the wrong city.”
Kika laughed.
Footsteps sounded at the far end of the corridor. You both straightened instinctively. A Secret Service agent appeared around the corner. He did not look surprised to find you there. His gaze moved briefly toward Kika, assessing, before returning to you.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes,” you said. “We were discussing international relations.”
The agent’s expression did not change. Kika pressed her lips together to stop herself from laughing.
“The reception will be ending shortly,” he said.
“We will return.”
He nodded and moved away, though not far enough that Kika believed he had truly left. You bent to collect your shoes. Kika reached them first. She picked them up by the heels and held them out.
“You do not have to put them on.”
“I cannot walk back barefoot.”
“Why not?”
“Because there are photographers.”
“Bad decisions,” Kika reminded you.
You looked at the shoes.
Then at her.
“That would be a very small one.”
“We can begin slowly.”
For a moment, Kika thought you might actually do it.
Then you took the shoes from her. Your fingers brushed hers. This time, the contact lingered. Not long enough to be undeniable. Long enough to be deliberate. You slipped the heels back on, one at a time.
Kika watched.
When you straightened, you were close.
Closer than before.
“If we go back together,” you said quietly, “people will notice.”
Your breath caught. There was no mistaking it this time. For one suspended second, Kika wondered what would happen if she closed the remaining distance. Not enough for a kiss. She was not reckless enough for that. Perhaps only enough to whisper something against your ear. Enough to leave you thinking about her after she was gone. Then voices echoed from the direction of the reception.
The moment broke.
You stepped back first.
“Your team is leaving.”
Kika nodded, though she remained where she was.
“You are coming to the match?”
You hesitated.
“I was invited.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I have something earlier that day.”
“And after?”
“I may be able to attend.”
Kika smiled.
“I will look for you.”
“In a stadium filled with thousands of people?”
“I am observant.”
“You identified the Red Room because it was red.”
“I found you when you disappeared.”
Your expression softened.
That seemed to reach you in a way her flirting had not.
Kika noticed.
“So you did follow me,” you said.
“I was exploring.”
“Of course.”
The voices grew louder. You turned toward the reception. Kika caught your wrist gently. You stopped. Her fingers rested against your skin. The touch was light enough for you to pull away easily. You did not.
“Kika,” you said.
Not a warning.
Her name sounded different in your voice. Softer. More careful.
She released you slowly.
“I will see you at the match,” she said.
You looked down briefly at the place where her hand had been.
Then back at her.
“That sounded confident.”
“I usually am.”
“You told me that was not always true.”
“Do not reveal my secrets.”
Your smile returned.
“I have a great deal of experience keeping things private.”
The sentence should have been playful. Instead, it landed somewhere deeper. Kika studied you, wondering how many parts of yourself you had hidden to survive inside this life. Before she could answer, Salma appeared at the far end of the hallway. There was no subtlety in the way she stopped. Her gaze moved from Kika to you, then down to the space between you.
“Sorry,” Salma said, sounding entirely unrepentant. “We are leaving.”
Kika closed her eyes briefly.
You looked amused.
“I should go.”
“Yes.”
Neither of you moved.
Salma remained where she was.
Watching.
Kika sighed and stepped backward.
“It was nice meeting you, Y/N.”
Your expression changed at the formality.
“It was nice meeting you too, Kika.”
She turned toward Salma.
They walked several steps before you called after her.
“Kika?”
She looked back.
You stood in the center of the hallway, one hand resting against the opposite wrist.
“I did research the whole team.”
Kika waited.
You smiled.
“But mostly you.”
Kika’s heartbeat stumbled. Salma made a strangled sound beside her. You turned before Kika could respond and disappeared through the doorway. For several seconds, Kika remained frozen.
Salma grabbed her arm.
“Mostly you?”
Kika stared at the empty doorway.
“She said mostly me.”
“I heard her.”
“She researched me.”
“I heard that too.”
Kika finally looked at Salma.
Salma’s eyes were enormous.
“This is the best day of my life.”
“Nothing happened.”
“She took off her shoes for you.”
“She did not take them off for me.”
“You were alone together.”
“We spoke.”
“In a secret White House hallway.”
“It was not secret.”
“There was a camera?”
“Yes.”
Salma’s excitement increased.
“That is worse.”
Kika began walking again.
Salma hurried beside her.
“What did you talk about?”
“Nothing.”
“You were gone for fifteen minutes.”
“It was not fifteen minutes.”
“It was at least ten.”
Kika tried to control her smile and failed.
Salma noticed immediately.
“Oh, you like her.”
“I met her today.”
“That does not answer me.”
“I am not answering you.”
“Did you ask if she was coming to the match?”
Kika stayed silent.
Salma gasped.
“You did.”
“Please stop speaking.”
“Did she say yes?”
“She said maybe.”
“That means yes.”
“It means maybe.”
“She told you she researched you.”
Kika looked over her shoulder one last time. You were nowhere in sight. Still, the memory of your fingers brushing hers remained vivid. Mostly you. She faced forward again. The rest of the team waited near the entrance. Several players turned when Kika and Salma approached.
Mapi grinned.
“Did you find the tunnels?”
“No,” Kika said.
“Something better,” Salma answered.
Kika stepped on the back of Salma’s shoe.
Salma stumbled, catching herself against Patri.
“What happened?” Patri asked.
“Nothing,” Kika said.
Salma opened her mouth.
Kika looked at her.
For once, Salma made the intelligent decision and closed it again. They moved outside. The late afternoon air wrapped around them, warm and slightly humid. Cameras clicked from the approved media area as the team gathered on the steps for one final photograph. Kika took her place.
Before the photographer began, she looked toward the windows. Most reflected only sunlight. Then a figure appeared behind one of them.
You.
Standing just inside. Watching the team leave. Kika could not see your expression clearly through the glass, but she knew you were looking at her. She lifted one hand at her side, keeping the gesture small enough that no one else would notice. You mirrored it. The photographer called for everyone to face forward. Kika turned toward the camera. The image captured her smiling.
Hours later, supporters online would comment on it. They would say she looked happy to be in Washington. Excited for the match. Amused by something one of her teammates had said. None of them would know the truth. Kika was smiling because the president’s daughter was standing behind a window with her shoes probably hurting again. Because you had looked her up. Because you might attend the match. Because for the first time since the trip had been announced, Washington felt less like another stop on a preseason schedule and more like the beginning of something she could not yet name. You remained by the window until the bus disappeared. Only then did you become aware of your mother standing in the doorway behind you.
You did not turn immediately.
“How long have you been there?” you asked.
“Long enough.”
“That is vague.”
“It was meant to be.”
You faced her.
Her expression was composed, but her eyes carried the same knowing amusement they had during the introductions.
You walked past her into the room.
“I was being polite.”
“Of course.”
“She is a guest.”
“Yes.”
“I spoke with several players.”
“You did.”
You stopped.
Your mother continued watching you.
“This feels like an interrogation.”
“I have not asked a question.”
“That is what makes it worse.”
She smiled and moved toward the table, gathering a folder one of the staff members had left behind.
“Kika seems charming.”
You tried not to react.
You failed.
Your mother noticed.
“She is.”
The admission came out quieter than you intended.
Your mother looked down at the folder.
“The team will be attending the youth clinic tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“And the match is the following evening.”
“I also know that.”
“You should attend.”
You folded your arms.
“You told me I had a scheduling conflict.”
“It can be moved.”
Your eyes narrowed.
“Why?”
“Because you enjoy football.”
“That is the only reason?”
“What other reason would there be?”
You stared at her as she maintained a perfectly neutral expression. You had inherited your ability to avoid direct questions from both parents.
“I have work,” you said.
“You can do it earlier.”
“I told Kika I might go.”
“Then it would be polite to follow through.”
You looked toward the window again.
The bus was gone.
The drive beyond the gates had returned to its usual controlled quiet.
“You were listening,” you said.
“Only briefly.”
“To which part?”
Your mother picked up the folder.
“The part where you discussed international relations.”
Heat climbed into your face.
“We were talking.”
“I gathered that.”
“Nothing happened.”
“I did not say anything happened.”
“You are thinking it.”
“I am your mother. I think many things.”
You sighed.
She stepped closer and kissed your temple.
“Go to the match.”
Then she left.
You stood alone in the room.
For several seconds, you listened to the fading sound of her heels against the hallway floor. Then you reached for your phone. Hannah had sent six messages.
Hannah: Well?
Hannah: Are they there?
Hannah: Did you meet her?
Hannah: Y/N.
Hannah: I know you are ignoring me.
Hannah: Was she pretty?
You stared at the final question.
A laugh escaped you.
Pretty was not the right word. Kika was bright. That was what struck you most. She entered a room and seemed to pull energy toward her. Her expressions shifted quickly, every thought passing openly across her face. She laughed with her entire body. Watched people closely. Asked questions as though she genuinely wanted the answers. And when she looked at you, she did not seem impressed by the building, your family or the title attached to your name. She seemed interested in you.
Not the president’s daughter. Not the polished version smiling beside flags.
You.
You: She was nice.
Hannah responded immediately.
Hannah: Oh no.
You: What?
Hannah: You never call attractive women nice unless you are already in trouble.
You rolled your eyes.
You: I am not in trouble.
Hannah: Did you flirt?
You thought about Kika leaning closer. Your wrist still felt warm where she had touched it.
You: Maybe.
The phone began ringing before the message had fully sent.
You declined the call.
Hannah rang again.
You declined that one too.
Hannah: ANSWER THE PHONE.
You: I am busy.
Hannah: YOU FLIRTED WITH KIKA NAZARETH IN THE WHITE HOUSE?
You smiled down at the screen.
You: Technically she flirted with me.
Hannah: This is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
The phrasing was so similar to Salma’s reaction that you laughed without knowing why. You walked toward the doorway. Staff members were already clearing the remaining glasses from the reception. The building settled around you, returning to its normal rhythm as though nothing unusual had occurred. Perhaps nothing had. You had met a footballer. You had spoken in a hallway. You had exchanged a few flirtatious comments that would disappear the moment Barcelona returned to Spain. It did not have to mean anything. Most interactions in your life became larger than they deserved. You had learned not to attach importance too quickly. People arrived, smiled, posed for photographs and left. Kika would leave too.
In a few days, she would board another plane and return to Barcelona. You would remain in Washington. The distance between your lives would reassert itself. That should have made the entire thing feel safe.
Instead, you found yourself opening the family scheduling application on your phone. The Washington Spirit friendly appeared two evenings later. Your existing commitment sat above it: a policy roundtable that could easily be attended in the morning instead. You selected the event. Moved the time. Then opened the match details. The invitation included access to a private suite, secure transportation and an option to visit the players’ area after the final whistle. You stared at the screen. Kika’s smile appeared in your mind. I will look for you. You accepted the invitation.
The team dinner was held in a private room at the hotel. Kika sat between Salma and Claudia, trying to focus on the conversation while her phone remained facedown beside her plate. She had checked it too many times already. There was no reason for you to contact her. You did not have her number. She did not have yours. Their interaction had ended when the team left the White House.
Still, every time the screen lit with a notification, Kika looked. Mostly messages from friends and family reacting to photographs from the visit. Her mother had sent a screenshot of the official team picture.
Mãe: You look beautiful. Did you meet the president?
Kika replied that she had.
She did not mention you.
Across the table, Mapi was reenacting something that had happened during the security screening. Ingrid corrected the exaggerated parts while everyone else laughed. Kika pushed vegetables around her plate. Salma leaned closer.
“You are quiet again.”
“I am eating.”
“You have checked your phone eleven times.”
“You counted?”
“I was bored.”
Kika looked at her.
Salma lowered her voice.
“Do you think she will come to the match?”
“I do not know.”
“She will.”
“You cannot know that.”
“She likes you.”
Kika’s stomach tightened pleasantly.
“You decided that from one conversation.”
“She told you she researched you.”
“Maybe she researches everyone.”
“She said mostly you.”
Kika took a drink of water to hide her smile.
Salma pointed at her with a fork.
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The face you have when someone interesting likes you.”
Kika looked around, checking whether anyone else was listening.
Several people definitely were.
Claudia stared determinedly at her plate, which meant she was listening to every word.
“You all need hobbies,” Kika said.
“We play football,” Claudia replied.
“That is a job.”
“It can be both.”
Patri leaned across the table.
“Did you get her number?”
“No.”
“Then nothing happened,” Kika said, relieved someone had finally supported her position.
Patri nodded thoughtfully.
“Yet.”
The table erupted.
Kika dropped her head into one hand.
Even Alexia laughed from the far end.
“You are all unbearable.”
Mapi raised her glass.
“To international relations.”
Kika pointed at Salma. “You told them.”
“I told no one.”
“You were the only one who heard that.”
“Maybe the walls have microphones.”
At the mention of microphones, several players began joking about whether the White House had recorded the conversation. Kika laughed despite herself. Her phone vibrated. She looked automatically. An unfamiliar American number appeared on the screen.
The message contained only one sentence.
Unknown: I moved my schedule.
Kika stared.
Her pulse began racing before her mind had fully caught up.
A second message appeared.
Unknown: Try not to look too pleased with yourself.
Kika’s smile broke free.
Salma saw it.
The room around them seemed to quiet, though it probably did not.
“Who is it?” Salma whispered.
Kika lifted the phone closer to her chest.
“How did you get this number?” she typed.
The response arrived almost instantly.
Unknown: I live in the White House.
Kika bit her lip.
Kika: That does not explain anything.
Unknown: It explains more than you would think.
Kika: Should I be concerned?
Unknown: Probably.
Kika laughed softly.
Salma grabbed her arm beneath the table.
“It is her.”
Kika pulled away.
“Eat your dinner.”
“It is.”
Kika ignored her and typed again.
Kika: So you are coming?
The typing indicator appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Kika waited.
Y/N: I support the Spirit.
Kika: You avoid direct answers.
Y/N: You ask too many questions.
Kika: I will score against your team.
Y/N: That sounds arrogant.
Kika: Confident.
Y/N: You admitted that is not always true.
Kika paused.
She remembered the hallway. The sunlight. The seriousness in your voice when you asked whether anything affected her. Few people remembered small admissions. You had.
Kika: Do not reveal my secrets.
Y/N: I have experience keeping things private.
The same words you had spoken earlier. They felt different in writing. Heavier. Kika stared at them, unsure whether you intended the meaning she found there.
She typed carefully.
Kika: I would still like to see you.
This time, the typing indicator did not appear immediately. Across the table, conversations continued. Plates shifted. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed loudly near the end of the table.
Kika heard none of it.
Then your reply arrived.
Y/N: Then look for me.
Kika read it twice.
A third time.
She saved the number under your name. Not President’s Daughter. Not White House.
Y/N. Simple. Personal.
She placed the phone facedown again. Her smile remained. Salma was nearly vibrating beside her.
“Well?”
Kika picked up her fork.
“She is coming to the match.”
Salma grinned.
“I told you.”
Kika looked toward the darkened hotel windows.mBeyond them, Washington glittered beneath the night sky. Somewhere across the city, the White House stood lit against the darkness. And somewhere inside it, you had her number. The thought should not have mattered so much. It was only a message. Only a match. Only the first day. But Kika had always trusted instinct on the pitch.
The split-second feeling that told her where space would open before anyone else saw it. The awareness that a pass was coming before the ball left a teammate’s foot. The certainty that something was about to happen, even when she could not explain why.
Sitting in that crowded hotel dining room, surrounded by laughter and teasing, she felt that same certainty now. Something had begun in the White House hallway. Something neither of you had planned. And when Kika lifted her phone once more beneath the table and saw your name glowing on the screen, she knew Washington would not be only another city she visited and left behind.
reader an ona are in a relationship but nobody knows in a game against real madrid ona gets hurt and you comfort her and almost got a red card that is when alexia sees that you are more than just friends
Hi my lovelies - thank you so much for the request. I hope you enjoy it. I did read the request wrong so R gets injured not Ona but I think it's cute and funny still ahahaha. I hope you enjoy it.
Exposed
Ona Batlle x Reader ; Alexia Putellas x Reader
Description: It takes an injury for Alexia to figure out R is in a relationship
TW: Injury
It wasn’t exactly how you imagined telling your sister you were in a long-term relationship … a secret long-term relationship that you had been hiding from your sister for a very long time. In your head, you probably would have done it years ago, before you went over to Manchester, before you left Barça to play for Madrid CFF. In your head, you would have done it after Ona kissed you after your final match for La Masia.
Who would have thought that you and Ona would have been in a relationship since 2017 without Alexia catching on? You hadn’t meant to hide it from anyone, not really. You had told Patri after you phoned her freaking out over your imminent first date with Ona. And Ona had spilled to Leila after you asked her to be your girlfriend. Over time, almost everyone but Alexia was in on the secret. Alba had caught you and Ona coming out of a café, hand-in-hand, looking at each other like you were the only two people on the planet. Ona’s brother had been slightly less lucky as he walked in on you mid-make out in Ona’s bedroom. Your Mamí had been introduced to Ona formally one night when she came over to Manchester to watch one of your matches. Ona had snuck you away from Barcelona to her family home to for you to officially meet her parents too.
Was it the best idea to remain hidden for that long? Probably not, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. You had seen the way Alexia had reacted to Alba’s partners – the stern words, the rude grunts and her overall displeasure at the person Alba brought home. It would have been ten times worse with you. Alexia was a protective person when it came to her friends and family. But you, you were her Hermanita. You were had littlest sister that had followed in her footsteps and taken to football like a duck to water. If an opposition player even breathed in your direction, Alexia was looming over them, anger in her eyes as she laid a slightly-too-harsh tackle on them. You couldn’t bring yourself to let Ona be on the receiving end of that anger.
It was a slightly awkward conversation, having to broach the subject of hiding your girlfriend was not easily brought up. At first it was fine, Ona hadn’t made her sexuality well known and so keeping things lowkey was fine. It took Ona seeing Alexia rant and rave about Alba’s ex and how no one would ever be good enough for her little sisters to finally realise that you weren’t ashamed of your relationship or hiding it from the world. You were merely protecting Ona and her own friendship with Alexia.
That all came crashing down after Misa’s poorly timed dive for the ball. You were a forward, dodging approaching goalkeepers had become your forte. But not this time. This time, Misa’s body was at your feet before you knew it and you were colliding with the goalpost before you could stop yourself.
You felt totally fine as you sat up, a little dazed perhaps and your head throbbed and something was keeping your eye from opening all the way. You were mainly concerned about the cuts along your thumb. You knew that wearing your necklace during a match wasn’t allowed, you it was long enough to keep hidden, normally. You must have caught it as you fell, the stinging in your hands keeping you preoccupied.
“Princesa?” Ona’s voice was frantic, the worry palpable as she rushed to your side.
“My hands,” you whined, looking down at your thumb that had a rather a lot of blood dripping down it.
“Princesa, your head,” Ona placed a hand on your cheek, dragging your attention away from your cuts.
“No, Oni. My hands,” you whined again, not quite understanding what she was so concerned about.
The two of you were in your own little bubble. You didn’t see the looks from the team, or your families in the crowd. Or your sister, who was simultaneously arguing with the ref for a red card for Misa and casting glances back at you and Ona, confused as to why she had a feeling that she was missing something. You and Ona had been best friends for years. You had been roommates at the academy. And then you moved to Madrid together, sharing a small flat there and Valencia before moving to Manchester at the same time. But she couldn’t help the nagging sensation that she was missing a piece of the puzzle.
Eventually, the medics arrived and the looks on their faces as they guided you to lay back down was something Alexia could not ignore. She gave up arguing, leaving that to Marta and Patri and came to your side.
“Hermanita?” She asked, her face appearing in your field of vision.
“Hi Ale,” you smiled. Clearly the medics had given you something for the pain.
“Are you ok, cariño? That’s a nasty cut.” She nodded to your eyebrow that was slowly dribbling a trickle of red liquid and had already swollen to double its size.
“I’m good,” you said breezily, the pain meds having already kicked in. “Just … just,” you flailed your good hand about, reaching for Alexia and holding on tightly. “Don’t let mi Oni do anything stupid. She seemed really angry.” You couldn’t help but let the tears start to fall. She blinked, your Oni
“Oh, Hermanita, you’re ok. You’re gonna be just fine, cariño.” She pressed a few kisses to your knuckles as the medics sat you back up again.
It was clear to Jona that Alexia would not be continuing the game. The way her eyes followed you, the way she bit her lip, the way her hands were shaking ever so slightly as she grabbed a water bottle.
“Alexia, I’m switching you out,” Jona called, already handing the papers off to the official.
“What? No, I’m ok, I promise.” Her lie was caught as she broke off, seeing you gingerly get to your feet.
“It’s not for you, it’s for her,” Jona justified. “She’s going to need her big sister,” he added in a more private tone. It was a well-known fact in the club that you hated anything medical – simple check-ins, a basic assessment, the smallest of things, you had to have either Ona or Alexia in with you. You were so high on whatever pain meds you were given you barely even clocked Alexia was in the room with you. Your eyes kept flitting to the door before something else caught your attention, but it wasn’t long until you were staring at the door again.
There was about 10 minutes left of the game when the murmurs started in the corridor outside.
“Let me in,” someone shouted. Alexia couldn’t recognise who it was, but clearly you did.
“Oni,” you squealed, trying to sit up and go to your girlfriend.
“No, hermanita. Stay still,” Alexia said firmly, putting a hand on your shoulder and lying you back down.
“Let. Me. In,” Ona said more firmly this time. After a moment, the door swung open, and Ona stood with a Liga F official by her side.
“You really should be in the changing rooms, Ms. Batlle,” he tried to insist.
“Yeh, and I really need to see my gi- ... friend,” she countered.
“Ona,” Alexia said carefully, catching everyone’s attention. “Thank you, sir. I’ll take it from here,” she smiled at the official. Even he gulped at her tone.
“Did Jona sub you off?” You asked, breaking the tension. Ona couldn’t lift her eyes from the floor.
“Answer her,” Alexia asked sternly.
“Not exactly,” Ona offered a weak smile that looked more like a grimace.
“Then why aren’t you on the field?” Alexia raised an eyebrow.
“I got a red,” Ona whispered
The room was silent.
“Did you protect my honour, Oni? God, you’re such a good girlfriend.” You smiled happily, not quite realising what you had just confessed.
Can we get a part 2 of practice makes perfect pleassssse?
Since you asked so nicely. I’m sorry this took so long to get out. A part 3 is already happening and maybe a part 4.
Translations
Patri Guijarro x Reader
Description: Patri helps you with your translation skills.
Practice Makes Perfect : Translations : Flirt (18+)
It had been far too long. Far too long since you had been in Barcelona. Far too long since you had been at a match and surrounded by people you considered some of your best friends. It had been far too long since you had seen her.
Her. With the pretty eyes and the wide smile. Her with the sassy attitude and flirty tone. Her. Patri.
It had initially been a surprise. After constant whining to Keira about not being able to afford the plane tickets, she had bitten the bullet and bought one for you. It had been one too many late night conversations that had ended up with you all tearful that you weren’t too sure about what was going on with you two and Keira not-so-subtly telling you that you just needed to ask her or kiss her.
To say that Patri had been shocked to see you in the stands was an understatement. You think you actually broke a bone with how tight the hug was. She had hauled you over the barriers and refused to let you go, even when she eventually put you down, you were kept nice and tightly tucked by her side, even being dragged into the changing rooms as she went to change.
You had gone for drinks, just a few. Nothing crazy. It wasn’t until you had an absolute disaster at the bar, your language skills getting you absolutely nowhere, and Alexia having to step in and order your drinks for you. Eventually, you ended up back at Patri’s flat. Curled up on the sofa together, some random show playing quietly on the TV.
“You wanted my help, no?” Patri smiled, her hands finding your waist once again and tugging you onto her lap.
“I mean, yeah but-“
“Nu-uh, guapa.” She cut you off with a teasing smile. “En Español.”
You huffed, swatting her thigh lightly. “Sí, Patricia.” You wracked your brains. “Um … preguntar is ask, right? And Ay-ayuda is help.” You flounded, wincing at your butchering of the language. “Yo … preguntarrrrrr” you drew out the last syllable. “Para ayunda?” You guessed.
Patri had to surprise her laughter, although you could feel her chest shaking behind you.
“Close,” she said in that way that told you, you were no where near it. “Pedí ayuda.”
“So, nowhere near close then,” you said flatly.
“No,” Patri conceded, kissing your temple. “Mario said you were getting better though, so did Jana and Laia.”
“Yeah, but they stuck to football terms and one word answers.” You rolled your eyes. “They didn’t make me say actual sentences.”
She gasped, putting her hand over her chest. “I’m actually making you speak sentences.” You rolled your eyes, ignoring her sarcastic tone.
“Can we at least go back to me translating what you say?” You twisted around a little, turning half to face her. “Por favor?” You added hopefully.
Patri stared at you for a moment, her eyes tracing along your features. God, she was so gone for you. “Fine.” She took one of your hands in hers, fiddling with your fingers.
You watched her think for a minute. Her eyebrows crinkling, her lips pouting ever so slightly. “Ok, vamos.” She cleared her throat. “Translate this one for me, princesca.” Her voice was quieter now, closer to your ear. “El Barça es el mejor equipo del mundo.”
You rolled your eyes, instantly catching Barça, and del mundo. “Something about Barça and the world.”
“Sí,” Patri’s hand slipped under your shirt, the warmth seeping into your skin.
“Mejor, that’s like big or better or something right?” You tilted your head to look at her. She nodded, humming softly.
“Say it again?” You didn’t really need her to say it again, but you couldn’t help yourself. You loved hearing her speak her native language.
“El Barça es el mejor equipo del mundo.” Her voice was soft and raspy. You took a steadying breath.
“Barça is … better?” Her brow crinkled. “The best?” You guessed. “Barça is the best in the world?”
“Almost,” she tightened her grip around you. “Barça is the best team in the world.”
You rolled your eyes. Typical Patri.
“Such a big head.” You both laughed as you squealed after Patri pinched your thigh. “Gimme another,” you insisted.
Patri smiled gently. “Eres la chica más linda del mundo.”
“You are …” you scrunched your eyes shut, trying to recall all the Spanish that was floating around in your heads. “Eres is you are, right?”
“Si.” Your heart fluttered at the softness in Patri’s voice.
“Ok so, you are something something the world.” You were utterly distracted by the feeling of her. The softness. The warmth. The smell. “Chica is girl. You are a girl, well that’s fucking obvious.” You were rambling, but you didn’t care. “M-más” you let out a huff, “is more?” Patri just hummed, continuing that maddening movement of her thumb. “You are a girl more than the world?” You guessed, head fuzzy with not-unwelcome thoughts - if only Patri’s hand would inch just a little bit lower. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Not quite, mi favorita. Try again.”
“I …” you tried to recall anything, something. “I don’t know what linda means,” you confessed quietly.
“That’s a shame, guapa.” Patri teased gently. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah … I don’t think I’ve heard you say it.” You put your hand on top of hers.
“Mmmm, that’s true,” she conceded.
“Can you tell me what it means?”
She smiled wickedly. “Nope.”
“Wha-why?” You were fully aware you sounded like a grumpy child, but honestly, you didn’t care.
“Guess you’ll have to research, linda.” She winked cheekily, kissing your cheek. Her lips lingered for just a moment before she pulled back.
“Gimme another one. One that I can actually fully translate.” You turned, filling straddling her thighs now. Her hands came to rest on your hips. She was incredibly close, her chest pressed against yours. One slight readjustment and …
“Ok, linda.” You rolled your eyes. She took a deep breath - like she was getting herself to do something big.
“Quiero besarte.” Something in your chest tightened. You weren’t sure what it was from - maybe the way she was looking up at you, almost nervously, or the fact that her warm solid body was trapped beneath yours.
“Quiero is I want.” You swallowed, she looked awfully pretty. She nodded, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.
“What does besarte mean?” You asked quietly.
“Do you know what ‘beso’ means?” She asked back. Your heart stopped, stuttered and picked back up again going a a million miles per hour. You knew that one. It was what Mario always said when you were waving goodbye. Did … did she mean it?
“I … I want to … I want to kiss … I want to kiss you?” Patri stared at you, your gazes locked together. Carefully, as if moving around a frightened animal, she pushed some hair back behind your ear. You closed your eyes briefly at the electrifying feeling of her skin brushing yours.
“Keira told me to get my head out my arse.” Patri explained. “That I either needed to ‘man up and ask you out’ or stop with the flirting. I think she was over listening to you complain about me.” You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out.
Your body felt like it was on fire. This was all you had wanted to hear for years at this point.
“Are … are you sure?”
“Of you?” She looked at you, her eyes looking like you held the answers to the universe. You nodded, biting your lip. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”
You felt your cheeks burn at her words. Carefully, as if you were the made out of the precious and delicate glass, she took your face in your hands.
“Can I kiss you, mi favorita?” Her voice was gentle and kind. Warm and welcoming. Her voice sounded like home.
Yes, especially if it rolls into the suggestive realm of uh, how being able to roll your rs (or not) translates to the bedroom. Perhaps Patri offers to give a demonstration at how the talent translates…
Reader: you
Ona & Lucy: friend(s)
Patri: flabbergasted flatmate
Hello my lovelies. I’m so glad you liked the idea. I’ve changed this around slightly. I was thinking Misa but I went with Patri only cos I’ve done quite a few Misa fics relatively recently and not as many Patri ones. In the fic, I’ve gone with the Spanish girlies that have live in London ‘cos that’s where Keira and Lucy are (so Mariona, Jana, Laia and I’ve also put Ona there too since yaknow … Lucy.) I have no idea how Patri would be there so pretend she went cos of R - cos girly’s got a crush. Also Ona is the one to have a crash out and Patri makes it all flirty hehe.
Practice Makes Perfect
Patri Guijarro x Reader ; (ex-) Barça Femení x Reader
Description: the girls come to the realisation that you can’t roll your ‘r’s.
TW: A hint of suggestiveness.
Practice Makes Perfect : Translations : Flirt (18+)
You had no idea how you got here. With a house full of international superstars all of which were drinking your wine and sitting on your couch. You had half a mind to complain, considering they descended on you with just over 15 minutes notice. But then you had been snagged by Patri as you walked past her, her warm hands settling over your waist and pulling you into her. With her stupidly expensive lotion and fresh, sweet perfume … who were you to resist.
If someone had told little 5 year old you that moving house would lead to this, you would have looked at them like they had three heads. Moving into that house in Rochdale was the butterfly effect for everything. Without the move, you wouldn’t have met the incredibly sassy girl with the ginger curls that you now called your best friend. Keira had been a constant in your life. Like Timon and Pumba, Woody and Buzz Lightyear, SpongeBob and Patrick. You were two inseparable best friends. If one of you was there, the other wouldn’t be too far behind.
When Keira had moved to Manchester, you had naturally followed suit. It made sense to move in together, in that tiny two bedroom flat (although, in reality, it was more like it had two half-rooms that barely fit a bed and a wardrobe) that smelt a little funky as you first walked in. You were at your corporate 9 to 5, being driven half to death through boredom most days whilst Keira chased after a ball. Everyone had told you that you would grow apart after Keira signed her first pro contract. But it never happened. Everyone said that she would forget about you after she debuted for England. But it never happened. Everyone had said that with the growth of the game, you would be left behind in the dust. But you never were. Her moving to Barcelona was the longest you had been a part since you met all those years ago. But she was truly your best friend. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.
It was through Keira that you had met … everyone. Lucy, Georgia, Jill, Leah, Alex, Caroline, Lauren, Ellen, Steph, Alexia, Caro, Mapí, Aitana, Patri.
Patri.
Your … not-girlfriend-but-definitely-more-than-just-friends. The girl you would flirt with and press up against in the bar whenever you visited Keira. The girl that would gift you her jersey and wrap you up in her arms whenever you had the chance. The girl that you would daydream about kissing after a long day at work or holding her close after a tough game.
Patri, the girl who was currently manhandling you to sit on her lap. You went willingly enough. Who would deny sitting close to her?
“Hola, mi favorita,” Hi, my favourite she whispered in your ear.
“Hi, P.” You looked at her out of the corner of your eye. She was awfully close – just a few millimetres away to be perfectly honest.
“No Español? You wound me, bebé.” You rolled your eyes at her dramatics but cuddling into her warmth regardless.
“I’m sure you’ll survive.” You took the wine glass out of her hand, taking a sip and savouring the light liquid.
Keira watched as you fell into easy conversation with her. Whilst Keira loved you with her whole heart, it was almost painful to watch you and Patri dance around … whatever it was that was going on between you. The sexual tension was obvious, but Keira could see the way that Patri’s eyes tracked you if you were more than a foot away from her. She could see the way you settled so perfectly into step with each other. Usually, Keira did everything she could to dissuade you from getting with a teammate of hers. It happened once, years ago when you were both too young and naïve to know any better. You had been stung, badly, and Keira was caught in the crossfire. It was painful and messy, but a necessary thing to happen looking back. But if you and Patri didn’t sort yourself out and quickly, she would look you in a room until you figured it all out … or bash your heads together.
“I see you’re wearing some Barça shorts.” Patri’s fingers fiddled with the hem of your shorts.
“Oh, yeah,” you looked down, following the veins on her arms. You swallowed, pushing back the thoughts that threatened to bubble up to the surface. “They’re Keira’s old ones.”
“Mmmm, are you sure?” Patri’s eyes narrowed. “‘Cos I’m not seeing a 21. I think I see ...” she trailed off, trying to get a better look at the side of your leg. “Nope, I’m right. That’s a 12.”
“In your dreams, P.” You laughed, drinking some more of her wine.
“Oh, cari, in my dreams, you aren’t wearing anything at all.” She flirted smoothly. You coughed a little, clearing your throat as you felt blood rush south.
You were about to respond. Something you hoped would come out witty and charming, but probably wouldn’t. “Chica,” Saved by the bell. Or the defender, would be more accurate. You looked up, meeting Ona’s smile with one of your own. “Have you been watching any games recently? Any tactical insights you want to give us? Champions league is coming up and we want to regain our rightful title.”
You laughed brightly. It had been a running joke for years now. After so long of watching Keira’s matches from the sidelines, you had started to pick up a thing or two about plays and movements on the pitch. It was after a Manchester Derby, when Ona had greeted you with a gentle hug, you had told her all about your thoughts for how the defence could have played better. On a whim, she had tried your suggestions her next game. You knew it had nothing to do with your ideas, but United had come away with a win and a clean sheet which she had attributed to you. So much so, that you were gifted the player of the match trophy – the one that still sits on your shelf in the living room.
“Dunno Oni, if I tell you, I’ll also be telling two Chelsea players and I don’t want that.”
“Oi.” Lucy huffed. “Fucker,” Keira groaned at the same time.
“You watch matches?” Jana asked, from her spot on the floor.
“A few,” you smiled at the younger girl.
“It’s more than a few.” Mariona teased. “She’s obsessed.”
“Am not.” You stuck out your leg, poking her with your foot.
A chorus of ‘si’ and ‘yes’ echoed around the room. You gasped offendedly. Patri just chuckled lowly, squeezing you tighter and dropping her head onto your shoulder. If you focussed carefully enough, you could feel the gentle brush of her lips in a soft kiss.
“How many matches do you watch?” Laia asked.
You swallowed, feeling the heat in your cheeks. “Um, the WSL ones obviouslay. City, ‘cos … duh. Arsenal,” you giggled at the cheers Laia and Mario let out. “United for Frido and Ella, London City” you smiled over at Jana as you ticked them off on your fingers. “Oh and Chelsea.” You added reluctantly. You stuck your tongue out at Lucy as she expressed her displeasure at your tone.
“That’s a lot.” Laia smirked
“Oh, she’s not done.” Keira informed her. “This is just the English teams.”
“I watch PSG for Mary, and now Lyon for Ingrid. Then Bayern for Georgia and if I can, I’ll watch Washington Spirit and Gotham for Esme, Jess and Rose,” you supplied.
“No Barça,” Patri purred in your ear. “I’m offended, guapa.”
“And don’t hate me, but …” you continued as if she hadn’t said anything, ignoring the tingling that radiated across your body at her closeness. “I may flick on Real Madrid’s matches from time to time.”
The whole room gasped. Keira and Lucy just looked amused. Jana looked heartbroken, Mario and Laia looked disgusted and Ona looked like she was in pain.
“It’s only for Caz. And, it’s not like I support them or want them to win or anything. I just … wanna see how she’s doing,” you hurried to justify yourself.
“You watch … los juegos de nuestros enemigos,” Our enemy’s games, Patri grumbled. “But not Barça’s?”
“Of course, I watch Barça,” you protested indignantly. You turned to her, your turn to be offended. “To be honest, I prioritise Barça matches the most.” You mumbled quietly.
“You do?” Patri asked, her voice softer now, her hand making those soft circles against your stomach again.
You nodded. “Of course I do. I love watching you play. And win, you get all happy and smiley and speak even quicker.” You looked down, trying to hide the heat in your cheeks. You cleared your throat. “I was cheering for you guys over Chelsea in the champions league.” You said louder. Another round of laughs rippled around the room, especially after Keira leaned over and flicked your shin, making you yelp.
“And what about the final?” Lucy asked, crossing her arms and cocking an eyebrow.
You paused, fixing her with as stern a stare you could manage. “I was …” you paused, not breaking eye contact. “A happy neutral,” you settled on.
“Mentirosa.” Liar, Patri whispered, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine. She knew you were supporting Barcelona last May. You had sent her a picture about an hour before kick off, when you knew she would have had time to check her phone. The photo was a selfie of you, your back to a mirror. The blaugrana striped shirt was slightly oversized on you, with a gold 12 emblazoned on the back. You had sent another one moments later, this time just of the front of her shirt. It showed the badge and underneath, showing her which match the jersey was from. You were wearing her shirt, the one from the Wolfsburg final. The one where she had scored two beautiful goals to get them back into the game. Patri had smiled, sneakily setting the second picture as her new lock screen. Whilst it had hurt to lose that match, knowing you were supporting her had helped soften the blow just a little.
“I’ll have you know,” you turned to look at her,“I’m learning more Spanish from your matches And the commentators than anything you’ve ever taught me.” You pursed your lips.
“Oh, really?”
“Sí,” you said pointedly. “I watch Liga F in Spanish, thank you very much. Pay for a subscription and everything. And I follow Barça on all the social medias. So much so that I’ve started recognising Spanish words.”
“A proper culer,” Ona laughed.
“Of course, of course,” You twisted back to face the group again. “I gotta support my girls.” Winking, you let your head drop back against Patri, her fingers starting to trace random patterns along your skin.
“Just don’t ask me to say anything, I don’t doubt my pronunciation will be shite.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Jana told you, giving you a small smile.
“Well, it is. Since I can’t roll my ‘r’s, I’m automatically starting off badly-”
“What?” Ona screeched, her voice so sharp it made everyone jump. “What did you just say?”
“I… I can’t roll my ‘r’s?” You repeated, blinking at her in utter confusion. You lifted your head, trying to catch Patri’s eye to see if she had any clue what was happening, but she only shrugged back at you, her brows furrowed as though she were just as lost.
“What do you mean you can’t roll your ‘r’s?” Ona demanded, her voice rising. You glanced at Lucy, hoping for some sort of clarity, but she only lifted her shoulders, lips twitching as if she were fighting a laugh.
“Um … I can’t roll them?” you said, slowly, as though maybe she hadn’t heard you properly the first time.
“Why?” Ona asked, staring at you as though you’d just confessed to some great moral failing.
“What do you mean why? Why can’t I roll them? I don’t know!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “You don’t roll your ‘r’s in English, and I don’t speak any other language, so I’ve never had to do it.” You paused to take another sip of your wine, huffing slightly. “I mean, yeah, it’s a bit of a nightmare when I’m attempting to speak Spanish, since, like, every other word has a roll in it, but apart from that, it doesn’t really matter.”
“I’m so confused,” Ona muttered, looking around the room like she needed witnesses. “I’ve never met anyone that can’t roll their ‘r’s before. You must not be doing it right.”
“I mean, I can try, I guess.” You sat up straighter, feeling your cheeks grow hot as Patri caught your eye. She was grinning now, clearly entertained by Ona’s complete meltdown. Clearing your throat, you prepared yourself for what could only be described as a humiliating attempt. A strange whistling noise escaped, the sound so not like a rolled ‘r’ that it made Patri clap a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing outright.
“Rude.” You smacked Patri’s stomach, pretending not the notice how firm the muscles were.
“I can’t roll them either.” Keira chimed in, coming to your slight recuse.
“What?” Ona turned on her.
“Well, I can roll them if I’m only rolling my ‘r’s.” She paused, demonstrating the fluttering noise. “But I can’t roll them if it’s in a word. Watch … Guijarro.” Keira said Patri’s name slowly, and very much without a rolled ‘r’. “Guijarro.” She tried again. Nothing. Just the same weird whistling noise you made earlier.
“I am so confused. This is a whole new world.” Ona stood up, moving to pace around your living room. “Rolling your ‘r’s is something people can do. I didn’t know people cannot.” She was going into her own little spiral.
“Um, quite a lot of people can’t.” Mario chimed in.
“Lessi can’t,” Laia added. “And I don’t think Meado can either.”
You watched on in amused horror as Ona continued to pace the room, muttering about how it simply wasn’t possible not to roll an ‘r’. She looked as though she was one revelation away from demanding a whiteboard and marker pens to conduct a lesson.
“You know,” Patri mumbled, so low that only you could hear her, her lips quirking into a secretive smile. “It’s a shame you can’t roll your ‘r’s.”
“Oh?” you asked, catching the shift in her tone instantly. It had that lilting, teasing quality you knew all too well. “And why’s that?”
“Because,” Patri drawled, leaning slightly closer, her voice honey-smooth, “moving your tongue like that can be very helpful in …” she paused deliberately, her eyes drifting down the length of your body, drinking you in. “Other…” Again she let the word hang in the air, savouring the tension before finally adding, “situations.”
Your breath caught in your throat at the deliberate weight of her insinuation. Heat flooded your face as your imagination betrayed you, filling with images that were far from innocent. Patri’s body tangled with yours. Sheets tangled at your feet. Discarded clothes strewn carelessly across the floor. The kind of sounds that would belong only to the two of you, low and private and intoxicating.
“I’ve had enough feedback,” you managed, schooling your expression into something smooth and unbothered, though your pulse was anything but. “To know I’m doing A* work without being able to do it.”
“Really?” Her eyebrow arched with elegant precision, daring you to backpedal.
“Don’t trust my sources?” you teased, tilting your head and letting your lips curve into a smug little smirk. “Want to find out for yourself?”
This time it was Patri’s composure that slipped, just a fraction. A soft blush crept up from the base of her throat, painting her chest a delicate pink before spreading to her cheeks. The sight was satisfying. Rare, and deliciously so.
But Patri was never one to let anyone else have the last word. Recovering with an ease that made you almost laugh, she sent you a cheeky wink, her grin wicked.
a/n: this is part of this story. not 100% happy with how it turned out.
it had been three weeks since luca had started kindergarten.
at first, you weren't sure about sending him. the original plan was to keep him at home until he was old enough for school. but after he had turned three, alexia started getting in your ear. how good it would be for him to be around other kids his age, to make friends, to learn to do things without you always right there.
you held firm for some time. then, one day, you got an offer. a small role in a series filming in barcelona. you didn't know what to do - on one hand you missed acting, but you also didn't want to leave luca. your mistake was telling alexia about it. from then on, she doubled down. it will be good for you too, she said, you can go back to acting and not have to worry about luca.
in the end, she was right.
luca absolutely loved kindergarten.
-
it was lunchtime and luca sat at the round table, eating his soup carefully, determined not to spill any on his clothes. he was sitting with his friends, who were chatting away, clearly not concerned about getting food on themselves; something he would never understand. it made him feel icky just thinking about it.
he was nearly done, proud that his shirt was still clean, when he felt someone nudge his shoulder. luca lifted his gaze from the plate and met eyes with luis, his best friend. the boy looked at him expectantly, but luca didn't know why. "what?"
"you never listen!" luis puffed out a laugh, patting his arm while luca smiled apologetically. "lo siento." now that he was done with his food, he pushed the plate away and focused his full attention on the boy next to him. "what did you say?"
"why does your papa never pick you up?"
that question seemed to catch the attention of all his friends at the table. it suddenly became quiet, all eyes on him. luca didn't like that at all, blood rushing into his cheeks. "well...", he mumbled, eyes flicking from one face to the next, "i don't have a papa."
maybe that was the wrong thing to say, luca thought as everyone now stared at him with wide eyes and open mouths. they were stumped. luis was the first to say something. "you don't have a papa?" luca shook hs head, brows furrowing as he didn't understand what the big deal was. "no. it's me and mama. i don't need a papa."
that made it even worse. suddenly, they all began throwing questions at him, talking over each other, which made it hard to understand anyone.
"who reads you bed-time stories?"
"who plays football with you?"
"who taught you how to ride a bike?"
luca's head turned from one kid to the other, trying very hard to keep up with the questions flying at him. when the voices died down, he thought about it, but the answer came quickly to him.
"ale.", he simply said, like it explained everything. and it did.
ale, alexia, had always been there - ever since the boy could remember. she taught him how to shoot the ball just right; she carried him on her shoulders when his legs got tired; she wrestled on the couch with him, even though mama always scolded them, saying that, sooner or later, they're going to break something; and she read the best bed time stories, because she always did the funny voices.
most of his friends frowned at his words. "who's ale?" luca looked at them like they were crazy. "ale! she's mama's friend. you know her, she picked me up, like, 3 times." some of them nodded, clearly remembering the woman, but the others still looked confused.
maria, the girl across from him, tilted her head. "is she like...your other mama?" now it was luca who was lost for words. he never really thought of ale like that. but now he was thinking; he remembered his friends talking about all the things they did with their papa; all those things he did with ale. so, she was kind of like a papa, but she was a woman. but she also couldn't be mama. what was ale then?
"no. i already have a mama."
before one of them could say anything else, the teacher's voice called out that lunch was over and it was time to go outside. the conversation was quickly forgotten as chairs scraped on the floor and the children hurried to put on their jackets.
but luca kept thinking about it.
-
it was 5 in the evening. you were washing the dishes while luca played in his room, when the doorbell rang through your appartment. you knew that it could only be alexia. it had become like a routine between you; when alexia's evening was free, she would come over for a visit.
so when you opened the door, the usual sight greeted you. the footballer standing in front of you in her training shorts and a loose hoodie, hair wet and a duffle bag slung over one shoulder. she had clearly come straight from practice. what you weren't used to were the flowers in her hand. your favourites.
"hola.", she greeted with a tired smile on her lips, opening her arms for a hug. "hola.", you echoed as you stepped forward to wrap your arms around her neck, her own sliding around your waist. this close, you were able to smell the fresh, fruity scent of her shampoo.
when you pulled back, your eyes dropped to the bouquet between you. "do you have a date after this?", you teased, a smirk on your lips and eyebrows raised. alexia rolled her eyes and held the flowers out to you. "para ti. they are your favourite."
you let out a chuckle at her exasperated tone, unable to resist teasing her further. "just checking. you never talk about your love life. i'm your best friend, i need to know these things."
the footballer gave you the look - one you knew all too well, since she spent a lot of her time around you wearing it. but you knew what was really behind that arched eyebrow and those lips, tightly pressed together. you could always tell; the slightest twitch of her lips gave away the struggle not to laugh.
"if you keep teasing me, i will give them to the neighbours.", she warned good-naturedly. that made you stop and you quickly apologized. "no, don't. i'm sorry for teasing. thank you for thinking of me...i love them." alexia smirked, but accepted your apology and handed them over.
while you brought them closer, breathing in their sweet scent, alexia glanced behind you into the apartment. "so...", she started, waiting for you to look at her before she continued, "can i come in now or...?"
at her words, you suddenly realized that you had been standing there for quite some time. your cheeks flushed bright red as you mumbled, "sorry" and quickly stepped aside to finally let her in. alexia laughed, letting her fingers brush along your arm as she passed you. "you're cute."
your blush deepend and you quickly turned around while alexia toed off her shoes and walked toward the kitchen to find a vase. on the way there, you called out to your son. "luca, ale's here!"
there was a beat of silence. then, the sound of small feet pounding against the floor could be heard. as soon as the boy saw alexia in the living room, he let out an excited "mami! i missed you!" and threw himself into her arms.
alexia caught him on instinct, holding him securely in her arms. it was only after a few seconds that she realized what he had said. she froze. meanwhile, you were in the kitchen, rooted to the spot. that was unexpected. after the initial shock had subsided, you quickly made your way to the living room.
luca didn't seem to notice, or care, about the sudden tension in the room. he was happily snuggled against alexia, his head resting on her shoulder.
noticing you stood in the doorway, alexia's eyes flicked to you. there was clear panic, but underneath...there was something else.
the footballer didn't know what to do. her first reaction was pure shock, her mind going blank. never in her life had she imagined someone call her mami. alexia had long since made piece with the idea that, maybe, she wouldn't find her person; that a family of her own just wasn't in the cards. football had always come first, and everything else just wasn't as important to her.
but hearing luca say it...it made her feel...warm; in a way she couldn't quite describe. the feeling spread through her, wrapping around her like a warm blanket. she loved it. somehow, it just felt right.
when luca began to wriggle around in her arms, alexia tightened her hold on him, not wanting him to slip. "que?", she asked softly, almost afraid she had misheard, "what did you just call me?" the boy leaned back and met her eyes. "mami.", he repeated, matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
alexia was lost. she blinked; once, twice. her mouth opened, but no words came out. her gaze darted back to you, searching, pleading, asking for help.
you moved closer, your own mind still a mess. you weren't prepared for this; the possibility of something like this happening had simply never crossed your mind. stopping just a step away from them, you tilted your head and asked curiously, trying to keep your voice light-hearted, "'mami', huh? and how did you come up with that?"
luca turned his head, grinning like he had been waiting for someone to finally ask. "my friends and i talked.", your son began, voice growing animated, "they all have a mami and a papi. and i told them that i don't have a papi."
"they didn't understand and they asked sooo many things." he let out a dramatic huff. "i told them i had you and ale. then maria-" the boy suddenly stopped, turning toward alexia and dropped his voice into a whisper, "she likes real madrid."
both he and alexia grimaced when he said the name, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. this was all alexia. from the start, she had been determined to turn him into a true culé, drilling into him that real madrid was bad. clearly, she had been successful.
luca quickly added in a rush, "but she's really cool, i promise!" when he saw alexia's lips twitch into a smile, he seemed to relax, reassured that she wasn't mad that he was friends with her.
"she asked if you are my mama, but i can't have two mamas. that's confusing. so..."his little shoulders lifted in a shrug. "i decided you're mami."
when he was done, your son looked expectantly at alexia. when she didn't say something right away, his smile wavered. he nervously began fidgeting with the string on the footballer's hoodie. "is that not okay?"
alexia immediately moved to reassure him. she was normally one to think things through, but the words had left her mouth before her brain could catch up. "it's more than okay.", she said, "you just surprised me, that's all."
but then, it hit her. she hadn't asked how you felt about it. panic washed over her again. what if you weren't okay with that?
her thoughts were interrupted by luca squirming in her arms and alexia carefully set him on the ground. "can we watch a movie now?", the boy asked, taking both your and alexia's hand to pull you over to the sofa.
there was so much alexia wanted to say. but she couldn't, not with luca still around. she tried to meet your eyes, but your gaze was fixed on your feet.
meanwhile, you went over everything that happened. while it was unexpected, you didn't mind that luca called her that. and if you were being honest with yourself, she already was like another parent to him. he grew up with her always right there. so, maybe, it wasn't as crazy as it first seemed to be. it had been just a matter of time.
your thoughts drifted to alexia. knowing her for as long as you did, you knew she was a worrier and that she needed your reassurence. you had to talk to her as soon as possible.
-
luca finally drifted off to sleep after alexia had read him two stories, mumbling a sleepy "bona nit, mami." before his eyes fluttered shut. she carefully got off the bed and walked out, pulling the door closed behind her.
you were curled up on the couch, feet tucked under you, watching some mindless tv while you waited for her.
alexia padded into the living room and sat beside you. she was close enough that her knee touched your thigh and you were able feel the warmth of her skin. turning toward her, you saw the footballer already looking at you, biting her lip nervously. it was now or never.
"so-", you began, only to be cut off. alexia had apparently had the same idea.
"lo siento.", she blurted out. "for not asking you first. if you're not okay with it, i'll tell luca to stop. i don't want to make things weird. i just..." she broke off, staring down at her hands in her lap, fingers wringing together, trying to release some of the nervous energy. "i just didn't want him to feel bad."
that was pretty much how you imagined this conversation to go. normally so sure of herself, alexia had become shy and insecure. but there were only few times where you had seen alexia this nervous.
taking a deep breath, you said softly, trying to reassure her, "ale, i'm not mad. there's no need for you to apologize. in fact, i need to apologize."
her head snapped up, brow furrowing at your last sentence. "i'm sorry i didn't step in.", you said, meeting her eyes. "i wasn't expecting it and it threw me off. i should have helped you, but you had to handle everything on your own. and that's on me."
you took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "now that i had time to think about what happened today...it kinda makes sense. you've always been there for him, doing things that, normally, only a parent would do. you've been there for the birthdays and the christmases, but you've also been there for the scraped knees, the bedtime stories and the movie nights. you've basically been another parent; just without the title."
alexia's lips parted, and you knew she was ready to protest, so you shook your head before she could. "i mean it, alexia. you've been a constant in his life from the start. if he wants to call you that, it's because he sees you as family."
she blinked at you and you hoped that your words were sinking in. when her shoulders began to relax, you knew they were. the shy smile that followed sealed it. "i didn't know how to feel at first.", she admitted softly, "but it felt nice. really nice."
"good.", you told her, "because you've earned it."
"maybe it's just for now, because of his friends. maybe he will forget about it."
"that's fine, too." you reached for her hand, squeezing it tightly in your own. "in the end, it's just a different name. all it really means is that he loves you. a lot."
her eyes softened as she held your gaze. the sincerity in your eyes, paired with the feeling of your hand in hers, made her feel like she could breathe freely again. her muscles relaxed, your words like a soothing balm.
"thank you.", she said at last. "for always knowing how to pull me out of my own head." she placed her other hand over yours, thumb brushing lightly across the skin.
a sudden loud noise from the tv had you jolt in your seat. you turned your head to see that the channel had now changed to some action movie. next to you, alexia broke into laughter and you couldn't help but join in.
"so rude." there was a playful glint in alexia's eyes. "just interrupting us like that." you rolled your eyes, letting go of her hand so you could turn down the volume.
"we're good now?", you asked, wanting to make sure that everything had been said between you.
alexia's smiled. "si."
"good."
you sat there for a while, watching the movie, but then you suddenly remembered that you wanted to tell her something. "sooo..." you trailed off and alexia turned, her content smile replaced with a wary look when she saw your cheeky grin. "i forgot to tell you, i think i have found just the right girl for you."
without hesitation, the footballer grabbed the pillow next to her and threw it in your face. "no. cállate."
In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.
Part 17
Other Parts
Word Count: 4.5k
Wanted to write this for BTL but was waiting for the results so since Alexia didn't win, it allowed me to write this, enjoy!
⚽️
Two months later, the world looked different. The dust of the Euros had settled, the trophy proudly etched into England’s history again but life had rolled on. Training, matches, recovery, quiet moments tucked away in Alexia’s apartment, the two of you finding your rhythm as a couple even when the spotlight of football threatened to catch you in its glare.
Now, it was Ballon D’Or week.
The autumn air was cool on the Barcelona tarmac as you and Alexia walked side by side, bags slung over shoulders, the private charter waiting with Barça’s delegation already boarding ahead. Cameras weren’t allowed here, but you still kept your joined hands hidden, brushing knuckles instead of interlocking fingers. You didn’t need to put it on display, this was your space, just for you.
Alexia looked unfairly good for someone about to sit on a plane for hours. Hair brushed smooth, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes, her outfit casual but perfectly put together. She had that quiet calm about her the calm of someone who’d been here before, who knew what awaited in Paris.
You nudged her shoulder with yours as the wheels of your carry on rattled against the pavement. “Not nervous at all, are you?” you teased.
Her lips quirked up at one corner. “Should I be?”
“You’re one of the favourites again,” you pointed out, shooting her a side glance. “You could at least admit it’s a big deal.”
That earned you a soft chuckle, low in her chest. She tilted her head toward you, lowering her sunglasses just enough for you to catch the gleam in her eyes. “And you’re pretending you’re not a favourite too?”
You bit your lip, feigning innocence. “Me? I’m just happy to be invited. I've never been invited to the ceremony before"
“Liar,” she murmured, amusement flickering across her face. “You’ve been phenomenal this year. Don’t act like you don’t know it.”
The two of you slowed as you reached the steps of the plane. She let the others go ahead, subtly pausing with you at the bottom, your luggage at your sides. The engines hummed in the background, wind tugging at the ends of her hair.
Her hand brushed yours again this time, she caught it, fingers slipping between yours for just a second, her squeeze firm, grounding. “Whatever happens tonight,” she said softly, her voice barely audible over the roar of the engines, “if it’s you, I’ll be proud. If it’s me… I’ll still be proud. There’s no losing between us.”
You looked at her, heart swelling at the truth of it that she meant every word. “Then let’s agree on something,” you whispered back.“Winner buys the champagne.”
A real smile tugged at her lips, playful this time. “Deal.”
She let your hand go, tugging her sunglasses back into place before starting up the steps. “Come on, campeona,” she called over her shoulder, that grin still lingering. “Paris is waiting.”
⚽️
The flight was smooth, the hum of the engines and the muffled chatter of teammates lulling most people into sleep or headphones. You and Alexia sat side by side in your row, a thin blanket draped over both your laps. For once, you weren’t talking tactics or football the quiet was its own comfort.
She leaned back, arms crossed, sunglasses still on though the cabin lights were dimmed. To anyone else, she looked untouchable, composed. But her knee kept brushing yours, restless, the smallest crack in her calm.
“You’re fidgeting,” you murmured.
Her head tilted toward you. “You’re watching me.”
“Always,” you said without thinking. The corner of her mouth twitched she didn’t call you out, just turned her face slightly to the window. After a long stretch of silence, you broke it. “Do you ever… think about what it means? Winning it?”
She lowered her sunglasses just enough for you to see her eyes. “It means nothing. Or everything. Depends how you look at it.”
You huffed. “That’s very philosopher of you.”
“I’ve been there before,” she said softly. “I know it doesn’t change who you are when the lights go off. You’ll still wake up tomorrow with the same muscles aching, the same recovery, the same training plan. The world claps for one night, then it moves on.”
You turned her words over, then asked, “And if I win?”
Her gaze softened. “Then I’ll clap louder than anyone.”
Your throat tightened. She could strip you down with so little effort no bravado, no speeches, just truth. You nudged her foot under the blanket. “And if you win?”
“I hope you’ll clap for me too,” she teased, but there was a flicker of vulnerability under it.
You shifted closer, your thigh pressed to hers, and whispered, “I’ll do more than clap. I’ll remind you every day that you deserved it. The way I see it, it’s a win for both of us. Because we’ll be celebrating together.”
Her lips curved not her captain’s smile, but the private one she saved for you. She leaned just slightly into your shoulder, her voice so low only you could hear. “I’ve missed this. Missed us.”
You rested your head against hers. “Then let’s make tonight ours, no matter whose name gets called.”
⚽️
The wheels touched down in Paris with a soft thud, and the cabin stirred awake. Cameras would be waiting outside the terminal, but you and Alexia had slipped into a rhythm, stay close, never too close, protect the bubble you’d built.
By the time the car dropped you at the hotel, the lobby was buzzing with familiar faces. Players, agents, journalists, flashes going off every time someone famous stepped out of the elevator. The Ballon d’Or wasn’t just football, it was theatre, and everyone wanted their part.
Alexia kept her sunglasses on, her arm brushing yours as you checked in, her body angled slightly toward you as if she could shield you from it all. She knew this world, for you, it was new, you'd never been invited before let alone nominated. Twice.
Upstairs, behind the heavy hotel room door, it was just the two of you again. The muffled chaos outside faded into silence, you dropped your bags by the wardrobe with a sigh, shoulders rolling back.
Alexia was already pulling her jacket off, tossing it onto a chair before padding toward the window. She tugged the curtains back, letting the Paris skyline spill into the room the Eiffel Tower glowing faint in the distance.
“Not a bad view,” you said, leaning beside her.
“Depends what you’re looking at,” she murmured, her gaze shifting from the window to you.
Heat bloomed in your chest. You leaned down, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before stepping away. “We’ve got a few hours before we need to get ready. Nap or shower?”
Her lips curved. “Both.”
Later, when the afternoon had slipped away, the suite had transformed into a makeshift dressing room. Dresses hung from the wardrobe door, shoes lined up neatly, jewelry boxes cracked open. You stood in front of the mirror, half dressed, turning from side to side with a critical eye.
Alexia sat on the edge of the bed in a silk robe, scrolling on her phone, but you could feel her attention wasn’t on the screen.
“You’re staring,” you said, catching her gaze in the mirror.
She didn’t deny it. “I’m appreciating.”
You rolled your eyes, cheeks warming anyway. “I can’t decide between these two.” You held up one outfit, then the other.
She tilted her head, considering. “The first one is beautiful. The second one? Dangerous.”
“Dangerous how?”
Her smile was slow, wicked. “The kind of dangerous that makes me want to skip the ceremony entirely.”
You laughed, shaking your head, and turned back to the mirror. “You’re biased.”
“Of course I am,” she said simply, standing to join you, her hand slipping onto your waist as she leaned in close. “But tonight, everyone else gets to see what I see.”
You swallowed hard, her reflection behind you stealing your breath more than the dresses. For a moment, the trophy, the cameras, the pressure none of it mattered. Just her hand steady at your hip, grounding you.
“You realise,” you murmured, “if either of us wins, the cameras will be everywhere. Watching everything.”
Her thumb brushed a small circle against your side. “Then let them watch,” she whispered. “They’ll still never know the whole story. That’s ours.”
⚽️
The car pulled up to the Théâtre du Châtelet, and the world outside was chaos. Red carpet stretched like a river of fire, lined with barricades, press boxes, and the blinding storm of camera flashes. Reporters shouted names in every language, microphones were shoved forward, fans waved banners and jerseys with your names on them.
The driver opened the door, and Alexia’s hand found yours instantly under the cover of the tinted windows. One last squeeze, one last grounding touch, before you both slipped into the theatre of it all.
“Ready?” she asked quietly, a calm anchor against the frenzy outside.
You nodded, though your chest was hammering. “With you, yeah.”
The door swung open, and the noise doubled. You stepped out first, Alexia just behind you, both of you lit up under a storm of flashes. For a moment, it was overwhelming the shouts, the strobes, the cameras zooming in on every movement. But then her hand brushed the small of your back, subtle, protective. The smallest gesture, hidden from most eyes, but enough to steady you.
Photographers barked orders: “Over here!” “Look this way!” “Together!” And you did turning side by side, shoulders squared, the picture of composure.
Alexia leaned in just enough to murmur, “Smile. This is history, cariño.”
You did, flashing the grin they all wanted to capture, though your eyes kept darting toward her. She looked flawless the elegance of her dress, the confidence in her stance, the way she somehow seemed untouchable yet completely present with you.
Then came the interviews. A line of microphones, each outlet hungry for a headline.
“Both of you are favourites tonight, how does it feel?” one asked in English.
Alexia answered first, calm and measured. “It’s an honour. Just to be here, with so many incredible players, is already special.”
They turned to you next. “Do you imagine what it would feel like to win?”
You exhaled, keeping your smile soft. “Of course. Every player dreams about this. But whatever happens, I’m proud to be standing here. Proud of the season I’ve had, and proud to share this moment with teammates, friends… people who mean a lot to me.”
Alexia’s eyes flicked toward you at that, the corner of her mouth twitching, but she kept her composure.
Another reporter shouted: “Do you two push each other? You play together for Barcelona, rivals internationally, now competing for the Ballon d’Or, what’s that dynamic like?”
You glanced at Alexia, the shared look enough to make you laugh lightly before answering. “We make each other better. That’s all I’ll say.”
Alexia’s reply was smoother, practiced. “Football is not about competing against your friends it’s about lifting the game together. Whoever wins tonight, Barca wins, women’s football wins.”
The crowd erupted with cheers at that line but as the next flashes popped, her hand brushed yours again, hidden between your gowns.
Inside, the doors closed behind you, and the roar of the crowd faded to a hush. You both exhaled at the same time, exchanging a small laugh, tension breaking.
“You were perfect,” Alexia murmured, leaning close as the usher led you to your seats.
You shook your head, cheeks still warm from the lights. “I almost said too much.”
She smirked. “Almost, but you didn’t. That’s progress.”
Your fingers brushed again as you settled side by side, and for the first time all night, it felt like you could breathe.
The theatre buzzed with the kind of energy that made your skin prickle. Golden light poured across the stage, the great orb of the Ballon d’Or shining under the spotlights, a beacon every eye in the room returned to again and again.
You weren’t sitting with Alexia. That had been deliberate, PR managers, club representatives, and organisers all had their seating charts, and you’d ended up two rows apart. You could still see her, though. Diagonal from where you sat, framed perfectly between two shoulders, the light catching her hair as she leaned in to whisper something to Aitana beside her.
It made your chest ache. You wanted to reach for her hand, feel that grounding squeeze, but instead you sat still, ice in your ankle and fire in your stomach, nerves coiling tighter with each award presented.
The categories ticked by men’s awards, coaches, youth honours. Each announcement, each round of applause, brought you closer to the final reveal. The one that mattered most.
You felt the camera swing toward you more than once. That little red light flicking on at the edge of your vision, meaning millions of people around the world were seeing your face in real time. You straightened your back, fixed your expression, calm and collected even when your hands were trembling in your lap.
You're was mentioned on the highlight reel of women's top goals that season your pace, your goals for England, the drama of the Euros final, the way you’d lit up the Champions League group stage. A different roar filled the room, higher pitched, some English voices breaking through the French murmur. You caught Alexia’s eyes then, across the rows, she was clapping, not just politely, but with force, lips curving into a proud smile just for you.
Your throat tightened, the host’s voice finally rose over the crowd, the moment arriving.
“And now, mesdames et messieurs, the winner of the women's Gerd Müller Trophy…”
The room fell into a hush so heavy you swore you could hear your own heartbeat. The envelope was lifted, golden and dramatic, the pause stretched for eternity.
You didn’t look at the stage, you looked at her, at Alexia, her jaw set, her hands clasped tight on her knees, eyes fixed forward but the faintest flicker of nerves betraying her.
The name was about to be called. "[Your Name]!”
Applause erupted, a wave of sound that rolled through the theatre. You let out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding as the camera zoomed in, catching your face as you rose. You smoothed your dress, accepted the quick hug from Patri, Pina and Cata seated near you, and made your way down the aisle and up the steps.
The trophy gleamed as it was handed to you heavy, solid, surreal. For a heartbeat, you just stared at it, fingers curling around the cool metal. The photographers’ shutters clicked like rain.
You leaned into the microphone, your voice carrying across the grand hall. "First of all, thank you. This is an incredible honour. To receive the award named after Gerd Müller… it means more than I can really put into words. So much of my football journey was shaped in Germany. Playing there, learning there, growing there, it was where I became the player I am today. I spent hours watching Müller’s tapes, studying his movement, his instinct, his relentlessness in front of goal. To even be mentioned in the same breath as a legend like him… it’s overwhelming. This… this is an honour, and I’m proud, but I also know trophies like this don’t belong to one person. I’m a striker but a striker is nothing without the teammates behind her. The goalkeepers who set the tone, the defenders who fight for every ball, the midfielders who create and battle and carry us forward. Every goal I’ve scored this year has a story, and none of those stories happen without them.”
The crowd responded with warm applause. You paused, steadying your voice.
“I’ve been through some really difficult times personally this year, but football, my teammates, my coaches, the fans have kept me standing. So thank you. This one’s for everyone who makes me look good every single day.”
You lifted the trophy lightly, just once, before stepping back from the mic. The applause swelled again, camera flashes popping like fireworks, as you turned to leave the stage, your eyes sought her and there she was. Alexia, clapping harder than anyone around her, her pride unhidden, her smile soft just for you. It warmed you more than the trophy in your hands.
⚽️
The ceremony rolled on, awards, speeches, applause, but the tension in the room changed when the lights dimmed, and the host stepped forward.
“It’s time,” he said, voice echoing. “The Ballon d’Or Féminin.”
A hush fell over the hall as the screen above the stage lit up. A video package rolled clips of goals, saves, celebrations, and moments from across the year. With each montage came a name, a ranking, applause filling the theatre as the list narrowed.
10th. 9th. 8th.
You clapped politely with the rest, your heart hammering harder with every reveal.
7th. 6th. 5th.
Your fingers tightened around the edge of your seat. The girls beside you whispered excitedly, the air buzzing.
Then it hit.
Fourth place… Alexia Putellas
Your head snapped around, disbelief flashing across your face. Fourth? Alexia? The reigning queen of world football? You were stunned, you weren’t the only one. She, of all people, had looked nailed on for top three.
You tried to catch her eye across the theatre, but she kept her gaze fixed forward, shoulders squared, still applauding, still captain composed.
Then the screen flashed again, Third place, not you, not Aitana.
The blood roared in your ears, you in that moment had forgotten you were even still in the race to win this.
“Which means,” the host announced, milking the pause, “for the 2025 Ballon d’Or Féminin, your final two are… Aitana Bonmatí and [Your Name].”
Top two. You. With Aitana.
Your stomach dropped, nerves colliding with disbelief. You hadn’t dared to picture yourself here. Not this far, not tonight, you’d been certain it was Alexia’s to lose, or maybe Aitana’s outright, but you?
You leaned back in your chair, exhaling sharply. Your hands trembled against your lap. For a split second, you turned, and there she was Alexia, finally meeting your gaze. She wasn’t disappointed, wasn’t bitter. She was smiling, small and proud, mouthing something only you could see.
Disfrútalo. Enjoy it.
Your chest ached.
Now it was down to two and you had no idea what was coming next.
The host held the envelope with a little too much ceremony, the pause dragging as the room seemed to hold its breath. You felt your pulse hammering in your ears, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress.
“And the winner of the 2025 Ballon d’Or Féminin is…” He broke the seal, slid the card free, and smiled. “[Your Name]!”
The hall erupted applause thundered, cheers rolling in waves. Cameras swung instantly to you, catching your stunned expression eyes wide, lips parted, utterly frozen. You didn’t move, not at first.
Patri and Pina, sat just behind, leaned forward to grab your shoulders. “Vamos!” they shouted, grinning from ear to ear. Beside you, Cata clapped your back hard enough to jolt you forward.
You finally staggered to your feet, still shaking your head. Shock wasn’t even the word this was disbelief made flesh.
As you turned toward the aisle, the spotlight caught you, the walk to the stage felt impossibly long, tvery step was heavy, surreal.
Then you passed the front row Aitana sat there, radiant despite finishing runner-up. Both reached your hands out without hesitation, you stepped toward her, bent slightly, and squeezed it tight. She gave you the warmest smile, lips shaping felicidades, it grounded you for a heartbeat.
Before you straightened again, you felt a gentle tap between your shoulders. You didn’t need to look to know it was Alexia. Just one simple gesture quiet, steadying, hers, you carried that with you as you climbed the steps.
The golden trophy gleamed on its plinth, surreal, almost otherworldly. You picked it up with both hands, its weight shocking, heavier than you’d expected.
And then movement in the crowd caught your eye. You spotted them instantly a cluster of familiar faces, unmistakable even dressed for gala a few of the Lionesses. They were on their feet, cheering, clapping, whistling. Alessia practically bouncing, Leah cupping her hands to her face in disbelief, Lucy beaming wide.
You shook your head at them, half laughing, half crying, mouthing I can’t believe this. They cheered louder, as if daring you not to believe it.
You turned back to the microphone, Ballon d’Or in your hands, the spotlight blinding and your heart still thundering. You set the Ballon d’Or carefully down on the podium, adjusting the microphone with hands that trembled. For a moment, you just looked at the audience the sea of faces, the lights, the noise. You exhaled slowly.
“Wow,” you began, voice already thick. “I… I don’t even know where to start.”
A ripple of warm laughter rolled through the room. You shook your head, smiling faintly.
“I started this journey as a kid who just loved football. Loved chasing a ball around muddy pitches back home, loved the freedom of it and I never, ever thought it would bring me here to Paris, standing in front of the entire football world, holding this.” You gestured toward the trophy, its golden glow reflecting the stage lights.
“I want to thank the clubs who shaped me, Bayern Munich, for giving me my first chance on a big stage. I learned what professionalism looked like there. I grew up there, honestly. England, my national team, my Lionesses family you gave me belief, you gave me resilience, you gave me the highest of highs and carried me through the lows too teaching me valuable lessons.” You paused, swallowing hard. “Winning the Euros with you… twice… that was something I’ll never forget.”
The Lionesses contingent in the crowd whooped loudly, drawing chuckles from the audience and making you laugh through your nerves.
“And then Barcelona.” Your voice softened, steadier. “This club welcomed me with open arms at one of the hardest times of my life. You gave me not just teammates, but friends, family. You challenge me to be better every single day. To play alongside some of the best in the world, to share the pitch with them it’s been the honour of my life so far. This Ballon d’Or doesn’t happen without them. Like I said earlier, without the defenders who never let me slack in training, without the midfielders who put the ball on a plate for me, without the goalkeepers who make me work for every finish, I am only the striker I am because of the people behind me.”
Applause filled the space, but you weren’t finished.
“And I need to say this women’s football deserves more. We’ve shown time and again what we can do, how far the game has come, how much love there is for it. Stadiums full. Millions watching. Young girls and boys wearing our names on their backs, but it won’t keep growing unless people believe in it, unless people invest in it. Not just in the big clubs or at the top level, but at the grassroots lower tier clubs where girls like me first fall in love with the game. They deserve pitches. They deserve coaching. They deserve the same chance to dream as any boy. This Ballon d’Or isn’t just for me. It’s for them. For everyone fighting to make sure women’s football doesn’t just survive, it thrives.”
The applause this time was thunderous, lasting, many in the audience rising to their feet. You had to take a moment, steadying yourself, before you moved on.
“And I can't stand up here without mentioning my family.” Your tone changed softer, heavier. The crowd seemed to sense it. “Today marks exactly one year since I lost my mum and my sister. It’s been the hardest year of my life. There are still days I don’t know how I’ve made it through, but I know they’re here with me, in every step, every goal, every moment like this. This… this is for them. I’m honoured. I’m humbled and I promise… this is only the beginning, I'll keep working and pushing to become better.” You smiled at Alexia before stating proudly, "Forca Barca, Més que un club"
You leaned back from the mic, lifted the Ballon d’Or aloft as the cameras flashed, the room exploding in cheers.
The ceremony blurred after your speech flashes of cameras, handshakes, more applause, official photos where the trophy felt almost too heavy in your hands. You smiled, you laughed, you thanked people, but all the while you could feel it, Alexia’s eyes on you, steady and constant.
It wasn’t until later, when the crowd began to filter out and the players scattered to their different groups, that you finally caught sight of her moving toward you. No cameras now, no stage lights just the low hum of chatter in the theatre lobby and the click of heels on marble floors.
She didn’t slow down. By the time she reached you, she was already pulling you into her. One arm wrapped tight around your waist, the other hand pressed firmly to the back of your head, holding you against her shoulder. You felt the sharpness of her breath, the way it shuddered like she’d been holding it all night.
“Joder,” she whispered into your hair, voice thick. “You did it.”
Your throat tightened, your fingers clutching at the back of her dress. For the first time all evening, you allowed yourself to sag into her, to let someone else carry the weight of the moment.
When she finally eased her hold, she cupped your face with both hands, thumbs brushing at your temples as she studied you. Her pokerface was gone, her eyes raw and red-rimmed, but she didn’t care. “I’m so proud of you,” she said, her voice breaking on the last word. “So, so proud.”
You let out a shaky laugh, your own tears threatening again. “I thought it was going to be Aitana.”
Alexia shook her head immediately, a small smile tugging at her lips even through her tears. “No. Tonight was yours. Everyone could see it.”
Her forehead pressed to yours, the Ballon d’Or and Gerd Müller trophy still tucked against your hip, almost forgotten. For a moment it was just the two of you in that little bubble, the chaos of Paris muted outside.
“I love you,” she whispered, finally letting the words spill out, unguarded.
You closed your eyes, exhaling against her skin. “I love you too.”
She kissed you then, soft, lingering, a release of every ounce of emotion she hadn’t been able to show in front of the world. When she pulled back, her hands were still framing your face, her smile wobbly but brighter than any flashbulb.
“Come on, campeona,” she murmured, brushing away one last tear from your cheek. “Let’s go celebrate you.
In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.
Part 16
Other Parts
Word Count: 8.6k
Six weeks.
You’d been counting.
Every single day felt like a tally mark etched into your chest.
Six weeks of camps, pre-Euros friendlies, relentless training sessions, and conflicting time off. You’d known it would be hard, the time apart, but no one really prepares you for how empty a bed feels when you’re used to sharing it with someone like her.
Texting helped, at first. The silly little memes, the 'good morning' messages, the rushed voice notes squeezed in between team meetings. but soon, even that started to feel like not enough.
Phone calls became a lifeline. You'd stay up late, ear pressed to the speaker, smiling as Alexia’s voice filled the silence of your room. But you couldn’t touch her. Couldn’t lean into her when the day had been too much.
FaceTime wasn’t any better, if anything, it made it worse, because seeing her face, seeing her smile, but only on a screen, felt like a tease. It wasn’t being with her.
You missed the way her hand always found yours absentmindedly. You missed her forehead kisses when you were half asleep. You missed the way she’d scold you in Spanish when you left your boots lying around. You missed the quiet moments, the ones no phone call or video chat could replicate.
It surprised you, how much it hurt, you’d been in long-distance situations before. You thought you knew what it felt like to miss someone, but this was different.
You missed Alexia more than you thought was even possible. It was a physical ache, a hollow space beside you that no amount of virtual connection could fill and you knew when you finally saw her again. When you could finally touch her, feel her heartbeat beneath your palm you wouldn’t be able to let go, not for a long, long time.
The road to the final had been anything but smooth. You'd always known tournament football wasn’t about perfection it was about survival, but this had been a gauntlet.
The opening game against France had been a gut punch. You’d trained for weeks, visualised every scenario, but France came out firing, pressing high, clinical in front of goal. You’d barely caught your breath before you found yourselves 2-0 down. The late consolation goal Keira grabbed made the scoreline look kinder than the game had felt. The media had a field day, England, the reigning champions, faltering at the first hurdle. The dressing room after was quiet, not out of defeat, but out of simmering resolve.
Then came the Netherlands, the 'do or die' match. Sarina had been calm in the pre-match talk, but you could feel the tension radiating from the squad. You had to win and you did, in style, Georgia was a magician. Lauren James was untouchable. You got your name on the scoresheet too, charging onto a through ball from Ella and smashing it home. It wasn’t just a win, it was a statement, we’re not done yet.
Wales was next, local derbies on the international stage were a spectacle, they fought like hell, but so did you. A 6-1 win, enough to get you second in the group behind France. Enough to survive.
The knockout rounds, that was where things blurred, you couldn’t even remember how many minutes you’d played at that point.
Every match had been a battle of attrition, extra time and penalties against Sweden, extra time against Italy. You were bruised, you were sore, and your ankle, strapped within an inch of its life, was a constant throb beneath your boot, but here you were. Finals day.
St Jakob-Park was buzzing as you stood on the pitch for inspection, trainers sinking into the perfect grass. You glanced at Beth, who gave you a tired grin. You knew she was hurting too. Every single one of you had gone through the wringer, but every single one of you was ready.
You flexed your foot gently, testing the limits of what the physio had done, it wasn’t perfect but it would do. The pain didn’t matter now, the tiredness didn’t matter now, you were standing on the brink of something special.
Looking up into the towering stands, you could already picture the roar. You could already feel what it would be like to lift that trophy, all that was left now was to go and get it, again.
⚽️
You’d always been at the back of the line it was your thing, since your very first England start all those years ago, it had become your quiet routine. Let the noise settle at the front, the cameras, the anthem nerves, you preferred the calm at the back, taking it all in, feet firmly planted on the floor, just you and the moment.
But today, as you filled into line for the final, something shifted, you glanced to your side, red shirts, Spain and not just opponents friends, teammates, Irene, Patri, Aitana, Pina. Then Alexia.
Your heart stuttered in your chest, weeks, six weeks, six weeks of camps, training, matches, flights, the constant buzz of being on and yet none of it had silenced the ache of missing her.
You should’ve been preparing yourself mentally, switching into game mode but your body moved before your brain could process it Alexia turned, her eyes already finding yours. Her gaze softened, breaking the steely mask of a player ready for battle for just a moment and then she closed the gap.
No words, just her arms around you a tight, grounding hug. You buried your face into her shoulder, the world briefly narrowing to just you two amidst the chaos of the final.
“I missed you,” she whispered, a faint urgency in her voice. “I love you.”
You smiled against her, but it was bittersweet. “Ale… if you win this don’t worry about me, okay?” you murmured back. “I need you to enjoy it. Every second. Don’t let me steal a moment of it. Live in it. I’ll see you back home.”
She leaned back just enough to look at you, searching your face.
Her lips pressed into a line like she wanted to argue, but didn’t.
Instead, she nodded once, forehead resting against yours briefly. "Same to you" she echoed softly, “I’ll see you back home,”
Then the referee telling the tunnel it was time to go pierced through, pulling you both back into the now, back into opponents, but even as she walked beside you out to the line, blending into the sea of red, a piece of her stayed with you. And you knew, whatever happened tonight, home wasn’t a place. It was her.
⚽️
The weight of a nation sat on your shoulders as you placed the ball down on the penalty spot.
This was it.
If you scored, England would be back-to-back European Champions.
You could hear the buzz of the crowd, nervous, electric but it was all muffled, like you were underwater. Your pulse thudded loud in your ears, you stood up, eyes fixed on the ball, took five slow steps back, and exhaled. One more breath, calm and steady.
You could feel the pressure, thousands in the stadium, millions at home but somehow, in that moment, it became simple. It was just you and the ball, you knew what you were going to do.
The whistle blew, you ran up, struck it, clean and crisp, bottom right corner, past the keeper's outstretched hand.
Goal.
The stadium exploded.
For a heartbeat, you were frozen, wide-eyed, staring at the net rippling, the realisation hit you like a tidal wave, you’d done it.
You sank to your knees, hands gripping the grass as the noise overwhelmed you roars, cheers, the deafening sound of history being made.
Then they were on you, Leah, Georgia, Ella, Keira, the entire team swarming you, piling on top, arms around you, screaming in joy.
You were lost in the embrace, laughing, crying, the weight lifted, replaced by the sheer elation of the moment.
England had just won the Euros, again, the elation was indescribable. The stadium was a blur of white shirts, flags, and flashing lights. You could barely hear your own thoughts over the thunderous cheers, but you didn’t need to think. Your body moved on pure adrenaline running, jumping, screaming in celebration with your teammates who had become your family.
Georgia found you first, almost tackling you with the force of her hug. “We fucking did it!” she laughed against your ear, voice thick with pride and disbelief. You clung to her, laughing and crying in equal measure.
“We did it,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to see the tears in her eyes. There was a silent understanding between you, the extra miles you both had run, the emotional toll this tournament had taken, the sacrifices none of it mattered now. This moment made it worth it, then Beth and Ella appeared, wrapping their arms around you from either side.
You didn’t need words.
It was the first tournament since each of you had suffered personal losses family members taken far too soon. You were bonded by the grief, but now you were sharing something beautiful, something triumphant.
Beth’s forehead pressed against yours, her hand cupping your neck. “That was for them,” she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes.
Ella was wiping her face, her smile wobbly but wide. “They would’ve been so proud of us. Look at us. Bloody European champions again.”
You pulled them both into a tight hug, letting yourself finally feel it the joy, the pride, the bittersweet ache of wishing your loved ones could see this moment, but somehow, you felt them with you. Right here, in the stadium, in your chest.
For a while, the three of you just stood in that huddle, soaking it in.
As the UEFA officials and crew began to set the stage for the medal ceremony and trophy presentation, the pitch transformed into organised chaos flashing cameras, booming announcements, and swarms of people moving about with purpose, but you couldn’t focus on any of it.
The adrenaline that had carried you through the penalty shootout began to ebb away, leaving an ache in its wake. A heaviness that pressed down on your chest.
You didn’t even realise your feet had carried you away from the main group until you found yourself alone in the middle of the pitch, your back turned to the celebrating masses. The noise of the stadium became muffled, distant.
You crouched down, burying your face into the hem of your shirt, the fabric quickly soaking up the tears you could no longer hold back. The sobs came hard, racking through your body as you sat back on the grass, pulling your knees to your chest, hands trembling as they covered your face.
The weight of it hit you all at once, they weren’t here, your mum and sister two of the people who should have been here to see this weren’t. You could picture your mum’s beaming smile, her voice in the stands screaming your name. Your sister’s playful teasing about not messing it up before a big game. The seat where they would have sat together in the stands felt painfully, achingly empty.
The grief consumed you, the sound around you blurred into white noise. It didn’t matter how many people were around right now, you felt completely and utterly alone.
You pressed your palms into your eyes, wishing, just for a moment, that you could disappear into the grass beneath you. That you wouldn’t have to put on a brave face for the cameras, the fans, the world. All you wanted was them, all you wanted was to hear their voices, feel their arms around you, share this triumph with them, but they were gone. And for the first time since the news, it broke you in a way you couldn’t fight off.
You sat there, curled in on yourself, crying into your hands, overwhelmed by the vastness of it all the joy of victory, the hollow of absence, the brutal reality that life had gone on without them.
And in that moment, you didn’t care about medals, trophies, or interviews. You just missed your mum, you just missed your sister and it hurt more than words could ever explain.
Irene had been watching Alexia from the corner of her eye, ever since the final whistle had blown and the celebrations for England had erupted. Alexia stood rooted near the center circle, clapping politely for the winners, but her heart wasn't in it. Her eyes kept drifting not to the trophy or the fans but to you.
She saw you wander off, saw how you pulled your shirt over your face, crouched down, and then sat on the grass, shoulders trembling as you cried alone.
Alexia’s jaw clenched, she wanted to go. Every fibre of her body screamed at her to run to you, but the promise you both made held her back.
"Enjoy the moment. Live in it. Don’t worry about me. We’ll see each other back home." You’d told her that in the tunnel and she was trying to respect that, but Irene was having none of it.
“Go to her, Alexia,” Irene said quietly, stepping closer, voice firm but kind.
Alexia shook her head, staring blankly ahead. “She said she’d see me at home. We agreed, we'd let each other have the moment”
Irene’s lips pressed into a thin line, she followed Alexia’s gaze, watching as you curled in on yourself, crying into your hands, completely isolated in the midst of a stadium full of people. It was a sight that twisted Irene’s heart. “That’s not a winner having a moment, Ale,” Irene said softly. “That’s a woman grieving who’s not here.” Alexia’s breath hitched, her shoulders tightening, she'd never given that a thought, "She needs you.” Irene’s voice lowered, but her words struck deep. “And you’ll only hate yourself if you don’t go to her now.”
The war inside Alexia flickered across her face conflict between respecting your words and the pull of her own heart, but it was Irene’s steady gaze, unwavering and knowing, that finally broke her resolve.
Without another word, Alexia started walking, purposeful, determined, not caring anymore about promises made in the heat of pre-match nerves, because Irene was right. This wasn’t about winning or losing, this was about you and you needed her.
You were sat alone, legs pulled up, arms wrapped around your knees as you tried to breathe through the wave of emotions crashing over you. It was like you were in a vacuum, just you, your tears, and the crushing absence of your mum and sister.
You didn’t notice the footsteps at first, but then someone sat down in front of you, knees folded, body turned toward you. You felt it before you saw it a gentle hand on your head, fingers brushing through your hair in a way only one person ever did.
You knew it was Alexia. She leaned in, her lips barely grazing your ear as her voice, low and warm, found you in your isolated bubble.
“Your mum and sister would be so proud of you.” she whispered.
Her hand moved, softly cupping your cheek as she guided your head up, her forehead pressing lightly to yours. “They wouldn’t want you crying here, amor. They’d want you up, celebrating this with your team. Celebrating a massive achievement, they’d want you to live in this moment.”
You forced yourself to look at her. You hadn’t even noticed she’d been crying until now her eyes were red, cheeks flushed from her own heartbreak of losing the final, but none of that mattered to her in this moment. It was just you, her, and the silent weight of your grief shared between you.
Alexia’s hand found your thigh, grounding you, her thumb stroking small circles as if silently telling you she was here, with you, entirely.
The world outside of that little bubble blurred, you couldn’t even hear the fans anymore, or the loudspeakers, or the bustling of photographers. It was just Alexia’s eyes on you, unwavering, tender.
She wiped your tears with her thumb, gently brushing them away, her touch feather light. like if she wasn’t careful you’d shatter into pieces and then she kissed you.
Right there, in front of thousands, cameras capturing every moment, she leaned in and kissed you.
It wasn’t a rushed, panicked kiss. It wasn’t a kiss meant to hide or conceal. It was soft, intentional, full of meaning, a kiss that said I’m here. I love you. You’re not alone.
You knew in that moment what had just happened. Alexia had hard launched you both no carefully not been seen too much together in training content, no carefully selected holiday photos so it didn't look like you were in the same place, no more private whispers behind closed doors. She had chosen now, in front of the world, to show what you meant to her and as her lips parted from yours, her hand lingering on your cheek, you wondered how, the fiercely private, notoriously guarded Alexia, would react once the adrenaline faded and she realised what she’d done. But right now, none of that mattered, because she was here, with you, where you needed her the most.
Alexia's hands slid down from your face, curling gently around yours as she stood, pulling you with her. You felt heavy, like your body didn’t want to move, but Alexia’s grip was firm and patient. She didn’t let go until you were steady on your feet.
As you wiped at your face with the hem of your jersey, you noticed Georgia making her way over, her face a mix of sympathy and quiet encouragement. She took one look at you, then at Alexia, and arched a brow, already sensing the emotional weight of the moment.
Alexia reached out and smacked Georgia’s hand not hard, but with enough purpose to get her point across.
“Make sure she celebrates,” Alexia said firmly, her tone not leaving room for argument.
Georgia nodded, gripping Alexia’s hand back with a smirk, “I’ve got her. Don’t worry, boss.” Then her eyes softened as she turned to you. “Come on, mate. You’ve done your job. Now it’s time to get what you deserve.”
You still felt fragile, but Georgia’s hand slipping around your shoulders anchored you in a different way steady, sisterly, like a big sister determined to drag you back into the present.
“We’ve got to line up,” Georgia said, giving you a small squeeze.
You glanced over at Alexia, who gave you a faint smile, her eyes shining with emotion but her pride in you palpable. There was no bitterness there, no resentment. Just love.
You felt Georgia gently guide you toward the forming line of England players. You took a deep breath, knowing the next few minutes were about honouring the opposition, respecting the game, and then finally, after everything celebrating yourself. And as you took your place, ready to clap Spain through, you felt Alexia’s gaze on you from the other line. A quiet nod passed between you.
As Spain began to make their way through the guard of honour, you stood shoulder to shoulder with Georgia and Beth, politely clapping with the rest of your teammates. But as the familiar faces of your Barcelona family approached, formality blurred into something much more personal.
Patri was the first she broke from the line to pull you into a quick, tight hug, before hurrying on. Salma followed with a wink and a high five that lingered into a squeeze of your hand. Aitana came next, ruffling your hair with a crooked smile, and you couldn’t help but let out a small laugh despite yourself and then, the line slowed.
Alexia was stopped directly in front of you, a pause in the flow of players making their way up for medals, her hand reached out, palm up, offering. You didn’t even hesitate, your fingers slid into hers like it was the most natural thing in the world, gripping tight.
Neither of you spoke. You just stood there, hand in hand, in this perfect bubble of quiet amidst the storm of noise and celebration. The touch said everything, solidarity, pride, love.
When the line started moving again, she reluctantly let go, giving your hand one final squeeze before stepping away. You followed her movement with your eyes, and as she walked away, something shifted inside you.
It started as a flutter realisation creeping in slowly.
You’d won.
You’d bloody won.
The roar of the stadium seemed to hit you anew, like you were hearing it for the first time. The ache in your body dulled beneath the adrenaline now firing up in your veins. The grief wasn’t gone, but for the first time in weeks, it was overshadowed by something else joy, pride, a sense of triumph not just for your team, but for yourself.
When the call came to step onto the podium, you surged forward with your teammates, your face splitting into a grin as wide as it had been in months. The energy was electric, you could feel it rippling through the squad as Leah took her position at the front, the UEFA official passing her the trophy.
The moment Leah and Keira lofted the Euros trophy high into the air, the stadium erupted, a deafening explosion of sound, and you couldn’t hold it back any longer. You were jumping, arms in the air, screaming your heart out. The weight of the last few months, of everything lifted as the confetti rained down, and you let yourself get lost in it.
Georgia grabbed your arm, tugging you into a wild hug, and the next thing you knew, the entire team was bouncing in unison, trophy aloft. For those few minutes on that podium, the world outside didn’t exist.
You caught sight of Alexia off to the side, her smile so proud and soft, but you could see the heartbreak behind it, but you made that promise with her so whoever won could enjoy the moment. You had the rest of your lives together to make her feel better.
But this was your moment, it was yours to celebrate.
⚽️
You were still buzzing from the trophy lift, the adrenaline high keeping you floating as you were pulled aside for the post-match interview. The backdrop behind you was a blur of Euros logos, cameras swivelling into place as a reporter from a major sports network stepped up with a microphone.
"Firstly, congratulations! Back-to-back European Championships, how are you feeling in this moment?"
You smiled, heart racing, trying to gather the right words. "It’s… overwhelming, honestly. This has been a tough year personally, but this team, these girls, they’ve been everything. It’s an honour to be part of something like this. Right now, I’m just proud. Really, really proud."
The reporter gave a sympathetic nod, then leaned in, clearly angling for the moment everyone was talking about. "We saw a lot of emotional scenes on the pitch after the whistle, especially between you and certain Spain players. There's a lot of speculation about your relationship with one of them. Is there anything you'd like to share?"
You gave a small, knowing smile, keeping your voice steady and measured. "Look, football’s a very personal thing. Emotions run high, and connections are built over time, whether it's club teammates or international rivals. But my private life is just that private. The people who know me, know and that’s enough for me."
The reporter didn’t press further, sensing the line drawn. "Understood. So, how do you celebrate this moment now?"
You let out a breathy laugh, pushing your hair back. "Celebrate tonight, definitely. But football doesn’t stop, does it? I’ll enjoy this with my family, my friends, my teammates, but it’s back to business soon. I’ve got a job to do back at Barcelona. We’ve got a Champions League final we’re desperate to avenge, and that’s already in the back of my mind."
“That’s the mentality of a champion,” the reporter grinned, wrapping up. “Congratulations again.”
You thanked them politely, stepping away from the cameras, knowing full well the headlines would try to spin your words into a thousand stories but it didn’t matter. The people who mattered knew the truth and you were more motivated than ever to get back on that pitch and finish what you started at Barca.
⚽️
As the celebrations began to settle on the pitch, you scanned the stands, heart thudding as your eyes locked on your family. You spotted your dad, stepmum, and your two little brothers waving frantically from the family and friends section. Their excitement was palpable, their smiles wide and eyes shining with pride.
Without a second thought, you climbed over the advertising boards and made your way up into the stands. Security didn’t stop you they knew exactly where you were headed. The moment you reached them, your stepmum pulled you into a tight hug, and your dad clapped a firm hand on your back, his eyes glassy with emotion, but it was your little brothers that made you laugh through the tears. They were bouncing on the spot, their small hands reaching out, their focus completely on the medal around your neck.
“You did it! You really did it!” your youngest brother shouted, eyes wide as he poked at the medal.
“Lemme see! Lemme see!” the older of the two insisted, grabbing it in his tiny hands, lifting it like it weighed a tonne.
You crouched down to their level, letting them both crowd in, their fingers exploring the medal with awe, as if touching it made them part of the victory. Their innocence and pure joy grounded you in that moment, reminding you of why you fought so hard to keep going through the darkest days.
“This is yours too, you know,” you told them, ruffling their hair. “You helped me get here.”
Your dad stood back, his arm around your stepmum as they watched the scene unfold with soft smiles, their pride written all over their faces. For a while, you just stayed there, crouched with your brothers, letting them wear the medal, pose with it, giggle as they acted like champions.
As you gathered your family together to take a picture, the inevitable sibling squabble began.
“I wanna wear it!” your youngest brother whined, tugging at the medal around your neck, his bottom lip jutting out in a pout.
“No! I get to wear it first! I’m older!” the older one fired back, already reaching to snatch it away.
You couldn’t help but laugh as you gently batted their hands away. “Alright, alright, listen up” you said, crouching down so you were eye-level with them, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re both going to wear it, okay? But we’re going to do it one at a time, no fighting.”
Their little faces were flushed from excitement, but they both nodded reluctantly, though you could tell the urge to outmaneuver the other was still strong.
“How about this,” you said, taking off the medal and placing it gently around the oldest of your younger brother’s neck first. “You get to wear it for the photo, then your brother gets his turn. Deal?”
He grinned triumphantly, standing as tall as he could as he held the medal with both hands, puffing out his chest like he’d just won it himself.
Your youngest, though still pouting, crossed his arms and said, “Fine, but I’m wearing it longer.”
You reached out and ruffled his hair with a chuckle. “You can wear it for as long as you want after the picture, little man. Promise.”
With that sorted, you gathered them in close, your dad and stepmum flanking you as someone from the team offered to take the photo for you. As the camera clicked, you smiled wide, your arm around one brother proudly showing off the medal, while your youngest leaned into your side with his cheek pressed to your thigh, already plotting his turn with the silverware.
It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours a perfect little chaos of family love.
⚽️
You were slouched in one of the plastic seats in the family and friends section, completely knackered, legs sprawled out with a massive bag of ice strapped to your ankle, slowly numbing the throbbing pain. Your boots were off, socks rolled down, and you were in your training top now, hair still a damp mess from the showers.
Balanced on your lap was an entire pizza box, opened wide, and you were unapologetically devouring slice after slice like you hadn't eaten in weeks. It wasn’t pretty, but you didn’t care, this was your victory meal, and you were owning every bite.
Your dad chuckled from beside you, shaking his head as he watched you inhale a third slice without pause. “Could share that, y’know.”
You looked over at him, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, a bit of sauce at the corner of your mouth. “No chance. This is personal.”
Your stepmum just smiled knowingly, handing you a napkin but saying nothing. She knew better than to come between you and food after ninety minutes, extra time, and a nerve-wracking penalty shootout.
Your little brothers were sitting on either side of you, both still obsessed with the medal, which was now resting safely on your stepmum’s lap. They kept poking at the engraved letters, fascinated, occasionally pointing out how shiny it was with excitement like it had just dawned on them.
“You sure you’re alright, kid?” your dad asked, nodding towards your ankle as you reached for another slice.
You shrugged, taking a bite. “Hurts like hell,” you mumbled through a mouthful, “but I’ve got a pizza, a medal, and my family. Could be worse.”
Your brother leaned against your side, his eyes still wide from the spectacle of it all. “You’re, like… a hero now, right?”
You smiled, ruffling his hair as you chewed. “Nah, mate. I’m just your big sister who happens to play a bit of football.”
He looked unconvinced, but didn’t push it, the medal glinting on your lap was enough proof for him.
As you sat back, slowly working through another slice of pizza, something made you glance across the stadium. Your eyes landed on the Spanish family section. Amidst the sea of red and gold, you spotted Eli, standing with her brother, both patiently watching the tunnel, clearly waiting for Alexia.
Your heart gave a strange little jolt.
For a few moments, you just watched Eli’s calm patience, her brother’s idle chatter, the way they kept looking toward the tunnel where the Spanish players were slowly filtering out. Then, as if sensing your stare, Eli’s eyes found yours across the distance.
She held your gaze. There was no shift, no flicker of awkwardness. Just a soft, knowing smile that pulled gently at her lips.
You didn’t think. You just stood, grabbing your pizza box in one hand and bracing yourself on your dad’s shoulder with the other as you got to your feet. Your ankle protested immediately, but you were already committed.
“Where are you going?” your dad asked.
You didn’t answer just nodded across towards the Spanish side.
Getting there, though, was an absolute mission. You hobbled down the narrow steps, each one biting at your ankle. The plastic pizza box balanced precariously as you weaved through gaps, over rows of seats, squeezing by people with murmured apologies.
The closer you got, the more aware you were of how ridiculous you must have looked. Ice strapped to your ankle, pizza in tow, limping through a crowd you didn’t belong in, all just to see a woman who until recently you'd never met/
You reached the barrier, where Eli stood, for a moment, you hesitated, unsure if you’d misread the situation, but before you could second guess it, Eli stepped forward with open arms. “Ven aquí, cariño,” she said softly, pulling you into a massive, tight hug.
Her arms wrapped around you so firmly that you almost lost grip of your pizza box. She held you there for a long moment, her hand gently cradling the back of your head. You could feel her brother watching, but you didn’t care. This was a moment you’d needed far more than you realised.
“I’m so proud of you,” Eli whispered against your ear, her voice soft and warm.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, melting slightly in her embrace.
“I brought pizza,” you mumbled, a little sheepish as you pulled back.
Eli chuckled, reaching out to steady you as you swayed awkwardly on your bad ankle. “Of course you did.”
Her brother, ever the comedian, pointed at the box and said, “Did you bring enough for everyone?”
You laughed, and for that moment, the aching grief, the exhaustion, the nerves all of it eased.
You found yourself sitting between Eli and Ricard in the Spanish family section soon enough, your pizza box now resting on your lap as Eli fussed over you with all the intensity of a mother who’d decided you were hers now, no questions asked.
“Mira tus tobillos,” she muttered, her hands hovering around the ice pack like she wanted to fix it herself. “Esto no es normal, you should be resting, not walking across half a stadium.”
“I’m fine, Eli,” you insisted gently, though you weren’t fooling anyone.
Ricard leaned forward with a curious squint. “What did you do to your foot anyway?”
You sighed, tired, as you shifted to sit a little more comfortably not that there was any position where your ankle wasn’t throbbing. “Fractured it. First game. Against France.”
Ricard’s eyebrows shot up. “Fractured? And you’ve played the entire tournament since?”
You gave a small shrug, chewing on a bite of pizza. “Yeah. Taped up, bit of strapping. It’s not been fun, but... you do what you have to do.”
Eli looked like she was ready to throw you over her shoulder and march you to the nearest hospital herself. “Esta niña es cabezota,” she said, shaking her head, but her hand found your back, rubbing gentle circles as if to comfort you from your own stubbornness. “You don’t need to prove anything to anyone, you know.”
You gave her a tired smile. “Wasn’t about proving anything. I just… needed to finish it.”
The weight of their gazes landed on you, soft and understanding, without pity, Ricard’s hand clapped down gently on your knee. “Well, you finished it alright. You’ve won it. Fractured foot and all,” he said with a proud grin.
Eli, however, wasn’t done. She tilted your chin towards her, her eyes narrowing affectionately. “But now, you’re going to rest. You hear me? No football. No nonsense.”
You gave a breathy laugh. “You’re scarier than Alexia, you know that?”
She smirked, clearly pleased. “Where do you think she gets it from?”
You sank back into the seat, Eli’s arm looping around your shoulders, Ricard still shaking his head in disbelief at your injury. You glanced over your shoulder, and there she was.
Alexia, now in her Spain travelling tracksuit, medal gleaming against her chest, her hair a little messy from the shower but that signature calm expression hadn’t left her face. The second her eyes locked onto where you were sitting with Eli and Ricard, her steps quickened.
You felt your heart ache at the sight of her.
Instinctively, you rose to your feet, ignoring the sharp protest from your ankle. You carefully shuffled your way out of the row of seats, determined not to be in the way. This was her moment, her family’s moment. You knew how much this meant, even in the bittersweet aftermath of a final loss.
So you stood to the side, patiently waiting, leaning gently against the railing as you watched her approach her mum and uncle.
Eli immediately opened her arms, pulling Alexia into a crushing embrace. You watched quietly, heart full, as Alexia melted into her mother’s hold, her eyes closing as Eli whispered something into her ear that you couldn’t hear but could feel. Ricard followed, pulling his niece into a bear hug, the kind of hug that said we’re proud of you no matter what.
And there you stood, unseen but entirely content, just watching the woman you loved be with her people. You didn’t mind waiting. You would’ve waited forever, but even as she held onto her family, Alexia’s eyes darted to you over her mum’s shoulder. And when she caught you standing there, patient, soft smile on your face despite the limp, her expression shifted. There was a flicker of something tender, something deeper than words.
You finally couldn’t keep the weight off your foot any longer.
With a quiet groan of frustration, you eased yourself back down onto the seat at the end of the row. The throbbing in your ankle was relentless, sharp and pulsing, your body running on pure adrenaline until now. You watched as Alexia finally broke away from her family, her eyes never leaving yours as she made her way toward you.
She didn’t say anything when she reached you.
Instead, she simply sat down, shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh, and let out a deep sigh as she leaned into you, her presence grounding, her quiet understanding louder than any words. You turned your head slightly, resting your temple against hers, both of you just existing in the space between breaths.
“You hurt?” she asked, her voice soft, but laced with that edge of knowing.
You nodded slowly, exhaling through your nose, “Yeah.” Her fingers gently brushed against your knee, a touch that said tell me the truth “Our doc hasn’t ruled out that I might need surgery,” you admitted, the words tasting bitter in your mouth.
Alexia’s body stiffened slightly against you, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she inhaled slowly, pressing her forehead against the side of your head. “Whatever happens,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, “we face it. Together.”
You didn’t need to say anything. The way you leaned into her, the way her hand found yours between the seats and laced your fingers together, said it all.
Alexia curled into your side, her head tucked gently into the crook of your neck, her breath warm against your skin. Your arm was draped protectively around her shoulders, holding her close, your thumb absently tracing soothing circles on her arm.
The crowd around you was a blur, but in this little corner, it was just you and her, finding solace in each other after the storm.
You felt her lips move before you heard her voice, soft and muffled against your neck. “We promised we wouldn’t do this,” Alexia whispered, her tone tinged with quiet resignation.
You closed your eyes, a faint smile playing at your lips as you let out a breathy laugh, knowing exactly what she meant. “I know,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “We probably shouldn't be this terrible at keeping promises.”
Alexia gave a small, breathy laugh, her body relaxing further into yours. “Hopeless,” she whispered, and though her words were teasing, you could hear the emotion wavering beneath them.
You held her a little tighter, both of you knowing the truth you were each other's anchor, and no amount of media noise or careful planning was going to change that.
“You ok?,” you said softly.
You felt her nod against you, but for now, you just sat there wrapped up in each other, promises forgotten, hearts full.
⚽️
You and Alexia stood in the middle of the stairs, arms wrapped tightly around each other as if letting go would pull the air right out of your lungs. In your little bubble, it felt right, just her heartbeat against yours, her warmth, her breath close to your ear.
Neither of you wanted to move, but the inevitable was coming. You had to go. You had media duties, your team waiting, celebrations to join. She had her family to be with, a runner-up medal to show off, and a heart as heavy as yours.
Alexia loosened her hold just enough to lean back and look at you, her hands sliding up to cup your face gently. Her thumbs brushed tenderly across your cheekbones, her eyes scanning every inch of you like she was trying to memorize you all over again.
“Amor,” she said softly, her voice trembling just slightly, “I love you.” She leaned in and kissed you, slow, lingering, it was a kiss that said everything, pride, love, heartache, and all the things she couldn't put into words in this moment. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, and you could feel her trying to steady her own breathing. “You go,” she whispered, her fingers still brushing your skin. “Celebrate. You deserve to.” You nodded, but she wasn’t done, “But be careful, alright? On your foot. Don’t be stupid.”
A small laugh escaped you as you tilted your head, trying to blink away the sting in your eyes. “You calling me stupid, Putellas?”
She smiled that soft, crooked smile you loved. “Only when you’re being stupid.”
One last squeeze of your waist, one last brush of her thumb across your cheek, and then she stepped back, giving you the space you needed to turn and go.
“I’ll see you at home,” she called after you, her words wrapping around your heart, anchoring you as you limped away. You didn’t look back you knew if you did, you wouldn’t be able to walk away.
⚽️
The celebrations kicked off the moment you stepped back into the locker room. Music was blaring, champagne bottles were popping, and shirts were being swung around in the air. You couldn’t wipe the grin off your face even if you tried. The adrenaline was still coursing through your veins, masking the pain in your foot, as you laughed with your teammates, hugging each one of them as you all soaked in the moment.
Georgia had you in a headlock at one point, screaming about how you’d "bloody done it again!" while Leah was up on the benches with the trophy, leading chants. You caught Ella sneaking beers from the cooler, and Beth was already halfway through pouring one over your head. It was chaos, it was wild, it was perfect.
The celebrations didn’t stop when you got on the team bus. The music just got louder, the dancing even more chaotic despite the cramped space. You were sat with Georgia, singing at the top of your lungs, barely able to hear yourself, and it didn’t matter. Every so often you’d look at your phone, a little smile tugging at your lips when you saw the messages from Alexia. You knew she was proud.
By the time you reached the hotel, it was already early hours of the morning, but sleep wasn’t even a thought. The lobby had turned into an impromptu dance floor, with staff joining in on the celebrations. Drinks flowed, stories from the tournament were re-told with more and more exaggeration, and even with the exhaustion creeping in, no one wanted the night to end.
But morning came far too quickly.
You boarded the flight back to England with bags under your eyes, sunglasses on to hide how little sleep you’d had, but the energy on that plane was unstoppable. The captain even made an announcement congratulating the team, and the cheers that erupted could probably be heard from the ground.
Landing in England, the airport was packed. Fans lined up screaming, waving flags and banners, phones in hand to capture their heroes returning home. You felt that swell of pride again as you stepped through the arrival gates, medal around your neck, high-fiving kids and posing for pictures.
Then it was off to Downing Street, another surreal moment. You were shoulder to shoulder with teammates, all of you trying to stifle your laughter when Beth joked about stealing something as a souvenir. The team lined up for photos with the Prime Minister, but it was just a blur of handshakes and small talk before the real party started, the open-top bus parade.
The streets were packed as the bus rolled through, fans cheering, confetti flying. You stood on the upper deck, leaning against the rail, arm around Georgia, waving to the thousands that had turned up. You took it all in the faces, the flags, the pure joy radiating from every direction.
It was everything you’d dreamed it would be, but as the sun started setting and the crowds began to thin, you felt that ache in your chest again. The whirlwind of celebration was incredible, but you were ready to be home. You wanted to be in Barcelona, to feel the calm of her city, to walk through her front door and be with the one person who grounded you no matter what chaos surrounded you.
You were ready to get back to Alexia.
You knew she was waiting.
⚽️
The journey back to Barcelona felt endless. Every minute on that plane was a minute too long, the weight of exhaustion from the celebrations pulling at your body, but it was nothing compared to the pull you felt in your chest the pull back to her.
The airport in Barcelona was calmer, quieter than the fanfare back in England, but it was a relief. You moved quickly, head down, sliding through the terminal, phone buzzing in your hand.
Alexia: I’m home. Door’s unlocked. Hurry.
Your heart thudded. You didn’t waste time waiting for a taxi practically jumped into the first one you found, barely hearing the driver ask you something in Catalan as you gave Alexia's address.
The city blurred past the window, every familiar turn made your pulse quicken. This wasn't just a homecoming, this wasn’t just about needing to rest, needing comfort.
This was about her.
The cab pulled up, and you were out before the driver could finish his thank yous, dragging your bag behind you, taking the steps two at a time. You didn’t knock, you didn’t even have to.
As soon as you pushed the door open, she was there.
Alexia didn’t say a word. She didn’t give you a second to settle. The door was barely shut before she was on you, hands grabbing your face, her lips crashing against yours with the kind of urgency that left you breathless. You dropped your bag right there in the entrance way, arms wrapping around her waist as you stumbled back into the door, her body flush against yours.
Weeks of phone calls, late-night texts, lingering FaceTimes that left you both unsatisfied, it all exploded in that moment.
Her hands were greedy, tangled in your hair, then gripping your hips, tugging you closer as if she couldn’t bear any more distance. The kiss turned rough, desperate, teeth grazing, lips parting with gasped breaths between each frantic movement.
You could feel her pulse racing against your chest, her fingers curling around the hem of your shirt, tugging, demanding. You didn’t resist, clothes started to peel away without grace, without pause, scattered around the narrow hallway. Neither of you cared.
It wasn’t about slow or soft tonight. It was raw, pent-up hunger.
She pushed you back, lips trailing down your neck, her breath hot as you gasped. You pulled her mouth back to yours, tasting everything you’d been craving. Every press of her body, every touch, felt like reclaiming what the last six weeks had stolen.
You didn’t even make it past the entranceway.
It was messy, it was urgent, and it was perfect. Every sigh, every muttered curse, every scratch of nails against skin was laced with finally.
When it was done, you were both left panting, bodies tangled on the cool floor tiles, foreheads pressed together as you tried to catch your breath, her thumb softly stroking your cheek.
“Welcome home,” Alexia whispered, a lazy, satisfied grin on her lips.
You laughed softly, chest still heaving, “Hell of a welcome.”
Neither of you moved, because in that moment, tangled up on her hallway floor, the world outside didn’t matter.
In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.
Part 15
Other Parts
Word Count: 6k
Anything in italics is a flashback 😊 some of which are what I was supposed to put in the last chapter but forgot 🙈
Enjoy
⚽️
You were sat on the grass at the edge of the training pitch, unlacing your boots and chatting to Marta about the crossing drills from earlier when you heard Irene’s voice from just behind you.
“Y/N… were you hanging out at my place while I was gone for international camp?”
You froze mid-movement, and slowly looked up to see Irene standing there, hands on hips, one brow raised and that classic 'mami knows everything' energy radiating off her.
You blinked. “Uhh…”
Marta smirked and tried to stifle her laugh as she got up and casually walked away, muttering, “Good luck with that.”
You sighed, tugging your boot off and setting it down. “Yeah I did”
Irene cocked her head. “Without me there?”
You held up your hands. “In my defence, I was sad and I just… needed to be somewhere that didn’t feel heavy. Mateo makes me laugh and your wife she kept cooking for me so I kept going back. It felt… safe.”
Irene’s expression softened instantly. “You’re always welcome, you know that,” she said, crouching beside you. “But next time, if she offers you the spare room take it, you stressed her out walking home on your own late at night”
You smiled a little, the first real one of the day. “Noted.”
She reached over and squeezed your shoulder. “And thank you for trusting our home enough to be your escape Mateo adored having you over.”
You nodded, brushing grass off your shorts. “He said he was my emotional support chaos.”
Irene laughed. “He is chaos, but he’s good at loving people who need it.”
“Yeah,” you said softly. “He really is.” you smiled at Irene as Alexia neared, "Clearly he gets that from Lucia"
Irene rose her eyebrows as Alexia plopped down with her water bottle, "You come to my home, you have my wife cook for you-"
"I didn't have her-"
Irene rose a hand and you stopped instantly but couldn't help but laugh, "you have my wife cook for you and all round just dote on you, you use my son as emotional support and you want to get cheeky?"
You smile, "It's a part of my charm"
Lucia opened the door, still in her apron, the smell of something warm and homely drifting out behind her. She smiled at first until she saw your face, eyes red, shoulders drawn tight, silent in a way that wasn’t your usual tired.
Her smile faded instantly into something soft and knowing. “Hey…”
You gave her a weak smile, standing there with your hands in your pockets and Teddy’s lead wrapped loosely around your fingers.
“Wouldn’t mind if I hung out with Mateo for a while, would you?”
Lucia didn’t ask questions, she just stepped aside and opened the door wider. “Of course not. He’s upstairs, probably building a spaceship out of laundry baskets. Go on up.” You gave her a nod of thanks as Teddy padded in quietly. She placed a gentle hand on your back as you passed. “I'm making dinner,” she said quietly. “It’ll be ready in half an hour. You’re staying for it.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Thank you.”
Lucia nodded once, gave your arm a soft squeeze, then called up the stairs, “Mateo! Guess who’s here!”
There was a loud thud, followed by the sound of small feet barreling across the floor, then Mateo appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes lighting up.
“COCO!”
You smiled, eyes already brimming. “Hey, bud. Got room for one more on that spaceship?”
Mateo tore down the stairs like gravity barely applied to him, his socked feet sliding on the wood before he launched himself at you. You barely had time to brace, but it didn’t matter his arms wrapped tight around your waist, his little face pressed into your jumper like he could physically squeeze the sadness out of you.
“I missed you,” he said, voice muffled.
You crouched to his level, hugging him back just as tightly. “I missed you too, little man.”
He leaned back, giving you a serious look. “Are you sad?”
Your lips pulled into a small, bittersweet smile. “Yeah… a little bit.”
Mateo nodded solemnly, like a tiny man with too much wisdom for his years. “Then it’s a good thing I built a base. Sad people need bases, with snacks and blankets.”
You let out a soft laugh. “That’s a rule, is it?”
He stood and took your hand like there wasn’t a moment to lose. “It is now.”
You let him guide you upstairs to his room, which had turned into a mini fort of blankets, chairs, and the entire contents of his imagination.
Mateo led you into the fort like it was a top-secret mission. You had to crawl under two blankets strung between chairs, with fairy lights giving everything inside a soft glow. Teddy circled twice before flopping down dramatically in the corner as if to say, 'I’m too old for this.'
“Okay,” Mateo said seriously, grabbing a toy sword and holding it out to you, “you’re the knight. I’m the dragon who’s actually nice and just wants to dance.”
You blinked. “The dragon dances?”
“Only when he’s happy.” He struck a fierce pose, then added, “You have to defeat me by making me laugh.”
“That’s not how defeating dragons usually works.”
Mateo gave you a look. “This one is different.”
“Alright then.” You grabbed a plastic shield and a stuffed lion. “Prepare to be defeated, dancing dragon.”
He roared dramatically, waving his arms and falling back onto a pillow like he’d been hit with a spell. You leapt over a blanket pile and started making the lion do a ridiculous voice, narrating its tragic past as a ballet teacher turned king of the jungle. Mateo started giggling before you were even halfway through.
You tried to make your voice serious. “Sir Dragon, I challenge you to a dance battle. Loser has to eat all the popcorn.”
Mateo popped up, gasped, and pointed. “You can’t eat all of it! You’ll explode!”
“I’m willing to take that risk,” you said, deadpan.
He burst out laughing, so hard he had to sit down, shoulders shaking, dimples on full display. You sat beside him, poking his side gently. “You laughing, sir? Are you… defeated?”
Mateo wiped a tear from his eye. “Fine. You win, but only because you’re really funny.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, dragon.”
He held out his hand for a high-five. “Best team ever.” you laughed, really laughed, not the polite kind. The kind that shook your chest and made your eyes water, that cracked through the grief and gave you air again.
Lucia walked by the room and paused at the sound of your laughter, then smiled to herself and quietly let the door close. Mateo had it under control.
You ruffled Mateo’s hair gently, the way you’d seen Irene do a hundred times, and asked, “So, how’s school going, champ?”
Mateo pulled a face like he’d just eaten a lemon. “I don’t like it.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What don’t you like?”
He shrugged, folding his arms and kicking at the edge of a pillow. “It’s too hard. I don’t get it and I don’t wanna go anymore.”
You leaned back, letting him have his moment. “That’s fair. It can feel really hard sometimes. Do you have homework?”
He nodded with a sigh so theatrical it could’ve earned him an Oscar. “Yes but I’m not doing it. I hate it.”
You smiled gently, not teasing, just understanding. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse.”
Before you could say more, Lucia’s voice called from the kitchen, “Dinner’s ready!”
Mateo perked up instantly, like he hadn’t just been mourning the horrors of primary school. “YES!”
You stood up and offered him your hand. “Okay, how about this, we eat, and then after dinner, you and me, we’ll take a look at the homework together. You don’t have to do it alone.”
He gave you a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised. “You’re good at homework?”
You gasped in mock offense. “Excuse me, I was a genius at your age. Ask anyone.”
Mateo considered this for a long second, then nodded. “Okay, but if it’s too hard, we can just say your dog ate it.”
“Deal,” you said, holding out your pinky.
He wrapped his pinky around yours and grinned. “Best team ever.”
“Still the best.”
🧑🧑🧒🧒
It was a few days after the match, and the stadium had mostly emptied out. You were still in the locker room, towel draped over your shoulders, chatting quietly with Esme and Salma when the door creaked open.
“Coco?” a small voice called.
You turned instantly, heart softening the moment you saw Mateo, still in his tiny Barça hoodie, clutching his backpack to his chest and looking a little lost.
“Teo?” You knelt down as he made a beeline for you, eyes big and damp. “Hey, what’s up? Everything okay?”
He sniffled and nodded but then held out a crumpled sheet of paper. “It’s my homework. I can’t do it. I tried on my own but you said you’d help but I fell asleep the other night, and now it’s due tomorrow.”
You gently took the page from him, smoothing it out as you sat on the bench. Basic addition and subtraction, numbers crossed out and re-written in various colors. Clearly he’d tried, hard.
You gave him a soft smile. “Okay. First of all, I’m really proud of you for trying and second,” you started digging into his little backpack “I know there’s someone in here who can help.”
You pulled out a handful of plastic dinosaurs, green, blue, and red, and lined them up on the bench between you. Mateo watched, confused at first, then intrigued.
“Alright,” you said, “here’s the game, if we have five T-Rexes,” you lined up five “and we take away two…” You moved two aside dramatically. “How many are left?”
Mateo squinted, counting silently under his breath. “Three?”
“Boom. Genius.”
A little smile appeared on his face, the stress fading just a bit. You moved on to the next one, using velociraptors this time. Soon enough, he was giggling, lining up the dinosaurs himself, counting on his fingers, sometimes even using your fingers too.
The rest of the team watched from a respectful distance Marta nudging Esme with a grin, and Salma whispering, “She’s gone full mami mode.”
Mateo didn’t notice, too focused on showing you how he figured out 7 - 4 using a brontosaurus family.
You leaned in and whispered, “You’re crushing it, Teo.”
He beamed. “Only because of you.”
Your heart tugged, and you ruffled his hair. “You’ve always had it in you, little man. You just needed a few extra dinos.”
Mateo nodded solemnly. “Dinosaurs make everything better.”
The door to the showers swung open with a soft creak, steam curling out into the locker room. Irene stepped out first, towel around her shoulders, running a hand through her damp hair then stopped short at the sight before her.
Her brows lifted. “Mateo?”
Still hunched over a worksheet with a small collection of plastic dinosaurs lined up like a math army, Mateo barely looked up. “Hi Mami.”
You glanced back over your shoulder at her, giving a sheepish grin. “Sorry, he had an emergency.”
“Homework,” Mateo clarified with a dramatic sigh, pencil poised like a sword above the page. “We’re on the hard ones now, big numbers.”
Irene raised an eyebrow, but her lips twitched with a smile. “Ah. Of course emergency addition.”
Alexia emerged just behind her, running her hands through the ends of her wet hair. She paused when she saw the little study session, leaning on the edge of a locker with an affectionate smirk.
“I should’ve guessed you were behind the dinosaur deployment,” she said softly, eyes on you.
You shrugged with a smile. “They’re multitaskers. Defenders of prehistoric lands and math tutors.”
Mateo didn’t even look up. “We’re doing eight plus five now. It’s very serious Coco says if I get them all right, I get three chocolate buttons.”
Alexia laughed under her breath, moving to sit beside Irene on the opposite bench. “Bribery. Classic.”
“I call it motivation,” you corrected, tapping the page. “Alright, Teo. Let’s count them out eight dinos here… now add five.”
Mateo arranged them carefully, his tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. “Thirteen!”
You high-fived him gently, careful not to knock the dinosaurs. “Correct! One more and you’re halfway to chocolate glory.”
Irene crossed her arms, clearly holding back a smile. “He’s going to expect dinosaur math forever now, you realise.”
You gave her a small shrug. “I can live with that.”
Alexia’s gaze softened on you as you turned your attention back to Mateo, coaching him through 9 + 6 with two different species of plastic creatures.
“She’s a good one,” Irene murmured to Alexia quietly, though not quietly enough that you didn’t hear.
Alexia didn’t answer, but the look she gave you was all the confirmation anyone needed.
After dinner, with the dishes washed and the laughter from the table still lingering in the air, you ended up curled on the sofa, Mateo snuggled tightly into your side. His head rested on your chest, one of your arms draped around him as his little hand toyed absentmindedly with the drawstring on your hoodie.
Lucia was in the kitchen finishing up, but she'd smiled when she saw the two of you like that like something about it made her chest ache in the softest way.
“You ever seen The Jungle Book?” you asked, scrolling through the movie options with one hand.
Mateo lifted his head slightly, brow furrowed. “Is that the one with the bear and the boy with no shoes?”
You grinned. “Exactly that.”
He shook his head. “Never seen it.”
“Well,” you said, clicking it with a satisfied hum, “you’re about to. It’s a classic.”
As the familiar Disney intro music played, Mateo settled deeper into you, his legs curling slightly as the lights dimmed and the screen glowed. His eyes went wide at the first animated scenes of the jungle, and when Baloo burst onto the screen singing The Bare Necessities, he laughed so hard his whole body bounced against you.
You rested your chin lightly on the top of his head, holding him a little tighter.
"This is good," he whispered midway through, his voice heavy with warmth and the onset of sleep.
You smiled against his hair. “Told you. Bare necessities of life, little man.”
Lucia passed by with a blanket, laying it over the both of you without a word. She kissed the top of Mateo’s head and looked down at you with a quiet, grateful look in her eyes.
By the time the credits rolled, Mateo was completely asleep, soft breaths puffing against your collarbone. You didn’t dare move, just closed your eyes and held him close because in that moment, there was nothing else you needed.
🧑🧑🧒🧒
You were already regretting the colour of your shirt before you’d even parked outside the small house in Mollet del Vallès. It suddenly felt too loud, too bold. You tugged at the collar for the fifth time in as many minutes.
Alexia noticed because of course she did. “Breathe,” she said softly, turning off the engine and resting a hand on your knee. “You’re meeting my mami, not meeting the King.”
“She’s your mum,” you exhaled, trying not to sound like your chest was tight. “What if she doesn’t like me?”
“She will,” Alexia said, certain, like it was fact not faith. “You’re smart, kind, and you make me laugh like an idiot. That’s her entire checklist.”
“She didn’t see me nearly square up to Montse last week.”
Alexia grinned. “She’d probably like you more if she had.”
You gave her a sideways glance, still fidgeting. “Why are you not nervous? I’m literally meeting the woman who made you.”
“Because I already know how this ends.” She leaned over and kissed you softly, her lips warm against your own. “She’s going to adore you and even if she doesn’t? I do. So you’re stuck with me.”
That didn’t fully settle the nerves, but it helped.
You stepped out of the car and followed her up the neat path to the door, before Alexia could knock, the door opened, and there she was, smiling with a dish towel over her shoulder and a warm, open expression on her face.
“Hola, mi niña,” she said, hugging Alexia tightly.
“Mama,” Alexia grinned, holding her for a moment before stepping back and motioning to you. “This is…”
Before she could finish, Eli had already pulled you into a hug, her arms surprisingly firm, smelling like soap and whatever was cooking inside. “It’s so good to finally meet you,” Eli said as she pulled back. “I hope you’re hungry.”
You blinked, startled but smiling. “Always.”
She ushered you both inside. The house was modest and warm, every corner filled with signs of life framed photos of Alexia and her sister, small plants that somehow weren’t dying, Barça memorabilia tucked into corners in a way that didn’t scream fan but quietly said family. It smelled amazing, garlic, tomatoes, something freshly baked.
The dining table was already set, and Eli insisted you sit while she finished the last touches. You tried to offer help, but she waved you off.
“She won’t let anyone touch a thing once she starts cooking,” Alexia muttered as she filled your water glass. “And if you try, she’ll say you’ve ruined the surprise.”
“It’s not a surprise,” Eli called from the kitchen, clearly having heard. “It’s just food.”
“She’s lying,” Alexia grinned.
Lunch was delicious. Comfort food, served in big portions with more love than presentation, and you ate every bite. Eli asked about your childhood, your football journey, if you were settling in well to Barcelona. You tried not to stumble when she gently asked about your family, and though your reply was short and quiet, she didn’t push. Just nodded, her eyes soft.
“I’m sorry you’ve been carrying that,” she said, not pitying, just kind. “You have family here now. Whether you want us or not.”
You blinked fast and managed a quiet, “Thank you.”
Alexia gave your knee a gentle squeeze under the table. Her smile said she was proud of you for not bolting.
After lunch, Eli brought out flan and little cups of café con leche. You were halfway through praising the dessert when Alexia got a call, club-related, judging by the way her brows pulled together.
“I’ll be two minutes,” she said, excusing herself to take it outside.
Eli sat back, sipping her coffee. “You make her lighter, you know.”
You looked up from your flan. “Sorry?”
“She carries a lot. Always has. Even when she doesn’t say it out loud. Since you… she’s just lighter. I see it.”
You felt a tightness in your chest you hadn’t been expecting. “I didn’t do anything special.”
“She wouldn’t love you if you did,” Eli said. “She doesn’t need special. She needs real.”
You opened your mouth, but Alexia was back, giving you both a mildly suspicious look. “You’re not giving her the ‘you hurt her and I’ll bury you under the pitch’ talk, are you?”
“Not yet,” Eli said, her tone sweet, her eyes twinkling.
Alexia rolled her eyes, but she was grinning.
You stayed for another hour, talking, helping clear the table even though Eli swatted your hand away twice. She hugged you when you left, tighter than before, whispering, “You come round whenever you need. No invite necessary.”
As you walked back to the car, still clutching a tupperware of leftovers, Alexia slipped her hand into yours. “Well?”
“I love her,” you said.
“Told you.”
“She called me family,” you said quietly. “That kind of broke me a little.”
Alexia pulled you into a one-armed hug and kissed the side of your head. “She meant it. So do I.”
You looked up at her. “Thank you for today.”
She met your eyes, voice soft. “You mean too much to me not to share you with the people who made me.”
You grinned. “Okay, that’s a little romantic.”
“Get used to it,” she smirked. “I’m a disaster for you.”
You laughed as she opened your car door like a gentlewomen, and as you sat inside holding leftovers and wearing a smile that hadn’t left in hours, you realised this wasn’t just a football contract that kept you here. This was home.
🧑🧑🧒🧒
You barely made it through the door.
The moment you stepped into Alexia’s home, the weight you’d been carrying, on your shoulders, in your chest, behind your eyes crashed into you all at once. Your suitcase slipped from your hand in the hallway with a soft thud, and you just stood there, motionless.
Alexia had heard the door and appeared from the living room, her face already etched with concern. She didn’t say anything at first, just walked toward you with slow, careful steps, like you were made of glass and she wasn’t sure which part might crack first.
You didn’t even lift your head. Just leaned forward and buried your face into her neck, your arms barely lifting to wrap around her waist. You felt her tighten her hold immediately, one hand splaying across your back, the other gently cradling the back of your head. She didn’t speak, she just held you.
Your voice was muffled and hoarse. “I don’t even feel like a person right now.”
Alexia pulled back just enough to look at you. “You don’t have to be anything right now. Just be here.”
You nodded, eyes heavy, jaw clenched against the sting behind them. You hadn’t cried again since the funeral, not in front of your sisters dad. Not in front of the extended family. You’d been the strong one, the polite one, the thank-you-for-coming one, the hand-holder, the shoulder for others to lean on. You’d performed grief like it was your duty and now you were empty.
“I’m so tired,” you whispered. “It’s not even just my body. It’s all of me.”
“I know,” Alexia said softly, brushing your hair back. “Come on. You’re home.”
She didn’t ask you to talk, didn’t ask for details. She just helped you out of your coat, walked you to the bedroom, and sat you down on the edge of the bed. You fell back with a sigh that was more than a breath like it was dragging something heavy out of you. She pulled your shoes off for you, tucked a blanket over your legs, then crawled in beside you fully dressed.
Your head found her chest without thinking, and her arms circled you like they were built to. “I feel numb,” you admitted into the quiet.
“Then feel numb,” she replied. “And when you don’t, I’ll be right here.”
You stayed like that for a long while. The quiet hum of the house the only sound between you, eventually your hand curled into the fabric of her top, and your breathing slowed, each exhale a little deeper, a little less jagged.
Sleep didn’t come easy, but it came, because you were tired and because, for the first time in days, you were allowed to simply exist.
🧑🧑🧒🧒
When your eyes blinked open, the room was quiet, the light dim with the fading orange of late afternoon slipping through the curtains. For a few seconds, you were disoriented mind foggy, body heavy with sleep, the familiar ache of grief still quietly humming in your chest.
Then you noticed you weren’t alone, sitting beside you, his little legs out stretched on the bed a soft toy sat proudly on them, was Mateo.
He glanced at you shyly when he saw your eyes open, as if unsure whether he should say something. “Hi,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.
You blinked slowly, your voice scratchy from sleep. “Hey, buddy.”
He gave you a small smile and reached over to hand you the stuffed toy one of his dinosaurs, the red one with a crooked tail. “Auntie Ale, said you were sad,” he said simply, his tone matter of fact like only a child’s could be, “so I brought company.”
You rolled onto your side to face him, your body still sore with exhaustion but your heart tugged in the gentlest of ways. You accepted the toy, looking at it, then back at him, “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful,” you murmured, your voice catching just slightly.
He nodded solemnly. “He’s brave and funny. So he’s good for when you’re feeling sad.”
You looked around, still half lost in the moment. “Where’s Alexia?”
Mateo shrugged a little. “She said she was going to make some food. Then she got a call and went out the kitchen. I came to be with you so you wouldn’t be alone.”
That cracked something in you, you reached out, pulling him gently into a hug. He didn’t hesitate, curling into you like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I think you’re brave and funny too,” you told him against his hair.
He giggled into your shoulder. “I know.” And for a while, you just sat there in the stillness, holding the boy who reminded you without even knowing how to feel a little more human again.
Alexia’s voice carried gently down the hallway as she stepped into the room, a note of concern behind her whispered tone. “Mateo? You in here? Where’d you go, mi amor?”
You and Mateo both looked up. He was still curled next to you, his hands fidgeting in his lap, his dinosaur tucked under one arm. “I stayed with her,” he said simply, as if it was obvious, like the thought of not staying hadn’t even occurred to him.
Alexia’s eyes flicked to you, softening when she saw you awake, sitting up with a warm tiredness in your eyes. She smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. “You’re always disappearing on me,” she teased gently, crossing over and brushing her hand over Mateo’s hair. “I was worried, chiquitín.”
You stretched a little, rubbing your face before looking at Alexia. “Actually, it’s good you’re here, I brought something for him.”
Mateo sat up a bit straighter, eyebrows furrowing in curious confusion. “A present?”
You nodded. “It’s in my bag. Ale, can you grab it?”
She nodded, disappearing briefly and returning with your bag. You unzipped the front pocket, gently pulling out a small drawstring pouch wrapped carefully in cloth.
You held it out to Mateo, who looked at it like it might break in his hands. “Go on,” you smiled, nudging it toward him. “Open it.”
He untied the strings with tiny, eager fingers and peeled back the cloth. His breath caught, inside was a small, smooth fossil brownish-grey, about the size of his palm with a gently curving shape to it. A real, actual dinosaur foot print. Nothing museum worthy, but genuine and old, and entirely his.
“This is real?” he whispered, looking between you and the gift, wide eyed.
“Completely,” you nodded. “From my dad. He had it in his collection for years. I told him about you, how much you love dinosaurs, and he wanted you to have it.”
Mateo’s bottom lip trembled as he stared at it, then, quietly and unexpectedly, he started crying. Not a loud cry, no sobbing or tantrum, just silent tears rolling down his cheeks as he clutched the bone like it was the most precious thing in the world.
Alexia instinctively moved to kneel in front of him, her arms around him in seconds. “Oh, cariño, what’s wrong?”
He shook his head, holding the bone to his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he whispered. “It’s just i've never seen a real dinosaur before"
Your heart ached and swelled all at once, you reached over and rubbed his back gently. “Well… now you have and it’s yours forever.”
Mateo pulled back wiping the tears with the back of hand, “I’m just so happy”
You smiled, “You are?”
He looked up at you, still teary-eyed, and whispered, “Gracias, Coco.”
Alexia looked over at you, her eyes glassy too now, her hand still stroking Mateo’s hair. You gave her a tired smile, voice a little shaky. “You are the best friend I could ask for, its a little thank you from me”
Mateo still emotional, crawled up to hug you again one arm around you, the other clutched tightly around his dinosaur fossil. “Thank you coco”
“You’re welcome bud”
🧑🧑🧒🧒
Alexia’s house was alive with warmth and chatter. The table was overflowing with mismatched dishes, homemade paella from Patri, a tray of empanadas from Vicky, Esme’s attempt at a chocolate tart, a little burned, but proudly presented, and a salad from Marta that no one dared criticise too much. Even Jana had brought her famous garlic bread, though it was nearly gone before it hit the table.
You stood quietly near the corner of the living room for a moment, taking it in the laughter, the teasing, the familiar ease of your teammates moving around Alexia’s home like it was their own. The energy was gentle, not overbearing. It was clear Alexia had orchestrated it all perfectly, warm company, exactly what you needed. Exactly when you didn’t know you needed it.
Mateo was in the middle of the living room, holding court like he was in a classroom. He was beaming, his cheeks flushed with excitement, the fossil clutched proudly in both hands.
“And it’s real!” he announced with wide eyes, spinning slowly in a circle to make sure everyone heard him. “It’s a dinosaur fossil. Like a real one. Coco gave it to me from her dad.”
Gasps and 'wows' erupted from the girls. Mapi immediately crouched down with a grin. “Wait, are you telling me you have a real dinosaur footprint and you didn’t invite me to your museum opening?”
Mateo giggled, showing it to her. “You can look but you can’t touch.”
Patri leaned toward you, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve created a monster,” she said with a smirk.
“He’s always been a monster,” Irene said with mock offence as she walked past, ruffling Mateo’s hair. “Now he just has a fossil to protect his treasure pile.”
You laughed softly, your chest lighter than it had felt in days. Watching Mateo wave the fossil in front of Ingrid and Salma like he was handing over the crown jewels, you felt something ease. Alexia appeared beside you, sliding her hand into yours.
“He’s shown everyone that thing twice already,” she murmured into your ear with a soft laugh.
“And he’ll show it twice more before dessert,” you replied, turning your head to meet her gaze.
She squeezed your hand. “I knew you wouldn’t ask for it, but I knew you'd need this.” You nodded, words caught behind a lump in your throat. “I love you,” she added gently.
You exhaled slowly, gripping her hand tighter. “I know.” Then you smiled through it, through the ache, the gratitude, the grief, and the love. “Thank you for knowing.” you pecked her cheek, "I saw the game"
Alexia pulled back slightly to look at you, her brows lifting as she studied your face carefully, gently, the way only someone who truly knew you would. “You watched it?” she said quietly, her voice soft, edged with surprise and something more tender. “At the wake?”
You nodded, eyes scanning the living room where your teammates, your little makeshift family, were still laughing and eating, Mateo now trying to convince Esme that fossils could be used to fight dragons. “Yeah. My aunt put it on, actually.”
Alexia’s fingers tightened around yours, her thumb brushing a slow stroke over your knuckles.
“That’s when I cried,” you continued. “I hadn’t yet that day, I think I was… still trying to hold everything in, but that did it.”
Alexia swallowed, eyes shining as she searched your expression. “I couldn’t not do something,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “It felt like the only way I could tell you I was there even when I couldn’t be.”
You smiled faintly, leaning into her. “It worked.”
She moved back closer, her arm wrapping around your waist now, grounding you. “I didn’t know if it would be too much. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. That we were.” her gaze flicking to her team briefly
You took a breath, your forehead resting against her temple for a second. “It wasn’t too much. It was perfect. You made me feel supported even all that distance away.”
Alexia didn’t say anything to that. She didn’t have to, she just pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered, “Siempre contigo,” against your skin. Always with you.
The wake was quieter than you expected.
Not in sound there was the soft hum of conversations, the distant clink of teacups, the occasional polite laugh as stories were shared but in weight. The kind of quiet that wrapped around your chest and made it harder to breathe.
You sat at the back corner of the room, away from the photos, the framed memories of your mum and sister that lined the front table. Beside you, one of your aunts placed a gentle hand on your shoulder as she turned the TV up ever so slightly.
“They’re about to kick off,” she said softly. “Thought you might want to watch.”
You didn’t reply, you just nodded once as a thank you, eyes already on the screen.
The camera swept across the pitch at the Estadi Johan Cruyff. You could see them there your team, your friends. The place that had become your home so quickly.
Then the commentator spoke. His voice low and measured.
“Today, FC Barcelona Femení are wearing black armbands in solidarity with their teammate Y/N, who recently suffered the tragic loss of her mother and sister. A heartbreaking time as she says her final goodbyes today, and one the team clearly carries into today’s match with heavy hearts.”
The camera zoomed in on the starting eleven lining up for their team photo. Front and centre, held in the hands of Marta and Patri, was your shirt.
Your number. Your name.
Your chest tightened as you blinked rapidly, you hadn’t expected that, hadn’t known they were going to do it.
Then the whistle blew.
You watched the match in a daze. You weren’t even processing the plays, not really. You weren’t watching tactics or formations, you were watching blobs run around the green pitch.
They played hard, for you, Pina scored early on she tapped the black armband on her arm before kissing it. Alexia was everywhere relentless, sharp, leading and in the 74th minute, she scored.
It was a rocket from outside the box, a goal born of fury and finesse, a strike that left the keeper rooted and the crowd roaring but she didn’t celebrate the way she normally did.
No, Alexia ran straight to the bench, one of the staff had already reached for your shirt and threw it to her. She caught it without breaking stride, slowing only as she reached the sidelines.
She held it up right to the camera, your name facing forward, proud, steady. The commentator fell silent for a moment as the image filled the screen and then Alexia kissed her fingers three times.
She blew the kisses, eyes locked on the camera lens like it was a tether to you and then she nodded once, solemn and sure, she tapped the badge, lifted her face to the sky and only then did she move away.
In the room around you, someone sniffed, someone else wiped a cheek, but you didn’t cry. Not at first, it was when your aunt leaned over, whispered, “She loves you so much,” that the tears started.
Silent and endless, you didn’t try to hide them, because in that moment, across a continent and a world away from the pitch, you felt it. The most private person you'd ever met made a public declaration towards you for the world to see.
In a match where the scoreboard tells only half the story, a fierce on-pitch rivalry between you and football royalty, Alexia Putellas, evolves into something electric — something unspoken, but deeply felt. Between the lines two players lock eyes, trade touches, and blur the line between competition and connection. What begins as a game becomes a gravity neither can resist.
Part 12
Other Parts
Word Count: 9k
The moment you step onto the pitch, the crowd already feels louder than usual warmer, more expectant. You’ve been here before, dozens of times, but this time is different. This time, it’s goodbye.
You try not to let it get to you in the tunnel. Focus on the game, you tell yourself, just one more, one more ninety minutes, but when the announcer calls your name, and the fans chant it back with an echo that seems to ripple right through you, you feel it. The weight of it all. The years, the battles, the triumphs, the quiet nights of doubt. Every ounce of sweat you left on this pitch. Every person you’ve become because of this club.
The whistle blows. You breathe and you run.
You don’t go into the game thinking about records. You go in trying to be present, composed, but something shifts in you after the first goal, a fast, instinctive finish off your left foot. It’s like muscle memory takes over.
The second is cleaner a breakaway, defenders scrambling in your wake, the keeper never really stood a chance.
By the time the third lands, a beautiful curling power strike from outside the box, the stadium erupts. You don’t even know where your legs take you; your teammates are already swarming you, piling on top of you, yelling in three languages . Someone grabs your face, another lifts your arm in the air, you’re laughing and crying at the same time and then the stadium announcer’s voice cuts through the chaos:
“With that goal, she becomes the all-time leading goalscorer in Bayern Munich Frauen history…Make some noise for 'Your name'”
You freeze for just a moment. It’s surreal. The stat was floating around — close, possible — but no one wanted to say it out loud. Now it’s fact.
The fans are on their feet, banners waving, your name being chanted like it’s stitched into the bricks of the stadium.
When they sub you off near the end, the entire team stands to applaud, even the opposition clap you off. The fourth official gives you a nod that feels more personal than professional and as you walk toward the sideline, the whole stadium stands. It’s deafening. It had been rumoured for weeks you were leaving this international break and the players around you confirmed it for the fans and wanted to show there appreciation
You meet the new head coach with a nod and a watery smile, and then turn once more toward the crowd, pressing your hand over your heart and the badge, mouthing a quiet thank you.
You never imagined your last game here would end like this your name in the history books, the weight of the shirt settling over your shoulders one last time like a second skin.
The final whistle blew, and the camera cut straight to you, surrounded by your teammates. You looked tired, exhilarated, overwhelmed — but there was peace in your eyes. A kind of closure. You lifted the trophy high, confetti raining down. Red and white, one last time.
Then came the mic.
The stadium had quieted a little, waiting.
You stood at the edge of the pitch, still in full kit, boots covered in turf, hair sticking to your forehead. The trophy sat behind you. You didn’t need a script.
The crowd slowly quiets as you step forward, mic in hand, eyes scanning the stands, the cameras, your teammates.
You draw in a breath, then begin. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say today. I’ve gone over it in my head a hundred times. But now that I’m standing here… words feel small.” You pause, voice already thick, a little shaky. “Bayern gave me more than I ever knew to ask for. This club, this badge, became home when I needed one most. It believed in me before I fully believed in myself and I’ll never forget that. How you embraced me into your team your country and your culture.”
The applause rises for a moment, but you lift a hand, gently asking for a bit more space to speak.
“This past couple of months has been… hard. And not just on the pitch, I made a personal private decision, one that certain people felt needed to affect me professionally. One that changed things fast and I won’t lie to you, it hurt. I didn’t want to leave like this, not where I was forced into making a decision.”
You glance toward the touchline, a flicker of emotion breaking across your face.
“But I also think… maybe it was time. Even when something’s good, even when you love it with everything you’ve got sometimes, you have to let go to grow. I grew to a player at my time in Lyon and I didn't think I could grow anymore but after three years here, I've grown even more and I'm excited to see where I end up next helps me grow and evolve as a player and a human being. I needed to make space for something new and trust that the next chapter could be just as full of meaning.”
Your eyes sweep across the sea of red in the stands.
“So no, I’m not confirming anything today about where I am heading next. That’s not what this is. Today isn’t about what’s next. It’s about what was. What we built together, what we achieved and rose this club to. What we bled for. It’s about the nights in the cold rain. The goals that didn’t come easy. The teammates who became family. The fans who showed up even when we lost and the belief that this, all of this, was bigger than just football.”
Your voice cracks softly.
“Thank you for letting me be part of your history and for being the most unforgettable part of mine, Ich liebe dich so sehr, es lebe Bayern.”
You step back. The crowd erupts not just in applause, but in a kind of collective, emotional exhale, flags wave. Fans wipe tears. Your teammates are already moving toward you again some clapping, some wrapping you in hugs that don’t want to end.
⚽️
The music’s loud, the lights low and warm, and the energy in the room buzzes with the kind of joy only footballers know that post-final, post-season, post-everything glow. Your whole body aches in the best way, like it remembers the pitch still, the weight of the trophy, the squeeze of your teammates’ arms around you.
But you’re drunk, not messy, not sloppy, just merry. The kind of drunk that makes you hug everyone a little longer, laugh a little louder, feel everything a little more.
You’re being passed around like a trophy yourself pulled into photo after photo, drink after drink handed to you with shouts of "To the record breaker!" and "Top scorer, baby!" Someone’s added a Bayern scarf around your neck and won’t let you take it off.
You’ve got your arm around one of the younger players, cheeks flushed from dancing, when Lea leans in and yells over the music, “How does it feel being a legend?”
You laugh, swaying slightly. “Like I’m gonna need electrolytes tomorrow and a very long nap.” The whole table bursts out laughing. Someone slides you a fresh beer. You raise it like a toast. “Danke, Bayern,” you say, dramatic and heartfelt, slurring just a little, “for the goals, the glory, and the ungodly amount of schnitzel I’ve eaten with you all.”
Cue more laughter, and someone probably Sarah Zadrazil shouting “SPEECH!” again, but you wave her off this time. “I already cried on a microphone today,” you grin. “Let me be hot and unbothered now.”
You find yourself in the middle of the dance floor not long after, surrounded by a chaotic circle of teammates, arms thrown around each other, jumping and spinning and shrieking lyrics off-key. The DJ transitions into a cheesy Euro-club anthem and the whole squad loses it.
Someone hands you a shot you don’t know who, you don’t ask, you drink it.
You’re not thinking about what comes next tonight, not contracts, not goodbyes, not even Barcelona. Just now. Just this and if your phone buzzes somewhere in your back pocket, a message from Alexia maybe but you don’t check it yet. You’re too busy living the last few hours of your Bayern chapter exactly the way it should be lived. Drunk. Loved and completely, unmistakably free.
The music doesn’t slow when they walk in, but the atmosphere shifts just enough that you feel it like a ripple. You don’t notice them right away, you're mid-laugh, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Klara and Lea, dancing without rhythm but full of joy, cheeks flushed from one too many shots and the high of a perfect ending. Someone’s got a sparkler in a cupcake and is trying not to set off the fire alarm, but then Georgia leans in, close to your ear. “Hey… don’t freak out, but…”
You blink, still smiling, until you follow her glance toward the edge of the room. There they are. Your ex-head coach, and beside her, her daughter. That daughter. The one who had stared at you like she owned you and then bragged like she’d won something. She’s in a sleek dress, already nursing a drink, eyes scanning the room like she’s trying to gauge how much of a stir she’s caused.
You can’t hear your own heartbeat over the music, but you feel it in your throat anyway. A couple teammates catch on quickly. There’s movement, subtle shifts. One of the older girls gives you a tight smile, just checking in. Pernille moves a little closer, shoulder brushing yours. A silent you good? you tip your head, a shrug that’s half answer, half what the fuck is she doing here?
They’re not part of the celebration. She was let go, everyone knows it. This isn’t her circle anymore. You don’t look at the daughter again. Not even when she tries to catch your eye.
Instead, you grab another drink, rejoin the circle, and throw your arms around your people.
It’s quieter here, just far enough from the speakers that conversation doesn’t have to be shouted, but still close enough that the pulse of the music lives in your chest. You’re swirling the last of your drink, debating whether to have another or switch to water when her voice cuts through the hum beside you.
“Well,” she says, soft and smooth, like she never lit a match behind your back, “congrats, I guess. Big night.”
You turn your head slowly. She’s leaning against the bar, that same too-confident smirk playing at her lips. The one that once fooled you into thinking there was depth behind it. You give her a polite, emotionless nod. “Thanks.”
She lets a beat pass. “You look good.”
You sigh. “Don’t.”
“What?”
You face her more fully, voice calm, but firm. “Don’t pretend this is something it wasn’t.”
Her smile twitches, eyes sharp. “You left in the middle of the night. I’d say you’re the one pretending.”
You arch a brow. “I left after seeing the message you sent to your friends bragging about it. You turned me into a punchline in a group chat. That wasn’t me pretending. That was me walking away from something I should never have touched.”
That wipes the smirk off her face for a moment, but she recovers, leans in slightly, dropping her voice. “Maybe I made a mistake. I’ve been thinking about it. About you.”
You shake your head. “You’re still doing it. This game. This thing where you act like you didn’t mess it up and hope I forgot.”
She scoffs, arms crossing, irritation starting to show. “So what, you're too good for me now?”
“No,” you say, your voice lowering, more weight behind it now. “I just know what I want.”
“And what’s that?”
You take a slow breath, meeting her gaze dead-on. “I don’t want a childish girl in my life. I want a woman.” The silence stretches between you, heavy. You let it, then you step back, setting your empty glass down. “Someone who knows what it means to actually care about people. To protect what matters. Not just take, burn and laugh about it later.”
She watches you, blinking fast, suddenly unsure. Off-balance. Maybe for the first time around you. You nod once, final, and walk away.
The tension was soon replaced by laughter, music, and half-empty plates. The energy is looser, warmer back with the team, you didn't let the moment linger. There’s been dancing, hugs, tears from some of the staff, and far too many toasts. but when someone clinks a glass again and shouts for attention, it’s Georgia who steps forward, standing a little awkwardly but smiling wide, but the second she clears her throat and lifts her glass, people fall quiet.
“This won’t be long,” she says, eyes flicking to you with that glint of mischief, “because I know she hates this kind of thing.” There’s a ripple of laughter, but you’re already bracing yourself, heart thudding unevenly. Georgia takes a breath. “I’ve known her since we were kids and from the very start, I knew she wasn’t like the rest of us. She was sharper, faster, more stubborn, way too good with a ball at her feet… and absolute shite at letting people help her.”
Another laugh, gentler this time. You manage a sheepish smile, swallowing thickly.
“But somewhere along the way, she let me in. And we’ve been through everything together. Youth teams, heartbreaks, homesickness, injuries, wins, losses, early mornings and god-awful pre-season runs where I wanted to kill her because she always made it look easy.”
Your eyes drop, jaw tight, trying to breathe through it. You hadn’t expected this to hit so hard.
Georgia’s voice softens. “I’ve watched her grow into the kind of player legends are built around, but more than that more than the trophies, or the goals, or the headlines I’ve watched her grow into the kind of person you don’t come across often. Loyal. Brave. Quietly kind. The type who would rip her heart out for someone she cares about and never ask for anything back.”
There’s a silence in the room now, thick and still. You blink fast, but it’s too late your throat’s tight, and your eyes sting, and when you look up, Georgia’s watching you gently, like she knows.
“She’s been my best friend for so many years. And now she’s going somewhere new. Somewhere massive. And I couldn’t be prouder if I tried. Your next team doesn’t know how lucky they are yet but they will.” You press your lips together, but a tear slips out anyway. You wipe it quickly with the back of your hand as Georgia raises her glass. “To my best friend. My sister. You gave everything here and you’ll do the same there. You always do. I love you with all my heart my dude, go get the ballon d'or we all know you should of had by now”
A chorus of voices echoes her words, glasses raised high.
“To her!”
Georgia smiles, "Just remember us in your acceptance speech yeah?" You laugh wiping your tears as the girls do,
You stand slowly, and Georgia moves first pulling you into a tight hug that you sink into, burying your face in her shoulder for a moment longer than you mean to. When you finally pull back, your voice cracks as you murmur, “You’re not allowed to do speeches anymore.”
Georgia grins, eyes shining too. “Next time I’ll sing it.”
You both laugh but your hands are still shaking a little, and you’re sure everyone saw the tears.
You don’t care, because if you had to cry anywhere… it was always going to be for her.
The morning Barcelona sky was soft with late spring sun, the kind that warmed your shoulders without making you sweat. You’d barely slept the night before not from nerves, not exactly but more from that strange hum that comes with knowing everything’s about to change. The start of finding a new daily routine and comfortability in a new country and city.
Your suitcase was unpacked, your boots were by the door, and Ellie Roebuck was already banging on your bedroom wall, telling you to hurry up or she’d leave you behind.
You’d moved into her apartment two days ago. It was clean, bright, and full of chatter. You were in the block where a lot of the younger players stayed so ones staying behind from international duty had popped down to see you, the energy was fresh, loud, and kind of perfect. You felt new here, but not unwelcome.
Today was the start.
Today, you’d walk into the training facility not as a visitor, but officially, formally, as a Barcelona player.
Ellie drove the two of you in, music humming through her speaker, one hand tapping the wheel, the other flinging commentary your way every couple of minutes about what to expect where not to sit in the dressing room, how intense the staff meetings could be, who was always late, who ran the group chats. She made you laugh, made you breathe easier. It was a good distraction from the knot in your chest.
Because the truth was… today felt strange, not bad. Just… new.
Alexia was gone, off with the national team. Her plane had taken off the same morning yours had landed, like some cosmic sleight of hand. It made your first day easier, less players, less eyes but room to breathe and learn the new way here.
Campus was already buzzing when you arrived. The media team ready and waiting, cameras being prepped, Barça press staff hovering with clipboards and radios. You were ushered inside before your foot could fully hit the pavement, a whirlwind of smiles, handshakes, welcome hugs, contract photo retakes. A press conference loomed, and you’d been warned there were going to be questions, about Bayern, about your decision, about the future.
You were ready. You had to be, but every so often, between the smiles and the flashing lights and the clicking heels of a PR handler walking too fast in front of you, your eyes flicked to the corridors to where you remembered seeing Alexia waiting for you once, or to the photo lined walls your eye almost every time drawn to Alexia in her moments of glory.
You squared your shoulders, let them take your photo smiled when someone shouted your name. Walked down the corridor in your new kit. The Barça crest over your heart. The past behind you, the whole world watching.
Today was a new beginning.
⚽️
Alexia stepped into the break room, the atmosphere inside was louder than usual not just music, but actual noise, a ripple of voices rising above the normal low hum of conversation and coffee machines.
She paused at the threshold, eyebrows pulling together as she scanned the room. A few teammates had their phones out, others clustered around the TV mounted in the corner. It was tuned to a sports channel, one of the big ones, and the screen was dominated by a wide shot of a press room at Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper.
Irene turned, noticed her. “Ah. Speak of the devil.”
Alexia’s brow lifted. “What’s going on?”
Irene nodded toward the TV, where the camera had now cut to your face fresh kit, Barça crest sharp over your chest, sponsor backdrop behind you. You were settling in at the microphone, smiling but clearly a little stiff, that telltale tension in your shoulders that Alexia knew by heart. “Barça just confirmed it,” Irene said, a wry smile tugging at her mouth. “They paid two million for her. Highest transfer fee in womens football history.”
Alexia blinked. “Two million?” she echoed, voice low.
Irene shrugged. “They really, really wanted her apparently.”
Alexia didn’t move. Her gaze stayed locked on the screen, her chest doing something traitorous and tight. She hadn’t expected it to hit like this, not the news, she knew it was coming, she’d known before anyone, really. But seeing it, watching the moment you stepped into that seat, pulled the mic toward you, and said your first words as an official Barcelona player, it felt real in a way it hadn’t before.
Patri elbowed her gently. “You gonna text her? Or are we pretending you didn’t fall in love with her before she even signed?” Alexia moved her eyes to Patri with that stare that Patri knew she'd over stepped.
Alexia rolled her eyes as she looked away, but her cheeks flushed a soft, warm pink anyway. She ignored the phone vibrating in her pocket.
Irene gave her a knowing look. “You could at least say congrats.”
Alexia’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. She watched as your eyes flicked up, answering a question she couldn’t hear, your voice steady but with that soft little smile the one that always slipped out when you talked about things that mattered.
⚽️
You shifted in your seat as the cameras clicked, the room settling after the opening statements. The Barça crest was bright on your chest, the water bottle beside the mic untouched. You could feel the lights on your skin, the buzz of anticipation from the room, from yourself. You’d done press conferences before, but this — this felt different. Bigger. Heavier.
The moderator nodded toward the first journalist.
“Y/N, congratulations on your signing. Obviously, it’s a historic move, can you speak to the nature of your departure from Bayern? There’s been a lot of speculation.”
You took a small breath, already expecting the question. Your voice was calm when it came, but low not guarded, exactly. Just thoughtful. “Leaving Bayern was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. That club gave me a lot, years of development, memories I’ll never forget, a platform to grow, friends for life, but things changed with my relationship with Helen, I had made a personal decision away from football and the club and she felt that needed to impact me professionally as l assume punishment. I won’t get into all the details, but I knew I needed a different environment. Somewhere I could keep evolving and not live out the rest of my contract on the bench and Barcelona offered that."
There was a pause, and then the moderator pointed to another hand.
“What are your goals here? What do you want to achieve in Barcelona, both short term and long term?”
You smiled at that smaller, but this time a bit easier. “First and foremost, I want to earn my place. This team is packed with some of the best players in the world. I’m not coming in expecting anything to be handed to me, I’m coming in ready to work, to learn, to contribute. In the short term, I want to integrate into the squad, understand the system, find my place, where they want or feel they need me and mainly just get settled both on and off the pitch.” you take a breath "Long term? I want to help this team win. Champions League, Liga F, everything, but more than that I want to become part of the identity here. I want to be someone the club, the team, the fans, and the city are proud of and can rely on. I think that takes more than goals and assists. It takes heart and commitment. I’m here to give that.”
There were a few nods, pens scribbling, more flashes.
“Have the coaching staff shared their vision for you in the team? What role they want you to play?”
“Yeah we’ve had great conversations. They see me as someone who can offer versatility in the attacking third. I’ve played centrally, I’ve played wide, and they know I love to float and create. The exciting part is how fluid Barça’s style is. The staff have made it clear they want me to be bold to take risks, press hard, make things happen which I feel i'm no stranger at doing. I feel really aligned with their philosophy. It’s attacking, it’s technical, but it’s also smart. It suits me.”
Another question started to form from a hand raised in the back, the journalist leaned forward. “Are you ready for the pressure? Big fee, big legacy to live up to.”
You tilted your head slightly, lips twitching with a knowing smile, “Pressure’s a privilege. It means people believe in you and I’ve worked too hard to get here to be afraid of that now.”
Cameras clicked again. Flash. Flash.
You sat back slightly, exhaled and just for a moment, let the smallest smile slip, you'd spotted a journalist from Germany, you tilt your chin and speak in German, "What brings you here?" You and the woman held a conversation in German that was clearly more personal than professional before she asked her question in English.
"I'm not sure if you've been online at all since the news broke but theres a lot of excitement to see how you'll work with Barcelonas Captain Alexia Putellas after the battles you both have been in internally and domestically in the champions league"
"Hopefully well" You laugh gently, "I obviously can't speak for her but I felt when we came up against each other we always seem to know the other persons move before they did so that could work in our favour if thats still the case for sure"
⚽️
Your first week at Barça felt like it blurred and stretched all at once intense, humbling, but quietly exhilarating. The campus buzzed with that unique hum of history and expectation, and though most of the internationals were away, the few players around had been warm and curious, and the staff even more so.
You’d come in focused, not just on the pitch, but off it. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t be that player, the one who expected the world to shift around them, so you’d shown up early, stayed late, and most noticeably, started showing real effort with the language.
You’d already gotten a few laughs from mispronunciations but it had softened people too, made them open up quicker. One of the assistant coaches had clapped you on the shoulder during a post-session debrief and said with a grin, “If you keep speaking like that, we might believe you were born here.”
And someone from the physio team, the one who always played reggaeton a little too loud, had joked, “She’s learning Catalan faster than some of the internationals that have been here years.”
It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t need to be. The effort was there, and people noticed. At lunch one day, Marta one of the captains , sat down next to you and offered to help with your phrases. You wrote them down in the notes app on your phone with a smile and thanked her with a very practiced, “Gràcies, ets molt amable.”
The week ended with a light recovery session and a slow walk around the facility with some of the staff and players, as you paused by one of the open fields, you caught yourself thinking not with nerves, but calm certainty, this already feels like home.
⚽️
You were sunk deep into the sofa, legs stretched out, one arm draped over Teddy while Jonny lay curled on the floor nearby both dogs fully committed to doing absolutely nothing. You’d just thrown your phone somewhere between two cushions after replying to a group chat when it started to buzz again.
Alexia.
Your stomach did that stupid thing that tight, stupid little flip, you answered with a casual, “Hi,” but your voice had that edge the kind of smooth you practiced, the kind that meant she still got to you.
“Hola,” she said, and you could hear the smile. “You free tonight?”
You glanced around like there was something scheduled beyond dogs and leftovers. “Uh, yeah?”
“I was thinking maybe I could pick you up. Take you for a drink, unless you’ve already got someone else charming lined up to share wine with on a Friday night.”
You snorted before you could help it, biting back a grin. “I think you just insulted both Jonny and Teddy.”
Alexia laughed. “I’ll make it up to them with treats. Twenty minutes?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
You hung up and tossed your phone down, just as Ellie rounded the corner with a glass of water and a look that said she’d heard everything, she arched a brow. “Wow. Readily available much?”
You gave her a shove with your foot. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You’re in love, or at least in the very specific early stages of horny, hopeful affection.” She took a dramatic sip of water. “It’s gross. And adorable. And gross.”
You rolled your eyes, already standing up. “Shut up.”
Ellie smirked, trailing after you. “Just don’t come crawling back here drunk at 1am needing me to tell you she definitely likes you. Again.”
You paused at the hallway, glancing back at her with a playful glare. “She does.”
Ellie grinned. “Then go let her show you.”
You stood in front of your open wardrobe, clothes flung across the bed in the kind of chaos that only came from nerves disguised as decision-making. A fitted black top. A more casual button-down. Jeans or trousers? Heeled boots or trainers?
“I’m losing it,” you muttered, holding up a shirt in each hand like they were life-altering contracts.
Ellie lounged back on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other, watching you with all the serenity of someone who had not been personally attacked by a crush showing up for drinks. “You are wildly overthinking this,” she said around a grin. “You’re not meeting her parents, you’re going out for a drink with the woman who has seen you in sweats, eating cereal out of a mug.”
“This is different,” you huffed, holding up a different shirt now. “I’m in Barcelona. I’m officially her teammate and this is her picking me up for the first time for something like this. This is new territory for us, I dont know what we are, I dont know if she even sees us as a thing”
“You’ve been a thing,” Ellie replied, eyes twinkling. “She looked at you like you hung the stars before you signed. Now she’s probably just mad you’re still pretending this isn’t a date.”
You opened your mouth to argue only for the sharp buzz of the intercom to cut through the room. You froze. Ellie howled with laughter. “Oh my God, are you gonna cry?” she teased, hopping off the bed as you scrambled for your phone. “You’re actually panicking!”
“Shut up—”
But Ellie was already at the wall panel, pressing the call button, her voice smug and sweet. “Hey, Alexia? Yeah, come up. She’s still getting dressed. Might be a while.”
You swore under your breath, glaring at her as she turned around with the most unhelpful smirk you’d ever seen.
“She’s coming up,” Ellie said, tossing your trainers toward you. “Better choose an outfit before she has to help you into it, because she certainly will want to help you out of it later”
You threw a pillow at her. Missed and then frantically pulled on the top she’d first suggested, because of course it looked best all along.
You were mid, half-wrestling your way into a jacket that you’d suddenly decided might just be needed incase its cold, when you heard the familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by Ellie’s unmistakable voice and Alexia’s low reply.
Your heart did that thing and you froze for a second, pulse jumping. Then, footsteps, then her voice, soft but amused, from your bedroom doorway.
“Have you not unpacked yet?” she asked, leaning against the frame with one brow arched, eyes flicking over the absolute chaos of clothes on your bed, and all over the floor.
You turned, already flustered. “I have! It’s just—this—wasn’t unpacking. It was… tactical outfit planning.”
Alexia’s eyes sparkled as she looked around, arms crossing lightly over her chest. She was in a simple outfit jeans and a white tee under a leather jacket nothing dramatic, but she still looked unfairly good. “Tactical,” she echoed, stepping a little further into the room. “Is this what you do before every drink?”
“Only with people who make me weirdly nervous,” you said before you could stop yourself, then winced. “That sounded cooler in my head.”
She smiled, slow and knowing, walking around the edge of your bed with practiced ease before glancing over your shoulder to the mirror. “Well, whatever strategy you landed on… it’s working.”
You blinked. “Yeah?”
Alexia shrugged one shoulder, but there was no mistaking the softness in her voice. “You look good.”
You turned slightly, your eyes meeting hers in the mirror. The air felt thick for a moment, warm and suspended. “I was going to say the same to you,” you murmured. “But I’ve already seen you in worse. Hoodie. Remember?”
That earned you a smirk, a familiar glint in her eyes. “That hoodie worked for me, and you know it."
You laughed properly this time tension bleeding out of your shoulders. Behind you, in the hallway, you could just make out Ellie muttering “Jesus Christ, just kiss already,” loud enough for no one to miss.
Alexia arched an eyebrow, grinning, and motioned toward the door. “Come on, before your new roommate starts narrating everything.”
You grabbed your bag with a shake of your head. “Lead the way, Putellas.”
⚽️
The bar wasn’t particularly full a few tables buzzing with locals, soft music filtering through the low lighting but it felt like its own kind of pocket. Removed from the press, the training ground, the cameras. It was just the two of you, a drink in your hand and Alexia next to you, looking at you like she’d been waiting to.
She slid your drink over to you, fingers brushing the base of the glass before retreating to her own. “So,” she said, eyebrows lifting as she took a sip. “How’s your first week been?”
You paused, glass halfway to your lips, and gave her a crooked smile. “Am I talking to my new captain right now or…”
The words hung there, suspended not because you didn’t know what to say, but because you suddenly weren’t sure what you were to each other now. This thing between you hadn’t really been labelled. A handful of visits, a couple of sexual encounters, and now she was asking about your week like it was nothing and everything all at once.
Alexia caught it the shift in your tone, the hesitation, her eyes softened, her smile slow and warm. “You’re talking to me,” she said quietly. “Not la capitana. Just me.”
You looked at her, your chest tightening in the best way. “Okay then,” you said with a soft laugh, finally taking a sip. “In that case, it’s been good. Better than I thought, actually. Everyone’s been kind. It’s strange though… adjusting to a new rhythm, new expectations. The staff are great, though. I feel like I already trust them.”
Alexia nodded. “That’s a big thing, trusting the staff. Makes all the difference.”
You toyed with the edge of your napkin. “Marta's already decided I’m one of you lot now, said there’s no going back.”
“She likes you,” Alexia said, her voice dipping into something teasing. “She’s very particular on who she likes to”
You smirked. “She also told me who to avoid if I want to keep my sanity.”
Alexia narrowed her eyes with a grin. “Let me guess… Jana?”
You pointed at her dramatically. “Yes. I didn’t even say anything, and Marta just went: ‘Don’t let Jana rope you into any theme nights. And if Ona’s involved? Run.’”
That pulled a real laugh from Alexia the kind that made you feel like you’d done something right just by being honest.
“I’ve been trying with the Catalan too,” you said after a moment. “Or at least trying and trying to not embarrass myself entirely. One of the physios asked if I knew any, I panicked and said ‘maybe’… in German.”
Alexia’s laugh softened to a fond smile. “Don’t worry. You’ve got time. I’ll help you, if you want.”
You looked at her over the rim of your glass. “Dangerous offer. I might hold you to that.”
Her gaze lingered. “I hope you do.”
You fell quiet for a beat, the kind of silence that didn’t press or stretch it just settled around you comfortably.
Then, more gently, Alexia leaned in a little. “You seemed nervous at the press conference.”
You shrugged. “I was. I didn’t want to say too much, or too little. I didn’t want to make it about the past.” She nodded like she understood, because of course she did. “But it’s weird,” you added. “I spent months knowing I had to leave Bayern and now that I’ve left, I thought I’d feel… relief, I guess. But it’s more like… grief. In a way.”
Alexia reached across the gap as you sat on your stools, brushing your thigh lightly with her fingers, not holding, just touching, grounding. “That makes sense,” she said softly. “You gave so much of yourself there. It’s okay to miss it. Even if your hand was twisted with the decision really"
You looked down at where her fingers had met you, her touch still lingering. Alexia tilted her head, you met her eyes. “I want this move to be more than just a headline. I want to earn my place here and I want… I don’t know. To let myself be happy. Properly happy.”
She smiled again, this time slower. “That’s a good place to start.”
You looked at her for a long moment, something warmer unfurling between your ribs even after she leaned back straight sipping her drink her hand still firm in its place on your thigh. “I missed you this week,” you say finally, quiet but certain.
Alexia looks up from where she’d been playing absently with a coaster, her expression shifting, something soft slipping into her eyes, a flicker of surprise behind it. “I thought about texting,” she says after a pause. “Calling, even. I just… I didn’t want to be a distraction. It felt like you needed space to settle in.”
You nod, offering a faint smile. “I get it and I didn’t expect you to. You were with the national team, you had your own stuff going on. I wasn’t waiting by the phone or anything.”
Alexia gives you a small, knowing look. “But you missed me.”
You shrug, playing it off with a smile, but your voice is sincere. “Yeah. I did.”
There’s a beat where neither of you says anything, the noise of the bar rising softly around you, but not enough to drown out the quiet gravity between you. “I missed you too,” Alexia says eventually, her tone almost shy. “More than I have before, maybe because I knew you were here to stay this time, that missing you didn't have to be a thing anymore.”
Your heart does a strange little somersault.
She runs a hand through her hair, eyes flicking back to you. “I kept checking for updates, watched for anything on Barca's instagram how your first few days were going”
You laugh lightly. “Stalking me?”
“I prefer the term keeping up.”
You grin. “Well, for what it’s worth… I’m glad we’re here now. Just you and me. No cameras. No clubs. No captains.”
Alexia’s smile deepens, slow and warm. “Just us.”
You clink your glass gently against hers. “Just us.”
⚽️
You unlock the apartment door, Teddy padding over to greet you both with an eager tail wag, and Alexia crouches briefly to ruffle his ears, murmuring a soft, "Hola, guapo," before straightening again.
She lingers just inside the threshold, looking around with that quiet familiarity, her fingers slipping into the back pockets of her jeans. “I should probably call a taxi,” she says after a moment, voice low, uncertain. "Let you get to bed"
You glance at her, keys still in your hand. “You could stay over, I was going to finish this bottle of wine.” you said as you grab it from the fridge
Her eyes flick to yours, a question hidden behind them. “Are you sure?”
You smile, shrugging one shoulder lightly. “Yeah. It’s late, you’ve had a drink, and we’re not exactly over tonight, are we?”
She huffs a small laugh, something teasing in her smirk as she walks further in. “No. Definitely not over it.”
You watch her move through the space like she’s already part of it, “Besides,” you add, voice softer, “I wouldn’t mind waking up to you still here.”
That earns you a look, one of those Alexia looks head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed like she’s seeing through every layer you’ve got, “You’re dangerous when you talk like that,” she murmurs.
You lean on the counter, grinning. “Then stay. Risk it.”
She hesitates for just a beat, then kicks off her shoes and tosses her keys into the bowl beside yours.
“I’ll take that glass of wine,” she says, casual like she’s not silently choosing something heavier than she lets on. “If it's still going?”
You grab another glass down, "Of course"
You nod, heart a little full, a little unsteady. “You want something to sleep in?”
Alexia lifts an eyebrow. “Do I need something to sleep in?”
You blink, caught off guard, and she laughs again low and playful, stepping closer, close enough to hook her fingers through a belt loop of your jeans. She must know you like it when she tugs at your clothing like she did, because she did every time she saw you.
“I’m teasing,” she murmurs, “kind of.”
You don’t say anything just lean in and kiss her, slow and warm, and when she breaks it, she smiles against your mouth.
Alexia looks down at your now joined hands, then back up at you. Her voice is quieter now, more tentative. “I like our conversations, I miss the way you talk to me when I speak to some other people.”
You tilt your head. “How do I talk to you?”
“Like I’m just Alexia,” she says. “Not Alexia Putellas. Not La Reina. Just… me.”
You squeeze her fingers gently. “I like just you. I can prove it if you want?" You smile gently
“You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone, Coco.”
You laugh at the nickname. “Mateo would be proud.”
Alexia’s grin lingers, but her eyes soften again. “He keeps asking when you’re coming back over.”
“When you invite us, you're apparently not that forthcoming in inviting your teammates over, but happily go to everyone else's homes.”
Her thumb brushes your knuckles. “I'll stop asking you then shall I?"
You arch an eyebrow at her, catching the teasing tone under her words. “Stop asking me? You make it sound like I’m some burden.”
Alexia leans back slightly, her smile twitching at the corners. “You’re not. You’re the opposite, actually.”
“Oh?” You grin. “So what’s stopping you from inviting me properly? Hm?”
She rolls her eyes, but it’s playful. “Maybe I like coming here better. Less pressure, I don't have to host, and.. you don't have to leave Teddy”
You tilt your head. “So, what you’re saying is… you like being here so you can cuddle Teddy whilst I run around after you?.”
Alexia’s gaze drops briefly to your mouth, then meets your eyes again. “I do." You both laugh as you both sip your wine, you put yours down with a little more force than intended,
You shift slightly, leaning in just a little. “So, what are we doing tonight then, since you’re not racing off to get a taxi and you haven’t exactly made a move?”
She shrugs with exaggerated casualness, but her fingers tighten ever so slightly on your hip. “I don’t know… what are we doing?”
Your voice drops just a notch. “Well, I’ve got a spare toothbrush still in the pack, and the guest bed is technically made…”
Alexia lifts an eyebrow. “Technically?”
You smirk. “Meaning I can throw the blanket over the sofa and hope for the best you don't freeze to death out here.”
She laughs, and the sound curls warm through your chest. “I’m not willing to take my chances.”
“Guest bed or mine?” you tease.
She’s already leaning closer. “Coco…”
You grin, brushing your nose against hers. “What?”
“I’m not staying on the fucking sofa.”
You kiss her soft, drawn out, like you’ve got all the time in the world. When you pull back, she’s smiling, eyes half-lidded, thumb still brushing lazy circles over your knuckles. “So,” you say, breath a little shaky now, “should I go get that toothbrush for you?”
Alexia hums. “Only if you're coming with me to use it.” She pauses, then grins. “Because I’m absolutely stealing your moisturiser again.”
You groan, teasing. “You’re the worst houseguest.”
“I’m not a guest,” she replies easily, tugging you toward the hall. “I’m staying over.”
⚽️
You try to focus on brushing your teeth, but it’s impossible when Alexia keeps glancing at you in the mirror, a smirk tugging at the edge of her mouth like she knows exactly what she’s doing to your focus.
She finishes first, of course, smug about it too, and without hesitation, grabs your moisturiser from the shelf like she owns it.
You glance at her through the mirror, foam still at the corners of your mouth. “You’re really just gonna steal that, huh?”
Alexia shrugs, already dabbing it onto her cheekbones with practiced precision. “I told you. I like yours better.”
You rinse and spit, wiping your mouth dry with a towel just as she finishes rubbing the cream in, then she steps behind you, her reflection moving into your peripheral vision. You feel her arms wrap around your waist, warm and easy, her body pressing close to yours from behind.
You exhale, instinctively leaning back into her. “You’re in a mood tonight.”
She hums against your shoulder. “You’re warm.”
Her lips brush bare skin. Just once, then again slower. You catch the shift in her expression in the mirror, her playful glint fading into something deeper, something that steals your breath.
Alexia starts with a gentle kiss to your shoulder, her hands sliding over your stomach, exploring, almost absentmindedly then her mouth trails higher, unhurried, grazing the slope of your neck.
You grip her arm for support, watching her lips in the mirror as they closed against your skin. “Ale…” you murmur, voice low, barely able to get the word out.
She doesn’t stop. Her mouth moves behind your ear, her hands splayed across your torso, thumbs tracing slow lines under the hem of your sleep shirt. “Mm?”
Your breath hitches. “You keep doing that, and we’re never making it out of this bathroom.”
She grins against your neck, her voice husky with intent. “That’s kind of the point.”
You turn, slowly, until you’re facing her. Her hands stay on you, her eyes are dark now, sure of themselves. There’s no teasing left in her smile just heat and want and something that feels dangerously close to adoration.
You rest your forehead against hers. “You’re not tired?”
“I’m tired of not touching you,” she whispers.
Then she kisses you again deeply this time and the rest of the night begins to rewrite itself, one soft, lingering touch at a time.
Alexia pulls back from the kiss, breath warm against your lips, and then with that familiar mischievous glint in her eyes she bends slightly, hooks her arms around your thighs, and lifts you clean off the floor in one smooth, confident motion.
You let out a surprised laugh, arms instinctively wrapping around her neck. “Are you serious right now?”
She grins, carrying you toward the bed like it’s nothing. “You doubted me?”
“A little bit,” you tease, breathless with laughter. “You’re deceptively strong.”
“I’m literally a professional athlete,” she deadpans, setting you down with an exaggerated gentleness before crawling beside you. “What did you think I was doing all that gym work for? Instagram posts?”
You snort. “I thought it was just for the aesthetics.”
Alexia props herself up on one elbow, her other hand smoothing over your hip. “Well, the aesthetics are a bonus,” she murmurs, gaze flicking over you meaningfully. “But it’s mostly for moments like this.”
You roll your eyes, smiling, as you tug her closer. “God, you’re cheesy.”
“You love it,” she says smugly, settling half on top of you.
You don’t disagree. You run your fingers teasingly along Alexia’s arm, still half-draped across your waist, and glance up at her through your lashes.
“I mean… I do like your arms.. the muscles.”
Her eyes narrow playfully. “Oh yeah?” she says, lifting her arm and flexing her bicep with a grin. “These muscles?”
You burst out laughing, pushing lightly at her chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
But she just smirks, holding the pose. “You brought it up.”
You shake your head, grinning. “Fine. Yes. Those muscles.” You lean up and kiss her, slow and warm. “Very impressive, capitana.”
Alexia hums into the kiss, her hand slipping up under your shirt. “I’ll remind you next time you tease me about carrying you.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” you murmur against her mouth.
She grins again, soft but wicked. “You have no idea.”
Alexia shifts beside you, her hand tracing slow patterns along your side as she presses a lingering kiss to your lips.
“You know what I like?” she murmurs, her voice warm and quiet.
You smile, eyes still closed. “Mmm… what?”
She brushes her lips just below your collarbone, slipping on top of you, the kiss soft and deliberate. “Here,” she says. Her hand moves gently over your stomach, her fingers light sliding your shirt up followed by a kiss on your abs. “And here,” she whispers. “Strong without trying. You don’t even realise it.”
You open your eyes, meeting her gaze in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. There’s something deeply sincere in her expression, something unguarded.
She leans down, kissing the curve of your hip. “And this—” her voice is quieter now, almost a smile against your skin, “this is just one of my favourite places to hold onto when you’re close.”
Your breath catches, not from surprise but from how gently she’s unfolding each word. You reach for her hand, threading your fingers together. “You’re kind of good at this, you know.”
“At what?” she murmurs, lips grazing your wrist.
You look at her, heart full. “Making me feel seen”
She meets your gaze again, eyes steady and soft. “That’s easy,” she says. “You’re hard to miss.” Her fingers hook into your little pyjama shorts, “May i?”
You bite your lip, “You better”
⚽️
You arrive at training with Ellie, both of you still buzzing a little from the morning's energy. The sun's climbing lazily over the city, casting warm light across the pitches as players filter in from all sides bags slung over shoulders, coffee cups in hand, laughter echoing in short bursts across the facility. You can tell the internationals are back there's a different kind of buzz today.
Inside, you're barely ten steps into the building before you're met with a chorus of greetings.
“Hola!”
“Buen día!”
“¡Al fin te conocemos!”
A few of them wrap you up in brief, affectionate hugs like they've known you longer than five minutes. Patri gives your arm a playful squeeze, Aitana gives a polite nod, Claudia winks, and Cata grins wide as she compliments your boots. The vibe is easy, warm like family. You’re a little caught off guard by how immediate it feels still now everyone was here.
Then Mapi strolls over, already grinning. “Coco,” she sings, eyes dancing as she holds up her phone. “You busy?”
You raise an eyebrow. “Training starts in ten minutes.”
“Perfect,” she says, completely ignoring your implication. “Help me with this.” She flips the phone toward you as she sits in Ellie's cubicle beside yours, It’s another English crossword. The fifth one this week.
“You know they have Spanish ones, right?”
“I know,” she shrugs, not the least bit ashamed. “But this helps me practice my english. And you’re better than Google Translate.”
You take the phone, eyeing the half-finished puzzle. “Five letter word, ends with N… artificial silk.. Rayon.”
Mapi nods sagely. “You're so smart”
You snort. “You’re not slick.”
“I try.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you tie your boots and she walks away face buried in her book, you feel Alexia's gaze on you but you don't meet it. You're pulling your training top down when Kika opposite smirks and speaks as the locker room at awful timing fell silent, "That's an interesting mark you have"
You wet your lip trying to stop the corners of your lips from curling as you made eye contact, "Mind your business"
"Truth or dare"
You groaned "No, Kika, please no more" You give Marta a pleading look when Kika looked to her also.
"Don't look at me, it's either that or singing you know that" she smiled
"What's this?" Irene asked
"I talked to Y/N about initiation, she haggled, she gets to not sing if at any point we say truth or dare, we ask a question and give a dare and she has to either answer or do the dare. unfortunately for Y/N Kika asks personal questions and gives dares most wouldn't do"
"So. Truth" Kika grinned, "When did you last have sex or Dare. You run four laps of the pitch after training"
"I'll run the laps"
Ellie laughed at Kika's face, "She loves running, nice try"
You toss your kit bag onto the bench, still grinning from your dodge of Kika’s truth-or-dare trap, when she perks up again, clearly not done with her game.
“Well, if you're not gonna say when, maybe at least say who.” Kika narrows her eyes, her voice lilting with amusement. “What about that girl from the bar? The one who looked like she was very ready to risk it all the other night?”
Your smirk falters slightly not because she’s right, but because of the shift in the air the second the words leave her mouth. You feel it before you see it. The brief silence is loud.
Your eyes flick instinctively across the locker room just in time to catch the split-second change in Alexia’s face. The subtle clench of her jaw. The way she adjusts the tape around her wrist a little too tightly. Her expression unreadable, but her energy very, very clear.
Irene, standing beside her, clocks it too. She leans over, voice low and dry but not unkind. “Seems like you’ll need to do more than mark your territory.”
Mapi, unbothered and sipping from her water bottle, chuckles beside them. “Could always piss in a circle around her bag, classic animal kingdom move.”
Alexia doesn’t respond, but there’s a flash of something in her eyes. Not quite jealousy sharper than that. Possessive, maybe, or challenged.
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