Its Not What You You Know, It’s Who You Know Smut 18 reader
Taking Your Crown Smut 18 reader
Taking Your Crown part 2 wip
A First Time For Everything Smut 18 reader
Hands Smut 18 reader
Sweaty Sessions Smut 18 reader
Sex On The Beach Smut 18 reader
Frustrations Smut 18 reader
Cravings Fluff reader
Is It Cold In Here? Smut 18 reader
First Day Fluff reader
Spoilt Princess Smut 18 reader
Early Riser Smut 18 reader
On Your Knees Smut 18 reader
Battle Wounds Smut 18 reader
The Big One Smut 18 reader
Pre Game Nerves Smut 18 reader
Another Love (Flatline) Smut 18 reader angst
Don't Choke Smut 18
Pottery Smutty, not smut
Car Ride - fluff
Bossy Smut 18
Mile High Club Smut 18
Trick Or Treat Smut 18
No Self Control Smut 18
Aren't We All Sinners?
Too Close To The Sun Smutty, not smut
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Alexia Putellas, Lucy Bronze, Mapi Leon, Ona Battle
Guess Who Smut 18 reader
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Mapi Leon & Ingrid Engen & Rudy
Sandcastles Fluff Small appearance from reader and alexia
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Lucy Bronze & Alessia Russo
Like A Virgin Smut 18
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Lucy Bronze & Leah Williamson
Co-Host Smut 18
Co-Host Part 2 Smut 18
Co-Host Part 3 Smut 18
Co-Host Part 4 Smut 18
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Lucy Bronze & Ona Batlle
Bronze Is Better Than Gold
Bronze Is Better Than Gold Part 2
Bronze Is Better Than Gold Part 3
Bronze Is Better Than Gold Part 4 Smut 18
Bronze Is Better Than Gold Part 5
Bronze Is Better Than Gold Part 6 Smut 18
Epilogue - yomama493094
The Big O Smut 18
Many Shades Of Green Smut 18
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Lucy Bronze
The Last Puzzle Piece Smut 18 reader
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Jenni Hermoso
You Taste Like Vanilla Smut 18 reader
A Little Cocky A Little Toxic Smut 18 reader
This Thing Is Toxic pt 2 - by 2truthsand1lie Smut 18 reader
This Thing Is Toxic pt 3 by 2truthsand1lie Smut 18 reader
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Mapi Leon
Coffee Shop Smut 18 reader
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Blurbs Smut 18 reader
WIP’s below
WIP's can be found here
Request - closed but also open. I'm trying to be strict but if I really like it and its something I haven't really done I'd like to give it a try. So feel free to send it in but keep in mind, I’m bad with finishing my own ones. I wont know when I can get these done, as you can see I’m a bit of a serial jumper to different stories. BUT please let me know if you want to ask another writer, I understand I’m taking forever.
Also guys I'm a slow writer, I don’t like rushing, and when I do I never like the end product so please bear with me.
And as always we know I chat shit.
And also thank you for all the love on here, I love hearing what you guys have to say, always feel free to jump in for a chat or any questions! ❤️
You had always been able to rely on your body. You're invisible. So, why, with this most important thing, is it failing not just you, but also your wife?
TW: Failed IVF. Smut(!) 18+.
1st of 3 parts.
I can't thank @muffinpink02 enough for their help with this. Seriously. This fic wouldn't be on paper without her. For over a year she's read and reread this I don't know how she has the patience.
And I would have probably had a mental health crisis without the therapy sessions she's delivered at 2am.
Also, more for you. Thank her for the smattering of smut in this because the thing would be a 12a rating if it was up to me alone. She's a real one ✌️
As ever, here's the song the fic is based on. And yes. The Mamma Mia version. The only correct version.
I'm sorry for taking so long with this, but I assure you the next 2 parts are written and scheduled to be posted so there will be no 18 month wait! (this time) also, the other parts need to be read for this part - it wont make much sense otherwise.
Alexia had always wanted kids.
If you’d asked her even before she realised she wanted to be a professional footballer, or had any chance to think of what she wanted her life to look like.
She knew she’d wanted kids.
When she realised that she was gay, it had never entered her head that her future wouldn’t involve her having children. Not even a barrier to overcome.
Her childhood with Alba. All of her tios and tias. Having 4 houses in town to call her own and wander into, whenever she wanted. Door always unlocked. Finding a cousin in the square to kick a football around with without having to arrange beforehand. Huge family dinners that lasted hours.
That's what she wanted for her kids.
A big family.
Full of love.
And food.
Loud and chaotic.
When she met you, she didn’t realise it, but that dream changed.
It was a difficult enough change for you to be settled into Barcelona from your nomad life. She knew you’d given up a lot to be with her. For gods sake you’d literally broken up for over a year because Mapi had made a comment about you being wifed up.
There was nothing more cementing in life than kids.
So yeah, the dream had changed. When she met you. Her heart literally left her chest and attached itself to you. It was dangerous, having her heart wandering up and down mountains, outside of her body and unable to be protected.
And it scared her.
She thought she was actually going to die the day that your mum told her you’d gone missing on Everest.
She couldn't explain in words how much she loved you. You stole the breath from her lungs with a simple look.
Her knees weakened watching you stir your tea in your pajamas on a Sunday morning, all soft and sleepy.
Your easy nature and thoughtfulness powered her to be a better person.
Your humour made her sides hurt with laughter. Your kindness was quiet, unassuming and ever present, she thought it was the stuff people used to write poems about.
So no. Her dream changed. You never mentioned wanting kids. And all she wanted was you.
So it was simple.
She would be the cool gay Tia. Though. In her family, there were only gay Tias. A whole team of them in fact.
She was fine with that. She really really was. But then she’d started to notice how you’d gaze adoringly at kids in the supermarket, how you’d look after your faux nieces and nephews in Mario's kids - taking a moment to press a kiss to their heads or double knot their laces before taking them to the park.
How you’d facetime your own nieces and nephews religiously, pulling faces to make them laugh from miles away.
She let herself hope, then.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
You’d started to drop hints, but she didn’t want to scare you off. You started to discuss ideas for the future, flippant comments made about growing into your home.
But she never let herself hope too much.
She was a professional footballer, and you still worked in the mountains.
It wasn’t a realistic goal at that time, so there was no point in worrying about it.
It was when she'd noticed your postcards on the fridge. The 7 postcards you had sent her, well 6 sent and 1 hand delivered. They'd been the staple of your Barcelona apartment and now your rural home.
But now, she noticed, 3 of them were covered, by a paper crinkled and covered in a messy splodge of paint, magnets holding it up crookedly, she couldn’t even guess what it was supposed to represent.
Just as she reached a hand out to straighten it when you’d bumbled into the room, arms full of shopping.
“Ey, Love, there you are! Come help, muscles.” you’d teased as she relieved your arms full of groceries and started to help pack them away. She nodded her head over to the fridge,
“Amor, qué es eso” “Huh?” you’d glanced over,
“Oh, I was painting with Mario and the kids today, and Bruno made it for me! Isn’t it great! It's me and you! He’s like Banksy!” you’d replied, so enthusiastically it made her heart melt, and she couldn’t do anything but smile and agree, even if she couldn’t decipher any image from the mess on the fridge.
She pressed a deep kiss into your lips, breathing you in as she closed her eyes.
You got lost in the kiss, trying but failing to pull away as Alexia deepens it, pushing you against the counter and slipping her tongue into your mouth. As she finally pulled away you took a second, dazed,
“What was that for?” you’d asked, breathlessly.
“Because I love you.” was the only reply she could think of giving.
Charming smile delivered as standard. Not wanting to blurt out, ‘love of my life, think! That could be our kids' art on the fridge!’.
She knew you needed to come to her. You needed to make that decision for yourself. She knew what you wanted before you did.
But she didn’t want to push you.
She knew though, deep down, that covering those postcards meant something more.
When you’d asked her if she was ready. Somewhat out of the blue that night in bed. She was taken aback, as though her body wasn’t ready for how full of love it was.
It was the easiest yes of her life. And as she held you, later that night. After you’d both tried to defy science and make your own babies. She couldn’t believe all of her dreams had come true.
Alexia wasn’t a religious woman.
Not particularly, she’d gone to church as a child, but soon fell out of that after her papi had passed. She didn’t know what she believed in really, but that night, with you in her arms gentle breaths hitting her neck as you slept, she found herself closing her eyes and praying. She didn’t ask for anything, no. She found herself saying thank you.
To whatever was up there. Thank You. For this perfect life, with everything she could have ever dreamt of and more.
But now.
At this moment.
Months later.
She pinpoints that moment as the moment things started to fall apart.
All she could do was ask, why?
As she held your trembling body tightly against hers, in the darkness of the room, the sounds of your sobs breaking her heart into a million pieces, as she rocked you and tried to settle you. Every now and again mumbling through your tears, mindless mumblings of despair, questioning what you’d done wrong to deserve this.
Her strong wife.
Her strong English wife who never let herself cry.
Who always had the answer.
Who was always the protector.
Destroyed in her arms.
A shadow of the woman she knew you to be.
She found herself closing her eyes again, her own tears leaking out, and speaking to God again. But this time, Why? she thought.
Willing anything for an answer.
Anything.
Anything to soothe your pain.
What have we done wrong? Why would you do this to us? She doesn’t deserve this, Why, Why, Why?
You were both the same that way, but she took it beyond. She lived on a rigid schedule, meals planned, hours planned, training sessions planned, she had to, that's why she was La Reina.
Her life had been carefully planned since she was 6. It was a schedule of success.
You planned too. You had to. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail and all that. But you were a bit more fast and loose with your schedule. You may decide at the last minute to wander into the wilderness, but you would always have the right kit.
When Alexia sat you down, the same week after Man V Woman aired, after your midnight confession of wanting to start thinking about children, your wife's organisation shocked even yourself.
You’d come home from teaching a night class about fire starting, expecting a quiet house with Ale watching a replay of her latest UWCL game as standard.
And yes, you were met with a quiet house, but instead of the glow of the TV you expected and your Spaniard muttering to herself, you found a projector set up, a whiteboard with some sort of timetable worked out, and… yes.
Your Spaniard muttering to herself.
Pacing.
You dropped your bag to the kitchen floor (she hated that. That's why you did it) and knew she was lost in her head when she turned but did not scold you.
“Hola, Love… what’s all…” you vaguely gestured towards her complicated set-up.. “This?”
“¡Amor, estás en casa! Bien!” she’d bound over to you and man-handled you onto the couch, moving to stand in front of you like you were back in school and she was a teacher.
“This is our plan!” she presented to you, proudly. “Our plan?” “Si, Si, mirar…” she clicked a remote that she apparently had hidden in the waistband of her joggers, the projector came alive and the room was bathed in the white glow of the screen, you looked up and saw…
‘Project Putellas 2.0’
Plastered across the screen in the most basic clipart word 1992 had ever made, your wife not giving Bill Gates a run for his money.
“...Putellas 2.0” you read aloud to yourself as Alexia nodded eagerly, eyes not straying from your face, you turned your attention to her, “What was the first project Putellas?”
“That was you! Obviously.”
“Obviously.” you deadpan.
“Yep! Mapi helped me with that one when I was planning on asking you to marry me. She showed me how to add a pie chart! Look!”
“You had a powerpoint for our engagement?” you asked, amusedly, as she clicks through her adorable slideshow, nodding at your question, you can’t help but continue “Did your powerpoint include the bit where you were so nervous you dropped the ring into the lake and then cried when I jumped in and found it?
“Shut up, I cried ‘cause I was happy and you were naked.”
“I didn’t pack a swimsuit! But, of course. tonta yo…. Oh! Picky bits!” your attention was grabbed by the coffee table which you just noticed Alexia had set out small bowls of food, as you realised you hadn’t eaten anything yet for dinner. “My favourite!”
“You know I hate it when you call it that. It’s Tapas!” you rolled your eyes at her as you stuffed some olives into your mouth “you pick at it though”, you’d grumbled through a mouthful, ignored by your wife,
“I thought we could go through my proposals and I knew you’d come back silly and hungry. Fire does that to you.” she added, affectionately.
But something she’d said slightly dampened your silly mood.
“Proposals? Ale, this isn’t a business decision….”
“No, No, I know but… Mi Amor there is so much to plan. Look…” she started to click through her presentations, shuffling next to you on the couch,
“I have plotted both of our periods so we know when we're…you know… good to go, this is a list of donation services we could use, and look, this page is about all the different reproductive clinics in our area, and these are the clinics in England near your mamas, I know you get weird about Spanish hospitals…
I have your schedule here and you’re booked up for the next 12 months but i’ve highlighted in red what Mario could do without you, maybe we should get that apprentice you’ve been considering, they could help him....and this is my schedule, obviously I’ll miss a large portion of a year, maybe 18 months, but If we decide i’ll carry then it would be best if I was inseminated in June because then it would coincide with summer breaks and my return could be the following year…”
You tried your best to not be overwhelmed by the information you were presented with, lists, bullet points, pie charts, google reviews, there was even a page dedicated to car seats. But it all got the better of you…
“Ale, Ale, Ale,” you interrupted her rambling about the best fertility doctors in Catalonia… “stop.”
She looked at you, wide eyed, cheeks slightly flushed and hand still raised with the remote to the projector. “Si?”
“Ale. Do you want a baby with me?” you asked, simply.
“Que? Of course I do!” she looked affronted at being asked the question.
“Okay, good. Me too.” You'd pressed a quick kiss to her lips at that, a small win.
“Do you want the donor to be a stranger or someone we know?”
Her response came quickly, somewhat shyly… “a stranger. I don't want anyone else involved, this is our baby.”
“Good. I agree.” another quick kiss.
“And you do want to carry that baby or do you want me to?” That was a bigger question, and she hesitated.
“Amor, it is not that simp…”
“It is that simple. What do you want?”
“I honestly don’t…” you knew your wife. and you knew what her heart wanted, she just didn’t want to admit it. She would perceive it as selfish. Which you knew it wasn't.
“Ok, I’ll go then. Ale. Can I carry our baby, please?” you’d interrupted, as she looked at you with her mouth gaping open, you choose to continue to give her a moment to process,
“You have a time-limited career, Ale. I don’t want you to miss any of it. No more than you've already had to. Not for something that I can provide. The outdoors will always be there for me, I’ll be walking around til I’m 99.” she still sits still next to you, eyes giving nothing away, “
That's the practical. And on the less practical side... Ale. I want this. I want to do the most natural thing a woman can do, what type of explorer am I if I don’t explore this! And… I want to have your baby growing inside me. I want to feel baby Putellas kick me in the night, I want to make you go for ice cream for me at 4 am, I want to hold your hand while I'm in labour, and I know how supportive you’ll be I just… I want that…” you’d finished, you don’t need a slideshow to make a convincing argument.
Her eyes became glossy now, “You’d do that for me?” she croaked out, voice betraying her…
“No” you replied, “I’d do that for us.”
And that's when your weepy wife broke down in tears, throwing herself into your chest as she cried tears of joy.
“Amor, I really really want that too… I do. I want to see you pregnant with mi bebe, I want to look after you, after you both, to do it all… I just… I do not want you to feel like you have to, because of my job. I can take time, I can. But now you say that you want to... i just… thank you, gracias, gracias...”
“Listen. You do not need to be thankful. Ever. Ok? This is our family. Si?” she nodded and pulled herself from your embrace, but not moving very far, “Now. We’re going to eat these lovely picky bits you’ve made us,” you ignored the pinch to your side with a laugh,
“and I’m going to drink 2 bottles of wine while I still can... and we’re going to go through your slideshow, and then we’re going to try to make this baby…”
“Amor, I don’t think we’ll be able to tonight, it’s late, I will ring as soon as they open and make us appointments first thing though… Oh.” she blushed at your arched eyebrow as she realised what you meant, before she shook it off and pulled you to straddle her lap.
Your wife was easier to turn on than a light switch, and an eyebrow raise was often all she needed, even if her eyes were still puffy from crying.
“I think that sounds like a fantastic plan, Amor.” her large hands reached around your back and moved to settle on your bum, stroking the skin at your waist as she went, sending shivers up your spine as you leaned in to connect your lips,
“One problem though” she whispered, and you felt her breath on your mouth as you moved to kiss her,
“I think your plan may be backwards. Baby making first.”
Your eyes shot open as instead of the feeling of warm, pillowy lips you expected to be met with, you were suddenly mid air, your amazonian wife standing, your legs automatically wrapping around her as you squealed and she walked you towards the stairs.
“Ale, Mi Vino!” and after a quick detour to the kitchen, with you still in her arms, now armed with a bottle of red…
Alexia really had done a fantastic job with her research.
God, you loved your perfectionist wife.
You’d attended the top-rated fertility clinic in Barcelona not two days later.
The cosy office-like building shocked you.
“What did you expect, Amor?” your wife had laughed at you as you started at some goldfish floating happily in the large fish-take in the waiting room. “I don’t know… more… sterile… more, masked doctors?” you’d shrugged in return, though she should have been used to your fear of foreign hospitals, that didn’t stop her eye roll as she concentrated her attention back into the booklet she had been pouring over.
You felt okay here though.
It felt more like a teachers office than a medical waiting area.
So you watched the goldfish quite contentedly, floating around without a care in the world. Alexia's hand firmly on your thigh as she read the 1000th piece of literature she’d found in the last week. Seemingly deciding to start preparing for your family the same way she would the champions league final.
“It’ll be fine, Amor.” your wife reassured, looking up at you, squeezing your thigh gently, eyes unable to hide their excited glint.
Dr Garcia was a kind woman. Younger than you expected. But with wise eyes and soft hands.
... Maybe you wouldn’t mention the hands thing to your wife.. Who looked stressed to death in her little stool next to where you lay in the reclining chair. Gripping your hand tightly.
Dr Garcia pulled your top back down after wiping up the cool gel on your stomach. Your stomach still felt sticky and you hated the way your shirt clung to the remnants of the substance.
“Venir, let’s sit where it’s more comfortable.” she’d gestured you both over to the other side of her modern office, a couple of couches and a coffee table, the type of environment that was versatile, good for sharing good news, delivering bad, and everything in between.
As you sank into the leather sofa, you laughed to yourself, yeah, this was definitely not the NHS.
You needed to ask your wife how much this was costing.
“So, señoras. Firstly, don’t look so worried…” she immediately took the tension out of the room with a gentle smile, and you felt your wife deflate next to you, hand easily slipping into yours and pulling it onto her lap.
“Mrs Putellas, everything looks fantastic. Really. You’re fit, young, honestly, absolutely no issues with your reproductive organs that I can see. You reported you have regular periods?” she asked you, directly, to which you nod and she notes that down, “I’ll send these bloods off but with your lifestyle and condition, I have no problems continuing with you being the carrier for this embryo.”
You’d noticed that she never said baby, maybe it was a medical thing, to detach yourself when things could go wrong. Everything was ‘embryo’, ‘egg’ and ‘donor fluid’.
“So… now we have that cleared up…” she took out some pamphlets, which you swore you’d already seen in Alexia's glove box this morning, “how would you two like to progress?”
She must have seen your confused face as she nodded at you to speak.
“Well is it not just… like a turkey baster situation?”
“Amor!” Alexia hissed at you, growing red at your turn of phrase. But Dr Garcia laughed her easy laugh, “Don’t worry Mrs Putellas I’ve heard it all before.” she turned her attention to you, “It can be. If that's what you like. I notice you have both indicated that you want an anonymous donor, we can sort that no problem. What you’re referring to is a Doctor Assisted Insemination. And absolutely we can do that.” you’d nodded, you’d read about that.
“The other opinion you have is IVF. Now usually I wouldn't recommend it. Mrs Putellas your eggs are viable and you shouldn’t have issues in becoming pregnant through insemination. The reason I mention it is because it is often a choice taken by same-sex couples.”
You looked over at your wife, and she had a look on her face that you recognised, a longing look, the same look she’d get at the beginning of your relationship when you would tell her you were set to leave again.
“Why do they choose that?” you’d asked, because you were pretty sure your wife already knew the answer and you wanted to be clued up.
“Because we are able to take the eggs from one partner, fertilize them here in a lab, and then transfer them to your womb to impregnate you.”
Now, you had never thought about having kids until you met your wife. And you were somewhat of a luddite, spending most of your time in nature, you could be accused of not keeping up to date with current affairs.
You knew science was amazing, you had seen reports back at home about people's journeys with IVF and the amount it cost.
But you didn’t know you could carry your wife's baby.
You felt it happen. Like you would a new challenge in the wild. That suddenly, your world tilted and this was about to become your focus. Your obsession. This is what you wanted.
“I want that one.” you’d stated, firmly. Looking directly at Dr Garcia as though willing her to tell you there was a barrier, even if she was the one to tell you this even existed in the first place.
When she simply smiled and nodded at you, you turned to your wife.
“Ale, I want to do that one. I can have your baby Alexia. Yours. Can we do that one?”
She had that lovesick look in her eyes, like you were saying everything right. But she was always more practical than you, and she turned to the Doctor.
“Dr Garcia, doesn’t that have more side effects for the person who is carrying?”
You knew it did, or else she wouldn’t have asked, and you promise, you did listen as the Dr explained the injections, the side effects, the risks.
But you didn’t care.
You could do this.
You could carry Alexia's baby.
“... the other thing to consider is the cost. IVF can be very expensive.” that caused you to pause. You had always had a weird relationship with money. Alexia was rich. No two ways about it. You did very well, especially since you were thrown into semi-fame after your TV appearance. But it paled in comparison to your wife's earnings.
You were married, you knew the money you had was shared with your wife. But you would never spend what you deemed as her money. She hated it. And it had caused more than one argument between the two of you.
“That isn’t a problem.” she assured, shutting the Doctor down before you could ask more. You let it go this time. Dr Garcia had a fantastic ability to read a room and took a moment's leave to sort something out at reception, an obvious ploy to give you a moment alone.
As soon as the door clicked closed behind her you turned to Alexia, trying to hide the desperate look on your face. “Ale, any baby that we have will be our baby. But I want to carry your egg. I want a mini you. A baby that is both of us.”
She took your face in her large hands, and pressed a kiss to your lips, “Amor… I want that so much.” there was a but coming, “but… there are risks. Risks for you. Not just physical but... mental. You are my priority. You know that, right?”, she was being deadly serious.
She knew you. And she knew that you had a habit of just ignoring problems. You respected mental health in others. You were aware. But she knew you didn't think it was ever anything that would affect you.
You nodded, your foreheads bumping at your close contact, “I do but Ale, I can do this. I really really want us to do this. Would it be possible with the season? They have to harvest your eggs don't they?” she scoffed at that, she’d made it abundantly clear over the last few days that she wouldn’t be letting football get in the way of your family.
And you’d clearly been listening more than she’d thought.
“That's not a problem, Amor. I would just have to tell the physio I was taking hormone injections so I don't get pulled up on a drug test,” she’d let a smile tease her lips, “... Are we really doing this?” she had a giddy smile and you could feel the excitement coursing through her veins.
If you’d met when you were teenagers, all angsty and moody.
You’re fairly certain you would have hated her.
She was one of those girls who was perfect. Did anything they put their mind to seemingly without effort. Would get an A on the pop quiz about a brand new subject. Just good at everything she did.
If Alexia couldn’t carry on being a footballer, she should be a professional egg farm.
Dr Garcia had told her so.
Ok so, no.
That’s maybe not what she’d said exactly, but that’s what you’d heard. And the way your goody-two-shoes wife practically peacocked out of Dr Garcia's office, that’s what she’d heard too.
Obviously, it's a good thing you met your wife after you’d shedded your judgey teenager hormones because as soon as you met you saw her as the beautiful, hardworking, relentless, strong woman that she was.
She’d done the daily injections like in the same manner a drill sergeant would. She’d googled all the right foods to eat and exercises to do. She was wonder woman, and you loved her.
Which is why you indulged her preening over her apparently perfect and numerous eggs which had been successfully harvested.
“Did you hear that bebe? An abnormally large harvest she’d called it? Did you hear?”
“I heard Amor. I am very proud of your egg production.”
Alexia had completely missed your teasing sarcasm, as she often did, and blushed with the compliment.
“I’m proud of myself too.” she’d whispered into your knuckles as she brought them to her lips to drop a kiss there as she drove home.
Idiot.
It was your turn now, you had started to take hormone injections which would prepare your womb. And after you got the call from Dr Garcia to confirm that you had a large number of viable embryos, it was go time.
The insemination was quick, in and out the clinic within 15 minutes, slightly painful but mostly just unpleasant; “Just like if a man made you pregnant, Amor!” Ale had teased.
You wouldn’t know anything for a few weeks, and everything continued as normal. You attended Ales games, you worked day trips with Mario. But you couldn't help it that you found yourself cradling your stomach at times, wondering what was going on in there.
That question was answered just under two weeks later. When you woke up to a familiar, dull tugging behind your navel.
And your stomach dropped with disappointment.
When a trip to the bathroom confirmed your suspicions that you had started your period, you blamed your hormone injections for the tightness you felt in your throat.
You tried to ease yourself back into bed without disrupting your wife.
You did, you wanted her to have a restful night's sleep without feeling the disappointment you did, but she had a sixth sense and rolled into you as you lay down.
“Porque estas despierta mi amor?” she mumbled sleepily, before her sleep-addled brain caught up “espera, ¿estás bien cariño?” as she sat up, moving you into her arms.
“I’m okay Ale.” you muttered into the darkness of your bedroom,
“I just got my period.”
You felt her deflate underneath you, disappointment palpable, even if you couldn't see her face.
“That's okay, Amor. It’s okay.” her hands creating soothing circled on your bare arms.
“Dr Garcia said it is early, and it could take a few attempts. It's okay, Mi Amor. Wait here… I will get you some pills for your cramp…”
You knew she was right.
But it didn’t help to quell the suffocating disappointment you felt.
Weeks passed and you took more hormone injections, gels, and tablets.
They interrupted your menstrual rhythm and, in turn, put your hormones on a roller coaster ride.
Alexia was there every step of the way. Injecting your stomach when you couldn’t face it. Always leaving a kiss in the wake of the needle mark. Calling out of training when needed, thinking about what you’d need before you even knew yourself. Always with whispered plans for the future pressed into your skin.
You felt the excitement bubble in your stomach as you imagined her as a Mami. She would be such a good Mami. Which you told her, regularly, to which her eyes would shine as she looked at you as though you placed the stars in the sky and replied ‘really amor? Do you think so?’ with childlike wonder. Like she didn't believe you could think so highly of her.
The thing about being on hormone replacement and menstrual suppressants for months means that your body will naturally change.
Your body was getting ready to have a baby, you had stopped some of your more strenuous work with Mario, which has assisted in areas that used to be muscle, softening into soft curves and rounded edges.
Your thighs had softened, stomach had curved slightly, and your breasts swelled so much you hadn’t worn a wired bra in weeks.
You weren’t a vain woman. Not at all. But you have had a very active life. Your body wasn’t a source of pride for you, it was a tool that you needed to climb that peak, wade in that river, and cross that desert.
You knew your body would change, it was changing to suit its new requirements, you understood that, it didn’t take you by surprise.
What did take you by surprise, however, was Alexia's reaction to it.
Especially after she returned from 2 weeks with the Spanish National Team, video calls being the only contact you’d had in that time. And, you suppose, you had changed a lot in that time.
You found her hanging around in the bedroom when usually she would be catching up with a game in the living room, finding reasons to be in the bathroom when you went to shower, on one particularly obvious occasion, you caught her laying on your favorite sleep shirt and after watching you for 10 minutes looking for it, finally interrupting you by whining it was bedtime and to just sleep topless.
When you relented and snuggled into her embrace, Alexias hands settling on your hips, which had become her new favorite spot, you felt the fabric beneath her back.
“Ale, it’s here!” you’d cheered, trying to pull it from under her body with great difficulty. “Oh. Oh yes, there it is.” she yielded, grumpy look on her face which you couldn’t help but question.
“What's going on Putellas?” you’d asked with an arched eyebrow. “You’ve been being weird for days.”
“I have not!” she’d blushed beet red.
That was the thing, you knew your wife was ogling you, to be honest you were used to it.
There wasn’t a subtle bone in her body.
And you had a very active sex life, something that hadn’t diminished at all in your years together.
What was new was that every time you caught her looking, her eyes darted away, as though she’d been caught doing something illegal.
“You have, Mi Amor. You’ve been staring at me” you pressed, “Oh qué, ¿entonces ya no puedo mirar a mi esposa?” she responded in rapid spanish, which she often did when she was defensive.
“That's what is weird about it! Of course you can! Why are you looking at me like you shouldn’t be?”
Her face at this point was an impressive shade of lobster, and she covered it with her hands and groaned into them “Amooooor, bastante.”
“If you don’t tell me then I’m putting my shirt on.” you threatened, teasingly, moving your arms up to put on your shirt, which was quickly plucked out of your fingers and thrown across the room.
“no quiero que pienses que soy un asqueroso.” she’d mumbled, eyes down into her own chest.
You took a moment to translate her words, and confirmed to yourself that your wife was ridiculous.
“Ale, look at me please…Ale.” She looked up, firmly keeping her eyes on yours, not letting them drop to your bare chest which, in her defence, must have been difficult because you were sitting on your haunches, slightly raised above her.
“Alexia Putellas I could never, in my whole life, think you were a creep.” you’d assured her, to which she’d nodded, but still looked so adorably unsure, bottom lip pulled into her mouth as she chewed.
You knew your wife enough to know she could be prudish at times, she wouldn’t express herself about what you suspected was going on.
“My body has changed, Ale. I have noticed. You are my wife. Of course you can notice. You can look, baby. I am yours to look at.”
“I don’t want to… you know… make you feel objectified or anything…” she’d mumbled, eyes still stuck firmly on yours.
“Pero?” you’d prompted
“...pero… eres tan sexy”
The compliment made you preen, and you grasped her hands in yours and pressed a soft kiss to her lips.
You deepened it, your tongue seeking permission as you felt the vibration of her groan through your connected lips.
“... so I gather that you don’t think it makes me a creepy kinky weirdo that I'm insanely turned on by you right now? Like, I was thinking about your thighs today and Mapi hit me in the face with a ball.” she confirmed, as you pulled away from your kiss, leaving her breathless.
“No. No I do not. It makes me feel sexy and wanted.”
“Bien.” she moved in to take control of the kiss this time, the confident version of your wife returning. “Because you are sexy”... a kiss pressed to your lips…”and wanted”.
As your lips connected again you raised your joint hands and guided hers to cup your swollen, bare breasts.
Nipples erect from the chill of the room, you felt the heat from her palms spread through your whole body, settling into your core. “Just be careful Ale, they’re more…tender… more sensitive than you're used to” you practically purred into her mouth, her ministrations already sending a current directly between your legs.
“Oh dios mio” your ridiculous wife groaned as she carefully massaged her two new favourite things before eagerly dipping her mouth to capture one of your perked nipples.
“Fuck.” You groaned as your hand automatically tangled in her blonde locks.
Your core throbbed harder as her warm mouth consumed your sensitive flesh, gently tracing her tongue over your breast, before pulling away.
She used her stupid, athlete strength to move you onto your back gently and sat back onto your thighs.
There was no shame this time, as she practically consumed your body with her eyes.
You honestly felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.
“See Ale. You can look.” You husked a little shakily now.
“Oh Amor, voy a hacer más que mirar.” She practically growled, wolfish grin on her face, cocky Alexia back in full force.
And god.
She did more than look.
Your breath hitched as her large hand began to snake down your body, gliding her fingers along your soft skin, leaving goosebumps in her path.
She stopped just below your belly button before giving you another gentle kiss.
Then her fingers dipped lower.
“Oh,” Her cocky smile widened when she felt just how quickly your body had reacted to her. “Already?”
Your eyes only slightly roll at her cockyness. “Yeah, well. Have you seen you– oh, my god!”
Your words are caught in your throat as your wife easily presses one large finger inside of you.
Her own groan drowned out yours before she slid a second digit in.
She easily captures your mouth with her own, swallowing the whimper that escapes you. Her kisses are soft, just like the fingers inside you, there's no rush, no big show, just slow gentle thrust that makes you clench desperately around her.
She gives you another gentle kiss before she starts to shift her body down your own, peppering soft kisses down your chest, over your stomach, then along your thighs before she presses a kiss on your wet lips, and slowly dips her tongue, parting you and capturing your swollen bud between her lips.
You never did manage to put your sleep shirt on that night.
Twas the utmost pleasure to read this in real time (literally) You’re an emotive genius and an amazing story teller! Your fics literally feel like a warm hug on a rainy day 🫶🏼
And thank you for letting me add that little bit of smut, even if I wasn’t allowed to add any squirting 🙄
This has literally been in my docs for a year. But recently I've picked it up again and wanted to share a small part of this 30 page doc.
Part 5(?) of the Alexia x Explorer!R AU.
Hopefully it will be finished and out soon (before December), so if you're interested, now is the time to go back and read the other parts because this won't make sense otherwise.
Let me know any thoughts!!
Alexia had always wanted kids.
If you’d asked her even before she realised she wanted to be a professional footballer, or had any chance to think of what she wanted her life to look like. She knew she’d wanted kids.
When she realised that she was gay, it had never entered her head that her future wouldn’t involve her having children. Not even a barrier to overcome.
Her childhood with Alba. All of her tios and tias. Having 4 houses in town to call her own and wander into, whenever she wanted. Door always unlocked. Finding a cousin in the square to kick a football around with without having to arrange beforehand. Huge family dinners that lasted hours.
That's what she wanted for her kids. A big family. Full of love. And food. Loud and chaotic.
When she met you, she didn’t realise it, but that dream changed.
It was a difficult enough change for you to be settled into Barcelona from your nomad life. She knew you’d given up a lot to be with her. For gods sake you’d literally broken up for over a year because Mapi had made a comment about you being wifed up.
There was nothing more cementing in life than kids.
It was dangerous, having her heart wandering up and down mountains, outside of her body and unable to be protected.
So yeah, the dream had changed. When she met you. Her heart literally left her chest and attached itself to you.
And it scared her.
She thought she was actually going to die the day that your mum told her you’d gone missing on Everest.
She couldn't explain in words how much she loved you. You stole the breath from her lungs with a simple look.
Her knees weakened watching you stir your tea in your pajamas on a Sunday morning, all soft and sleepy. Your easy nature and thoughtfulness powered her to be a better person.
Your humour made her sides hurt with laughter. Your kindness was quiet, unassuming and ever present, she thought it was the stuff people used to write poems about.
So no. Her dream changed. You never mentioned wanting kids. And all she wanted was you.
So it was simple.
She would be the cool gay Tia. Though. In her family, there were only gay Tias.
A whole team of them in fact.
She was fine with that. She really really was. But then she’d started to notice how you’d gaze adoringly at kids in the supermarket, how you’d look after your faux nieces and nephews in Mario's kids - taking a moment to press a kiss to their heads or double knot their laces before taking them to the park. How you’d facetime your own nieces and nephews religiously, pulling faces to make them laugh from miles away.
She let herself hope, then. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
It was when she'd noticed your postcards on the fridge. The 7 postcards you had sent her, well 6 sent and 1 hand delivered. They'd been the staple of your Barcelona apartment and now your rural home.
You’d started to drop hints, but she didn’t want to scare you off. You started to discuss ideas for the future, flippant comments made about growing into your home. But she never let herself hope too much. She was a professional footballer, and you still worked in the mountains. It wasn’t a realistic goal at that time, so there was no point in worrying about it.
But now, she noticed, 3 of them were covered, by a paper crinkled and covered in a messy splodge of paint, magnets holding it up crookedly, she couldn’t even guess what it was supposed to represent. Just as she reached a hand out to straighten it when you’d bumbled into the room, arms full of shopping.
“Ey, Love, there you are! Come help, muscles.” you’d teased as she relieved your arms full of groceries and started to help pack them away.
She nodded her head over to the fridge, “Amor, qué es eso” “Huh?” you’d glanced over, “Oh, I was painting with Mario and the kids today, and Bruno made it for me! Isn’t it great! It's me and you! He’s like Banksy!” you’d replied, so enthusiastically it made her heart melt, and she couldn’t do anything but smile and agree, even if she couldn’t decipher any image from the mess on the fridge.
She pressed a deep kiss into your lips, breathing you in as she closed her eyes.
You got lost in the kiss, trying but failing to pull away as Alexia deepens it, pushing you against the counter and slipping her tongue into your mouth. As she finally pulled away you took a second, dazed,
“Because I love you.” was the only reply she could think of giving.
“What was that for?” you’d asked, breathlessly.
Charming smile delivered as standard. Not wanting to blurt out, ‘love of my life, think! That could be our kids' art on the fridge!’.
She knew you needed to come to her. You needed to make that decision for yourself. She knew what you wanted before you did. But she didn’t want to push you. She knew though, deep down, that covering those postcards meant something more.
When you’d asked her if she was ready. Somewhat out of the blue that night in bed. She was taken aback, as though her body wasn’t ready for how full of love it was. It was the easiest yes of her life. And as she held you, later that night. After you’d both tried to defy science and make your own babies.
She couldn’t believe all of her dreams had come true.
Not particularly, she’d gone to church as a child, but soon fell out of that after her papi had passed. She didn’t know what she believed in really, but that night, with you in her arms gentle breaths hitting her neck as you slept, she found herself closing her eyes and praying. She didn’t ask for anything, no. She found herself saying thank you.
Alexia wasn’t a religious woman.
To whatever was up there. Thank You. For this perfect life, with everything she could have ever dreamt of and more.
But now.
At this moment.
Months later.
She pinpoints that moment as the moment things started to fall apart.
All she could do was ask, why?
Her strong wife.
As she held your trembling body tightly against hers, in the darkness of the room, the sounds of your sobs breaking her heart into a million pieces, as she rocked you and tried to settle you. Every now and again mumbling through your tears, mindless mumblings of despair, questioning what you’d done wrong to deserve this.
Her strong English wife who never let herself cry. Who always had the answer. Who was always the protector. Destroyed in her arms. A shadow of the woman she knew you to be.
What have we done wrong? Why would you do this to us? She doesn’t deserve this, Why, Why, Why?
She found herself closing her eyes again, her own tears leaking out, and speaking to God again. But this time, Why? she thought. Willing anything for an answer. Anything. Anything to soothe your pain.
Not to be a lying arsehole but this is finally finished.
30k of angst is coming to a alexia x reader tag near you just as soon as it passes @muffinpink02 's approval 😂
I'm not lying this time it's written it's done, and I'll post ASAP probably in 3 parts. So if you care at all then the reread of the others in the series worth it now.
For anyone who is still about thank you so much for your patience 🙏 I'm a prick haha
That thing you just posted had me dying like I was going to bed soon and just checked to see if you had posted the other thigh one with the punishment (I didn't see the full ask before you deleted it so im literally dying out of anticipation BTW!!!!!!!) and I read that and im now contemplating life because why sre you such a good writer 😋😋😋
Oh my gawd im so excited for the fic!!! The anons gave such a good promt and your writing is fab as always!! I'm so excited to see what punishment Alexia gives R..... something to do with her thighs... hmmm
When do you think it'll br ready for i cant wait!! Also did you get any good ideas for the filler scene?
I am too! Once I get it done 🥹
Thank you my sweets! And yes the ideas are a beautiful mix that I can mix together 🤤
Oh god I don’t know. I’m a little bad at getting fics out quickly these days cos life and that 🙄 but I’m going to try get it out as soon as I can!
I did get some really good ones!
Shout out to both. One of them doesn’t want me to reply for privacy but thank you a-f! It’s exactly what I needed! And ‘bugging ale’ babes 🫠 just yes!
Hehehehehe it looks amazing already!! I'm so sick atm so this deffo cheered me up 😛😛 if the punishment is what I originally said yall are in for a treat!! If it's not then I'm so excited to see
-sincerely, bugging ale anon x
Thank you!!!
I’ve just opened it back up since posting (sorry) but I’m definitely determined to get it done 🫠
muffin please you have to give us your unholy thoughts on that photo
okay, it's not much. Just dirty thoughts... smut 18
Can you imagine the way she smirks down at you as she lines herself up?
The way she lets out her own small satisfied gasp when she pushes her strap inside you. Selfishly not stopping until she’s fully sunk deep between your already shaky thighs,
Her smirk turns dirty when your hands grip desperately at her bare back, hearing the way you helplessly swear under your breath from the sting of her.
She tries to go slow, but the way you’re already moaning in her ear sends a sharp animalistic jolt to her clit that forces her to rock her hips deeper inside you.
It’s a lot, but you take it.
You know she’s wearing that strap, the one she can feel everything with. It’s rubbing on her wet, puffy clit every time she grinds.
She won’t be gentle. And you like that.
Her large, strong hands grip at your wrist, pining your arms above your head as she lays her full body weight on you. Pressing herself even deeper inside you. If that's even physically possible.
The desperate moan you let out makes her chuckle against your ear, you can feel your chest tightening, your heart racing, before she pulls back and slams into you.
Her kisses are sloppy, messy and wet as she builds up her rhythm. It's suffocating. It's perfect.
You groan into her neck as one large hand grips under your thigh and easily pushes it above her shoulder.
hi i how you’re having a nice day, i was wondering if you know the alexia fic where reader is autistic and is new to barca and is really close with ingrid ive been looking for it but cant seem to find it
Hey, thank you, I hope you are too. I’m sorry i dont 😅
But off the top of my head I’m sure @ceesimz has written about an autistic reader 🤔 could be her?
