You and Alexia Putellas have never liked each other.She thinks you’re uptight and impossible to please. You think she’s arrogant, emotionally unavailable, and incapable of committing to anyone for longer than a few months.The only thing you have in common are your best friends, a happily married couple with a one year old daughter.But when a tragic accident leaves that little girl orphaned, everything changes, because hidden inside their will is one final surprise.They named you and Alexia as the legal guardians.
Part 1
Word Count: 5.3k
The first time you met Alexia Putellas, she flirted with the waitress while her date was in the bathroom, that pretty much told you everything you needed to know about her.
Your best friend Sofia had spent months insisting Alexia was “actually really sweet once you got to know her,” but all you saw was arrogance wrapped in expensive perfume and cocky charm. She always walked into rooms like she owned them, like people should be grateful she acknowledged them and worse she knew it.
Alexia thought you were impossible, too guarded, too stubborn, too quick to judge her before she’d even opened her mouth. Every dinner with your mutual friends ended the same way, sharp comments, eye rolls, sarcastic digs disguised as jokes.
The only reason you tolerated each other at all was because of Sofia and her wife Marta, Alexia’s long suffering personal trainer. They were disgustingly in love. The kind of couple who danced in the kitchen while cooking. The kind who left voice notes just to say “drive safe.” The kind who made everyone else at the table feel painfully single.
And then one rainy Thursday night, they were gone.
A drunk driver crossed the centre line on the motorway, neither survived.
You still remembered the way the hospital waiting room spun around you when the social worker gently explained there had been a will.
A plan in the event something happened to both of them.
You and Alexia had been named legal guardians of their one year old daughter, Olivia.
You actually laughed at first not because it was funny, because it made absolutely no sense.
“You’ve got the wrong people,” you told them immediately, voice numb, “There’s no way Sofia chose us.” But she had.
Apparently, months ago over wine and dinner and one of those stupid hypothetical conversations nobody thinks will ever matter. Who would take Olivia if something happened?
Marta had chosen Alexia, Sofia had chosen you, and together, they’d decided Olivia deserved both.
Which was how, three days later, you found yourself standing in Sofia and Marta’s apartment holding a screaming toddler while Alexia argued with a car seat instruction manual like it had personally insulted her.
“This is impossible.”
“It literally clicks in.”
“It does not click in.”
“You’re a professional athlete and you’re losing a fight to plastic.”
Alexia shot you a glare sharp enough to cut glass, “Why is she crying again?”
“She’s one, Alexia.”
“Well what does she want?”
You stared at her in disbelief, “You seriously don’t know?”
“I know footballers, not babies.”
Olivia’s cries only got louder, for one awful second, silence settled between you and Alexia, not angry silence. Scared silence, because underneath the fighting, resentment and grief, the truth sat heavily in the room neither of you knew how to do this and neither of you could walk away.
Olivia needed you.
So when Alexia finally looked at the baby trembling in your arms, eyes red from crying, something in her expression cracked. Just for a second, fear, real fear, “She keeps looking for them,” Alexia whispered quietly.
The comment hit like a punch to the chest, because she was right. Every time the apartment door opened, Olivia turned her head expectantly.
Every time a phone rang, she perked up, waiting, still waiting for her mothers to come home and suddenly your anger toward Alexia didn’t feel nearly as important as the tiny little girl caught between both of your grief.
“She liked when Sofia sang to her,” you murmured.
Alexia swallowed hard, “Marta used to bounce her when she got fussy.”
The baby hiccuped another sob, then slowly, awkwardly, Alexia stepped closer, “Can I…?”
You hesitated before carefully handing Olivia over, at first she looked unnatural in Alexia’s arms, all long limbs and uncertainty but then Olivia grabbed onto the front of her hoodie with tiny fists, and Alexia completely froze. Like that tiny hand had shattered something open inside her.
“She trusts you,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.
Alexia looked down at Olivia, devastated, “No,” she said softly. “This is Marta's”
🍼
The funeral was a blur of black clothing, damp tissues, and people speaking too softly, you hated how quiet grief made everyone. Like if they lowered their voices enough, maybe it wouldn’t be real.
The chapel overflowed with people, family friends, neighbours. Marta had known half of Barcelona through work, and Sofia somehow collected people everywhere she went. There were flowers lining every wall. Olivia would never understand how loved her mothers were, at least not yet.
You stood near the back during most of it because the front row felt unbearable. Alexia sat there beside Marta’s elderly parents with Olivia asleep against her chest in a tiny black dress and white tights.
The image unsettled you more than it should have, Alexia looked… right, not polished celebrity Alexia Putellas. Not the smug woman you’d spent years rolling your eyes at across dinner tables.
Just a grieving woman holding a baby like she was terrified to let go, Olivia woke halfway through the service and immediately started crying.
The loud, confused cry of a child who didn’t understand why everybody around her smelled like sadness.
You instinctively stepped forward at the same moment Alexia stood up, your shoulders collided lightly, “I’ve got her,” you whispered automatically.
Alexia’s jaw tightened. “I know how to hold a baby.”
“That’s not what I—”
“She’s fine.”
The sharpness in her voice made several nearby people glance over, you immediately backed off, embarrassed, “Fine.”
Alexia disappeared out the chapel doors with Olivia still crying against her shoulder, you tried to ignore the guilt curling in your stomach.
🍼
The wake afterward was somehow worse, too many memories, too many people saying things like they’re in a better place when everybody knew the better place would have been here, with Olivia.
You escaped onto the balcony for air sometime after hour two, Barcelona stretched golden beneath the evening sun, beautiful and indifferent. “You always run away from parties?”
You didn’t turn around, “Only the ones where both hosts are dead.”
Silence, then the balcony door clicked shut behind Alexia. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed she’d changed Olivia into a pale yellow sleepsuit. The baby was finally asleep again against her shoulder, tiny cheek squashed into Alexia’s neck.
“You were rough on me before,” you muttered.
Alexia looked exhausted. “You think today is the day to pick a fight?”
“You started it.”
“You implied I couldn’t comfort her.”
“I implied she was crying.”
Alexia laughed once under her breath, humourless, “There it is.”
“What?”
“That thing you do.”
You frowned, “What thing?”
“You decide who people are immediately.” Alexia shifted Olivia carefully higher against her chest, “You met me once and decided I was selfish. Arrogant. Some woman incapable of caring about anyone but herself.”
“If the shoe fits.”
Her eyes flashed, “You know absolutely nothing about me.”
“And you know everything about me?”
“No,” she snapped, “But I at least know grief isn’t a competition.”
You looked away first, below you, traffic moved through the streets like normal, people walked home from work, couples laughed outside restaurants. The world kept going in the most offensive way possible. “I just…” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “I don’t understand why they picked us.”
Alexia’s expression cracked slightly at that, “Sofia told me once,” she said quietly, you looked back at her, “She said you were the most loyal person she’d ever met.” Alexia swallowed. “She said if Olivia ever lost them, you’d love her enough to survive it.”
The words hit straight through your chest, “And Marta?” you asked softly.
Alexia looked down at the sleeping child in her arms before answering, “She said I’ve spent my whole life running from the idea of being needed.” A bitter smile flickered across her face, “Apparently she thought Olivia would change that.”
You didn’t know what to say to that, for a long moment, the only sound between you was Olivia’s soft breathing.
Alexia adjusted Olivia carefully against her shoulder, one large hand spread protectively over the baby’s back while the other rubbed tiredly over her own face. Up close, she looked wrecked.
Not the polished version the world knew. No cameras. No media training. No perfect hair or sharp little smirks.
Just grief.
“You know what the worst part is?” she said quietly after a while.
You leaned back against the balcony rail, arms folded tightly across your chest against the evening chill. “There’s a lot of options.”
Alexia let out the faintest breath of a laugh.
“She keeps doing new things,” Alexia murmured, looking down at Olivia. “Little things.” Her thumb stroked absentmindedly over the baby’s back. “Yesterday she said ‘up’ properly for the first time.”
Your chest tightened immediately.
“And they missed it,” Alexia finished softly.
The words settled heavy between you, because that was the unbearable thing about death, wasn’t it? Not just the absence. The accumulation. Every future moment stolen too.
First words.
First day of school.
Nightmares.
Birthdays.
Broken hearts.
Sofia and Marta would miss all of it.
Olivia shifted sleepily against Alexia’s chest, tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her black blouse. Alexia immediately stilled, instinctive now, protective.
You noticed it before she did, “You’re holding her differently.”
Alexia glanced up, “What?”
“The first day,” you said quietly, “You held her like she was glass.” Your throat tightened unexpectedly, “Now you hold her like she belongs there.”
For a second, something vulnerable crossed Alexia’s face, then she looked away, “She cried for an hour last night.”
You frowned slightly, “Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because it was three in the morning.”
“So?”
Alexia’s jaw shifted like she didn’t know what to do with that answer, “I drove around with her.”
“What?”
“She wouldn’t settle.” Alexia shrugged tiredly, “Marta used to say car rides worked sometimes.”
Your eyes widened slightly despite yourself, “You drove around Barcelona at three a.m with a screaming toddler?”
“It worked eventually.”
“And you didn’t think to ask for help?”
That finally pulled Alexia’s eyes back to yours, irritation flickering there again, familiar now, easier than grief, “You think I can’t do one night alone?”
“That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It’s what you imply every time you look at me.”
You exhaled sharply, “Why are you so defensive all the time?”
“Why are you so convinced I’m going to fail her?”
The question hit harder than you expected because the answer was immediate and ugly, because you thought Alexia left people. You thought she got bored, detached, restless.
You thought eventually she would decide this was too hard and disappear, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces and maybe Alexia saw some of that on your face because her own expression slowly closed off, “There it is again,” she said quietly.
You looked away first.
Inside the apartment, laughter suddenly erupted from somewhere distant and painful. People trying desperately to force life back into a room that death had gutted clean.
You hated them for it a little, “I saw you once,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
Alexia frowned faintly.
“At that restaurant near the beach. Maybe two years ago.” Your fingers tightened against your sleeves, “Your date went to the bathroom and you flirted with the waitress right in front of everyone.”
Realisation flickered across Alexia’s face, “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
Alexia actually winced, “She was flirting with me first.”
You stared at her flatly, “That’s your defence?”
“No.” Alexia rubbed a tired hand over her forehead, “My defence is that the woman I was with had spent three months cheating on me.”
Your mouth shut immediately.
Alexia looked back down at Olivia instead of you, “I’d found out an hour earlier.”
The silence that followed felt different, not softer exactly, but uncertain, “I didn’t know that,” you said eventually.
“You never asked.”
The honesty in it stung because she was right. You had decided who Alexia was instantly and never moved from it, but standing here now, watching her sway unconsciously with Olivia sleeping against her chest despite her own exhaustion, the picture didn’t fit together as neatly anymore.
Alexia looked over at you after a moment, quieter now, “Marta used to get so annoyed at me.”
Despite yourself, your lips twitched faintly, “Only annoyed?”
“She said I sabotage anything before it can matter to me.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“She was dramatic.”
“She married Sofia voluntarily. Obviously dramatic.”
The corner of Alexia’s mouth finally lifted properly for the first time all day, small, brief, and God, that somehow hurt worse. Because suddenly you could see exactly why Marta loved her.
The balcony door slid open before either of you could say anything else, Marta’s elderly mother poked her head out carefully, eyes swollen red from crying, “There you both are,” she said softly, “Olivia’s overnight bag is packed.”
The reminder hit immediately, overnight, because Olivia wasn’t going home with Sofia and Marta anymore.
She was going with you and Alexia. Alexia’s face lost all trace of warmth at the exact same moment your stomach dropped.
Neither of you had thought past the first few days and funeral, not really.
Marta’s mother hesitated gently. “Have you discussed… arrangements?”
You and Alexia looked at each other, absolutely not, “I assumed,” you started slowly.
“At your place?” Alexia interrupted at the exact same time.
You both stopped, Marta’s mother looked exhausted already.
Alexia shifted Olivia carefully higher against her chest. “My home has security. Privacy. Extra rooms.”
You blinked, “You live way of the city, it would take me over an hour to get back and to, to work”
“And your flat is better?” Alexia shot back. “Fourth floor with no lift.”
“She can’t even walk yet.”
“She owns a stroller.”
“She also owns me, apparently.”
To your horror, Marta’s mother suddenly laughed, a real laugh wet and startled and exhausted, but real.
You and Alexia both stopped immediately, the older woman pressed trembling fingers against her mouth, eyes filling again. “God,” she whispered shakily. “You sound exactly like them.”
The grief hit so suddenly your chest physically hurt, because you could hear it too now. Sofia’s sarcasm, Marta’s dramatic sighing, the bickering underneath affection.
Alexia looked down abruptly, jaw tight and Olivia, still asleep between both your disasters of a lives, let out one tiny sleepy sigh and reached her little hand outward blindly straight toward you.
In the end, neither of you really argued about it, maybe because you were both too exhausted, maybe because every alternative felt wrong.
So you grabbed Olivia’s overnight bag in tense silence while mourners slowly filtered out of the apartment, and an hour later you found yourself unlocking the door to Sofia and Marta’s home with Alexia standing beside you holding a sleeping toddler and looking just as hollowed out as you felt.
The apartment smelled the same, vanilla candles, laundry detergent and baby shampoo, it was normal, that was the cruelest part. Nothing inside had changed even though everything had.
Alexia carried Olivia to her room while you stood frozen in the kitchen staring at the half finished grocery list still stuck to the fridge.
Milk.
Pasta.
Bananas.
Marta’s terrible handwriting underneath:
tell Sofia to stop buying expensive tomatoes x
Your throat tightened so fast it hurt, from down the hall, you heard Alexia murmuring softly, not words exactly, just noise of comfort.
You found her eventually standing beside the crib in the dim glow of a nightlight shaped like a moon. Olivia had starfished herself across the mattress, one tiny hand curled around the ear of a stuffed rabbit.
Alexia didn’t look up when you entered, “She fought sleep,” she whispered quietly.
“She always did.”
That finally made Alexia glance over at you, “You know a lot.”
You shrugged tightly, “Sofia used to call me every day after work.” Your eyes stayed on Olivia, “Sometimes just to complain about teething.”
A small silence settled, then Alexia carefully pulled the blanket higher over Olivia’s stomach with surprising gentleness, “She snores when she’s really asleep,” Alexia murmured.
You blinked, right on cue, Olivia let out the tiniest snuffling sound in her sleep and despite everything, a breath of laughter escaped you.
Alexia looked startled by the sound, like she hadn’t expected laughter to exist anymore, neither had you.
🍼
An hour later the apartment had gone quiet, too quiet.
You changed into one of Sofia’s oversized university hoodies you found abandoned over the back of a chair because your funeral clothes felt suffocating. Then you grabbed a notepad and pen from the kitchen drawer before heading toward the living room determined to do something practical before your brain collapsed entirely.
The television glow hit first, football commentary second, and then Alexia.
She was sprawled across Sofia and Marta’s sofa like she belonged there, one arm stretched along the back cushions, beer bottle dangling loosely from her fingers while some late night La Liga replay flickered across the screen.
You stopped dead in the doorway, “Really?”
Alexia’s lips came away from the bottle as she looked over lazily, “What?”
You stared at her in disbelief, “We need to sort arrangements.”
“For what?”
You actually laughed once because surely she couldn’t be serious, “For Olivia?” you hissed, “For the fact we apparently have a child now?”
Alexia frowned slightly like that was an overreaction, “She’s asleep.”
“Yes, and tomorrow she’ll still exist.”
“She tends to do that.”
“Oh my God.” You dropped the notepad onto the coffee table harder than intended, “We need a plan.”
Alexia looked back toward the television briefly, “We have one.”
“No, we absolutely do not.”
“She needs feeding, sleeping, nappies changed—”
“She also needs stability. Routine. Clothes. Daycare.” You pointed at her beer, “Apparently one responsible adult.”
Alexia’s eyes narrowed instantly, “I came here, didn’t I?”
The room tightened immediately, you folded your arms, “That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s what you implied.”
“You’re watching football while I’m trying to figure out how we’re supposed to raise a child.”
Alexia set the beer down slowly now, irritation finally surfacing properly, “And what exactly do you want me to do tonight?” she snapped, “Solve the next eighteen years in one conversation?”
“I want you to care.”
The words landed harder than intended, Alexia stared at you, then, very quietly, “That’s unfair.”
For a second guilt flickered unpleasantly in your stomach because she looked genuinely angry now, hurt.
“You think because I’m not panicking visibly that I don’t care?” Alexia leaned forward, forearms braced against her knees, “I am trying not to completely lose my mind in the house our friends are never coming back to.”
The football commentary droned softly in the background, you looked away first.
Alexia rubbed tiredly at her face before speaking again, quieter this time, “Marta used to ask me watch matches here after training.”
Your eyes flicked back toward her despite yourself.
“Sofia would complain the entire time,” Alexia murmured, “‘Nobody normal enjoys this much football.’ she'd say. But then never made us turn it off”
A tiny smile tugged at her mouth briefly before disappearing again.
You sank slowly into the armchair opposite her, exhaustion finally catching up with you.
The notepad sat untouched between you, Alexia reached for the remote and muted the television, the apartment immediately felt heavier.
After a long silence, she nodded toward the notepad, “Fine.” You looked up cautiously, “We'll do arrangements.” You handed her the pen, Alexia took it like it personally offended her, then she stared blankly at the paper for a solid ten seconds before asking, completely serious, “What does a baby actually do all day?”
You stared at Alexia across the coffee table, Alexia stared back completely seriously, “You cannot be this unprepared.”
“She eats, cries and bites people,” Alexia defended, “I know the basics.”
“She’s one, not a raccoon.”
Alexia ignored that, reaching for the notepad instead, “Fine. Explain the tiny dictator’s schedule.”
You exhaled through your nose and dragged the pen back toward yourself, “Okay. Right.” You flipped to a clean page. “We need to figure out our work first.”
Alexia leaned back into the sofa cushions with another tired sigh, “Training starts at nine most mornings. Earlier if it’s gym work.”
You scribbled it down, “And matches?”
“Depends. League games are usually evenings weekends. Champions League can mean extra training.” She paused, “Sometimes away trips are a few days.”
Your pen stopped, because somehow you hadn’t really considered that part yet. Alexia wasn’t just busy, she was one of the most recognisable footballers in the world, her schedule was chaos wrapped in sponsorships and international duty.
You looked up slowly, “You travel a lot.”
Alexia’s expression tightened slightly, defensive instinct kicking in immediately. “I can't help that.”
“I didn’t say you could.”
“You thought it.”
You chose not to answer that. Instead you looked back down at the paper, “My shifts rotate.” You rubbed at your temple, “Usually three long days a week at the hospital. Sometimes nights.”
Alexia blinked, “You do nights?”
“Occasionally.”
“What about Olivia?”
“Well I’m hardly going to leave her alone in the flat.”
Alexia frowned deeply now, properly thinking, “Could your shifts change?”
You laughed once without humour, “In a hospital? Not because my life imploded, no.”
That quieted both of you again, life imploded, it was accurate. Alexia reached for the pen this time, pulling the notepad into the middle of the table between you both, “Okay,” she said, more focused now, “We work around Olivia.”
Something about the wording settled oddly in your chest, not around yourselves, around Olivia. You watched Alexia start drawing lines across the page messily.
Monday.
Tuesday.
Wednesday.
Her handwriting was unexpectedly neat, “You take evenings,” you decided aloud, “Your training’s done by early afternoon most days.”
Alexia nodded slowly, “You’d have mornings then.”
“That works better with my shifts.”
“And nights when i'm away?”
You grimaced, “I can swap some.”
“You shouldn’t have to swap everything.” You looked at her sharply, surprised by the immediate response, Alexia shrugged like it was obvious, “She’s both ours.”
The words landed strangely, because suddenly this wasn’t temporary sounding anymore, not babysitting or helping out, ours.
You looked down quickly before she noticed whatever crossed your face, Alexia tapped the page again, “Match days are harder.”
“Because?”
“I’m gone most of the day to late at night.”
“Right.”
“And after games there’s media, recovery, sometimes team obligations.”
You rubbed a hand over your face, “Jesus Christ.”
Alexia snorted softly. “Exactly what Marta used to say.”
You both fell quiet again at the mention of her. The grief moved strangely between you both now. Less like a wall. More like a third presence sitting silently in the room beside you.
Eventually you cleared your throat, “Okay. So on match days, Olivia stays with me, I'll have to make sure I'm not working.”
Alexia immediately frowned, “That’s not fair.”
“It’s fine.”
“No it's not.”
“It'll have to be, Alexia.”
“That’s not the point.” You blinked at the sharpness in her voice, Alexia looked frustrated suddenly. “I don’t want her feeling like a burden”
The room softened slightly after that, because underneath the bickering, underneath all the sharp edges, there it was again. You looked back down at the timetable quietly, “Neither do I.”
Alexia rubbed slowly at the label on her beer bottle before speaking again changing what needed to be sorted, “Maybe…” She hesitated like the suggestion physically hurt her pride, “Maybe we keep her here.”
You frowned, “Here?”
“In the apartment.” Alexia gestured around vaguely. “Her room is here. Her toys. Her routine.” She swallowed once, “Everything smells like them.” Your chest tightened painfully. “She’s already lost enough. She shouldn't loose her home to." Alexia’s voice had gone very quiet now.
You looked toward the hallway instinctively, toward Olivia asleep down the corridor surrounded by traces of Sofia and Marta everywhere. The moon nightlight, tiny shoes by the door, drawings on the fridge, a life paused halfway through.
“She stays here,” Alexia said again more firmly this time, looking at the timetable. “We come and go.”
You stared at her for a long moment, and annoyingly it was the smartest thing either of you had said all night. “She’d stay in her own bed,” you murmured slowly.
Alexia nodded once, “She keeps her familiarity.”
Another nod, “No moving her between apartments every two days.”
Alexia looked relieved you understood before she quickly hid it behind irritation again, “Obviously.”
You rolled your eyes automatically, “You don’t need to act smug every time you have one good idea.”
“One good idea?” Alexia scoffed, “I’m carrying this operation.”
“You couldn’t install a car seat six hours ago.”
“And yet here I am, solving custody logistics.” Despite yourself, a small laugh escaped you. Alexia looked startled again by the sound, then smugly, “There she is,” she murmured.
“Don’t ruin it.”
“Too late.”
You shook your head but the tension in the room had shifted now, just slightly, not gone, it'll probably never gone, but softer around the edges.
Together, you both kept scribbling across the timetable for another hour, training schedules, hospital shifts, night feeds, daycare possibilities, trying to find a solution for those hours neither of you would be able to be home with Olivia.
There were arguments, Alexia insisted toddlers could probably survive on pasta and fruit pouches alone.
You informed her that counted as nutritional neglect. You argued over bedtime routines, screen time, whether babies needed tiny expensive shoes before they could even walk properly.
But underneath every disagreement sat the same desperate, fragile goal to keep Olivia safe and loved. Keep Olivia happy enough to survive losing the centre of her entire world.
Sometime after midnight, you both ended up sitting cross legged on the floor surrounded by papers and half empty mugs of coffee, staring at the chaotic timetable that now controlled both your lives.
Alexia looked exhausted, you probably did too
🍼
The next morning felt unnervingly normal, which somehow made everything worse.
Olivia woke at six thirty screaming for a banana she immediately refused to eat. By seven, there was yoghurt in your hair, one sock missing entirely, and a children’s cartoon theme tune looping through the apartment loudly enough to qualify as psychological warfare.
You were exhausted, not normal tired bone deep exhausted, the kind where your body felt heavy and your thoughts moved slower than usual.
You’d barely slept after finally collapsing onto Sofia and Marta’s sofa around two in the morning, and Olivia had apparently decided grief meant separation anxiety because every time you stepped more than two feet away from her she burst into tears again.
By midday, the apartment looked like a tiny hurricane had passed through.
Toy blocks covered the rug, one of Olivia’s stuffed animals floated face down in a mug of cold coffee.
You had somehow changed three nappies, watched the same animated rabbit sing about vegetables six times, and cried quietly in the kitchen while sterilising bottles because Sofia used to do this exact thing standing in this exact spot.
Alexia still hadn’t shown up, you checked your phone again.
2:41 PM. Nothing. No message. No warning. No call, your shift starts at three.
You bounced Olivia absently on your hip while trying not to spiral into outright fury, “She said she’d be here,” you muttered more to yourself than the baby.
Olivia shoved sticky fingers into your cheek.
“Thank you for your emotional support.”
The front door remained stubbornly silent, by 2:52, you were pacing, at 2:56, you were fully angry, at exactly 3:07 PM, the apartment door finally unlocked.
You spun around so fast Olivia startled against your shoulder and there she was. Alexia walked into the apartment wearing training gear and sunglasses like this was any other afternoon, bag slung over one shoulder, completely unhurried.
“Hi,” she said casually, kicking the door shut behind her.
You stared at her in disbelief, then at the clock, then back at her, “You’re late.”
Alexia blinked once, slowly pulling off her sunglasses, “By seven minutes.”
“Seven minutes after my shift started.”
“You said three-ish.”
“I absolutely did not say three-ish.”
Alexia dropped her bag beside the sofa, “Training ran over.”
“And you couldn’t text?”
“I was driving.”
“For forty minutes?”
She opened her mouth, closed it again, “Okay,” Alexia admitted reluctantly. “I forgot”
You actually laughed once because the alternative was screaming.
Olivia immediately sensed the tension and started whining softly against your shoulder, Alexia’s expression shifted the second she noticed.
“Oh, hey Livvy,” she murmured instantly softer, stepping closer.
Olivia reached toward her automatically, the betrayal stung a little, “Unbelievable,” you muttered while transferring her carefully across.
Alexia took Olivia with practiced ease now, settling her easily against her hip. The baby immediately grabbed fistfuls of Alexia’s hoodie string with a sleepy little sigh, like she’d been waiting.
Something sharp twisted unexpectedly in your chest.
Alexia noticed your expression immediately, “What?”
“You can’t just wander in whenever you feel like it,” you snapped, grabbing your jacket off the chair, “This isn’t optional, Alexia.”
Her face hardened slightly at your tone, “I know that.”
“Do you?” You gestured around the apartment helplessly, “Because this morning Olivia cried for twenty minutes because I went to the toilet without her and I had to call my supervisor to beg for a delayed start because apparently my co-parent thinks punctuality is a suggestion.”
Alexia’s jaw tightened immediately at the word co-parent, “Training changed last minute.”
“So you call.”
“I said I forgot.”
“And I’m saying you don’t get to forget anymore!”
The words cracked louder than intended through the apartment, silence followed instantly, Olivia startled in Alexia’s arms, lower lip wobbling dangerously.
Alexia immediately bounced her gently, “Hey, hey, no, cariño…” The softness in her voice hit like emotional whiplash after the argument.
You dragged a hand over your face immediately, guilt crashing in, “I’m not yelling at you,” you muttered quietly toward Olivia.
“She knows,” Alexia said shortly, still soothing the baby.
The apartment went quiet except for Olivia’s little sniffling breaths. You grabbed your bag harder than necessary, “I can’t do this alone.”
The admission slipped out before you could stop it, Alexia looked up then, irritation flashing immediately into something sharper, “You think I’m not trying?”
“You forgot.”
“I was at training.”
“You were supposed to be here.”
“And I am here now.”
“That’s not how responsibility works!”
Alexia scoffed suddenly, exhausted and angry all at once, “Right, because you’ve been doing this perfectly?”
The comment hit instantly, your eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”
“You keep acting like you’re the only one grieving here.”
“Oh, don’t do that.”
“You look at me like I’m one mistake away from abandoning her.”
Because you were, the silence after that was ugly, too honest, Alexia saw it on your face immediately and for the first time since all this started, something genuinely hurt crossed her expression.
“There it is,” she said quietly.
You looked away first, Olivia made another upset little noise between you both, tiny fingers tangled tightly in Alexia’s hoodie.
You suddenly couldn’t breathe in the apartment anymore, couldn’t stand the toys everywhere, the grief everywhere, Alexia everywhere.
You snatched your keys off the counter.
“Where are you going?” Alexia asked sharply.
“To work.”
“You’re upset.”
“No shit.”
“Don’t walk out like this.”
You laughed once, humourless, “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Alexia shifted Olivia higher against her chest, frustration radiating off her now too, “We’re supposed to be figuring this out together.”
“Well maybe try showing up first.”
The words landed hard, Alexia’s face closed off immediately and guilt flickered for maybe half a second before exhaustion smothered it completely.
You headed for the door, behind you, Olivia started crying properly now, distressed by the shouting, reaching one tiny hand toward you over Alexia’s shoulder.
The sound nearly stopped you, nearly, but Alexia held her tighter instead, jaw clenched, “Go then,” she snapped quietly. "Before you upset her anymore than you already have"
So you did.
The apartment door slammed harder than intended behind you, echoing down the hallway and even halfway down the stairs, you could still hear Olivia crying upstairs.
genuinely think i read the best threesomr fanfiction ive ever laid my eyes on today. like orgasmed multiples times. my eyes were blessed on a level i didn’t know possible
(anyways if u want an insane pitt rec for a garcia x santos x al hashimi fic that hits every kink possible lmk)
i think there’s something to be said for a woman who has seen the effects of a women’s team being put second place to a men’s and constantly feeling the repercussions of male greed being linked to a female powerhouse.
alexia is synonymous with football, truly a once in a generation player and person, she chose herself and she chose her future.
“Whichever path she chooses, one thing is certain: she owes absolutely nothing to anyone anymore. Alexia Putellas has more than earned the right to choose how, when, and where to write the final chapters of her sporting biography.”
exactly that.
La doble ganadora del Ballon d'Or superó una marca histórica de Lionel Messi. Con nuevas finales en el horizonte, la capitana de 32 años se
people’s initial reactions to alexia’s announcement says everything about who they are as a fan and as a person btw
how anyone could ever be so toxic towards her about it blows my mind bc her reasonings for leaving are so clear and so understandable, and while i was initially annoyed about the timing, there would never be a right time to announce something like this. no matter when she told everyone, it was always going to overshadow everything else about the season
i don’t think people understand the significance of a decision like this for someone like her. if you watch her video again, the part of her saying ‘wednesday will be my final game for barcelona’ was obviously filmed at a different time than the rest of the vid, clearly because she couldn’t decide if she wanted to leave or not. to blame her for the timing is something equally unfair bc nobody but her will understand how hard of a decision it has been. she literally couldn’t decide until the very last moment and i’m sure upon the response to the video she’s probably still wondering if it’s the right thing
if she goes to lcl, i understand. it’s likely not gonna be a ucl team for at least one or two seasons, so she won’t play against barça. kang is evil, yes, but she’s most definitely offering alexia the world and after spending 14 years always doing what’s right for the club (esp when it was going through its various crises) it’s a wonder it took her this long to finally put herself first. she deserves the world and she deserves at this point to choose what it looks like for herself. a football career is finite and she’s always said she’ll disappear after retiring so if she is remotely doing it for the money (which it’s clear her main reason definitely is not money) then sue her. so what if she wants to secure her future after football.
most importantly of all, it seems she wants to spend at least a few playing years not under the unfortunate burden that her role has become, what with the pressure and the constant scapegoating people direct towards her whenever anything goes wrong, etc etc. moving to a mid table club where she probably won’t be captain and won’t be the leader of the team seems like the perfect recipe at this stage to enjoy football for what it is, for what it was when she first started playing.
i think the 2025 (club + international) season did her in and that’s what got the ball rolling and she just found more and more reasons to go in terms of reflecting, la masia kids stepping up, realising how exhausted she is, etc etc
all of this is so easy to understand, and it has been so easy to understand since the first watch of the video. the line ‘and i admit i have emptied myself’ says everything and it baffles me that people heard that and still chose to treat her with such vitriol. after everything she has done, she STILL thinks she’s indebted to barça. that also says it all.
anyway some jumbled thoughts but overall she is my idol, my goat, the player that made women’s football mean everything to adult me because of what younger me experienced with football, and her character on and off the pitch has never failed to prove that.
also i can never listen to magnolias again. and women’s football is about to go through a major period of change and i think it will be for the better
(^ not only bc of her leaving fyi, and do know i did cry this morning rewatching the video)
OMG IM SO SORRY, IM THE SAME PERSON WHO SENT IN THE ASLK ABOUT THE INTIMACY UNIVERSE BUT I ACTUALLY MEANT INITIATION!!! I'm reading both and I am so so so sorry that I said the wrong one!!!
Just wanted to start off by saying how AMAZING your writing is!! You are literally the second person I followed on here and I'm so glad I did. I was wondering if you will be continuing the intimacy universe? I understand that these are very intense fics and don't want to rush you into writing or anything like that, but I was just curious as it is one of my fav fic series I've found and I feel like it has so much potential to be continued.
Ofcourse there is absolutely no pressure to continue it if you don't want to, and I'm very sorry if you have answered this before and I've missed that.
Hope you have an amazing day and thx again for writing!
💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜
i think in the future if and when i have time i would be happy to but it’s such a time consuming thing and the reason i haven’t come back to it/written orgy fics is because i don’t want to half ass it!
i would love love love to sometime! i’m travelling in the middle of this year and taking heaps of time off so maybe then? idk but i would love to hope i do some day!
Random but I know you mentioned that you sometimes smoke has it been any different since you started an ssri
i don’t smoke when i’m taking anti depressants (anymore)
i’ve done it a very very very small amount of times and just found that it made me really paranoid - which reversed the whole purpose of me smoking so i don’t do it anymore!
this is so jarring bro. i’ve followed you on my main blog for ages and i made a side blog a little while ago to post about the pitt and you’ve just liked something on it. i only noticed because it came up with the ‘following’ green thing in my notis ahahahhahahaba
hehehehehehe
i’m in a deep pitt of the pitt rn. obsessed is an understatement
charlie :) @samkerrworshipper - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
