summary: You had a lot on your plate: a little sister to raise, two jobs to juggle, and a massive secret. For years, you had been secretly working at a strip club to fund your sister’s needs: from school trips to football kits. Between keeping a secret and making ends meet, there was no room in your life for anything else, especially not romance.
Meeting Alexia Putellas made that a little difficult.
tags: stripper!Reader, slight age gap, client!Alexia, angst, smut, secret/forbidden relationship, drama, femme!Reader, minimal use of YN, lap dances, suggestive content, strap r!Receiving, cunnilingus r!Receiving, cursing, use of pet names, tldr: u meet alexia when she attends irene's bachelorette in the club u work at (irene not yet married in this fic haha)
index
— fic playlist
— moodboards
— chapter one
tags: 18+, 16k words, smutty content, mature scenes and themes
— chapter two
tags: 18+, 17k words, smutty content
— chapter three
tags: wip
taglist below the cut; reblog/comment on latest chapter if you want to be added!
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 5
Word Count: 7k
The movie had been Alexia's idea mostly because neither of you had the energy to do anything else.
You'd ordered food, neither of you had really tasted it, then somehow ended up stretched across opposite ends of the sofa while a film played in the background neither of you were paying much attention.
The events of the day had left you both drained, at one point Alexia disappeared and returned with a blanket, without a word she shook it out and pulled it over herself.
You barely reacted, still staring vaguely at the television, a few minutes passed, then you shifted, Alexia didn't think anything of it. Until suddenly you were moving closer, seeking out the warmth beneath the blanket.
You lifted the edge, slid underneath, then settled beside her close, very close. Alexia froze, because apparently your definition of sharing a blanket and her definition of sharing a blanket were very different things.
You tucked yourself into her side naturally, like it wasn't a big deal, like it wasn't doing catastrophic things to her ability to think. Your head found her shoulder, one arm loosely across her stomach eyes still on the television, completely oblivious.
Alexia, meanwhile, was trying very hard to remember how breathing worked, because you'd never done this before, not without Olivia wedged between you.
Her arm hovered awkwardly, half raised, half frozen, she was painfully aware of every point of contact. The weight of your head, the warmth of your body, the smell of your shampoo, the way you seemed completely comfortable.
Eventually, very carefully, she let her arm settle across your back, it was tentative, giving you every opportunity to move away if you wanted to.
You didn't, if anything, you shifted slightly closer a tiny unconscious movement seeking comfort, nothing more.
The simple trust in it hit Alexia harder than she'd expected, you let out a slow breath, the kind people made when they were finally relaxing after a terrible day and without even looking up, you murmured, "Thanks for staying."
Alexia's chest tightened, because she knew you weren't talking about tonight, not entirely.
You were talking about everything, she looked down at the top of your head, at the exhaustion written into every line of your body.
Then tightened her arm slightly, just enough for you to notice, "Always."
The answer came quietly, before she could stop herself.
You didn't seem to think anything of it, just hummed softly in acknowledgement.
Your eyes already beginning to droop, the movie continued playing, Alexia found herself staring at the television whilst being completely unable to remember a single thing that had happened on screen for the last twenty minutes. Because all she could think about was the fact you were curled against her side.
You must have drifted off not asleep, not fully awake either, just existing somewhere in between. The movie was still playing quietly when a cry crackled through the baby monitor, both of you stirred immediately.
Alexia looked down the hallway but you were already moving, "I've got her."
Alexia nodded, reluctantly letting the warmth disappear as you slipped out from under the blanket. A few minutes later you returned, Olivia was tucked against your chest, one fist tangled in your shirt, her face scrunched with the lingering unhappiness of a toddler who had briefly woken up and decided she hated it.
The second she spotted Alexia she lifted her head, "Aaaale."
Alexia immediately smiled, "Hola, guapa."
Olivia reached, demanding and insistent. You laughed quietly, "Apparently she has a favourite."
Alexia looked entirely too pleased about that, you crossed the room and carefully transferred Olivia onto her chest.
The toddler immediately settled, curling into Alexia like she'd found exactly where she wanted to be.
"There we go."
Alexia adjusted the blanket around her, one hand rubbing slowly up and down Olivia's back.
You dropped back onto the sofa beside them, pulling the blanket over yourself again, Olivia was lying on Alexia facing you now once again fighting sleep.
Still determined to stay awake despite the fact she could barely keep her eyes open.
You reached across automatically, your hand settling gently on top of her head, the familiar motion began immediately, your thumb stroking softly across her forehead back and forth.
The movement was almost automatic by now, one of the first things you'd discovered after the accident, it was one of the very few things that worked every single time.
Olivia's eyes immediately started getting heavier, another stroke, a slow blink, another, her tiny hand loosened where it was gripping Alexia's shirt.
You continued shushing softly, the same quiet rhythm you'd used hundreds of times before. Alexia watched you, the way your entire expression softened around the toddler and how your thumb never stopped moving.
The patience and gentleness, the complete instinct with which you cared for her. It still amazed Alexia sometimes, because this wasn't supposed to be your life.
None of this was and yet you'd stepped into it without hesitation, even when it had nearly broken you.
Olivia's eyes finally slipped closed, you kept going, a few more strokes, making sure.
Alexia smiled softly, "She's asleep."
You looked at Olivia, then at Alexia, then back at Olivia, "Maybe."
Alexia laughed quietly, "You don't trust her."
"I absolutely do not."
As if hearing her cue, Olivia's eyes opened briefly, both of you froze, the toddler blinked once, then immediately fell asleep again. Alexia pressed her lips together to stop herself laughing, "I stand corrected."
You smiled, still running your thumb gently back and forth but eventually that slowed. The three of you bundled together beneath one blanket, the movie had long since become background noise, neither of you were watching it anymore.
Olivia was sprawled across Alexia's chest, deeply asleep now, one tiny hand wrapped around your finger where it stretched across the gap between you.
Every now and then she'd twitch in her sleep tightening her grip, then relaxing again. Alexia smiled down at her, then glanced at you, "I've not had chance to ask about your date with Kika."
You hummed, there wasn't really much to tell, "It was nice."
Alexia waited, "And?"
You shrugged, "And nothing."
That got her attention, "What do you mean nothing?"
You smiled slightly, "Kika's lovely."
"She is."
"She's funny."
Alexia nodded, "Very."
You looked down at Olivia, "I think that's kind of the problem."
You nodded, "Not exactly. But she's got that same energy. The same way of filling every bit of silence and making people laugh." You smiled softly, "Half the date I kept thinking about Sofia making the exact same stupid jokes." Alexia was quiet. "And that's not fair on Kika." Because it wasn't.
Kika deserved someone who was seeing her, not constantly being reminded of somebody they'd lost.
"She was incredibly sweet about it though."
"That sounds like Kika."
"Way nicer than she needed to be."
Alexia wasn't remotely surprised by that, Kika was many things cruel wasn't one of them.
Eventually you sighed, "To be honest." Alexia glanced over, "At this point I'll just be happy being on my own raising this little one with you."
Alexia's chest tightened, you sounded so matter of fact about it, like you'd already accepted it.
"It's been so long since I've had sex it probably isn't even done the same anymore."
Alexia immediately laughed, a hand flying to her mouth to stop herself waking Olivia, "Don't be daft."
You grinned, "I'm serious."
"It hasn't."
"You don't know that."
"I do." You rolled your eyes, Alexia was still smiling, "And you can't put your entire life on hold because of Olivia." Her voice softened, "Sofia and Marta wouldn't want that."
You hummed quietly, "It's finding the time."
"You should've just had one night with Kika." You stared at her, the audacity, Alexia merely shrugged, "I'm always free." She gestured vaguely toward Olivia. "You do me enough favours switching nights for me and stuff"
Alexia fully expected you to react badly, or tell her to shut up or throw a cushion at her, instead your eyebrows rose a slow smile appearing. Alexia immediately looked suspicious, you pretended to think about it. "So I switch nights so you can run around town with your little models."
Alexia breathed out a laugh.
"And I get the sloppy seconds?" Her eyes widened, "It's really tempting." You nodded thoughtfully, "Very generous offer." Alexia was trying and failing not to laugh, "But. I think I'll pass, thanks."
The sarcasm was impossible to miss, Alexia laughed so hard she nearly woke Olivia. The toddler stirred, both of you immediately froze, silence.
A few seconds passed, Olivia sighed dramatically in her sleep, then settled again. You both exhaled, then started laughing all over again, quieter this time.
Neither of you noticing how naturally the evening had become something neither of you would have imagined a few months ago, just the three of you, under one blanket, talking nonsense while Olivia slept between you.
🍼
The aquarium hadn't been a planned outing, most of them weren't anymore. Somewhere along the way, spending time together had become normal, not handovers or discussions about schedules and childcare.
Actual time together.
You'd take Olivia to the park, Alexia would text asking if you wanted company, sometimes you'd end up at a café, or the zoo, or nowhere at all. Just sitting in the apartment while Olivia turned the living room into a health and safety violation.
The three of you had slowly slipped into a routine one that neither of you seemed particularly interested in questioning.
Today's outing had been caused entirely by Finding Nemo, specifically Olivia's reaction to Finding Nemo. She had sat through the entire film without moving, making a sound, or attempting to climb either of you.
Just staring at the television completely captivated, by the end Alexia had laughed, "I think we need to take her to see actual fish."
So after training, you'd picked Alexia up, Olivia happily baby babbling in the back and ended up at the aquarium.
The pushchair remained completely empty, because Olivia had no chance in being in it. Instead she was perched comfortably in Alexia's arms, one arm wrapped around her neck, tiny trainers kicking gently against Alexia's hip.
Alexia carried her the entire way around, past sharks, jellyfish, stingrays, reading every information board to her she came across completely seriously, "...the giant Pacific octopus has three hearts."
Olivia stared through the glass absolutely fascinated.
Alexia nodded, "I know." Like they were having a genuine conversation.
You walked a few steps behind them, pushing the completely unnecessary pushchair, phone in hand occasionally snapping pictures.
Mostly because the sight was ridiculous, at one tank Alexia spent five full minutes crouched down so Olivia could watch a clownfish.
"Look." She pointed, "That's Nemo."
Olivia immediately smacked the glass.
Alexia looked horrified, "We don't hit Nemo." The toddler did it again, you laughed and Alexia shot you a look, "Don't encourage her."
You shook your head, still smiling as you lifted your phone capturing another picture. Alexia didn't notice she was too busy explaining fish to a thirteen month old.
And that was becoming the problem, a serious one, because you'd always thought Alexia was attractive. That had never been the issue, the issue had been everything else. The confidence, the flirting, the reputation.
The way she seemed able to charm absolutely anyone, the smooth talking. The version of Alexia you'd met years ago who always seemed to have something to say. You'd never trusted it, never particularly liked it either.
Somewhere along the way you'd started seeing other things, the woman who sat up all night with a sick toddler, who read bedtime stories using different voices. The woman currently explaining fish migration patterns to a child who couldn't understand a single word she was saying.
Alexia looked over suddenly, catching you staring, "What?"
You immediately looked away, "Nothing."
She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, "You took another picture didn't you?"
"No."
"You absolutely did." You smiled so Alexia groaned, "I look ridiculous."
"You do."
"Delete it."
"No."
Alexia pointed at you, "You have hundreds."
You checked your phone, "Two hundred and fourteen."
"She won't remember any of this, it'll be nice for her to look back on"
You glanced down at the newest one, Alexia standing in front of a huge aquarium window, Olivia tucked securely against her side both of them watching a school of fish swim past, neither aware they were being photographed.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly, because the picture looked like a family and that thought should have been alarming, instead it just lingered. The worst part was you weren't entirely sure you wanted it to go away.
Ahead of you, Alexia pointed excitedly at something in the next tank, Olivia immediately copied the gesture. Both of them looking equally thrilled, you laughed quietly to yourself, then followed after them.
Trying very hard not to think about why seeing this side of Alexia was becoming harder and harder to ignore. The problem was that it kept getting worse or better depending on how you looked at it.
Every time you thought you'd finally figured Alexia out, she'd do something that completely ruined your carefully constructed opinion of her.
Like spending forty five minutes helping Olivia feed ducks because the toddler had become emotionally invested in one specific duck.
Or reading the same bedtime story six times because Olivia kept pointing at the cover and demanding it again.
Or sitting cross legged on the living room floor building block towers only to act genuinely devastated when Olivia knocked them over.
You'd always assumed Alexia's confidence came from arrogance, now you realised most of it came from certainty. She knew who she was, what mattered to her, who mattered to her, there was a difference a huge one, annoyingly, the more you saw it, the harder it became to ignore how much you liked being around her.
The aquarium wasn't a one off. Neither was the zoo or the picnic that ended with all three of you getting caught in the rain.
Or the Saturday afternoon spent wandering around a bookshop because Olivia had discovered books with flaps and Alexia insisted on buying her half the shop despite having no where for them.
Along the way, your favourite part of the week had become the days Alexia was around. You caught yourself looking for her, texting her, thinking about things you'd tell her later and that was dangerous.
Attraction was one thing, you'd always found Alexia attractive that wasn't exactly breaking news. The woman looked like she'd been designed by an artist with unrealistic standards.
The problem was everything else the way she made Olivia laugh, she remembered things, she'd started quietly picking up your favourite coffee whenever she grabbed one for herself. The way she always noticed when you were struggling before anyone else did, how she'd stayed after the hospital.
You were falling for her, slowly and reluctantly, completely against your better judgement and absolutely nobody could know.
Especially Alexia, because the second half of the equation made the whole thing ridiculous.
You knew Alexia the woman who could walk into a room and have three people flirting with her before she'd sat down. Who'd spent years being linked to models, influencers, actresses and women who looked like they belonged on magazine covers.
You remembered conversations from dinners years prior, Alexia grinning shamelessly, never remotely embarrassed about how open she was. The kind of confidence you'd never possessed.
Meanwhile you were you, a doctor who spent half her life covered in bodily fluids, perpetually tired and frequently stressed. Most of your wardrobe consisted of scrubs, hoodies and clothes covered in mysterious Olivia related stains.
You couldn't even remember the last time you'd gone on a proper date, the comparison wasn't exactly flattering. So every time your brain wandered somewhere dangerous, you shut it down immediately.
Because there was no point, Alexia wasn't interested in you. Why would she be? The thought didn't stop you noticing things though.
Like the way her eyes always found you in a room, how she smiled differently around you than other people, or how often she chose the apartment over her home lately.
Those observations got firmly shoved into the same mental box as every other hopeful thought, they were ignored, dismissed and forgotten, or at least attempted.
The irony being that Alexia was currently having almost exactly the same problem, because from where she sat across the living room, watching you help Olivia colour on a giant piece of paper spread across the floor, she couldn't understand how you didn't see what everyone else saw.
The kindness, patience, the intelligence. The fact you'd changed your entire life for a little girl who wasn't yours without ever asking for anything in return.
Alexia thought you were extraordinary and thought you could have anyone you wanted.
Somewhere in the middle sat Olivia completely unaware that the two adults raising her were slowly making themselves miserable by assuming the other one could never possibly feel the same way.
🍼
The weekly shop had somehow become another thing you and Alexia did together, it started because buying groceries with a toddler was a form of psychological warfare neither of you wished to undertake alone.
Then even when Olivia wasn't with you, you'd both kept doing it, today Olivia was at day care, just for the morning. Something you'd both agreed was important as much as she loved spending time with you and Alexia, she needed other children, other adults. A world bigger than just the two people raising her.
So while she finger painted and terrorised nursery staff elsewhere, you and Alexia were attempting to buy enough food to survive the week.
Attempting being the key word, because Alexia had disappeared three aisles ago, again.
You weren't even surprised anymore, one minute she'd been beside you the next she'd remembered something essential that wasn't on the list and vanished leaving you standing in front of a baking display.
You picked up a cake decorating kit turning it over, reading the back. It looked messy it was almost guaranteed to end with icing in Olivia's hair.
You smiled to yourself already picturing it then voices drifted down the aisle. "Alexia?"
A woman's voice warm, surprised, you didn't look up instead studying the cake box with suspicious concentration. Absolutely not eavesdropping. Not at all.
"Oh, hi." You heard Alexia laugh softly, the kind of laugh she used when talking to strangers.
"How's your aunt?"
Your attention sharpened immediately, this wasn’t a fan, "She's good." Alexia sounded genuinely relieved, "She's home now thankfully."
"That's wonderful."
"Yeah. She's still got a way to go but she's on the mend."
You smiled at the news, then continued pretending to read ingredients, there was another pause, then the woman laughed. "You owe me a dinner."
You kept staring at the cake mix very intensely reading the ingredients for the fourth time. "Oh." Alexia sounded sheepish, which was unusual. "You're right."
"You promised you'd rearrange when you called from the hospital.”
"I know."
"A text would've been nice."
"You're absolutely right." Alexia's tone was smooth, comfortable, confident, the version of her that had always irritated you, the woman who could charm her way out of trouble, "That's entirely my fault."
"Mhmm."
"It is." You could practically hear the smile in Alexia's voice.
"You disappeared on me." The woman sounded amused rather than annoyed.
Alexia groaned, "I know."
"You do know it's been nearly two weeks?"
"I've been a little distracted." You could hear the smile in Alexia's voice now, the one that always seemed to work on absolutely everyone.
"A little?"
"A lot."
The woman laughed. "That's still not an excuse."
You rolled your eyes, if you're aunt nearly dying wasn't an excuse that what would be? "No." Alexia sounded completely unbothered by being told off, which somehow was even more annoying. "It isn't."
You rolled your eyes at the cake mix, there she was the version of Alexia that had always gotten on your nerves, the smooth talker, the flirt. The woman who somehow managed to charm people even when she was clearly in the wrong.
"So are you actually going to text me this time?"
"I will."
"You promise?"
"I promise."
The woman laughed again and somehow, despite being completely in the wrong, Alexia had already managed to have the woman laughing too.
The conversation drifted onto other things before eventually ending, goodbyes exchanged, footsteps approaching. You immediately became fascinated by nutritional information again. Alexia appeared at your side carrying three things that definitely weren't on the list.
"You found anything good?" You held up the cake kit, Alexia smiled immediately, "Oh."
"I thought it might be fun."
"It'll be chaos."
"Absolutely."
Alexia nodded approvingly, "We should get it."
You placed it in the trolley trying very hard not to think about what you'd just overheard, because the thing that stuck with you wasn't the flirting, or the effortless charm. Or even the fact Alexia quite obviously still had a date waiting for her if she wanted it.
It was the realisation that she'd cancelled that evening because of you, not because she had to or because Olivia needed her, but because you'd admitted you didn't want to be alone and she'd chosen you.
Chosen sitting on your sofa, helping with bath time and chosen staying until you felt okay again, over, from your purely uninformed guess, guaranteed sex.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly, because that warm feeling was immediately followed by reality. The woman she'd been talking to was beautiful, confident, funny.
The sort of woman Alexia always dated, not you, it would never you. You shoved the thought away picking up a packet of sprinkles and followed Alexia to the next aisle.
Trying very hard not to think about why the knowledge she'd cancelled a date for you had affected you quite so much.
🍼
The apartment felt oddly quiet like something was missing.
You sat curled into one corner of the sofa, half watching some television programme that had been on for nearly an hour without you retaining a single detail.
On the floor, Olivia was happily entertaining herself, or trying to, every few minutes she'd look up, "Ale?"
You smiled, "She's not here, baby."
Olivia looked around, confused, then returned to stacking blocks. Thirty seconds later, "Ale?"
You glanced down, "Nope."
Another block, another minute, "Ale?"
You laughed, "Still not here."
The third day of Alexia being away had apparently become unacceptable at least according to Olivia.
The toddler stood, looked around the apartment again as though Alexia might suddenly materialise from behind the television, and frowned.
"Ale."
You put your head back against the sofa, "She's playing football in Italy baby."
Olivia considered that, then immediately asked again, "Ale?"
You sighed, "Honestly, same. I miss her too."
The words slipped out before you could stop them, the admission made your chest feel oddly warm. Olivia immediately nodded as though you'd finally understood the problem.
The second you'd said it, you realised it was true. You missed her.
Not just because she helped with Olivia or because things were easier when she was around.
You genuinely missed her, the stupid comments, the way she'd somehow become the first person you texted when something funny happened.
Your stomach did something strange, you ignored it.
On the floor, Olivia's bottom lip started wobbling. "Oh no." You immediately sat forward, "No, no."
The wobble intensified, you scooped her up before the tears arrived.
"I know." You settled her onto your hip "Shall we FaceTime her?"
Olivia's entire face lit up you grabbed your phone completely for Olivia's benefit obviously entirely for Olivia.
The fact you'd checked twice earlier to see if Alexia had messaged was irrelevant and spent most of the evening wishing she was sat beside you on the sofa was also irrelevant.
You pressed call, expecting a delayed answer, or no answer at all, instead the screen immediately connected.
Alexia appeared almost instantly, still in her training kit sitting cross legged on the bed in her hotel room.
The second she saw the screen her face brightened, "Hola."
Olivia gasped, "ALE!"
Alexia laughed a proper laugh, the kind that made her eyes crinkle. "Hola, princesca"
Olivia immediately started bouncing pointing aggressively at the phone as though worried Alexia might not have noticed she was there.
"I can see you."
More bouncing from Olivia whilst you found yourself smiling just watching them.
Alexia's attention shifted to you, "Hi."
The simple greeting shouldn't have affected you as much as it did, it really shouldn't, yet somehow it did, "Hi."
Something softened in her expression, the kind of look that lingered half a second longer than it probably should, "You okay?"
You nodded, "Yeah."
Alexia narrowed her eyes, not buying it.
You rolled yours, "I'm fine."
"Mm."
Olivia immediately shoved her face directly against the screen, Alexia laughed again, the sound filling the living room and the apartment didn't feel quite so quiet anymore.
For the next twenty minutes Olivia gave Alexia a detailed update on absolutely everything she'd done that day, mostly in a language only toddlers understood.
Alexia listened seriously as though every single word made perfect sense and while Olivia talked, you found yourself doing something you hadn't intended.
Just watching Alexia, watching her smile and laugh, watching her sit in a hotel room thousands of miles away and somehow still feel like home.
Which was a dangerous thought, a very dangerous thought indeed.
🍼
"No."
Alexia sighed dramatically, "You haven't even thought about it."
"I have."
"You haven't."
"I have."
She folded her arms, "Your answer was too quick."
You looked up from Olivia's dinner, "My answer is still no."
"Oh, come on." Alexia leaned against the kitchen counter, "It's a home game."
"I know."
"It'll be fun."
You shook your head, "I don't think it's a good idea."
"Why?"
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, because you didn't actually have a reason, not one you could explain, "I just don't."
Alexia watched you for a moment, then changed tactics, "Olivia." The toddler looked up from enthusiastically smearing mashed potato across her tray, "Do you want to come and watch Ale play football?"
Your head snapped up, "Alexia."
Olivia clapped, Alexia grinned smugly, "There we go."
"She'd clap if you asked if she wanted to pay taxes."
"Still counts."
It took another week, three more conversations, two accidental guilt trips from Alexia and one very cute picture of Olivia in a Barcelona shirt until eventually you gave in.
🍼
The atmosphere was unlike anything Olivia had ever experienced, she spent most of the warm up staring around the stadium with wide eyes.
Occasionally clapping because everyone else was, she wore tiny ear defenders, a Barcelona shirt that drowned her and sat happily on your lap throughout the match.
The final whistle blew, Barcelona won comfortably, before you'd even thought about leaving, Alexia was jogging across the pitch still breathing hard, hair damp with sweat.
The biggest smile on her face, "There she is."
Olivia squealed, "ALE!"
You barely had time to stand before Alexia scooped her up, the toddler immediately wrapped herself around Alexia's neck.
You smiled despite yourself, Alexia relaxed immediately, then disappeared.
You assumed she'd be gone for a minute, maybe two, instead she paraded Olivia around the entire pitch.
Introducing her to staff, to opponents, to players you'd never met, one teammate even kissed Olivia's head which she did not like.
Another balanced her on a hip and all you could do was sit and watch as Olivia threatened to cry reaching for Alexia until she took her back.
Alexia looked proud, ridiculously proud, like she couldn't wait for everyone to meet her.
The fans had noticed too, you could hear them even over the music, wondering who the baby was, taking pictures, videos, you heard one say how they were putting on TikTok to see if anyone knew who the baby was.
Every comment landed like another stone in your stomach, because she wasn't for sharing, she wasn't Alexia's to share, she wasn't yours to share.
She already had parents, they existed, they mattered, just because they weren't here anymore didn't mean they disappeared and you knew this wouldn't be what they'd want.
Something twisted painfully inside your chest, you wanted to walk out there, take Olivia back home, back to the apartment where nobody looked at her and nobody made assumptions.
Somewhere she could just be Olivia.
The drive home was quiet, too quiet that Alexia noticed, "You've barely spoken."
"I'm tired."
"You don't sound tired." You didn't answer.
🍼
The apartment felt tense the second you walked inside, Alexia finally turned, "What happened?"
"Nothing."
"Y/N."
You busied yourself taking Olivia's shoes off avoiding her eyes whilst Alexia waited.
"You've been quiet since the match." Still nothing, eventually she sighed, "Talk to me."
You stood up more abruptly than you'd intended, "You can't do that again."
Alexia blinked, "What?"
"You can't just walk around the pitch with her."
Confusion crossed her face, "I was just"
"You didn't ask me."
"I didn't think I needed to."
"Exactly." Your voice rose, "You didn't think of me yet again."
Alexia frowned, "I was celebrating, I wanted my teammates to"
"She's not a mascot, Alexia."
The words came out much harsher than you intended, Alexia stared, "I know that."
"Do you?" You were pacing now as Olivia crawled off into the living room practically climbing into her toy box, "I don't want thousands of people knowing who she is."
"They saw me holding a kid they don't know her"
"That's not the point."
"What is the point?"
"I don't know!"
The frustration cracked, because you didn't know, you just knew something about today had hurt.
Alexia's voice stayed calm, "I genuinely don't understand."
You laughed bitterly, "Of course you don't."
"Then help me." You looked at her, really looked at her standing in the middle of the kitchen still in her Barcelona tracksuitl completely confused and you appreciated how calm she was staying as you're anxiety was making you shake.
Suddenly everything you'd been trying not to think about all evening came spilling out.
"You're acting like she's yours." The room went still, you felt tears burning before you even realised they were there, "She's not." Your voice broke, "She's theirs." Another tear escaped, "They're her parents." You were crying properly now, "They should be here, they should be the one comforting her when you know how shy she is and you were shoving her at people like she was a prized puppy terrifying her!" Alexia just stared at you not saying a word letting you vent, "They should be here... its not fair" Your words dissolved completely towards the end of the sentence before you stormed away.
The guest room door slammed so hard behind you the picture frame hanging in the hallway rattled.
Silence followed, except it wasn't really silence, it was broken by the sound of you crying, not quiet tears or the sort you tried to hide.
The kind that tore through your chest until breathing itself hurt, Alexia stayed exactly where she was in the kitchen.
She looked towards the living room where Olivia had frozen halfway into her toy box. The little girl looked between the hallway and Alexia with wide, uncertain eyes.
"It's okay, guapa." Alexia's own voice was quieter than usual, she crouched beside her, "Y/N's just sad."
Olivia frowned and she picked Olivia up, holding her against her shoulder while the crying continued from down the hall.
It cut straight through her, she'd seen you cry before when you thought you were good at hiding it, but it was never like this, never this broken.
She gave you five minutes, because sometimes grief demanded solitude.
She distracted Olivia with a book, read every page twice, but the sobbing never stopped.
If anything it got worse, Alexia looked down at the toddler, "I'll be right back."
She settled Olivia in the middle of the rug surrounded by toys to which the little girl immediately became distracted by stacking cups.
Alexia quietly walked down the hallway, she knocked once very softly and got no answer, another sob escaped from the other side of the door.
Alexia rested her forehead against the wood for a second, then gently turned the handle.
The room was dim, the curtains still half drawn, you were curled on your side on top of the duvet, face buried into a pillow, shoulders shaking so violently your whole body moved with each sob.
Alexia's heart broke, she closed the door carefully behind her, said nothing and just crossed the room and sat gently on the edge of the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath her weight, you didn't acknowledge her, but didn't tell her to leave either.
Carefully... tentatively... she placed her hand against your back, slowly rubbing small circles between your shoulder blades.
The way she'd seen you soothe Olivia after nightmares, she stayed like that for a long time, just letting your cries gradually slow.
Eventually she spoke, quiet enough that it almost disappeared beneath your breathing, "Olivia deserves to grow up feeling loved like a daughter..." Her hand never stopped moving, "...not an obligation."
The words landed somewhere deep inside you, you broke completely., another sob ripped out of you. You pressed your face harder into the pillow, "I know." The words barely sounded like words anymore, "I know she does." Your voice cracked, "I just..."
You shook your head helplessly, Alexia stayed silent giving you room.
You swallowed hard, "I don't know how to miss them this much..." Another breath that refused to steady, "...and still be happy."
The confession sat heavily between you.
"I love her." Your voice was tiny now, "So much like she's my own and that makes me feel awful."
Alexia frowned gently, "It shouldn't."
"But it does." You finally rolled onto your back, your eyes swollen and red, "I only have her because they're dead." The words tasted poisonous, "I only..." Your voice wavered again, "I only have this life because they lost theirs."
You gestured weakly around the room.
"The routines. The bedtime stories. The milestones. The happiness she brings me" A tear slid into your hair. "You."
The word came out almost accidentally.
You stared at the ceiling, "I look forward to seeing you every day." You laughed bitterly at yourself, "And every time I realise that..." You closed your eyes, "...I feel guilty before for years they told me I'd like you if i gave you a chance."
Alexia listened without interrupting.
"I shouldn't get to be happy with their baby." You whispered it like it was a fact, "They don't."
The room was quiet, Alexia's hand rested on your forearm now, "You know..." She looked down at you, "I don't think Sofia or Marta would've wanted you to spend the rest of your life punishing yourself."
You shook your head immediately, "It feels like I'm replacing them."
"No." Alexia answered without hesitation, "They're irreplaceable." You looked at her, "but so are you."
The words caught you off guard.
Alexia smiled sadly, "Those things can both be true."
You blinked at her as she looked towards the hallway where Olivia was babbling faintly to herself.
"They trusted us. They chose us." Another tear escaped you, "They chose us when they couldn't be here."
"I know but every time I laugh..." You swallowed, "Every time I enjoy watching Olivia discover something new..." Your lip trembled. "I think about what it cost."
Alexia nodded slowly, "I think that's something we're probably both going to carry forever."
You stared at her, "You do?"
She smiled sadly, "I look at her sometimes..." Her eyes drifted towards the bedroom door, "...and I think about how much they would've loved watching her grow." She paused, "Then I remember..." Her voice caught just slightly, "...they chose us because they knew we would."
You started crying again quieter this time, not because the pain had gone, because someone else finally understood it.
Enough to know that joy didn't erase grief, that loving Olivia wasn't betraying Sofia and Marta. That carrying both love and loss in the same heart wasn't something to be ashamed of.
Alexia opened her arms without saying anything, an invitation nothing more. After only a moment's hesitation, you shuffled across the mattress and folded into her.
Your forehead against her shoulder, her arms wrapping around you carefully, holding you together while everything inside you still felt shattered.
Neither of you spoke again, there wasn't anything left to say.
Out in the living room, Olivia laughed to herself as another tower of cups fell over.
The sound drifted softly down the hallway, you listened to it through your tears, but as Alexia held you, you realised you weren't carrying it alone anymore.
The two of you stayed like that for a long while your breathing eventually steadied, the tears slowed, you'd cried yourself empty for now.
A tiny whine drifted in from the hallway, then another, you both looked up, Olivia crawled into the room determinedly making her way across the carpet.
She spotted the two of you on the bed and smiled, then immediately pulled herself upright against the mattress with a grunt.
Both hands reached up, "Up."
You laughed through your still puffy eyes, "Come here."
You lifted her onto the bed, she crawled straight between you, then stopped looking at you her little lips puckered dramatically.
You smiled immediately, "Oh." You leaned forward, "Kiss?"
She nodded solemnly you kissed her forehead and she giggled, then immediately turned towards Alexia pouting again.
Alexia laughed, "I get one too?" Another determined nod, Alexia pressed a kiss to her cheek, "There."
Olivia looked thoroughly satisfied for approximately three seconds then she looked between the two of you back and forth as though concocting something in her head.
Finally she planted one little hand against your cheek giving your face an impatient shove towards Alexia.
You blinked, "What are you doing?"
Another push, then she pushed at Alexia's cheek too trying to move your faces closer together.
Alexia started laughing first, "I think she wants us to..." She was laughing too hard to finish.
You looked at Olivia, "You are just like your mama, baby girl." Olivia clapped proudly.
"What?" Alexia turned towards you, "What was that?"
You smiled to yourself, "Oh, nothing."
"No." Alexia folded her arms, "I heard that."
You sighed dramatically, "Sofia spent years trying to convince me to make a move on you."
Alexia's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline, "What?"
You nodded, "I know."
"I did not know this." Alexia looked delighted, "So..." She smiled mischievously, "You have moves?" You groaned in response, "That would be interesting to see."
You laughed, "I'm not the prude you seem to think I am."
Alexia gave you a look a long, unconvinced look.
You stared back at her, "Alexia."
She didn't say anything, just kept looking.
Your mouth fell open in mock offence, "Alexia!"
She finally grinned, "Prove me wrong."
You barked out a laugh, "You've actually lost your mind."
Olivia, oblivious, had flopped onto her tummy between you, happily chewing on the sleeve of her own jumper.
You carefully stood up from the bed, "You've genuinely lost your mind."
Alexia watched you still smiling, "I have a work dinner with the club."
You looked over your shoulder, "So?"
"Be my date."
You blinked, then reached over dramatically to press the back of your hand against her forehead, "Are you sick?"
Alexia laughed, "No."
"Should I call the team doctor?"
"I think a doctor is already here."
You rolled your eyes, "I am serious."
"So am I." Alexia tucked one leg beneath herself, "I am just curious."
"Curious?"
"To see what Y/N is like on a date." She tilted her head, "And to witness these mysterious moves you apparently possess."
You couldn't help smiling she was impossible, you looked away, pretending to think, "As tempting as it is to find out what the great Alexia Putellas is like on a date you're forgetting there's a child behind you who needs at least one of us here."
Alexia glanced over her shoulder at Olivia currently trying to fit her entire stuffed rabbit into a pillowcase, "Does she?"
You laughed in disbelief, "Alexia. If you think—"
"We put her to bed and my mami or Alba could come over to sit here for the evening in case she wakes up." She looked back at you, "What do you say?"
You hesitated far longer than you should have, Alexia noticed immediately she knew that look. The one that meant your practical brain was already trying to find reasons to say no, while another part of you had already started saying yes.
A smug smile spread slowly across her face.
You pointed accusingly, "Don't."
"What?"
"Don't look at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you've already won."
"I haven't."
"You have that face."
"I don't have a face."
"You absolutely have a face."
Alexia laughed then reached for her phone, "Great."
You stared at her, "I haven't even said yes."
She was already unlocking her screen, "I'll just message the family group chat." She stood up walking towards the bedroom door, she looked back over her shoulder, "...while I do that..." Her eyes sparkled with amusement, "...you can practice those moves."
She disappeared before you could find something to throw at her.
You looked down at Olivia the toddler looked up at you, completely serious, then clapped once as if fully supporting Alexia's plan.
You sighed dramatically, Olivia giggled.
From somewhere down the hallway came Alexia's unmistakable laugh, "Alba said she will happily sit here for us, looks like you're coming"
You couldn't stop yourself smiling despite your feeble protest.
Pedri’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through his phone with a grin that can only mean trouble.
You lean over the back of the sofa, towel still wrapped around your wet hair.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing,” he says way too fast. His thumb flicks across the screen. “Just posted a picture.”
You narrow your eyes. “Pedri. What picture?”
He turns the screen toward you, all innocent. It’s a photo of his breakfast spread , pancakes, orange juice, and two mugs of coffee.
Your mug. The pink one with the little chipped heart.
“Pedri!” you gasp. “That’s mine! People will notice!”
He shrugs, utterly unbothered. “So? Maybe I just drink two coffees now. I’m a growing boy.”
You groan and toss your towel at him. “You’re impossible. You promised we’d keep things private.”
He catches the towel mid-air, smirking. “Private, yes. Secret, no. There’s a difference.”
“There’s not a difference when your fans have CSI-level detective skills,” you retort, grabbing your phone. “Wait,oh my god. They’re already talking about it.”
You scroll through Twitter , or, as Pedri calls it, the battlefield.
@pedrilover97: “two mugs?? who’s he having breakfast with 😭😭😭”
@barcagirlx: “that’s definitely a GIRL mug. I recognize the nail polish color from his story last week 👀”
@footballtea: “he’s SOFT LAUNCHING someone I just know it.”
Pedri’s grin widens. “#PedriSoftLaunch? That’s actually a great tag.”
“Don’t encourage them!” you say, swatting his arm.
He leans back, smug and far too calm for someone who’s just sent half the internet into a frenzy. “You have to admit, it’s funny.”
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe,” he says, biting back a smile. “A little.”
That evening, you find him on the balcony, wearing one of his Barça hoodies and scrolling through fan edits of his own posts.
“They made a whole thread analyzing your kitchen tiles,” you say, holding up your phone.
He laughs. “My kitchen tiles?”
You nod gravely. “Someone zoomed in and matched them to a photo you took last summer. They know everything, Pedri.”
“That’s impressive, actually.” He scrolls again, face glowing from the screen. “Wait,this one says you’re secretly a chef. I like that one.”
“I’m a psychology major, not Gordon Ramsay!”
“Eh,” he says, waving you off. “Close enough. You’ve psychoanalyzed me while I eat your cooking. That’s balance.”
You cross your arms. “You’re impossible.”
Pedri looks up, grin softening. “But you love me.”
You sigh, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. “Unfortunately.”
He laughs, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Come here, mystery girl.”
The next day, the soft-launching gets worse.
You wake up to another Pedri post , a blurry mirror selfie of him in the hallway. Your reflection is barely visible behind him, holding your phone.
“PEDRI!” you yell from the kitchen.
He yells back, “What? I blurred it!”
You storm into the room, waving your phone. “I can still see my silhouette!”
He peers at the screen. “That could be anyone.”
“It’s me! I’m literally wearing your hoodie!”
He grins, completely unrepentant. “Good. Now they’ll think I have great taste.”
You throw a pillow at his head. “Stop being cute when I’m trying to be mad at you!”
He catches it, laughing. “Sorry, amor. Can’t help it.”
You flop down beside him with a dramatic sigh. “You’re going to break the internet at this rate.”
“That’s fine,” he says, sliding an arm around your shoulders. “As long as they don’t find you.”
You snort. “They already have a spreadsheet of possible candidates. I saw someone saying I’m a makeup artist from Madrid.”
Pedri grins. “Well, you do my eyebrows sometimes.”
“That doesn’t count!”
He shrugs, pulling you closer. “I like keeping them guessing.”
By midweek, the fandom’s gone feral.
People are analyzing his playlists, your nail polish, the background furniture , even the way his smile looks “happier lately.”
You both spend the evening doomscrolling and laughing on the couch.
“Listen to this one,” you say between giggles. “‘The mystery girl has small hands based on reflection physics, probably around 5’3”’.”
Pedri laughs so hard he nearly drops his phone. “Reflection physics? No way.”
“Oh, there’s more. Another one says you’ve been soft-launching for seven months based on the presence of a second toothbrush in your bathroom.”
He wipes tears of laughter from his eyes. “They’re not wrong, though.”
You blink at him. “Wait, are you admitting it?”
He shrugs. “What can I say? I like having my girl’s toothbrush next to mine.”
You groan. “Stop being sweet when I’m trying to yell at you!”
He grins, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Can’t help it.”
But things take a turn when you make a mistake.
It’s late , you’re curled up on the couch in Pedri’s jersey, watching highlights from the last match. You post a quick Instagram story: your legs on the couch, the TV showing Pedri’s goal, and his hoodie draped on the armrest. You don’t even think about it.
Thirty seconds later, your phone explodes.
DMs. Mentions. Notifications.
@barcafangirl: “THE JERSEY. THAT’S PEDRI’S JERSEY. SAME NUMBER. SAME ROOM.”
@pedrilover97: “the couch matches his last pic 😭😭😭”
@footballtea: “SHE SLIPPED. SHE POSTED. CONFIRMED.”
“Oh. My. God.” you whisper, watching it all unfold. “I just soft launched myself.”
Pedri walks in from the kitchen, bowl of cereal in hand. “What happened?”
You look up at him, horrified. “I think I just… hard-launched our relationship.”
He sets the bowl down, eyes widening. “You what?”
“Look!” you shove the phone at him. “They found me! It’s everywhere already!”
Pedri scrolls through the chaos, then bursts out laughing. “You lasted longer than I thought, cariño.”
“This isn’t funny!”
He grins, utterly calm. “It’s kind of funny.”
“Pedri!”
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “What do you want to do?”
You bury your face in your hands. “Delete everything. Move to Antarctica. Change my name.”
He chuckles, tugging your hands away gently. “Or… we could just post a photo.”
You blink. “A real one?”
He nods, smiling softly. “Might as well. You look too pretty to hide.”
Your heart stutters. “You’re serious?”
“Completely.” He scrolls to the camera app, flips it to selfie mode, and pulls you close. “Come here, mystery girl.”
You laugh, cheeks warm, leaning into him. “You’re going to cause chaos.”
“Good chaos,” he says, snapping the photo , both of you smiling, cozy and unfiltered.
Within minutes, he posts it.
Caption: No more soft launch 💙.
Your phone explodes instantly. Comments flood in.
@barcagirlx: “I KNEW IT! SHE’S SO PRETTY 😭”
@footballtea: “soft launch era is over 🫶”
@pedrilover97: “they look so happy together 🥹”
You read a few aloud and glance at Pedri, who’s scrolling too.
He looks up, eyes warm and shining. “See? Not so bad.”
You smile. “You’re right.”
He grins. “I usually am.”
You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully. “Don’t push it.”
He laughs, pulling you closer until your head rests on his shoulder. “For the record,” he murmurs, “I liked the soft launch. But I like this better.”
You look up at him, smiling softly. “Yeah. Me too.”
He tilts his head, lips brushing your forehead. “Told you. Private, not secret.”
You chuckle, closing your eyes. “Whatever you say, influencer.”
He laughs quietly. “Only if you’re my favorite post.”
♔ Alexia Putellas gets a little too interested in a Bayern analyst, and suddenly “professional distance” stops being very professional at all.
♔ Author’s Note: Is this anything? Let me know please, I was very enthusiastic but now very uncertain haha!
♔ Not spell- or grammar-cheked, also not reread.
♔ Word count: approx. 8,200
➳ Masterlist
➳ Dividers by @diviniyae
25th of April 2026 - Allianz Arena, Bayern Germany
There was always something strangely unsettling about being inside a stadium before the crowd arrived, when tens of thousands of empty seats were mocking you. The Allianz Arena felt enormous like this, glowing beneath the evening sun while staff hurried through the stands making final preparations for the evening ahead, and for a brief moment it was difficult to imagine that within only a few hours the entire stadium would look a lot different.
Bayern had already arrived and spread out by the time Barcelona stepped onto the pitch for the pre-match inspection, players and staff scattered across the field with the easy confidence of people standing on familiar ground. It was their stadium after all, their territory, and they carried themselves like they belonged there.
But Alexia could see the nerves lying beneath the surface, no matter how brave and intimidating Bayern tried to appear - she wasn’t scared, and neither was the rest of the team.
Pitch inspections had become routine to her. A chance to feel the grass beneath her shoes, feel it in her hands, adjust to the atmosphere of the still empty stadium and see her opponents before kickoff. But as Barcelona spread out across the pitch, the blonde's attention caught on someone standing near a goalpost.
While most of Bayern’s training staff stood huddled together near the bench, already relaxed and laughing amongst themselves, one lone figure had wandered further onto the pitch entirely on her own. An iPad was tucked securely beneath her arm while she held a notebook and pen in her hands.
If not for the moving pen in her hand, Alexia might have mistaken her for a statue with how still she was standing. Not even looking down to see what she was writing, instead completely focused on how the girls from Barcelona behaved and moved on the pitch - even if they were just walking around and joking.
Alexia found herself staring at the mystery woman much more than she should.
The difference between her and the rest of the Bayern staff felt unsettling to the captain - so concentrated and isolated while the rest were already done with the inspection and were just chatting in a corner.
“Who is that?” Alexia asked quietly, more to herself than anyone else. Mapi followed her gaze and shrugged. “No idea. Maybe an analyst? Bayern’s got like five of them.”
She didn’t really expect her teammate to have a useful answer but was disappointed by the answer nonetheless. Just as she was about to tell her as much, she felt a stare settle on her.
Alexia looked up, and the stare didn’t falter. She was still and composed, pen hovering above her notebook, as if she had been studying Alexia just as closely as Alexia had been studying her.
The moment stretched for only a few seconds, but it was enough to feel deliberate, neither of them in a hurry to look away first. Then, almost casually, the woman lowered her gaze back to her notebook, breaking the connection with a small shift of her shoulders before continuing to write as if nothing had happened at all - but Alexia could see the small smirk on her lips.
The blonde frowned slightly.
She had expected something. A reaction, a flicker of recognition, anything that showed the woman knew exactly who she was - Alexia Putellas, two-time Ballon d’Or winner, with more than enough titles under her belt to intimidate most opponents.
But there was nothing.
“She’s weird,” Patri muttered, having just caught the end of her captain’s interaction. If you could even call it that.
Alexia didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were still fixed on the goal area, watching the way the woman moved a few steps closer, completely absorbed in whatever she was writing down.
Then, without really thinking about it anymore, Alexia turned her head slightly. “Bühl?” she called as the German approached them.
Klara Bühl looked over. “Hm?”
Alexia nodded subtly towards where the woman had just sat down, leaning against a goal post “Who is she?”
Klara followed her gaze, then let out a small laugh, like the answer was obvious. “Oh,” she said, “that’s our tactical assistant coach. She basically runs half our tactical prep.”
Alexia’s eyes drifted back toward the goalpost almost immediately.
The woman still hadn’t moved much, now sitting against the white metal frame with one knee pulled up slightly while she wrote something down across an already crowded page of notes. Every now and then her gaze flicked back toward Barcelona’s players, focused and thoughtful in a way the Catalan found increasingly difficult to ignore.
And before she could properly think things through her feet were already moving towards you.
“Oh my god,” Patri groaned somewhere behind her. “You’re actually going over there?”
The woman noticed her approach long before Alexia reached her and just stared at her while she was making her way over. Before the captain had reached her, she had stood up, the pen had stilled and the notebook had been closed and vanished into a coat pocket.
Up close, she looked younger than Alexia expected, however the stare didn’t waver and was still scary as hell.
For a moment neither of them spoke, just sizing each other up. But the blonde broke first, nodding to the coat pocket, “Find anything useful?”
The corner of the woman’s mouth lifted slightly.
“That depends,” she replied smoothly, finally closing the notebook. “Are you planning on making this easy for us?”
The faint smirk still lingered on your lips, subtle enough that Alexia almost thought she had imagined it, but there was something undeniably amused in the way you watched her now, as though her walking over had only confirmed whatever conclusion you had already come to.
“Confident,” Alexia noted lightly.
One of your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Would you prefer I wasn’t?”. The Catalan found herself caught off guard for half a second by how easily you held your ground beneath her stare.
Up close, you somehow seemed even calmer than before, completely unaffected by the fact that the Alexia Putellas was standing directly in front of you. There was no nervousness in your expression, no awkward fumbling for words.
And it unsettled her more than she cared to admit, how your eyes seemed to constantly analyse her.
“What exactly are you writing down?” Alexia asked after a moment, nodding subtly toward the notebook now tucked away inside your coat pocket.
You tilted your head slightly, considering her question for a second before answering.
“Tactical adjustments, patterns, weaknesses.” That small smirk appeared again, just barely visible at the corner of your mouth. “And maybe,” you said smoothly, “which Barcelona players are easier to distract than others.”
Before she could respond, someone further down the pitch called your name sharply and said something in German. Your attention shifted immediately toward the Bayern bench before returning to Alexia one last time.
“You should probably go warm up properly, Putellas,” you said calmly as you stepped around her. “I’d hate for all those Ballon d'Ors to lose against Bayern.”
Then you walked away before Alexia could think of an answer good enough to stop you.
Usually warming up before the match was calming, and helped Alexia focus on the game. The familiar rhythm of drills, repeated movement and stretching were addicting to her, but this night was different, no matter what the blonde tried her attention kept drifting off.
The stadium was slowly filling up with supporters clad in red and white, while music echoed through the speakers - just enough to entertain the people but, but quiet enough that conversations were easy to overhear.
Barcelona had been warming up for nearly ten minutes before the Bayern staff started to take their places on the bench and behind it. Her eyes immediately found your figure again - the reason for her distraction.
Just behind you was a woman that appeared to be close to your age, also dressed in staff gear, holding a cooler of Powerade while you walked slightly ahead, flipping through the notebook with concentration.
Alexia could hear the woman talk to you in English, the Brit was loud enough that her words made their way over to the captain, but she only caught part of it at first.
“... seriously need to relax.”
She could only scoff at the woman’s words. Relax? You certainly didn’t look stressed. You barely looked up from the page. “I am relaxed.”
The woman snorted beside you. “Right. Because stalking Barcelona’s warmup from the goalpost definitely screams relaxed.”
Alexia’s mouth twitched despite herself, just a bit amused at how passionately you had watched them.
You finally glanced sideways at the woman with weary eyes. “It’s called tactical preparation.”
“Sure,” she said dryly. “And I’m sure your actual coaches appreciate their little overachiever assistant doing all the hard work for them.”
Something about the comment immediately bothered Alexia.
Maybe because of how quickly you went quiet afterward. Or maybe because Alexia had already spent enough time watching Bayern’s technical area to know your role clearly extended far beyond “assistant” and that it simply wasn’t true.
You only stood quiet at the comment, eyes already dropping back to your notes. The woman sighed quite loud and dramatically. “God, you’re impossible before matches,” then, quieter this time, “You act like you’re the one actually coaching.”
Alexia’s jaw tightened, her eyes locking onto the British woman beside you. Because from everything she had seen so far, it certainly looked like you were coaching and analysing.
And judging by the way your shoulders stiffened almost immediately beside the woman, this clearly wasn’t the first time she had said something like that.
Eight minutes.
It had taken Barcelona all of eight minutes to be ahead.
The stadium erupted instantly in anger, as Ewa Pajor disappeared beneath a crowd of celebrating Barcelona players. If there’s one thing the polish woman knew how to do, it’s score goals, especially against Bayern. No matter if in Barça’s blaugrana or Wolfsburg’s neon green.
Alexia patted the goalscorers back with pride and satisfaction while her gaze swept to the sideline where the Bayern bench looked shocked.
The head coach was already speaking rapidly to one of the assistants beside him, frustration clear in every sharp movement, but you had gone strangely still again, eyes locked onto the pitch with that same intense concentration Alexia remembered from the inspection earlier.
And then suddenly you moved - the notebook was gone, replaced by the iPad tucked beneath your arm as you stepped directly into the technical area beside the coach, who stopped talking immediately.
The Catalan didn’t have more time to observe your actions closely as play resumed, she did however see Giulia Gwinn make her way over to you in the coaches box, where she listened to your instructions.
Bayern’s shape changed almost instantly after Gwinn made her way back and made a few gestures that clearly meant something to the others.
The midfield line dropped slightly deeper whenever Barcelona tried building through the center, forcing them wider instead. Bayern’s strong and experienced wingers stopped tracking aggressively and started blocking passing lanes first - effectively shutting every attempt on goal down.
Alexia frowned slightly as she jogged back into position after another corner, eyes flicking toward the bench area again. The head coach had stepped back already but you hadn’t.
You were still standing near the line, one arm folded across your chest while the other held the iPad against your side, eyes constantly moving across the pitch as Bayern reorganised themselves exactly the way you had indicated moments earlier.
You were observing and shaping the game. Just as a content smile made its way onto your face the Brit tugged you back by the jacket, out of Alexia’s sight.
The whistle for halftime couldn’t have come sooner, finally letting you breathe for a moment as Barcelona still led, but only barely. The home team's adjustment had worked well enough to slow the game down, much to the frustration of the Spanish team.
As Alexia made her way toward the tunnel, she found you again - hands full with an iPad, notebooks and a tactical board. You flinched when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.
“Nice adjustment,” she said casually, her spanish lilt soft in your ears. For the first time all evening, you looked genuinely surprised. Then your expression settled back into something smoother, more controlled, though Alexia didn’t miss the faint satisfaction that flickered across your face at the compliment.
“Careful, Putellas,” you replied lightly. “People might start thinking you enjoy talking to me.”
Alexia’s mouth twitched upward, a cocky smirk settling on her lips. “They wouldn’t be wrong.” And before you could answer that one, she disappeared further down the tunnel alongside the rest of Barcelona’s squad.
The second half started much messier than the first had ended. Barça still had most of the possession, moving the ball across the pitch with the same irritating patience and speed that had frustrated Bayern in the first half. But the home side looked sharper, hungrier.
The equalizer came in the sixty-ninth minute. The Allianz Arena exploded in cheers, the second Franzi Kett buried the ball into the back of the net with a stunning shot assisted by Pernille Harder. Bayern's bench erupted into chaos, finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.
Alexia swore quietly under her breath while Bayern’s players disappeared into celebration near the corner flag. And despite her teammates teasing comments from earlier, her eyes searched for you again. For the first time all evening, you weren’t composed, no you looked thrilled.
One of Bayern’s assistant coaches grabbed your shoulders excitedly while players on the bench shouted toward you, and for a brief moment you laughed openly, the sound completely swallowed by the roaring stadium around you.
Your face looked much softer when you were this happy.
However, the game turned ugly quickly after that.
The foul happened directly in front of the sideline with the team benches and the coaches boxes. One second Franziska Kett was desperately trying to recover against Salma Paralluelo, the next Salma hit the ground with an angry shout as she held up some strands of hair - the referee’s whistle cut sharply through the stadium noise.
At first, nobody seemed too worried - only a couple of weeks earlier Katie McCabe didn’t get anything for her action.
Then the referee reached into her pocket.
Red.
The entire stadium erupted instantly.
Bayern players crowded the referee almost immediately while the Barcelona bench shouted for the decision to stand, and a few meters away Kett looked completely stunned as she backed away slowly with both hands pressed against her head.
José Barcala was already storming out of the coaches box furiously, shouting so aggressively toward the ref that everyone could hear it. Several staff members tried unsuccessfully to calm him down, but the Bayern coach only grew louder.
Then came the second red card.
The stadium noise somehow became even louder.
Barcala stared at the referee in disbelief before being forced away from the sideline by security and staff members alike, still shouting over his shoulder while Bayern’s bench dissolved into confusion around him.
You were already stepping forward before Barcala had even fully disappeared down the sideline tunnel, one hand reaching automatically for the tactical board while Bayern’s assistants and players turned toward you.
Alexia watched as you spoke rapidly in German, pointing sharply toward the pitch while Bayern’s players looked uncertain, now a player down and desperately trying to reorganize.
A strange thrill settled low in Alexia’s chest as your eyes lifted briefly from the tactical board and met hers across the pitch again. In the middle of complete chaos, you looked terrifyingly calm and completely happy.
The final whistle finally released the high strung tension of the crowd. The Allianz Arena erupted into a relieved applause as Bayern’s players collapsed into each other, congratulating themselves on making it through the game.
After saying good game to her opponents and teammates alike Alexia made her way back over to where you were standing on the pitch. The captain pointedly ignored Pina’s wiggling eyebrows. You looked tired for the first time since she’s met you, while your fellow staff celebrated.
“That was good,” Alexia said as she stopped in front of you, slightly breathless. “Very good.” Your eyebrows only lifted a bit in surprise at the kind words. “We still only drew.”
“Sí, but after all this?” Alexia gestured vaguely toward the pitch with a small scoff. “With ten players and crazy coach?” A grin pulled at her lips. “Vale, maybe you save them a little.”
A soft laugh escaped you as you shook your head, knowing damn well that the catalan herself wasn’t happy with a draw, always wanting to win.
Before you could make her aware of her hypocrisy, the British woman from earlier suddenly appeared beside you again, a possessive hand on your shoulder. Well, she hadn’t exactly materialized out of nowhere, but Alexia had been far too busy admiring your smile to notice the woman approaching.
“There you are,” she sighed dramatically in a heavy English accent before finally noticing Alexia properly. “Oh.” You straightened slightly. “Alexia, this is Emma.”
“Her girlfriend,” Emma added smoothly before you could say anything else. Well. That certainly wasn’t what the footballer wanted to hear, but she could see something unreadable flicker across your face for the briefest second.
Emma, meanwhile, looked far too pleased by the attention she had gotten by such a prominent figure of women's football. “I handle travel schedules and staff accreditation for the club,” she explained quickly. “Matchday logistics mostly.”
Alexia blinked once. Because the way Emma had been talking and behaving all evening, she had half expected her to be running Bayern herself.
Then Emma laughed lightly, nudging your side. “She takes football way too seriously honestly. I swear she cares more about tactics than actual people sometimes.”
“Hmm.” A faint smirk pulled at her lips. “One organises buses, the other organises football.”
Emma’s smile faltered slightly and for the first time all evening, she didn’t seem to have a response ready. “Right,” she muttered after a second, patting your shoulder once more before stepping away toward the rest of Bayern’s staff.
The Catalan looked back at you with a much softer smile now.
“So,” she said casually, switching the conversation back where she wanted it, “you like Spain?” Your head lifted again, confusion flickering across your face. “What?”
Alexia grinned faintly. “Barcelona.” She shrugged. “Maybe one day we steal you, no?”
This time your laugh sounded more genuine as you tilted your head, “Can Barcelona even afford me?” you asked lightly.
Alexia’s grin only widened.
“For you?” she said smoothly. “Vale. Maybe I ask president personally, huh?”
27th of April - Barça Training Facilities, Barcelona Spain
Back in Barcelona the analysis session had been over for nearly 20 minutes, but Alexia was still there, reviewing their lines against Bayern and what went wrong. Pere Romeu stood beside her, arms folded as he watched his captain re-watch the game again and again.
“The adjustment they made after our goal, that wasn’t Barcala,” she said suddenly.
Pere glanced over briefly. “Hm?”
Alexia pointed on the screen where she could see you talk to Gwinn, giving her the changes they were supposed to make. “That was her.”
A small smile pulled at the coach’s mouth, like he had been waiting for somebody else to notice. “She’s good,” he admitted simply.
She crossed her arms loosely. “You need another assistant?”
That earned her a proper look this time. Pere leaned back slightly against the desk. “Why? Are you recruiting for me now?”
“Maybe,” Alexia replied without shame.
The older man laughed quietly before glancing back toward the frozen image on the screen where you stood near the sideline, iPad tucked beneath your arm.
“She already applied.”
Alexia blinked.
“What?”
“For next season,” Pere clarified casually. “Not officially finalized yet, but we’ve been watching her for a while.” Something strange twisted low in Alexia’s chest at that. “She wants to leave Bayern?”
Pere shrugged lightly. “From what I heard, Bayern’s not exactly trying very hard to keep her, and they’re losing a few of their core players of the last few seasons as well.”
“Well,” she said lightly, already turning toward the door, “sounds like Barça will be happy about that.”
02nd of May 2026 - Barça Press room, Barcelona Spain
The heat in the press room felt unbearable in preparation for the second leg of the semi final, now in Barcelona. Not only the heat of so many people in a room without windows, the bright lights or the cameras heating up, but also the what of the questions.
Alexia sat upright beside Pere Romeu, hands loosely clasped in front of her, though she wasn’t really listening to the final questions anymore, her attention drifting in small, toward the other side of the table where you were sitting with Klara Bühl and bombarded with questions about the red cards and how you’ll move on from it as a team.
“Alexia,” a journalist called from somewhere in the middle rows, voice cutting cleanly through the room as the last of the movement settled, “in matches like this, how much do you think influence from the bench actually changes what happens on the pitch, especially when the coaching structure shifts during the game?”
Alexia leaned back slightly in her chair, hands still loosely interlaced, listening properly this time and taking a moment before she answered.
“It depends,” she began slowly, slightly measured, “but in games like this… you can feel when something changes from outside, no?”
She paused for a second, searching for the right word, eyebrows drawing together slightly.
“Like… hm… how do you say… when someone is seeing the game before it happens?” She glanced briefly toward Pere, then shook her head lightly, continuing anyway. “Sometimes it is not the coach shouting, it is someone who is… already there, mentally.”
“And that kind of influence can decide matches?” The question came again, a bit sharper now.
Alexia exhaled softly through her nose, almost amused.
“Sí… It can be very dangerous, or very good. If you understand football like that… you don’t need to be on the pitch to change everything.”
The end of the press conference couldn’t have come sooner in your opinion, as chairs were scraping back and journalists started talking to each other.
Alexia stood with Pere, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder when she saw you pass just a little too close to the edge of the exit path, holding one of your notebooks against your chest.
The hallway outside was quieter, dimmer after the harsh lights of the press room, the noise of voices bouncing further down toward the exit. Pere was a step ahead of her, when a movement at the edge of the corridor near a side passage caught her eyes. The blonde gestured to her coach that she would see him tomorrow, telling him she wanted to use the washroom before leaving.
In front of the bathroom you sat on a bench, files iPads and notebooks stacked on top of each other as one of them dropped. With a soft slap of paper and leather it landed on the florór, sliding slightly before coming to rest near the wall.
Alexia got to it first, picked it up and looked at the open page. Your handwriting was dense, chaotic and a mess of german and english.
A small sound left her, halfway between amusement and disbelief at seeing her name in there. “Hm,” she said quietly, tilting the notebook slightly so you could see what she was looking at.
You shifted instantly. “That’s private.”
“No,” Alexia replied easily, finally looking up at you with far too much confidence for someone currently invading your privacy, “I think maybe you should watch us again, vale?”
“I watched you for ninety minutes.”
“Mm.” She tilted her head slightly, unconvinced. “Not enough, clearly.”
The smugness in her voice only made you step forward quicker, reaching for the notebook before she could continue embarrassing you further, but the second your fingers nearly brushed the paper, Alexia reacted faster.
Her hand closed around your forearm smoothly, almost lazily, while her other arm lifted the notebook higher and further away from you in the same motion.
The movement was so effortless it completely caught you off guard with how easy it clearly was for her.
Her hand was large and warm against your skin in the cold hallway, fingers firm around your arm while she held you back without even properly looking like she was trying, and for one brief second your body simply stopped responding the way you wanted it to.
Alexia noticed the lack of bite coming her way, and looked at you again - amused by the flicker of surprise across your face and the way your eyes darted down toward where she was holding you before lifting back up to her again.
And the smile that spread across her face after that was unbearably smug. “Ah,” she said softly, amusement dripping through every syllable now, “mira eso.”
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“If I knew you go this quiet when I hold you like this,” she continued, voice lower now, teasing in a way that made heat crawl annoyingly fast into your face, “maybe I do it earlier, hm?”
Your mouth fell open slightly in disbelief.
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, trying once more to tug your arm back, only for Alexia’s grip to tighten just enough to stop you again with ridiculous ease.
“Sí,” she agreed immediately, completely unashamed. “But you are still trying.”
The worst part was that she looked entirely too pleased with herself now, dark eyes flicking between your face and your arm in her grasp like she was enjoying every second of watching you realize exactly how much stronger she was than you had expected.
Then, almost casually, she tilted the notebook again.
“Hm,” she hummed teasingly, “and this here is definitely wrong.”
You groaned quietly. “Alexia…”
“No, no, listen.” She laughed softly now, clearly having the time of her life. “You think you understand us, but maybe you are too distracted every time I look at you.”
“That is not happening.”
“Mm.” Her eyebrows lifted knowingly. “You sure, cariño?” Heat rushed even faster into your face at that, making your cheeks burn and eyes divert. “Ah,” she grinned, satisfaction written all over her face now, “there she is.”
You stared at her in disbelief. “You’re so annoying.”
“Venga,” she scoffed lightly, finally letting your arm go, though not before her thumb brushed once against your skin almost absentmindedly. “You started this when you stare at me from goalpost like psychopath.”
“I was analysing you.”
Alexia’s grin only widened. “Sure you were.”
Only then did she finally lower the notebook enough for you to snatch it back, though she kept standing far too close afterward, eyes still fixed on your face with amusement.
“You know,” she added lightly after a second, “for someone so scary before the match, you get very quiet when I touch you.”
You scoffed softly, trying to ignore the heat still sitting in your face. “You’re unbelievably full of yourself.”
“Mm, maybe.” Her grin only widened slightly. “But I am also right. ”Your eyes narrowed at her while you gathered your notebooks back against your chest. “Do you flirt with everyone like this?”
A slow grin spread across Alexia’s face. “Cariño, you are not everyone.” The answer came far too easily.
Before you could recover properly, her gaze flicked briefly toward the notebook in your arms before returning to your face again.
“And your girlfriend?” she asked casually, though the curiosity beneath it was obvious. “She knows you get like this?”
You blinked once, then let out a soft breath through your nose. “Emma’s not my girlfriend anymore,” you corrected calmly. “Hasn’t been for a while.”
For the first time since picking up your notebook, Alexia looked genuinely caught off guard.
The reaction only lasted a second before something far more pleased settled across her face instead, slow and smug and entirely too satisfied for your liking.
“Ah,” she murmured softly, unable to stop the grin pulling at her mouth now. “This keeps getting better for me.”
You rolled your eyes immediately. “You’re unbelievable. What’s with the sudden obsession?” Before she could answer that, the bathroom door beside the bench suddenly opened.
Klara stepped out first, still fixing the sleeves of her hoodie before she stopped dead at the sight in front of her.
You standing flustered with your notebooks clutched against your chest.
Alexia standing far too close with the most self-satisfied expression Klara had ever seen on another human being.
The German blinked once. Then slowly looked between the two of you again. “…Oh my god,” she muttered in disbelief.
Your face immediately hardened. “Don’t.”
Klara ignored you completely, her gaze moving slowly between the two of you before one eyebrow disappeared into her hairline. “…Why are you two standing so close?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nobody is standing close,” you answered immediately. At the exact same time Alexia said, completely calm, “We are having conversation.”
Klara stared at both of you for a second.
Then her eyes dropped briefly to your face, clearly noticing the embarrassed look and wide eyes, before looking back at the Barcelona captain, who still looked unbearably pleased with herself.
You let out a long sigh. “Please don’t start.” But the winger was already grinning now. “You flirted with her,” she accused Alexia outright. The Catalan only shrugged lightly, entirely unashamed. “Maybe.”
Klara looked between the two of you again, visibly trying and failing not to laugh.
“Wow,” she said slowly, eyes lingering on your still warm face, “I leave for five minutes and somehow you’re the one losing your head?”
“I’m not losing anything,” you shot back immediately.
Alexia hummed softly beside you, clearly unconvinced. “No?” she asked innocently. “Then why you look at me like that?”
Your mouth opened briefly before closing again when absolutely no good answer came to mind fast enough. Which only made Alexia’s grin widen.
Klara outright laughed this time, folding her arms across her chest. “This is incredible actually.”
“You’re both annoying.”
“Sí,” Alexia agreed easily, not taking her eyes off you for even a second. “But only one of us has you blushing in hallway, no?”
You shot Alexia one last look, still visibly flustered and annoyed all at once, before adjusting the notebooks against your chest again. “Enjoy your ego while it lasts, Putellas,” you muttered dryly. “Tomorrow I’m making your life miserable for at least ninety minutes.”
The grin on Alexia’s face only widened at that. “Ah, vale,” she laughed softly, “there she is again.”
You rolled your eyes hard enough that Klara snorted beside you.
“Come on,” you said, nudging the taller blonde sharply with your elbow as you finally started walking down the corridor. “Use those stupidly long legs and move your ass. Some of us actually have work tomorrow.”
“Excuse me?” Klara called after you, laughing in disbelief as she hurried after you with far less dignity than she probably wanted.
“And good luck tomorrow,” you called over your shoulder. “You’ll need it.”
Alexia let out a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head as she watched you disappear around the corner with Klara still complaining beside you in German.
“Qué mujer,” she muttered under her breath, still smiling long after you were gone.
03rd of May 2026 - Camp Nou, Barcelona
Camp Nou was already loud by the time Barcelona stepped onto the pitch for warmups, fans clad in blaugrana trickling in and filling the stands, music echoed around the stadium. Normally the atmosphere helped Alexia settle into herself before a match, but tonight her attention kept drifting elsewhere.
Straight toward Bayern’s bench.
You were already there, standing near the technical area with an iPad tucked beneath your arm while clips from the first leg flashed across the screen in front of you. Two analysts stood beside you, along with Gwinn and Bühl, all listening while you pointed something out with quick, sharp gestures toward Barcelona’s midfield shape during rondos.
“Madre mía,” Mapi muttered after catching her staring again. “You have a serious problem.”
Alexia scoffed immediately. “I am warming up.”
“With Bayern’s assistant coach?”
“She is a tactical assistant,” Alexia corrected automatically.
Mapi’s grin widened instantly. “Ah, so now you know the exact title too?”
Patri snorted somewhere behind them while Alexia ignored the both of them with as much dignity as possible, though the smug looks on her teammates’ faces made that increasingly difficult.
A shout cut through the noise, forcing Barcelona back into drills, though even then her gaze kept wandering between passing sequences and stretches. It wasn’t until a short water break that your eyes finally lifted from the iPad.
Straight toward her, but you only smiled faintly before looking away again, continuing your conversation with Gwinn as if nothing had happened.
“Alexia!”
Pere’s voice snapped across the pitch sharply enough that several players turned.
The blonde looked over. “Sí?”
“You plan to finish warming up today or keep scouting Bayern staff for me?”
Patri nearly folded over laughing, catching herself on Pina’s shoulder, while Alexia rolled her eyes hard enough to make Mapi shove her shoulder teasingly.
“Very funny,” she muttered under her breath before jogging back into position.
Still, when she glanced toward Bayern’s bench one last time, she caught the corner of your mouth twitching upward again.
Barcelona came out aggressively from the very first whistle, moving the ball with sharp, suffocating movements that immediately forced Bayern deep into their own half. Within the opening minutes they had already created two dangerous chances, one forcing a strong save from Mahmutovic while another flashed narrowly wide after a quick combination through midfield.
Once the match started properly, Alexia’s focus narrowed almost completely toward the game itself.
This was a Champions League semi-final at Camp Nou. There was no room for distractions once adrenaline took over. Every movement became automatic, and Bayern spent most of the opening minutes trying desperately to survive Barcelona’s intensity.
The pressure finally paid off in the thirteenth minute.
A quick switch of play pulled Bayern’s defensive line apart just enough for Salma Paralluelo to attack the space behind Gwinn, and once she got through on goal there was never really any doubt about the outcome. Camp Nou erupted as Salma buried the finish confidently into the bottom corner before disappearing beneath celebrating teammates.
Alexia barely even looked toward Bayern’s bench afterward, already jogging back to her position while Barça tried to keep momentum high.
But Bayern answered almost immediately.
Only four minutes later Linda Dallmann found space after a messy second ball dropped awkwardly outside Barcelona’s box, and before anyone properly reacted the midfielder drove the ball low past Cata into the corner.
Alexia swore quietly under her breath while retreating back, frustration flashing hot through her chest. Bayern settled deeper after that, slowing the tempo wherever possible while Barcelona tried forcing openings through the middle again.
Then came the twenty-second minute.
The attack itself was ugly, the ball bouncing wildly around Bayern’s box after a corner while defenders desperately threw themselves in front of every attempt. One clearance failed, then another, until suddenly the ball rolled loose toward the penalty spot.
Straight to Alexia and her instincts won.
One touch. Strike. Goal.
The stadium went nuts around her, teammates on and off the pitch screaming as the culers started another chant.
Alexia turned immediately toward the sideline as the net rippled behind Mahmutovic, and this time, her eyes found you instantly.
Without slowing down properly, she angled her run closer toward Bayern’s coaches box before dropping into her familiar celebration, a bow, with a smug grin pulling at her mouth.
Directly toward you.
Then, just before teammates crashed into her from behind, Alexia lifted her head again and winked.
You just stared at her for half a second too long before rolling your eyes sharply and gesturing for your players to reset. But the Catalan still caught the reluctant twitch at the corner of your mouth before she disappeared beneath celebrating teammates.
The match settled into something scrappier after that.
Bayern dropped deeper and deeper, trying to slow Barcelona’s rhythm whenever possible while frustration slowly crept into challenges across midfield. In the twenty-ninth minute Stanway earned herself a yellow card despite her protests.
From there Bayern focused almost entirely on surviving until halftime.
Barcelona dominated possession while Bayern defended and tried to calm the game down whenever possible to get it back to their side. One minute of added time appeared on the fourth official’s board.
Then finally, at 45+1, the whistle for halftime echoed through Camp Nou.
The tunnel under Camp Nou was loud with halftime movement, boots echoing off concrete as both teams filtered away from the pitch, and Alexia barely had time to reset her focus before someone bumped lightly into her shoulder and, when she turned, there you were walking beside her, Bayern jacket half open and iPad tucked under your arm.
“Nice goal,” you said casually, though your eyes lingered on her just a fraction too long. “Bit dramatic with the celebration.”
Alexia’s smile came immediately, easy and unbothered as she kept walking in step with you. “Ah, you watching very close hm?,” she said, voice warm with amusement, letting the words roll a little as her gaze flicked over you.
“Hard not to when you bow in front of our bench.”
That earned a quiet laugh from her, low and pleased.
“Vale,” she replied, leaning just slightly closer as the tunnel narrowed around them, “so you like it enough to remember.”
You shot her a sideways look. “Don’t overthink it.”
Alexia tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully as if she was weighing something she already knew the answer to, and then she said it, light and almost teasing as they kept walking, “you trying to get into my head?”
The captain saw the shift in your expression, the brief hesitation before you recovered, and the corner of her mouth lifted as she softened into something almost fond. “Mm,” she added, quieter now, amused rather than sharp, “cute.”
Your stare sharpened immediately. “It’s not…”
“Tranquilo,” she cut in easily, still smiling like she’d already decided what she thought, “I like it.”
A voice called your name from further down the tunnel, pulling you away as you turned your head and began to step back toward Bayern’s dressing room. “Second half,” you said over your shoulder, regaining yourself quickly, “don’t get too comfortable.”
Alexia’s grin lingered as she watched you go.
“No promises,” she called after you, still amused, before finally turning toward Barça’s dressing room and shaking her head once under her breath.
The second half started with a similar energy.
But Barcelona came out sharper, faster, more ruthless in possession, and it didn’t take long before Bayern started getting pushed deeper again, forced back into survival mode as the pressure built.
In the 54th minute, the breakthrough came again.
A quick combination through the left half pulled Bayern’s defensive line just half a step too late, and Ewa Pajor didn’t need a second invitation, she finished and Camp Nou erupted as Barcelona stretched the lead.
Two minutes later, Claudia Pina came on for Caroline Graham Hansen, and immediately Barcelona looked even more dangerous in the final third, the game speeding up with fresh legs as Bayern tried to adjust.
Then in the 58th minute, it happened again.
From the right half, Pina floated a long free-kick cross toward the far post, Esmee Brugts rose to meet it and nodded it back into the danger area, and there, half turning, body already falling, Alexia connected instinctively, guiding the ball into the far corner.
She celebrated only briefly, turning toward the crowd with that familiar lift of her arm and a grin.
She didn’t dwell on it then, not with the game still alive, not with Bayern still dangerous, and her attention snapped back into place almost immediately as Barcelona pushed forward again, not giving up.
When the 85th minute board went up and her number appeared, she already knew what was coming, on her way toward the sideline she clapped for the fans in thanks, handing over the captain’s armband to Patri.
There were tears in her eyes, as she took in the sight of a packed Camp Nou wearing her colours and her name, of a semi-final played at home for the club she had grown up dreaming of, and she blinked hard once again.
On the bench she sat slightly back from the noise, breathing more evenly again now but still watching the pitch, still locked into the game even without being on it, and her gaze inevitably found you once more at the edge of Bayern’s coaching box, where your focus remained absolute despite the pressure building around you.
She saw Emma beside you then, talking frantically, gesturing confidently and saying something that you clearly didn’t agree with, based on your expression, as you tried to stay locked on the game while clearly fighting the distraction beside you.
The Catalan could see the tension in the way you stood, the way your attention kept snapping back to the pitch, and when Emma continued speaking you finally shook your head once, firm and decisive, cutting through it and turning your focus fully back to the match, effectively ending the discussion.
Then came the 89th minute.
Caruso won the ball in the midfield and Bayern shifted forward instantly, as Harder drove through the centre and slipped Imade into space before the ball came back across in a messy way that ended with the finish. Bayern didn’t celebrate much as they could immediately hear the Spanish team and fans protest.
Even from the bench Alexia felt her eyes finding you, because she had learned by now that you didn’t react like everyone else. At first you were completely still while your players were protesting on the field.
The blonde saw the slight drop in your shoulders, the shift in your weight, the way your head turned toward the officials before anyone else had even processed what was happening.
You were waiting. And then came the announcement, the goal would be VAR-checked.
Foul in the buildup - Goal disallowed.
The noise flipped violently from Bayern celebration to frustration and disbelief, but on the sideline Alexia saw you let out a controlled exhale that didn’t try to hide the disappointment, only accept it.
Just disappointment, clean and honest in a way that made you look younger for a second.
The final five minutes passed in a blur of exhausted pressing, clearance after clearance, and Barcelona simply trying to manage the game rather than force anything new, while Bayern threw everything forward in one last attempt that never quite broke through the Catalan structure.
When the whistle finally went, it didn’t explode into chaos so much as release—arms dropping, bodies bending forward, players collapsing into exhaustion and relief all at once, before both teams slowly began to find each other for the ritual that always followed matches like this.
Handshakes first, then brief embraces, words exchanged in passing that were half respect, half disbelief at what had just been survived.
Pere found you almost immediately, “Very good,” he said simply, nodding once as he looked at you properly, with respect. “You did incredible for the first time coaching.”
A few Barcelona players passed by while shaking hands, some offering quick smiles, others stopping long enough to pat your shoulder or exchange a few words in Spanish or English, still slightly breathless but clearly appreciative of what they had just been through.
After you joined the rest of the Bayern players and Staff on the pitch in a quieter circle, shoulders close, with visible emotions. A few wiping their faces quickly before they all walked together toward the away end, clapping their hands and raising them in thanks to the small cluster of travelling supporters who had stayed until the end. Finally they retreated to their dressing room.
Barcelona, in contrast, had already started their full lap of the stadium, players moving together toward the stands where drums were already being played for team chants and huge flags were being waved, the atmosphere shifting fully into celebration.
Alexia only broke away from the celebrations once the initial wave had settled, slipping out of the cluster of teammates, her breathing still slightly elevated as she crossed back toward the centre circle where Pere Romeu and you were still standing.
She slowed as she reached you both, a faint grin already forming like she had been waiting for this exact moment.
“Oh,” she said lightly, glancing between the two of you with clear amusement, “I see my scouting worked, no? Very good job for me.”
Pere let out a short laugh, shaking his head as if he had expected nothing less from her. “Careful, Alexia, you start taking credit and I will start charging you.”
“That is fine,” she replied without missing a beat, still smiling as she shifted her attention fully onto you now. After a quick shared look with Pere, he gave a small nod before stepping away, leaving the two of you with the noise of the stadium stretching out behind you.
Alexia didn’t waste the space he left.
She tilted her head slightly, studying you for a second before speaking with that effortless confidence you were just slightly jealous of.
“Next year you win… in blaugrana then, vale?”
You exhaled softly through your nose, not quite a laugh, but not resistance either. “Maybe,” you replied, more careful now, eyes flicking briefly toward the pitch before returning to her.
That made her hum lightly, but instead of pushing further, her gaze sharpened just a little. “What was that Emma talking to you about?” she asked.
You paused, then gave a small shrug. “She wanted me to make substitutions again,” you said honestly, glancing down for a second as if replaying it in your head, “but I didn’t see the point. Not if I couldn’t actually fill the gaps properly with what we had on the bench.”
Alexia nodded slowly, like she was filing that away, but her eyes stayed on you. “And what is the deal with her anyway?” she asked after a beat, more direct now, though still calm. “Why she says she is your girlfriend?”
That made you let out a short breath, tiredness slipping through. “She isn’t,” you said simply. “Not anymore. She just… doesn’t really accept that.”
“And you?” she asked then, quieter. “What is stopping you from coming to Barça?”
“I’m scared of the change,” you admitted, voice lower now, “but I still want to grow. That’s why I sent the application to Pere in the first place… a while ago. I just wasn’t sure if I would actually follow through with it.”
Alexia didn’t push further right away, she just watched you for a second longer, then her expression softened, the intensity easing back into that confidence she wore so naturally.
“Vale,” she said quietly, more so to herself, then let out a small breath through her nose, “I know you will like Spain,” she added after a beat, tilting her head slightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “the sun, the food… the people.”
A faint grin tugged at her mouth as she glanced at you again, a little more pointed now, “Especially the people,” she added, not really trying to hide what she meant with that.
You gave her a look at that, somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement, and Alexia noticed it immediately, of course she did.
She just smiled a little wider in response, unfazed.
“And you are already here a lot in your head, no?” she continued, calmer now, voice dropping slightly as she stepped half a pace closer again. “So it is not so big a change. Just… make it official.”
There was a brief pause, the stadium noise distant enough now that it felt like it belonged to another world entirely.
“Next season, you come. And I show you the rest properly, vale?”
“And if I do come,” you asked, tilting your head slightly, “and you get what you want… will you just keep looking at me like this, or do you move on to the next thing you decide you want?”
Alexia didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at you, really looked, like she was weighing the question properly instead of brushing it off. Then her grin came back, honest in its amusement.
“Ah,” she said quietly, almost like she understood what you were really asking. “So that is what you think.”
Her gaze didn’t waver.
“I don’t think you are something I ‘finish’,” she said simply, her voice steady and matter-of-fact, like the idea itself didn’t really make sense to her. “If you come… I think you will just be there.”
“And I don’t get bored of interesting things,” she added, a faint exhale through her nose. Then her expression softened just a fraction as she lifted her hand, brushing it lightly over your cheek, the touch brief and soft making the heat shoot up to your face.
“And you, cariño,” she murmured, her tone dropping slightly, “you are very interesting. Always will be.”
pairings ━ misa rodriguez x reader, barca femeni x teammate!reader
word count ━ 5.5k
summary ━ you go back to the day you first met real madrid’s goalkeeper
notes ━ this is circa 2016/2017 so a throwback! THIS IS 18+
read more masterlist series masterlist
collab with @maeshoneyles!
You watch as the water in the small pond ripples upon the impact of the rock you skip, relishing in the soft plip-plap echo that reverberates in your ear. It skips once, twice, three times before sinking, and you track each ripple until it disappears completely.
You crouch a little lower at the edge, selecting another stone carefully from the dirt. This one is smoother, making your lips twitch up briefly.
You run your thumb over its rough surface six times. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. You pause for a moment. Seven. Eight.
Your shoulders loosen as you skip it across the water with ease. You watch as it dances longer than the last.
“Oye, nena,” a familiar voice draws you out of your trance.
You blink, startled, turning your head just slightly instead of your whole body.
Jenni stands a few feet away, hands on her hips, a crooked grin on her face. Beside her, a few steps back, Alexia finishes a serious-sounding phone call, her brows knitted tight.
“Las rocas van a contraatacar algún día si sigues lanzándolas,” Jenni teases with grin. [The rocks are going to fight back one day if you keep throwing them.]
You glance back at the pond. “They don’t have arms.”
Jenni snorts. “That’s not the point.”
Alexia ends her call and strides forward, slipping her phone into her pocket. “¿Dónde estabas?” she demands, worry bleeding into irritation. “We’ve been looking for you. This isn’t Barcelona.”
You flinch at her tone, shoulders instinctively tightening. You stand up too quickly and brush invisible dirt off your palms.
“Sorry,” you say, quieter than you meant to.
Alexia exhales sharply. “You can’t just disappear.”
“Ale,” Jenni cuts in gently, stepping closer to you, “she’s an adult.”
“She just turned eighteen!”
“Exactly. An adult.” Jenni rolls her eyes before turning to you and offering her hand. “Come on. It’s almost time to get ready. And if you’re late, Ale will actually combust.”
“I will not combust,” Alexia mutters, though she doesn’t deny it fully.
You take Jenni’s hand and let her pull you up the rest of the way, dusting your jeans off in precise strokes. You glance once more at the water before following them.
The three of you walk in silence for a moment, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You keep your eyes on the ground, counting your steps without meaning to. Eight per breath—inhale, exhale.
“Where did you even find this place?” Jenni asks, bumping her shoulder lightly into yours.
You shrug. “I asked the front desk lady.”
Jenni falters, her smile dropping. “You asked the—” She turns to Alexia. “We could have asked her if she had seen you.”
Alexia’s lips press into a thin line. “We were too busy worrying.”
“She was,” Jenni corrects, nudging you playfully. “I was calm. Completely relaxed. Zen, even.”
“You were not,” Alexia deadpans.
You hum mindlessly at their bickering, the sound low in your throat as you slip into the backseat of the rental car. You sit directly in the middle, despite how uncomfortable it feels. It feels symmetrical that way.
Jenni slides into the driver’s seat. Alexia gets in beside her, twisting slightly to look back at you.
“What’s wrong?” Alexia asks quietly now, her voice softened, stripped of its earlier edge.
You look down at your interlinked fingers. You wiggle them slowly, feeling the familiar stretch between your knuckles. You avoid her eyes at first, focusing instead on the seam of the seat in front of you.
“I guess I’m nervous,” you say. You pause, recalibrating. “I think.”
“You think?” Jenni echoes gently as she starts the car.
“I don’t know,” you admit. “My stomach feels tight. And my head keeps replaying training. I missed two shots yesterday. One should’ve been near post.”
Alexia sighs, turning fully in her seat now. “You scored four.”
You brush it off. “That’s not the point.”
Jenni glances at you in the rearview mirror. “You are going to do great,” she says softly. “You are one of the best forwards I’ve seen developing at this pace.”
You shake your head almost immediately. Your thumb begins tracing the outline of your opposite fingernail. “But it’s not enough.”
“Not enough for who?” Alexia asks.
“For… for this,” you gesture vaguely. “For the expectations.”
Alexia’s jaw tightens. “It is more than enough, nena.”
You swallow. It doesn’t feel like it, you can’t help but think.
Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and the vibration makes you jump slightly. You pull it out to see notifications from the England group chat, but you lock the screen without reading it fully.
Jenni notices, hearing the custom group chat buzz. “They’re excited for you.”
“They expect things,” you reply.
“They expect you to be good,” Jenni corrects. “Because you are.”
You look out the window as the hotel comes into view, the building looming taller than you remembered.
“I don’t want to mess it up,” you say, barely audible.
Alexia’s expression softens in a way she rarely allows others to see. “You will mess up,” she says simply. “Everyone does.”
You blink at her.
“And then,” she continues, “you will fix it. That’s what makes you different.”
Jenni nods. “You train like the world is ending every day. That’s why you’re here.”
The car jolts as Jenni pulls into the parking lot, parking quite awfully across the line. She doesn’t notice but you stare at the crooked angle.
Jenni turns and pats your knee, pulling you out of your trance. “Mira,” she says firmly, making you lift your shiny eyes to meet hers, even though it feels overwhelming. You hold eye contact for three seconds, almost four before you look at her chin instead.
“You are a generational talent,” she continues. “I know that. Ale knows that. The team knows that. Even the media knows that. Only person that doubts you is you.”
Your throat tightens instantly. Bile rises up your esophagus, leaving a burning trail and a harsh taste in your mouth. Compliments feel like pressure, like a god awful weight you can’t shake. You reach for the door handle, ready to escape.
“Hey,” Alexia calls gently. You pause but don’t look back. “Breathe,” she says.
You inhale for eight counts then exhale for eght counts.
“I am breathing,” you reply quietly.
Jenni sighs as you step out of the car a little too quickly, adjusting your hoodie sleeves over your hands. You smooth your shirt down twice then an extra time when your hands twitched.
Alexia watches you walk toward the hotel entrance, posture straight, shoulders tight.“She’ll understand one day,” Alexia murmurs, resting her hand briefly on Jenni’s arm.
Jenni keeps staring at the space you’d occupied in the backseat, at the perfectly aligned imprint you left behind. “I’m not too sure about that,” she says softly.
Misa sits in her cubby, music booming through the locker room speakers. Someone had connected their phone to the Bluetooth the moment they walked in, and now the bass rattles faintly through the metal benches. Laughter echoes off the wall as boots scrape against tile and tape tears somewhere across the room. But somehow it all fades into the background.
She plays mindlessly with the wraps around her wrists, tightening them, loosening them, smoothing the fabric down with slow, practiced movements. Her fingers are quick, methodical with years of repetition.
Across the room someone shouts about shin guards. Another player complains about the referee from their last match. Someone else starts arguing about whether Barcelona’s midfield is overrated, but noise blends together for Misa.
“Barcelona today,” Ivana, her captain, speaks up from the cubby beside her. Her voice cuts through the rest of the room easily. “Are you nervous?”
Misa snorts softly, not even looking up. “Never,” she replies without a thought.
Ivana glances at her. “You didn’t even hesitate.”
“Why would I?” Misa shrugs, still focused on the tape around her wrist. “They’re eleven players. We’re eleven players.”
Ivana hums like she’s not entirely convinced but doesn’t push.
Across the room, someone speaks up. “Have you seen their number eight?”
Several heads lift.
“La niña?” Ivana clarifies, raising an eyebrow. “The English one?”
“That’s the one,” a defender says from the far bench, tying her boots aggressively. “She’s a beast.”
Another player scoffs immediately. “Please. She’s easy to read,” she claims. “She’s not as talented as Barça and England want her to be.”
“Exactly,” someone else chimes in. “Media loves a prodigy story. Especially a foreign one.”
“I know, right?” another voice adds, leaning back against the lockers. “I was watching film the other day and she’s an open book. Makes the same runs. Same body shape before she shoots.”
Misa’s hands pause for a second on the tape. Across the room the conversation keeps rolling.
“And she’s weird,” the defender continues, lowering her voice like she’s sharing something confidential. “Never celebrates her goals.”
A few girls laugh.
“Maybe she thinks she’s above it,” someone says. “Like scoring is just expected.”
“Or maybe she’s trying to look cool,” another teammate shrugs. “You know… mysterious superstar energy.”
Ivana smirks faintly. “You all sound jealous.”
“Jealous?” the defender scoffs. “Of her?”
Ivana just shrugs.
Misa finally lifts her head slightly, her gaze drifting down to the tiled floor between her boots.
Number eight. The English golden girl. She’s seen the clips of all the goals. All the slow-motion analysis on sports shows and commentators talking about “vision” and “instinct” and “generational potential.” You are just another privileged, manufactured forward who thinks they run the game. Exactly the type of player Misa despises.
“Oye,” Ivana says suddenly, leaning slightly toward her. “What are you thinking about?”
Misa’s fingers tighten the tape one last time around her wrist before she presses it flat.
“Number eight,” she replies simply.
Ivana waits for Misa to continue.
Misa finally looks up, her dark eyes sharp now.
“I want to break her down,” she says calmly. “I will break her down.”
Ivana blinks, momentarily rendered speechless by the quiet certainty in the younger goalkeeper’s voice.
Across the room someone overhears. “Ahí! ¡Ese es el espíritu!” a teammate laughs, walking past and clapping Misa hard on the back. [That’s it! That’s the spirit!]
Another girl whistles. “Careful, Misa. Sounds personal.”
“It’s not personal,” Misa mutters. “I don’t knwi the girl.”
But she doesn’t look away from the floor. In her mind she’s already building the game.
The angle of your runs, your body positioning, your foot preference. Where you look before you shoot, where you don’t look.
She wants to win. And if that means crushing you—some system-made, Barça-built prodigy who the football world keeps crowning before she’s earned it—so be it.
Her jaw tightens slightly as across the room - staff member calls for them to start warming up.
Boots slam into lockers and jerseys are pulled on, spiking the energy in the room.
Misa pushes herself to her feet slowly, rolling her shoulders once.
“Hey,” Ivana says quietly as she stands too. “Don’t underestimate her.”
Misa smirks faintly. “I don’t underestimate anyone,” she replies.
Then she grabs her gloves. “But I do enjoy proving people wrong.”
You have an odd pregame routine. It has been the same since you were a kid, with only minimal tweaks over the years.
You sit quietly at your cubby, the stadium noise filtering faintly through the concrete walls. The locker room hums around you—teammates talking, boots knocking against tile, someone laughing too loudly at a joke you didn’t quite catch.But you focus on your process.
First, your hair. You pull it back slowly, carefully collecting it into a tight bun before securing it into a slick back. Not a single flyaway is allowed. You smooth the sides with gel again… and again… then once more for good measure then it’s perfect.
Next come your boots. You place your right boot on first and then your left. But you tie the left boot before the right. You always have. You tried reversing it once when you were thirteen and played terribly that match. Since then, the order has never changed. You tighten the laces firmly, tugging twice on each knot.
After that comes the granola bar, your favorite one. You break it exactly in half. No crumbs scattered and no uneven break. If it is, you have back up ones and Ona usually eats the defects. Half of the bar goes into your mouth while the other half stays wrapped in the foil. You chew slowly, counting each bite without realizing it.
Then you wash it down with orange juice—pulp, no added sugar. The texture settles your stomach in a way nothing else does.
A few lockers down, Jenni watches you with a fond sort of amusement.
“You’re eating half again?” she asks.
“Yes,” you reply simply.
“You know you could just eat the whole thing.”
You glance at her. “That would be incorrect.”
Jenni laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Fair enough, nena.”
Next comes the book. You pull it from your bag carefully, sliding the bookmark back one page. One chapter. No more, no less. Your eyes move steadily across the page, absorbing the words even though your brain keeps drifting back to the film you’ve watched. When the chapter ends, you close the book immediately.
Finally, you slip your headphones on and scroll to the same song you have listened to before every game since you were eight. Get’cha Head in the Game from High School Musical. You know it is strange, but also know it is necessary.
Your teammates never questioned it. At least not seriously. They cared about one thing: your performance on the field.
And when the whistle blows, routine complete, nerves buzzing under your skin, you jog onto the pitch.
The stadium is loud, bright, and alive. But once the ball starts moving, the world narrows.
You receive the ball just outside the box. For a moment, you have a clear view of the goal.
You swing your leg back and propel it forward, striking the ball cleanly. The instant it leaves your foot, something feels wrong.
You know it. The angle paired with the timing was far too rushed. You just didn’t expect it to go straight into Madrid’s goalkeeper’s hands.
Across the box, Misa catches it easily, the ball settling securely into her gloves.
Her eyes snap onto your figure immediately. The intensity of her stare is sharp enough that you feel it before you fully process it.
You look up and for a brief moment your eyes meet. Her gaze is unwavering while yours falters almost instantly, dropping to the grass.
“Better luck next time, superestrella,” Misa says, her voice dripping with condescension, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.
You don’t seem to hear her. Or at least, you don’t react. You reset your position slowly as your thoughts begin spiraling. I should have angled it. Or waited half a second. Or gone near post. Or—
“Hey.” Alexia appears beside you, her voice calm and steady. “It was just one shot,” she says quietly.
You nod, though the words pass through you more than they settle. “I will get the next one.”
Alexia studies your face for a second longer before jogging back into position.
And then, lo and behold, your next opportunity arrives.
From across the field, Leila sends a long pass slicing through the air. The ball drops perfectly at your feet and you don’t waste a second, taking off.
Your defender reacts a beat too late as you accelerate forward, boots digging into the grass as you close the distance to goal.
The world narrows again and you glance up once. Only once this time, then you strike. It was a soft, controlled this time, only striving for accuracy and precision.
You tap the ball into the net, rolling it cleanly past an unprepared Misa who dives a split second too late in an attempt to save it.
The net waves at you just as the Barça crowd explodes. Chants erupt from the stands as your name mixed with the club’s anthem being chanted.
You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You turn away from the goal immediately.
Behind you, Misa remains on the ground, propped up on one elbow, staring at you with burning intensity.
Your teammates swarm you before you make it three steps. Jenni sweeps you up into her arms with a loud laugh.
“¡Vamos!” she shouts, squeezing you tight. “That’s how you do it!”
You let a small smile grow on your face, brief and shy.
“You see?” Alexia says as she pats your head once. “Next one.”
Meanwhile, Misa pushes herself up slowly, jaw clenched. She stays there longer than she needs to just watching you.
You aren’t some lucky, goody two-shoes player. You can actually play. And for some reason, that realization makes her blood boil.
Later, when you score a second time—another precise finish that slips just beyond her reach—Misa feels like her skin is on fire, burning with fury.
How could someone like you score on her twice? And then again, like the superstar everyone claims you are, you don’t celebrate.
You just let your teammates clamber around you, laughing and shouting as they drag you into another group hug.
She hates it.
You single-handedly break through Madrid’s defensive line again and again throughout the match, forcing Misa to throw herself into risky saves just to keep the score from climbing higher.
By the final whistle, her gloves are slick with sweat and grass stains.
Misa rips them off the moment the whistle blows, tossing them down beside the goalpost before turning away.
She’s sweaty, irritated, and, though she’d never admit it out loud—honestly intrigued. You are supposed to be an arrogant pain in the ass. The kind of golden girl she loves knocking down a few pegs. But you are the exact opposite. And somehow, that bothers her even more.
“Just go without me,” you insist, lying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling like if you stay still enough the night will pass without you.
“Not an option,” Patri, your roommate for the weekend, replies from across the room, already half dressed and fixing her earrings in the mirror. “Everyone is meeting downstairs in twenty minutes. If I don’t come down with you, there are already talks of Jenni coming up here herself and dragging you out.”
You groan loudly, dragging your hands over your face before throwing the duvet off of you.
“She wouldn’t actually do that,” you mutter.
Patri turns, raising an eyebrow. “You want to test that theory?”
You sit up immediately. “…No.”
“There we go!” Patri cheers, clapping once as you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shuffle toward your suitcase.
You unzip it carefully, pulling out something simple and familiar, jeans and a nice top.
Patri watches you for a second. “You know this is a club, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re dressing like we’re going to dinner with Alexia’s family.”
You pause, looking down at your outfit. “This is appropriate.”
Patri snorts. “You’re unbelievable. Don’t worry, we bought you something early and you will be wearing it, or else.”
The next hour or so is a blur with numerous taxis to fit all of you and voices overlapping, including Jenni yelling something from one car to another through an open window.
You sit pressed against the door, counting streetlights as they pass by. Eight… sixteen… twenty-four.
By the time you arrive, the music is already thumping through the walls of the club. You often forget that you are technically celebrities, so it catches you off guard when the bouncer immediately recognizes the team and waves everyone through with a grin.
“Buenas noches, chicas.”
The owner practically beams at the sight of you all, greeting the team like honored guests and ushering you toward a reserved section.
Purple and red lights flash as the bass resonates in your core You sit awkwardly on the couch, shoulders slightly hunched, with Ona and Laia next to you, both deep in an intense debate.
“Stracciatella is objectively the best,” Laia insists.
“No, pistachio,” Ona counters. “And it’s not even close.”
“It tastes like grass.”
“It does not taste like grass!”
You blink between them. “I like mango,” you offer quietly.
They both turn to you, incredulous looks on their faces.
“That’s not even in the conversation,” Laia says as Ona pats your shoulder.
You nod. “Okay.”
“Drink?” a bottle girl asks, leaning close so she can hear your order over the music. You visibly gulp at the proximity, shoulders tensing as you lean back slightly.
“Uh, just a Shirley Temple for me, please,” you say. “Sin alcohol.”
The woman smiles warmly. “Claro,” before turning away.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, shoulders dropping.
“Aww,” Jenni smirks from the side, leaning forward with a teasing glint in her eyes. “El primer pánico gay del bebé.” [Baby’s first gay panic.]
You glare at her. “Quit it.”
Jenni raises her hands in surrender, laughing as she grabs another shot from the table. “I’m just saying, you looked like you were about to combust.”
“I was not.”
“You were,” Ona mutters under her breath.
“I was not,” you repeat, more quietly this time.
“Welcome to the party!” Patri suddenly shouts over the music.
Your head—along with several others—whips toward the source of the commotion. Numerous Real Madrid players filter into the club.
Some of the Barça girls cheer, greeting familiar faces. National team overlaps blur the rivalry just enough for nights like this.
You stay seated, your eyes drift across the group until you accidentally meet hazel eyes that are already on you.
Misa’s gaze is steady and intent, holding something reminiscent of amusement.
You flinch instinctively, looking away too quickly, focusing instead on the condensation forming on the table.
Misa smirks to herself before turning her attention to Patri, slipping into easy conversation like nothing happened.
Later in the night, you realize, with a sinking feeling, that you are going to be babysitting your extremely drunk teammates as you watch Jenni drunkenly sing along to the song playing that didn’t have any lyrics. That alone makes you crave another Shirley Temple.
You slide off the couch and make your way to the bar, weaving through people carefully, avoiding unnecessary contact.
You stand there, hands clasped in front of you, staring at the bottles lined up behind the counter.
The lights are too bright and music is too loud. There’s much too many voices and movements to allow you to feel calm. You focus on your breathing, trying to ground yourself.
“You’re quieter in person, you know.”
The voice from beside you makes you flinch for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.
Your head snaps toward her—towards those same hazel eyes, studying you up close now.
“My name is Misa,” she says, extending her hand casually.
You hesitate for half a second before taking it, your grip polite but brief. “Misa?” you repeat, eyebrows furrowing slightly.
After all your years in Spain, nicknames still confuse you. Hell, your own nickname confuses you.
“María Isabel,” she clarifies. “But everyone calls me Misa.”
You nod once. “Nice to meet you, María Isabel.”
“Misa,” she corrects immediately.
You cringe slightly. “No.”
Misa’s eyebrows lift in surprise, a slow grin spreading across her face.
“Alright,” she says. “Keke.”
You squirm almost instantly at the nickname. It’s what the fans chant sometimes—pulling from the first sounds of your middle and last name.
You don’t like it and immediately Misa notices, though she pretends not to.
“You don’t celebrate,” she says instead.
Your face scrunches. “You mean drinking? I don’t drink. I’ve taken the job of making sure everyone gets back safely.”
Misa huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head.
“No, no es de eso de lo que estoy hablando,” she says. “Tus goles. No celebras.” [No that’s not what I am talking about. Your goals. You don’t celebrate.]
You accept your drink from the bartender with a quiet, “Gracias,” before turning back to her.
You shrug, taking a small sip. “Es mi trabajo anotar.” [It’s my job to score.]
Misa hums, watching you carefully. “Parecías bastante decepcionada cuando anotaste,” she says. “¿Sabes?” [You looked rather disappointed when you actually scored, you know.]
Your jaw tightens immediately. “Because I missed the first shot,” you reply, like it’s obvious.
Misa tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to solve something. Or rather like you’re something to figure out.
“Well,” she says casually, leaning a little closer, “instead of staying here, drinking your very red drink and taking care of your teammates… why don’t you come with me to mine?”
You blink. “It’s called a Shirley Temple,” you say automatically. “This one is ginger ale instead of Sprite, which I don’t mind but—”
You stop yourself. “…Wait. Like your house?”
Misa smirks. “Where else?”
Your eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Um—I don’t think—”
“It’s fine,” she interrupts, already straightening up, nodding toward the exit like it’s already decided. “Let’s go.”
You hesitate, glancing back toward your teammates. No one is looking at you, all too distracted in the moment.
You look back at Misa and she’s already walking. For some reason beyond you—you follow.
The drive back is a void, filled with a charge you can’t quite name. Misa is silent, her focus on the road absolute, leaving you to drown in the echo of your own heartbeat. You don’t remember her parking. You don’t remember the walk up to her loft. You don’t remember your dress slipping off, a silky pool on the floor.
All you remember is the weight of Misa on you on the sofa, the heat of her body pinning you into the cushions, and the taste of her her lips was a cooling mint, clashing with your bright, citrus lip gloss. Her hands, rough from years of goalkeeping, find your waist, pulling you flush against her until your hips align, until you could feel the hard line of her thigh pressing into your core.
Misa’s mouth is relentless. It moves from your lips, down your jaw, tracing the frantic pulse in your neck, then lower, across the slope of your breast, her teeth grazing your nipple in a sharp shock. You gasp, your hands fumbling at her shoulders, unsure whether to push or pull. She doesn’t give you time to decide.
Her lips travel down your stomach on a slow, devastating conquest. You are trembling and your mind a blank screen of sensation. And then Misa’s there, between your legs, her breath hot against your damp skin.
She looks up at you, from that intimate vantage, her usual bemused smile replaced by something focused, almost reverent. Then she lowered her head.
The first touch is a soft, open mouthed kiss against your inner thigh, teasing you. Then her tongue finds you with a slow, deliberate stroke, from bottom to top, a flat, wet pressure that makes your entire body jolt. Your back arches off the sofa. Her hands tighten on your hips, holding you down for her.
Misa works with a methodical intensity that steals your breath. Long, languid licks that coat you in her saliva, followed by focused, circling attention on your clit. Misa’s very thorough, intently learning the shape and response of you with each movement. Her tongue flicks, presses, rubs in tiny, devastating circles. The pleasure built in a steady, mounting wave, a tension coiling deep inside your belly.
You are panting, your fingers now tangled in her long, dark hair as if she were the only solid thing in a spinning world. Your eyes are shut tight, the dim light of her loft a distant concept to you. All that existed was the wet, slick sound of her, the smell of your own arousal mixed with her perfume, the overwhelming rightness of her mouth on you.
Misa shifted, one hand left your hip and you instantly feel the blunt pressure of a finger, probing, testing your entrance before it slid in without resistance, a smooth, full intrusion that made you cry out.
She doesn’t stop her tongue, and keeps working your clit while her finger pushes deeper, then curls, sending a sharp spark of sensation that ripped a moan from your throat. She curls her finger again, pressing up into that spot, and her tongue presses down on your clit simultaneously.
The duality is unbearable to you. The internal fullness, the external friction. The pleasure wasn’t a wave anymore, but rather a crackling current of electricity inside circling within you. She maintains the rhythm, finger curling, tongue circling, her breath coming hard against your skin.
“Misa—” You manage to choke out something in between a warning and a plea.
She hears it, as her movements became more urgent and more insistent.
You are hit with a white hot burst of release floods out from that curled finger, washing over every nerve. You shudder, your legs clamping around her head, your hips bucking against Misa’s hold as her tongue softening to gentle, soothing strokes as you come down, trembling and spent.
Misa slowly withdraws her finger before rising from her position. Her face glistening, looking utterly satisfied, her cocky smile back on her lips as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Superestrella,” Misa murmurs, her voice rough. “You taste like victory.”
You are still dazed, floating in the aftermath. She airs back on the sofa, legs spread, an open invitation in her posture. The look in her eyes was a challenge. Your turn.
A spike of pure anxiety pierced the haze. You move clumsy, sliding off the sofa to kneel on the floor between her legs. The reality of the moment crashes into you. The musky scent of her arousal, the confident way she watches you.
“I’ve… I’ve never done this before,” You whisper, looking at the floor between her knees.
There’s a beat of silence. Then Misa’s hand comes down, right to the back of your head. Her fingers threads through your curls, a firm, grounding grip. “I know,” she says, simple, direct. “Just follow my lead.”
You press your face against the inside of her thigh first, a mimic of Misa’s own start. Then you look up to meet her heavy, imploring gaze. You find her center, starting tentatively, with a closed mouth kiss. Then you open your lips, let your tongue extend to taste her.
You copy what Misa did to you: a long, slow lick from base to tip. She exhales sharply, a hissed “Fuck.” Her fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding.
You repeat the lick, then focused on her clit, tracing the firm little bud with the tip of your tongue. Misa groans, her hips shifting. You find a rhythm, alternating broad strokes with tight circles, listening to the sounds she makes, feeling the way her thighs tensed.
Her guidance becomes more active. She pushes your head slightly when she wants more pressure, or tilt it to change the angle. “Right there,” she grunts, and you obey, locking onto that spot.
You lose your nervousness in the mechanics of it, in the feedback of her body. You experiment, sucking lightly, then flicking faster. Her breath becomes ragged, her grip in your hair almost painful.
You double your efforts, tongue and lips working in concert, driven by a sudden, fierce desire to win this, to make her fall apart. Her thighs began to shake. A series of short, sharp gasps escape her.
Then she freezes, her whole body locking for a second before a deep, guttural cry tore from her throat. Her back arches off the sofa, her hand still clenched in your hair, holding you firmly against her as she convulses. You feel the pulse of her climax against your mouth, the hot rush of it, and keep gentle, lapping motions until her shuddering subsided.
She collapsed back, breathing heavily. Her hand fell from your hair, sliding down to cup you cheek. You look up, lips wet, and your heart pounding.
She stared at the ceiling, a faint, stunned look on her face. “Estoy corregido,” she breathed. “You are a prodigy.” [I stand corrected.]
You crawl back onto the sofa, lying down beside her. You don’t touch, just breathed in the quiet, dark room. You stare at the ceiling, the textured plaster blur in your vision.
Summary: Olga leaves and comes back to find the unexpected. With comfort from Alexia afterward.
Warnings: jealousy, accusations of cheating(not real), age gap, rejection, Olga being an ex
Words: 1.1k
Notes: from an anon request with my own spin on it💗
It had been around two months since Olga and Alexia had broken up and since then, the Captain had been paying a lot more attention to you. You didn’t know a lot about their relationship but from whispered, what you’d grasped was that after Olga left Barca she’d apparently heard things about you and Alexia and decided that if she couldn’t keep and eye on Alexia (and if she couldn’t be loyal) then long distance wasn’t worth it and called it off.
What you didn’t understand was what she thought happened between you and Alexia, and why Alexia didn’t seem the most bothered. From some of the other teammates that liked to gossip, they’d mentioned that they already saw that the relationship between the captain and the forward wasn’t going to stay for too long. Maybe it was because you didn’t see the way that Alexia looked at you like the others did, or because Alexia and Olga’s fight just got bigger and bigger, or the way Alexias hands always seemed to find you. Your shoulder, your hair, your neck, lower back, waist, thighs. Wherever. You just thought she was being friendly. Surely your older captain didn’t have a crush on you.
One day there was an away game where Barca was playing against Olga’s team. In the locker room you could see Alexia getting ready. She was quieter than she normally was though. Trying to be nice and go over to check on her. Looking up, when she sees you she offers a truly genuine smile, like nothing was wrong.
“Sí? You need something?”
“No, I just wanted to make sure that you were okay. Are you?”
“Yes. You’re so kind. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, we’re playing against your ex”
You spoke, like it was common knowledge.
“No I’m fine. Are you? Do you feel weird about it?” She asked, like my opinion mattered. Like I had a past with forward. Eyes sweet, soft, and genuine.
“No, I don’t. I’m okay”
She nodded, seeming satisfied with my answer. Soon enough it was time for us to head out onto the field and on the way to the runner there was her arm right over my shoulder.
During the game it was really competitive, especially between Alexia and Olga, and after the game I overheard them in the lockers rooms arguing about something. They were loud but mostly everyone had cleared out so it was just me since I was waiting for Alexia to give me a ride back just like how she gave me a ride to the game, with my car being in the shop.
After a few minutes of loud arguing I finally stuck my head out the showered and into the locker room as that’s where I’ve been hiding since the game ended which I normally did, no matter the outcome, just to calm down a bit. From what I overheard, my jaw dropped.
“¡Me voy por un tiempo debido a acusaciones estupida y vuelvo para encontrar que son ciertas!” (I leave for a little while due to stupid accusations and come back to find them true!)
Olga yelled, a voice filled of venom.
“¿En serio? ¿Eso es lo que crees que es esto?” (Really? That what you think this is?)
Alexia said calmly, no sense of denial, surprise or remorse in her voice.
“Bueno, ¿qué más podría ser? Porque por lo que veo, te has estado acostando con el pequeño novato” (Well what else could it be? Cause from what I see, you’ve been sleeping with the little rookie)
“No he tocado e incluso si lo hice, ¿por qué te molesta? Lo rompiste.” (I haven't touched and even if I did, why does it bother you? You broke it off.)
“Porque nunca quise. Todavía te amo y estoy pensando en volver, pero cuando voy y vuelvo, ¡los veo a los dos básicamente abrazados en el campo!” (Because I never wanted to. I still love you and I’m thinking of coming back but when I go and come back I see you two basically cuddling on the field!)
Olga has tears in her eyes by now. Looking at Alexia with regret.
“Entonces, ¿es cierto? ¿Están ustedes dos juntos?” (So is it true? Are you two together?)
“Todavía no. Pero te fuiste por un rumor superficial y eso es algo que ella nunca haría. Tengo planes con ella que quiero llevar a cabo. No te involucran.” (Not yet. But you left because of a shallow rumor and that’s something she would never do. I have plans with her that I want to carry out. They don’t involve you.)
Alexia said sharply, not batting an eye at Olga and not breaking for a second.
“Tenía razón. Has cambiado” (I was right. You changed)
Olga said, turning away before Alexia said another word.
Now with tears in my eyes I took a step forward. Towel still wrapped around myself, hair damp, fingers twitching and bottom lip trembling.
“Did you really mean it?”
Alexia shot up, Olga paused but continued her way out, shaking her head like shaking like trying to shake off the harsh argument that had just went on.
When it was just the two of us, Alexia nodded boldly, like she’s never been so sure of a decision.
“Sí” (yes)
With no further questions I walked over, hiding her tightly and crying into her shoulder.
“I’m so sorry. This is all about me”
I mumbled, Alexia’s hands rubbing the back of my head, running through my damp hair along with the other around over my towel around my waist, giving me a little bit of comfort right now.
“No, this isn’t your fault. There were things happening before that were breaking the relationship and then you came it was like you were the light in the dark…”
She whispered softly, hugging you tighter.
“Really?”
You looked up at her, her brown eyes melting when she saw your tear ridden ones, nodding softly and holding you.
“… how would you feel about a date?”
She asked with caution.
“… tonight?”
“Yes. You could get dressed. Just the two of us. Dinner and movie at mine?”
can u make smut for lamine yamal ?? any plot is okayy
VIRGIN BOY;
⤷ ゛masterlist ˎˊ˗
lamine yamal x f!reader.
dating.
note: thanks for ur req!
mdni. smut.
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you thought lamine was experienced but in the middle of the act, you notice that he's probably a virgin.
you had been dating lamine yamal for a few months now.
he was always so sweet with you, stealing moments after training to pull you into quiet corners for soft kisses, sending you silly voice notes when he was away with the national team and showing up at your door with your favorite snacks after long days.
everyone around him assumed he was this experienced guy.
the way girls used to throw themselves at him and how the media painted him as a young heartthrob with a list of exes.
you never pushed. you loved the way he blushed when things got a little heated.
one quiet evening after a big win, you were both in his apartment, curled up on the huge couch watching a movie.
lamine kept glancing at you instead of the screen, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh under the blanket.
you turned to him smiling and kissed him softly.
the kiss deepened quickly, his breath hitching as you climbed into his lap, straddling him. his hands settled on your waist, gripping a little tighter as your tongues met.
“i want you,” you whispered against his lips, feeling the heat building between you.
lamine nodded and carried you to his bedroom like you weighed nothing.
clothes came off slowly. he was so gentle, worshipping every inch of your skin with his mouth.
you could feel how hard he was against your thigh, his body trembling slightly with anticipation.
when you finally guided him between your legs and he pushed inside you for the first time, you both moaned at the feeling.
he was thick and warm, stretching you perfectly, but something felt off.
his movements were hesitant, a little clumsy, like he was concentrating too hard not to hurt you.
you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and noticed the way his hips stuttered, the slight wince on his face mixed with pure bliss.
that was when you tilted.
you cupped his cheeks, slowing him down gently as you looked into his eyes.
“lamine… baby, have you done this before?” you asked softly.
he froze for a second, burying his face in your neck, embarrassed.
“no...” his voice came out quiet and shy.
your heart melted at his confession. you kissed him deeply, running your fingers through his hair.
“it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” you smiled.
lamine relaxed against you, nodding as he started moving again, this time with more confidence guided by your praises.
you showed him how to roll his hips, how to find the rhythm that made you gasp his name.
it turned into something hotter, sweat-slicked skin sliding together, his moans growing louder and more desperate every time you clenched around him.
he was a quick learner, soon thrusting deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb found your clit, circling it shyly at first then firmer when he heard how much you loved it.
you smiled through your moans, pulling him closer so your bodies were completely flush.
the room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
lamine lasted longer than you expected for his first time, focused entirely on making you cum first.
when you finally tightened around him, shaking with pleasure, he followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a broken groan of your name.
afterwards, he didn’t pull out right away.
he stayed on top of you, catching his breath, pressing soft kisses all over your face and neck.
“thank you for being patient with me. next time i’ll be even better, i promise.”
you laughed softly and held him tight, running your fingers down his back.
“you were perfect, lamine.”
the two of you stayed tangled together under the sheets for hours, talking quietly, laughing about the rumors and how wrong everyone had been, sharing gentle touches and more kisses until sleep took you both.
he was inexperienced but so full of love and eagerness to learn everything with you.
彡SUMMARY ; you decide to prank him by not kissing him back.
彡WORDS ; 920
彡DISCLAIMER ; Everything written here is FICTITIOUS.
彡AUTHOR'S NOTE ; Sorry if here are any mistakes, english isn't my first language
⤷Pedri
He’s in the middle of a tense FIFA match, eyes locked on the screen, thumb smashing buttons like his life depends on it. You’re curled up beside him on the couch, legs tangled with his, half scrolling, half watching. Without glancing away, he leans in for a quick kiss something effortless, done a hundred times a day. But this time, you don’t move.
He presses his lips to yours or tries to. You stay still.
At first, he doesn’t notice. Just hums, locked in focus. But after a beat, he pauses the game and slowly turns toward you.
“Wait… did you just ice me?” he asks, squinting. “You didn’t kiss me back.”
You blink up at him, all innocence. “Did I?”
Now he looks betrayed. He tosses the controller onto the coffee table like he’s been gravely wronged. “Are you mad? Is this about the cake? I thought you were full...”
Your laughter spills out and realization dawns on his face. “No, no,” he groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. “You actually scared me for a second.”
You kiss him, slow and warm. Once. Then again.
“Better?”
He just hums, lips brushing yours. “Still recovering. Keep going.”
To make it up to him, you let him kiss you again five times. Okay, maybe ten.
⤷Pablo Gavi
He’s heading out the door, gym bag slung over his shoulder, cap pulled low over his curls. You’re leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee, still in his hoodie from the night before. As usual, he walks over for a quick kiss something automatic, built into his routine. But when he leans in, you subtly turn your head.
He pulls back, blinking. “Wait.”
You raise your eyebrows calmly. “What?”
He narrows his eyes, trying to process. “Did you really just avoid my kiss?”
You shrug, turning to rinse your mug like nothing happened. “Didn’t notice.”
He stands there for a beat, completely thrown, the smallest frown forming between his brows. He’s quiet but not cold. Just watching you carefully, trying to figure out what he missed.
You bite the inside of your cheek, holding in your laugh. You’re not used to seeing him this unsure.
When you finally turn, his expression is caught somewhere between confusion and worry. You step closer, fingers curling into the front of his hoodie, and pull him down into a kiss slow and reassuring.
He exhales softly against your lips. “I thought I forgot something important.”
You grin. “Not this time. Just messing with you.”
⤷Hector Fort
He’s just finished telling you about his day, animated and smiling, when he leans in for a kiss soft, sure, like it’s the natural punctuation to the moment. But you pull back just enough that his lips brush your cheek instead.
His eyes flick open, confused. “Hey! What was that?” His voice is teasing, a smirk playing on his lips.
You raise an eyebrow, grin tugging at your mouth. “What? What’s wrong?”
He chuckles, but his gaze stays steady on you, eyes drifting from your eyes to your lips. “You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” you say, voice low. “Just a little.”
He shakes his head, mock exasperated, but leans in again, this time catching your lips fully. “Okay, payback time,” he murmurs against your mouth.
You smile into the kiss, feeling the warmth deepen despite the prank. He pulls you close, fingers threading through your hair. “Don’t make me work so hard next time.”
You laugh softly. “No promises.”
⤷Pau Cubarsi
You’re sitting close on the couch, the quiet hum of the evening settling around you. Pau’s tired but smiling—the kind of peaceful that comes after a long day. He leans in for a kiss, soft and familiar—but you don’t meet him. Instead, you let his lips graze your cheek.
He pulls back, startled, eyebrows raised. “Seriously? You’re doing me like that?”
You smirk, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Maybe. Thought you needed a little challenge.”
He shakes his head, a laugh escaping him. “You’re impossible.” Then his gaze drops to your lips, and suddenly he’s closer, capturing them in a kiss that’s slow, deliberate, and warm.
You lean in to kiss him back but it’s your turn to pull away.
“I don’t feel like it anymore,” he says, that signature smile teasing at the corner of his mouth.
You laugh softly, heart fluttering. “Oh, is that so?”
He shrugs, eyes sparkling. “Guess you’re the one holding all the power now.”
⤷Ferran Torres
He’s feeling himself tonight fresh out of the shower, shirt off, muscles still glistening with droplets of water. There’s a confident smirk playing on his lips as he leans in for a kiss, like he knows exactly how irresistible he looks. You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him, amused.
But this time, you don’t move. No kiss back. No reaction. Just silence.
He pulls back, hand theatrically pressed to his chest. “¿Qué? You don’t want this?” His eyes widen like you just denied him the sun itself.
He gasps, dramatically shaking his head. “I should call my agent. Clearly, my prime is over.” His voice is half-joking but full of playful mock despair.
Laughter bubbles up from you, shaking your shoulders as you nearly topple over. “Wait, what? You’re abusing me a bit.”
He catches you easily in his arms, grinning like he’s won a secret game. “Don’t play with me like that,” he murmurs, kissing your cheeks, forehead, and finally your lips slow and tender. “You almost hurt my ego.”
You smile against his mouth, the warmth between you comforting a perfect mix of love and mischief.
✿彡did you enjoy this? comments, likes, and reblogs are immensely appreciatedミ✿
