Alexia Putellas
➳ Mess of a Mind
➳ The Weight of Expectations
➳ Sunset Strolls
➳ Goals and Glitter
➳ In your head
Aitana Bonmatí:
➳ Linda
Barça Femení
➳ Sleepy
➳ Family away from Home
➳ Changes
➳ On the Road
➳ A Lesson in Accepting
Arsenal:
Leah Williamson
➳ Mini-Moo!
➳ Baby Fever
➳ The Great British Bake Off
➳ Parents Evening
➳ Big Shoes to fill
➳ Big Shoes to fill pt. 2
➳ Rory
➳ Love, Tears and Laundry
➳ Living History
Alessia Russo
➳ Chaos and Dressing rooms
➳ Unexpected Meetings
➳ Money, Money, Money
➳ Book Love
➳ Muffin Top
➳ Berry Cute
➳ Perfect
➳ Hovering
➳ Fitting In
➳ Nerves
Katie McCabe
➳ Personal Hero
➳ Suprise Party
➳ Goody-two-shoes
➳ Any Craic?
➳ Sunspots
➳ Meeting the Parents
➳ Mo Stór
➳ Revelations
♔ 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.”
-> A nervous museum guide and Leah connect during a football exhibition tour and promise to show each other the histories they truly love.
-> Hi uhm... it's been only TWO YEARS since my last Leah fic?? Oops? Also Idk if this means I'm back, we'll see!
-> Word count: 2.7k
➳ Masterlist
The Museum was weirdly quiet, even for a weekday during school time. Aside from you there were only three other guides there waiting on their own groups to tour around in other exhibitions. Even security was running on minimal staff.
You were waiting for them in front of the big entrance in the cold, hands clasped so tightly in front of you that they started to hurt.
God, these were the longest five minutes of your life. Their bus had already pulled in, they just hadn’t come out yet and just seeing that they were already there didn’t help the nerves.
You really weren’t supposed to do this tour.
Sure you knew the exhibition, had done the reading, spent lunch breaks standing in its galleries with a brand new notebook in hand, memorising dates and names and the careful phrasing of placards. But it wasn’t your world.
Your world was in a much older part of the building, in rooms filled with things far older still and much deader ones, where the air felt heavier.
Not this. Not football. Not living people with living legacies who could look at you and know, instantly, whether you belonged here or not.
However, these exact people were just getting out of their red and white bus.
Arsenal Women, dressed in dark blue and gold Adidas tracksuits, flanked by staff and trainers.
At the very front was a tall blonde you recognised immediately as Leah Williamson, from all the billboards, ads and interviews but also from the exhibition you were about to guide them through.
And she didn’t look nervous, not even a little bit. Instead you could see the confident smile and slightly raised eyebrows all the way from the top of the stairs you were waiting on.
It only took a few minutes for the gaggle of girls to form a half-circle around you on one of the lower steps of the stairs.
“Uhm, hi! Welcome to the British Museum. I’ll be your guide today… for the, uh, ‘History of Football’ exhibition.’ The curator was supposed to guide you today, but he’s sick, so… I’m well, I’m leading you instead. My usual work’s more… royal history. Dead kings and stuff, I guess.”
A couple of polite ‘hello’s and ‘nice to meet you’s were thrown your way along with friendly smiles.
“Well anyways, let’s get out of this cold! Please follow me inside!”
Hastily you turned around and held the heavy wooden door open - not for long though before you were gently nudged out of the way by a certain blonde captain. “I got it don’t worry, should get inside your hands look like they’re gonna fall off.”
You could feel a flush creeping up your neck and decided to hurry inside where the other girls were gathering.
“Uhm… that way’s the cloakroom, if anyone wants to get rid of a… well, you’re not wearing jackets, are you? Anyway, just ignore that.”
One of the girls raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Oh, so this is just a sneaky ploy to make us take our sweaters off, right?” she teased with an irish accent.
You could feel the warmth coming back to your face, waving your hands like a maniac.
“Wha- no! I mean, yes, I mean… no, not at all! I just… the cloakroom is over there, that’s all!” The group giggled, and you felt your stomach twist. Perfect. You were mortified. The happy giggles did however lighten the mood a little once you could actually find it funny yourself.
“To make it easier we have prepared Name tags, so please take yours.”
The footballers buzz around the table getting their own tags, getting scolded by Leah and some of the older girls when they tried to switch them as a joke.
“Okay,” you tried to quieten the chatter, “Please follow me to the exhibition.” Your steps echoed through the halls, the girls' sneakers a lot quieter than your business casual outfit.
Behind you, the girls drifted slightly, whispering to each other, nudging displays, and occasionally pressing buttons or tapping at interactive screens. You tried to keep your pace steady, but every time someone moved ahead or paused somewhere unexpected, your notebook instinctively came up, and you muttered to yourself, flipping pages as you went through the exhibition again.
“Right, section one… early clubs… factory teams… 1860s… FA formation… somewhere there.”
Your words came out in a low mumble, but apparently it was audible enough that Katie McCabe snorted behind you. She was the one that had teased you beforehand, but now you had a name to the face.
“You actually read your notes while walking?” she asked, leaning just slightly toward you with that teasing grin.
You looked down and waved a hand trying to distract her. “I… I just.. yes. I need to make sure I say it correctly!”
Leah came up beside you, almost silently. She had been walking slightly behind you the whole time.
“Relax,” Leah murmured quietly, just for you. “You’ve got this.” You gave the blonde a nervous, shaky smile while she looked confident as ever.
“Kyra! It says no touching!”
Your head swiveled around quickly to where the voice came from. One of the younger girls looked at you with wide eyes, scared you’d scold her like the woman next to her, apparently called Kim, had.
"Oh yes!" Please don’t touch it! It might look really strong and sturdy but the natural oils of our skin and fingers will ruin the protective barrier and damage it.” You smile at Kyra who’s hand was now hovering by her side.
“Anyways. We made it!” With a dramatic nudge you opened the double doors revealing pure cotton football kits and old leather balls in a vitrine.
Had this exhibition always been this big? Dragging nearly thirty footballers who can’t stand still to save their life made it feel endless - so you tried to make them walk as much as possible, darting from one display case to the next, pointing at old leather balls, photographs, kits behind glass.
Rapidly you went through your notes as fast as possible, a few of the girls wandered off to peek at some interactive displays, tapping buttons, pressing play on old match reels, whispering and nudging each other.
Kyra leaned against a vitrine and whispered something to Victoria; you caught a hint of a smirk and felt your stomach twist. How do I get them to focus? you wondered. Every step felt like a small battle.
It wasn’t until you reached the Arsenal section that the team’s attention actually peaked. Old kits behind glass, photographs of matches long past, trophies, and press cuttings, their own history, finally caught their eye.
“This section…” you said, voice steadier now, “is about the Arsenal Football Club. And, well, I know you guys have your very own Arsenal museum, that’s why the curator couldn’t deliver us much stuff from your club.”
Leah, standing at the front and looking more relaxed than anyone else, tilted her head and gave you a small smile, once you let them have a few moments to look around she came closer to you.
“If you’re interested,” she said softly, just to you, “I could show you around there sometime.”
She paused, just for a moment.
“Promise I know my way around.”
Your face heated instantly, and you stumbled over your next words, but she didn’t wait for a reply. She just gave that faint, cocky smile and turned her attention back to the rest of the group. Acting as if nothing had happened while your head was beating out of your chest..
The group wandered on, not staying for long at the Arsenal display. You let them go, it was easier when they moved on their own. Less pressure on you to perform.
You looked down at your notes again, fingers nervously adjusting the corner of the page. “Right,” you said, mostly to yourself. “Arsenal… founded in 1886… originally Dial Square…” Your voice faded as you scanned for the next line.
When you looked up again, most of the group had already moved on. All except one. Leah.
She stood in front of the display case, hands loosely clasped behind her back, head tilted slightly as she studied the shirt.
It was strange, seeing her look at it like that. Not like a footballer but more like a visitor, someone you saw everyday at work.
“You mentioned earlier,” she said suddenly, her voice quieter now without the others around, “that this one was worn in the FA Cup final.”
Your stomach dropped but you nodded quickly. “Yes. 1993.”
She hummed softly.
“It was, um, significant because Arsenal won and it sort of established them as…”
“They lost that one.”
You froze, mouth open slightly.
Leah turned her head toward you. “They won the League Cup that year,” she said. “Not the FA Cup.”
Your fingers tightened around your notebook. “Oh.”
Frantically you flipped through your notes.
“I- I’m so sorry,” you said quickly. “I must have… I mean I did read it, I just-,” Your voice cracked slightly, “I mixed them up.”
“I should know it,” you said quietly. “It’s my job.”
The blonde smiled and nodded toward your notebook “You do know it. You’ve done more homework than most people who talk about football.”
Behind her, you could hear the others laughing at something further down the hall.
“You don’t even like football, do you?” she asked.
You hesitated. “Not really.”
Her smile widened slightly. “I could tell.”
Your face burned. “I tried,” you said quickly. “I really did. I read everything. I just- I don’t have the same… emotional connection to it.”
You gestured vaguely to the display.
“But I think it’s nice.”
The England captain frowned slightly.
“What is?”
“That even though it’s not my kind of history, it’s nice that it’s someone else's." Her eyes flicked down to your notebook again. “Means it mattered.”
Voices echoed from further down the exhibition.
“Leah!” You both turned. Katie stood at the end of the hall, hands on her hips. “You abandoning us?”
Leah didn’t look away from you immediately. “Coming,” she called back. Then, quieter, to you; “You should keep going.”
You nodded quickly. “Yes. Right. Of course.”
“I was serious, by the way,” she started back up again as you made your way to the beginning of the group together, “About the museum.”
She met your eyes. “I meant it, I could show you around.” Then she smiled and stepped ahead to rejoin her team.
Leaving you standing there for half a second too long before you remembered how to breathe and get yourself together.
Only a few metres further, you noticed a change in the girls. Their interest had finally peaked. The rest of the exhibition had been a blur of drifting players, wandering feet, clicking at interactive screens, and someone occasionally checking the time on their phone, sighing when it had barely moved.
But the moment you rounded the corner into the Women’s Football section, everything changed.
The chatter quieted and their hurried steps slowed.
Because these players… they knew this.
This was their story.
“I don’t think I have to explain much here, seeing as you already know a lot about this part. However, the Museum, the curator and myself want to thank you guys, but also your club for being so helpful and putting a lot of stuff forward so we can put it on show.”
The team had quietened, looking at you in the middle of the room.
“I’ll leave you guys to look at everything in your own time, I’ll just be over here if anyone has questions or, yeah… Questions. Uhm.. enjoy!” It didn’t need more for them to spread out again.
Now you finally took the time to also really look at the objects and pictures in this part of the exhibition - up until now you had been so focused on getting everything right that you didn’t do the thing you tell your visitors to do.
Experience History.
So you looked, you really looked at the pictures. And in it you could find some of the girls right here in front of you. Lotte, Beth, Alessia, Chloe and of course Leah.
“That’s from when we won the Euros in 2022 on home-soil.” Leah’s voice was deeper, and raspier than before - thick with emotions.
“Must have been incredible,” you gulped at how close she had gotten, “you guys won again though, no?”
“Yeah, 2025 in Switzerland. Hard beating the feeling of doing it for the first time and at home though.”
You nodded. That sounded fair enough. Sure, you couldn’t really understand the feeling, but you understood the idea of it.
“Is it strange?” you asked softly.
She frowned slightly. “What?”
“Seeing yourself in a museum.”
“Yeah,” she huffed a small laugh through her nose. “Really weird. Feels like it happened to someone else.”
You shook your head slightly.
“But it didn’t.”
She looked at you.
“It happened to you.”
You gestured toward the photograph.
“And if I see correctly, even as captain,” you added, nodding toward the rainbow armband wrapped around her upper arm in the picture, “you wrote history.”
“Yeah we did. I did.”
The blonde looked at the pictures like she was in disbelief and it didn’t happen just four years ago. “We always said that. That we wrote history and now we’re in a fucking museum,” she smiled sheepishly, “pardon my language.”
“So proper of you,” you giggled at the stunned footballer who was, for once, now the one blushing. “Yeah well. I don’t wanna swear at pretty girls in pant-suits at their workplace while I’m in a sweatsuit. Feels terrible."
That made you laugh even more. “I don’t like these either, just feel underdressed next to the other people here if I don’t dress up.”
She chuckled, “Well you look like you belong here.”
That caught you off-guard because you really didn’t belong in this exhibition or even in this wing of the museum, “Well uhm usually I’m like two floors down with all the dead royals and stuff.”
Leah shrugged, “Well, it still fits.” She glanced around the exhibition. “All of this,” she gestured vaguely, “it only exists because people wouldn’t let it be forgotten.”
You followed her gaze. “And because people kept it,” you added.
She looked back at you. “I guess that’s kinda your job.”
You felt your heart stutter slightly. “Yeah,” you said quietly, “I suppose it is but people like me need people like you who keep history alive and advance further.”
Before Leah could answer, Katie’s voice cut through the room.
“Are we done yet or are you two becoming part of the exhibition?”
Leah rolled her eyes. “We’re coming,” she called.
You straightened instinctively, slipping back into your role.
“Right,” you said, clapping your hands together once, softer than you meant to. “If everyone would like to follow me, we’re heading to the end now.”
By the time you led them back toward the entrance hall, the noise had returned. Easy chatter, quiet laughter, the sound of trainers against polished floors.
You stopped near the doors where it had all begun.
“And… that concludes the tour,” you said. Your voice came out steadier than at the beginning. “Thank you for being such a… cooperative group.” Half of the group snorted - at least they were self aware.
“And thank you,” you added, more sincerely now, “for trusting us with your history.”
You watched the girls leave and thanked the ones that came up to you personally before saying goodbye.
“You never answered me.”
Leah stood a step behind you, hands in her pockets, shoulders relaxed.
“About what?” you asked.
“My museum.” Oh, Right. Your stomach flipped.
“I meant it,” she said. “I’d show you around.” She tilted her head slightly. “But,” she added, “only if you show me yours.”
You frowned faintly. “My… museum?”
“The dead kings and stuff.” You let out a small, surprised laugh. “Oh.”
Not the exhibition you’d memorised for her. She wanted to see the one you loved.
“You don’t have to,” you said.
“I want to.”
You nodded.
“Okay.”
Her smile widened, smaller than her usual confident grin, but warmer.
“Okay,” she echoed.
From outside, Katie’s voice shouted through the open doors, “Leah! We’re leaving!”
Leah didn’t look away from you. “Guess I’ll have to come back.” And with a quick kiss to your cheek, she was gone before you could even react, out the door and on her way to her teammates.
Leaving you stunned with warm cheeks and an unstoppable smile so big that your cheeks hurt.
hey! i hope ur doing ok— and ik ur prob busy but do u have any idea if/when sunny pt. 2 is gonna be out?
Hiya!
This is the most recent ask to "sunny" - I will no longer be writing a pt.2. I am not really active in the woso/wbb scene anymore. Still interested and watching as much as I can, just no longer writing/reading fics.
➳ Stuck in a toxic relationship reader finally realizes what love should feel like when Paige shows her what it means to feel safe, seen, and cared for.
The first meeting was… awkward, to say the least. It was a week after the draft, no one was supposed to be in the training facilities but you. The job of the day was to get B-Roll footage of the place, stuff that can be used and recycled for social media, and show the facilities to the viewers without anybody there. So with a coffee in hand, and headphones on, you made your way through the building - starting in the offices then the medical and treatment rooms before getting to the court.
The first thing Paige saw when she entered was someone mid dance with big headphones on and a phone in a tripod pointing around the big indoor court.
“Hello?”
Nothing. Oh yeah, the headphones.
Slowly, as if she was approaching a wounded animal, Paige made her way over to you, softly tapping your shoulder. But her careful try was useless as you let out a yelp, stumbled over the tripod before it fell over and ripped off the headphones mid fall. But like in a cheesy rom-com you never hit the ground as the pretty blonde in front of you caught you by the elbow, keeping you up.
“Uh… hi?” she tried again.
“You can’t just sneak up on people like that! I think you gave me a heart attack!” your chest moved up and down rapidly, trying to work through the initial shock.
“You’re fine,” she grinned, “didn’t even fall. Thanks to me.” The wink was too much to comprehend as you were still trying to catch your breath. “I thought this place was locked anyways.” She continued.
Finally you got a grip back on life, standing straight and picking up the tripod, “Yeah, but I work here, one of the media girls.” As if to get your point across you motioned to the phone, checking for cracks. “I’m allowed to be here. You on the other hand...” The teasing smile on your face was a stark contrast to the panic Paige saw before.
“Guess we’re both rule-breakers.” You nod in agreement before coming to your senses and rapidly shaking your head, “Nuh uh, I’m allowed to be here!” The blonde laughed,” You know who would say that?”
“Who?”
“Someone that’s not supposed to be here.”
An offended gasp filled the empty court, as you crossed your arms over your chest and eyes narrowed in mock betrayal. “I’ll have you know I’m very professional. I only enter empty gyms in artistic circumstances.”
Paige hummed, a smirk on her face “Mhmm. Artistic. Sure.”
“What, you don’t think my danc-” Your personal phone buzzed in your pocket - loud, urgent. Paige notices the furrow in your brows and how your smile slips for just a second as you glance on the screen.
[6 texts from: Jared]
➤ Where the hell are you
➤ Answer me
➤ You said you’d be back 30 mins ago
➤ I’m not playing with you rn
“Uhm. Sorry I gotta go.” Paige blinked at you, “What, already?”
“Yeah. Got what I needed.” You shoved your phone into your bag, rushing to pack up your tripod without looking at her. “Court’s all yours.”
She tilted her head, long hair swishing gently to one side, “Are you okay?”
“Oh yes, no worries!” The smile on your face seemed… off. “I’m just on a very tight schedule of mild chaos.”
You started backing away, already halfway to the tunnel exit. “Oh, and Paige?” She perked up, still watching you carefully. “Yeah?”
You gave a weak little grin. “Next time, bring coffee. Scaring people earns you caffeine tax.”
Then you turned and walked off, your steps a little faster than before. Paige stood frozen, her gaze trailing you until you disappeared around the corner.
She frowned.
Something didn’t add up.
And for the first time since she got to Dallas, Paige Bueckers wasn’t thinking about basketball.
–
Meeting Paige for the second time was a lot more like you had originally planned it. First day of training camp. The entire facility was buzzing like a hive, excited, nervous - especially the rookies. They already had a press conference the day before, as well as a photoshoot, so now the fun could begin. This was also your first day with the full, new team, the last few functions had been covered by your colleagues.
Sneakers squeaked and whistles echoed through the big indoor court as coaches yelled instructions and teammates tried to communicate with each other over the music.
It was day 1 and you were already sweating, obviously not from playing basketball but from running around the gym trying to get shots of everyone. It was way too warm to wear a hoodie, but you couldn’t change that now.
“Sunshine!” Maddy Siegrist called out to you across the court, she was entering her third season. “You get a shot of me doing that sick reverse layup or do I have to redo it?”
The smile on her face was cheeky enough to get a laugh out of you. “Got it in burst mode, Maddy,” you said, adjusting the camera around your neck, the strap getting uncomfortable after a time, “I even got your ugly concentration face if you wanna see it again?”
“Rude,” Maddy said, grinning. “See if I let you get my good side again.”
“You have a good side?” DiJonai chimed in, drawing a laugh from the group.
Paige couldn’t stop staring, not in a creepy or weird way, she was just... Observing. She saw how you zipped around the court like you belonged there, bantering with her new teammates as they called out ‘sunshine’ to get your attention on them, hoping you’d get a good shot of them attempting something.
You were cracking jokes and all smiles, you were - on. But she couldn’t stop thinking about the way you bolted out of the gym just a couple of days ago, the way your entire demeanor had drastically changed at one look at your phone.
“Alright, grab some water, catch your breath for a second!” Chris, the head coach yelled out. Naturally the blonde drifted over to where you stood on the sidelines, two water bottles in her hands.
Let me guess,” she said casually. “You’re gonna post the worst picture of me, huh?” You didn’t jump this time—but your eyes flicked up in surprise, not expecting anyone to come up to you as you reviewed shots on your camera.
“Well, you did come into the league with a reputation. Gotta keep expectations realistic,” you teased, your camera already swinging up toward her, getting a horrendous angle on her as you crouched down to put a lens away.
“I literally just got here,” Paige said flatly, not impressed at all at the flash that went off.
You grinned. “Exactly.”
She smirked. But then your phone buzzed — three short, sharp vibrations in your pocket. You didn’t even look at it this time. Just silenced it with a practiced thumb swipe and tucked it back into your bag like it didn’t matter.
But your shoulders had gone tense. And Paige caught it. Of course she did. "You alright?" she asked quietly, not joking anymore.
You looked at her a beat too long, then blinked and smiled. That same, slightly-too-sunny smile.
“Yup. Golden.” You gestured vaguely toward the team. “Now hydrate, Rookie. You’ve got a whole training camp to impress me.”
“Me impress you?” Paige’s eyebrows shot up as she opened one bottle and handed it to you before opening her own and taking a big gulp.
“Exactly.” You winked and took a sip. “I’ve got the camera. That means I control the legacy.”
With the back of her hand Paige wiped her mouth while chuckling. “So I gotta earn your approval and try not to look stupid on the internet?”
Your head tilted as you shrugged. “Basically, yeah. High-stakes game. Emphasis on not looking stupid online.”
She gave you a glance as she nudged your water bottle, telling you to take another sip before closing her own. “And what do you get out of this?”
Your mouth opened for another sarcastic answer but you got interrupted by new buzzes of your phone. These seemed louder, more intense, more persistent.
“I get to make magic,” you shrugged before lifting the camera again and pointing it at her face. “Now go stand near the hoop and look natural.”
Paige didn’t move right away. She just watched you. Watched how quickly you slipped the mask back on. Then, finally, she turned and jogged off toward the baseline, calling over her shoulder, “Don’t make me look short.”
You laughed, the sound carrying across the court. “Better grow an inch then, Bueckers!”
Before Paige could fire something back, a voice called her name from the free throw line - “P! We need a fifth!”
She lingered just long enough to catch the way your smile dropped before jogging back onto the court.
–
Game days have always been hectic, stressful and chaotic. But not the bad kind of chaos but the kind that makes your blood rush with adrenaline and the smile stay on your face for so long that it hurts. The exciting kind of chaos, where you felt your heart in your throat - you lived for days like this, camera in one hand, press badge around your neck, running on caffeine and nerves.
The first game of the season was against the Las Vegas Aces at Joyce Center Notre Dame, Indiana. The Pavillion was already buzzing with fans and students as you slipped past security and into the tunnel. Today's fit was all black, trying to be as much in the background as possible. Comfortable, invisible. You liked it that way - a photographer's uniform.
Players were warming up on the court. Media circled like sharks. Lights were blinding. Music thundered. It was all familiar.
And still—your hands were a little shaky.
“Sunshine!” NaLyssa jogged over, her warm-up jacket half on half off. “Tell me you’re getting my walkout? I want tunnel footage that looks like I’m about to drop 30.”
You grinned. “Only if you do drop 30. I have integrity, Smith.” She threw a quick ‘I gotchu’ in your direction before running off again. In her stead, Paige emerged from the locker room in full uniform, earbuds in, head low. The rookie buzz was thick around her. She was trying to look calm. She wasn’t and you knew it.
Your eyes met. And for a second, neither of you moved. She gave you a tiny nod. Not a smile. Just... acknowledgment.
You lifted your camera. Snapped one quiet photo. Caught her mid-stride, jaw set, spotlight just catching her cheekbone. It would be a great shot. Her shots always were.
Then it happened again, your phone buzzed. No subtle ping just sharp, angry vibrations again. You checked the screen, instinctively.
[3 texts from: Jared]
➤ Where are you.
➤ I saw your story.
➤ You think I’m fucking stupid?
Your fingers clenched so tight around the phone you nearly cracked it. The heat drained from your face. You backed up into the tunnel. Just for a second. Just to breathe.
“Hey.”
Paige’s voice cut through the noisy atmosphere, shutting it all out. She must have put down her bottle, headphones and towel on the bench before following you the few steps into the darker tunnel. Her brows were furrowed, and she looked like she wanted to say something. Same look she wore at camp. Like she knew something.
“You good?” she asked. You nodded too quickly letting out the fakest laugh she had heard from you as of yet. “Yeah. Just... bright lights. Low blood sugar,” you waved it off, “You know, media girl problems.”
She didn’t laugh. She just watched you. And then, like she couldn’t help it, she leaned closer, keeping her voice low.
“Is someone messing with you?”
The question felt like a slap — not because of the words, but because it was the first time someone asked it out loud.
You blinked. Then smiled — brittle and brilliant. “Nope. Just showtime jitters.” You raised your camera again, angling the lens so she couldn’t see your face. “Now go be a star, Bueckers.”
You didn’t see her eyes stay on you. Didn’t see the way she lingered. Didn’t hear her whisper to herself as she walked back toward the court: “Liar.”
–
The hotel room was quiet, almost too quiet after the loud crowd at the game. Due to an odd number of staff you had gotten your own room while most others were paired up. It was quiet like before a storm. Your gear bag was still packed next to the door, you hadn’t even taken your shoes off or changed out of your outfit.
The game ended with a loss for the Dallas Wings but that wasn’t too bad, it was only the first of the season with an entirely different team. For you it had been a good game, the footage was clean and you can feel the energy in them.
And yet here you were, sitting on the edge of the hotel bed like a glitch in the system.
The only light came from your laptop, halfway open and flickering with edits of the night’s media dump. You were supposed to be uploading clips. Sending previews. Drafting captions.
Instead, you were staring at a single photo - Paige mid-drive, focused, powerful. You had caught her in perfect motion, backlit by the bright lights.
Your phone buzzed again.
[5 texts from: Jared]
➤ You think I don’t know where that hotel is?
➤ I’m not an idiot.
➤ Answer me.
➤ I said ANSWER ME.
➤ You think this little game makes you better than me?
You watched the messages roll in, but didn’t answer. You sat your phone down on the nightstand, the screen down, but it kept buzzing. You could feel the angry vibrations through the cheap wood like a second heartbeat.
Instead of checking it you stared straight ahead in the dark room, jaw locked and chest feeling way too tight. You kept swallowing. But it didn’t work.
Then—like some dam had quietly cracked - you reached up and wiped your eye. Just once. Then again. And suddenly, tears spilled fast, like they had been waiting their turn all day or even longer.
You didn’t sob. You didn’t scream. That would require energy you didn’t have. You just leaked, silently, as your shoulders folded in and your shaking hands pressed to your face.
The kind of crying that didn’t look dramatic. Just tired. Just… done. The ugly kind. Your laptop screen timed out. Darkness flooded the room. Still, the phone kept buzzing.
Eventually, you turned it off. Not silenced. Not ignored.
Off.
You slipped on your team issued hoodie, grabbed your room-key and left the dark room.
The stairwell was stuffy and dim, lit by one flickering bulb, but you kept climbing.
One flight.
Then two.
Then the heavy metal door to the roof gave way with an eerie creak, making your bones shudder.
Cool air hit your face, sharp and quiet.
Up here, the world felt a little farther away. Just lights in the distance, the hum of AC units, and a faint breeze that tugged at your sleeves. You needed a moment before pulling your phone out and dialing while leaning on the metal railing.
The line rang once—then connected.
“Finally,” Jared’s voice snapped through like a blade. “You screen me all night just to call me now?”
You didn’t say anything. Not right away. You stared out into the blur of headlights and halos. And all of a sudden the air wasn’t refreshing anymore. It was just cold, metallic and heavy.
“Well? You gonna speak or just breathe heavy?”
“…Hi, sorry I was working,” you murmured. Your voice was so soft it barely reached your own ears.
“Working. Sure. Where the fuck is my money?” You winced and curled up in your hoodie, pulling the hood over your head trying to shield your face from the cold wind. Tears stinging in your eyes.
“It was supposed to be yesterday. You promised me yesterday.”
“I know,” you said quickly, automatically. “I tried to move it early, but-”
“I don’t want your excuses. You think I’m just sitting here waiting around while you play dress-up with basketball Barbies and your little media job and feel all important?”
You didn’t even hear the door creak behind you, as it opened further than you had left it open. You just lowered your voice even more, barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this right now.”
Jared didn’t even hear it. Or maybe he did and didn’t care. “You made a commitment. You’re not just gonna flake because you got a new backdrop for your sad little life. You owe me.”
“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”
A pause.
“I’ll get it to you. I just… I need a little more time.”
He laughed - that hard, bitter kind of laugh that made your blood feel cold.
“You’re always saying that. You always ‘just need time.’ I should’ve known better than to count on you. You always act like you’re doing me a favor - you should be grateful I haven’t shown up and taken it myself.”
Something behind you shifted. A soft scuff of sneakers. But still, you didn’t turn, didn’t hear it or just didn’t care.
“I’ll fix it,” you said. Quiet. Small. Mechanical.
There was silence on the line for a beat. Then Jared spat, “Yeah. You better,” and the call went dead.
You stayed frozen. Just stood there, phone still in hand, like it might ring again.
From the shadows near the exit, Paige had stopped mid-step. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop - she was just looking for air, same as you. But now she stood still, watching your hunched figure against the skyline.
She didn’t interrupt. She just looked. Saw. She saw the real you.
And after a long moment, she turned and slipped quietly back down the stairs.
–
The restaurant looked warm and inviting - bright but not in the blinding way. Bright in a golden way, that made everyone look a little softer than the harsh lights on the court. The team had taken over the back of the place, pushed 2 long tables together to fit everyone semi-comfortable. After all, basketball players do need a bit more space than ‘normal sized’ humans.
You were late, not fashionably late, but a hurried late.
It was NaLyssa that had texted you earlier “You’re coming, no excuses. We’re family now.”
It took longer to get there than you had expected or wanted. Without a car you depended on Jared in that department. But he was already irritated that you were going out, so why would he drive you? He only accepted after you offered to pay for his gas at the nearest station. So after getting gas he had dropped you off two blocks away. After watching his car (which was really yours but that’s a different story) drive off, you walked the last bit fast, heart pounding the whole time like it might outrun your nerves.
Slipping through the door of the restaurant you felt a bit out of place in some jeans and a hoodie, so you tried to blend in with the shadows.
“Heyy, she made it!” Maddy shouted, lifting her glass. A small round of cheers rose up.
Bye bye shadows.
DiJonai waved you over, patting the empty seat beside her. The one opposite Paige.
You smiled tightly and offered a quick, “Sorry, sorry. Hope I didn’t miss dessert.”
“Please,” DiJonai said, sliding a menu in front of you. “You missed the world’s slowest appetizer order. Sit. Eat.” You sat. Your hoodie still smelled faintly like the car. You didn’t take it off.
The waiter came over, and when he asked what you wanted, you barely looked at the menu.
“Just the… house salad, no dressing. Thanks.” There was a beat - just long enough for someone to notice. “You sure?” NaLyssa asked gently. “They’ve got good pasta here. You love pasta.”
“I’ll steal bites from all of you,” you deflected with a small smile. “Professional moocher.”
They laughed. The tension moved on. But Paige didn’t.
Her sharp eyes stayed on you as you made good on your promise, eating a fork full of someone's Carbonara and stealing a piece of garlic bread. Laughing at DiJonai’s commentary on wine snobs. Listening as Maddy tried to impersonate the head coach and nearly choked on her soda, sending the whole table into a fit of laughter.
A laugh so good it made your stomach hurt and eyes well up with tears as you tried to get some air.
At some point, Paige leaned forward to pass you a piece of steak from her plate without saying anything. Just set it on your bread plate and kept talking to JJ beside her. Some roasted potatoes followed soon after.
You didn’t look up. Just ate it. Quietly. Gratefully.
When the others started to order dessert you had excused yourself to the bathroom, quickly freshen yourself up and opened your hoodie for once, all the laughing and good food had warmed you right up.
The others were just finishing up their main course when you got back to eat your salad. “You’ve seriously been here for thirty minutes and haven’t checked your phone once,” Paige said across the table, a teasing edge to her voice. “You’re not even pretending to look bored. Didn’t even take it with you to the bathroom.”
Your brows shot up as you lifted your fork with some arugula on it pointing it accusingly at the blonde across from you. “What, are you timing me? It’s getting a little creepy, Bueckers.”
She shrugged, a smirk playing at her lips. “I notice things.”
That made your smile twitch into something crooked. You swallowed. “Maybe I’m just trying not to look like the chronically online media gremlin.” Maddy leaned in from two seats down. “Too late. You were posting game reels before tipoff.”
“Exactly. I earn my gremlin status.” You tapped the edge of your water glass. “But this? This is sacred. Food is sacred.”
Paige’s brow rose as she pointed at your sad little side salad. “That’s what counts as sacred now?” You gave her a flat look. “I’m taste-testing my way across the team’s orders. It's a curated sampler.”
“She’s scamming us,” DiJonai said, shaking her head. “I lost half my truffle fries five minutes ago.”
“Don’t let her near the steak,” Arike warned. “She does this thing where she’s like, ‘Oh, just a bite’, and then it’s gone.” You threw your hands up, mock-offended. “I’m being framed. You’re all just bad at food security. God forbid a girl just has a big palette.”
That earned another round of laughs from the table, loud and joyful - the kind of sound that made you forget to flinch.
Across the table, Paige was still looking at you. Chin resting on one hand, her strikingly blue eyes sharp and unreadable - until she smiled, softer this time. “Still,” she said. “No phone. Proud of you.” You tilted your head at her. “Why’s that worth a merit badge?”
She shrugged, but didn’t look away. “Just nice to see someone here. Not halfway gone.” You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to keep it light. “So what’s your excuse? You haven’t checked yours either.”
Paige tapped the screen of her phone on the table - dark. “I don’t have anyone blowing it up.” Her tone was too casual, like it didn’t matter. “Guess I’m not that interesting.”
“Or you have bad reception,” Maddy offered, ever helpful.
Everyone laughed again, and Paige finally looked down, brushing her fingers over her phone. Then she flicked her gaze back up to you.
“Okay - picture time before anyone leaves.” Quickly you got up, digital camera in hand before DiJonai pulled you back down again. “Sunshine, you’re in this one.”
Groans echoed from around the table as everyone shuffled closer together, pulling faces, leaning in. DiJonai tugged you into the shot and Paige leaned just close enough to bump shoulders over the table.
You managed to smile for the photo - a real one. And when you finally glanced at your phone after dinner?
No new messages.
–
The streets were quieter now, dark and cold. The happy buzz of the restaurant laid behind you. You’d waved everyone off with a smile, a joke, a “see you tomorrow,” and started toward the nearest bus stop like it was just routine.
But it wasn’t routine, at least not for someone having a death grip in a camera bag and a press badge stuffed deep in your handbag. You missed your car in moments like these, but you’re getting used to it.
You’d barely made it to the corner when a car pulled up alongside the curb. The window rolled down.
“Get in.”
You turned - a little too fast - only to see Paige in the driver’s seat of a black rental. One hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the door.
You blinked. “I’m good. I like public transport. Very... civic. You wouldn’t understand, superstar.” She gave you a flat look. “It’s 11:30. The next bus is in 20 minutes and you have your holy camera with you.”
You shifted your bag higher and just looked at her.
“Get in the car, Sunny,” she said, a touch of amusement threading through the firmness, you could see it in her eyes.
You hesitated, not because you didn’t want to, but because it was too easy. Too kind. Too close. Still, your legs betrayed you, already moving before you gave yourself permission. You slid into the passenger seat and closed the door.
You swallowed, “Well, uhm, thank you for saving me from my death march,” your voice was too dry to be funny.
“Someone’s gotta keep your freeloading ass alive,” she quipped while glancing at you but quickly going back to concentrating on the road.
You smiled, lips twitching. “You’re getting funnier. Is that part of the rookie training?”
“Only the advanced course.”
She parked when you gave directions, easing into the curb in front of your building. It looked a little smaller than usual under the yellow streetlight. You hated that. It looked… weird. With the passenger door open and one foot already on the pavement you thanked the blonde, ready to head in.
“I’ll walk you up!” Her seatbelt was already unbuckled and her hand on the door handle. “Oh no, you won’t,” you caught yourself and went a bit softer, your eyes not as wide anymore, “it’s okay, really. I got it.”
Paige turned to you, one eyebrow pulled up “Why wouldn’t I walk you up?”
You exhaled, trying to convince yourself of your reasoning. “Because it’s a six-flight walk-up with a buzzer that doesn’t work and a neighbor who thinks I’m growing weed because I own succulents. Trust me, it’s not a vibe.”
She didn’t laugh this time. Just looked. A beat passed.
“You sure?”
You nodded. “Thanks for the ride.”
Paige leaned back slightly. “You always like this when someone’s nice to you?”
You glanced over. “I’m fine with nice.”
“Are you?” You paused, hand still on the door. Another silence. Then, finally, she said, “Text me when you’re inside.”
That stopped you. “I don’t have your number.”
“It’s in your DMs.” You turned to look at her. She gave you a small, unreadable smile. “Good night, Sunshine.”
But before you could finally leave you starting digging in the pockets of your hoodie and came up with a small wad of bills, hastily smoothed out in your palm, desperately trying to ignore the blonde's confused face.
“Here,” you mumbled, trying to press it into her hand. “Gas money.” Paige blinked, looking at the crumpled twenties like you’d handed her a live bird. “What?” she said, equal parts amused and confused.
“For the drive,” you insisted, pushing it toward her. “It’s a rental. And gas is, like, criminal now.” She leaned back in her seat, both hands up. “You’re not paying me to drive you home. I’m not an Uber.”
“Still,” you said, your voice a little too sharp, “just take it.” She shook her head, a soft, incredulous laugh escaping her. “You really hate owing people, huh?”
You didn’t answer.
She didn’t push. Just gently closed her hand around yours and pushed it back toward your lap.
“You can pay me back by not acting like I'm doing you a favor.”
You hesitated. Then, reluctantly, stuffed the money back into your hoodie. Sort of.
And once you were out of the car and inside the building, she waited until you had unlocked the very front door and entered the building, then drove off.
The building door barely hit the lock before you pulled out your phone. She hadn’t been lying. The message was already there.
[3 texts from: @paigebueckers]
➤ Just in case the bus ghosts you again (xxx) xxx-xxxx.
➤ Or you need someone who doesn’t talk loud on rooftops.
➤ 🕶️☀️
You stared at it for a moment. Then hit “Save Contact.”
Back at her place Paige went to grab her water bottle and get out of the car when she saw it - the money.
Still crumpled, still soft from your hand. Shoved into her center console cup holder. She stared at it for a long second, then sighed. “Jesus,” she murmured to herself.
She didn’t move it right away. Didn’t throw it out.
Just… left it there.
Like it meant something.
—
The gym was emptying out fast, and it wasn’t long before the only thing you could hear only the hum of the lights and the bounce of a stray ball. You’d already packed all your gear together and carried it over your shoulder. Jelly, was the best way to describe the way your body felt.
You hadn’t even planned on joining the girls in the locker room, just ducked your head in to ask Maddy what shot she wanted sent to her phone - but next thing you know you got dragged in, the camera bag nearly slipping from your shoulder.
“Come on, Sunshine,” she said with that mischievous grin, “you’re basically one of us now.”
You gave a weak protest, laughing quietly. “Pretty sure staff isn't supposed to be in here.”
“Guess you’ll have to report yourself, then.”
That’s how it started. A two-minute question turned into sitting on an overturned crate near someone’s cubby, camera bag still on, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes heavy. No one bat an eye at you being in there, letting you relax a tad, until your stomach grumbled - loud enough for Maddy to raise an eyebrow.
“Damn. Did you eat today?”
You hesitated. Big mistake.
“Hey!” Maddy called out to the room, turning in her seat. “She didn’t eat today.”
“What?! Are you serious?” That was Nai, halfway through braiding her hair. “Girl, it’s like 4PM.”
“I had a bar earlier- ”
“Was it a real bar or one of those pressed sadness bricks you always pull outta your bag?” The team mobilized like a tactical unit, or at least something close to it. In seconds, there were protein bars, drink bottles, and packets of fruit snacks being thrown your way like offerings to a minor deity. You blinked at the pile forming in your lap and the mess around you.
“You guys don’t have to- ”
“You work for us,” DiJonai said, tossing you a chocolate peanut butter bar. “You’re part of the machine now. The machine stays fed.”
You gave a grateful smile. Small, but real as you didn’t fight it further, just too damn tired. Cheeks warm with quiet gratitude as you tore open the first wrapper.
Across the room from you in her cubby was Paige, towel thrown around her neck as she took off her knee pads, she looked busy but her eyes never escaped you. You looked so small.
You didn’t see her clock, how your hands shook slightly when you tried to open a bottle. You didn’t notice her chewing her lip when you blinked a little too long between bites.
But she noticed.
Eventually, she walked over, lightly brushing a loose bottle cap off the bench beside you. She nudged an open water bottle your way. “That one’s mine. Cold.”
You took it with a grateful nod and looked up at her, “I’m good, I swear.”
She raised a brow. “You look like you’re about to fold like a lawn chair. Drink it.”
You did.
“So,” Arike drawled. “Your boyfriend let you starve all day, huh?”
The room went still. A beat too long.
Your face snapped up, but your mouth stayed shut. You let out a breathy chuckle, like it was funny. “He’s not- It’s fine. He’s just… busy.” You didn’t make eye contact with anyone.
The older players shared a look. Maddy opened her mouth to shift the mood, but Paige cut in first, casually. “Her boyfriend doesn’t work for a W team. We win. We feed people.”
The others whooped. Just enough distraction to deflect the heat, letting the girls hype each other up one last time for the day. You smiled, forced but functional. You took a bite of the bar Paige gave you. It tasted like cardboard and warmth.
She sat beside you on the edge of the bench, just close enough that your elbows brushed.
She didn’t tease you, just handed you another wrapper, already peeled slightly open.
—
A week later the weight room was buzzing a day before the next game - clanks of plates, low grunts, and the dull thud of medicine balls against the far wall. Lights buzzed overhead, bright but not clinical. Music thumped from a corner speaker, rhythmic and bass-heavy, but muffled by the girls chatting.
You were framing a shot, trying something different seeing as the weight room gave you different possibilities than the practice court, crouching to capture JJ’s silhouette as she lifted. None of you heard the door creak open, no one paid him any mind as he made his way through the room.
“Hey Babe.”
Jared. He was too close, you could feel his breath in your ear, uncomfortably warm as it sent shivers down your spine.
When did he get here?
Once you could finally move you were able to turn around and face him. Jared stood just behind you, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets like he belonged there, like this was a casual drop-in. He even smiled, that crooked, boyish grin that used to make your knees weak and now just made your stomach turn.
The room had gone quiet. Not silent, the music was still going but the girls stopped chatting and subtly tried watching the interaction out of the corner of their eyes. Except Paige, who was full on staring at the train wreck directly in front of her.
“Jared! Uh, hi! What are you doing here?” Your voice was tight, but quiet.
He looked around the room, ignoring the curious looks he got, “This is where you’ve been hiding all day?” He nodded towards your camera equipment in the corner, “Saw your little video earlier. On their Insta? Real artsy, baby.” What was supposed to be a petty compliment just sounded sarcastic instead.
“I, uh, thanks. But, uhm, you can’t just walk into the team areas like this.” You had pulled him in closer by his arm, so close that your bodies nearly touched as you quietly tried to suggest that he should get lost.
“I tried calling.” He shrugged, stepping closer before he continued, voice sweet again, soft. “Look, I get it. You’re busy. I just...” He scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t want to make a scene. I just... kinda needed to talk for a sec.”
Your throat tightened as Paige watched you like a hawk.
“Can’t it wait? I’m working?” Your voices had gotten really quiet now, neither Jared or you noticed how one of the girls had stopped the music, now silencing the room to listen in as they pretended to workout, most of the other staff had already left.
“I wouldn’t be here if it could.” His voice had turned quiet. Sharp. “I, uh… I just left my doctor’s office. They wouldn’t run the test without the co-pay.”
Your stomach dropped. “What test?”
He shrugged like it didn’t matter. “It’s probably nothing. Just chest stuff again. Tightness. They said I should’ve come in sooner, but you know how it is…”
Your face went cold.
“I didn’t want to freak you out,” he added quickly. “I almost didn’t say anything at all. But now I’m sitting outside Walgreens trying to figure out how to cover the lab work, and I thought... if you could spot me, just one more time…”
You nodded, and when your hands didn’t move fast enough, he reached for your purse like he always did. “I’ll pay you back Friday,” he said, a little softer as he took out all the bills that were left. “You know I always do.”
You didn’t notice Paige until she was a few steps closer, towel slung over one shoulder, a water bottle in her hands. “Everything good?” she asked casually, but her eyes flicked between the two of you.
“All good,” you said too fast, taking your purse back from his hands. “He was just, just on his way out.” Jared offered a smile. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Sorry about that.”
He lingered a second longer than he needed to, brushing a hand over your shoulder. “You’re still the best, you know that?”
Then he turned and left. You didn’t even breathe until the door clicked behind him and he was finally, really gone from the space you had once felt safe in.
Paige was still watching you. “Lab work?”
You looked down at your camera, fiddling with the lens cap. “He’s been feeling off for a while now. Chest problems are scary, he’s been to a lot of Doctors for it.”
“And they don’t take insurance?” You swallowed, your eyes desperately trying to avoid making eye contact with the blonde. “He said they wouldn’t run it without him paying up front.”
A long silence passed.
Then Paige said, without looking at you, “You always pay when he says it’s urgent?” You didn’t answer. Not really.
Just said, “It’s easier.”
—
The place wasn’t even on google maps, one of those bars that looked like it might have once been a gas station or a tire shop. Squat brick, single red neon sign humming a half-lit “OPEN,” and windows so fogged over they might as well be painted black. Inside, the floor was sticky and the music was classic rock on shuffle.
It was perfect.
Maddy pushed the door open with her hip, DiJonai following close behind. “I swear to God,” she muttered, “if I get tetanus from the pool table, I’m blaming you.”
“You can’t get tetanus from felt,” Arike deadpanned.
“That sounds like a challenge," Maddy said.
Paige was the last to walk in of the small group that had decided to grab some cheap drinks and greasy food after a gruelling late film session. She hadn’t even looked up until Maddy elbowed her in the ribs and nodded toward the bar.
And there you were.
Behind the counter. In a low cut black T-shirt and jeans, hair pulled into a messy ponytail. Your forehead was a little sweaty from the heat, or the pace, or both. You moved like someone who had done this a thousand times - pouring, swiping, dodging elbows and flirting with drunks just enough to earn better tips.
That top certainly helped for the tips as well.
For a while none of the girls said anything. Just stood there in stunned silence as they watched you shake off an uncomfortable customer.
“Wait,” DiJonai blinked. “Is that sunshine? Like, our sunshine?”
“Yup,” Paige said quietly as her eyes locked with yours. You didn’t freeze, didn’t drop anything, didn’t run, but the smile you gave was practiced. Not fake, exactly. Just... careful.
“Hey,” you said over the bar as they approached. “Didn’t know you guys knew this place!” Your voice was loud over the loud music.
“We’re versatile,” Lyss grinned. “Athletes by day, dive bar connoisseurs by night.”
You laughed, and it was real enough. “What can I get my favourite girls?” They placed their orders, teased you a little, tipped heavy despite your protests.
You stayed in motion, but Paige watched you closely. The way you rubbed your eyes between orders. The slight limp in your left leg. The silence between your words when you thought no one noticed. At one point, you ducked under the bar to grab a case of beer and came up too fast, smacking your shoulder on the counter. You didn’t even wince. Just kept moving.
The team stayed for maybe an hour. They didn’t push. Didn’t ask why you were working a second job, or why you never mentioned it, or why you looked like you hadn’t slept in days. They just let it be.
But Paige didn’t leave. Of course she didn’t.
The other girls had eventually paid (and tipped even more, ignoring your refusal) and left, laughing about their sore stomachs and how they would regret the bad pizza tomorrow. Paige stayed, told them she’d uber home in a bit and no one questioned it - because they all knew.
DiJonai patted her arm with a smirk whispering a “Get our girl home in one piece, will you?” in the rookie's ear before filling out.
At first you didn’t notice her lingering gaze, too focused on the new barback who stocked the cooler wrong, and a regular who tried to play Journey for the 3rd time on the jukebox. But when you glanced up from drying a pint glass, she was still there, alone at the end of the bar, half-finished drink in hand, eyes on you like she’d never really stopped watching.
The crowd started thinning out now, just a few stragglers playing darts and a couple on their third round of something brown and bitter while staring into each others souls. It was the kind of hour where everything slowed down, the volume dropped just enough to hear your own thoughts. Which was worse most days.
You walked over and leaned on the bar. “Still here, huh?”
She raised a brow, her eyes challenging you. “You’re surprised?” All you did was shrug. “Most people don’t find this place worth staying.” Paige tilted her head with that annoying, cocky smirk. “I’m not most people.”
You huffed a tired laugh. “So I’ve heard.”
It was quiet between the two of you for a second as she watched you fiddle with your hair, annoyed by the loose strands. “Your eyes were too sharp for someone that tired. This wasn’t new.”
Then, quietly she asked, “How often are you here?”
You leaned back, wiped your hands on a rag that had long lost its purpose, way too stained to really be any use. “Depends. Weekends are the worst. But I fill in when someone flakes.”
“And after media days? Practices?”
You gave her a smile, soft and vaguely apologetic. “Turns out passion projects don’t cover rent.” Paige didn’t laugh at your weak attempt at a joke. She just looked down at her drink, then back up at you.
“You could’ve said something.”
Before you could answer, your manager called from the back office, saving you (because really, what were you supposed to say?). “Closing time! You’re good to clock out.”
You gave Paige a quiet look and gestured toward the front door. “Wait by the door? It’s quieter there. I’ll walk with you.”
-
Ten minutes later you came out with a hoodie pulled on. Paige’s hoodie. Backpack on one shoulder, your camera bag slung over the other. The rookie had to grin, you really didn’t go anywhere without that bag, huh?
Paige stood near the dumpster, hands in her pockets. When you reached her, she noticed the envelope in your hand: plain white, thick.
You didn’t try to hide it.
Instead, you peeled it open, quickly counting bills with practised ease. You shoved a few twenties into your worn wallet, then glanced around before lifting the false bottom of your camera bag and slipping the rest inside.
When you looked up again, Paige wasn’t staring. She was just... waiting.
Patient. Steady. Like she always was.
“It’s not what it looks like,” you said, even though you both knew it was. She let you grasp at your excuses before she gave a small nod. “Is it enough?”
That caught you off guard.“What?”
“The cash. The extra hours. All of it. Is it enough?”
You paused, still stunned by the question. “It has to be. I’m getting there.”
She let the silence settle between you, “You always take care of everyone else.”
You tried to make it a joke. “Bad habit.”
“Yeah,” Paige said softly. “But who takes care of you?”
You didn’t hesitate to say “I do” but your voice was shaky. Sometimes yourself just wasn’t enough. But that’s all you had.
You just looked at her, like really looked at the blonde, and for the first time in a while, you felt the weight of someone holding your gaze, not demanding anything from you, not draining you.
Just... being there and seeing you.
“Come on. I’m getting us an uber.” There was no room to protest, so you accepted with a small smile and thankful nod.
—
The Laundry room was brightly lit by those annoying buzzing tube lights that keep flickering like in a bad horror movie. A window was cracked near the ceiling and let in stale air and the sound of distant traffic, but not much else.
Your back already started hurting after the first load of laundry, now at the third it was even worse. Why is this damn table so low?? Your hoodie sleeves were pushed to your elbows, fingers numb and stiff from folding the third load of team jerseys on that way too low table. Your camera bag sat nearby on a stool, always close. Your phone buzzed again.
You didn’t check it.
Well not on purpose but you still saw the messages pop up.
[3 texts from: Jared]
➤ Just remember who helped you get in.
➤ You’d be nowhere without me.
➤ You’re welcome, by the way.
The screen dimmed. You exhaled slowly through your nose and turned back to the pile of laundry. Towels. Practice shirts. Warmups. More to do. Always more, just like at home the laundry was never ending.
“Jesus, Sunshine.” You hadn’t heard her come in, so to no one's surprise you flinched so hard that the stack of freshly folded towels was knocked over again.
Once your head snapped up you could see the blonde leaning in the doorway, still in sweats and damp hair from a post-practice shower. A protein shake in one hand, towel slung over her shoulder. Her expression shifted the moment she saw you: confusion, then concern.
“It’s so late already, what are you still doing here?”
You tried for a joke. It barely made it to your lips. “Look who’s talking. You’re still here too.”
She didn’t laugh. Or react at all, except for a raised brow that you knew meant she wasn’t in the mood, so you gave your real reason up. “Couldn’t sleep.”
That made Paige smirk, much to your enjoyment. “So you decided to cosplay as laundry staff?”
You laughed softly. “Someone’s gotta do it. Lord knows how many towels you guys go through in a single practice day.”
She looked around at the mess of fabric and unfolded towels. Then back to you as she stepped into the room.
“Sit somewhere real.”
“What is that even..? I’m sitting-” With an eye roll she ignored your protest before she pulled you up, “Not on a crate like a goblin. Come on,” and unzipped her jacket, shook it out, and spread it carefully across the folding table like a blanket, then patted it once.
“Sit here.”
“You’re joking.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
No. No she didn’t.
Realizing you wouldn’t move on your own she dragged you down to her chosen place by your shoulders. The second your legs dangled off the table, Paige was already grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. She handed it over (already opened of course) with a raised brow. “Drink.”
“I’m fine, I really don’t need-”
“Not what I asked. Drink.”
You took the water. Drank. Because something in her voice and something in her eyes made it impossible not to.
She picked up your fallen stacks of towels and sorted them into the shelf where they belonged, before picking up the next basket and sitting it down on the floor next to the table and started folding. No comment. No lecture. Just calm, methodical movements. She made neat stacks. You watched, still clutching the water bottle with both hands like it was keeping you upright. And maybe it was.
She didn’t ask questions. Just moved around you, efficient and silent.
It was strange. Not in a bad way. Just unfamiliar. Like watching someone speak a language you used to know but forgot to speak after not hearing it for so many years.
Eventually, she dug out a protein bar from her pocket and tossed it toward you without looking. You didn’t catch it. Nope. It hit you straight in the face before falling in your lap - and even though Paige tried really hard not to laugh, she failed miserably as she giggled into her fist.
“Stop pouting and eat. You didn’t today.”
You looked at her, brows furrowed. “That’s a bold assumption.”
“Not an assumption, I know it’s a fact. I notice things.”
Your chest tightened, painfully. You looked down at the bar in your lap, thumb running over the wrapper. You didn’t move as your traitorous brain wandered.
To Jared.
To his messages. To his tired voice on the phone the other night, telling you his chest was tight again. That the doctors still didn’t know what it was. That the stress was making him worse. That you working too much didn’t help. That he needed rest, not drama. That he was doing his best, even without a job, even when you made it ‘so hard.’
He was always tired. Always hurting. Always needing you. Needing your money.
So you stayed. Paid the bills. Covered his medications. Told yourself it was temporary. That when he got better, things would change.
He wasn’t cruel. Just sick.
And sick people lash out sometimes.
Right?
You hadn’t even noticed Paige sit beside you until her voice broke your cruel thoughts, “You still in there?”
“Mhmm, where else would I be?”, you hummed and nudged her shoulder with yours.
“Somewhere happier, maybe?”
It was silent as you fiddled with the protein bar in your lap, before the blonde took it, opened it and held it to your mouth - refusing to take it away until you took a bite. The silence returned.
Your throat burned.
You looked down. “He said I should be grateful.”
A pause.
“That I’d be nothing without him. That he puts up with a lot.”
The words were quiet. Flat. Like you were repeating something you’d memorized a long time ago.Paige didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt. Just listening, her eyes focused solely on you. “He’s not well,” you added quickly, like it was a valid reason to be hurting all the time. “Always at doctors. Can’t work. He’s just… dealing with a lot.”
Paige stared ahead for a long beat.Then: “That’s not love.”
You exhaled, shaky. “He’s honest. He says I make things hard.”
“No,” she said. “I’m being honest. He’s being cruel.”
You looked at her, startled by the bluntness, not harsh, just firm. Anchoring and honest, not cruel.
“Someone who loves you doesn’t make you earn kindness,” she said. “They don’t twist things so you feel lucky to be hurt.”
You looked away.
“I didn’t think I was allowed to expect more.”
“You are.”
Silence. Heavy.
Then, barely above a whisper:
“How do you know?”
Paige’s smile was soft and sure, not smug. Just true.
“Because I’ve seen the way you take care of people. The way you show up. That’s what love looks like. And you deserve to be treated at least the same way.”
You blinked hard, eyes burning. Your shoulders curled slightly, not to hide, just to stay upright. Paige didn’t touch you. She didn’t need to.
She just kept folding.
—
You came home from a late night editing session at the Dallas Wings Staff rooms. It had been a good night, truly. Someone had ordered pizza and the whole evening was spent gossiping while trying to work. But something was off when you came home.
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
There was no music, and no TV that played some dumb show Jared was melting his brain with. The only thing you could hear was the buzz of hallway lights even through the shut door.
You shut the door behind you, softly, mindful of the other residents and the late hour. At the hallway bench you shrugged off the camera bags and clawed your way out of the damp hoodie from the walk home.
You were late. Not by much, maybe an hour, and you didn’t have plans for the evening, but you were late nonetheless. It was just too fun, and the editing crew had lost the feeling of time.
Stepping into the cold living room, you froze in place. The lights were off, the only thing giving light was the dull blue glow of a laptop on Jared's lap, casting shadows across his face as he sat on the couch.
Wait.
That was your laptop. Open on his lap.
And that… that was your journal doc he was reading.
The heart in your chest stopped, at least you were pretty sure of it.
“Hey,” he greeted, voice too calm. Not even on good days he was this calm. Jared didn’t look up right away, he just kept scrolling through the document. Reading more and more of your thoughts.
Your legs turned to concrete, or fused with the ground. Either way, something rooted you in place. “What.. uhm, what are you doing?”
Now he looked at you.
Smiled.
The blue light from the laptop illuminated him from below. Making him look even scarier than he usually does.
“You’ve been real busy in here, huh?”
His voice was even as he tapped the side of his temple. You knew he meant busy in your head and the document he was reading. His voice was measured. No heat. That was worse.
“Didn’t know I was such a fucking villain in your head.”
You opened your mouth. No sound came out.
He stood and you were still rooted in that same damn place.
“I’ve marked some quotes I really liked,” held the laptop with one hand, and with the other, gestured like he was reading aloud on a stage “You don’t mind, do you? I’ll read them out to you.”
“I keep telling myself it’s not that bad, but I don’t know what ‘bad enough’ even looks like anymore.”
“I miss who I was before him, but I don’t remember what she looked like.”
“He doesn’t hit me. That’s the bar I’ve been setting my worth to.. he doesn’t hit me.”
After every sentence he read out loud he sent a pointed glance in your direction before finally snapping the laptop shut, the sound echoing through the dark living room.
“So that’s what we’re doing now?” he said, voice sharp, finally cracking. “You run off and play house with those girls, and then come home and write about how abused you are? Is that it?”
“I.. I didn’t mean..”
“No, say it. Come on. Say it to my face. You think I’m the fucking monster in your sad little Netflix drama?”
You shook your head quickly. Too quickly. “No. No, Jared, it’s not like that. I was just, just writing. I didn’t think you’d see it.”
“Of course not,” he spat. “Because I’m just the idiot you unload on when you’re not getting your ego stroked by Paige-fucking-Bueckers.”
Your breath caught.
He laughed.
“You think she gives a shit about you? You’re her project. Her pet. You think she’s not saying the same shit about you behind your back?”
“Stop.” Your voice cracked as tears started building in your eyes.
“Or what?” he said, stepping forward. “You gonna run away? Call Paige? Have her come rescue you like a good little golden retriever?”
He was close now.
Too close.
And suddenly your body remembered every red flag you’d buried under guilt and excuses. Every apology that felt like pressure. Every “you owe me” that bled into your spine.
Your knees shook but you still managed to turn and walk out the door. Leaving him in the dark living room.
—
You couldn’t remember much of the run there, not how you grabbed the keys or how you got into the rehab room of the Dallas Wings training facility. The lights were dim, just barely peeking in through the window of the hallway.
The phone barely had any battery left as you sat on the padded table, hands still shaking.
You already had opened her contact card. Paige. And you stared at it too long.
Not once had you called her first, never. Not even after those really hard days you just wanna cry about. Not even after Jared’s last big blow-up. But now? It was different.
You were shivering, scared and there was no one else you could call that would just.. show up. So finally you pressed call.
It only took two rings for her to pick up, even at 1a.m.
“Sunny?”
You didn’t mean to start crying, you really didn’t want to but it just happened. Her voice was calm, steady and a little tired.
“Can you come get me?”
You could hear rustling on the other side, a blanket being tossed aside, “Where are you?”
“Training facilities, like in the, uh, the rehab area.”
“I’m on my way. Don’t move.”
She didn’t ask anything else.
Didn’t need to hearing your sniffles through the phone was enough to tell the blonde everything she needed. You sat there in the silence, breathing in short bursts, knuckles white around your phone.
And for the first time, you didn’t feel ashamed of needing someone.
So you waited.
Curled into yourself on the therapy table, shaking like a leaf. Running through rain in only a shirt might not have been a good idea… Your phone vibrated once. Just a soft, meaningless hum, but you didn’t check it, just stared at the ground and waited.
Until the door creaked open and then somehow, the room got even colder.
Jared.
“There you are.”
You slid off the table, heart in your throat, feet stumbling backwards before you even realized you were moving.
“How did you...”
“Come on, babe. This is your hideout? Thought you’d at least pick somewhere I hadn’t seen before.”
“Jared, leave.”
“No. You don’t get to run and then make me the villain I get to defend myself.”
He stepped forward. You stepped back.
“You’ve been whining in your journal about how sick I am. Poor you. Poor little girl carrying her broken man.”
He laughed. Cold and sharp like he always did. But this time it was even scarier.
“You ever wonder why none of those doctors ever called you back? Why you never saw a single goddamn bill?”
You froze mid motion, arms up trying to build distance between you both.
“I’m not sick,” he said simply, smiling now. “Never was.”
The world slowed and time stopped.
“Then… what, uh, what..” You were speechless. It couldn’t be.. Right? Surely this was just another really bad joke.
“You were useful. You paid for shit. Got me stuff I couldn’t get on my own. Covered rent while I took care of other things.”
Your throat closed. “What things?”
He tilted his head, cruel and casual. “Couple girls I was seeing needed help. You’re not the only one who likes to take care of people. I’m a real generous guy.”
That landed like a punch to the chest.
“You- you used me,” you whispered, tears stinging in your eyes.
“Call it sponsorship,” he said. “Me and the girls like to call you my ‘scholarship fund’.”
Just silence.
And then another voice. Low, flat, furious.
“Get. Out.”
It was Paige. You couldn’t say for sure, but the look on her face made you think that she’d been waiting outside the door for a bit, listening to what Jared had to say. Her voice was like stone as when she stepped into the room. Taking up the space between you and Jared.
You could see her body still trying to catch her breath, and she was a little sweaty. She ran here. For you.
“You don’t talk to her again. You don’t come near her again.”
Jared gave her a look like he was bored already. “You think she’s gonna stay with you? You don’t know her. She needs someone to fall apart on.”
“No,” Paige said. “She needs someone who won’t break her.” She took another step forward. “And you already did.”
For the first time (maybe ever), Jared didn’t have a comeback.
He looked at you. Maybe expecting you to flinch. To cry. To chase him. But you only looked right back at him and said, “I don’t feel sorry for you anymore.”
He left after that. Just turned and walked out. No apology. No second look.
And you stood there shaking, tired, cold, but breathing.
Then Paige was beside you.
She didn’t speak right away. She just stood close, quiet, until you could bring yourself to look up and meet her eyes. She didn’t look at you with pity, no this was admiration.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she whispered, cupping your face in her warm hands. “None of it.”
You didn’t know what to say.
“You don’t ever have to go back.”
This might have been the first time that you realized that she was right. You didn’t have to go back. Not to him. Never.
—
The car ride was silent, not the uncomfortable ‘I don’t know what to say’ silence, just quiet. Tired. Paige hadn’t asked questions, Just dragged you out to her car, pushed you down into the passenger seat and gave you a blanket from the back of her car.
When she finally pulled over into her apartment lot she glanced over at you. “You good to come in?”
“You sped there.”
You didn’t really reply to her question but the blonde took you opening the door as answer enough. “I wouldn’t say ‘sped’ just, in a slight hurry,” she winked at you, your camera bag in hand.
Paige led the way inside, everything was low-lit and calm. There were no overhead lights that blinded you, and the hallway didn’t echo in that creepy way it did at your apartment complex. As she opened her own door a citrus-y smell wafted towards you, she must have let a candle on before she came.
She locked the door behind her and set your camera bag gently down on a chair by the door, and then asked, “Hungry?”
You could only nod, too busy looking around.
“Good,” she said, already heading toward the kitchen. “Sit. Shoes off. You’re home now. For as long as you need.”
That last part hit harder than you expected. Home.
You sat at the edge of the couch while she pulled out pots and ingredients like she did this all the time. Not just for herself, but for people she wanted to keep warm and full and okay, friends and family.
“Fair warning though, I am no master chef, but we won’t starve!”
Your phone buzzed again, even though you thought the battery had died when you were still at the training facility.
Your stomach dropped.
You didn’t even have to look. You knew it was him. No one else messaged you, especially not at this time. Not after Jared convinced you to cut contact with your family over a year ago.
Paige glanced over from the stove.
“That him?”
You nodded once, throat too tight. She walked over, hand out. “Can I?”
You didn’t hesitate to hand it over. Jared asked for your phone all the time, to look through it. But the basketballer didn’t read it. Didn’t scold. Just silenced it, powered it down, and set it face-down on her kitchen counter before plugging it in.
“You don’t need to hear from him tonight. Or ever again, if you don’t want to.”
You blinked quickly, looking away. “He’s going to be so angry.”
“He already is,” she said softly. “And it’s not your fault, and it’s also not your job to soothe that.”
You didn’t reply. Just pulled your knees to your chest and let your eyes roam around her apartment.
It was warm, and well lit.. cozy. Shoes were stacked by the front door, sweaters thrown over the couch, shelves filled with random books, picture frames and trophies. A photo on the fridge, next to a note with a date on it ‘pasta night - 06/28 :)’. That was a team night.
“Okay, uhm, water is cooking, might still take a while. Bathroom’s down the hall, if you wanna shower. The door locks and I set out fresh towels and some clothes. We need to get you out of the wet ones.”
You were halfway to tears again, and she hadn’t even done anything dramatic. Just kept giving you space. Kept choosing not to demand anything. And she kept being so incredibly nice.
You stood under the hot water until your skin went pink and you smelled like her body wash and expensive shampoo.
When you came back out she was sitting on the couch, two plates of food in front of her. She had also changed into a different hoodie, a dry one.
“Food’s still warm, there’s more in the kitchen if you want.”
You sat beside her, plate balanced on your lap, and took a bite.
It was the best thing you’d eaten in weeks. Not because of the recipe, because of the way it made your shoulders drop. She didn’t say anything further, just started to dig in. Not a single comment about how you should watch your portion size, or if you really wanted to eat ‘all that’.
You glanced over at her.
Paige, who had taken your phone without making you feel helpless.
Paige, who gave you clothes, a bathroom, her bedroom if you wanted it.
Paige, who never made you beg.
Jared would’ve sulked. Would’ve asked why you weren’t grateful. Would’ve asked for something back and even more in return.
You looked down at your plate, swallowed hard, and whispered: “Thank you.”
She didn’t make it a thing. She just said, “You’re safe now.”
—
Warm sunrays made their way through the window, gently waking you up in warmth. Gone was the grey sky and rainy clouds from the last couple of days. The bed was so comfortably and warm that you didn’t even want to get up, but ultimately the small of eggs, bacon and toast managed to get you out of the bed.
You’d slept.
Not fitfully. Not half-alert. Not with one ear trained for footsteps.
Just... slept.
When you finally sat up and stretched, the couch groaned softly beneath you. Your muscles ached in that gentle way that meant you’d actually rested. No buzzing phone. No tension in your neck or jaw.
Just peace.
You padded toward the kitchen, the hoodie sleeves dragging past your fingertips, hair a mess, mouth dry and eyes still sticky with sleep.
Paige was already at the stove, moving around in socks and some old basketball shorts, humming something low and tuneless. She glanced over her shoulder when you appeared in the doorway.
“Morning.” Her voice came out rough, low and a bit gravely, still laced with sleep.
“I think I died.”
That made her grin. “Was it peaceful?”
You rubbed your face with both hands, then dropped into the nearest chair. “Mhmm.”
A minute later, she slid a plate in front of you: eggs, toast, something sweet on the side. Real food. A proper breakfast, not just a hurried protein bar like you usually had. She poured coffee into a second mug and set it gently in front of you.
You stared at the food for a beat before saying, “I thought you didn’t like coffee.”
“I don’t, but I know you love it.”
You snorted, but you could feel the heat rise to your cheeks, and just desperately hoped that the blonde didn’t notice.
After a few bites, you glanced at her. “I’m not used to this,” you admitted. “Being taken care of like this.”
She didn’t flinch.
“Well,” she said, “get used to it. ‘Cus I’m not going anywhere.”
You ate in silence, just a couple of giggles at how much she disliked coffee at every grimace.
Eventually, your voice dropped to a whisper. “I had enough saved to leave for a long time. I could’ve moved out, gotten my own place, months ago.”
Paige didn’t push. She just looked at you, steady and open. “Why didn’t you?”
Your gaze dropped to your plate. “Because I was scared. Not of him... not really. Just of what it would mean if I left and he didn’t even try to stop me. If he just let me go.”
You paused, shoulders curling in.
“I was scared of what that would say about me. That I gave so much to someone who never gave a damn back.”
Paige’s voice was low, certain. Her eyes told you she was being honest and not just trying to comfort you.
“It wouldn’t say anything about you. It would say everything about him.”
You looked up.
She hadn’t moved. Still steady. Still soft. Still here.
“You stayed because you cared,” she continued. “Because you loved him the way you wished he would love you back. That doesn’t make you weak.”
Your chest tightened.
“It made me feel stupid.”
“It makes you human.”
Your eyes burned. You blinked fast and stared hard at your coffee.
“I don’t know how to do this alone.”
She reached across the table. Not to take your hand, just to set hers down, palm up, close enough if you wanted it. “You’re not alone,” she said. “Not anymore.”
You hesitated. Then slid your hand into hers.
Her fingers closed around yours. She was warm, steady, grounding. She always had been. And that’s when it felt real. Like maybe you could actually begin again.
But this time not alone.
This was... something. Let me know what you think of this fic, it's a lot heavier then I usually write but I quite liked doing it.
Also, I have ideas for a fluffier part 2, where paige and reader like actually get together and shit
I know I said I'd get pt.2 done soon... but writers block has hit me hardddd. Adding to that I'm starting a new job this week an I am a stressed mess, I'm glad I can string some thoughts together as is.
All that being said, I'll try to get the second part done. No promises on when tho.
French players complaining that Germany didn’t deserve to win is such an ick. France literally had an extra person on the pitch for roughly two hours and couldn’t get the job done 😂
