"I don't suppose your Splenda's run out?" She says without preamble, shooting for nonchalance.

You raise your brows and pick up the kettle as it goes off. Her charade is worn and tried: there's a whole box of the stuff squirreled away in her office, sequestered in the third drawer of her desk. This is also a familiar game, but, this time, you don't play your usual part.

You let her question hang as you pour the water into your mug, steam fogging your skin. She leans against the counter and crowds your peripheral vision, a blur of dark hues and the rich, familiar scent of her perfume. You see her arms fold.

She waits, silent, the heat of her gaze burning holes into your face as you set the kettle back down and grab your tea bag, bobbing it in the hot water.

"You know," you muse, still watching your tea deepen, "if you wanted to see me, you could've just said so."

Her heat presses an inch closer. "That wouldn't be too unit-chiefly of me."

You laugh, lifting the tea bag out and tossing it in the trash. As if no one knows of these little visits she takes up, the five to ten minutes of indulgence, a little break where she's no one but yours.

As if you don't enjoy them enough to have the gall to tease.

Emily makes a low, displeased sound in the back of her throat. You bite down on your smile, leisurely reaching for the sugar, spooning it in, and stirring it through your tea. Only after you toss the spoon in the sink do you look back up at her, your amusement poorly hidden, voice low enough to stay trapped just between the two of you.

"What do you want, chief?" You coax, tilting your head. "Tell me."

Emily's eyes go dark, glimmering. She glances about the room—steady and thorough, scanning the open, exposed doorway—a faint flush staining her skin.

Your smile breaks free when she turns her gaze back to you. There's a particular kind of delight you feel when you toy with her like this—especially when she gives in, settles so neatly into the palm of your hand. She knows it, of course.

It still hasn't stopped either of you.

"I wanted to see you," she says lowly.

"That's all?"

Her eyes drop to your mouth. It's a pleasant, tingling heat, blooming under your skin.

"No," she concedes.

In the solace of your home, maybe, you'd have dragged it out. But you're not at home and she's looking too unfairly good and—your last straw—she wets her lip with the tip of her tongue, sends fresh color blooming, and, really, truly, you're not thinking as you hook your fingers into her lanyard, wrap it around your fist, and use it to tug her into you.

She makes a little sound, surprised and gasping against your mouth. The heat of it burns in your blood. You feel her neck tilt to follow the lanyard in your grip and you have to break the kiss sooner than you'd have liked, before the awareness that you're at work completely fizzles out and you get lost in the haze, taking her bottom lip between your teeth, nipping at it to pull another sound from her—

"You have to ask for what you want, Emily." Your voice is only slightly strained, pitched low for her ears.

Her cheeks are awash with a blush. She blinks, but you can still see the slight, dazed look in her eyes.

"You're mean," she murmurs.

"I don't think I am." You thumb at the smooth slip of the lanyard still wound around your fist. "See, you didn't even have to ask."

Emily's hand finds the counter behind you, her arm slinging around your side and encircling you in her warmth. "So this is what I get for wanting a—"

"Hey there, lovebirds." A voice greets cheerily.

Alvez.

Emily whips around, her arm dropping to her side, your fingers letting loose the smooth fabric. You needlessly pick up your mug of tea, pressing its hot edge to your mouth.

Luke's eyes dip to the crinkled edges of Emily's lanyard.

"What?" She demands.

"Oh, nothing." He says in that exaggerated way of his, drawling the words out and making a big show of looking down at his watch. "It's just—well, you've been missing for a while and the team was getting jittery."

"The team." Emily says flatly.

You hide your laugh in a stinging sip of tea.

"You're not often missing, is all," he explains, his tone grave, a bold-faced lie. It clashes entirely with the boyish gleam in his eyes, the little twitch in his mouth.

Emily rolls her own eyes and turns back around. "A person can't even pee anymore." She mutters, grabbing her mug.

"I mean, you don't usually pee on the eighth floor, is all I'm saying."

Emily's eyes shut closed, the skin of her cheeks still dusted pink. "Alvez," she says without turning back around, "if that's all you have to say, I suggest you go back to your desk, quietly, and find something more useful to do. I can list out everything in your backlog if you'd like."

Luke begins to say something, but Emily quickly shuts him down.

"And no detours to Penelope's."

His mouth snaps shut. He dips his head, his sheepish, smiling eyes sliding over to you.

"Yes, Ma'am."

'Ale, amor, are you still awake?' You whispered out into the darkness of the room. A sleepy hum came from in front of you along with a single deep breath out that always comes when your girlfriend is awake just enough. Barely conscious and coherent but awake enough.

Alexia didn't have training the next day so you felt less guilty about disturbing her sleep. Especially in the middle of the night where you'd normally just let her sleep, especially after she had a long day of training and sponsor duties, but tonight your brain was just refusing to settle.

You shifted slightly, getting more comfortable where you were tucked against her back. When Alexia had rolled onto her side to put her phone on the nightstand before trying to get some sleep, she had full intentions of turning back around and pulling you into her arms. Just like most nights where you slept tucked against her chest.

Instead, you'd beaten her to it, immediately attaching yourself to her back like a particularly needy koala. And now your head rested between her shoulder blades with your cheek pressed against the warm strip of skin exposed above her sleep shirt.

You'd made yourself comfy there and all your girlfriend could do was let out a soft laugh and let her body relax even more against the mattress, the warmth from your body wrapping around her like a soft blanket. Within minutes of being like that Alexia was out like a light.

At some point one of her arms had fallen back, her hand absentmindedly resting on your thigh. Despite being asleep she was still searching for you, to be even closer than she already was. You stayed there, tucked against her back, blanket up to your chin and one of her hoodies wrapped around you.

Her smell and warmth kept you physically calm even when your head wouldn't calm down as easily. So you continued scrolling on your phone, invested in doom scrolling tiktoks until your algorithm had fallen down a rabbit hole of guinea pig videos every couple swipes.

Not that you'd ever complain, they all in different ways reminded you of your own son, Tito, who was probably asleep in his little house that resided in your shared bedroom. That was your one condition when Alexia asked if you'd like to move in with her. Your bedroom wasn't just shared between you and her but your little fur baby too.

'Mi amor, look,' Alexia made a questioning kind of sound before you were lifting your phone over her shoulder so she could look at it.

She squinted and blinked a few times, rubbing her eyes before she could focus on what you were trying to show her. On the screen was a little guinea pig racing laps around an enclosure at almost impossible speeds.

'How cute is it? Doesn't he remind you of our own son,' You moved back a little when Alexia shifted so she was laying on her back. Her arm stretching out, silently inviting you into her embrace.

Settling against her side, you tucked yourself beneath her arm while she pulled you closer until your cheek was pressed against her shoulder.

'Mhm, exactly like Tito,' Alexia mumbled sleepily, still watching the video through squinted eyes, still very much trying to adjust to the new brightness suddenly in her face, 'Got the same amount of chaos,'

'And the same amount of intelligence,' You said after watching the little guinea pig on the video run into something and trip because of the little zoomies instead of avoiding it.

Alexia let out a sleepy laugh, 'Cariño, be nice,' She was defending your most likely curled up asleep guinea pig while he couldn't defend himself.

'I am being nice,' You protested, anything you said about Tito was of course said with affection, obviously, 'I'm just saying that sometimes I think he shares brain cells with a dill, nothing wrong with that or our son. He's...a cute kind of special,'

Alexia actually laughed at that. The sound was still rough with sleep, warm against the quiet darkness of the room. You immediately grinned, Alexia was properly awake and you were going to take advantage of that.

You continued scrolling and video after video. The guinea pig houses kept getting more and more elaborate, big and fancy. Some had different levels connected by ramps and little bridges, hideouts scattered everywhere, they genuinely looked like little mansions.

Alexia's eyes lingered on each one a little longer, you never noticed far too busy admiring the guinea pigs exploring their homes, 'Do you think Tito would like something like that?' She pointed towards one of the more elaborate, intricately built ones.

'Ale, I think he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he had something like that,' You laughed, 'Remember what he was like when we added in a new tunnel,'

------

'Hola Tito,' Your voice soft while you leaned down in front of Tito's little home. You'd left him there while you and Alexia went out to get some groceries. But of course the two of you got sidetracked and one thing led to another and suddenly you had bags of items you didn't even need.

There was this store you hadn't seen before in your area so naturally you both wanted to have a look around, that mentality is always dangerous, especially when the pet section was as big as it was in that new store.

'Mi hijo, mama y mami got you a present,' You reached in to hold up your little fur son, holding him close to your chest and gently stroking his little head.

'Cariño I think saying a present is misleading and definitely an understatement,' Alexia laughed, she was standing behind you holding an entire bag dedicated to everything you had bought for Tito.

You laughed softly, most of your attention staying on Tito who was happily in your arms, 'Ale, we can't give him everything at once though, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. So a present is a suitable saying right now,'

Alexia huffed out a laugh, the bag rustling while she set it on the ground, rummaging through it to find the one thing she really wanted to give Tito right now, 'Amor you say that now but in ten minutes you're going to be opening everything because you have no self control,'

You pouted, scrunching your eyebrows in a kind of glare towards Alexia. But really you were holding a guinea pig so how intimidating could you look right now, 'Mhmm you keep lying to yourself,' She pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Tito stayed unbothered towards your little argument while you rolled your eyes but leaned into Alexia when she wrapped an arm around your waist, leaning her chin on your shoulder, 'For someone who claimed they were pretty strictly a dog lover and was so unsure of the idea of a guinea pig or dating someone who has one, you ended up buying the most for this little guy,'

Alexia groaned and hid her face against your shoulder. She knew you weren't wrong but the second she met little Tito and seeing the way your face lit up and would light up whenever you would talk about him, that was all it took for her to fall in love with him too. Plus the little sounds he makes she thinks they are adorable.

There's really a lot to love about Tito.

'Anyway,' Alexia mumbled against your shoulder, trying to deflect away from her, 'Can we give him a gift now?'

You turned your head, a soft smile on your face while you nodded and left a little kiss to her lips. Tito wiggled his little nose, sniffing towards the new tunnel Alexia held up in front of him, 'For you mi pequeña favorita,'

You couldn't help but feel a warmth in your heart when you saw the two of them interact, she was so soft with him. You smiled as Tito was investigating the new gift before Alexia put it inside his little enclosure.

Watching him investigate for a minute before he started making little soft sounds and suddenly darted forwards, straight through it and out the other side. The way his excitement at this little new addition, you both just stood there watching him dart around and continuously through the tunnel. Every few runs he'd stop halfway in where his little backside was only visible.

------

'Oh would definitely lose his mind a little, hm,' Alexia smiled to herself remembering that day. That day you both definitely tried to not overwhelm your little son but seeing his excitement with that one gift, you just had to give him the rest.

'I'm going to ask him what he thinks,' You dropped your phone on Alexia's stomach and instantly threw the blankets off before you could be stopped from waking up Tito. All your girlfriend could do was watch you grab a very sleepy guinea pig who was definitely making it known with his little complaints, that he wasn't happy to be touched right now and wanted to be back asleep

She picked up your phone and continued watching through some of the videos, her mind turning while her sleepy eyes drifted from the videos in front of her to you coming back with Tito. And thinking while sleepy, that was something a bit dangerous. You realised you could get Alexia to do almost anything you wanted if she was tired enough, and on her own she can come up with some wild ideas.

'Aw look at my two sleepy babies,' You held up Tito so his face was right next to Alexia's slightly unimpressed but still very sleepy face. The unimpressed look quickly changing once you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as you settled back into the bed with your little potato.

'So Tito,' You laid your back against your pillows, letting him lay against your chest while you gently ran your finger along his back. A little nudge to Alexia's arm and a slight eyebrow raise from you had her lifting up the phone so Tito could see the screen, 'What do you think of this? Would you like something like this?'

Tito had barely any interest in the screen in front of him and instead made a little noise when you stopped lightly patting him. First complaining that you touched him and now complaining when you stopped, he was proving to be just as dramatic as the two people who raised him.

'Interesting,' You said as though you had just received a very important piece of information, your expression turning thoughtful as you looked down at Tito. You nodded to yourself once, almost like you were completely serious, 'Ale, he said he's too tired to care,'

Alexia immediately rolled her eyes, sharking her head as a quiet laugh escaped her lips. The sight of you laying in bed, in the middle of the night, pretending to translate the complaints of a grumpy guinea pig, it was something she never thought she'd get used to. She reached her hand out, her fingers gently scratching the top of Tito's head, happier little chutters instantly coming from your son.

Alexia smiled shifted into something far too smug, her eyebrows lifting as she looked over at you, a silent 'see, he likes me better right now,' written all over her face. Your eyes immediately narrowed and you let out a small huff before focusing your attention back to your son who was trying to settle further into your warmth.

'I'm sorry Ale decided to wake you up. I would never, you're safe here,' You cooed, your voice dropping into an overly sympathetic tone you always used with Tito whenever you were pretending he was being deeply wronged. All while slightly shifting him and yourself out of Alexia's reach.

Alexia's head snapped towards you, her eyebrows shooting upwards in disbelief. If there was still any indication of her being sleepy it was suddenly gone in an instant, 'What? Amor, I did not wake him,'

The offended look on her face made the corner of your mouth on one side turn upwards. You adjusted Tito a little higher against your chest, your fingers continuing their gentle strokes along his back, 'You asked the question! So really it's all you,'

Alexia shook her head, not even going to entertain whatever you were trying to start, as silly as it was. She just watched you get even more comfy and Tito start to fall asleep curled against your chest, 'Um, cariño, I'm afraid I'd squish Tito in my sleep,' Knowing exactly what was about to happen.

'Well Alexia,' You started off, 'There's a chair over there and a spare blanket in the bottom drawer,' Pulling the blanket up slightly higher, to make yourself even comfier, 'Bona nit, amor,'

------

'Umm, earth to Ale?…la reina…hello?' Kika waved her hand dramatically in front of Alexia's face while getting no reaction from her.

Alexia was stood in front of her locker in the dressing room, the girls were all getting changed and their things together after a long intense training session. It might've just been preseason but that doesn't change the intensity levels during training.

She was stood there while everyone filtered around her, hands on her hips, staring off into the distance. The problem was…she had been thinking far too much about those, basically, guinea pig mansions on those videos from the other night.

At first it was just a passing thought, one that for any other person might've just gone in and out without developing any deeper. But not for her. That one thought developed into wondering how difficult they could be to make and then wondering how much space Tito actually needed and if he might enjoy some place bigger with more tunnels and hideouts and toys and just space.

She started picturing how happy he might look, just like the first time she ever bought him something new. And then her harmless thought turned into, how hard could it be? and to her ending up days later sat in the middle of your shared apartment completely surrounded by materials being scattered around everywhere.

You had absolutely no idea this was even happening, it wasn't something Alexia had talked to you about, she also wanted to surprise you. A thought that settled deep in her stomach, all warm and nervous. The kind of feeling that made her smile without even realising it, only realising it when her cheeks started hurting.

Because despite everything, despite how long you'd been together and how many moments you'd already shared, you still managed to give her butterflies. Alexia would shake her head and claim it was stupid if anyone ever found out, while heat creeped up her neck.

Just the thought of your reaction alone, Alexia wasn't doing this just for Tito, even if she had become embarrassingly attached to the little fluffy potato as quickly as she did. But you were majority of the reason for every measurement she'd taken of the space in your bedroom and every piece of wood and materials she had bought.

You were away for a three day work conference, which originally felt like the perfect opportunity for Alexia to embark on her newest project. Plenty of time in her mind. She could build everything, set it all up in your bedroom, clean up the evidence and just wait for you, very impatiently, to walk back through the front door.

Well that had been the plan. The only problem is, this is Alexia, who had never built anything in her entire life. Not even a bookshelf or a simple table or one of those tiny pieces of furniture that came with instructions and like a handful of screws. She was out of her depth and had absolutely no idea what she was doing.

Yet somehow she had convinced herself that she could build, from scratch, a completely new enclosure, safe space, for Tito. A completely reasonable conclusion if she was being honest, she could do anything she put her mind to with football so how could this be any different?

The same woman who claimed she could cook whenever interviewers asked, even though it was quite clear that half the time she looked like she had no idea what was doing. You always would tease her when you'd see those interviews, very amused by her.

Because somehow every time Alexia stepped foot in the kitchen, she managed to avoid actually touching anything. Well apart from you, when she'd stand behind you and rest her head on your shoulder, wrapping her arms around your waist and giving you little kisses to your temple and cheek in a sort of encouragement and to make sure you knew she appreciates and loves you.

But when it came to actually cooking…well that was very questionable. Even when she claimed she could taste test whatever you were making when she walked through the front door after training. Even then you were usually the one lifting the spoon towards her, she hardly ever lifted a finger in the kitchen. Maybe just to wash up.

And now here she was attempting construction and that probably should have concerned her more than it did.

'Ale?' You called out, stepping foot in the front door. The apartment was weirdly quiet for a saturday afternoon. You were getting used to your shared apartment being the teams gathering place. And being preseason you were expecting a little more noise when you opened the front door.

Alexia's head shot towards the area of the front door. She was way too focused she had missed the sound of your keys in the door and the fact that it was time for you to be home already. Where did her three days go?

Three days later and she looked around at the state of the living room…

She panicked, trying to stand up and make her way to you before you rounded the corner of the entry way. Instead she ended up tripping over some pieces of wood that were stuck together in some abstract, Picasso looking way.

'Amor, are you-,' Your sentence died off when you rounded that corner. Alexia, now standing, biting her bottom lip and not looking directly at you while fidgeting with her fingers.

For a minute you just stood there, trying to take it all in and process the fact your living room looked like a hardwood store or maybe a pet store, a mix of both, decided to explode inside.

'No,' Finally finding her voice but still not really looking at you, 'Don't look at it,' She was pouting and walked a bit closer to you, holding out her arms like she could just suddenly hide everything and take back that you have in fact seen the state of your living room.

There wasn't anything you could do but let out a small puff of air, something kind of resembling a laugh, but it just made Alexia's frown deepen. You dropped your bags at your feet and reached out, she was close enough that you could pull her into your embrace by her belt loops.

You wrapped your arms around her and she instantly hid her face against your neck. Her body relaxed against yours. Attempting construction with no prior experience Alexia hadn't realised how tense it had made her after all these days and to finally have you back home. Even if her mind was majorly preoccupied, her body still missed you.

'Babygirl,' You spoke softly, rubbing her back gently and pressing your lips to the top of her head, 'Do you want to tell me what happened in here?' Alexia whined, the sound was muffled against your neck before she finally lifted her head enough to look up at you.

Her expression made your heart ache and your own expression softened dramatically. Because the girl in your arms, she genuinely looked so embarrassed. Alexia looked like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole right then and there. She looked like she wished she could go back and never even begin this idea in the first place.

Embarrassment wasn't something you saw on Alexia all that often. She was confident, self-assured, who carried herself with a level of certainty. She could be the leader that she was on and off the pitch and you always really admired her for it. To the point, even in your own job you mimicked those certain aspects of Alexia.

But standing here now, her grip tightening around the fabric of your shirt, she looked none of those things. She looked vulnerable and in a way that made your heart hurt far more than you cared for the state of the living room.

Alexia had tried, she had cared enough to try…well you still don't know what she was trying to accomplish yet. But her expression alone and the fact she didn't want you to see, you knew it meant something to her and in her mind she had failed.

'Ay, amor,' Your hand slid up to cup the side of her face, she immediately dropped her eyes, unable to hold your gaze for more than a second and that alone confirmed your thoughts, 'Look at me bebé,'

She shook her head a little, a deep sigh before she reluctantly tore herself out of your embrace. Not saying anything but grabbing your hand and guiding you towards the middle of the disaster zone, the one clear space where she had been sitting in.

'I thought it would be easier,' She sighed, picking up her ipad and pieces of paper she had scattered on the floor, handing them to you.

The more you looked through the pages of measurements and sketches and tabs with different relating videos, the more you saw the more your heart felt like it was melting out of your chest. This wasn't some random, impulsive mid weekend task or because she was bored without you home for a few days.

There was far too much thought put into everything, 'I'm sorry,' The smallness of her voice, your gaze moved from the sketches in your hands to your girlfriend who was now sitting on the floor.

She was too hard on herself sometimes. You reached out and gently brushed some hay that had made home in her hair, brushing a few strands behind her ear. Crouching down you pressed a kiss to her temple, 'No need to be sorry, I think this is so sweet and I thought I couldn't love you more but you always seem to prove me wrong,'

You put everything down and pressed your forehead to her head, 'By the way, where is Tito?' You'd been so caught up in everything you had almost forgotten about your son and you were hoping that Alexia hadn't forgotten about him the three days you'd been away and she'd been focused on her task.

'Over there,' Alexia pointed towards where she had moved his home from your bedroom to the living room, 'He's been supervising,' A tiny smile cracked on her lips while she talked about your little potato who was happily eating some fruits and vegetables, 'Definitely the reason I managed to make it this far with this project,'

When the frustration tried to win, Alexia would get up and hope Tito would let her have a few minutes of cuddles or she would give him some food. Watching the way his little mouth moved while he ate, it made the difficult moments seem less difficult. She really had become quite obsessed with the little guy so quickly and so deeply.

'Tito,' You stood up making your way to where he was, 'How could you let mami make such a mess,' You were messing around and Alexia knew that but she still groaned and covered her face anyway.

Tito just looked at you and ran away, not before taking a piece of strawberry with him. He liked to pretend he didn't know you whenever you returned after a few days of being away for work. Making it known that he wasn't happy with your choices.

Shaking your head you turned back around towards Alexia, 'Don't worry Ale, why don't we do this together,'

Alexia immediately shook her head, 'But this was supposed to be a surprise,' The disappointment in her voice was still there.

You made your way back towards her, kneeling and taking one of her hands in your own, squeezing it gently. Alexia's fingers immediately intertwined with yours on instinct, seeking comfort without even thinking about it.

'Well amor, you could say I am quite surprised,' You smiled softly, and finally you managed to make her laugh. It was barely audible but you heard it, and that was enough for you to stand up, pulling her up with you.

She first started imagining what you would do if you were here. You would probably start with pulling her into you, being incredibly mindful of her now-broken body, and whisper sweet words into her ear. If that didn’t work, you would probably move onto your next move, scratching lightly up and down her back, fingers tracing along the smooth expanse of muscle. 

“Well,” you would probably mutter, voice tired but determined. “There’s something else that always makes you sleepy.” You would say it in that voice. That honey-like voice that made Ona weak at the knees. That voice that sent shivers down her spine and lit a fire in her belly. 

Ona chalked it up to that. She was horny. You had been gone for four days at this point, and the week before that she hadn’t exactly been in the sexy kind of mood. Normally, longer periods without sex wasn’t really an issue for you too. If there ever was a time when you two went without for a couple of days, or longer, it was probably because you were too busy at a tournament or camp to entertain anything along those lines. 

But now, Ona was alone, and injured, and really fucking horny. 

She let her memories filter into her head. 

You had just got home from celebrating another important win. The drinks had been flowing and the music loud as you danced the evening away. You were both as bad as each other honestly, your hands wondering, her hands searching. Thank god for dark night clubs. 

It was now very much early morning, but you and Ona had anything other than sleep on your mind. Coming home had been a struggle to keep your composure. You were fairly sure the taxi driver would not appreciate watching, and you certainly didn’t want to have an audience. Ona however, didn’t seem to care all that much as she tugged your hand to rest dangerously high on her thigh and keep her legs a little too open, considering the company you were in.

Your lips worked gently along her skin, finding that sweet spot that had had whining in moments, her hands tangled in your hair. “Careful, bubba.” You teased, your voice low and muffled. 

“Don’t wanna be careful.” Ona pouted, using your momentary lapse to pull you back to her. You chuckled, but went willingly enough.

“Be careful what you wish for, my love,” you mumbled against her lips, kissing her happily. 

Slowly, far too slowly for Ona’s liking, you began working on the buttons that held her dress together. You kept stopping, allowing yourself to feel her bare skin or squeeze her lacy bra-covered boob. Eventually, the fabric dropped to the floor, your shirt following suit a little while later. 

“You’re taking too long.” She whined, arching into your touch as you lay down against the pillows. 

“Oh am I now?” You teased, a smile dancing on your lips. 

“Sí,” she declared, straddling you. 

“I don’t think I am, bubba.” Your hands roamed the bare skin of her waist. “You see,” your hand dropped lower, squeezing a fistful of her arse. “I think I’m going at just the right speed.” You leant forward, licking a line up the side of her neck. Ona’s breath stuttered audibly as her hands tangled gripped your shoulder tightly. “I’ve got a pretty girl, all worked up, straddling on my lap.” Your other hand crept up her back, following her spine and expertly undid her bra in one swift move. “And now my pretty girl is just in her knickers. And I’m shirtless.” You helped her slide the straps off her shoulders and drop it to the floor. “And we’ve only been home about 20 minutes.” 

“20 minutes too long,” Ona whined, well aware that she sounded like a brat right not. 

“My apologies, mi princesa,” you conceded all too quickly. Carefully you rolled both of you over. Oh, the joys of dating a professional athlete. “I think you need to learn the importance of taking your time.” Gently, you smoothed some of her hair away from her forehead. “Of building …” you pressed a kiss to her collarbone. “Of working up slowly …” another kiss to the valley in between her breasts. “Of enjoying the moment.” You kissed right above her naval. 

Ona whined, arching into you as you hand smoothed down her leg. “Nuh-uh-uhh,” you tutted, bringing yourself back level with her face. “Let me take my time, bubba.” You kissed her soundly, letting your body weight rest on hers slightly. “I promise it will be worth it.” You winked wickedly.

Ona knew that if she stayed in bed, she would never find sleep. Even though she really didn’t feel like moving, maybe a change of scenery would help the situation. Ona hadn’t quite got the hang of the crutches just yet, every step was clunky and for the first time, she was glad you weren’t here to be woken up by her noise. 

The living room was exactly how she left it - messy and very much not up to her, or your, usual standards. But Ona couldn’t really care. She (carefully) flopped down onto the couch. The couch that she had argued with you over not needed because ‘why would we need an ‘L-shaped’ one?’ And you had just insisted ‘in case we are injured and/or sick, Oni’, kissing her cheekily. As much as it pained her to admit it, you were right. The almost comically-large couch was magical when you both wanted, or needed depending on the situation, to stretch out but you didn’t want to gravitate to the bedroom yet.

But now, with Ona’s mind already caught up on … other … things, she couldn’t help but remember some of the more interesting things that had happened on the couch. 

You were lying on the couch, half asleep, half listening to the random cooking show that was playing quietly on the TV. Ona was on top of you, her face smushed against your neck, her legs tangled with yours. 

You felt her place a few light kisses on your skin, nothing crazy but definitely working up in intensity. Instinctively, your hands tightened in her hair, keeping her exactly where you wanted her. 

“Bubba,” you giggled, your voice breathy and light as she sucked a pink mark just under your ear. 

“Sí?” She asked, voice dripping with innocence. 

“What are you doing?” You shifted, pulling her tighter to you. 

“Nothing,” you felt Ona rock her hips gently as you moaned at the feeling of her lips against your skin. 

“Oh really?” 

“Um-hm,” she squeaked, rocking more intensely this time. 

“Well, if you aren’t doing anything, you wouldn’t mind if I …” you shifted your thigh, pulling her to straddle it properly. “Move?” 

You heard her groan as your hands found her hips, gently guiding her movements. 

“Insatiable,” you teased. It was true, Ona had a massive sex drive, one that you thoroughly enjoyed making use of. “C’mon, bubba,” you coaxed. “I’m letting you use me like the puta sucia that you are.” Dirty slut You felt the shudder that rippled through Ona’s body at your words. 

Slowly, she lifted her head, eyes finding yours as she continued her rocking. Pleasure surged through her veins as the fabric of her underwear brushed over her clit again and again. You flexed your thigh, smiling at the gasp she let out.

“Tan buena,” so good she mumbled. 

“Yeah? Feel good, bubba?” She nodded, letting her eyes slip shut. “Keep going, let yourself feel it.” Ona was rocking harder now, faster, more frenzied as she felt the bubble tightening in her belly. 

“Voy a correrme,” I’m going to cum, she whined after another minute or two. She looked a sight. Her hair messy from your hands, the shirt she was wearing barely covered anything, and just a pair of knickers. Her body arched and bowed as electricity sizzled through her. 

“Be my good girl, bubba. Keep going.” Your voice was husky and low, only adding to the fire for Ona. She whined again, swearing softly as she gripped onto your forearm. 

“Cum for me, Oni.” You ordered. Her body curved one final time as she let her orgasm wash over her. You continued to guide her as the aftershocks rippled through. “So pretty, bubba. My sexy girl.” You smiled, lifting one hand away from her hips to cup her jaw and bring her to kiss you. 

It was a few moments later, when Ona finally got her breath back that she started kissing you more fervently. Her tongue lightly traced along your lower lip before she bit down gently.

“Your turn,” she mumbled, her hands already bunching up the fabric of your shirt. 

“You sure, bubba?” You asked. Whilst you would love nothing more to continued the way things were going, you knew that Ona was tired - that had been her fourth orgasm of the morning and you had only woken up a few hours ago. 

“More than,” she reassured you, lowering herself to settle between your thighs. You thanked the stars that you had argued for a larger couch, although your leg did still drop off the side as you spread yourself for her. 

She snapped at the waistband of your boxers, chuckling lowly at the way you jumped. She littered a few teasing kisses along your hipbone.“Oni,” you warned. “Where’s my good girl gone, hey?” You smoothed her hair down, tracing delicately along her cheekbone. 

“I’m right here,” she grumbled. 

“Hmm, I don’t know,” you shrugged, smiling at her as she helped to pull your underwear down your legs and throw them across the room. “Why don’t you put that mouth of yours to good use, yeah?” She nodded enthusiastically. 

If there was one thing Ona loved to do, was to eat you out. It didn’t happen that often, usually you had your tongue on her or came together whilst using the strap. But when you did, Ona knew exactly what to do. 

She started slowly, leaving a couple of kisses on your inner thighs that would no doubt turn into pretty blue bruises before the end of the day. You hand curled in her hair, gripping almost painfully as she licked a broad stripe up your pussy. 

Her lips curled around your clit, giving you the most delicious pressure as you curled into her. “Just like that,” you breathed, allowing the sensations to flood your body. 

She hummed throatily, sending a jolt through you. “Oh, my god,” you moaned, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your head drop. “So good, bub, so, so good, fuck.” She was alternating between gentle sucks, kitten licks and longer, more purposeful ones. 

“Fingers?” She asked quietly when she pulled her head away for a moment. 

“Yes, yes, yes, use your fingers, bubba. Make me cum, ok? Show me how good you can make me feel, my love.” She smiled broadly at you before rearranging herself and carefully gathering some of your wetness. 

Ona winked cheekily at you as she guided her finger inside, watching in awe at the ease in which it went in. 

“You’re wet,” she stated.

“All,” you swallowed, gasping at the rhythm she set. “All for you, bubba. Only for you.” She smiled again and leaned back down, adding the most perfect suction to your clit. 

It wasn’t long before you felt the band tighten in your belly and your toes began to curl against her back. At some point, she had added a second finger, stretching you out deliciously. “Oni,” you whined, arching your hips as you met her movements steadily. “Gonna cum, bubs,” you warned. “Don’t stop. Fuck, Ona.” 

You came with an explosion of light and sound, the world brightening for a moment as a tsunami for pleasure coursed through your veins. Your back arched and hands tugged almost painfully against Ona’s roots. She, naturally, guided you through it, humming happily as the after effects rippled through you. 

When you had finally caught your breath, you used your hand that was still in her hair to gently pull her back up to you. You pressed your lips messily to hers, tasting yourself on her tongue as you grinned. “Insane, baby.” You mumbled. 

“So it was good?” She checked almost nervously. 

“Good?” She nodded, looking a little shy. “Bubba, you are magic, you know that.” You ran a nail along her hip, following the line of her underwear. “My best girl.”

“Yours.” 

“Forever, and always.”

04:30

Ona groaned, rubbing her legs together. Moving to that couch had probably made the situation worse. She huffed. She knew, realistically, that a simple text and all of her issues could very well be sorted. Maybe it was her pride, or maybe it was the small little niggle in the back of her mind. She might receive a lighthearted joke from you about her needing you but she knew that it was all in the name of love. 

Snatching at her phone, Ona pulled up all the remedies to try to go to sleep. Slow, deep breaths - well, she had tried that around 11 pm. Muscle relaxation - not that Ona would do much given her boot but she had tried around 1 am. Thinking happy thoughts … those thoughts had given into something a lot less PG than originally anticipated. Drink something warm and non-caffeinated. Ona was fairly sure there was a box of peppermint tea somewhere in the kitchen. 

Sighing, she grabbed at the crutches, hauling herself to her feet and limping into the kitchen. 

As she was waiting for the kettle to boil, Ona’s mind, naturally, drifted to her main focus of the evening. You. And her.

“Our new home,” Ona smiled, her hands resting on the counter top. 

“I like the sound of that,” you added, slipping behind her and wrapping your hands around her waist. “We, us, our.” You gave her three little kisses to her shoulder. 

Ona melted into you, letting you take most of her weight. “I don’t want to be that couple that can’t do anything alone though,” she added. 

“We won’t be,” you vowed. “But, I am saying, you might want to cancel plans for the next few days … or weeks.”

“Por qué?” Why she titled her head back to look at you. 

“Because,” you said, drawing out the word. “We,” you emphasised again. You untangled yourself, turning her around and letting your hands drop to her waist to press her up against the cabinet. “Have things to do.” You kissed her gently, letting your love pour into it. You felt Ona relax again, her hands coming around your neck and playing with the baby hairs there. 

“Th-things?” She said breathlessly once you had separated. 

“Things.” You nodded, pulling her back in. 

“What things? I didn’t think we had plans.” 

“Oh, lots of plans,” you smiled, a knowing glint in your eye as you began to rub gently along Ona’s waist with your thumb. 

“Since when?” 

“Since you agreed to move in with me.” 

“Qué?” What? She was confused as to what you were hinting at.

“Well …” You locked eyes with her, smiling at the wide chocolate brown that stared back at you. Ona blinked dizzily, you were awfully close, and you were still doing that maddening rhythm with your thumb. “It’s only right that we … christen … the house.” You lifted her up, setting her down gently and stepping in between her legs. 

“Christen?” 

“Sí, christen.” You kissed her cheek. “We have this beautiful island,” you knocked gently on the stone countertop. “And I think I know what I want my first meal to be.” 

You could tell the moment realisation dawned on her. Her coffee coloured eyes widened and a pretty pink blush stained her cheeks. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” You quirked an eyebrow. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” You reassured her, smoothing some of her loose hair behind her eyes. 

“I know, but it’s not a bad ‘oh’.” Ona blinked. “I want to.” 

“Sure, bubba?” 

She was already nodding before you finished your sentence. “I’m sure.”

“Promise me?” You double checked.

“Prometo,” I promise she licked her lips. “On Coco’s life.” Ona added. 

“Damn,” you teased. “If you want me that badly, you should have said something earlier.”

“Callarse la boca,” shut up, she groaned. 

“Careful, bubba.” You warned, your voice taking on that edge that sent tingles through Ona’s body. You reached up, carefully cupping her jaw. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” you angled her head to force her to look at you. “I’m going to kiss you for a bit, and then I’m going to take off your shorts, and you’re going to lie back and just feel, ok? And you’re going to let me enjoy me first meal in our new kitchen.” Ona smiled, nodding at the tone of command in your voice. 

“Sí, bebé.” She whispered.

Gently, you brought yourself to her, slotting your lips against hers and revelling in the taste of her vanilla lip balm and something so uniquely Ona. It was your favourite thing in the whole world. 

You weren’t too sure how long you kissed Ona for. It may have been five minutes or five hours. Time had a habit of disappearing whenever Ona was involved but you didn’t really care. 

“Por favor, mi amor.” She muttered against your lips as she arched into you, pressing her chest against yours. “I’m begging.”

“Oh, bubba,” you cooed, letting just a hint of patronising laughter bubble through. “If this is you begging, then you need to do better.” You kissed the corner of her mouth. “I thought I taught you better than this.”

You could see the impact your words had on her, the way her eyes fluttered shut at your mocking words, the way she hummed quietly. “Por favor,” she whispered. “Please.” 

“Tell me what you want, my love.” You thumbed along her collarbone. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

“You,” she gasped as your tongue made contact with her neck.

“What about me?” You grinned, enjoying teasing her a little bit. 

“Please,” she whined again, her hands tightening in your hair. 

“C’mon, bubs. Use your words.” You felt her swallow. She tugged at your roots, causing you to lift you head and abandon the bruise you were in the middle of sucking into her pale skin. She waited until you locked eyes with her. 

“Quiero tu boca sober mí. Usa tu lengua … tus dedos. Por favour, mi amor.” I want your mouth on me. Use your tongue … your fingers. Please, mi amor. You were shocked at how upfront Ona was. Usually, it took a few rounds of probing, forcing her to say her desires with that gentle demanding tone she loved so much. 

“Your wish is my command, bubba.” You smirked, giving her one final kiss before trailing down her body. 

You looked up as your hands reached the waistband of her shorts, silently questioning. She smiled and nodded, gently scratching at your scalp. That was something Ona loved about you, how you were always doing check-ins with her. And not just during sex either - as you went about your daily life, at work, when you were on the bus travelling somewhere, you were always looking out for her, asking if she was ok, or silently checking in. She had never had such an attentive partner before. 

You took your time sliding the shorts and knickers off of Ona’s body, kissing your way down one leg as you went before working you way back up the other. 

“Lie back, bubba,” you instructed. She did what you asked, feeling unashamed as you stared down at her open legs. 

Ona was wet; you could see her slick glinting in the dim early evening light. You smiled, feeling a bubble of pride well in your chest. You didn’t need to ask her who that was for. “My pretty girl,” you mumbled as you placed on hand on her lower stomach, feeling the way she clenched her abs. Her hand settled on top of yours, gripping tightly as she used your touch to ground herself. “Let yourself feel good, my love.” You breathed, letting the cool air hit her clit. She jumped slightly. “Cum whenever you need to, ok.” You pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. “And be loud. Let the neighbours know exactly who their new friends are.”

Ona tasted salty-sweet on your tongue. You hummed gently, sending a lightening bolt through her. You knew Ona like the back of your hand, knowing exactly where to touch and where to avoid, how much pressure to give and when to move you tongue. You started off gently, nothing crazy, just testing the waters. She moaned quietly. 

A satisfied thrum rushed through you as you picked up the intensity - relishing in the way that Ona got louder with every moment. Even though you couldn’t see her face, you could imagine the blissed out look that was carved in her features - the way her eyes rolled back in her head, the way she thrashed from side to side, the way her mouth hung open with every moan and gasp. 

“Oh, mierda,” shit, she whined, her thighs tightening around your head as you carefully eased a finger inside her. “Así como así,” just like that. Ona met your rhythm easily, her body arching and bowing instinctively as she let the pleasure wash over her. You added a second, expertly twisting your fingers and hooking them in the way that sent her hurtling towards the edge. 

Her heels dug into your shoulder, urging you for more, for anything. Desperately, she clung to your hand that was still resting on her pubic bone, using the other to grasp at her own chest. 

“Amor,” she whined, drawing out the word. “Oh, merda .” fuck She was babbling now, a random mix of Spanish and Catalan. “Estic a prop, tan a prop.” I’m close, so close. The bubble in Ona’s belly was close to burst, just a few more moments and she would be flying. “Me voy a correr!” I’m going to cum! She warned, yelling now.

You didn’t dare stop, you kept everything the same, relishing at the high keen she let out as she soared over the edge. You could feel her stomach tighten and her legs try to close as you guided her through it. 

The kettle clicked, startling Ona back into the present. Just as she was pouring the boiled water into your favourite mug, her phone flashed. 

At eighteen, Y/N had already possessed the long, protective limbs of a classic La Masia centre-back, her frame broad but lean, her eyes carrying that quiet, watchful seriousness that would later make her famous in Munich. She owned a battered, silver 2004 Volkswagen Golf, a hand-me-down from her father that smelled of damp football boots and pine-scented air freshener. That car had become a sanctuary.

Alexia was seventeen, a prodigy spending her season at Levante, her life split down the middle by the high-speed AVE train tracks between Valencia and Barcelona. Jaume’s heart was failing in a clinical room on the fourth floor of the Hospital Clínic, and Alexia was a storm of silent, volatile panic.

"She won’t sit down” Eli had whispered to Y/N in the corridor, her voice cracked, her small hands wringing a paper tissue into grey dust. "She comes straight from the station, she looks at her father, and she looks like she wants to punch the walls, Y/N. Talk to her. Please."

Y/N had found her in the stairwell, her fingers fisted into the fabric of her tracksuit trousers, her jaw locked so tight the muscle was white. When Y/N approached, her long strides silent on the concrete, Alexia didn't look up. She was vibrating with an ugly, defensive anger—the frantic, desperate fury of a girl watching the anchor of her world slip beneath the surface.

"I have to go back to Valencia on Tuesday” Alexia said, her voice sharp, a jagged edge cutting through the dim light. "The club wants me at the training schedule. My dad is... he’s lying there with tubes in his neck, and they want me to run laps."

"You’re not going to Valencia on Tuesday, Ale” Y/N said softly, stepping into her space, her tall frame blocking the cold draft from the fire door.

"You don't know what they’re like"

"I’ll drive you” Y/N interrupted, her tone absolute, devoid of the hesitation that usually governed teenagers. "Every day. If you need to see him at six in the morning before they change the shifts, we leave at five. If you need to sit in the back of my car and scream for an hour, I’ll park behind the industrial estate. But you aren't doing the train alone anymore."

Alexia’s head snapped up, her green eyes wide, dark, and defensive. "Why are you being like this? Everyone is looking at me like I’m about to break. My mum, Alba... they’re crying all the time. I have to keep it together for them, Y/N. I can't be... I can't be soft."

"You don't have to be anything with me” Y/N murmured. She reached out, her fingers catching Alexia’s wrist, pulling her gently until the smaller girl’s forehead bumped against Y/N’s collarbone. "I’m your defender, remember? I clear the ball. You just stand here."

For three days, the silver Golf was the only thing moving between Mollet and the hospital. Y/N drove in silence, her hand resting on the gear stick, her thumb occasionally reaching over to touch the edge of Alexia’s knee whenever the traffic stalled on the Diagonal. She bought the thick, plastic cups of coffee from the waiting room machines, she kept Alba quiet with magazines, and she stood outside Jaume’s room like a sentinel, ensuring the extended family didn't crowd the bed when Alexia needed to hold her father’s hand in private.

When the line finally went flat on that Tuesday afternoon in late May, the world didn't end with a bang. It ended with the soft, wet sound of Eli collapsing against the doctor’s white coat, and Alba’s sharp, rhythmic sobbing.

Alexia didn't cry. She stood at the foot of the bed, her face a grey marble mask, her hands jammed into her pockets. She looked completely hollow, a child who had locked the door to her own house from the inside and thrown the key into the sea.

During the wake and the funeral, Alexia moved like a ghost, her posture stiff, answering the condolences of the Barcelona board and the Levante staff with short, polite nods. She was protecting her mother; she was being the strong one, the athlete, the future icon who couldn't afford to crumble because her family needed an iron pillar.

But when they returned to the house in Mollet, and the last relatives had left the kitchen with their empty tupperware, the silence became a physical weight. Alexia went straight to her room, clicked the lock, and didn't come out for thirty-six hours.

It was Y/N who stayed. She didn't ask Eli for permission; she simply moved her duffel bag into the hallway, slept on the low sofa in the lounge, and took over the kitchen.

On the third morning, Y/N stood by the counter, looking at a tub of plain Greek yogurt Eli had bought. She knew Alexia hadn't eaten anything but dry toast in three days. Her stomach was a knot of grief, her mouth constantly sour from the acid of stress.

Y/N took a wide ceramic bowl. She added three large scoops of the thick yogurt, sliced two green apples into perfect, thin segments, and then found a jar of dark rosemary honey in the back of the cupboard. She swirled the golden thread over the white surface until it looked like an intricate, modernist design the kind she would later tattoo onto her own arm. She added a side plate of cold, crisp spinach salad with a tiny drop of lemon juice to cut the heaviness.

She knocked on Alexia’s door. No answer.

"Ale” Y/N said, her voice low against the wood. "I’m coming in. If you throw a boot at my head, make sure it’s a left one. My right eye is my good one and I still want to be footballer."

She used a plastic card to slide the latch a trick she’d learned in the La Masia facilities and pushed the door open. The room was dark, the blinds pulled tight against the brilliant Catalan sun. Alexia was curled on her side in the middle of the bed, still wearing the black t-shirt from the funeral, her knees tucked against her chest.

Y/N set the tray on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the mattress. She didn't tell her to get up. She simply leaned over, her long arms reaching into the tangle of sheets, and pulled Alexia backward until the midfielder’s spine was pressed against Y/N’s chest, her long legs framing Alexia’s smaller body.

"I'm not hungry" Alexia whispered, her voice rough, dead, and small.

"I know" Y/N murmured, her lips pressing a soft, warm kiss onto the crown of Alexia’s head. She picked up the spoon, dipped it into the honey and yogurt, and held it near Alexia’s lips. "But you’re going to eat three spoonfuls because I spent ten minutes making the honey look like a Barcelona jersey, and if you don't appreciate my art, I’ll tell the girls you prefer Real Madrid."

A tiny, wet sound escaped Alexia halfway between a sob and a laugh. She turned her head slightly, her lips parting to take the food. The sweetness of the honey hid the sourness of the dairy, smooth and cold against her throat.

"More please" Y/N commanded gently, feeding her like a child, her large hand resting steady against Alexia’s hip, grounding her in the dark room.

When the bowl was half empty, Alexia suddenly dropped the spoon, turned completely around in Y/N’s arms, and buried her face into the crook of the defender’s neck. Her fingers fisted into Y/N’s grey training top, her nails digging through the cotton into the skin of her shoulder.

And then, finally, the sky broke.

The sobs were violent, silent at first, then loud and desperate, shaking Alexia’s entire frame until she was trembling like a wet leaf in a winter gale. She cry for Jaume, she cry for the trains she had to take, she cry for the weight of her family’s future on her teenage shoulders.

Y/N didn't say a single word. She simply tightened her grip, her large, powerful arms wrapping around Alexia’s waist, pulling her up onto her lap until Alexia was completely tucked against her broad chest. She rocked her back and forth on the mattress, pressing dozens of small, firm, peppered kisses onto her temples, her wet eyelids, her burning cheeks.

"I've got you, Petita” Y/N whispered into her hair, her own eyes hot with tears she refused to let fall. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. Never. You can't get out of me easily" and you give her a kiss

They stayed on that bed for days. Y/N only left to fetch water or to show Eli that Alexia was safe. When the night came, they would slide down under the duvet, their fingers intertwined, Y/N’s chest acting as a shield against the ghosts of the house.

By the time July arrived, Alexia’s signing with Barcelona Femení was made official. It was a bittersweet return home, a dream Jaume had always wanted to see. That same summer, Y/N was promoted from the youth academy to the first-team squad, her defensive solidity making her indispensable for the upcoming season.

On the day of their joint debut at the old Mini Estadi, as they stood in the tunnel waiting to walk out under the fierce sun, Alexia looked back at Y/N. She was wearing the number 11 shirt, her face pale but determined.

Y/N walked up behind her, her long fingers catching the collar of Alexia’s jersey, pulling it straight with a practiced, domestic efficiency. She leaned down, her lips brushing the shell of Alexia’s ear.

"The salad is in the fridge for after the match” Y/N murmured. "Go show them who Jaume’s girl is."

In 2013, a year after Jaume’s death, they had gone to a small beach house in Cadaqués to celebrate the end of the season. They were young, flushed with the freedom of their first professional contracts, and thoroughly drunk on sweet Catalan vermouth.

Alexia had been sitting on the edge of the old wicker sofa, her hair loose, her eyes dark and heavy with an intense, unprompted heat that Y/N had never seen before. She had spent the entire evening watching Y/N’s mouth, her own breath short.

"Y/N” Alexia had whispered, her voice rough as she reached out and pulled the defender down by her collar. "Stop talking about the Levante match. Just... shut up."

It had been their first time. It was a clumsy, desperate, and utterly shattering encounter on the old sheets of the beach house. Alexia had been completely wild, her hands fisting into Y/N’s hair, her body arching against the defender’s with a fierce, submissive hunger that left bruises on Y/N’s hips. It was the first time for both of them, a raw exploration where the boundaries of friendship were completely burned away.

The next morning, the panic had set in. They sat at the kitchen table, their faces pale, the air thick with tension.

"We don't talk about this” Alexia had said quickly, her eyes fixed on her coffee cup, her fingers trembling. "We’re teammates, Y/N. If we... if we spoil this, I don't know what I’d do without you."

"Okay” Y/N had replied, her heart breaking quietly behind her handsome, calm mask. "We don't talk about it."

But they didn't stop. That was the secret the rest of the world never guessed. Every two or three years, when the pressure became too much, or when they found themselves alone in a hotel room during a long pre-season tour, the thread would snap. They would roll into each other’s arms with an ancient, silent hunger, their mouths memorizing each other’s skin, only to return to the safety of "best friends" the following morning.

The years that followed were a blur of silverware, trophies, and an international reputation that grew until the name Putellas was a global currency. But as the stadium lights grew brighter, the space around Alexia became smaller, crowded with sponsors, agents, and an endless queue of people who wanted a piece of the captain’s time.

Except for Y/N.

To the rest of the world, Alexia was the professional who never showed weakness, the woman who handled press conferences with the ice-cold detachment of a politician. But to Y/N, she remained the girl who hated plain yogurt and couldn't sleep without a heavy down pillow.

They were ridiculous, really. For over a decade, everyone in the Spanish football ecosystem assumed they were a couple. They lived in each other’s pockets; they shared a language of small, casual touches that looked entirely domestic to any outsider.

When the squad went out to celebrate a victory in Madrid, and the younger players were busy flirting with influencers in the VIP lounges, Alexia would invariably look for Y/N.

"Y/N” she would say, tugging at the sleeve of the defender’s oversized black jacket. "There’s a dream-pop gig in a tiny basement in Gràcia next Thursday and are playing an acoustic set. Only fifty tickets."

"We’re playing Athletic Bilbao on Wednesday, Ale” Y/N would reply, her fingers already sliding into her pocket to retrieve her phone.

"I know. But I want to go."

"Then we’re going” Y/N would laugh, her thumb already texting her contact in Barcelona to secure the corner table near the stage where Alexia wouldn't be spotted by the crowds.

They would drive back to the city in Y/N’s car which had upgraded from the old Golf to a sleek, dark Audi, though the smell of leather and clean laundry remained the same. They would eat at that tiny, unpretentious Japanese tavern in the Sants district that Alexia had spotted on an obscure food blog the one with the low wooden tables and the old chef who didn't care about the Ballon d'Or. Y/N would spend the entire dinner watching Alexia talk about the lyrics of a song, her blue-gray eyes soft, her large hand resting on the back of Alexia’s chair, occasionally brushing against her shoulder with an easy, unhurried warmth.

"You're falling asleep, Y/N” Alexia’s voice would hum from the speaker, her green eyes narrowed through her own reading glasses.

"I’m not” Y/N’s deep voice would rumble back from Germany, her long frame tucked under a heavy duvet. "The guy with the mustache just killed the uncle. I'm watching."

"The guy with the mustache is the detective, you idiot” Alexia would chuckle, her face softening as she watched Y/N’s eyelids heavy. "Go to sleep, amore. You have training at eight."

The reason they hadn't become girlfriends earlier was a collective, stubborn piece of teenage stupidity. They had convinced themselves that the "friendship" was too precious to risk. They had built a wall of safety around their intimacy, terrified that if they put an official label on it, the magic would dissolve under the weight of expectations.

But the reality was far more complicated, and far more volatile.

In 2018, the architecture of their safety net faced its first physical fracture. During a winter match against Atletico Madrid, Y/N went up for an aerial clearance and was checked mid-air by a forward. She landed awkwardly, her entire weight crashing down onto her left forearm against the hard, frozen turf.

The sound of the radius bone snapping was audible from the bench.

The operation at the hospital was a disaster. Y/N had an undiagnosed, acute allergic reaction to the primary anesthetic agent, her heart rate spiking into a dangerous arrhythmia that left her in the intensive care unit for forty-eight hours before the surgeons could even set the bone. When she finally woke up, her left arm was encased in a massive, silver external fixator—a monstrous contraption of metal rods and carbon pins drilled straight through her skin into the bone to keep the alignment.

She was ruled out for five months. For an elite athlete, it was a living hell.

Alexia had nearly lost her mind. She couldn't stay in the hospital room overnight because of the club’s strict curfew during the Champions League knockout stages, but her presence was a constant, rhythmic pressure.

If she wasn't in the room, her voice was on the phone.

"Y/N” the FaceTime screen would blink open at eleven at night, Alexia sitting in her empty apartment, her face tight with worry. "Did the nurse change the dressings around the pins? Is it leaking? Eli says we should bring you some of the homemade broth to help the bone knit."

"Ale, I’m in a private clinic with three specialists” Y/N would dryly reply, her voice weak from the medication, her right hand holding the phone steady. "The pins are fine. The metal looks quite cool, actually. Makes me look like a Terminator."

"Don't be stupid” Alexia snapped, though her eyes were wet. "You look like a broken lamppost. If they don't give you the proper pain clearance, I’ll call the head of medicine myself."

"Focus on the Lyon match, Petita” Y/N said softly, her thumb brushing the screen where Alexia’s cheek was. "I'm not going anywhere."

In the summer of 2021 they had gone to Bali. It was a last-minute, chaotic decision. The rest of the squad Mapi, Patri, Jenni had planned a massive group trip to Ibiza, but Alexia had looked at Y/N during the final training session in Barcelona with a look of absolute exhaustion.

"I can't do Ibiza, Y/N” she had said, her voice small. "I can't do the beach clubs. I just want to disappear."

"Pack your bags” Y/N had replied. "We leave for Bali then."

They had rented a small, luxury eco-villa in the jungle near Ubud, surrounded by deep green rice terraces and the constant, wet sound of the tropical rain. There were no cameras, no fans, no football.

On the third night, after a long day spent walking through the humid paths of the monkey forest, a massive thunderstorm hit the valley. The power went out in the villa, leaving the rooms illuminated only by the faint, golden glow of a dozen beeswax candles.

Alexia was standing by the large open window of the bedroom, watching the rain bounce off the heavy palm leaves outside. She was wearing nothing but one of Y/N’s oversized green t-shirts, her long, tanned legs bare and a tiny tiny underwear.

Y/N walked up behind her, her long strides silent on the polished teak floor. She stretched her arm over Alexia’s shoulder, her fingers resting against the glass, her chest pressing against the midfielder’s back.

"You're thinking too much, Ale” Y/N murmured, her lips brushing the back of Alexia’s neck.

Alexia didn't answer with words. She simply turned around in the small space between Y/N’s body and the window, her green eyes dark and wild in the candlelight. She reached up, her fingers sliding into Y/N’s hair, and pulled her down into a kiss that tasted of tropical fruit and rain.

It happened four times during that week in the jungle. They would spend the afternoons reading on the terrace, and the nights tangled in the white mosquito netting of the king-sized bed, their bodies moving together with a slow, agonizing sweetness that felt more like a marriage than an affair. They would hold each other until the birds started to sing in the palm trees, Y/N’s large hands anchoring Alexia’s hips while the older girl whimpered into the dark, her climaxes deep and long.

Yet, when they boarded the flight back to El Prat, the iron curtain dropped once more. They adjusted their sunglasses, put on their professional faces, and went back to being the captain and the centre-back. They were completely mad, a pair of emotional cowards hiding behind a decade of shared history.

2022 was a crucible of pain. The national team was in England, training at the facilities near Marlow ahead of the European Championship. The atmosphere was light, the group filled with a golden, arrogant certainty that this was their year.

Then came the afternoon of July 5th.

It was a simple rondo drill under a grey British sky. Alexia turned to receive a short pass from Patri, her studs catching in a patch of damp, uneven turf. Her left knee gave way with a sharp, sickening pop that echoed across the quiet training field.

She went down instantly, her hands flying to her face, a sharp, ragged scream of pure agony tearing from her throat.

Y/N, who had been standing on the opposite side of the pitch, covered the distance in five long strides. She didn't wait for the medical staff; she dropped to her knees in the grass, her long arms immediately sliding under Alexia’s shoulders, pulling the midfielder’s head against her chest to block out the view of the gathering players.

"Y/N, it's gone” Alexia gasped, her face grey, her fingers digging into Y/N’s forearms with a strength born of pure panic. "My knee... it’s broken. It’s gone."

"Shh, I've got you, Ale” Y/N whispered, her voice an unshakeable, solid wall against the chaos. She looked up at the team doctor, her eyes cold and demanding. "Get the stretcher. Now."

During the flight back to Barcelona and the subsequent confirmation of the ACL tear, Y/N was a constant, silent shadow. She took a leave of absence from the club’s early pre-season block, staying in the apartment in the upper zone, carrying Alexia up the stairs when the crutches became too painful, and lifting her into the shower with a gentle, asexual reverence that made Alexia weep against her neck.

The media and the fans watched this devotion with an active, burning curiosity. During a press conference in late August, a local journalist had cornered Alexia about her recovery, slipping in a cheeky question about Y/N’s constant presence at the clinic.

"Y/N is... she’s just my best friend” Alexia had answered, her voice tight, her jaw locking as she felt the blush creeping up her neck. "She’s helping me because she knows what a long injury is like. That's all."

The squad, of course, didn't let her off that easily. During a team dinner at the Ciutat Esportiva, Mapi and Jana had spent an hour teasing her, sliding a plate of salad across the table with a theatrical flourish.

"Here you go, Captain” Mapi had grinned, her eyes full of mischief. "We didn't have the Y/n honey, but we tried our best. Do you want us to call Y/N to feed it to you?"

"Leave her alone” Alexia grumbled, her face turning a brilliant shade of crimson as she shoved her fork into the greens. "You lot are absolute children."

Y/N, who had just walked into the dining hall after her own physiotherapy session, didn't hesitate. She walked straight to the back of Alexia’s chair, wrapped her long, tattooed arms around the midfielder’s neck from behind, and pressed a large, loud kiss onto her cheek right in front of the entire table.

"Don't listen to them, Petita” Y/N laughed handsomely, her blue-gray eyes sparkling as she looked at Mapi. "She shouldn't be ashamed of having a girlfriend who is this good-looking and can defend a counter-attack. It’s a luxury, really."

The table erupted into cheers and thrown napkins, and while Alexia tried to swat her away with a wooden spoon, her fingers secretly reached back under the table to squeeze Y/N’s thigh, her small, hidden smile the only prize the defender ever cared about.

But the golden era had its dark, winter counterweights.

When Y/N moved to Bayern Munich in January 2024, the distance became an infection. The separation was a physical ache in Y/N’s chest, a constant coldness that the German heating could never quite fix.

And then came the news of the influencer.

Y/N sat in her pristine, white apartment in the center of Munich, watching her Instagram feed fill with images of Alexia at red carpet events, always accompanied by that sleek, digital woman whose eyes were always fixed on the camera. It was a slow, agonizing torture. Y/N would receive calls from Alexia at midnight, but the tone had changed; the midfielder sounded distant, defensive, her speech curated to avoid friction with the woman sleeping on the other side of her bed.

Y/N became quiet, her responses shorter, her handsome, easy winks disappearing from the team’s social media videos. She was still the professional, putting in clean, brutal performances against Wolfsburg and Frankfurt, but her heart was a cold stone.

Alexia had noticed. She had grown worried, her own guilt driving her to board the Lufthansa flight to Munich three times during the spring under the guise of "visiting an old teammate."

They would sit in Y/N’s kitchen, the German rain tapping against the glass, the atmosphere thick with everything they weren't saying.

"You're different, Y/N” Alexia had said during her last visit, her fingers tracing the edge of a white porcelain mug. "You don't call me after the matches anymore. Did... did something happen in Germany? Is there someone here?"

"No, Ale” Y/N had replied, her voice low and calm, her eyes fixed on the modern stove. "There's nobody here. I'm just tired. The training block is heavy."

The truth was far uglier. Three days prior, Y/N had received a direct message from the influencer’s verified account—a long, venomous block of text that characterized Y/N as a "parasite living off Alexia’s fame” a "childish distraction who needed to grow up and let Alexia have a real adult life."

Y/N hadn't replied. She hadn't shown the message to Alexia, nor had she mentioned it to Eli. She had simply done what a good defender does when the attack is too chaotic to clear cleanly: she had stepped back, conceded the territory, and allowed her own heart to bleed in silence so that Alexia wouldn't have to choose between her past and her present.

The turning point arrived in the winter of 2024. The relationship with the influencer had collapsed into a spectacular, public mess, leaving Alexia with a series of minor muscular relapses and a profound, gray depression that she couldn't hide from her family.

In late December, Eli had called Y/N in Munich, her voice dropping into that serious, grandmotherly tone that always signaled a crisis.

"Y/N” Eli had said bluntly. "She’s had a relapse in the left knee. The doctors say there is too much scar tissue and they have to perform a small, arthroscopic clean-up on Tuesday. She’s in the flat, she won't open the blinds, and she told Alba she doesn't want anyone to see her like this. She’s... she’s very low, Y/N."

"I'm boarding the flight at six, Eli” Y/N replied instantly, her computer already open to the airline portal.

She arrived at the Barcelona apartment at eleven that evening, the key Eli had given her cold in her right hand. The lounge was pitch black, the only sound the low hum of the refrigerator.

Y/N walked into the bedroom, her long shadow moving across the floor. Alexia was curled on her side under a thin grey blanket, her left leg propped up on a specialized foam wedge, looking smaller and more fragile than she had since the spring of 2012.

Y/N set her duffel bag down softly. She had stopped at a boutique in Zurich during her connection, purchasing a ridiculous, oversized plush brown bear with a soft silk ribbon around its neck, along with a box of those dark, expensive Swiss chocolates filled with sea salt caramel that Alexia loved.

She sat on the edge of the mattress, her broad frame instantly dipping the foam. "Ale."

Alexia didn't move for a long time. Then, slowly, she pulled the blanket down, her green eyes wide, hollow, and rimmed with red. When she saw Y/N sitting there—wearing her old grey training hoodie, her reading glasses tucked into her collar, her face full of an unshakeable, familiar devotion—she let out a small, broken whimper.

"You're supposed to be in Munich” Alexia whispered, her voice cracking.

"Munich is boring and cold” Y/N murmured, her long arms reaching down to pull the midfielder up against her chest, sliding behind her on the mattress until they were tucked together in that ancient, protective posture. She slid the brown bear into Alexia’s arms and placed the chocolates on the nightstand. "I brought you a friend. He doesn't know much about football, but he’s very good at keeping secrets."

Alexia buried her face into Y/N’s chest, her fingers fisting into the cotton of the hoodie, her entire body relaxing for the first time in six months. The scent of Y/N’s skin—that clean, familiar mix of travel fatigue and her signature cologne—filled her senses like a physical medicine.

"I missed you so much” Alexia sobbed softly into the dark, her shoulders shaking. "She was... she was so mean to me, Y/N. She made me feel like I was broken. Like I was old and some kind of shitty mess."

"Shh” Y/N whispered, her lips pressing dozens of soft, firm kisses onto her crown, her large hand stroking the line of Alexia’s back with a rhythmic, soothing pressure. "You're Alexia Putellas. You're the heart of this city, and you're my Petita. Nobody defines you but you. I've got you. Sleep now."

Alexia drifted off within ten minutes, her head tucked securely under Y/N’s chin, her fingers still holding a piece of the Swiss chocolate she hadn't even finished chewing. Y/N stayed awake for hours, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her heart swelling with a fierce, quiet certainty that the wall was finally back in place.

The recovery was quick, the surgery successful, and by the spring of 2025, the old ease had returned, culminating in that explosive, desperate summer tournament in Switzerland where the lines were permanently erased.

By the winter of 2026, the domestic reality of their new life had settled into a beautiful, unhurried rhythm.

In November, Y/N’s older sister, Lucía, gave birth to her first child—a beautiful, fat baby boy named Leonard “Leo”. He was the first grandchild of the y/ln family, a tiny, fragile creature who wasn't even two weeks old when Y/N and Alexia went to visit the house.

The afternoon sun was streaming through the wide glass doors of Lucía’s lounge when Y/N took the baby from her sister’s arms.

Alexia sat on the opposite edge of the sofa, her green eyes wide and soft as she watched the scene. Y/N—the formidable, international centre-back who spent her weekends flattening Bundesliga forwards—was sitting with absolute, terrified reverence, her massive, tattooed arms forming a perfect, secure cradle for the tiny bundle of white linen. Her large fingers, covered in intricate black ink, were moving with an impossible gentleness, tapping the baby’s fat cheeks while her face broke into a soft, handsome, and completely besotted smile.

"Look at you” Alexia whispered, her voice thick with a sudden, overwhelming emotion that made her chest ache. "The defender is terrified of an eight-pound human."

"He’s very small, Ale” Y/N muttered, her eyes never leaving the baby’s face, her voice dropping an octave to avoid waking him. "What if I break his shoulder? My hands are too big."

"You won't break him” Alexia said softly, sliding closer along the cushions until her shoulder was pinned against Y/N’s. She reached out, her fingers gently taking Leo from Y/N’s arms, sliding him onto her own chest with the practiced ease of a woman who had spent years spoiling her cousin’s children.

Y/N leaned her head back against the sofa, her eyes fixed on Alexia. The midfielder was looking down at the infant, her face radiant, clean of makeup, her green eyes glowing with a soft, maternal warmth that Y/N had never seen before. It was a shattering sight. Y/N felt her pulse spike, more deeply in love with the woman in her lap than she had been at fifteen, or eighteen, or thirty.

Alexia pulled her phone from her pocket with her free hand, snapped some, close-up photo of Y/N’s tattooed hand resting against the baby’s white blanket, and sent it straight to the family WhatsApp group with Eli, Alba, Y/N, and herself.

Within two minutes, the screen buzzed.

Alba Putellas: Oh my god, I’m dying. Look at the size of Y/N’s hand compared to him! 😭❤️

Alba Putellas: So... when are you two going to give Eli a grandbaby? The clock is ticking, Captains. 👀🤰🏼

Alexia’s face went instantly crimson. She aggressively turned her phone face down on the cushion, her jaw locking as she tried to ignore the loud, roaring laugh that escaped Y/N’s chest.

"Shut up, Y/N” Alexia snapped, though her eyes were shining.

"I didn't say anything, Petita” Y/N purred, her long arm sliding over Alexia’s shoulders, pulling her and the baby close against her chest. "But Alba has a point. You look very good with a tiny human in your arms. It suits you."

The month of December 2026 arrived with that crisp, diamond-sharp clarity that characterizes the coastal winter of Catalonia. Y/N had spent the last two years managing her contracts with the disciplined efficiency of a corporate executive, accumulating a substantial personal fortune that she rarely chose to display. She didn't care for luxury watches or high-end designer labels; her style remained rooted in simple Nike tracksuits and wide-leg trousers.

But she loved cars.

On a Tuesday afternoon before the Christmas break, a massive, flat-bed delivery truck arrived outside the apartment block in the upper zone of Barcelona. When Alexia walked out onto the pavement, her leather jacket pulled tight against the chill, her jaw dropped completely.

Parked by the curb was a brand-new, matte-black Ford Ranger Raptor.

It was an absolute monster of a vehicle—a high-performance, wide-body pick-up truck with massive off-road tires that looked like they belonged on a military transport, a heavy steel grille with the word FORD stamped in giant block letters, and a ride height that required Alexia to look up just to see the door handle.

"What on earth is that?" Alexia whispered, her face a mix of profound confusion and genuine horror. "Y/N... it’s hideous. It looks like a tank. You can't park that in Barcelona; it’s bigger than the entire street."

Y/N walked out from behind the tailgate, a massive, arrogant grin on her lips, her hands jammed into the pockets of her pinstripe trousers. She tossed the heavy electronic key fob in the air and caught it with a click.

"It’s not hideous, Ale, it’s a Raptor” Y/N laughed handsomely, her blue-gray eyes full of pure, childish delight. "It has Fox racing suspension and a twin-turbo engine. Get in. We’re going for a drive."

"I'm not getting into that thing” Alexia insisted, though she was already smiling, her defensive guard melting under the sheer infection of Y/N’s joy.

The drive up toward the hills of Vallvidrera was a ridiculous affair. The Raptor bounced over the city potholes with the smooth indifference of a hovercraft, Y/N’s large hands handling the heavy steering wheel with absolute, easy authority. Alexia sat high in the leather passenger seat, looking down at the regular taxis and utility vans with a look of profound, dazed amusement.

"See?" Y/N said, flicking the sports exhaust mode on, making the engine emit a deep, gravelly roar that resonated through the concrete of the tunnels. "It’s practical, Ale. If we want to go to the mountains in Andorra for skiing, we don't need to worry about the snow chains. It has a full cargo bed."

"It’s a monster” Alexia chuckled, her hand resting flat against the wide center console, her eyes tracking the movement of Y/N’s tattooed arm.

They reached the summit of the mountain road just as the sun began to drop below the horizon, painting the sky over the Mediterranean in a brilliant, violent canvas of pink, orange, and deep violet. Y/N turned the truck onto an isolated, gravel clearing—a known viewpoint that overlooked the entire sprawling grid of the Eixample district and the sea beyond.

She cut the engine, the sudden silence of the mountain air settling over the cab.

"Come on” Y/N said, jumping down from the high driver’s seat. She walked to the back, dropped the heavy, hydraulic tailgate of the pick-up with a soft thud, and threw two thick wool blankets across the flat steel lining of the cargo bed.

Alexia climbed up after her, her movements agile despite the height, and sat cross-legged on the blanket, her back supported by the side panel of the truck. Y/N slid in next to her, her long frame stretching out, her left arm immediately wrapping around Alexia’s waist to pull her close against the winter chill.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the lights of the city begin to blink open below them like a field of tiny, digital stars.

"The cargo bed is quite useful, then” Alexia murmured, her head resting against Y/N’s shoulder, her fingers tracing the black ink of her sleeve through the fabric of her coat.

"I told you” Y/N purred, her voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made Alexia’s breath short. She turned her head, her lips brushing the shell of Alexia’s ear, her thumb sliding under the edge of Alexia’s jacket to touch the bare skin of her hip. "In fact, Petita... it’s highly versatile. We could easily spread a proper mattress back here. Imagine... a Friday night, the sunset right over this hill, and me having you completely flat against the steel while you scream my name over the valley."

Alexia’s entire body went rigid, a sharp, electric heat exploding straight down her spine. Her cheeks flared a brilliant, deep crimson in the dying light, her eyes wide as she snapped her head around to look at the defender.

"Y/N! Shut up!" Alexia stammered, her voice breathless, her fingers fisting into Y/N’s jumper as her traditional, fierce shyness took over. "Someone could walk past... the forestry rangers... you're absolutely mad."

Y/N let out a loud, resonant laugh that echoed into the quiet evening air, her chest vibrating against Alexia’s back as she pulled the midfielder closer, burying her face into the soft skin of her neck to plant a long, firm, and thoroughly possessive kiss right over her pulse point.

"You're so cute when you're shy, Putellas” Y/N whispered into her skin, her hands settling comfortably around her waist, anchoring her to the metal of the truck. "But remember... the Raptor has tinted windows in the back. Just in case you change your mind."

Alexia didn't answer with words. Instead, she turned her head, her green eyes dark and serious as she caught Y/N’s chin with her fingers, pulling the defender down into a kiss that was deep, slow, and full of an ancient, unshakeable certainty.

Yet, no matter how many titles she lifted in Germany, her internal compass remained stubbornly calibrated to Spain. Specifically, to the number eleven who had occupied the center of her universe since they were teenagers.

Alexia Putellas was thirty-two now, the undisputed queen of the Catalan capital, an offensive midfielder whose name carried the weight of historical greatness. She was successful, striking, and possessed that rare, magnetic heat that could turn a simple press conference into an event. For Reader, however, Alexia had never been the myth. She had simply been Petita.

Their history was not a modern construct; it was an architecture built over years of quiet devotion. Reader had been there when the ground gave way beneath Alexia’s feet, when her father, Jaume, passed away from a sudden cardiac illness during their youth. In those dark months, when Alexia’s world had shrunk to the size of her grief, Reader had been the steady hand on her shoulder, the soft presence in the kitchen making sure she ate, the friend who respected the boundaries of sorrow while offering an absolute, protective love. Reader had literally kissed the ground Alexia walked on, not out of some creepy obsession, but because to her, Alexia was the only person who mattered.

They had shared the pitch at Barcelona for two glorious seasons before the economic realities and squad depth of the club forced Reader to look abroad. There hadn't been a starting spot guaranteed for her back then, and though Alexia’s heart had broken a little at the news, she had supported the move with everything she had. Since that departure, their footballing reunions had been limited to the Spanish national team, where the running joke among their teammates was that they were secretly married. Reader´s flirtation was constant, safe, and deeply affectionate, but it had always remained platonic.

Until the disruption of 2023.

Alexia had started dating a local Barcelona influencer, a woman whose insecurity manifested as a sharp, defensive arrogance. She had looked at Reader´s easy intimacy with Alexia, the casual touches, the history they carried, and labeled it opportunistic and disrespectful. She didn't understand that Reader had always looked at Alexia that way. To avoid causing friction in Alexia’s life, Reader had done the hardest thing she had ever had to do: she stepped back. When Alexia suffered her long-term injury (fucking ACL), Reader only visited her at the flat when she was certain the girlfriend was out of town.

The rest of the Putellas family hadn't been blind to the shift. Neither Eli, Alexia’s mother, nor Alba, her sister, could stand the influencer. They tolerated her because they loved Alexia, but it was Reader they invited to the post-Champions League family barbecues, Reader they wanted at the table when the cameras were off. Alexia herself had been trapped in a state of mutual misunderstanding; she had a massive crush on Reader, but she was convinced that Reader’s charm was merely the trait of a natural womanizer who treated every woman in Munich with the same golden attention. It used to make Alexia privately furious, her jealousy flaring whenever she saw photos of Reader out with friends in Germany.

But by the summer of 2025, the landscape had changed. The influencer was gone, leaving Alexia single, lighter, and distinctly more peaceful. And the national team was assembling for the Euro Cup preparation, unaware that a twenty-two-year-old defender with a brand-new Sony camera was about to document the shifting of their tectonic plates.

Jana Fernández had delusions of influencer or at least, delusions of becoming a YouTube vlogger. Her recent break-up had been a public affair, handled poorly by her ex (miss Roord I’m talking to you) and resulting in a barrage of media scrutiny that had left the young defender fragile. Because she was the collective darling of both Alexia and Reader, neither of them had the heart to tell her to turn the camera off. Jana had arrived at Las Rozas concentration in Madrid with her new Sony camera, determined to capture every "team bonding" moment before the squad flew out to their base in Lausanne, Switzerland.

Reader was the first to arrive at the main hall, her kit bag slung over one broad shoulder, her blonde hair tied back in a loose knot. She was leaning against the reception desk, chatting with the staff in her native Catalan, when the doors slid open and Alexia walked in.

There was a three-month gap between their last meeting, three months of cold texts and missed calls due to the end of the club season. Alexia stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes sweeping over Reader’s tall frame, the black ink trailing up her forearms, the easy posture. Before Reader could even drop her bag, Alexia tackled her.

It was a giant, uncharacteristic bear hug, Alexia’s arms wrapping around Reader’s neck with a force that nearly took them both to the floor. Reader caught her instantly, her larger frame absorbing the impact as she buried her face in Alexia’s neck.

"God, you’ve got heavier, Petita," Reader laughed, her voice deep and rumbly against Alexia’s skin. She pulled back just enough to look down at her, her hands resting firmly on Alexia’s waist. "Look at you. You look beautiful. So much quieter up here, eh?"

Alexia’s cheeks flushed a delicate, instant pink. "Shut up. I’ve been working out."

"Clearly," Reader murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Alexia’s right cheek, then another to the left, and one final one near the corner of her mouth just to see the blush deepen. "Much better without the dead weight from last year. You look gorgeous."

"y/n, please, people are looking," Alexia muttered, though she didn't pull away from the hands on her waist.

A few meters away, Jana’s camera clicked, the lens capturing the entire exchange from behind a potted palm. Neither of them noticed.

Once they had received their room keys a traditional pairing that the federation never dared to alter they moved up to the residential wing. The room was spacious, overlooking the green pitches of the complex. Alexia immediately kicked off her trainers and settled onto the bed, her back resting against the padded headboard, her phone already out to show Reader some design concepts for her new football academy.

Reader didn't take the other bed. She never did. She kicked off her slides, climbed onto Alexia’s mattress, and slotted herself right behind her, her long legs framing Alexia’s hips, her chest pressing against Alexia’s back. It was a position they had occupied a thousand times as teenagers, but today, Alexia’s shoulders went rigid. In the months since her breakup, Alexia’s mind had begun to wander down dangerous paths noting the way Reader’s breath felt against her hair, the sheer size of her, the reality that her teenage crush hadn't died; it had simply matured.

"Look at this," Alexia said, her voice slightly tighter than usual as she swiped through the screen.

Reader reached around her, her large, tattooed arm resting over Alexia’s shoulder, her hand gently taking the phone to control the pace. As Reader swiped, the screen suddenly shifted from architectural drawings to Alexia’s camera roll. A thumbnail expanded before Alexia could stop it.

It was a mirror selfie. Alexia, standing in her private bathroom in Barcelona, wearing nothing but a set of emerald green lace lingerie that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Her hair was down, her expression dark and intensely hot.

The room went completely silent.

Reader’s hand froze on the screen. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face, her eyes narrowing as she looked from the phone to the side of Alexia’s face, which was now the color of a premium wine.

"Well, well, well," Reader purred, her voice dropping into that smoky register she used when she was being intentionally provocative. "What do we have here, Petita? Is this what you’re sending out into the world these days?"

"Delete it, no, don't look, turn it off!" Alexia scrambled, trying to snatch the phone back, but Reader simply used her weight to pin her gently against the headboard, her chest pressing hard into Alexia’s back.

"No chance," Reader whispered, her lips brushing the shell of Alexia’s ear. "You look... madre mía. If I had known you were walking around Barcelona looking like a literal sin, I wouldn't have stayed in Munich for the winter. Is this for me? Tell me it's for me."

"y/n, stop it!" Alexia gasped, her hands turning to push against Reader’s chest, but the contact only made her more aware of the solid muscle beneath the shirt. "It was just... a test. For a brand."

"A brand? Lucky brand," Reader murmured. She caught Alexia’s jaw with her hand, turning her head until their faces were inches apart. Alexia’s eyes were wide, dark with an emotion she couldn't hide. Reader didn't kiss her lips, not yet but she peppered her entire face with small, firm, adoring kisses, her lips moving over her forehead, her burning cheeks, the tip of her nose, until Alexia was laughing and breathless, her hands curling into Reader’s shirt. "You’re an absolute menace, Putellas."

By the time the squad arrived at the team bonding evening in the games room three days later, Jana’s camera had become a permanent fixture of the landscape. Most of the players like Mapi León, Misa Rodriguez, Patri Guijarro had learned to either play up to it or ignore it entirely. Alexia, knowing how intense the media scrutiny could be, usually maintained a careful distance whenever the red light was blinking.

What she didn't realize was that Jana wasn't just filming the jokes; she was filming the margins.

"What are we having then?" Reader asked, appearing at Alexia’s elbow as the team lined up for the buffet dinner later that night. She had changed into a clean gray hoodie, her reading glasses pushed up into her blonde hair.

"The salad looks alright," Alexia said, looking over the options with her usual nutritional discipline. "But they’ve put that vinegar on it. I hate it when they pre-mix it."

"Go sit down. I’ll do it," Reader said softly.

Jana’s lens caught them at the corner of the buffet bar. Reader took Alexia’s plate, her movements natural and efficient. She mix the salad with meticulous care, adding the specific seeds Alexia liked, bypassing the pre-mixed greens for the fresh spinach at the back. Then she moved to the dessert station. She scooped a generous portion of sugar-free Greek yogurt into a small bowl something Alexia normally refused to touch because of the bitter taste and then slowly drizzled three thick tablespoons of local honey over the top until it was completely marbled.

Reader walked back to the table where Alexia was sitting with Irene Paredes. She set the plate down and placed a cold bottle of mineral water between them, along with a single glass filled to the brim with crushed ice.

"Here you go, Petita," Reader murmured, sliding into the seat next to her, their shoulders instantly pinning together. "Do you want the water straight or from the glass?"

"The glass with ice cube, please," Alexia said, her eyes softening as she looked at the yogurt. She took the spoon, took a bite, and sighed. "You’re the only one who gets this right. If the nutritionists saw the amount of honey you put in this, they’d fine us both."

"They have to catch me first," Reader winked. She reached over, took the glass of iced water, took a long sip, and then handed the exact same glass back to Alexia, her fingers lingering against Alexia’s hand for a beat too long.

From the end of the long table, Jana’s voice cut through the ambient noise of clinking silverware, her camera angled straight at them. "Honestly... ¡qué monas! You two are literally disgusting. Just get a room already."

Alexia shot her a glare that could have melted steel, but her fingers didn't move away from where Reader’s hand had been.

The real test of endurance came forty-eight hours later during the match against Portugal. Reader had started as the left-sided center-back, putting in a characteristically dominant performance. But in the seventy-second minute, during a chaotic corner routine, a Portuguese forward’s studs had caught Reader cleanly across the back of her left calf. It wasn't a structural injury, but the impact had split the skin, leaving a jagged, deep gash that required six immediate stitches from the medical staff in the tunnel.

By the time they returned to the hotel wing, Reader had a thick, sterile bandage over the wound, under strict instructions to clean and re-dress it every few hours to prevent infection from the pitch turf.

"You need to let me see it," Alexia said the moment the door to their room clicked shut. She was already pacing, her training top discarded, her dark hair tied up.

"Ale, you’re useless with blood. Sit down," Reader laughed, sitting on the edge of her own bed and reaching for the medical kit the team doctor had provided.

"I am not useless"

"You turned pale when Aitana cut her finger with a paper envelope last month," Reader reminded her, her fingers busy peeling back the adhesive tape. "Just stay there."

As the bandage came off, one of the nylon sutures, which had been tied too close to the edge of the skin, caught on the gauze. A thin, bright stream of dark blood immediately welled up, trickling down Reader’s calf and pooling near her ankle.

Alexia, who had been leaning over to look, made a sharp, wet sound in the back of her throat. Her face drained of color within three seconds, her hands flying to her mouth.

"Oh my God," Alexia whispered, her knees visibly loosening. " y/n... that’s... that’s open."

"Hey, hey, look at me," Reader said, her tone instantly dropping its teasing edge, replaced by that old, protective warmth that belonged only to Jaume’s daughter. She grabbed a clean sterile pad, pressing it firmly against the gash with one hand while using her other arm to catch Alexia by the waist, guiding her down onto the mattress. "Don't look at it, Petita. Grab the pillow. Put your face in the pillow."

Alexia didn't argue. She collapsed sideways onto the bed, burying her face into the white down of the hotel pillow, her shoulders trembling slightly. "Is it still bleeding?"

"No, it’s fine. Just a loose thread. I’m putting the new bandage on now," Reader lied smoothly, her hands working with the practiced speed of a veteran athlete as she cleaned the skin, clipped the rogue thread, and sealed the wound under a fresh, watertight patch.

Once the kit was packed away, Reader washed her hands and climbed onto the bed beside Alexia. She pulled the pillow away from Alexia’s face, revealing her wide, stressed eyes and the faint dampness on her temples. Reader smiled, a soft, beautiful thing, and slotted her large body along Alexia’s side, pulling her back against her stomach.

"See? Still alive," Reader murmured, her chin resting on Alexia’s shoulder. "I told you, I’m strong. It takes more than a Portuguese boot to break a Catalan wall."

Alexia turned around within the circle of Reader’s arms, her eyes searching Reader’s face with a sudden, intense seriousness. Her gaze dropped to Reader’s lips, then went down the length of her throat, taking in the collarbone, the tattoos, the sheer proximity of her. It was a slow, deliberate, unvarnished look a total physical appraisal that Alexia had never allowed herself to perform in the light.

Reader froze, her breath catching in her throat. "Ale?"

"You are strong," Alexia whispered, her hand moving up  to rest against Reader’s chest, right over her heart. "Sometimes I forget how much space you take up."

The atmosphere in the room didn't break; it thickened. That evening, after the team dinner, they were lying side by side on Alexia’s bed, using the screen mirroring function to project TikTok videos onto the large wall-mounted television opposite them. It was a mindless routine they used to decompress, but the algorithm, as it often does, had a cruel sense of timing.

A video appeared from Alexia’s ex-girlfriend, the influencer. It was a highly produced clip, set to the background music of Rosalia’s "La Perla". The specific fragment she had chosen to lip-sync was a pointed, bitter verse about an "emotional terrorist" a clear, public jab at Alexia’s perceived coldness during their breakup. The comment section was already a war zone of fans taking sides.

Alexia’s hand clamped down on the remote, switching the television off instantly. The room fell into darkness, save for the orange glow of the streetlights outside the window.

She didn't speak. She just sat there, her knees pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on them, her profile sharp and rigid against the dark.

"She’s a stupid girl, Ale," Reader said quietly from her side of the bed. "You know that, right? She wanted the blue checkmark and the press tickets, not the reality of what you are."

"I know," Alexia said, her voice small, cracked around the edges. She didn't look at Reader. "But it makes me feel like... like I’m the problem. Every time. Everyone looks at me like I have everything the trophies, the money so if a relationship fails, it must be because I’m cold. Because I don't give enough."

She turned her head then, her eyes bright with unshed tears. "And the worst part is, she made me lose you for a whole year. She had me convinced that you were just... using me for the circle. That you didn't respect my space."

Reader let out a long, slow breath. She reached out, her large hand covering both of Alexia’s smaller ones where they gripped her shins. "She sent me a direct message on Instagram, Ale. Right after the Champions League final in Eindhoven."

Alexia’s head snapped up. "What?"

"She told me that if I kept showing up at your mother’s house, if I kept putting my hands on you during the celebrations, she was going to go to the press and tell them that I was harassing you. That I was trying to ruin your career with some fake scandal." Reader’s thumb rubbed circles over Alexia’s knuckles. "I didn't care about the press, Petita. I cared about you. You were trying to recover from an ACL; you didn't need a domestic war. So I stayed in Munich. I went to the barbecues only when Eli called me from her private number."

"You should have told me," Alexia whispered, a tear finally escaping and running down her cheek. "I needed you then. More than anyone. I was so lonely in that flat, Reader. And every time I saw a photo of you with some girl from the German league, I wanted to throw my phone against the wall."

Reader let out a dry, short laugh. "Those girls were teammates, Ale. Half of them are married to each other. I haven't had a proper date since 2022 because nobody looks like you."

The admission hung between them like a physical weight.

"Do you remember," Alexia started, her voice dropping an octave as she stared at Reader’s hand on her legs, "when we were seventeen? At the concentration in Las Rozas. We stayed up until three in the morning on the balcony, and you had your jacket around my shoulders."

"I remember," Reader said. "And I remember the terrace in Mollet, when your dad was still with us, and we were hiding behind the laundry lines because we’d stolen two of his beers."

"We nearly kissed," Alexia said softly. "Both times. You stopped."

Reader shifted her weight, sliding down the mattress until she was lying completely flat, her face level with Alexia’s. Her blonde hair fell across her forehead, her green eyes dark and fixed. "I should never have stopped, Petita. I should have kissed you until you forgot your own name."

Alexia’s breath hitched. "Why didn't you?"

"Because I was twenty-one, and you were the queen of Spain, and I didn't think I was enough for you," Reader said, her confidence returning with a sudden, dangerous edge. She reached up, her hand cupping Alexia’s face, her thumb wiping away the tear track. "But I’m twenty-nine now. And I’m very good at what I do. If you want to know if it’s as good as we thought it would be on that terrace... we can find out right now."

Alexia didn't answer with words. She leaned down, closing the remaining distance herself.

The kiss was everything ten years of restraint shouldn't have been. It was heavy, deep, and instantly desperate. Reader’s hand moved from Alexia’s cheek to the back of her head, her fingers tangling in her hair to hold her still as her mouth opened against Alexia’s, her tongue sliding in with a possessive, natural authority that made Alexia whimper. Alexia climbed over her, her knees settling on either side of Reader’s hips, her hands gripping Reader’s shoulders as if the room were spinning.

When they finally broke apart for air, their foreheads remained pressed together, their breathing loud in the quiet room.

"Yes," Alexia whispered, her lips swollen, her eyes completely dark. "You definitely should have kissed me earlier. You taste... dios, y/n."

"I’m not stopping now," Reader growled, pulling her down for more.

The morning light in Switzerland hit different. When Alexia woke up at seven, the first thing she smelled was coffee, and the first thing she saw was Reader sitting at the small desk by the window.

The footballer was still in her gray cotton pajama bottoms, her broad, bare back towards the room, revealing the intricate line of tattoos that ran down her spine a collection of geometric patterns and Catalan poetry. She had her reading glasses on, her blonde hair messy, her eyes focused entirely on her laptop screen where she was finishing her virtual Master’s thesis in Sustainable Economics.

Alexia lay there for five minutes, just watching the way the muscles in Reader’s shoulders shifted whenever she typed. How is she this hot? Alexia thought, a sudden, fierce wave of possessiveness hitting her chest.

She slid out of bed quietly, her bare feet silent on the carpet. She approached the chair from behind, wrapping her arms around Reader’s neck and burying her face in the warm crook where Reader’s shoulder met her neck. She pressed a soft, lingering kiss just below Reader’s ear.

"Morning," Alexia murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Reader didn't look away from the screen, but her hand immediately came up to cover Alexia’s forearm, pulling her closer. "Morning, Petita. Go back to sleep, you don't have recovery until ten."

"No," Alexia pouted, her lips brushing Reader’s jawline. "You’re ignoring me."

Reader let out a low chuckle. She saved her document, closed the laptop with a definitive snap, and spun the desk chair around in one fluid motion. Before Alexia could step back, Reader caught her by the waist and lifted her, settling her down sideways across her lap.

"There," Reader said, her reading glasses sliding down her nose as she looked down at the midfielder. "Am I ignoring you now?"

"A little bit," Alexia teased, her fingers reaching up to remove the glasses from Reader’s face, tossing them onto the desk.

Reader didn't argue. She leaned in and began peppering Alexia’s mouth with tiny pecks, firm short, sweet kisses that grew progressively deeper until Alexia was wriggling against her, laughing because Reader’s thumbs had found the sensitive skin of her ribs, tickling her gently until they were both a tangled mess of limbs and laughter on the small chair.

"Stop, stop! We have to get ready," Alexia gasped, her hands pinning Reader’s wrists. "Go shower first."

"No way. You first. You’re a psycho with your routines, Putellas. If I take five minutes too long, you’ll be grumpy until lunch," Reader joked, swatting Alexia’s thigh to get her off her lap.

Alexia rolled her eyes but moved towards her kit bag. She rummaged through her washbag, then paused, her face falling into a frown. She turned to Reader’s open backpack on the luggage rack, digging through the front pockets.

"Where is it?" Alexia asked, her bottom lip sticking out slightly.

"Where is what?"

"Your perfume. The Calvin Klein Everyone. The one you always wear."

Reader rubbed the back of her neck, a slightly guilty look on her face. "Ah. I ran out in Munich last month, Ale. I couldn't find the exact one at the airport, so I bought something else. A woodier one."

Alexia turned around, her face the exact picture of a kicked puppy. To anyone else in the world, Alexia Putellas was the captain who managed sixty thousand people in a stadium; to Reader, she was a horribly spoiled brat who wanted things exactly as they had been when they were sixteen. "But you always smell like that. Since the academy. I don't want you to smell like someone else."

Reader stood up, her full height dominating the space between them. She walked over, took Alexia’s face in both of her large hands, and squished her cheeks together until Alexia’s lips were puckered. She dropped a firm, loud kiss right on her forehead.

"You are such a baby," Reader fondled her hair. "I’ll order a case from Barcelona today, alright? Now go shower before I change my mind and lock you in this room until the tournament is over."

The dining hall in Lausanne was a sprawling space filled with the various contingents of the Spanish federation. When Reader and Alexia walked down together, they naturally split towards the main long table where the core Barcelona group Patri, Mariona Caldentey, Jana, and Ona Batlle were already deep into their morning coffee and gossip.

The main topic of discussion was, inevitably, the TikTok video from Alexia’s ex.

"Honestly, Ale," Mariona laughed, leaning over her toast. "An 'emotional terrorist'? That’s high poetry. Did you actually terrorize her, or did you just refuse to take her to the awards show?"

The table laughed, but Alexia’s expression cooled, her eyes dropping to her plate as she stirred her black coffee. The public nature of the jab still stung, a reminder of how easily her private life could be turned into content.

Reader, who had been sitting across from Ona, didn't say a word. She simply stood up, walked around the table, and slid into the small space on the bench right next to Alexia. Their thighs pressed together under the table, and Reader casually laid her large, tattooed hand on Alexia’s bare knee, her thumb rubbing a steady, reassuring rhythm against the skin.

Jana’s camera, resting on a tripod at the end of the table, recorded the gesture with perfect clarity. Alexia didn't look at Reader, but her shoulders dropped an inch, her hand coming down to rest over Reader’s fingers beneath the edge of the tablecloth.

The peace didn't last long. Later that afternoon, during the media hour, a new girl from the federation’s press department a striking brunette from Madrid approached reader near the ice baths. She had a clip clipboard in her hand and a very clear, very unprofessional sparkle in her eyes.

"y/n, we need twenty minutes for the digital program later," the girl said, her voice dropping into a register that made Alexia, who was stretching on the mat ten meters away, narrow her eyes. "Maybe we could do it in the evening? Over a drink at the lounge?"

Reader, always polite but entirely unbothered, gave her a friendly smile that carried no warmth whatsoever. "The lounge is fine, but I don't drink during concentrations. And you can send the questions to my agent first. I don't do unscripted digital stuff. Thanks, though."

It was a subtle, clean rejection the third one Reader had delivered to the same girl that week but Alexia hadn't seen the rejection; she had only seen the girl leaning in.

For the rest of the afternoon, the captain was an absolute nightmare. She was bitter, sour, quiet, snapping at Jana for having the camera out, and ignoring Reader whenever they crossed paths during the tactical session. Reader noticed the shift but kept her distance, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

The tension exploded during the evening team bonding session. A massive game of Parchís had been set up in the lounge. The players were split into teams: Patri and Mariona on one side, Jana and Ona on another, while Alexia and Reader, as the two most competitive veterans in the squad, were forced into separate rival factions.

The game lasted ninety minutes of intense, screaming tactical warfare. In the final round, Alexia needed a five to get her last token into the safety zone. She rolled a four.

Reader, up next, rolled a perfect six, sliding her token across the board, knocking Alexia’s piece back to the starting square, and securing the win for her team.

"Yes!" Reader shouted, throwing her hands up as Patri and Mariona cheered.

Alexia stood up so fast her chair screeched against the linoleum. "This is stupid. The dice are weighted. I’m going to bed."

She stormed out of the lounge without looking back.

"Oof," Jana muttered, the Sony camera tracking her departure. "Someone’s a sore loser."

Reader was already on her feet, her calf slightly pulled from a minor knock she’d taken during training, causing her to limp slightly. "I’ll go. Clean up the board, girls."

Reader followed the trail of slammed doors up to her room. When she entered, Alexia was sitting on her bed, her arms crossed, staring furiously at the wall.

"Are you serious, Petita?" Reader laughed, closing the door and locking it. "You’re thirty-two years old and you’re throwing a tantrum over a plastic board game?"

"It’s not the game," Alexia snapped, her eyes flashing. "It’s the fact that you think everything is a joke. The game, the press staff... everything."

Reader’s expression softened. She limped over to the bed, ignoring the slight throb in her calf, and sat down right in front of Alexia. She didn't ask permission; she reached out, caught Alexia by the waist, and dragged her forward until Alexia was forced to sit between her legs. Reader’s fingers immediately went to Alexia’s ribs, tickling her with an aggressive, playful energy.

"Stop! y/n, I’m angry with you stop it!" Alexia screamed, her serious facade collapsing into a fit of breathless laughter as she tried to fight off Reader’s large hands.

"Tell me why you’re angry then," Reader whispered, her arms locking around Alexia’s waist, pulling her back against her chest until they were both breathless. "Is it because I won, or because the girl from Madrid doesn't know how to read a press brief?"

Alexia went still, her back settling against Reader’s chest. She let out a long sigh, her hand coming up to touch Reader’s chin. "She was looking at you like you were dessert. And you were just standing there being... you."

"I told her to email my agent, Ale," Reader murmured, her lips pressing against the side of Alexia’s neck, her teeth grazing the skin gently. "I told you. Nobody looks like you. Now shut up and let me kiss you before the team thinks I murdered you up here."

They spent the next hour tangled in the sheets, the Parchís war forgotten, before falling into a deep, synchronized afternoon siesta that lasted until the dinner bell.

The tournament moved to its knockout phase in Thun a picturesque Swiss town surrounded by mountains and cold lakes. The pressure on the squad had intensified tenfold, the media coverage back home reaching a fever pitch.

The night before their quarter-final match against Belgium, the team had requested a movie night to break the monotony of tactical briefings. Because Room 214 was the largest suite in the lakeside hotel, the entire core group had migrated there with pillows, blankets, and bags of smuggled sweets.

Mapi and Leila had taken the floor with a mountain of duvets; Patri and Mariona occupied the second bed; Jana was perched on the desk chair with her camera resting on her knee; and Reader and Alexia were wedged into the corner of the main king-sized bed, their backs against the headboard.

They had chosen some mindless Hollywood action film, but Reader’s endurance for cinema was notoriously non-existent. Within five minutes of the opening credits, her eyelids began to flutter. Her long, athletic frame shifted, her blonde head dropping sideways until it landed heavily right across Alexia’s lap.

"She’s out," Mariona whispered from the other bed, pointing a piece of licorice at Reader.

"As always," Alexia murmured, her voice filled with a softness that made Jana immediately adjust the focus on her Sony lens.

For the next two hours, while explosions rattled the television screen and the rest of the team argued about the plot, Alexia didn't move an inch. Her left hand rested naturally in Reader’s short blonde hair, her fingers twisting the strands, her thumb tracing the line of Reader’s temple with a constant, soothing motion. Reader was completely dead to the world, her face buried against Alexia’s thigh, her breathing deep and rhythmic.

When the credits finally rolled and the girls began gathering their pillows to leave, Jana leaned over the edge of the bed, her camera inches from Alexia’s face.

"You know I’m keeping all of this in the final cut, right?" Jana whispered with a smirk. "The fans are going to lose their minds."

"If you don't leave my room in three seconds, Fernández, you’re starting on the bench tomorrow," Alexia threatened in a low hiss, though her hand never stopped stroking Reader’s hair.

Once the room cleared, Alexia leaned down, her lips brushing Reader’s ear. "y/n. Wake up, cariño. If you sleep like this now, you’ll be awake at three in the morning pacing the floor."

You blinked open her eyes, her green gaze unfocused and heavy with sleep. She looked up at Alexia, reached up to cup her neck, and pulled her down for a slow, lazy, sleep-warm kiss that tasted like the middle of the night.

"Did we win?" Reader mumbled against her lips.

"We haven't played yet," Alexia smiled. "Come on, get under the covers properly."

The final at Basel was a disaster of historical proportions. England had played a cynical, physical game, and Spain had faltered under the weight of the home crowd. They lost two-one in extra time.

But for Alexia, the real heartbreak hadn't been the trophy; it had been the eighty-fourth minute. Lucy Bronze, England’s veteran defender, had gone into a challenge with a reckless, high-studded slide that caught Reader cleanly across the groin and upper thigh. Reader had gone down instantly, her face contorted in a scream of agony that had stopped the hearts of everyone on the Spanish bench. The studs had literally torn through her shorts, leaving deep, purple contusions and a severe strain in the groin muscle that required her to be carried off on a stretcher.

The dressing room after the whistle was a tomb. Alexia sat on the bench, her medal already hidden in her bag, her face buried in her hands. Reader was lying on the treatment table in the medical room next door, her upper leg wrapped in ice packs, her face pale but determinedly calm.

Jana walked in, her camera dangling from her wrist, completely forgotten for once. "I’m editing the vlog next week," she said quietly to Alexia. "It’ll be out at the end of the month."

"Whatever," Alexia whispered.

Three days later, the sadness of London was washed away by the white salt of Ibiza.

The Putellas family—Eli, Alba, and a few close friends—had rented a private villa near Es Vedrà for their annual summer holiday. Reader, despite still limping slightly from the groin injury, had been included by default. Eli wouldn't hear of her staying in Munich alone with a medical wrap.

The turning point came on the third night. The rest of the villa had gone to bed after a long day on the boat, but Reader and Alexia remained by the infinity pool, a bottle of local white wine between them. The air was warm, smelling of pine needles and sea salt.

They had drunk too much more than their usual athletic limits allowed. The alcohol had stripped away the remaining layers of professional caution, leaving only the raw, vibrating reality of what they had shared in Switzerland.

"I hated seeing you on that stretcher," Alexia said suddenly, her fingers tight around her wine glass. She was looking out at the dark outline of the sea. "When you went down, I didn't care about the Euro. I didn't care about the match. I just wanted to kill Bronze even if she´s Ona´s girlfriend."

Reader reached across the lounger, her hand catching Alexia’s wrist, pulling her until Alexia slid off her own seat and onto the edge of y/n’s. "I’m alright, Petita. It’s just muscle. It heals."

"No, it’s not just that," Alexia said, turning her head to look at Reader, her eyes bright with wine and emotion. "It’s that every time I look at you, I feel like I’m seventeen again on that terrace. And I’m tired of being just your friend, Reader. I’m tired of the jokes from the team. I want the reality."

Reader didn't answer with words. She stood up, her injury protesting slightly, and lifted Alexia by the thighs, carrying her back into the dark pool house away from the main bedrooms.

The encounter that followed was silent, desperate, and entirely definitive. They moved together with the familiarity of people who had studied each other’s bodies for half a lifetime. Reader was possessive, her hands marking Alexia’s skin, her mouth covering Alexia’s gasps so the sound wouldn't carry up to the balcony where Eli slept. When it was over, as they lay together on the small sofa in the pool house, Alexia rested her head against Reader’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart.

"So," Alexia whispered, her finger tracing a tattoo on Reader’s ribcage. "Are we novias (gf) now?"

"We’ve been novias since Switzerland, Putellas," Reader grunted, her arm tightening around her. "You were just too stubborn to admit it."

The next morning, the dynamic had shifted into something distinctly more public within their circle. Reader had always been the designated photographer for Alexia’s holidays, but this time, the lens carried a different heat.

Alexia had put on a tiny, emerald green bikini the exact color of the lingerie from the camera roll that accentuated every line of her athletic figure, her hips, and her legs. As she stood by the edge of the boat they had chartered for Formentera, Reader stood behind her, ostensibly helping her adjust her sunglasses.

But Reader, still half-buzzed from the wine the night before and completely drunk on the reality of having Alexia, didn't maintain her hands at her side. Every time Alba or Eli turned their backs to look at the coast, Reader’s large hand would slide down, firmly grabbing Alexia’s rear, her fingers sinking into the skin with a heavy, possessive grip.

Alexia didn't protest once. She merely leaned back into the touch, a small, satisfied smile on her face as she looked back at the blonde over her shoulder. "Careful, my love. My mother has eyes in the back of her head."

"Eli loves me," Reader grinned, her thumb stroking the curve of Alexia’s hip. "She’s just happy you finally brought someone home who knows how to cook a proper steak."

By the time August arrived, Barcelona had begun to notice.

Reader still had three weeks of vacation before she had to report back to Munich for Bayern’s pre-season. She spent every single day at Alexia’s flat or at the house in Mollet. The local paparazzi and fans started spotting them everywhere having iced lattes at a small café in El Born, dining at tucked-away restaurants in Sarrià, or leaving the local nightclubs at three in the morning with Mapi and Patri, their shoulders touching, their hands occasionally brushing in the dark.

The speculation reached a boiling point when Alexia posted a summer photodump on her main Instagram account.

The first few photos were standard: the beach in Ibiza, a shot of the Champions League trophy from May, a picture of her sister sunbathing. But the fourth slide was a blurry, black-and-white photo of Reader sitting on the kitchen counter of Alexia’s house, wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants and her reading glasses, making a horribly goofy face at the camera while holding a spatula. The caption was simple: “Estiu 2025. El de siempre.” (Summer 2025. The usual one.)

The comment section exploded with thousands of fans analyzing the reading glasses, the kitchen, and the sheer intimacy of the shot.

The definitive confirmation, however, came from an unexpected source: family obligation.

Alexia’s cousin’s daughter was celebrating her first birthday with a massive, stylized party in a private garden in Sant Cugat. The cousin, Paula, was a well-known lifestyle and baby influencer in Catalonia—a fact that Reader, who completely avoided social media culture, was entirely unaware of.

"We need to buy a gift," Alexia had told her two days before the party. "Something proper. Paula is very particular about her aesthetic."

They spent three hours at an upscale children’s boutique on Passeig de Gràcia. When they left the shop, Reader was carrying a massive wooden rocking horse under one arm, her other hand firmly locked with Alexia’s as they navigated the crowded pavement. Several fans took photos of them from across the street, the image of the tall, tattooed blonde holding hands with the Barcelona captain immediately going viral on Twitter.

The day of the birthday party was a sunny, elegant affair. Eli and Alba were there, and the entire Putellas clan treated Reader with the easy warmth of an old relative. Reader spent half the afternoon carrying the birthday girl on her shoulders, her good-natured making her an instant hit with the children.

Paula, meanwhile, was doing what influencers do: documenting every single corner of the event for her Instagram stories.

Late in the evening, she uploaded a video of Alexia and Reader standing together by the cake station. Reader had her arm wrapped around Alexia’s waist from behind, her chin resting comfortably on Alexia’s shoulder while Alexia fed her a piece of strawberry cake from her own fork.

The caption Paula placed over the video read: “Por fin Ale trae una novia decente a las fiestas de la familia. La paciencia tiene premio, y/n. Te queremos.” (Finally Ale brings a decent girlfriend to the family parties. Patience has its reward, y/n. We love you.)

Within ten minutes of the story going live, Reader’s phone began vibrating so violently in her pocket that she thought it was a hardware malfunction.

"Uh, Ale," Reader said, looking down at the hundreds of notifications flashing across her screen. "Who exactly is your cousin Paula?"

Alexia looked at the phone, then looked across the lawn to where Paula was waving at them with her iPhone. A massive, beautiful laugh broke across Alexia’s face. "Oh. I forgot to mention. She has about half a million followers. Welcome to the family, y/n."

Two months later, the football season was back in full swing. Reader was back in Germany, anchoring the Bayern Munich defense to four consecutive clean sheets, while Alexia was leading Barcelona at the top of Liga F.

During the international break in October, Reader was invited as a guest on The Offside Culture a popular, relaxed football podcast hosted by two former players in Madrid. The interview had been fun, covering her time at La Masia, her adaptation to German life, and her views on the development of the women’s game.

Towards the end of the episode, the host leaned back, a knowing smile on his face. "Alright, y/n, we have to ask. The internet has been on fire since August. That video from Paula’s birthday party... the photos on Passeig de Gràcia. How is life in Barcelona when you’re not playing for Bayern?"

Reader laughed, adjusting her microphone. Before leaving for Madrid, she had called Alexia from her apartment in Munich to ask how much she was allowed to say. Alexia’s response had been short and dominant: “Tell them whatever you want. I’m tired of hiding you from the world.”

"Life is very good," Reader said into the mic, her tone easy and completely secure. "Look, it’s not a secret anymore. Alexia and I... we’ve known each other since we were kids. She’s been the center of my world for a long time, and it just took us a few years and a few detours to realize that the pitch was always the same size. She’s in Barcelona, I’m in Munich, but the distance doesn't mean much when you’ve spent ten years building the foundation."

"So, you’re officially off the market?" the host pressed.

"Completely governed," Reader joked, using the Catalan term. "She calls the plays, I just make sure nobody touches the goalie."

The podcast episode dropped on a Tuesday afternoon.

Exactly twenty-four hours later, Jana Fernández finally uploaded her long-awaited, highly edited YouTube vlog from the Euro 2025 concentration.

The video was thirty minutes of behind-the-scenes chaos, but the editing choices made it clear that Jana knew exactly what her audience wanted. The vlog included the raw footage of the bear hug at Las Rozas; the long, quiet moment at the buffet where READER prepared the honey-marbled yogurt and they shared the iced water glass; and, most devastatingly, a five-second clip from the movie night in Thun.

The camera had captured the dark room, the glow of the television, and Alexia Putellas sitting completely still with Reader’s blonde head resting in her lap, her fingers moving through the tattoos and the hair with an ancient, tender devotion that no "best friends" could ever simulate.

Underneath the video, the top comment, pinned by Jana herself, read: “I told you they were disgusting. Long live the Catalan wall.”

Back in Munich, Reader sat at her desk, her reading glasses on, her laptop open to the YouTube page. Her phone on the desk buzzed with an incoming FaceTime call. She answered it to see Alexia sitting in her own kitchen in Barcelona, a bowl of honeyed Greek yogurt in her hand and a brilliant, blinding smile on her face.

"Did you see the video, Petita?" Reader asked, her voice dropping into that deep, warm register.

"I did," Alexia said, her eyes softening as she looked at the blonde through the screen. "Jana is an idiot. But she got the ratio right."

"The yogurt?"

Eventually, you had worked your way to the side of the bar, the corner dark and able to hide you both in the shadows. The neon lights barely reached this far, just faint streaks of pink and blue sliding over Cata’s cheekbones and catching in her hair.

“I want you,” you slurred, your lips dangerously close to Cata’s as she thumbed along your ribs. Your voice sounded foreign to your own ears, thick and slow, courage wrapped up in alcohol and late-night honesty.

“You have me,” Cata breathed back, eyes scanning your features like she was trying to commit it to memory. Her pupils were blown wide, dark against the low light, and you could feel the warmth of her breath against your mouth.

You shook your head. “No, like …” you sighed, inching impossibly closer. “I want you in a kiss-you-in-public kind of way.” You weren’t sure where the confidence had come from. You were the shyer, more reserved one of the two of you. “In a hold-your-hand-and-cuddle kind of way.” You pressed yourself into her, lips basically brushing hers. You took a dizzying breath, inhaling her sweet camomile scent mixed with alcohol and sweat. “In a talk-about-the-good-days and kiss-away-the-bad.”

There was a beat. A heart wrenching moment that had you wondering if you had just ruined everything. The noise of the club threatened to rush back in, the clink of glasses, the distant echo of the DJ shouting into the mic, but in your little corner it felt silent.

“I want that too.” Cata’s hand grabbed you harder, emphasising her words, fingers curling into the fabric at your side like she was afraid you might disappear.

“We’re drunk,” you said abruptly, the fear bubbling up just as quickly as the courage had. Your stomach twisted, equal parts anticipation and dread.

“I know.”

“I really hope I remember this in the morning,” you confessed. The words felt too honest, too soft for somewhere like this, but you couldn’t stop them.

Cata smiled, small and a little crooked. “Me too.” She paused, moving one hand to push some hair off your face, tucking it behind your ear and lingering softly. Her knuckles brushed your cheek, gentle and deliberate. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

You blinked, swallowing down your excitement. “Ok.”

For a second she just hovered there, her lips a breath away, like she was giving you time to pull back. Your hands found their way to the front of her shirt, bunching the material between your fingers, grounding yourself in something real. Then she closed the distance.

It was softer than you expected. Not the rushed, clumsy crash of lips you had imagined during all those late nights lying beside her, but careful, slow. Her mouth was warm and tasted faintly of citrus and cheap tequila. Your brain short-circuited, the world shrinking down to the press of her lips and the way her hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck.

You let out a shaky breath into the kiss, your fingers tightening on her shirt. She made a quiet noise, barely audible over the music, and it sent a spark of confidence through you. You tilted your head, deepening it just slightly, testing the boundary the two of you had danced around for months. She followed your lead instantly, like she had been waiting for permission.

When you finally pulled back, your chest was rising and falling a little too fast, your lips tingling. You stared at her, eyes wide, searching her face for any sign that you had imagined it all.

Cata looked just as stunned, her mouth parted, a flush creeping up her neck. She let out a small laugh, breathless and disbelieving. “Wow.”

You huffed out a nervous laugh of your own. “Yeah.”

For a moment neither of you moved. The space between you was still small, your foreheads nearly touching, and you could feel her breath ghosting across your skin. It felt different now, heavier but also somehow lighter, like a knot had finally been untangled.

“So,” you said, because the silence was starting to make you overthink. “Does this mean we’re…?”

Cata winced playfully. “Don’t ruin it.”

You rolled your eyes, bumping your forehead lightly against hers. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” she said softly. Her thumb started tracing absent patterns against your side again, the repetitive motion soothing. “It means I like you. It means I’ve liked you for a while. And it means I’m really glad you finally said something before I lost my mind.”

You snorted. “You could have said something too.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “You were always so careful. I didn’t want to push you and scare you off.”

You thought about all the times she had slept over, the way she would keep just enough space between your bodies at first before eventually drifting closer in her sleep. The almost-kisses, the lingering touches. “We’re idiots,” you muttered.

“Complete idiots,” she agreed, smiling.

Someone bumped into you from behind, jolting you both out of your little bubble. The reality of the crowded bar came rushing back in, sticky floors and flashing lights and people squeezing past with drinks sloshing over the edges of their cups.

“Do you want to get some air?” Cata asked, leaning closer so you could hear her.

You nodded quickly. The room suddenly felt too hot, too loud, your head spinning not just from the alcohol but from everything that had just happened.

She took your hand without hesitation as she led you through the crowd, weaving between dancing bodies and clusters of people shouting into each other’s ears. The simple act of her fingers lacing with yours sent a thrill through you that was somehow more intense than the kiss had been. You squeezed her hand, just to make sure it was real, and she squeezed back.

Outside, the night air hit you like a shock, cool and damp against your flushed skin. The street was quieter, just the low rumble of passing cars and the muffled thud of music leaking through the walls behind you. You leaned back against the brick wall, tilting your face up to the sky and taking a deep breath.

“Better?” Cata asked, stepping in front of you.

“Yeah,” you said, opening your eyes to look at her. The dim yellow glow of the streetlamp softened her features, making her look almost unreal. “Also, I kissed you. That happened.”

She laughed, a little louder now that she didn’t have to shout over the music. “You did more than that. You gave a whole speech.”

You groaned, dragging your hands over your face. “Oh no. It was that bad?”

“It was cute,” she corrected, nudging your hip with hers. “Very dramatic. Very you.”

You peeked at her through your fingers. “And you liked it?”

Her expression softened. “I loved it.”

The words settled warmly in your chest, chasing away the last bits of doubt that had been clinging there. You dropped your hands and pushed off the wall, stepping closer to her again. This time, there was no hesitation when you slid your arms around her waist.

She leaned into you immediately, her chin resting lightly on your shoulder. For a while you just stood there, swaying slightly even without the music, the city moving around you in the background. It felt strangely intimate, more so than the crowded dance floor had.

“So what happens tomorrow?” you asked quietly.

Cata pulled back just enough to look at you. “Tomorrow we wake up, probably hungover, and you panic-text me asking if tonight was real.”

You laughed because it was painfully accurate. “And then?”

“And then I come over with coffee and remind you that you asked to hold my hand in public,” she said, lifting your joined hands slightly for emphasis.

Your cheeks warmed, but you didn’t pull away. “And you’ll still want that?”

She squeezed your fingers. “I already do.”

You smiled, a slow, disbelieving kind of smile that you couldn’t quite hold back.

“Good,” you murmured, leaning in and brushing your lips against hers again, quick and shy this time. “Because I’m not taking it back in the morning.”

"And Williamson comes out of the pits. It was a very late pitstop from Williams and she's come out right between Albon and Hamilton. All the way down in P6. I hate to say it but I think that late pitstop has cost her a podium this time."

Alexia watches from the garage, wearing a pair of headphones and staring at the screens. The last time she was at a Grand Prix, it hadn't felt as high stakes as this.

You'd scraped by with the championship last year but now McLaren's 'rocketship' or however else you'd described it was getting hard to beat.

Alexia had heard the complaints multiple times, when you'd crawled back into her bed in the middle of the night after weeks away racing.

"Off the road! Hamilton's into the gravel and Williamson goes straight through to gain on George Russell!"

Alexia stares at the screen. She knows there's a camera on her right now. She's not a stranger to them but it's a little different now that the banner on her name isn't just 'Footballer'. It's 'Footballer and Y/n Williamson's girlfriend'.

She doesn't look at the camera. She focuses on the screen. It's split in two. One with the official broadcast and one with the onboard of your vehicle. There's a second screen that displays all the telemetry that she'd tried to understand but gave up on the moment you went out to line up on the grid.

"Williamson gets DRS down this straight and is it-? It is enough? Yes, it is! Williamson's Williams goes sweeping past the Mercedes. Charles Leclerc and P3 is less than one second away. Five laps left of this Grand Prix. Is she going to get there?"

Alexia isn't worried, not really anyway. She's rarely worried when it comes to you racing, like how she's rarely worried to come up against a newly promoted side in the league. It's just business as usual.

You might not always win the race, not with how fast these McLarens are going but a podium is almost always guaranteed to be in your grip by the end.

Alexia knows the camera directors must be so annoyed with her complete lack of expression, the calmness in her face as she stares at the screen. Her hands are in the pockets of the retro racing jacket you'd worn to the grid this morning. Her head is tilted just so to make it look like she's intrigued but there's nothing else that can be gleamed from her face.

Five laps.

Four laps.

Three laps.

Leclerc locks up and Alexia hides her laughter behind her hand as she catches you mockingly waving at him as you pass.

"I really questioned what Williams was doing pitting her so late but look at Williamson go! With this kind of pace, she's going to catch the McLarens before the end of the race."

"She might catch them but passing them is another thing."

The commentators both seem to think so and, as Alexia glances around the garage, it seems like the team think so as well. P3 is where you expected to stay at the start of this race. P3 is where everyone is expecting you to finish.

Alexia expected that too but only because you told her to expect that.

Now though, the car seems to come alive under your steady hands and you're gaining, gaining, gaining...

The two battling McLarens are in front of you, each trying to swerve the other off the road in the dying minute of the race. Two McLarens in front of you on the last lap.

"Let's keep it clean, y/n," Comes the warning tone of your race engineer on the radio," No risks. Protect the position."

Alexia rolls her eyes with a scoff and she knows the camera crew have caught that. She can't find it in herself to care though.

It would be like two defenders coming towards her in front of the goal and being told to protect the ball, protect possession. To not shoot.

Alexia would ignore those orders and your hands tighten on your steering wheel. If you weren't wearing gloves, she's sure your knuckles would be white.

Good.

She wouldn't listen to those instructions. You're certainly not listening to them now.

The McLaren boys are fighting on the last corner of the race track. One of them, Norris or Piastri, Alexia can't really tell which one, tries to force the other wide.

There's a gap, fleeting but still there.

A chance.

They brake early.

You brake late.

You turn the corner.

Clean air. For the first time since you started the race.

It's barely enough. It wouldn't have mattered if this wasn't the last lap. If this wasn't the last lap, you would have been overtaken on the straight again but it is the last lap. And it is enough.

"And the McLarens have no answer to the sheer brilliance of Williamson today! Y/n Williamson wins at Monza!"

It's hours later when Alexia sees you again. You were up on the podium and then you were at the press conference and then there were team photos and your debrief and all those other things that you have to do that Alexia can't stand.

But then the door to the motorhome swings open and you're there.

With your smirk and helmet hair and the soft, easy way you swagger in with your trophy under one arm and helmet under the other.

Alexia's laying on your bed, scrolling aimlessly on the tv with her ankles crossed over each other. "Shame," She intones softly, accent thick and going straight to your stomach," I was hoping you'd still be in your race suit."

You place your trophy and helmet on the table and lean a hip against it. "Apologies, love," You say dryly," But I couldn't exactly show up to see the press all sweaty and hot, now could I?"

Alexia hums. She tears her gaze away from the screen like it's painful but you know she's only playing with you. "I do love that I'm the only one that sees you like that."

"I can go and put my racesuit back on," You offer with that smirk you know drives her crazy," Walk back in again? Give you the full picture?"

"Well, now you just seem big-headed."

"Yet you love me like that."

Alexia sits up, slowly so she's sure that you're drinking in all of her. Her legs. Her chest. Her face as she finally meets your eyes. Talking to you instead of at you.

"Do I get a kiss from my winner or are you saving that for the next fan that throws herself at you?"

"Are you saying the fan that's in my motorhome right now isn't going to throw herself at me?"

"Only if you get on your knees and beg for it."

It takes you one easy step to cross over to the bed, not even that. More of a pigeon step than anything else. You lean down a little until you're nose to nose with her.

"Love, if you wanted me on my knees for you, I am more than happy to oblige."

Alexia's smirk matches yours now, all teeth, all danger, and the promise of another adrenaline rush. One much more intimate and sweaty than racing.

Just the way you like it.

You were beginning to realize that letting Claudia sit on the kitchen island was a mistake.

The balcony doors of your Barcelona apartment were pushed wide open, letting in the warm breeze and the distant sounds of the city. You were supposed to be making a strawberry tart for a team dinner you were hosting later that evening, but your primary ingredient was rapidly disappearing.

"Pina," you warned, feeling her lean over your shoulder.

Instead of reaching for the cutting board, Claudia pressed a soft, lingering kiss right beneath your ear. The distraction worked perfectly. You instinctively tilted your head to give her better access, letting out a quiet hum which gave her the exact three seconds she needed to blindly reach past you and swipe another sliced strawberry.

"Hey!" you gasped, swatting at her hand a second too late.

"What?" Claudia mumbled around the fruit, looking entirely innocent.

"You're using kisses as a diversion," you accused, turning around to face her, the paring knife pointing safely toward the floor. "And you've eaten half a carton. If you eat any more, I'm going to have to serve everyone an empty pastry crust."

"I'm providing a very important service," Claudia argued, a cheeky smile on her face. "I'm quality control. You can't serve the squad subpar produce."

You reached out to pull the cutting board out of her striking distance, but Claudia was quicker. She uncrossed her ankles, wrapping her legs loosely around your waist and pulling you against the counter, trapping you securely between her knees.

"You're being annoying," you sighed, though your hands naturally found their place resting on her thighs, your resistance entirely crumbling.

"I'm being helpful," Claudia corrected softly.

She leaned forward, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to your forehead. Then she dropped down, leaving another soft kiss on the tip of your nose. Finally, her lips brushed against yours a fleeting, teasing touch.

"They’d still say your empty pastry crust is delicious because they like you better than me," she murmured against your mouth.

"That's because I feed them," you whispered back, unable to pull away. "You just steal my food."

Claudia laughed quietly.She reached over, picking up a ripe strawberry half. She popped it into her own mouth, biting down, before immediately leaning in and pressing her lips firmly to yours.

This kiss wasn't a distraction, her hands coming up to hold your face as her tongue slipped past your lips, sharing the sweet burst of fruit juice.You melted against her, entirely forgetting about the team dinner, the tart, and the ticking clock.

When she finally pulled back, your lips were shining and tasting like strawberries.

Claudia looked down at you, her eyes soft, her thumb brushing lightly over your cheek.

"I'll go to the shop and buy you another carton," she promised, pressing one last, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"You say that," you whispered, chasing her lips for just one more taste, "but you haven't moved."

The Portland rain was tapping a comforting rhythm against the window, but the bed beside you was already empty. You stretched, pulling the warm duvet around your shoulders like a cape, and padded out into the quiet apartment.

You found her exactly where you expected to.

Jessie was sitting on the living room floor, an oversized hoodie swallowing her frame. She was completely absorbed in a 1,000-piece landscape jigsaw puzzle scattered across the coffee table, her brow furrowed in quiet concentration.

A steaming mug of coffee sat safely on a coaster nearby, filling the room with the smell of dark roast.

"It's 7 AM on your only day off, Jess," you mumbled, leaning against the doorframe with a sleepy, fond smile. "Are you trying to set a puzzle speed record?"

She jumped slightly, looking up with that soft, slightly sheepish smile that always made your heart do a stupid little flip.

"I couldn't sleep," Jessie admitted, picking up a piece and turning it over in her fingers. "And the sky portion of this was bothering me. I just needed to finish the edge."

"You've been out here for an hour, haven't you?"

"Maybe," she hummed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I made you coffee, though. It's in the thermal carafe so it stays hot."

You walked over, abandoning the warmth of your blanket to sink onto the floor beside her. You didn't look at the puzzle; instead, you rested your chin on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her waist from behind and burying your face in the soft fabric of her hoodie.

Jessie leaned back into your embrace instantly, letting out a quiet, contented sigh. She dropped the puzzle piece and tilted her head, pressing a soft kiss to your messy morning hair.

"Help me find the last corner piece?" she whispered, her hands coming up to gently cover yours where they rested on her stomach.

"Only if you promise we can move this operation to the couch so I can actually cuddle you properly," you bargained, pressing a kiss to the warm curve of her neck.

Jessie let out a soft laugh. She turned her head just enough to capture your lips in a sweet kiss that tasted like coffee.

"Deal," she smiled against your lips.

True to her word, Jessie carefully abandoned the pieces. She stood up, stretching her arms above her head with a quiet groan, before walking over to the kitchen counter to retrieve the carafe and pour you a fresh mug.

When she joined you on the living room sofa, it took less than a minute for the two of you to completely tangle together.

You sat sideways, your legs draped over her lap, while Jessie leaned back against the armrest, wrapping the heavy blanket securely around both of you. With one hand resting protectively on your hip, she used the other to hold her own coffee, perfectly content.

The apartment was incredibly peaceful, the only sounds being the drumming of the rain and the sound of you taking a sip of your coffee. It was exactly how she made it every time just the right amount of milk.

"Perfect," you murmured, letting your head fall onto her shoulder.

"I have it down to a science now," Jessie replied, a hint of pride in her quiet voice.

For a few minutes, everything was still. But then you felt the subtle, tell tale shift of her gaze. You didn't even have to look up to know what she was doing.

"Jessie," you warned softly, a smile tugging at your lips. "You're staring at it."

Caught, Jessie let out a little laugh, her cheeks dusting with a faint pink. "I'm not."

"You're totally looking at the puzzle table," you teased. "I can practically hear your brain trying to figure out where that cloud piece goes."

"It's just... the gradient of the blue is really tricky, and I think the piece by your coaster is actually the border—"

You cut her rambling off by movng upward and pressing a soft kiss right below her ear. Jessie melted instantly, her sentence trailing off into a quiet sigh as her grip on your waist tightened.

"The sky can wait," you whispered against her skin.

Jessie looked down at you, her eyes entirely soft, the puzzle completely forgotten. She sat her mug on the side table and used her newly freed hand to cup your cheek, her thumb gently brushing across your cheekbone.

yet three hours in, alessia was sat cross-legged on the living room floor with her ten-month-old niece balanced between her legs, watching rosa enthusiastically attempt to eat a soft toy giraffe while you laughed so hard tears had gathered in your eyes.

"roro, sweetheart, that's not food," you said through a grin. rosa instead paused with the giraffe half way to her mouth as she looked directly at you before immediately shoving the giraffe back into her mouth.

you groaned dramatically as alessia burst out laughing, "oh, she absolutely knows what she's doing."

"no she doesn't."

"she does."

"she's ten months old."

alessia pointed at rosa. "look at that face. thats the face of someone causing problems deliberately." and as if she understood every word, rosa let out a delighted squeal.

the three of you dissolved into laughter and that was the way it had been like that all afternoon.

easy. comfortable. but domestic in a way neither of you got to experience often with football constantly pulling you in different directions.

there had been bottle feeds and naps that didn't happen when they were supposed to.

there had been several dramatic tears because rosa had dropped her favourite toy and to her that was on par with the whole world ending.

there had also been countless moments where alessia had looked over at you and felt her chest ache. not in a painful way. in a way that made her wonder how she had gotten this lucky.

because every single time rosa reached for you, your whole face softened. every time she babbled nonsense at you, you answered as though she was holding a perfectly coherent conversation.

every time she smiled, you smiled right back and alessia couldn't stop watching.

at one point she'd caught rosa crawling determinedly across the rug towards you. you opened your arms immediately. "come on then." you cooed as rosa practically launched herself into your lap.

and the look on your face when you'd hugged her-

god. alessia thought she might have fallen in love with you all over again. not that she'd ever stopped. but somehow moments like this made it worse. or better. probably both.

"why are you staring at me?" you asked with a smile as the sound of your voice pulled alessia from her thoughts.

alessia blinked. "hm?"

"you're doing the thing." you pointed out as rosa stood up against you, pulling at small strands of your pony tail.

"the thing?" alessia questioned, confused at what you were trying to get at.

"the heart eyes thing." you said, not before pulling rosa's tight little grip from your hair as alessia immediately looked away her cheeks blushing a slight shade of pink.

"there it is."

"i wasn't doing anything."

"you absolutely were."

alessia rolled her eyes, yet when she glanced back over, she found you smiling at her. softly. fondly. the same way she knew she was looking at you. the warmth that settled in her chest made her feel almost dizzy.

then rosa sneezed directly into your face and the romantic moment was ruined instantly. as you sat frozen for a moment, processing what had just happened.

alessia stared, before she completely lost it. laughing so hard she nearly fell backwards. "oh my god."

"oh my god?" you looked horrified. "your niece just sneezed in my mouth."

alessia was crying with laughter now and rosa, well she looked incredibly pleased with herself.

—

by the time afternoon rolled around, rosa was becoming noticeably sleepy. she’s gone from excited crawling and babbling to rubbing her eyes every few minutes and becoming increasingly clingy.

currently she was curled against alessia’s chest whilst alessia sat on the floor leant against the couch. a pictured book rested in one hand. the other rubbing slow circles quietly in the doorway.

you stood just across the room, watching on as you made two cups of tea. the room was warm from the sunlight filtering through the windows.

everything felt peaceful and safe.

alessia’s voice had dropped to a soft murmur as she read. not because rosa understood the story. she most likely definitely didn't. but because she liked hearing alessia speak.

the little girl was completely relaxed. one tiny hand curled around alessia’s shirt. her eyes fluttering more heavily with every page.

you couldn't stop smiling. alessia looked beautiful like this. her hair slightly messy. voice gentle as she held rosa as though she was the most precious thing in the world.

your heart squeezed painfully. because this wasn't football alessia. this wasn't the alessia everyone else knew. this was your girl. your alessia.

soft, patient and incredibly loving

the woman who melted whenever she saw her niece. who ried over sentimental videos. who still reached for your hand in crowded rooms but who would also mange to trip over thin air any chance she got.

eventually rosa’s eyes drifted closed completely. alessia continued reading for another few moments just to be safe.

then carefully closed the book as the room became quiet, just the small sound of you pouring milk into the cups.

you watched her stand slowly. every movement careful and deliberate.rosa didn't stir once and she gently settled her into her bouncer tucking a small blanket around her before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

as she stepped back, moving towards you as you handed her a hot mug of tea. as you both looked at the tiny sleeping baby. the little ride and fall of her chest and how peaceful she looked.

alessia leaning lightly into you as you placed sweet kiss to the side of her head before you both moved towards the couch.

the house felt strangely quiet after rosa had fallen asleep and you both found yourselves curled together on the sofa. a blanket thrown across both your laps.

alessia leaning into your side her head resting against your chest and for a while neither of you spoke. simply enjoying the rare silence.

then alessia sighed softly. "what?" you asked as you felt her smile against your shoulder.

"nothing." she said quietly, her hand tracing over a tattoo on your wrist.

"liar." as a quiet laugh escaped her making you tilt your head towards her with a small smile, "what are you thinking about?"

you watched as alessia hesitated and you immediately became curious. because alessia russo was rarely speechless. "less?"

she looked up at you and there it was. that look. the one that always made your stomach flutter. "i really love her." she said quietly.

you smiled. "i know."

"no, i mean..." she laughed softly. "i know she's my niece so obviously i love her. but every time i spend time with her i somehow love her more."

you nodded."roro is pretty easy to love."

"she is." alessia agreed as her gaze drifted towards the ceiling, thoughtful. "i think seeing her grow up has been one of my favourite things."

your expression softened. alessia rarely talked about things like this at least not out loud or very often.

"i like watching you with her." you admitted, as you looked down at her.

her eyes found yours again. "yeah?"

you nodded. "yeah."

the smile that appeared on her face was small. shy. almost. "i like watching you with her too."

you stomach flipped. "you do?"

"course i do." alessia smiled as she reached for your hand. threading your fingers together. "and you don't even realise you do it."

"do what?" you asked as your brows furrowed together.

"the voice."

"what voice?"

"the baby voice."

you groaned immediately, now knowing exactly what she meant as she laughed, “no but it’s cute baby”

"it is not."

"it is."

"it absolutely isn't."

she was grinning now. "it really is." as you shook your head yet you were smiling too. because there was no winning these arguments. not when alessia looked at you like that. not when she seemed so happy.

a comfortable silence settled between you again. then alessia spoke.quieter this time. "do you ever think about it?"

you looked at her. "think about what?"

she swallowed and suddenly looked nervous. "having kids."

your heart skipped. not because the question scared you, the two of you had briefly mentioned it before but scared you because of how vulnerable she sounded asking it.

tou turned slightly towards her, giving her your full attention. as alessia’s eyes searched yours. as though she was trying to gauge your reaction before you'd even answered.

"yeah," you admitted softly. "i do."

something immediately relaxed in her expression. a tiny exhale escaping her.

"yeah?"

you nodded. "yeah." as smile tugged at your lips. "maybe more than i probably should."

alessia laughed quietly. "me too."

the confession hung between you. gentle as neither of you rushing the conversation. neither trying to force it into something bigger than it needed to be.

your brushed your thumb over her knuckles. "you’d be an amazing mum, you know."

the words slipped out naturally because they were true. the way alessia’s face softened nearly broke your heart.

"you think?"

you stared at her. "in every universe, less."

her eyes immediately became suspiciously bright. you leaned forward. pressing a kiss against her forehead. then another against her cheek. “you're patient."

kiss.

"kind."

kiss.

"ridiculously loving."

kiss.

"you read the same page six times because rosa kept trying to eat the book."

alessia laughed through her smile. "that did happen."

"it did." you tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "and any kid would be more than lucky to have you."

for a moment she just looked at you. completely overwhelmed. completely in love. then she reached up cupping your cheek. "i think about it with you."

your breath caught. the confession was quiet. almost whispered. but it hit harder than anything else she could have said.

"i don't just think about having kids." she said in the same quiet tone as her thumb stroked softly across your skin. "i think about having them with you and..”

you felt your eyes sting. not from sadness. from the sheer weight of being loved so completely. so intentionally.

you leaned into her touch. smiling. “and?"

alessia’s small smile returned, slow and beautiful. “and one day… not yet.” she pressed her fore against yours, before planting a kiss to your lips as you chased her lips as she pulled away. “but one day, i think we’d make a pretty good team”

you laughed softly, finding her lips again peppering a few light kisses, “we already do.”

alessia smiled, then kissed you properly. slow and sweet. as her hand rested on yours chin. the type of kiss that felt like home.

Ingrid stares at the meat in the oven.

Really stares it. She looks back at the timer. The oven again. The timer.

"You're looking at it like it murdered your family," Ada notes from behind her.

"You're early."

"You left your door unlocked."

"And you didn't knock? Just went straight to trying to break in?"

Ada shrugs, her eyes roving over the kitchen island and the trays of food that are just waiting to be served up. The lights are dim. There's instrumental music playing from the speakers in the open plan living room.

"We're not talking about my criminal activities right now," She replies," We're talking about why you're having a stare off with...What is that anyway?"

"Boar shoulder." Ingrid looks through the window in the oven.

"Oh, okay...What?! Where the hell did you get that?!"

Ingrid waves her away. "Seeing as you're here, can you go and set the tables? Cutlery's in the middle drawer, over on the right."

The rest of the team fill the apartment in the next few minutes and their chatter drowns out the playlist that was already being played a little too quietly to be heard properly.

Ingrid pokes the meat thermometor into the shoulder again with a frown on her face. Jule sits up on the counter top, shrimp tempura already being chewed in her mouth and a glass of whatever she's served herself sitting next to her.

"This is crazy, Ingrid," She says, covering her mouth as she swallows down the rest," Like so good. Where did you get this? I want to buy some too!"

Lily, who has been leaning nearby with what looks like Ingrid's whole supply of doughballs, nods along. "Did you buy these fresh or can I just throw them in my freezer?"

"You cannot keep this to yourself," Jule continues," Like, I need to have a year supply of these things."

Ingrid pulls out the thermometer, that same frown on her face as she checks the readings. Her frown only deepens when she glances towards the carving knife waiting for her.

"My wife made them," She says absentmindedly, reaching for the blade," Not for sale."

On the edges of her awareness, Ingrid hears someone choke. Someone else nearly drops their wine glass. There's definitely a hush echoing around the apartment and suddenly, she can hear her playlist again.

"You have a wife?!" Jule demands, sliding from the countertop in her shock.

"Forget that," Lily says dismissively," She made all of this?"

Ingrid hums. "She's meant to be home right now but she got a call from work or something."

"Whoa, back track here. Wife?!"

"You didn't know Ingrid had a wife?" Ada laughs from her own spot relaxing on the sofa like she owns the damn thing. "They're disgustingly in love, you know. "

The questions keep coming but Ingrid doesn't really hear them.

You've never left her in charge of a dinner party like this before. Although, admittedly, you hadn't actually left her in charge of this one. You were meant to be here for this. You were meant to be the one carving up this meat which was why her mind was working overdrive trying to stall until you get back.

Thankfully, it's at the same time that the front door swings open and you step through it.

"Ingrid," You say with a weary but happy smile," You left the door unlocked again. I keep telling you to lock it after me."

You greet her teammates with a dip of your head. You weave through them all as you make your way to the kitchen, pressing a soft kiss to your wife's lips as she opens her arm for you to slide into.

She hands you the carving knife with a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're back."

"Did the boar meat scare you, darling?" You tease," It's cuts just like pork shoulder. You've done pork before."

"I'll leave it to the chef," Ingrid says warmly," You know you're the best at this kind of thing. You've got people asking where they can buy your food. They want to stockpile it, like hermits."

You laugh at that, expertly cutting up the boar meat you'd gotten from the butcher that works closely with your restuarant. "Unfortunately, my food can't be stockpiled. Only made to order. If you like, I can get you all reservations at my restaurant and you can eat it properly there."

"You're so cool," Jule says, mouth hanging open slightly just as Ingrid's arms gently wrap around your waist," How did Ingrid even manage to seduce you?"

"Seduce me?" You laugh," I think I was the one seducing her. The way to her heart is through her stomach and I happen to cook very good food."

"The best food."

"You'll have to excuse my wife," You continue," She brags enough for the both of us."

Ingrid stays attached to your back as you cut through the meat and load up the plates, even going so far as to carry both yours and her own to one of the tables you and her set up this morning so everyone in the team could fit.

She even pours you a glass of wine and kisses your knuckles with that dopey smile on her face she had when you were six and she saw a butterfly in the playground.

You lean over to kiss her again, soft and chaste while company is still over.

You have to admit, the spot right by the balcony had the most perfect lighting. You hadn't really thought of it much when you bought the cosy apartment in Barcelona but it really was the perfect lighting.

The sun beams through the windows as you stare at your laptop screen with a fond smile. A few of your co-stars stare back at you along with an interviewer that you know just introduced themselves but for the life of you, you can't remember the name of.

It's the usual questions. The ones that you've been asked ever since season three ended. The usual 'how are you feeling about being renewed for a fourth and final season?' and 'what was your favourite thing to film?' and, of course, the age old 'how did it feel to eat your co-stars?'

You play along though, well practiced at these exact questions as you and your co-stars trade stories and flash each other secret smiles through the laptop screens.

"And, of course, y/n-"

Your eyes snap back to the screen, momentarily distracted by the way your dog wandered into the room, sniffed the dirty boots by the door and went straight back to her dog bed.

"-I heard you brought a soccer ball to set with you."

You laugh at that, a more genuine smile splitting open your face. "Yeah, I did." You shake your head softly at the memory. "Well, Jenna, who plays Melissa, also plays a bit so between takes we were having a bit of a kick about."

"Because, of course," The interviewer continues," You have history playing soccer, don't you?"

"You did your research," You compliment with a small laugh," I do, yeah. Except, where I'm from, we call it football." Your co-stars on the call all yell out various teasing taunts as you wink at the screen. "But, yeah, I...Hang on, I'll get it."

You duck out of screen very briefly.

Your whole apartment is a shrine to football and the trophy cabinet is no exception. You bypass both Ballon D'ors and the medals that sit there, reaching to the very bottom to the little box that sits alone.

You open the box on screen, fishing out a very old medal that you won what feels a lifetime ago.

"I won the under-twenties World Cup as a kid." You flash the medal at the screen with a grin. "So, you could say I have a bit of history with football." You flash another teasing grin at your screen. "I actually tried to convince the writers to let us have a few flashback scenes of us playing football but I was overruled. Apparently, they didn't want to have to arrange another practice session after someone, not naming names, turned up to our first one in heels."

There's more playful ribbing from your castmates that you take with a sharp grin and a long suffering roll of your eyes.

"I always say this but the only reason I even played well was because I had a crush on a girl on the Spanish team. It was so embarrassing. She probably thought I was so lame."

"I'm sure that's not true," The interviewer says softly.

You don't dispute them. You're actually not sure what your school girl crush thought of you back then. She probably didn't even know who you were until your match against Spain. You weren't the most outgoing teenager. It was a wonder how you even got into acting in the first place with an attitude like that.

You made a fool of yourself in the tunnel before that match, palms already hot and sweaty from the nerves of playing but also from the way your crush caught your eye as she lined up.

You waved like an absolute loser and then proceeded to collide with the wall when she gave you a pleasant smile in return. It was probably in your top ten most embarrassing moments of your life which said a lot considering you once ate shit on the red carpet.

Now though, you smile a little fondly at the memory as the topic moves on. You allow yourself to relax back in your seat, sucking in the last of the warm Barcelona sun as your castmate's voices overlap with stories.

You're kind of lucky, you decide, that you can even be home right now. Most of the time, you're not even in the country, too busy with filming schedules and press junkets but you'd been firm this year.

You had to be home at this time of year. It was your non-negotiable and you were glad that the showrunners were happy to accomodate you.

Your co-worker Sophie is in the middle of telling a story about a funny incident on set when your dog starts barking up a storm. You hope the mic doesn't pick up on it as you lean back in your chair and peer towards the door, where the telltale sound of a key scraping the lock fills your ears.

You roll your ears. Of course that's what set her off. You shake your head fondly and let your eyes drift back to your laptop screen.

The door creaks open and your dog's barking quietens as she runs around the apartment in excitement. You expect a familiar voice to be cooing at her but there's too much noise for that and a soft huff of amusement escapes you.

Sophie's still in the middle of her story and you mute yourself quickly.

"Pina!" You holler when you're sure no one on the screen can hear you," Get the hell out of my cabinets! None of those are for you!"

You hear Pina's familiar groan from all the way in your kitchen and a snicker from Cata, who you assumed was also in there. Those two were never far from each other.

"Kika!" You continue sternly," Stop winding up my dog! And for god's sake, Patri, if you leave your dirty socks in my hall again then I'm banning you from this house!"

You check your screen again. Sophie's still telling her story so you've got a bit more time.

"Vicky, Salma, if you're going to pull out all the dog toys then you better make sure to clear them up again! Clara...You're an angel and I'm happy you're here. There's biscuits in the cabinets for you."

"How's that fair?!" You hear Pina complain but you don't even bother responding to that.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder and you turn your head.

Alexia smiles down at you, the shy smile that she reserves only for you after a long day at training. "I told them to be quiet when we came in," She says in embarrassment, eyes flicking to your screen," But you know what they're like. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, baby," You reply," I take it they're staying for dinner?"

"We'll order in."

"From that sushi place we like?"

"Whatever you want."

Alexia presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and you glance back at your screen, unmuting your mic with a soft smile.

"Sorry about that," You say," My wife and her teammates just got home. It's very loud in here right now."

As if you tempted fate itself, someone shrieks from the lounge. You assume it's either Cata or Vicky and decide you don't want to check what happened. Especially, because you watch on the screen as another person fills the space to your other side.

Patri. Of course it is.

She beams at you in greeting before zeroing in on your laptop. "You're still working?"

"The life of an actress," You deadpan," It's so glamorous." You gesture vaguely to her. "My wife's teammate, Patri. We're hosting some kind of game night, I think, so I've got a full house."

"How exciting," The interviewer says," Remind me, your wife plays soccer professionally, doesn't she?"

"She does." You turn to give Alexia another soft smile. "For Spain and Barcelona. I think she's the greatest player in the world."

Alexia's cheeks grow red at your compliment. You'd been together for years but any kind of praise still made her blush. Patri points at her and nearly dies laughing, drawing the attention of everyone else in your apartment and soon your screen is filled with warring teammates trying to get their faces shown.

"She's working," Alexia hisses, trying to control the chaos," Go! All of you! Away!"

"No fair, Ale!" Vicky complains," We never get to see her work!"

"You've watched everything she's been in," Alexia mutters.

"It's not the same. That's a character. This is y/n. It's different."

"And she's still working," Your wife insists," Go. She'll be done soon. Decide what you want from the sushi place."

Vicky walks off with a grumble, pulling a complaining Cata and Pina with her. Patri smirks as she disappears, giving your call a lazy two finger salute, cuffing Salma around the back of the head to pull her away too. Kika beams at the camera and waves before disappearing into the apartment properly.

Clara's a little shyer with her goodbye, a soft wave and an awkward smile as Alexia gestures for her to disappear too.

Your wife sighs deeply, shaking her head fondly as the chaos disappears deeper into the apartment and the dog starts barking again.

"I won't be long," You promise her softly," Don't let Cata and Pina eat us out of house and home?"

"I'll be my best."

"Thank you, baby."

You kiss her hand gently and let her wander away to control her squabbling teammates.

You glance back at your screen with a smile.

"Y/n's very secretive when it comes to her family," Your castmate Courtney teases and you roll your eyes," We finish filming and she's on the first flight back to them."

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y/nputellas just posted

Liked by alexiaputellas, aitanabonmati, albaps9, and others y/nputellas: an honour to be making my first team debut. could get used to this 💙❤️ Load more comments alexiaputellas: proud of you  patri8guijarro: what a debut pequeña! albaps9: living the dream hermanita  elialexiaalbayn: my girl! ↳ y/nputellas: all thanks to you, mami ❤️ kika.nazareth: assist queen!! 👑 

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alexiaputellas just posted

Liked by kika.nazareth, y/nputellas, patri8guijarro, and others

alexiaputellas: just like the old days Load more comments

barcafan: can’t believe we’ve got two Putellas’s now  y/nputellas: yeah, you still tackle me just as hard… ↳ alexiaputellas: worked out, didn’t it? ↳ y/nputellas: sí 🙄❤️ number1culer: literal twins kika.nazareth: cute then, cute now ❤️ ↳ alexiaputellas: aw gracias kika ↳ kika.nazareth: wasn’t talking about you ↳ alexiaputellas: I said no flirting with my sister!!

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y/nputellas just posted

Liked by alexiaputellas, elialexiaalbayn, albaps9, and others

y/nputellas: this little girl just made her Camp Nou debut Load more comments

alexiaputellas: we did it kiddo, used to dream of this putellas11: give her that contract now!! what a game 🔥 albaps9: still the same smile. proud of you hermanita! elialexiaalbayn: you did it, my girl! so so proud of you! barcabarcabarcaaa: and what a debut it was 🔥🔥 kika.nazareth: didn’t just play Camp Nou, you owned Camp Nou ↳ y/nputellas: me? you scored a brace! ↳ kika.nazareth: only from your assists. we can share the spotlight, stargirl 😘 ↳ vickylopezz._: i thought capi said no flirting ↳ y/nputellas: you saw nothing :)

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alexiaputellas just posted

Liked by claudiaapina, y/nputellas, aitanabonmati, and others

alexiaputellas: great away day & assisting my hermana on her first goal Load more comments

y/nputellas: perfect way to score my first ❤️  kikafan: not kika literally laying on top of her 😭  kika.nazareth: already falling for me ↳ y/nputellas: clearly you fell for me and just knocked me over↳ claudiaapina: just casually flirting on capi’s post

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fcbfemeni just posted

Liked by alexiaputellas, aitanabonmati, y/nputellas, and others

fcbfemeni: Y/n Putellas signs for the first team until 2028! Load more comments

carlajuliaa_: go shine ✨ kika.nazareth: yes stargirl!! y/nputellas: an absolute honor culers  alexiaputellas: my sister ❤️

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kika.nazareth just posted

Liked by patri8guijarro, y/nputellas, salmaparalluelo, and others

kika.nazareth: lil dump of my recent faves Load more comments

vickylopezz._: could you not have told me to smile or something? y/nputellas: guapa  ↳ salmaparalluelo: i swear your sister is the most oblivious person ever kikafan: posting y/n twice in one dump 👀 y/nputellas: maybe your new nickname should be lil dump from now on ↳ kika.nazareth: that’s my lil dump for you ↳ patri8guijarro: you two are disgustingly cute

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y/nputellas just posted

Liked by sydneyjoy.schertenleib, carlajuliaa_, alexiaputellas, and others

y/nputellas: 500 matches I’ve looked up to you ❤️ Load more comments

alexiaputellas: happy we get to do this together now kiddo albaps9: mi hermanas kika.nazareth: 🌟🌟 patri8guijarro: la reina and mini la reina 

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kika.nazareth just posted

Liked by vickylopezz._, patri8guijarro, y/nputellas, and others

kika.nazareth: glad you’re on my team Load more comments

putellasx2: me too kika, me too y/nputellas: we’re gonna need to practice more celebrations at this rate ↳ kika.nazareth: come over then ↳ y/nputellas: on my way! ↳ alexiaputellas: what’s going on? ↳ y/nputellas: nothing ale, just preparing to score some more barcafan: the best link up!!

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y/nputellas just posted

Liked by kika.nazareth, vickylopezz._, patri8guijarro, and others

y/nputellas: couple days off Load more comments

alexiaputellas: why is kika there? I thought you said you were going on a date? ↳ vickylopezz._: oh capi ↳ alexiaputellas: what? ↳ vickylopezz._: you’ll get there patri8guijarro: cuties kika.nazareth: my stargirl 🌟 Liked by y/nputellas ↳ alexiaputellas: my?? @y/nputellas you better start talking ↳ vickylopezz._: told ya

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Rushing through an airport with a toddler was no joke. Your daughter was propped up on your hip as you were trying to reach your gate in time. Her on your right hip, your suitcase in your left hand, and a backpack digging into your shoulders. You were running as fast as you were able to.

First you had forgotten your passport at home and had to turn the car around halfway to the airport. Then there was the massive line to get through security, and when it was finally your turn, your daughter became hysterical when the TSA agent had to take her stuffed animal from her for the scan.

As if airports weren’t stressful enough, you decided to do it the hardest way today apparently. Your phone buzzed in your pocket. You didn’t even have to check it to know what it was notifying you for. Final boarding call.

Of course, your gate had been on the opposite side of the airport. The odds of you making it all the way there on time were slim to none, but you weren’t giving up until someone physically told you that you would not be allowed to enter the plane.

You knew it wasn’t going to be in the cards after everything, but still seeing the boarding closed signs at your gate stung. You spoke with the staff still there, but to no avail, they had already closed the doors and were retracting the tunnel as you spoke.

With a sigh of defeat you sunk into one of the gate chairs, and put your daughter in the seat next to you. As you were catching your breath, a stranger's feet stepped in front of you, “I’m sorry you missed your flight, I thought you could use this.” She holds out a bottle of water for you. You take it gratefully and thank her, before opening it instantly and taking a few sips.

Your chatty little girl instantly sparks up a conversation with the stranger, Aitana, you find out instantly as she reaches out to shake your daughter’s held out hand. You tell her your name as well when she turns to you.

“Did you miss the flight too?” The three of you are now the only ones left in the further empty gate. “Double booking actually. The other person was part of a couple so I said I'll take the next one.”

You were surprised by the instant kindness she had shown both the stranger on the plane and you just now with the water. “That's so kind of you. Do you by chance know when the next flight is?” 

“In two hours.” Aitana answers. While you're taking in the new information, your daughter shows off her bear to Aitana. “That's a very pretty bear! Does it have a name?” She nods proudly, “Bear!” Aitana chuckles lightly, “Very fitting.”

Aitana notices how stressed you seem and decides to try and help you out in any way that she can. “So, where are you headed?”

“We are on our way to visit my sister. She moved away for work, but we try to visit as often as we can. This one loves time with her auntie.” You share, wondering why it felt so easy to tell that to a complete stranger.

Your daughter had enough of sitting still, so she slid down and started running around the rows of chairs. You chuckle with a shake of your head at her energy. “I swear she didn't get all this energy from me.” 

Aitana was interested in knowing more, so she subtly tried to pry. “Is it always just the two of you traveling?” You nod, “Yeah, it's just the two of us. What about you, where were you traveling too?” Aitana smiles, “My friends are opening a new restaurant, and they invited me to the grand opening.”

The two of you sit watching your daughter run circles around you while filling the open space with her giggles for a moment, before Aitana speaks again. “I know we've literally only just met, but it looks like you have your hands full with this little ball of energy. I know someone that works in ticketing here, and I already have to switch my ticket, can I switch yours for you?” 

You're taken back by the offer a little bit, but surely it would go better if Aitana had an insight connection, right? “Yeah, okay. If you don't mind.” Aitana smiles as she stands up, “Not at all. I will be right back.”

She got about three steps away from her seat when your daughter ran into her and hugged her legs. “Will you play with me Tana?” Aitana hugged her back before saying, “I will when I get back, okay? Just have to make sure we can all get onto the next plane.”

You watch your daughter run around, until she finally settles down a bit in front of the big window looking out over the airplanes coming and going. After sending your sister a quick message, you hear your daughter get excited. “Mami, I see Tana!” You turn your head in the direction where Aitana headed, but don’t see her, so stand up and walk towards your daughter to figure out what she saw.

“There Mami!” She says excitedly while pointing outside. Confusion is written all over your face, but still you take a look out of the window, and sure enough there she is. Aitana’s face on the body of a passing airplane. Your confusion doesn’t fade, so you grab your phone and search up “Vueling Aitana” on Google to see why her face would be on one of their planes.

“Our seats on the next plane are secured!” Aitana says proudly when she walks up to the gate again. “Tana on plane! Tana on plane!” Your girl chants as she runs up to Aitana to pull her up to the window. You watch her expression change, like all of a sudden she feels very self aware and embarrassed. 

You turn your phone towards her, “Your ‘I know someone’ is literally having a sponsorship deal with the airline? Both with your professional football team and your own deal?” Aitana looks a bit defeated, like she knew meeting a beautiful stranger would get ruined by her career, but had enough hope left for this to go well.

“Well, this seems silly now.” She says lowering the FC Barcelona ball. ”I got it at the shop in the hall for her to get her energy out. She can still have it of course.” She hands your daughter the ball, before turning around and walking towards her suitcase that she had left with you. “We can wait in the Vueling lounge. You don’t have to come of course, I just thought maybe it would be easier with her.” She gestures to your daughter who was trying to kick the ball around. “It’s big, we can sit far away from each other if that’s what you want.”

Your brow furrows with each word that she speaks. “Why are you acting like you committed a crime or are contagious all of a sudden?” You say with a chuckle, trying to lighten the moment. “What?” She asks nervously.

“You got our tickets switched, got her a toy, and gave me water when I felt like I was about to explode from stress. Why would I not want to sit near you?” Aitana’s shoulders loosen just slightly at your words, though she still looks uncertain. She lets out a small laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “You’d be surprised how many people change when they figure out who I am.”

You close your phone, that had the news articles with her name written all over it still on the screen before you look back up at her. “While seeing your face on a plane was certainly an experience.” Aitana groans, still not believing how that could’ve happened to her. 

“To me you are still the kind person I just met who basically saved my entire day.” Your eyes land on your daughter for a moment as she hugs the football close to her chest. “So, if I end up being weird, it’s because you rescued me from a complete meltdown, not because apparently you are famous.”

Aitana chuckles, “Alright, let’s head to the lounge then.” You physically see the tension leaving her body as she turns to your daughter. “Ready to play?” She nodded enthusiastically, and takes Aitana’s held out hand.

The lounge is a lot quieter, well it was before you entered, but it was nice. No one else was around. The three of you sat down on the floor, as urged to by your daughter and formed a semi-triangle with your legs, sitting feet to feet to create a box for the game your daughter wanted to play. She rolled the ball to you first, and then told you to roll it to Aitana. The three of you sat there playing for a good fifteen minutes before she was off running around again.

You stood up and held out your hand to Aitana to help her up. “You truly are a lifesafer, I don’t know how I can ever thank you.” She takes your hand and stands up with you, “I know how you can.”

A chuckle leaves your lips at how fast she had that ready. “Oh, really?” You joke back as the two of you sit down. “Yeah, come to my friend’s restaurant's grand opening with me.” 

“Like as..” You don’t even finish the sentence, unsure if finishing it would ruin whatever relationship you were building with her. “As a date.” She finishes, “And if you’re not interested in that, which is also totally fine. Come anyways, bring your daughter, your sister, and her family if she has any there. All come, it’s just been really great meeting you, and I would love to continue spending time with you.”

Your smile grows as she speaks. It was funny now knowing that she was basically famous in Barcelona, and across the footballing world, but was also just a person that got nervous. “I am sure that my sister would like some auntie time, so yes, I would love to go with you as your date.”

When the next plane arrived, it didn’t feel like much time had passed. You had fallen into easy conversation with Aitana, while your daughter had found some plane toys to play with. Once on the plane, the three of you shared a row. Aitana gave you the window seat, and your daughter sat in the middle of the two of you.

Your daughter sat on your lap after take off, watching the clouds from the window, but was quickly done with seeing the same thing for more than two minutes. She was getting restless, and her bright red cheeks told you that she had finally used up all her energy and was going to fall asleep soon.

Not even five minutes later she had climbed back into her seat, and leaned into Aitana’s side when her eyes fell shut. It was the cutest thing ever seeing how comfortable the two of them were together. Aitana looked from your daughter to you with a loving smile. 

You smile back at her, thinking that this was probably the first time, and most likely the only time in your life that you were glad you missed your flight. Meeting Aitana so far seemed totally worth it, and you couldn’t wait to spend more time with her and get to know her better.

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