#Spain WNT

[tikitakatia]

Louvre — A. Putellas x Reader

Alexia was already plotting her escape.

She’d barely stepped out of the Olympic village before regretting every decision that led her here. Not to Paris, not to the Olympics, but to this detour. Her teammates, running on impulse and questionable group logic, decided that they just had to visit the Louvre today, specifically the Egyptian wing. Apparently, team bonding now involves learning about mummification techniques. She supposes it might come in handy the next time the refs let a clear penalty slide.

Jenni was practically bouncing like a child that was fed too much sugar. Misa, who´s now fully immersed in her TikTok influencer era, was narrating every step like it was meant to be a viral trend. Irene and Laia had been arguing for ten straight minutes over whether ancient Egyptians worshipped cats or just really liked them. Alexia, meanwhile, was weighing her options: fake an emergency, claim sudden heat exhaustion, or just disappear quietly and hope no one noticed until she was already at the beach volleyball courts. Anything to escape another hour of 'team bonding.'

And that’s how you meet her.

You.

The tour guide. Underpaid, over-caffeinated, and radiating the kind of forced enthusiasm usually reserved for theme park employees in August. You spot them immediately, voice slightly too loud, smile a little too tight and donning Olympic gear acting like it makes them blend in. It doesn’t.

But then there’s her.

Leaning against a wall like it's personally inconveniencing her, arms folded with precision, brow set in a permanent state of "don’t even try me." She's wearing sunglasses indoors, not the oversized fashion kind, but the 'I’ve made a conscious decision to block all of this out' kind. You can’t tell if she's a chaperone, a coach, or just someone who took a wrong turn and is now emotionally trapped in the Egyptian wing. She doesn't speak, doesn't move, and yet somehow broadcasts a full essay titled I Would Rather Be Literally Anywhere Else.

You recognize that look. You’ve seen it on grumpy dads stuck at brunch, teenagers at family reunions, and one duchess at a ribbon-cutting ceremony who clearly wanted to set the building on fire. Whoever she is, she looked like she was more interested in being a mummy than learning about one.

“Welcome to the Louvre!" you announce, voice a little too bright, in that tone that screams, I am seconds away from losing it, but I’m smiling through the existential crisis anyway. You quickly scan their name tags and IDs to familiarize yourself, then your eyes land on the bored-looking blonde in sunglasses like a magnet. You read her nametag, Alexia, and give her another look. This is going to be a fun tour.

You kick off the tour in the section which also happèns to be your comfort zone. Not because you’re obsessed with mummies or anything, but because, let’s face it, the statues can’t talk back. And thank God for that, because if they could, they’d probably ask you the same stupid questions a thousand times a day. You launch into your usual spiel about the Rosetta Stone replica, spewing out facts you’ve memorized so well you’re pretty sure they’ve been burned into your DNA at this point. It's automatic. It's almost robotic. But hey, it’s a job. And you’re doing it.

But then you glance at her again. There she is in the back, looking like she was about to fall asleep on her feet. And then, just to top it off, you swear she yawns, and not just a casual yawn. No, no. It’s an audacious yawn. A yawn so big it could eclipse the entire museum´s collection, making you wonder if maybe she's part of some secret society of people who can’t be impressed by 3,000-year-old artifacts. The audacity of this woman.

You’re speechless for a second, standing there in utter disbelief, but you quickly recover.

Cool. Challenge accepted.

You lower your voice, just enough so only Alexia can hear. "This," you say, pointing to a funerary mask, "is believed to have been worn by ancient Egyptians to help hide their resting bitch face better than sunglasses."

Alexia’s eyebrows twitch slightly, like she's trying to hold back a smile. But as if in a last-ditch attempt to remain emotionally unaffected, she shoots you a look over her shades like you just told her the pyramids were built by camels.

You go on, unphased. "And this one here? The Anubis statue? Guardian of the afterlife. Also the first to popularize the smokey eye."

This time, she snorts.

"What was that?" Irene turns to look at her.

"Nothing," Alexia mutters, smoothing her face, her tone trying to hide the crack in her defenses.

You keep walking, dropping facts with the precision of someone who’s learned to keep this whole ‘tour guide’ thing going while simultaneously amusing themselves. Each one is aimed only at Alexia, like a game where the only rule is you have to try not to laugh.

"This papyrus scroll here? Early tax evasion forms."

"The sarcophagus? Absolutely cursed. By bad interior design."

"This entire wing? Sponsored by ancient trauma."

Each remark is met with an involuntary sound from Alexia. A laugh under her breath, an incredulous look, but she’s fighting it. Or at least, she’s trying to.

When you finally stop in front of the cat goddess Bastet, you can tell her teammates are trying to drag her out. You let them get just far enough away before you drop your next fact.

She’s still hovering, clearly trying to pull her composure together. "She protected households," you say, low again, "and invented knocking things off tables for sport."

Alexia glares at you, still fighting a smile. You can see she’s getting close to breaking so you point to a bunch of hieroglyphs on the wall.

You lean in, voice dropping just enough for her to hear. "And this one right here? Says ‘send nudes.’"

This time, there’s no stopping it. Alexia bursts into laughter, a loud, uncontrollable laugh that echoes through the room. Her teammates freeze, turning around to stare at her like she’s suddenly grown a second head.

"Alexia?" Jenni calls out, blinking in confusion.

Alexia just shakes her head, still laughing. "Nothing," she says, but the smile on her face gives her away.

Her teammates look confused, but you can see Alexia's walls crumbling. Her laughter starts to die down, and as she tries to compose herself, she bites her lip and shoots you a look.

"You’re making that up," she says, still trying to act all tough, but there's no hiding the grin tugging at her lips.

"Absolutely. But you believed me for half a second," you reply, unable to resist the smug satisfaction of getting under her skin.

She gives you a crooked smile, shaking her head in resignation, then turns to follow her teammates as they finally drag her out of the exhibit.

Two days later, your inbox pings.

Private Louvre tour request. Olympic Committee. Egyptian wing. No name.

You frown. Weird. Could be anyone. Could be another team of tourists who will complain about anything under the sun. Could be your worst nightmare. Who knows?

You show up anyway.

And there she is. Leaning against a column like this is now her new second home. The others are behind her, looking like they’ve just come off a 5-day hike through the Louvre's entire collection of obscure art. Clearly, they’re not happy to be here.

"You again?" you say, with a raised eyebrow, pretending you don’t already know exactly what’s going on.

"Missed your historical slander," Alexia says, deadpan, as if this is a normal thing to say to a tour guide.

Jenni groans dramatically from the back. "She literally made us cancel lunch for this."

They look like they’re already regretting their life choices, but you’re already leading them through the Greek wing, statues galore.

You lean closer to Alexia, dropping your voice just enough so only she hears. "This guy? Zeus. Massive ego. Turned into a swan to seduce someone. Because, you know, consent was apparently optional for ancient gods."

She raises an eyebrow, completely unamused. "A swan?"

"Yeah," you say, nodding seriously. "The original bird app."

You swear you hear her snort, and it’s louder than before, like she’s giving up on pretending to be unimpressed.

The others start to notice, slowly turning their heads toward the sound.

"You’re actually enjoying this," Irene says with a gasp, pointing at Alexia in disbelief. "Last week you said museums are just fancy sleeping areas."

"Shut up," Alexia mutters under her breath, trying to hide the smile that’s clearly threatening to crack her icy exterior.

"You made fun of me for liking art," Laia adds, half-shocked, half-amused.

"Still do," Alexia says without missing a beat. "But this guide lies better than you flirt."

You cough, covering up a laugh, but it’s clear you’ve won this round.

A few days later, another anonymous booking. This time, the Renaissance wing.

Olympic Committee. No name. But you’re not even surprised anymore.

You walk in. And there she is. Again. Waiting alone.

"Just you today?" you ask, trying to sound casual, like you’re not secretly a little excited.

"They're recovering," she says, her face completely straight.

"From art?" you ask, eyebrow raised.

"From me dragging them to three tours in a week," she admits, sounding almost proud of herself.

You grin. "Addicted to my lies now?"

"Something like that."

You step into the Renaissance section, ready to drop some fresh facts on the poor souls who just so happen to be standing next to you.

"Here we have the Mona Lisa," you announce dramatically. "Famously small. Famously smug. Fun fact: she’s actually judging you for your fashion choices."

Alexia stands next to you, arms almost brushing. Her lips twitch. "She looks like she’s holding in a fart."

You turn to her, mock-shocked. "How dare you. That’s the mother of all memes right there."

You move on and she follows, clearly enjoying herself.

"This one was painted with real lapis lazuli. Extremely rare. Also the reason blue pens exist today."

"That true?" she asks, raising an eyebrow.

You shrug casually. "Fifty-fifty. But it sounds good, right?"

She leans in a little closer. "Tell me more fake facts."

It keeps happening. More anonymous bookings. More sarcastic commentary. More time with her.

You start branching out. The Medieval section. The Islamic Art wing. Even the random furniture gallery.

"This chair once belonged to Napoleon. He sat on it after every failed date."

"These tiles were early prototypes for IKEA."

"This painting? Definitely haunted. But only if you yawn too loud near it."

Alexia eats it all up, each remark leaving you with the satisfaction of knowing you’ve cracked her tough exterior. Every smirk, every eye-roll you earn feels like a win.

By the sixth visit, Jenni finally confronts her.

"You realize you’ve seen more of the Louvre than the football field by now, right?"

Alexia rolls her eyes, unbothered. "It’s educational."

"You're flirting," Jenni presses, smirking.

"Shut up," Alexia says, but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips. She’s not fooling anyone.

After one particularly long tour through the Islamic Art section ("This calligraphy? Probably a 600-year-old text complaining about tourists"), Alexia lingers, pretending like she’s just inspecting the exhibits.

"Do you ever get tired of walking people through here?" she asks, leaning against a display like she’s been doing this her whole life.

"Not when they make weird faces at 12th-century tiles," you respond, smirking.

"I wasn’t making a weird face," she says, defending herself.

"You looked like you were trying to decode IKEA instructions in Arabic."

She laughs, and it's full this time. No hiding it. Her shoulders shake with genuine amusement. She leans in, her voice dropping just enough for you to hear.

"Okay. So what if I said I wanted a private tour... outside the Louvre?"

You blink, half-laughing, half-confused. "Like... a date?"

She pretends to think about it, looking up at the ceiling for dramatic effect. "Let’s call it a cultural exchange."

"That sounds suspiciously like Olympic Committee phrasing," you reply, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugs, completely unphased. "I can pull strings."

You shake your head, smiling. "Fine. But only if you promise to fact-check me."

"Never. That’s half the fun," she grins.

You grin right back. "God, you’re the most stubborn museum convert I’ve ever met."

"And yet..." she steps closer, voice quiet but playful. "Your favorite."

You don’t argue.

Because she is.

[caitlinclark]

[imverits]

[futurejocksgf]

[ankaraalexiafcb]

Loml

[flemingology]

neglected ─ alexia putellas x reader

in which: alexia has been neglecting your relationship for a while, but things blow up when she forgets about her own son

warnings: not too descriptive but just a bad relationship, alexia neglecting you and your son

wc: 3.3k

a/n: tried my hand at writing some angst. not my best work, but i love this trope lol.

When Alexia and you first started dating, the two of you couldn't get enough of each other. Between her busy football schedule and your busy work schedule, every single second of free time was spent together. Nights out, nights in, cooking together, lounging on the couch, it didn't matter to either of you what you did, as long as you did it together.

Dating Alexia was pure bliss. The Spaniard showered you with love, adoration and loads of affection every day again and again. She was away often, either on away games with Barcelona or on camps with Spain, but she made up for it in the time you spent together. Making you coffee every morning, doing household chores on weeks she was home so you could take a break, cooking for you, taking you out for dinner, Alexia had one love language and it was clearly acts of service.

With time your relationship only grew stronger, the both of you nothing short of adored by the other's family, steadily cruising towards your fourth year of dating one another. The topic of kids arose one night, and while you hadn't really talked about it before, you quickly agreed that it was something you really wanted. In the next few months you figured out the logistics, and you started your IVF journey. You decided it would be best for you to carry the baby, as you were able to continue your work from home and you definitely wouldn't want to take Alexia away from her career and doing what she loved most for multiple months while you could just carry the baby without too many problems.

Your pregnancy went by without too many hiccups. You had the usual symptoms; morning sickness in your first trimester, backaches, joint pain, weird cravings, but nothing out of the ordinary. It seemed like you and Alexia grew even closer together during the 9 months that you carried the baby, and you'd never felt happier in your 26 years on the planet than now. You were starting a family with the love of your life and you were beyond excited to meet the little human that was growing inside of you.

You found out you were having a boy about 5 months into your pregnancy. Alexia and you held a little gender reveal for your closest friends and family, not wanting to go overboard with anything as neither her or you were all for the big reveals or parties. You kissed your girlfriend fiercely as blue confetti swirled around you, whispering declarations of love against her lips as the world around you faded for a moment.

Your baby boy was born a couple weeks early. Not prematurely, the nurses assured you many times that there were only little women that carried out their 40 weeks to a tee. 37 weeks and a half, nothing to worry about. He was healthy, and you couldn't have wished for anything more than that. Baby Matías.

Your first couple months with Matías really tested your patience. He wasn't an easy sleeper, didn't settle easily, needed nursing at irregular hours, you and Alexia struggled as she went back to being a full-time footballer and after a couple months, you had picked some work back up too. Only when Matías started going to daycare, things started to change a little. The little bundle of joy would use up all his energy at daycare every day, and would usually fall asleep quite quickly at night – allowing you and your girlfriend to get back to a slightly more set sleep schedule too.

When Matías turned one year, you invited all of both Alexia's and yours family for a birthday party. You decorated the house accordingly, had a cake made with all types of colors – Matías loved bright colors – and he received an abundance of presents. Shame he wouldn't remember.

In the couple weeks after his birthday, it felt like something had changed between you and Alexia. The Spanish midfielder came home late more often, and while you usually wouldn't bat an eye at that, 5 extra so-called tactical meetings in 6 days seemed a little overkill. She didn't make an effort to help around in the house anymore, coming home she usually just spent some time with Matías before going up to bed. Without waiting for you. That's what struck you most. Of all things that Alexia loved doing with you, snuggling up in bed, talking about your day, doing other things, was up there with her favorite things. But you decided to let it slide. Maybe the Barca team really needed that much more tactical meetings.

You don't know when it shifted. She started missing date nights. Her sacred date nights. If anyone had told Alexia a couple months ago that she would deliberately miss a night out with you, she'd have slapped them across the face with more force than her average penalty kick. 6 months after Matías was born, Alexia and you had decided to pick date nights back up. Not in the frequency of before, but twice a month. Your son would go to Eli or your mum, who'd both never say no to having their grandson over for a night. He was in good hands they'd assure you again and again. She missed two in a row. For the first one, you'd made a reservation at a little tapas bar that you knew she'd been eyeing for quite a while. It was new in town, and you just hadn't had the opportunity yet to go. You were waiting for her there, dressed in a new black dress, tapping your feet as each passing minute that she ran late made you feel more ridiculed. No text. No call. You ordered a drink, to be nice, gulped it down and left.

You argued that evening. Late, in bed, when she joined you at an inexplicable hour. No excuse this time. It was hushed, quiet, not wanting to wake Matías who was sleeping in the room next to you, but it was heavy. Alexia promised she'd do better. She kissed your worries away, but if it wasn't so dark in the room, you'd have seen in her eyes that she was just saying what she knew you wanted to hear.

Matías' second birthday was similar to his first. Despite, this time he demanded a Spiderman-themed party and cake. You went out of your way to pick up all Spiderman stuff, from cups and plates to napkins and balloon. Personalized cake, of course. If Alexia had been more around, she'd probably have bought even more stuff. But she wasn't. Busy. With football, you know. Somehow, busier than she'd ever been. Despite having told you when you got Matías that she'd take on less brand deals. Agree to less media. You were done arguing. You didn't want to fight for something that you knew you were the only one still wanting. It was clear that Alexia had fallen out of love with you. No more morning coffee, no more aid in the household chores, no more cooking when she wasn't home late for once. You stayed with her, for Matías. That's what you'd tell yourself. But deep down, you were staying because you wanted things to go back to normal. For her to see you. Really see you. To make her fall in love with you again.

You two had fallen into a rhythm. It would go downhill, you would barely see Alexia for a couple weeks and then it would explode, you would yell at her and she'd say sorry, make it up to you with hushed whispers, kisses and explorations of your body that made you feel like you were on top of the world. Only for you to crash down. Hard. Again and again.

That she was neglecting you, was something you'd get over. It hurt. It hurt really bad. The woman that you thought you were going to marry, had started acting like you didn't mean anything to her anymore and it crushed you. But the second she started neglecting and forgetting about her own son, is when you knew it was getting out of line.

It was Matías' first day of school, the first time it happened. You had dropped him off together, neither of you wanting to miss out on the moment. You hugged him goodbye, wiped a couple tears away and Alexia promised that she'd be there tonight. To pick him up, because you had a meeting that would run past 3pm. Alexia was supposed to be at the club until 1, so she would have the time. However, for some reason that she tried to explain to you late at night, she didn't. That reason was bullshit, though. You knew she forgot. You could tell by the way the kitchen sink was littered with a couple coffee mugs and some plates. She'd brought some of the girls over for an afternoon chat. She forgot about your son. You got a call from the school at 4pm. You usually didn't pick up your phone whilst in a meeting, but you excused yourself. For obvious reasons. They told you that no one had picked up Matías yet. She asked if you were still coming. You tried not to sound annoyed over the phone, not wanting to direct your anger towards Alexia to the nice secretary. You promised her you'd be there in a minute. Matías was sad. Clearly. He clung to you in a way he never had before when you went to pick him up. "Where is mami?" he asked again and again. You wondered the same thing.

When you entered the house a little past 4, meeting long forgotten, with Matías on your hip, Alexia's eyes widened. She palmed her face and cursed under her breath. You didn't give her the time of day, let her apologies fall on deaf ears, and played with Matías in his room for the remainder of the afternoon.

You fought that night, again. Less hushed. Less whispered, and Matías definitely heard it this time. No kisses to make up for it. Ice cold silence. Alexia knew she'd lost you. She never wanted it to come this far. She knew she had been neglecting you, and it was nothing but her fault. All she needed to voice to you was that she needed a break. Not from you, but from her life. Her day-to-day job took so much of her energy that she just didn't want to deal with what was waiting for her at home anymore, and that was wrong. She had a 2 year old son and a girlfriend of 6 years waiting for you, both always hopeful of spending an evening with their respective mami and girlfriend. But recently, she hadn't found the energy to do anything but put her clothes in the laundry and fall asleep. You'd take care of the rest.

It wasn't until one random evening in the middle of the summer, that all hell broke loose between the two of you. Matías had a play date with his nephew at Eli's, leaving the two of you to your own devices for the night. You couldn't remember the last time you and Alexia were alone. Bi-weekly date nights long forgotten. You came home from an excruciatingly long day at work, wanting nothing more than to just flop down on the sofa and get your weekend started with a glass of wine and some take-out.

Entering your shared apartment, though, you were met with a sight you'd nearly forgotten still existed. Alexia was standing behind the stove, stirring into something that smelled suspiciously much like your mother's chicken soup recipe. "What are you doing?" You questioned sharply. Alexia was startled by your voice and looked at you sheepishly. It had been a while since you had spoken to her so directly. "Uhm– I'm cooking?" You scoffed, turned on your heels and left. Alexia hadn't expected the chicken soup to be some sort of magic healing potion for your relationship, but she had hoped that you'd at least show a little appreciation. She had no idea of how deeply rooted the problem was. She'd been distant, yes. Absent. But she assumed you'd understand. Understand that she hadn't kissed you more than a peck since a couple weeks. Understand that she hadn't hugged you in ages. Understand that you hadn't had sex in what felt like months. You finally understood what people meant with "the spark being gone". You always thought it'd never happen between you and Alexia, but you figured your relationship wasn't as perfect as you once thought it was.

Alexia emerged a few moments later, a bowl of steaming soup in her hand, placing it in front of you on the coffee table. "Para ti," she said, with a small smile. "What are you doing, Alexia?" You repeated your words from the last time. "I cooked for you." "Yeah, I can tell. Why? You haven't done anything for me bar give me laundry in months."

You'd been co-existing. Living your own lives, in the same space. You didn't know how it had been at football, you wouldn't know how they were performing if it wasn't for the social media of the club. You didn't know how Mapi and Ingrid were. You didn't know what awards she had or hadn't been nominated for and you certainly weren't in the loop anymore with how things were going with the Spanish federation. Alexia didn't know you got promoted. She didn't know you'd been drowning in work for weeks on end. She didn't know that her lack of help in the household had lead you to overworking yourself, having an online therapy session once a week whilst she was at training. Or in a meeting. Or God knows where. You didn't know anything bout each other anymore, and as much as you tried to hide it to the outside world, people started catching on. You were never ones to be very public with your relationship or showy with your affection, but when you stopped coming to bonding nights with her and when she stopped coming to your work events, it was clear.

"Look, I'm sorry. I know I've been neglecting you. I'm here to make it up. Por favor."

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Alexia was apologizing for the past couple months with chicken soup. You closed your eyes, took a composing breath and locked your gazes.

"Are you fucking serious, Alexia?" Her eyes widened in response and she gave you a sheepish look. "You're fucking kidding me." You stood up and looked down at her, a pointed look in your eyes. "You've been acting like I don't exist for the past couple months. God forbid you let me know where you are, when you're running late, what you're doing. God forbid you greet me when you come home, let alone your son! He asks about you every day. He asks where you are, what you're doing, when you're coming home, and all I can say is that I don't know. That I don't know where you are, that you're probably fucking some other bitch again while we're waiting for mami to come home."

Alexia tries to interrupt you at that, but you hold up a hand and give her a challenging look. "Let me fucking speak, Putellas. That you're neglecting me, I've put that past me now. You know, you've fallen out of love. Shit happens. I'll get over it. But forgetting Matías? Really, Alexia? Your own fucking son? Something died inside me that day, honestly. Getting that phone call from school was one of the most disheartening things I'd ever experienced in my life. You wanted this boy just as much as I did. You spoke to him in my belly for 9 months. You cradled and hugged him for hours on end after he was born, you bought everything for him that he wanted, never one to say no to him. What the fuck happened, Ale?" The nickname slipped out before you could even register what you were saying. "Alexia."

"Honestly, I don't know what happened between us or between you two, or between you and whoever you're fucking, but this needs to stop. I'm nothing more than a fucking maid to you, Alexia. I'm good to cook, clean, do the dishes, do your laundry, but besides that you don't even look at me anymore. You wouldn't stop looking at me when we first started dating. I'm good to take care of your child, the child that, let me remind you, you wanted just as much as me. But this honestly feels like i'm a single parent, Alexia. You don't take him to school, you don't take him to his grandmothers, you don't go with him to his football practices or games. I get that you're busy. You've always been. I knew that when I started a relationship with you. But you always found time for me. For us, especially. I can't do this anymore, Alexia. Not with you. Not with the way you're treating me right now. I deserves so much better. Matías deserves a better mami." You see hurt flashing through Alexia's eyes at your last couple words, but she knows you're right.

You take a deep breath and sit back down, eyeing the now mocking bowl of soup that was still on the coffee table. You consider trying it, you knew she went through the effort of perfecting it with your mother's recipe, but you don't want to give her the satisfaction. It's quiet for a while, until she speaks up.

"Look, for the record, I know it's not the most important thing of what you said, but I'm not fucking someone else. I promise you. I'm faithful to you. Always have been, always will. I love you." You scoffed at your words, but let her continue. "I was always this busy, I just used to move or cancel my appointments. I know it's wrong for me that I'm not doing that anymore. I know I've been the worst. I've been a bad partner and an even worse mami. And I feel so bad about it. But I don't know how to fix it." A tear escapes her eye, but you can't find it in you to care. Not when you've cried so many about her, that she didn't see. "I want to be better, truly. For you and for him. I fucking hate being so distant from you. But I don't know how to get you back. I've been thinking about it for weeks, how I'm gonna try and win you back." You process her words but can't help but think that she's just trying to rope you back in, without actually meaning what she's saying. She wants you to say for her own convenience, not because she loves you. So before you can get lost in her apologies and promises, you get up. Alexia's eyes follow you and you can see the unshed tears welling in them. "Don't," she whispers.

You move towards the door, and you should probably be thinking about this a little longer, you don't even have a goddamn back-up plan, but you need to get out of here. "I'm picking up my stuff tomorrow. I'll tell Eli that Matías can stay over at hers and I'll pick him up there." Alexia crosses the room in a quick few strides and hovers behind you, her eyes sad as she watches you slipping away from her fingers. "Por favor, quédate," she says softly. "I can't, Alexia." You shake your head and meet her eyes one final time. "I can't. You're ruining me." Your voice is harsh, too harsh, when you say your final words. You open the door. "Come back to us when you can find it in you to start moving your stupid media appointments again. Or celebrate the birthday of your son. Or pick him up from school, for God's sake."

You slam the door shut.

[helen-with-an-a]

Beautiful Girl - New Year’s Eve(18+)

Happy New Year, everyone. I hope all your dreams come true, and I wish you well for the next year. Here is a totally indulged, dirtier-than-I-intended New Year fic with Alexia to help you welcome the new year in the right way. Also, will I ever learn how to write short smutty things? Probably not. This is the fic that started the Beautiful Girl series and yet I've already released so much for it ahahaha. For the anon back in August who told me I need to make my fics less ambiguous, this is for you. R IS A WOMAN. Have the day u deserve anon 😘✌️

Alexia Putellas x Reader

Beautiful Girl Masterlist

Description: Thank god the New Year's party was cancelled.

TW: Smut, 18+, cunnilingus, strap (R giving - dom R; Sub Alexia)

You had never been more grateful for food poisoning. Watching Patri and the rest of the girls fall sick was hard, it seemed almost cruel to relish in their misfortune. Whilst is was undoubtedly horrific to feel so ill over Christmas, it did mean one thing. One thing you were so, overwhelmingly happy about.

Missing Patri's New Years' Eve party.

With so many of the team members now laid up with various degrees of illness, it was quickly decided that the party wouldn't be happening. Given the circumstances, it was the best choice for everyone, but it also meant you could spend the evening with Alexia alone.

It wasn’t your first year ringing in the New Year with Alexia – this would actually be the fifth you were welcoming in together. Up until now, each new year was brought in surrounded by friends, clinking glasses and a swift kiss at midnight before munching on some grapes. Whilst you loved the parties, the thought of just snuggling up at home was always niggling at the back of your mind.

This year, however, was different. For the first time, you had the chance to bring in the New Year alone.

“Ale,” you called gently, your voice barely above a whisper. She was engrossed in the countdown on the TV, her gaze locked on the screen as they ticked away the last minutes of the year.

“Hm?” she responded, lifting her head from where it had been nestled comfortably against your chest.

“Will you be my New Year's kiss?” you asked softly. It might have been a silly question – but it was something you asked each other every year, a small tradition of your own. It had started your first year together, when you were unsure about how the Catalan celebrated New Year's. The next year, she asked you - the pair of you celebrating in England this time, surrounded by your friends and family and Alexia had been unsure of whether you wanted to kiss in public. By Year 3, it felt strange not asking, even though you knew she would never say no, it felt odd, just assuming.

Alexia's heart softened as she met your gaze. A wide, warm smile spread across her lips, a dusting of pink settling on her cheeks.

“Sí, mi amor,” she said, her voice gentle. “I will be your beso de año nuevos.” Her smile was radiant now, a wide, joyful grin that seemed to light up the room. She added, with a playful glint in her eye, “As long as I can be yours?”

“Of course, my beautiful girl,” you replied, your fingers carding through her hair. “No lo querría de otra manera.”

“Good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the gentle hum of the TV. She leaned closer, moving up your body with a grace that seemed almost dreamlike. As her lips brushed against yours, the world outside dissolved, leaving just the two of you, curled up in bed, without a care in the world.

She tasted like honey. Warm and smooth nectar that eased your soul. It was the perfect remedy for any issue. Her lips were soft as they worked in time with yours. A throaty hum bubbled up in her chest as you tightened your fingers in her hair.

As you finally pulled away from the kiss, the sudden burst of fireworks outside startled you, their vibrant explosions lighting up the night sky. You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face as Alexia's hand drew you back to face her.

“Feliz año nuevo, mi amor” Alexia whispered against your lips.

Alexia’s eyes sparkled as she looked down at you, her expression full of love. “Happy New Year, my beautiful girl,” you replied softly, tugging her back to you, your lips finding each other again with perfect ease.

When she finally pulled away, her breath came in ragged, deep gasps. She took a moment to let her gaze wander slowly over the length of your body, her eyes moving with deliberate slowness. You watched as she took in your form, bare legs intertwined with hers, a hoodie she was fairly sure used to belong to her on your top half. To Alexia, you had never looked more beautiful. You were the epitome of quiet beauty - a radiance from within that made you glow.

You gently lifted a hand to her chin, your touch tender and deliberate as you guided her back to face you. Her gaze met yours with an almost innocent intensity, her eyes wide and doe-like.

"T'estimo molt, Alèxia Putellas i Segura." You mumbled, your voice thick. It was true, you had never felt like this before. So loved, so safe, so happy.

"I love you, Y/N Y/S/N, so much." Alexia whispered back, her words just as emotional.

You didn't know how long you spent, lying there kissing Alexia. But you didn't really care. All that mattered was the woman above you, the way she rocked her hips against yours, the way her hands explored your body, the way she gasped and moaned as you tugged at her roots and trailed your fingers under her pyjama top.

“What do you need, Ale?” you asked gently in between kisses.

“Tú,” she muttered, her voice barely audible. “Te necesito.”

“What about me do you need, my beautiful girl?" You smoothed her hair away from her head, eyes searching hers. "How can I give you what you need?” Y

“I need … necesito … I …” Alexia’s words faltered. She was slipping into a state of mind that only you could bring out in her – a headspace where she shed all her external responsibilities. She wasn’t Alexia Putellas, the captain of Barça, or the face of Spanish football. She was simply Ale, your Ale, your Beautiful Girl.

“I need your cock, por favor.” Her eyes slid sideways, avoiding your gaze. You hated how she hated being vulnerable around you. It was something you had been working on together, her voicing her desires to you, whether it be as simple as what to make for dinner or as hard as voicing her deepest fantasies. She was doing a lot better, in the early days it had been exasperating to watch her flounder whenever you asked what she needed. But now, the pride welled in your chest as she spoke with relative confidence. You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Okay, beautiful,” you said softly, smoothing your hand against the skin on her hip. “Do you want me to get the strap? Or would you prefer to?” You reached up to push a stray piece of blonde hair out of her eyes, and pressing a light kiss to the tip of her nose.

Alexia's response came with a hint of hesitation. “You,” she said, her voice wavering slightly as she made her choice, taking a steadying breath as she did so.

“Alright,” you acknowledged, nodding with a soft smile. “The big black one or the smaller purple one?”

“B-black one,” she whispered shyly. There was a noticeable blush on her cheeks. The black one was her favourite, the one that stung in the best way, the one that made her arch and squirm as you split her open, the one that could leave her limping for the next few days.

A smile spread across your face at her words, your heart swelling with affection. “Okay,” you said gently. “Take off your clothes while I get the strap.” You let your fingers wander underneath the hem of her joggers.

“When you're finished, lie back on the bed with your head on the pillows,” you continued.

Normally, you knew her favourite way to take any strap was on her knees, you lying back beneath her, taking in the glorious sight above you as she moved without restriction. The way she would roll and rock, bounce and shift. The way she seemed so free as she took what she needed from you, as your hands rested on her hips or trailed up her body to grope and squeeze as you pleased. But you had other plans for tonight.

You reached up and pressed your lips against hers in a deep kiss. The kiss was slow and deliberate, you let your lips linger on hers a moment longer, savouring the taste of her before gently unwinding yourself from her embrace.

As you moved away, you went to the wardrobe, shedding your hoodie as you went. The cool air of the room met your skin as you tugged the material over your head, feeling her eyes follow your every movement as she went about her tasks. The sensation of her gaze on you made more goosebumps appear on your skin than any cool breeze ever could.

You opened the drawer and began to gather what was needed. You smiled as you looked down at the contents. The big, shiny black strap with a wider girth and a fake vein running underneath that she needed time to work up to glinted up at you in the dim glow of the lamp. You shuddered at the image of Alexia, hair splayed against the pillow, her eyes screwed shut in pleasure as you sunk into her again and again.

Turning back around, you were met with the sight of Alexia having perfectly followed your instructions. Her t-shirt was folded neatly on top of the dresser, the soft fabric arranged with meticulous care. Next to it, her joggers were laid out in a similar fashion, creating a small, organised pile. You couldn't help the smile, Alexia, ever the neat freak.

What immediately caught your eye, however, was the unmistakable sign of her arousal: her knickers had been removed and set aside. The grey fabric was marked by a noticeable wet patch. You hummed appreciatively as you clambered onto the bed next to her.

“Well done, beautiful,” you said, your voice filled with admiration. “Such a good girl for me."

Alexia’s response to the praise was immediate. She visibly preened, a soft flush spreading across her cheeks as she absorbed the compliment. Her eyes lit up with a mix of pleasure and satisfaction as her body relaxed into the bed below her.

“So pretty,” you cooed softly as you moved to position yourself above her. The warmth and tenderness in your voice made Alexia feel even more cherished and adored. As you spoke, your gaze lingered on her, your eyes raking down her body with reverence.

Your eyes took in every detail with a slow, deliberate appreciation. You started with the swell of her breasts, noting how they were perfectly shaped and inviting, their natural curve accentuated by the soft light of your bedroom. Your gaze then travelled down to the ridges of her abs, the defined muscles revealing the strength and dedication she put into caring for her body. Each contour and line told a story of her commitment and vitality, making her all the more captivating.

Continuing your exploration, your attention shifted to the strong muscles of her thighs. You observed the powerful yet graceful curves, appreciating the balance of strength and femininity they represented. The way her thighs connected with her hips and the subtle play of light on her skin added a golden glow to her already-tanned skin.

“G-gracias, mi amor,” she stuttered, her voice tinged with a mix of appreciation and shyness.

You responded with a warm, affirming smile, “look at you, using your manners. Una niña buena y bonita.”

You shifted closer, your face centimetres from hers. “Can I kiss you, Ale?” you asked, your voice laced with a tender reverence.

She met your gaze with a shy but eager nod, her eyes shimmering with anticipation . Her fingers, warm and reassuring, slipped around your hips, gripping them lightly. You slowly leaned down, your movements deliberate and unhurried, valuing the moment.

She hummed softly as your lips met hers, a contented sound that had your heart quickening. The warmth of your touch was immediately reciprocated, her hips pressing up against you eagerly. The contact of your lips made her skin tingle with anticipation.

As you continued to kiss her, you allowed yourself to ease more of your weight onto her. The gentle pressure of your body against hers helped ground you both. Alexia’s fingers, still resting on your hips, tightened slightly trying to draw you even closer. The world outside faded once again, leaving just the two of you.

You let your hands explore her body with thoughtful slowness. The touch was gentle yet deliberate as if you were memorising every curve and line of her form like you were discovering her for the first time. Each movement was tender and explorative, your fingertips lightly grazing her skin, leaving a trail of warmth and anticipation in their path.

As your hands made their way across her skin, a delicate shiver of goosebumps followed in their wake, spreading out like a ripple of water. Her breath hitched slightly, a soft, involuntary sound that had you smiling against her lips.

“Por favor,” she whined softly as you parted, your lips trailing down from her mouth, moving with careful slowness down her jawline until they found their way to her collarbones. The touch of your lips on her skin was a teasing promise, making her shiver.

“Apresúrate,” she urged, her tone full of frustration and desire.

You leaned back slightly, a playful glint in your eye as you raised an eyebrow at her. “Patience, Ale,” you said. “If you’re going to rush me, I’ll stop.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and a flicker of panic crossed her face at your teasing warning. “Ho sento, ho sento,” she stammered quickly, her cheeks flushing.

You softened your expression, letting a reassuring smile light up your face. “It’s okay, beautiful,” you said soothingly. “Just relax for me.” Your touch was gentle as you placed a tender hand on her cheek, guiding her focus back to you. “Focus on what you’re feeling,” you continued, your voice warm and encouraging. You added a playful wink, watching as she nodded eagerly.

As she closed her eyes, settling into the sensation of your touch, you took a moment to appreciate her trust and vulnerability. With her eyes shut, you began your descent down her body again, your movements slow and sensual. You placed a series of delicate pecks along her skin, each touch a soft whisper of affection. Gradually, you shifted to sharper nips that made her breath hitch, and then to more fervent, intense sucks that drew out a deeper response from her.

You relished the way her chest heaved with each breath, the subtle quiver of her smooth stomach rippling beneath your touch. The contrasts between your tender pecks and the sharp bites you applied created a rhythm that had Alexia writhing beneath you. You cherished every reaction, every shiver, and every sigh as you made your loving way down her body.

“Mi amor,” Alexia gasped, her voice breathless. The sound of her voice sent a thrill through you as you settled between her thighs.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” she whispered, her eyes shining with sincerity that made your heart swell.

“Te amo,” you replied with a soft, heartfelt smile.

You watched with careful curiosity as Alexia moved her hand hesitantly, as if uncertain whether she was doing the right thing. Smiling, you took her hand, letting your thumb smooth over her knuckles. “Hand or hair?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Hand,” she answered, her voice slightly trembling. With a loving smile, you gripped her hand tightly. It always amazed Alexia that you knew exactly what she needed. She had never had a partner that understood her so well, that knew everything she could even want without her having to ask. It overwhelmed her sometimes, thinking about how much she loved you.

“Am I okay to carry on, or do you want a moment?” you asked. Your eyes searched hers for any sign of hesitation.

“Un momento, por favor,” she replied, her voice a little unsure.

“Of course,” you said immediately. You nodded reassuringly, placing a gentle kiss against her thigh.

After a few heartbeats of shared silence, she gently squeezed your hand. Her eyes met yours with a shy but confident smile, a silent affirmation of her readiness.

“Are you sure?” you checked.

“Sí,” she replied with a definitive nod, her voice firm and steady.

“Ok,” you said, your face lighting up with a warm smile. You leaned in and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to her hip bone, right above the little '66' tattoo. As your lips touched her skin, you let them linger for a moment longer. You took in a ragged breath, inhaling the salty-sweet scent of her skin mingling with the coconut of her moisturiser. The smell was dizzying in the best way.

Leaning down, you took your time to savour the moment, your movements deliberate and tender. You placed a long, gentle stroke across the entire length of her pussy, your touch firm yet soft. The caress was slow and purposeful, your mind relishing in the taste of her against your tongue.

You repeated the action with careful speed. As you ghosted across her clit, you took a moment to appreciate the way her hand gripped yours, her fingers tightening as she sighed.

You decided to show a touch of mercy on Alexia, with a gentler approach, less teasing than you normally would. Your lips carefully enveloped her clit, the warmth of your mouth a welcomed contrast from the cool air outside. As you began to suck softly, your lips moved, alternating pressure and occasionally swiping over the nerves with your tongue.

Her reaction was immediate and visceral. She gasped sharply, the sound escaping her in a breathless rush as her body responded to the new, more tender touch. Her hips bucked instinctively, lifting toward you as you continued your ministrations.

You loved eating Alexia out. The way she enveloped your senses, the mix of her arousal on your tongue and the softness of her thighs around your head as she twitched and writhed beneath you, succumbing to her body's desires. You had never had that before, the casual hookups you had had before Alexia weren't the same. Going down on them had felt like an expectation from you, an accompaniment with your fingers, or like you were returning the favour. But with Alexia ... with Alexia, you were more than happy to spend the rest of your life between her thighs.

It didn’t take long for Alexia to transform into a moaning, squirming mess. You revelled in the rich sounds that filled the room, each one a unique note in the melody that was her pleasure. The gasps that punctuated the air, the moans that rose and fell in rhythmic waves, and the soft, needy whines. You could feel the sticky mess growing between your own thighs. The warmth that spread through you was a deep, satisfying heat.

Carefully, you eased finger into her, your movements precise and slow. You took your time, allowing her to adjust to the intrusion You slowly drew it back out until just the tip was still inside, before pushing back in again, trying to find that perfect spot.

When you finally found it, her reaction was immediate and intense. She squeezed your other hand tightly. From your angle, it was difficult to see the full extent of her expression, but you could vividly imagine her face – her eyes tightly shut, her features contorted in a mix of bliss and focus. One hand clutched yours with a desperate grip, while the other twisted into the sheets, her head pressing down on the pillows beneath her as she succumbed to the pleasure filling her body.

Sensing her increasing need, you added a second finger with practised ease. You could sense that she was nearing the edge of climax when her body began to twist and turn. The way she started to clench around you more forcefully. Her breathing, once steady and controlled, became fast and shallow. The grip on your fingers tightened as well, her hand's clasp around yours becoming almost painful.

“Si us plau,” she begged, her voice strained and trembling as she fought to hold back the powerful wave of her impending orgasm. Her tone matched the tightrope she was walking between control and surrender.

You didn't stop, humming lightly as you continued to work your fingers against her. She shivered at the sensation, her toes curling as she teetered closer to the edge. Her body tensed and arched in response to the wave of ecstasy that swept over her in a series of shudders and spasms. "Amor," she moaned, her voice hoarse.

You guided her through the aftermath, your fingers moving rhythmically in and out of her. You moaned softly, the sound escaping your lips as you savoured the taste of her. The tanginess of her essence was a distinct and cherished flavour. It was one of your favourite tastes – something that only you got to experience.

“Good, my beautiful girl. So, so good for me,” you cooed softly, your voice dripping with affectionate praise as her body finally stilled.

Her cheeks flushed deeply at your praise, the colour spreading across her face as she turned her head, avoiding your intense stay.

“Don’t go shy on me now,” you chuckled with a warm, encouraging smile, waiting for her to look back at you.

“Do you still want the strap?” you asked, your voice low as she locked her eyes with yours. The intensity in her gaze was unmistakable.

She nodded eagerly, but you weren’t going to let her off that easily. You raised an eyebrow at her, she knew your rules.

“Sí, your cock, por favour,” she finally replied, her voice laced with a hint of that earlier shyness but also with the undeniable need that only you could satiate.

“You want my cock, Ale?” you teased, each word dripping with lust. “You want me to fuck you? You want me to put my dick in you? Split you open? Make you cum for me?”

As you spoke, you slipped into the harness with practised ease, the leather straps sliding smoothly around your hips. The click of the buckles echoed in the room, a final, satisfying sound.

“Sí, mi amor,” she replied with quiet confidence.

You nodded, a soft smile playing on your lips as you positioned yourself between her legs. “Bend your knees for me, beautiful,” you instructed gently, hands rubbing gently up and down her thighs. She complied without hesitation, drawing her legs up and opening herself to you with a trust that made your heart swell.

With a careful hand, you lined yourself up, the smooth plastic gliding through her wet folds with ease. You took your time, dragging it up and down. The slickness made the movement easy, but you were in no rush – this was all about her.

“I’ll go nice and slowly,” you promised, your voice soft and soothing. “It’s the big one, remember? Take as much time as you need.”

You offered your spare hand to her once again. She gripped it eagerly, her fingers intertwining with yours, the warmth of her hand in yours was grounding you both.

As you began to press forward, you kept your gaze fixed on her, every subtle change in her expression magnified in your focus. You moved with deliberate care, inching forward slowly, ensuring that every movement was as comfortable for her as possible. Her breathing quickened slightly, and her eyes widened as she adjusted to the sensation of the strap inside her, the stretch more intense than she had anticipated.

“Grande,” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Instinctively, you froze, your concern for her immediate and palpable.

“Do you want to stop? I can get the oth–” you began, already preparing to ease back, ready to swap out for something smaller, more manageable. Before you could finish, she interrupted, her hand tightening around yours in reassurance.

“No, no,” she insisted quickly, her voice a little firmer now, but still soft. “Me gusta,” she said conspiratorially.

“Is that so? You like being stretched out, Ale? You like feeling every inch of me?” you teased, relaxing at her words. Your voice was playful as you began to push forward again, ever so gently. You drifted your thumb up to brush against her clit, smiling as she sighed softly.

You could see the effect your teasing and actions had on her immediately. Her breath hitched slightly, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she absorbed the sensation, the deliberate, slow stretch filling her completely. The way her body responded, the subtle arching of her back, the way her hips shifted to accommodate you, was all the confirmation you needed.

As you moved deeper, your voice remained soft but teasing, an intimate whisper that kept her focused on every inch of movement. “Tell me how much you like it, Ale,” you murmured, your tone still playful. You wanted to hear her say it, to make her voice the pleasure that was clearly written all over her face.

You continued your slow movement, watching her closely, gauging her every reaction as you pulled back only to push straight back in again. The way she responded to each stroke was mesmerising, making your breath hitch just as much as the way the strap rubbed against your own clit.

“So … so much,” she finally gasped, her voice trembling with the effort to speak through the waves of sensation coursing through her. “I need it, mi amor. It’s like I can’t breathe without it. A veces… when we’re both away… en el camp ... campamento…” Her words were coming in halting breaths now, each one laced with raw emotion. “Sometimes ... Yo tomo ... I take it with me so I can immmmmm" she broke off in a moan. "Imagine you're with me.”

Her confession hung in the air between you, a revelation that sent a thrill of heat down your spine. You sped up your thrusts, torn between watching the pleasure on her face or where the plastic met her flesh, seeing her stretched out around you.

“It hurts so good, mi amor,” she continued, her voice trembling, her legs moving to press against your arse. “And when I sit down the next day and I can still feel the sting, me hace feliz por dentro. At night ... sometimes I sit on it for hours ... and I can barely walk the next day.” She pressed her heels into your arse again, urging you to go deeper and faster.

Her words ignited something deep within you, a fierce pride and possessiveness, The image of her, away at camp as she worked herself up, so desperate for you, burned into your mind's eye. You thanked the lucky stars you were an athlete as you picked up your pace.

You dropped forward onto your hands, your chest pressing up against hers.

“Please, mi amor. Make me yours. Use me. Lo necesito por favor.” Her voice was raw, trembling with desire, a sound that sent a surge of heat through your entire body. You could feel her desperation, her deep, unrelenting need for you, and it only fuelled your own arousal to new heights. You had never been this turned on in your life, the intensity of the moment almost overwhelming.

You leaned down, bringing your lips close to her ear as you continued to move, your hips rocking forward with a steady, controlled rhythm. “You’re already mine, Ale,” you whispered, your voice husky with emotion. “Every inch of you belongs to me. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”

With those words, you increased the pressure, thrusting deeper, more deliberately, each movement pushing her further into the pleasure that was building inside her. You smiled at the the soft moans that escaped her lips growing louder, more frantic with every stroke.

Her hands gripped you tightly, one hand twisting into your hair while the other squeezed your bicep. You could see the tension in her body, the way her muscles trembled as she fought to maintain control, and it drove you to push her even further.

“You feel that?” you asked, your tone dark and possessive as you leaned back slightly, just enough to look into her eyes. You pressed down gently on her stomach, thrusting into her determinedly. “That’s me inside you, my beautiful girl. Filling you up. Owning you.” You watched as her eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through her as your words sank in, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

“Don’t hold back,” you urged, your voice a commanding whisper. “I want to hear you. I want to know how good I make you feel.”

Her response was immediate, her hips bucking up to meet yours. The sounds she made were intoxicating, each moan, each gasp sending waves of pleasure through you as you continued to thrust, your movements precise and controlled, drawing out every bit of pleasure you could from her.

You could tell she was close. Her walls clenching around you tightly, her hips meeting yours with every thrust. You were close too, the strap providing just the right pressure against your clit. Her moans were breathier now, toes curling against the small of your back."So sexy, Ale," you breathed, your voice hitching at the wave of pleasure that buzzed through you.

You moved against her, you lips brushing against her ear as you whispered, “Now, Ale. Cum for me. Show me how much you need this. Cum with me.”

The effect was immediate. Her body tensed, her back arching off the bed as she finally let go, her orgasm crashing over her with a force that left her trembling beneath you. The sound of her release, the way she called out your name, was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard, and it sent you spiralling into your own pleasure, the intensity searing itself into your memory.

You held her through it, your movements slowing but never stopping as you rode out the waves of your orgasms together, your bodies entwined. As the tremors of her release gradually subsided, you felt her body soften beneath you, her limbs going limp with exhaustion and the kind of satisfaction that made everything else fade away. The room was filled with the suddenly deafening silence; the only sounds were your mingled breaths as you both caught your breath.

You leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips, a kiss that was gentle and tender, a total 180 what had just happened.

Breaking the kiss, you hovered just above her and smiled down at her. Her eyes fluttered open, a lazy, content smile spreading across her face as she gazed up at you, her fingers still lightly tracing patterns on your back.

You pulled out gently, using one hand to release the snaps on the harness and throwing it somewhere in the room to be dealt with later. “If this is what it’s like every New Year,” you murmured, your voice playful but laced with sincerity, “We are never going to a party again.”

She chuckled softly, the sound a low, throaty hum that made your heart swell.

“I think I can live with that,” she replied, her voice sleepy but filled with contentment. “Sólo tú y yo, mi amor. That sounds ... maravillosa.”

You brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, your thumb gently caressing her cheek as you leaned in to place another soft kiss on her lips. “That sounds absolutamente perfecta,” you whispered against her mouth, your heart full of the quiet joy that only moments like these could bring.

She sighed in contentment, snuggling closer to you as you lay down, her body fitting perfectly against yours. “T'estimo,” she murmured, the words barely audible as sleep threatened to take her.

“I love you too, Ale,” you whispered back, holding her close as the world outside faded away once more, leaving just the two of you, wrapped up in each other.

“Happy New Year, my beautiful girl.”

[buzzinrusso]

Disapproved love

You sat in the car outside the stadium, the keys dangling limply from the ignition. The hum of the world outside—distant chatter, the occasional roar of a car engine—felt muted, like it wasn’t real. Patri was inside with her teammates, probably laughing and joking about the game like they always did.

You wished you could be part of that world, but you knew better.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t tried. You’d spent months showing up to their dinners, cheering at their matches, and doing everything you could to blend in. But no matter what you did, you always felt like an outsider. Like you weren’t enough.

You reached into your bag and pulled out your sketchbook, flipping to the page where you’d drawn your latest Caitlyn cosplay design. The character had always been one of your favorites—strong, intelligent, and fiercely loyal. Everything you wanted to be but didn’t feel like.

Lately, even your cosplays couldn’t give you that spark of confidence they once did. How could they, when Patri’s teammates constantly made you feel small?

You clenched the sketchbook tighter, your chest aching with a mix of frustration and sadness. How much longer could you keep pretending it didn’t hurt?

--

It had started weeks ago, at another team dinner. You were seated beside Patri, the table filled with laughter and conversation. You’d thought, for once, that the evening was going well.

Then Claudia spoke.

“So, y/n,” she said, her tone sugary sweet in a way that set your nerves on edge. “How’s the... dress-up business going?”

You froze, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s not dress-up. I’m a cosplayer. I design and make costumes based on characters from games and shows.”

“Oh, right,” Claudia said, smirking. “And people actually pay you for that?”

“Claudia,” Patri warned, her voice low.

“What?” Claudia said, feigning innocence. “I’m just curious. It’s not exactly a real job, is it?”

Your stomach churned. You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat.

“well, she works harder than most people I know,” Patri said, her jaw tight.

“Relax, Pat,” Mapi said, waving a hand dismissively. “She knows we’re joking.”

But they weren’t. You could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on you, stealing the air from your lungs.

That night, you cried in the shower, letting the water mask your tears. Patri had held you afterward, whispering reassurances, but the damage was already done.

Another situation that made you feel bad was one night at a post match party / dinner.

It started as a faint unease. At first, you told yourself you were imagining things. Patri’s teammates weren’t outright rude; they never said anything overtly cruel to your face. But their disinterest in you was palpable, like an invisible wall you couldn’t break through no matter how hard you tried.

You began to notice the subtle ways they excluded you. At team dinners, the conversations would shift to inside jokes and stories you weren’t a part of. When you tried to contribute, they’d either politely nod or continue talking as if you hadn’t spoken.

Once, at a post-match party, you’d decided to wear one of your more subtle cosplay-inspired outfits. It was a casual homage to one of Caitlyn’s looks—just a hat, a sleek blazer, and a few accessories that hinted at the character without being over the top. You’d hoped it might spark a conversation, a way to connect with them.

But when you arrived, Claudia had smirked and whispered something to Alexia. The two of them burst into quiet laughter, their eyes darting toward you. You didn’t need to hear what they said to know it wasn’t kind.

“Nice hat,” Mapi had commented later, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You forced a smile. “Thanks. It’s inspired by Caitlyn from Arcane.”

“Right,” Mapi said, raising an eyebrow. “The cartoon cop.”

“It’s not a cartoon,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s an animated series with complex characters and a really compelling story.”

But she wasn’t listening. She’d already turned back to Claudia, dismissing you with a wave of her hand.

Patri had been on the other side of the room, deep in conversation with her coach. You didn’t want to interrupt, so you swallowed the lump in your throat and found a quiet corner to sit in for the rest of the night.

---

The little moments added up, chipping away at your confidence bit by bit.

One afternoon, you arrived early to pick up Patri after practice. You parked outside the training ground, scrolling through your phone while you waited. The windows were down, and you couldn’t help but overhear the conversation happening nearby.

“I don’t get it,” Claudia was saying. “What does Patri even see in her?”

“She’s pretty,” Cata offered, though her tone wasn’t particularly kind.

“Sure, but she’s not exactly... grounded, is she?” Claudia replied. “I mean, cosplaying? Who even does that for a living?”

You gripped the steering wheel, your knuckles turning white.

“She’s so clingy,” Alexia added. “Always hanging around like she belongs here.”

“She’s a distraction,” Mapi said bluntly. “Patri could do so much better.”

You sat frozen in the car, every word sinking into your skin like tiny barbs. They hadn’t even tried to lower their voices.

---

The worst part was that you couldn’t tell Patri. Not really.

How could you bring it up without making things harder for her? She already had enough on her plate with her demanding schedule, the pressure of the sport, and the endless scrutiny that came with being a professional athlete. You didn’t want to add to that burden.

So, you kept it to yourself.

You stopped wearing cosplay-inspired outfits to team events, opting for neutral, nondescript clothes instead. You avoided lingering at practices, making sure to arrive just as Patri was finishing up so you wouldn’t have to interact with her teammates.

You even started turning down invitations to post-match dinners, claiming you were busy with work. It wasn’t entirely a lie—you were busy. But you also couldn’t bear the thought of sitting through another evening of veiled insults and cold shoulders.

Patri noticed, of course.

“Are you okay?” she asked one night as the two of you lay in bed.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

She didn’t press, but you could see the worry in her eyes. It made you feel guilty, knowing she could sense your unhappiness but not knowing how to fix it without driving a wedge between her and her team.

---

The turning point came during one of your solo convention trips. You’d traveled to a city a few hours away to debut a new Caitlyn cosplay and another cosplay that you were really well known for on social media. The event had been a success—you’d won a craftsmanship award, taken dozens of photos with fans, and even made some new connections for future commissions.

But when you returned home, your excitement quickly faded.

Patri was sitting on the couch, her phone in hand. She looked up and smiled when you walked in, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Hey,” she said. “How was the convention?”

“It was great,” you said, trying to sound upbeat. “I won an award for the Caitlyn costume.”

“That’s amazing!” she said, standing to hug you.

But you couldn’t ignore the tension in her posture or the way her smile faltered when she pulled back.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your heart sinking.

She hesitated, her hands fidgeting at her sides. “The team said some things today. About... us.”

You swallowed hard. “What kind of things?”

“They think I’m distracted,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “That I’m not focused enough on football because of our relationship.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“I told them they were wrong,” she added quickly. “But... I don’t know, y/n. Maybe they’re right.”

The admission was like a knife to the chest. For weeks, you’d been trying to shield Patri from the negativity surrounding your relationship, but now it felt like you were the one dragging her down.

“Do you really think that?” you asked, your voice trembling.

She hesitated again, and that hesitation spoke louder than any words could.

That night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were losing her. And maybe—just maybe—it was your fault.

---

The coffee shop was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside you. You sat in a corner booth, nursing a lukewarm cappuccino as your two best friends, Jade and Anya, sat across from you. Both were fellow cosplayers and some of the few people who truly understood your world.

Jade leaned back in her chair, her vibrant pink wig catching the soft light. She was mid-way through perfecting her cosplay of Vi from Arcane and never missed an opportunity to stay in character. Anya, in contrast, was dressed casually, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose braid, but her energy was no less animated as she munched on a cookie.

“So, how’s Caitlyn coming along?” Anya asked, her tone bright.

You hesitated, twirling your spoon in the remnants of your coffee. “It’s done. I debuted it at a con last week.”

“And?” Jade pressed, her eyebrows lifting.

“I won a craftsmanship award,” you said with a faint smile.

“Hell yes, you did!” Jade cheered, clapping her hands together. “That costume is a masterpiece. You’re a genius with those details.”

“Thanks,” you said, the corners of your mouth twitching upward.

Anya narrowed her eyes, leaning forward. “Okay, what’s up? You should be glowing right now, but you look like someone just told you that jinx died.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. “It’s not about the cosplay. It’s... everything else.”

“Let me guess,” Jade said, crossing her arms. “The football team.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar sting of tears. “They hate me.”

“They don’t hate you,” Anya said gently, though her tone wasn’t entirely convincing.

“They do,” you insisted, your voice cracking. “They think I’m a joke. They think Patri deserves someone... better.”

Jade frowned, her expression darkening. “Better? Are they blind? You’re brilliant. You run your own business, you’re insanely talented, and you’re, like, one of the nicest people I know. What more do they want?”

“They want someone who fits into their world,” you said bitterly. “Someone who understands football and doesn’t make them look bad.”

“Make them look bad?” Anya repeated, her tone sharp. “How could you possibly—”

“They don’t take cosplaying seriously,” you interrupted, your words spilling out in a rush. “They think it’s childish or silly or not a real job. And because of that, they don’t take me seriously. They think I’m distracting Patri, and they keep telling her to break up with me.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jade said, her voice rising. “That’s so messed up. Does Patri know how awful they’re being?”

“She knows,” you admitted, staring down at your coffee. “But I don’t think she knows how much it’s affecting me. And the worst part is, I feel like they’re starting to get to her.”

“What do you mean?” Anya asked, concern etched on her face.

“She said they think she’s distracted,” you said, your voice trembling. “And that maybe they’re right. I don’t know... maybe she is better off without me.”

Jade slammed her hand on the table, making the cups rattle. “No. Don’t you dare go down that road, y/n. This isn’t about you not being enough—it’s about them being insecure and narrow-minded.”

Anya reached across the table, squeezing your hand. “Patri loves you. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, y/n. Don’t let them make you doubt that.”

You sniffled, trying to hold back the tears. “I just feel so... alone. I don’t belong in their world, and it’s like no matter what I do, I’ll never be good enough for them.”

“You don’t need to belong in their world,” Jade said fiercely. “You belong in your world. And if they can’t see how amazing you are, that’s their problem—not yours.”

“But what if Patri can’t keep fighting for me?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“She will,” Anya said with certainty. “She’s stronger than you think. And if she doesn’t fight for you, then she’s not the right one for you. But I don’t think that’s the case. She loves you, y/n. You just need to hold on and trust her.”

Jade leaned forward, her violet eyes blazing with determination. “And if those teammates of hers keep giving you grief, you let me know. I’ll show up in full Vi gear and scare the crap out of them.”

Despite yourself, you laughed. “Thanks, Jade. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Anya smiled softly. “You’re not alone, babes. You have us. And no matter what happens, we’ll always have your back.”

Their words were a balm to your wounded heart. For the first time in days, you felt a flicker of hope. Maybe things weren’t as hopeless as they seemed.

The comments didn’t stop after that. They just became quieter, more insidious.

“She’s so clingy,” you overheard Alexia say one evening when you arrived at the training ground to pick up Patri. “Always hanging around like a shadow.”

“She doesn’t get this life,” Cata had added. “She’s just going to hold Patri back.”

You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, fighting the urge to storm over and defend yourself.

The worst part was that you could see how their words affected Patri. She became quieter around them whenever you were present, like she was caught in the middle of an invisible tug-of-war. And every time she chose not to speak up, it felt like another crack in your heart.

---

It all came to a head after one of Patri’s matches. The game had been brutal, and Patri was clearly frustrated as she walked toward the car. You waited for her with a tentative smile, hoping to offer some comfort.

But when she climbed into the passenger seat, her face was stormy.

“Hey,” you said softly. “Rough game?”

“Yeah,” she muttered, staring out the window.

The silence stretched between you as you drove, tension thick in the air. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“The team thinks I’m distracted,” she said, her voice tight.

“Distracted by what?” you asked, though deep down, you already knew.

She hesitated, and that hesitation shattered you. “By me,” you whispered.

Patri sighed, rubbing her temples. “They don’t understand, Cara. They think... they think I can’t balance my career and our relationship.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your hands tightened on the steering wheel as tears blurred your vision.

“Do you think that too?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“Of course not,” she said, but her tone lacked conviction.

The doubt in her voice cut deeper than anything her teammates had ever said. You felt your chest tighten, the weight of months of judgment and insecurity threatening to crush you.

“Maybe they’re right,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Maybe you’d be better off without me.”

“Don’t say that,” Patri said, turning to look at you.

“Why not?” you snapped, your voice cracking. “It’s what they want, isn’t it? Maybe it’s what you want too.”

“That’s not true,” Patri said, but you couldn’t bring yourself to believe her.

You pulled the car over and buried your face in your hands, finally letting the tears fall. “I can’t keep doing this, Patri. I can’t keep feeling like I’m not good enough for you.”

---

The next morning, Patri arrived at the training ground with a fire in her eyes. She found her teammates in the locker room, laughing and chatting as if nothing was wrong.

“We need to talk,” she said, her voice sharp enough to cut through the noise.

The room fell silent as they turned to look at her.

“What’s up?” Mapi asked, frowning.

“It’s about y/n,” Patri said, crossing her arms. “I know what you’ve been saying about her. I’ve heard the comments, the whispers behind her back. And it stops now.”

“Patri, come on,” Claudia said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just looking out for you.”

“Looking out for me?” Patri repeated, her voice rising. “By tearing down the person I love? By making her feel like she’s not good enough? Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt her?”

“She’s not cut out for this life,” Alexia said, her tone defensive.

“She’s cut out for more than any of you will ever understand,” Patri shot back. “Do you know how hard she works? The hours she spends perfecting every detail of her cosplays? The way she brings characters to life in a way no one else can? That takes more dedication than most people have.”

“She’s a distraction,” Claudia said stubbornly.

“No,” Patri said firmly. “She’s my anchor. And if you can’t respect her, then you don’t respect me.”

---

Later that day, you sat in your workshop, surrounded by the pieces of your many cosplays. The hat sat in your lap, its intricate embroidery, a testament to hours of painstaking work. But no matter how beautiful it was, it couldn’t fill the hollow ache inside you.

You were startled when the door opened, and Patri stepped inside.

“Hey,” she said softly, her eyes red like she’d been crying.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

She sat beside you, taking your hands in hers. “I talked to them.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You did?”

“They know how wrong they were,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “I told them that if they can’t respect you, they don’t deserve to be part of my life.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as her words sank in. “You stood up for me?”

“Of course I did,” she said, pulling you into her arms. “You’re the most important person in my life, y/n. I’m so sorry I ever made you doubt that.”

For the first time in months, the weight on your chest began to lift.

---

In the weeks that followed, things started to change. Patri’s teammates made an effort to include you, to learn about your work and your passions. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start.

And when you finally debuted your Caitlyn cosplay at a convention, Patri was there in the front row, cheering louder than anyone else.

As you posed for pictures, your eyes met hers, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you belonged

[repulsiveliquidation]

Did I Cross The Line? || Alexia Putellas

warnings : angst. i am not entirely happy with it but if I kept editing, it would only become worse lol. Loosely inspired by the meaning of ‘Wildflower’ by Billie Eilish.

summary : There were two people to love. Alexia could only have one.

You started off as best friends. Two peas in a pod. One never without the other. You and Alexia were never seen apart from each other. Her mother was like your mother, and vice versa. Both families were like one big one all because Alexia decided she wanted to be friends with you at 4 years old and she kicked a football at you in kindergarten. 

You cried, of course, and she got so scared when the teacher scolded her and called her mother to school for it. She sheepishly apologized and when you accepted it, she kissed your cheek where the ball smacked you. 

“Mami always kisses my booboos so they feel better faster!” 

“Really? My mami does too…” 

A football to the face was the price you paid for a girl whom you would give your life for. 

That was until Jenni came along. 

Alexia looked at her differently. It was new. She’d never been this happy in a relationship before and you could not have been happier for your best friend. 

Alexia was someone who loved her friends. She wasn’t shy to show her affection and to boldly display her feelings. You were more reserved and outwardly didn’t like it when she was being touchy. 

Deep down though, her touch brought calm to your storm. You were always anxious before games and Alexia knew this; she made sure to stand beside you and hold your hand to squeeze three times before you left the tunnel. 

Today, Alexia stood beside you in the tunnel, chatting away to Jenni who was only half listening. Your hands shook with adrenaline and fear, palms itching to reach for Alexia’s hand to calm you down. 

The kind of friend she was to you showed itself in times like these. She could feel the fear radiating off you and without even looking back at you, her hand reaches for yours and you feel your body relax and react to the heat from her palm. 

“You okay? You look pale,” she whispers, looking concerned at you. You look up at her slightly taller figure and nod, gripping her hand tighter. 

“Fine, just nervous for the big game,” you lie, hoping she didn’t see the slight bit of jealousy that creeped into your head. 

“You’ll be fine, hermana, we’ll win this.” 

You nod again, feeling sweat on your brow. She squeezes your hand three times and faces forwards, walking out while you follow. The game went smoothly and you sailed to a 3-0 win easy peasy. 

At training a few days later, you arrive at the changing room a little energized only to be met with screaming. 

You stood at the door and listened carefully, not wanting to interrupt anyone when you recognized the voice yelling her head off. 

Alexia was yelling. 

“She’s my best fucking friend, how could you make me choose?!” 

“Well, she’s all you talk about! If I wanted to know her, I would have wanted to date her instead of you!” 

“You’re not good enough for her!” 

“I’m not good enough?” Jenni laughs, “You’re the one who got rejected when told her I love you while piss fucking drunk! May I add that we were already dating at that point; I knew you loved her and not me!”

”How dare you?!” 

You hear bags being zipped and boots clamoring all over the changing room. Alexia storms out of the room and you back away from the door just in time. She doesn’t even see you standing there pretending you didn’t hear them, seeing Jenni try to run after. She, unlike Alexia, notices you standing there looking like a deer in headlights. 

“Speak of the devil,” Jenni quips mockingly, “you were listening weren’t you?” 

“You didn’t make it hard not to,” you say as you roll your eyes, pushing past Jenni to put your kit bag in your cubby and run after Alexia. 

“Ale!” You call, running through the stadium looking for your best friend. She’s sobbing in her car, crying more when you knock on the passenger window gently. The doors unlock and you quietly climb in. 

“You heard.” 

“I didn’t get there in time to hear all of it, no.”  

“Jenni’s leaving,” Alexia takes a deep breath to stop herself from crying before she continues, “and she’s asked me to come with her.” 

“Why did you say no?” 

The tears start to flow again and she cries harder, now unable to catch her breath. She grabs the steering wheel and still can’t breathe so you take her hands in yours and hope she calms like you do. 

Her panic attack exhausts her and she’s in no condition to drive. A quick text to the group chat and you’ve got both your bags in her car and are on the way to her house. She’s passed out in the passenger seat and snoring a little, still holding your hand in the center console. 

Your hand holding hers feels familiar and comfortable. You’re sure she’s passed out and can’t really feel anything but unbeknownst to you, she was quite aware of her surroundings and knew she was close to home. 

Close to you. 

You really don’t want to wake her but you’ve pulled into her driveway and can hear dogs barking so you tap on her shoulder gently. You’re tempted to kiss the back of her hand but you refrain from it, feeling the restraint tug at your heart. 

She rouses and smiles softly at you, eyes puffy and nose red. She shuffles into the house with you right behind her. 

You make yourself at home, brewing two cups of tea. It fills the house with a lovely smell of jasmine, which eases your anxiety. She takes a mug from you, eyes filling with fresh tears. Her body shakes with fear, brain in overdrive. 

She was always open with you. But this time, her lips stayed sealed. It broke your heart. 

“Alexia, talk to me,” you whisper, eyes searching for hers. She doesn’t look at you, teary eyes instead glued to the floor. 

She sips the tea and it burns her tongue, the sudden rush of pain makes the tears she was fighting with win. They stain her cheeks and reveal her true feelings. 

She loved you. 

And she has for longer than she cares to admit. 

Dating Jenni was just an attempt at denying her feelings. She loved you. But she loved Jenni too. 

It was like she was having an out of body experience. She was sitting right in front of you and she had never seen like you she did right this second. But she knew now that she did in fact see you this way. 

She looked at you differently from Jenni. She took care of you differently from Jenni. She saw you differently from Jenni. She may have loved both of you, but there was a clear difference. 

She did those things differently because she loved you differently. 

She didn’t know you felt the same. You loved Alexia too. Boy did your heart break when they first got together. You wanted to break things she got you. You couldn’t wear her clothes you had in your closet anymore. You pulled away when all you wanted to do was crawl into her skin. 

You had to lie that day at the bar. You had to break her heart. She loved someone else didn’t she? You couldn’t let her be hung up on someone like you when she had someone like Jenni begging for her attention. 

She was La Reina. Two time Ballon d’Or winner. Queen of FC Barcelona. 

You were just…you. 

“I love you!” Alexia yells; fresh hot tears stream down her face. She looked like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. There was a clear release of tension in the room and it was magical.

When her lips touched yours, there were feelings shared that could be left unsaid. Feelings only the two of you needed to know. She loved Jenni, and there was a conversation to be had tomorrow but for today, she had all that she needed to make it through the night. And quite possibly the rest of her life. 

Alexia pulled you into her lap, hands resting on your waist in a deathly grip, clearly afraid you’d just disappear into thin air. 

“I love you too,” you whispered against her lips, feeling her perfect smile adorn her face again. 

As Alexia held you in her arms the rest of the night, you realized something. You were not just…you. 

You were the girl who took a ball to the face like a champ, though it left your cheek bruised for days, all because a 4 year old was too shy to say hello. 

You were the girl who fought a boy twice your size when he tackled Alexia dangerously. 

You were the girl who walked in and out of her house like it was your own. 

You were the girl so scared of walking out onto the pitch you needed your best friend to hold your hand. 

You were the girl Alexia, from the moment she laid her eyes on you at the kindergarten playground, wanted to be friends with her entire life. 

You were wanted, needed and cherished by your best friend. But there was more, so much more left for you to uncover. 

Was the next step in your relationship a line you wanted to cross? 

“Alexia?” you asked, looking back at her. She was smiling and you felt your heart melt. But you remained steadfast. 

“Sí?”

“What are you going to say to Jenni?” 

Alexia’s smile dropped, her arms around you slacked and her face turned into fear. 

What was she going to say to Jenni? She was going to break her heart for sure but what would be the right words? Were there the right words to tell your girlfriend you loved someone else and you were only with her because you were in denial? 

The night dragged on that day, on one hand you were over the moon to have Alexia to yourself but you felt bad for Jenni who was also a close friend, knowing she was in for a day she would want over as fast as possible tomorrow. 

“Jenni, just listen to me, please!” 

“There’s nothing to listen to, you’re in love with her and not me. Moving away was a good idea, that way I won’t be a constant reminder of a barrier in your relationship,” Jenni says calmly, standing right in front of the door outside the changing room. She turns, a pained smile on her face. 

“You two deserve each other. Please don’t break her heart like you did mine.” 

Alexia asked you to wait outside and you did, trying your best not to eavesdrop like before. Jenni walks out and you can see how hard she’s trying not to cry. She sees you and sits beside you, an awkward silence in the air. There was a war going on inside you, one that made your anxiety skyrocket. You were shaking, sweat building up on your brow. You tried to hold your own hand to no avail. It was nothing like Alexia’s palm in yours. 

Jenni takes your sweaty palm and rubs the back with her other. 

“Please don’t feel like this is your fault,” she starts, looking at your hand in hers. “We were having problems from the start. She has always loved you in a way that was reserved only for you.” 

You look at her and tears of your own begin to prickle. You felt bad for her; you should be comforting her since she was the one affected by all this and yet here she was comforting you. 

“Jenni…” 

“No, please. She loved me,” she pauses, taking a deep breath, “but she loved you more. More than anything in this world. She told me she was terrified of losing you when we got together. She was always your girl. She was never mine to love.” 

Jenni stands, leaving your hand in your lap and using hers to wipe her tears. 

“She always wished I was you," Jenni says, taking a deep breath, "now she’s got her wish. I just hope she doesn't regret it.”

[talkingwoso]

LA REINA.

[alotofpockets]

Happy birthday to the one and only La Reina 👑💙❤️

[newbie-woso]

11 months later

[pitchsidestories]

Wholesome scenes after the final whistle. 🤍🤍

image sources

[imverits]

[lwwife]

i am fucking DECEASED

[ankaraalexiafcb]

Dear diary,

Will Alexia Putellas be available for the next international window? I'm not enjoying this whole full-time coaching thing.