#barcelona coffee shop

[club-social-privado-marina-50]

https://marina50socialclub.wixsite.com/marina50/post/what-do-you-do-in-a-social-club-a-guide-to-fun-networking-and-growth

[latteontheroad]

Flat white. Hidden Coffee Roasters, Barcelona, Spain. September 2023.

[kamotecue]

her, “the one that got away” ✾ a. putellas

summary: the first encounter with alexia putellas, the one you’d soon be her “the one that got away”. williamson!reader

pairing: alexia putellas x williamson!reader

have you ever wondered if soulmates were real? whether it was platonic, or romantic it was always a lingering thought you had. unbeknownst to you, you had already met your soulmate.

‘twas the summer of 2016, where you were in your last year of medical school at the university of oxford, you had requested to do a rotation abroad for elective credit, lucky enough you were assigned to spain, barcelona a city you always wanted to travel to, after hearing stories from international students.

you seated alone in a very bustling coffee shop, the books you were reading was scattered across the table, completely disorganized.

but how could it not be? it was the last year of medical school, after that it’s residency where you could choose your specialty. being an ortho surgeon was something you dreamed about.

nevertheless, you still managed to caught the eye of a certain spaniard. maybe it was the disheveled hair, or how she thought those glasses had suit you. despite being focused on a research paper, the one a professor had assigned your course to read — she made her way to you, to properly introduce herself.

as she cleared her throat, your eyes quickly snapped away from the laptop screen, as you focused your eyes to where the sound came from.

“hola, soy alexia putellas. te vi de lejos y quise presentarme.” you watched, as she stuck her hand out, for you to grab. your eyebrows furrowed as you had returned the shake. [hi, i’m alexia putellas. i saw you from afar, and i wanted to introduce myself.]

“soy y/n williamson, una estudiante extranjeraz.” you spoke fluently in spanish, from a young age you were always interested in different languages, hence why you were a polyglot — always had your mother to thank, as she took you to the lessons. [i’m y/n williamson, a student from abroad.]

“y hablas español con fluidez.” she said, as you softly chuckled giving her a soft smile. [and you’re fluent in spanish.]

“tuve un gran tutor cuando era joven, el español no es el único idioma que sé.” her eyebrows quirked at your words, an interesting person you are. [i had a great tutor when i was young, spanish isn’t the only language i know.]

as time passes by, you glanced at your watch — letting out a gasp. it was time to leave, as you are going to meet with your capstone groupmates, running a bit late you hurriedly tried to pack, as she looked at you with confusion.

“me acabo de dar cuenta de que tengo que reunirme con mis compañeros de grupo de capstone, definitivamente voy a llegar tarde. fue un placer conocerte, alexia.” you said, as you rushed out of the coffee shop, not noticing you had left something behind — it was an important book, luckily it had your contact information on it, in case it was ever lost. [i just realized i have to meet with my capstone groupmates, i’m definitely going to be late. it was nice meeting you, alexia.]

the spaniard had a small smile on her face, as she grabbed the book you had forgotten. what she didn’t realize, the summer of 2016 was going to be interesting, filled with heartbreak, and love.

[a/n: i know it’s a short part, but trust me there will be more. i finally had the time to write, after a hectic semester filled with anatomy]

[girlgenius1111]

unhappy reunions

sol runs into her parents after the copa de la reina final no warnings.

--------

“Solstråle?” 

You froze. You knew that voice, knew it well. Your mother normally didn’t call you by the nickname Ingrid had given you, and that almost surprised you more than her surprise appearance.The noisy cafe still existed around you, but when you turned around, that was all forgotten. 

“Mamma?” You whispered, instinctually taking a step backwards from the woman in front of you. 

It made sense; you should have known better than to expect your parents to miss one of perfect, perfect Ingrid’s important games. 

“Hei, kjære.” Your dad said gently. He had his hand on your mom’s elbow, holding her back from taking a step closer. It wasn’t as jarring to see him, but your body had been plunged into panic the moment you’d seen your mothers’ face. 

“I-.... I can’t,” you mumbled, backing up until your back hit the door. The last thing you saw before you turned to leave was a heartbroken expression on your mom’s face. As if she was upset you wouldn’t talk to her. You were confused, overwhelmed, and so, so upset. 

You booked it back to the hotel. As fast as you could, walking as quickly as would be socially acceptable. You’d forgotten the coffee you’d ordered, which you only realized as you got in the elevator at the hotel. You were kind of torn on whether to head to your room, or to Ingrid and Mapi’s. They’d probably still be asleep; the celebrations had gone late the night before, and you wanted them to rest, to really soak in the victory. 

But honestly, you weren’t sure you’d be able to calm yourself down, and you knew your sister could. You made a decision that you wouldn’t have a few months ago, maybe even a few weeks ago, stopping in front of your sister’s door rather than your own. You chose company over self pity, and comfort over punishing yourself. And it felt wrong. 

Mapi answered the door. “Good morning Sol!” She said cheerily, stepping aside to let you in the room. The bathroom door was closed and you could hear the shower running, which explained where your sister was. 

“Hi.” You said, your voice much shakier and quieter than normal. 

“You okay?” Mapi asked, shutting the door and giving you a concerned look. 

“Yeah.” The lie was instinctual. “No, actually. No. I… I went to get coffee.” 

Mapi looked at your empty hands, raising an eyebrow in question. 

“I saw my mom. She- both of them. My mom and my dad, they were in the coffee shop I went to. And I saw them.” You looked away from Mapi as you spoke, staring down at your hands. They were trembling. 

“Sol,” Mapi sighed and reached out for your hand, though you stepped backwards, shaking your head at her. 

“Please don’t touch me.” You whispered, pressing the heels of your palms tightly against your eyes. You felt so unsettled, so uncomfortable. Suddenly, Zaragoza didn’t feel safe, you didn’t feel safe. You wanted to go home, or maybe you just wanted to hide yourself somewhere quiet and far, far away from anyone else. 

Mapi stood for a minute, not sure what to do. You’d never refused a hug from her before and though she realized that you coming to their room as opposed to hiding away in your own room was a step forward, everything about your body language was screaming that you were miles away, back in Norway. Norway, where you didn’t feel loved or noticed. Where you shied away from hugs because you weren’t used to getting them. Mapi heard the shower turn off and wasn’t sure whether or not to be glad. Ingrid might be overwhelming for you, as it seemed like you were already overwhelmed, but Ingrid could sometimes get through to you in a way that only she could. 

“Okay, Sol. Everything is fine, cariño.” She tried to soothe. 

“No! No, everything isn’t fine. They aren’t supposed to be here, I don’t want to see her. Are they here to take me back? I don’t want to go back. I want to go home, to Barcelona. I want to go home Mapi, please.”

“You aren’t going back and you don't have to see anyone, nena.” Mapi promised, stepping closer with her hands raised slightly in the air. “Tell me what to do, tell me how I can help.” 

“I don’t know, I don’t know.” All you could do was shake your head back and forth, trying to keep yourself in the present. 

“Okay, Sol, just breathe. Just breathe for me.” Mapi soothed, taking a slight step forwards. It didn’t seem like you were hearing her. It didn’t even seem like you were in the room with her. 

“Mom, please please don’t send me away. I want to stay here with you. Please mom, please.” You sobbed. Your head hurt from crying, from going back and forth in circles with your mother. 

“You are going, and that is final.” Your mother said firmly. She didn’t really seem to see your tears, or how upset you were.  

You looked towards your dad, who couldn’t meet your eyes. “Dad, please. I don’t want to go. I’ll be better, I promise, just please,” 

Your father opened his mouth, as if to reply, but your mother beat him to it. “Enough. We are not changing our minds.”

You wiped a few tears away. “How can you do this to me?”

“Do this to you?” She repeated incredulously. “I’m always the bad guy with you. No matter how much I do, nothing is ever enough. You are ungrateful. You are only capable of thinking of yourself. This is not the kind of person I raised you to be. You say that you are anxious and depressed. I think you’re lying, and I am sick and tired of your excuses for this poor behavior. It is a miracle your sister is even willing to take you in. I am sure she has no idea what she’s getting herself into. You will go to Spain, and you will learn what it's like to not have someone do everything for you. And until you learn that, do not bother coming back here. I do not want to see your face again until you have cleaned up your act.” 

The room fell silent as your mother took a step back, a flicker of emotion flashing across her face. Your dad still wouldn’t look at you. If he had, he would have seen that the tears had stopped. You stood, looking like you’d been struck. In that moment, you hated yourself as much as your mother seemed to. Even if you didn’t understand why she felt that way. You were pretty sure it was warranted. 

“I am sorry for yelling. I just get so frustrated with you sometimes, and I don’t know what else to do.” She stepped closer, stopping when you took a step back. “We are doing this because we care about you.” 

It was always because they cared about you. Never because they loved you. Your mother had stopped saying love a long time ago, around the time you’d started acting out. You wondered if you’d ever hear it again. From anyone. 

“Sol, I need you to breathe.” Mapi said, bringing you out of your thoughts. You raised your head to look at her, and she almost cried herself at the downright haunted look on your face. The next second, you were practically lunging towards her, a broken sob falling from your lips. 

“I want Ingrid.” You choked out, pressing your face into Mapi’s shoulder. She nodded quickly, arms holding you securely to her, even as you trembled violently. 

“Ingrid,” Mapi called.

“One second.” Ingrid replied, not hearing the urgency in her girlfriend’s tone. 

When Ingrid walked out of the bathroom, clean and dressed in the clothes she was intending on wearing to the airport, she stopped in her tracks. Mapi was holding you close against her, shushing you quietly, and you were sobbing. 

“María? Solstråle? What-?” 

Mapi just shook her head, waving Ingrid to come closer. Your sister crossed the room quickly, filled with confusion and worry as she saw the state you were in. When you didn’t seem like you were going to explain anytime soon, Ingrid looked again to Mapi. 

“She saw your parents. They’re here, in Zaragoza, she saw them in a coffee shop.” 

Ingrid felt fury rise in her, but she pushed it aside, softly stroking over your hair with her hand. “Sol, I’m so sorry.” 

Once you felt your sister’s hand on your head, you turned around, falling into Ingrid. You squeezed her tighter than you ever had before, the only thought in your head that you did not want to go back. 

“Ingrid, don’t let them take me.” You sobbed. 

“Elskling, I am not letting anyone take you anywhere . You are staying with me, okay? I promise you.”  

Ingrid had seen you upset before. Really upset. Nothing came close to this, though. It felt like just when she thought she understood how much damage your parents had done on you, something else would happen that told her it was far worse than she'd been thinking. 

And at the worst possible moment, the door flew open and Patri and Pina’s loud voices filled the room, before they fell completely silent. They froze in the doorway, realizing that they had walked in on a full breakdown from you. They’d heard from Ingrid and Mapi that you’d been struggling. Until now, it had been hard to fit that information into the image they had of you. Smiley quiet Sol. 

Neither of them knew what had happened to get you to this point, cradled against your sister, sobbing so hard they weren’t even sure you knew they were there. 

“Out.” Mapi said harshly, moving to block your trembling form. She’d never snapped like this to her teammates, and though they had already been on their way out of the room, they moved faster.

“Sorry, Mapi.” Patri said quietly, yanking Pina out of the room quickly and shutting the door behind them. 

“What-?” Pina began. 

“I don’t know. Whoever hurt her enough to be like that… I don’t understand. She’s such a good kid.” 

“If Mapi ever goes to jail for murder, we’ll know who she went after.” 

Patri nodded her agreement. 

Back inside the room, you had stopped crying, save for the occasional sniffle. Ingrid almost preferred the crying to the completely blank look that had washed over your face. 

“Sol,”

“Pina and Patri?”

“They won’t say anything to anyone, and they won’t make fun of you, Sol. Not for this.” Mapi promised. 

“Okay. Good. I need to pack.” You said stiffly, stepping away from the comfort of your sister, and turning to walk out of the room. 

“No, Sol. No. Stop for a second. We cannot pretend that didn't just happen.” Mapi cut in. A flicker of surprise flashed across your face, as Mapi was normally the one to encourage Ingrid to let you take things at your own pace. 

You looked between her and your sister, wondering how you could explain it in a way that made sense to them. “ I can’t think about this any more before we go home. I just need to go home. Please.” 

For once, Mapi looked conflicted while your sister nodded instantly. She understood. You hated unfamiliar places. You were introverted that way, while Mapi was very much the opposite. There was never a feeling of complete safety when you and Ingrid were away from home, and she understood why you didn’t want to deal with this now, here. Not when you were only a few hours from being home. 

“Okay. I get that. I am not leaving you alone right now, though. We still have a few hours until we have to go, so take Mapi with you to finish packing, and then go find me coffee.” 

You nodded weakly, moving only once Mapi had given you a kind smile and began to lead you out of the room. 

Ingrid waited until the door had shut behind you both before she grabbed her phone from her pocket, and clicked on a contact she hadn’t even looked at in a while. 

-------

She was doing the right thing. That’s what Ingrid told herself. It had nothing to do with the desperate wish to see her parents, even if she was so furious with them she couldn’t put it into words. She missed her mom, and she had for a while. Ingrid was doing this for you, though; she was putting you first. 

When she entered the bar in the lobby of the hotel, she saw her parents instantly. They were sitting at a small table in the corner of the bright room, conversing quietly. Her father kept shaking his head, and her mother seemed to be insisting on something. 

Making her way over to the table, Ingrid schooled her features and took a deep breath. 

“Hi.” She said neutrally, taking the open seat at the table without really looking at either of her parents. 

“Ingrid.” Her mom said happily. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

Your sister dug her nails into her palm. Think of Sol. Think of what they have done.

“I’m not here to chat. I am here to tell you to stay away from Sol. She isn’t ready to see either of you right now. I didn’t realize I had to be specific in my request for you both to not come to the final, but you’ve crossed the line here. You had no idea how upset Sol is.”  

“Ingrid, we didn’t mean to run into her. We just came to see you play. It was completely coincidental, our flight back home leaves this evening.” Her dad explained. 

“You told us what Sol needed, and we want to respect that. But we have really missed you, and you’ve had such an incredible season. We just wanted to see you play.” Her mom chimed in. 

“And what about Sol? Have you missed her?” Ingrid asked bitingly. 

“Of course we have. I know we… I messed up. I made a lot of mistakes. I wasn’t well, Ingrid, but I’m doing better now and I want-”

“Sol is not going back to Norway.” Ingrid snapped. 

Her mother nodded instantly. “I know. I want your sister to be happy, and it seems like she is. The best place for her is with you, I understand that. I don’t get to be upset that she doesn’t want to come home, not when I’m the reason she had to leave in the first place. I want to apologize to her, Ingrid. Not today, but maybe we can come to Barcelona? And we can talk to her.” 

The suspicion on Ingrid’s face said enough. Her mother knew then that what she had broken was not fixable. Her relationship with you may not even be salvageable, and her one with Ingrid was broken. Potentially beyond repair. 

“I don’t know. I’ll talk to her when we’re home to see if she wants to do that.” 

“Okay. Whatever you think is best, Ingrid.” 

The table fell into silence before your father spoke, his voice oddly choked up. “How is she?” 

Your sister’s eyes flickered to your fathers before she answered, trying to gauge his sincerity. “She’s okay. She’s doing better. It’s not perfect, but she’s happier. We got her a dog, and she’s making friends. Her and Mapi are… crazy together, but it’s fun. She’s going to be okay, I think.”

Your father gave Ingrid a watery smile, blinking hard. 

“Ingrid, I want to say I’m sorry to you, too.” Your mother said after a minute.

 Ingrid glared at her. “For what? I am happy to have Sol here, I love her. She isn’t a burden to me.”

Her mother flinched, wiping a tear off her cheek. “That’s not what I meant. I… she’s doing better, and that is because of you. Because you are doing an incredible job with her. I am sorry because what I have done has understandably pushed you away from me. And it isn’t fair for Sol not to have had an attentive mother, but it isn’t fair for you either, to lose me too. It’s my fault, and I’m sorry. I miss you, kjære. I love and  miss you both, but I understand.” 

Ingrid stared out the window for a moment, willing herself not to start sobbing. “Thank you for apologizing.” She said finally. “I miss you too, but that doesn’t change anything. Sol needs me, and she is my priority. She hasn’t been yours in a long time, but she is mine and I will do whatever she needs me to do. Even if that means not seeing you both.” 

Both your parents nodded solemnly. “We understand, Ingrid. Really, we do.”

Ingrid nodded, biting her lip hard to keep from crying. God, she wished Mapi was here right now. 

“Okay. You should get back to your sister. We’re so proud of you, Ingrid. We’ll be cheering you on in the champions league final, and if Sol decides to hear me out, you know how to reach me. I love you, darling.” Her mother said, standing and pressing a kiss to Ingrid’s head, before she walked away from the table. She, too, was trying to keep it together, for her daughter’s sake. 

Your father rose and gently patted her cheek. “I love you, kiddo. Fly safe.” 

“I love you too.” She whispered, but both her parents were too far away by now to hear her.

She couldn’t stop the tears from dripping down her face as she headed for the elevator. She wiped furiously at them, but they fell all the same. 

The elevator opened up in front of her, and she was met with a very concerned Frido. 

“Hey. Mapi told me you were meeting your parents, and I… oh, Ingrid.” Frido sighed. At the sight of Frido, Ingrid had stopped trying to fight it, stepping in closer and letting out a heart wrenching sob. Frido tugged Ingrid back into the elevator with her, carefully wrapping her best friend in a tight hug. 

“I know, I know. It really sucks.” Frido whispered, clicking the button for your sister’s floor. “You’re doing the right thing for your sister, though, and I’m really proud of you, Ing.” 

Your sister wished she could find it within herself to feel proud, but the only feeling she had was that she really just wanted a hug from her mom. And more than that, she wanted to go back in time and erase all the hurt from your life. She wished things could just be fixed but she knew they couldn’t be, not quickly, maybe not at all. And that was something she was going to have to live with.

-------

You seemed weighed down with despair when Ingrid arrived back in her room. And distracted, finishing the final touches of packing Mapi’s suitcase. Mapi hated packing, and you loved it, so there was no confusion on Ingrid’s part as to why this was occurring. What was a bit alarming for her, though, was that you didn’t even seem to notice the tear tracks on Ingrid’s face, even though you looked right at her. You were an observant person, and not noticing how upset your sister was spoke volumes towards how poorly you were handling this. 

Mapi didn’t miss it, though. Of course not. She glanced up, seeing her girlfriend’s face, her brow instantly furrowing in concern. Ingrid refused to meet her eyes, terrified that she’d start crying again, but this time in front of you. 

“Hey, Sol? Can you go up to Frido’s room and see if I left my book there?” Mapi asked. 

You nodded absentmindedly, walking right past your sister and out the door. 

“Come here, princesa,” Mapi sighed, allowing Ingrid to fall into her arms and bury her face in Mapi’s t-shirt. She just held the Norwegian for a few minutes, every so often pressing a kiss to the side of Ingrid’s head. Mapi made sure to thread her fingers through Ingrid’s thick hair, as she always did when it was down, scratching gently at her scalp. Ingrid tried to focus on the smell of Mapi overwhelming her, instead of any of the one million emotions she was feeling. “Did it not go well?’

“No, it went okay. Good, actually. They’re both completely aware that this is their fault, and they aren’t going to try to make Sol go back to Norway. It was just hard. I miss them, and I know I shouldn’t-”

“Hey, no. There is no should or shouldn’t when it comes to how you feel, mi amor. You can miss them and be angry at them all at the same time. And missing them doesn’t mean you love your sister any less. Okay?”

“Okay.” Ingrid nodded, trying to muster a smile for her girlfriend. “Thanks for sending Frido down, I was kind of a mess.” 

Mapi just flashed a smile at the Norwegian, gently kissing her cheek. “I love you.” She said softly. 

Ingrid wilted slightly, overcome, as she usually was, at how ridiculously perfect her beautiful girlfriend was. “I love you too, María.” 

-------

Ingrid and Mapi had left you alone in the airport for five minutes, going in search of coffee before Ingrid went on a killing spree of some kind. And it was in that short period of time that Patri and Pina very suddenly appeared on either side of you, flopping into the open seats next to you. 

You regarded them warily, trying to figure out if they were going to say something about it or not. 

“If we have to kill someone for you, we will.” Claudia said matter of factly. “More importantly, though, Mapi is going to fall asleep on that plane. And you are going to write something on her forehead.” 

“Am I?” You asked, a hint of a smile playing on your lips. 

“You are. I am thinking something along the lines of… I love my girlfriend?” Patri suggested. 

“Single and ready to mingle.” Pina countered. 

“Heterosexual.” 

“World’s biggest simp.” 

“Loser.” 

“Little bitch.”

All three of you were giggling at this point, attracting the attention of a few of your sister’s teammates sitting nearby. Among them, Esmee. She was a quiet girl, incredibly kind and also fond of your sister. Esmee was shy, and as such, the words that came out of her mouth were completely unexpected. 

“#1 Real Madrid Fan.” She suggested, a small smirk on her face. 

You fell off your seat, tears forming in your eyes as you pictured both Mapi’s reaction to that being written on her forehead, and at Esmee being the one who had come up with it. 

You didn’t notice Ingrid and Mapi watching on from a few feet away, having stopped in their tracks at the sound of your laughter. 

“I didn’t think I’d see her smile for a few days at least.” Ingrid murmured. 

“Me either. Thank god for the two biggest imbeciles on the planet.” Mapi said with a roll of her eyes. 

“No, not imbeciles. They saw she was upset earlier, and they knew what they were doing just now.” Ingrid said softly, exchanging a look with Patri. The young captain sent Ingrid a huge grin and a sly thumbs up. 

Mapi got a slightly mushy look on her face. “My favorite imbeciles.” She decided. 

Ingrid laughed, shaking her head. She knew very well that Pina and Patri would be right back to being Mapi’s least favorite imbeciles. Just as soon as Ingrid helped them draw on her girlfriend’s face. 

--------

“I don’t even like penises.” Mapi grumbled, dragging her bag through the door. “Stupid thing to draw.” 

You and Ingrid choked back laughter. “No one gets a penis drawn on them because they LIKE penises Mapi.” 

“You are on my list Engen.” Mapi sneered, her face cheering up greatly as Bagheera ran to greet her. 

“Hey, just be glad Alexia stopped them from putting it on your forehead.” You giggled. 

Ingrid turned to you, wide eyed, while Mapi whipped around, her jaw dropping. “Ingrid said SHE stopped them from doing that!” 

You dodged the wack Ingrid tried to land on your arm, laughing even harder. “Nah, Ingrid was pro penis on the forehead. Alexia was too, until she realized there’d be cameras when we got off the plane, and she changed her mind.” 

The Spaniard frowned down at the large drawing on her forearm, before her glare turned to you. “Oh, just wait, Engen. You’ll regret this.” 

A scandalized look appeared on your face. “Me?! It was Pina and Patri.” 

“They will pay too, pequeña, don’t worry. You’ll all pay.” 

You rolled your eyes at the Spaniard’s dramatics, but your amusement completely disappeared when Ingrid rested a hand on your shoulder and turned you towards her. 

“Can we talk for a sec, Sol?” 

Worry clouded your face as you nodded, allowing Ingrid to lead you into the living room. She wanted to be honest with you, tell you what had happened as soon as she could. You both were home now, and she knew you’d be upset if she kept her conversation with her parents from you for any longer. 

Taking a seat on the couch next to Ingrid, you turned expectantly to Mapi. Ingrid never had an important conversation with you without her girlfriend there as a buffer. 

“I am going to get the dog.” Mapi said, giving you a reassuring smile before she headed back out the door with Scout’s leash in hand. 

“Ingrid, I didn’t really want to talk about-”

“I talked to mom and dad.” Ingrid interrupted, wincing slightly at the panic and hurt that flashed across your face. 

“Oh.” You mumbled. 

“I just wanted to tell them to leave you alone, sweetheart. We didn’t talk for very long. They just said that they want you to be happy. Mom was really… apologetic. And she said that she wanted to talk to you. I told her that it was up to you, whether or not you wanted to talk to her.”

“Oh.” You repeated. Ingrid couldn’t get a read on how you were feeling. Overwhelmingly, it seemed to her like you were anxious, so she reached out and took your hand. “Mom wants me to go back to Norway?”

“No, Sol. She wants you to be happy. And you’re happier here than you ever were in Norway. I think she just wants to talk. To apologize.” 

“Oh. Okay.” You paused, trying to slow your pounding heart. You didn’t have to go back. “Do you- do you want me to talk to her?” You asked insecurely, eyeing your sister with apprehension. 

Ingrid shook her head again, running a hand through her hair. “Solstråle, I want you to do what you want to do. I want you to decide what will be best for you. Don’t think about me, Sol. Think about you.” 

She spoke so earnestly, you had a hard time figuring out which thing she really did want. But the more you thought about it, the clearer it became. 

Ingrid had always been close with your parents. The last few months must have been really hard for her, barely speaking to them at all. Ingrid probably wanted you to make up with them, so that she could do the same. Even if you didn’t go back to Norway. You could put your family back together again. That was what Ingrid wanted. 

You opened your mouth to tell her you’d talk to your mom, before you slammed it shut again. 

Ingrid had also said she wanted you to choose what was best for you. And if you were sure about anything, it was that you weren’t ready to talk to your mom, not yet. It didn't come naturally to you, putting yourself first and making a decision that would be best for you, and not for the people around you. BUt you felt you owed it to your sister to be honest. To do what she was asking. Ingrid had done so much for you the last few months. She just wanted you to be happy. And you wanted to be happy, too. More than anything. 

“I… I’m not ready yet. I don’t want to talk to her. Maybe in a few months, but not… not now.” You said quietly. You didn’t seem confident in your decision at all, but Ingrid understood what that insecurity was really about. 

“Okay, Sol. Whatever you want sweetheart. Whatever makes you happiest.” 

You looked up at her, tears welling in your eyes. “Really?” 

Ingrid exhaled sharply, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “Really.” 

You nodded your head, before leaning in towards Ingrid. She hugged you tight. 

“I’m really proud of you, Sol. Really proud.” 

You squeezed her tighter. You were proud of you, too.

------- :)

[suckerforblondeathletes]

Meetings and coffees - Alexia Putellas

Alexia Putellas x female reader

Summary: When life gives you a shot, take it. Especially with a hot blonde.

Warnings: Nothing!

Authors note: Sorry I haven’t been posting. I might post more soon!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sigh as you watch customer after customer walk into the coffee shop you work in. Just off the street of Barcelonas most popular hot spot, the Barcelona Training Center.

Every tourist loves to come and look at the training facility that housed many legends. But apparently everyone had gotten tired of it and came for coffee to go back and come again like one big life cycle.

You listen to one of your coworkers explain to a 40 year old woman that a grande isn’t a large and a venti isnt a small, but it all fades out and the world seems to go silent when the door opens and a blonde woman walks through the door.

Your jaw drops to the floor as you study her face, she is most likely the prettiest woman you have ever met. Or seen..

Her sharp features and blonde hair, her roots and little darker showing the blonde is fake, but it doesn’t matter.

Her eyes are big and studying everything around the room, until she meets yours.

You quickly shut your mouth and blush when you notice you were caught ogling her from behind the counter.

She gives you a soft smile and your knees buckle slightly.

“I sick of this shit.” Your coworker says as the 40 year old woman walks out angerly. Your coworker going to the back for a smoke break leaving you to assess the hot woman at the counter.

You wipe the sweat off of your palm and head to the register. She looks you in the eyes and that same smile is on her lips.

‘Hi what can I get for you?’ You ask, clearing your throat afterwards, not looking into her eyes, because if you do you might pass out.

‘What ever your favorite drink is’ you hear the woman say, the smirk evident in her accent filled voice.

You smile, trying to bite it back but failing. The sound of her voice was just as hot as her. You almost forget the task at hand.

‘Is an ice shaken espresso with milk and cold foam good?’ You recite your favorite order, your original since day one.

She nods and smiles at you again, you smile and once again try to bite it back, once again failing.

‘Do you mind telling me your name? I’m afraid I didn’t catch it.’ She says, tilting her head in curiosity.

You blink back inappropriate thoughts and answer her.

‘Y/n, and you..???’ You pick up her cup with a sharpie to write the name of her order, ignoring her sexy smile and gaze as best as you can.

‘Alexia’ she responds and you write it down. Smiling at her you get to work of her order, making it better than you ever have for yourself.

After the order is finished, you pick up a small napkin and write down your number and name, when life gives you a shot, take it.

You call out the name and watch as the blonde walks back up to the counter.

She smiles and grabs her drink and the napkin, the looks at you confused but then nods when she reads it, sending you a wink that makes your stomach flip and turn like Simone Biles.

‘I hope to see you around?’ Alexia whispers to you before heading out. Pulling her phone out and typing something, before walking down the sidewalk and out of view.

Smiling to yourself you pick you phone up from your pocket and read the text.

“This is the best coffee I have ever had. Might need to stop by more to get another one, or to see you. Both are sights worth seeing.”

[mapiforpresident]

could you write one where reader is in a relationship w mapi and ingrid and get in a fight before the final so reader says she’s not going and then last minute changes her mind and surprises them

Change of Heart

Mapi x Ingrid x reader

Warnings: slight angst at the beginning

~~~

Dating Mapi and Ingrid was usually easy. Loving them was easy. They were both some of the most caring, loving, attentive girlfriends, and you really couldn't ask for a better relationship.

The past week though, it was hard. With the upcoming final looming, tensions were high, and you could tell both of your girlfriends were feeling the pressure of winning the Champions League title for a third year in a row . The smallest things seemed to set everyone off, and despite your best efforts to be supportive, the stress had gotten to all three of you.

The fight started over something trivial—Mapi had forgotten to put away her training gear, and Ingrid had snapped at her about it. Of course you and Ingrid had both gotten onto Mapi before about leaving everything in the entryway, but neither of you had ever snapped before. You had tried to mediate, but the frustration boiled over, leading to harsh words and hurt feelings for all three of you. In the heat of the moment, you declared that you wouldn't be attending the final.

"If you can't even keep it together here, how are you supposed to play as a team out there?" you had shouted, instantly regretting the words as soon as they left your mouth. Mapi's eyes had widened in hurt, and Ingrid's face had hardened with resolve.

The silence that followed was deafening. Mapi and Ingrid left for practice without another word, leaving you alone with your thoughts and guilt.

As the day of the final approached, the house was filled with an uncomfortable silence. Mapi and Ingrid focused on their training, barely speaking to you except for the essentials and you knew they had exchanged very few words as well. You tried to busy yourself with your job as a coffee shop owner , but nothing could shake the feeling that you had let them down when they needed you most. That you had only added to their stress instead of being able to help them relax.

On the morning of the final, you sat in the kitchen, staring at the ticket on the table. You knew Ingrid had set it there before she left. Part of you wanted to stick to your decision out of pride, but a larger part of you knew that you couldn't let Mapi and Ingrid down. They needed your support, and you needed to make things right.

With a deep breath, you grabbed the ticket and headed to the stadium in your Cupra. You found your seat next to your girlfriends' parents greeting them with hugs, nervously glancing around as the stadium filled up. You knew your girlfriends hadn't spotted you in the crowd yet as you watched them warming up.

The game was intense so far and Barcelona and Bayern were still scoreless. Mapi and Ingrid were in top form, playing with a determination that made your heart swell with pride. But as the minutes ticked by, you couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something—your support.

At halftime, you made your way down to the edge of the field, hoping to catch their attention. As the players came back onto the field, you saw Mapi and Ingrid scanning the crowd. When their eyes finally met yours, you saw the surprise and relief in their expressions. You waved, mouthing "I'm sorry" and "I love you" to both of them.

Their faces lit up with smiles, and you could see some of the tension lift from your shoulders. The second half of the game was even more intense, but Mapi and Ingrid played with a renewed vigor. In the 73rd minute Mapi scored the most amazing free kick you had ever seen, although you might be slightly biased. In the 87th minute Pina scored the second goal and in the 94th minute Ingrid headed in a goal off Mapi's corner to seal the win.

After the celebrations on the field, Mapi and Ingrid made their way over to you, tears of joy and relief in their eyes. Ingrid helped you climb over the barrier as Mapi wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug.

"You both were amazing, I can't believe you both scored in a Champions League final."

Ingrid hugged you next as you whispered how proud you were of her in her ear.

"I'm so glad you came," Mapi said, her voice choked with emotion.

"We couldn't have done it without you," Ingrid added, as she released you from the hug.

"Let's go take a picture with the trophy amors," Mapi said as she grabbed your hand and dragged you to where Patri and Pina were holding the trophy.

[marysfics]

In the Blur of Sight, I Found You—The One Who Sees Me Beyond What’s Visible

You’ve always lived in the shadows of your own uncertainty, but will she be the one to bring your world into focus?

Word count: 3.7k

Angst, Fluff

This fic has a happy ending.

You were sixteen when you first met Alexia Putellas.

Back then, she wasn’t the global icon of football that the world knows now—just a girl with bright eyes, messy ponytails, and dreams too big to keep quiet. You weren’t much different. A quiet soul with a condition that made life feel unpredictable: some days, you could see the world clearly, every blade of grass sharp beneath the sunlight; on others, your vision was a foggy mess, as if the universe had decided to drape a curtain between you and the rest of humanity.

It was on one of your better days when you first saw her.

Your friend dragged you to a local football game. “You need to get out more,” they had said, nudging you. You remember sighing, reluctant but too polite to refuse. As soon as you settled onto the grass beside the pitch, something pulled your attention—or rather, someone.

“Who’s that?” you asked.

“That’s Alexia,” your friend replied casually. “She’s going pro one day. No doubt about it.”

“Alexia,” you whispered to yourself, tasting the name on your tongue as you watched her effortlessly weave through defenders, the ball glued to her feet.

It was the first time you saw her smile after scoring a goal, and for some reason, the sight rooted itself in your mind. Bright, genuine, almost radiant—a warmth that lingered even when the sun dipped below the horizon.

You never forgot that day.

Your paths didn’t cross right away. It wasn’t until a year later, at a school tournament, that you truly met. By then, your eyesight had deteriorated further. On most days, you could barely make out people's faces unless they were right in front of you. It made connecting with others... complicated.

“Do you want to kick the ball around?”

The voice caught you off guard. You looked up, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the figure in front of you. It was her. Alexia. Even in a blur, you would’ve recognized her—the warm, confident tone that was always gentle yet unyielding.

“Me?” you asked, unsure.

She smiled. “Yeah. You.”

You could hear the laughter of others as she pulled you up. You weren’t exactly known for your athleticism. In fact, you had a reputation as “the girl who sometimes stares off into space,” or, worse, “the girl who bumps into lockers.”

But Alexia didn’t seem to care.

“I’ll go easy,” she teased, tossing you the ball.

You missed it entirely.

“I can’t really…” you started, your voice trailing off.

“Can’t what?” Alexia asked, her curiosity genuine.

“See the ball. Or you.”

For a brief moment, the world seemed to pause, and you braced yourself for the awkward apology or the pity you were so used to. But instead, Alexia just shrugged.

“That’s okay. I’ll make sure you can feel where it is.”

From that moment on, Alexia took it upon herself to pull you into her world.

For her, football wasn’t about what you could see—it was about rhythm, sound, and trust—things you could feel deep inside. When your vision faltered, she was your guide. When you wanted to quit, she laughed and told you to try again. What you didn’t realize at the time was that you were starting to fall in love with the way she saw no limitations in you—only possibilities.

Time moved forward, carrying you both through life’s challenges. Alexia was accepted into Barcelona’s youth academy, and though you cheered her on from afar, you kept your support quiet—scribbling words of encouragement in letters you never had the courage to send. Your condition remained stable, but always unpredictable. You focused on your own passions—writing, music, and art—things that allowed you to experience the world on your terms.

You’d run into Alexia from time to time at the coffee shop you both loved. Every time, she greeted you like no time had passed.

“How’s your sight been?” she’d ask gently, concern in her voice.

You’d smile, always a little tired of answering but grateful for the care behind her question. “Depends on the day. How’s football?”

Her eyes would light up, her face animated as she described her latest matches, the training routines she was mastering, and the goals she was chasing. But, without fail, she always made time to ask about your art.

“I wish I could see what you make,” she said one day, her voice full of longing.

“Maybe one day I’ll show you,” you replied, your heart racing at the thought.

It wasn’t just a promise to her—it was a promise to yourself, because Alexia never treated your vision as something that defined you. She cared about what you felt, what you created. And even as her fame grew, you remained part of her orbit—quiet, steady, and unspoken.

One afternoon, as you sat in your usual corner of the coffee shop, Alexia looked at you with a thoughtful expression.

“Have you ever thought about glasses?” she asked. “Couldn’t we get you something to help?”

You felt a familiar weight in your chest at the suggestion. Glasses had been offered so many times before, but you knew they wouldn’t help. Not in the way she hoped. The thought of explaining it again felt exhausting, but Alexia deserved honesty.

“They won’t really make a difference,” you said softly, shaking your head. “My vision’s just… not like that.”

Alexia’s brow furrowed in confusion, but she didn’t press. Instead, she gave you a smile that didn’t need explanation.

“Okay,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “Then I’ll just have to keep being your eyes.”

And in that moment, you realized it was enough. For both of you.

Your days started to fall into a quiet rhythm—sometimes steady, sometimes unpredictable. Your eyesight shifted as if it had a mind of its own: some mornings you woke up with a surprising clarity, able to see details that had escaped you for years, while on others, the world blurred beyond recognition. The good days felt like gifts, moments to savor, while the bad days taught you patience and resilience. Alexia, as always, was a constant thread woven into it all.

The coffee shop became your shared place. More and more, you’d find her waiting for you with an easy smile and two cups of something warm. She’d wave you over even if you weren’t sure it was her at first—always loud enough for you to know you weren’t alone.

“You’ll never believe how today’s training went,” she’d say, already launching into a story. You’d listen, absorbing every detail—the way she talked about her teammates, her goals, the highs and lows. But the best part was when she turned her attention back to you.

“What about you? Did you write anything today? Paint something?” she’d ask, genuinely curious.

“Trying,” you’d say with a small smile. “Some days it feels like I see the whole picture. Other days, I just see smudges.”

Alexia tilted her head once when you said that. “Does that bother you?”

You hesitated. “Sometimes. But maybe the smudges are just part of it. Like I’m supposed to fill in the rest myself.”

She grinned. “I like that.”

And somehow, you knew she understood.

There were days when your vision was clear enough that it caught you off guard—when you could see Alexia’s face without squinting or straining. Her expressions became more vivid: the way her brows pulled together when she was lost in thought, the dimple that appeared when she smiled wide. It made everything feel more… real. More fleeting.

One day, during one of your better mornings, she dragged you out to a park with an old football under her arm.

“I’m going to teach you to play properly this time,” she announced.

“You know I can’t—”

“You can,” she said firmly, passing the ball toward you. “Besides, you can see today, right?”

You nodded. “For now.”

“Then we’re taking advantage of that.”

It was clumsy at first—kicks that missed, laughter that filled the air—but Alexia’s patience never faltered. She ran alongside you, calling out directions and laughing every time you nearly tripped over your own feet.

“Okay, okay, try to keep your body over the ball,” she said through her chuckles, gently nudging your shoulder. “You’re practically dancing out here.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to be graceful,” you shot back, earning a snort from her.

By the time you both collapsed onto the grass, out of breath and exhausted, the sun had started to dip low in the sky. Alexia lay on her back, her eyes closed, while you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching her.

“Good sight day?” she murmured after a moment.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “A good day.”

Her lips curved into a small smile, and for a moment, you didn’t want to blink—afraid that when you did, the clarity might vanish.

But not every day was like that.

On the bad days, when your vision was just a haze of color and light, you often stayed home, overwhelmed by frustration. Alexia, however, didn’t let you disappear. She’d text you, call you, or sometimes just show up at your door.

“Don’t hide from me,” she’d say firmly, a teasing edge in her voice as she pushed her way inside. “You don’t need perfect eyesight to sit and talk.”

She’d sit cross-legged on your floor or flop onto your couch, filling the room with stories about her week, recounting goals she’d scored or mistakes she was determined to fix. You’d listen, finding comfort in the familiarity of her voice, even when you couldn’t see her face.

“Are you frustrated?” she asked once, catching you in a quiet moment.

You nodded. “I hate that it changes so much. That I can’t predict it.”

Alexia’s voice softened. “I get that. But you’re still you. On good days and bad.”

Her words settled deep, in places you hadn’t realized needed reassurance.

The more time you spent together, the more your world expanded. Alexia saw you—not your limitations, not your unpredictable sight, but the person you were beneath all of it. She never made you feel like you were less. If anything, she made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t before.

And slowly, you realized you were falling for her. The girl who taught you to feel where the ball was. The girl who never let you disappear on bad days. The girl whose laughter made the world seem brighter, no matter how blurry it looked.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Not yet. Not when the future felt so uncertain.

For now, you let yourself exist in the moments—good days, bad days, and everything in between. Because Alexia was there, steady as ever, making you believe that even when you couldn’t see clearly, you could still feel.

The years stretched forward, but the two of you remained tethered, no matter how far life tried to pull you apart. Alexia was carving her name into the world of football, rising steadily through the ranks, while you quietly honed your art—writing, painting, capturing the world as you felt it, even when you couldn’t see it clearly. You both grew into yourselves in ways that were both separate and intertwined, like two threads in the same tapestry.

By your early twenties, everything between you and Alexia was still… unspoken. A quiet current ran beneath every interaction, a constant presence neither of you wanted to name for fear of breaking it.

It was late one night when she called you. You could tell something was off the moment you picked up.

“Are you home?” Alexia’s voice was unusually small.

“Yeah. You okay?”

“Can I come over?”

“Of course.”

Fifteen minutes later, she was on your couch, a hoodie pulled over her head, her knees tucked up against her chest. The sight of her—so small and tired—made your chest ache. She was always so strong, so put together. But not tonight.

“What happened?” you asked softly, handing her a mug of tea.

Alexia stared into the cup for a long moment before answering. “I missed a penalty today. It was stupid, but it mattered. We lost because of me.”

Her voice cracked at the end, and you felt something break inside you.

“You’re human, Alexia,” you murmured. “You’re allowed to mess up.”

She shook her head, frustrated. “Everyone keeps saying that, but it doesn’t change the way it feels. It doesn’t change the pressure.”

You sat down beside her, your knee brushing hers. “It’s okay to feel that. You carry so much, Alexia. But you’re not alone, you know?”

She looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe. Her dark eyes were searching, full of something heavy and unspoken.

“You always say the right thing,” she whispered.

“I just mean what I say,” you replied, your voice barely above a murmur.

There was silence, but it wasn’t empty. It stretched between you like a thread pulled taut. Then, as if drawn by some invisible force, Alexia leaned in just slightly, her face so close to yours that you could see her even on one of your worst sight days.

“Do you ever wish things were… different?” she asked softly.

The question settled in your chest like a stone.

“Different how?” you managed, though you already knew what she meant.

Her gaze dropped to your lips for just a second before she pulled back, as if realizing something too late. She let out a shaky breath, her hands tightening around the mug.

“Never mind,” she whispered. “Forget I said anything.”

But you couldn’t forget. You wouldn’t forget.

That night haunted you in the weeks that followed. The way she looked at you, the way her voice wavered like she was balancing on the edge of a confession. You thought about all the times you’d caught yourself staring at her—her smile, her focus, her laugh that always made your heart race. You remembered every time she reached for your hand without thinking, every hug that lingered just a little too long.

You’d loved her for so long, it felt like breathing—so natural you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

But saying it out loud? That was a risk you weren’t sure you could take.

It was on one of your bad sight days when you finally broke. You’d woken up to a world that was nothing but shadows and shapes, frustration simmering under your skin. You tried to paint, but the colors blurred together, the brushstrokes clumsy.

When Alexia showed up later that afternoon—completely unannounced as usual—you were ready to push her away.

“I’m not really in the mood today,” you muttered when you opened the door.

Alexia ignored you, stepping inside and holding up a brown paper bag. “I brought food. You need to eat.”

“Alexia, I can’t—”

She turned to face you, cutting you off. “I know today’s hard. But you don’t get to shut me out.”

Her voice was firm, but her eyes were soft. It was her, always her, and you hated that she could see through you so easily.

“It’s not just today,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “It’s every day. It’s waking up not knowing if I’ll be able to see your face or if the world will just be colors and light. It’s trying to keep up with you—someone who has everything figured out—when I feel like I’m falling apart.”

Alexia’s brows pulled together. “You think I have everything figured out?”

“You do. You’re you.”

She took a step closer, her voice quieter now. “And you’re you. Do you think I’d keep showing up if you weren’t the most important person in my life?”

Your heart stopped.

“What?”

She took another step, closing the distance between you. Her hand found yours, her thumb brushing gently over your knuckles.

“You’ve been here for me through everything. Every goal, every failure, every day I wanted to quit. And you never asked for anything. I don’t care if you can’t see me, because I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

Your breath hitched. The words you’d been burying for years suddenly felt too heavy to hold back.

“I love you, Alexia,” you whispered, the words falling out before you could stop them.

Her lips parted, surprise flickering across her face, but it didn’t last. She smiled—a small, gentle smile that melted something inside you—and squeezed your hand.

“I love you too,” she said, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it was. Because loving Alexia had never been hard. It had always been there, unseen but deeply felt.

She pulled you into her arms then, holding you close, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that everything—good days, bad days, and all the moments in between—was enough. Because she was there.

And she saw you.

The days that followed felt different—so much closer. It was as if saying the words had changed the way the air moved between you and Alexia. The silences felt heavier, but not uncomfortable. Her touches lingered, her gaze held yours longer, even on the days when you couldn’t fully see it. You were aware of her in a way that made your chest ache, as though your heart had been holding its breath for years and was finally allowed to exhale.

But still, there was a line—blurred and uncertain. You both danced around it, never quite stepping over.

It wasn’t until a quiet evening at your place, weeks later, that everything boiled over.

You were on the couch, your legs tucked under you, while Alexia lay sprawled out beside you, her socked feet resting against your knee. She was talking about an upcoming match, one that carried extra weight for her team, but you were only half-listening. Her voice was soothing, rhythmic, like a song you’d memorized years ago.

“What about you?” Alexia asked suddenly, catching you off guard.

You blinked. “What about me?”

She propped herself up on one elbow, tilting her head as she looked at you. “You’ve been quiet tonight. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“Nothing,” you said, too quickly.

Alexia’s brow arched. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You sighed, shifting uncomfortably. You could feel her eyes on you, warm and searching, and suddenly the weight of the past few weeks felt impossible to hold any longer.

“Alexia,” you started, your voice cautious, “what… what are we?”

The question seemed to hang in the air, sharp and fragile all at once. You weren’t even sure you wanted her to answer. Part of you was terrified to hear what she’d say.

Alexia blinked, her expression softening as the words registered. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you replied, your voice steadier this time. “We say we love each other, we spend all this time together, and… it feels like more. But we never talk about it. We never… define it.”

Alexia sat up fully now, her knees tucked against her chest as she turned to face you. Her gaze was steady, unshaken, but you couldn’t quite read it.

“I didn’t think we needed to define it,” she said quietly.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Maybe you don’t. But I do.”

She exhaled softly, looking down at her hands for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I’m not avoiding it. I just—” She hesitated, searching for the words. “I guess I thought it was obvious. That you’re it for me.”

Your heart stuttered. “What do you mean?”

She leaned closer, her voice soft but firm. “I mean you’re the person I care about most. You’re the one I want to see at the end of every long day. You’re the one I think about when I’m on the field or when I can’t sleep. I don’t care what we call it, as long as I’m with you.”

Your breath caught, but something inside you still resisted, still hesitated. “But what does that mean, Alexia?”

“It means I love you,” she said, the words simple but full of weight. “And I want to be with you. Not just as your friend, not just as someone in your orbit. I want us to be something. You and me.”

Her honesty hit you like a wave, overwhelming and undeniable. You’d spent so much time wondering if you were imagining what you felt, if you were overstepping. And here she was, meeting you in the middle with the same certainty you’d been too afraid to claim.

“But what if I can’t…” you started, your voice trailing off.

“What?” Alexia pressed gently.

You struggled to say it. “What if I can’t give you what you need? What if my bad days—my eyesight, my moods—what if it’s too much for you?”

Alexia’s expression softened, and she reached for your hand, threading her fingers through yours. “Do you think I’m here because it’s easy?”

You stared at her, taken aback.

“I’m here because I want to be,” she continued. “Your bad days don’t scare me. Your moods don’t scare me. I know you, and I love you. Not the idea of you. Not the version of you that’s perfect all the time.”

Her words settled deep, wrapping around you like a balm for every hidden fear and unspoken insecurity.

You swallowed, your voice shaky when you finally spoke. “I love you too. I just don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she said softly, leaning closer. “But we can’t keep tiptoeing around this, can we?”

You let out a small laugh, the tension breaking just slightly. “No, I guess not.”

“So?” she asked, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Will you be mine? Officially?”

The words were lighthearted, but you could see the vulnerability in her eyes, the hope she was trying so hard to hide.

“Yes,” you whispered, smiling despite the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I already am, Alexia.”

Her grin lit up her whole face, and before you could say anything else, she leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow, as if she were memorizing the shape of you. Her hands cupped your face, her thumbs brushing your cheeks gently, and you melted into her, letting the rest of the world fade away.

When she finally pulled back, she pressed her forehead against yours and whispered, “Good.”

And for the first time in a long time, everything felt clear.

--------------------------------------------------------------

Would you like to read little blurbs about this in the future?

[strawberryblue-blog]

Stay away —Héctor Fort.

summary: Hector is a customer at the coffee shop where you work and you start to have feelings for him.

warnings: none. angst, enemies to lovers?, Hector being flirtatious and arrogant, etc.

words count: +2k.

#SEXYNOTE: This story is divided in acts, which are short stories that take place at different points in time.

—Act one.

You dismissed some customers with a smile after they thanked you for your service. You took the things from the table and walked to the counter to deposit them there.

You heard the door of the store ring open and the murmur of kids coming in as they laughed and played. You sighed taking your notepad to put it in your apron when your friend, Carla, reached for it with a knowing look.

"Enjoy your table" she teased as she watched the boys sit at their typical table.

You rolled your eyes, sticking your tongue out at her as you turned to put on your best fake smile. You could feel a few stares as you made your way towards that table, the murmurs began to hush as they noticed you standing near them.

"Hey boys" you greeted politely. "What can I get for you guys?"

Your gaze met one of theirs and you smiled slightly towards the gaze of the young man, who quickly raised his head flirtatiously. Your skin bristled as you felt a shiver down your back but you pretended to smile towards them as if nothing was wrong.

The group of football players that came every afternoon after practice, some were flirtatious, some were more shy, some were chatty and some were quieter. There was one of them in particular who had tried to get your attention every time they came over but you never let it get to you.

"The usual, Y/n, please" Ferran said with his smile. And you nodded taking note as you remembered their orders.

Even though you knew exactly what they asked for, it was part of your job to ask what they wanted. They usually had the same thing but you knew that sometimes some of them changed their choices.

They had been coming in for coffee for at least five months, almost every afternoon. And even though you thought soccer players couldn't drink coffee, it turned out they could.

Of course you knew who they were. Everyone knew, even if you weren't into that world. The coffee shop was near the Barcelona stadium. Anyone who lived here would know exactly who they were. FC Barcelona and Spanish national team players. You still tried to stay out of the way and just do your job. It wasn't like it mattered much anyway.

"Anything else?" you asked looking around as you noticed some customers calling you.

"Your phone number, linda (beautiful)" one of them mumbled and the others cheered as they heard "linda".

You bit your tongue nonchalantly. You didn't feel flattered, or embarrassed, or special. It was just the opposite.

It was disgusting.

Hector Fort. You knew perfectly well whose voice it was. His name, his reputation, his talent. He had gained a lot of fame these last months with his plays, becoming a great player and all the women in town were dying for him.

But not you.

And he had been trying to flirt with you since the first time he sat at the cafeteria tables with cheesy compliments, little hints, trying to have something from you. But you wouldn't let him.

"In your dreams, honey" you mutter low and their friends again squeak an 'uhhh' mockingly as you turn and walk away from them.

The hour passes as you continue to serve the customers. But you can't fully focus on your work, you're scattered. For some reason that word is going around in your head. It wasn't the first time he had flirted with you but this time he had had some effect on you and you didn't even know why.

But for minutes you found yourself turning your gaze to his table, looking for the author of the word. And every time you looked, he was looking at you.

Haughty, head held high and with a flirtatious smile on his perfect face.

You could even see how his friends were talking to him but he wasn't paying attention to them, you were his attention. He was looking at you like you were the only person in here and it made you shiver.

He had been looking at you for days and you know it because you used to look at him too, although then you ended up looking away to do your job.

It was the first time you were so attracted to a client but you kept pretending he was just another one, because he really was. So, you put the ideas out of your head and went back to your daily tasks.

—Act two.

Another afternoon came and this time you found yourself waiting for the group of boys. You knew they would be here any minute and for some reason you had been longing for them to arrive (or maybe just one).

It had been two days since they had come and you were beginning to feel something strange in your chest. The sound of the door chimed and you turned to greet whoever had come in but were surprised when you saw only Hector enter.

He entered quietly and sat at his table, waiting for your attention. As you greeted the pair of grandparents who were saying goodbye, you grabbed their cups and took them to the wash quickly, you had to go serve customers.

But not just any customer. Hector Fort, who for some reason made you feel nervous.

Your eyes focused on the boy sitting alone as he waited with his arms on the table, sighing and stretching his legs. You swallowed saliva and silently approached the table, wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as your heart raced faster and faster.

Why did you suddenly feel this way? You had served Hector thousands of times before with his friends. You'd been serving clients for six months now, you never got this nervous. It was just your own ideas.

"Good afternoon, what can I get for you?" you asked sounding friendly but hiding the fact that you almost had a mini heart attack.

Hector's amused look rose from the table and watched you in front of him, nervous and almost trembling. A smile appeared on his lips and you could have sworn he enjoyed watching you as your voice trembled.

"Hi, linda" he greeted flirtatiously. "Are you on the menu?" he asked as he gave a quick glance of you.

«Linda» he had used that word again. You couldn't answer his stupid question sarcastically like you used to, because your heart went into overdrive and you froze how stupid.

"Just a black coffee, please" he indicated after a second. You nodded and smiled sideways, watching him.

Why had he come alone this time? You wanted to ask him. Normally all his friends came, it was already like everyday life. He wasn't wearing his typical workout clothes like when he used to come most of the time either, so you guessed that maybe he had come from somewhere else.

He looked particularly handsome today, though. His well shaped jawline shone with his glowing skin, his static curls static, he had a carefree, relaxed look. He made no jokes, no off-hand remarks, apart from the little joke from earlier.

He looked different. More real, more human. It sounded weird but it felt that way.

"What?" he asked with a smile. "Do I have something on my face?"

Oh god. Dear lord.

You'd been staring at him like a crazy person. That must have been awkward. It was. Damn. You shook your head barely and turned, literally running away from Hector. How embarrassing. Your cheeks burned at the thought that you'd been staring at him as if you'd forgotten who he was. You closed your eyes slapping your forehead and the image of the young man came back to your mind. Your stomach churned and you had to sigh for peace in your chest.

—Act three.

You finished delivering the order to a table and sighed, walking to the counter. Gina waited for you and pointed to the group of players laughing among themselves. They were back again.

After the lonely sight of Hector you thought maybe they wouldn't come back but here they were. So as part of your job, it was your turn to serve them again. It was quicker than you thought, you walked over and took the order quickly. Although you tried not to look at him, Hector's stare had been stabbing you the whole time. So you quickly escaped from the table while they continued to watch something and laugh.

You hadn't spoken to Hector since that afternoon. You asked Carla to replace you because you felt bad, but it was a little lie so you wouldn't go back to that table. Now you were watching them all laughing together as Carla poured coffee into the cups.

"Would you give this to Pedro?" she asked with a shy smile and you smiled as you watched her cheeks turn pink.

It was a slice of strawberry cake, one she had made in the morning. She had talked to Pedro the last few days and they had gone out to dinner two nights ago. You nodded and after taking all the things, you approached the table. With a smile, you handed everyone their order and when you got to Pedro, you took the cake.

"I didn't... order this" he mumbled confused.

"On the house" you muttered giving your friend a quick glance. Pedri watched her and his eyes sparkled at the sight of Carla greeting him. His friends mumbled something and some laughed carrying him.

"Only one night in your bed and you already have girls making you desserts" you heard Hector's voice sarcastic towards Pedro, laughing along with his friends who feasted.

"You have to teach me, friend, other girls prefer to play hard to get" he muttered straight to you and some of his friends hid stifled laughter, others just looked at him confused.

Your heart froze. He was talking about you. He said it with some suspicion while pointing his gaze towards you. You idiot. Not only had he just embarrassed you he also said that about your friend, he was calling your friend easy. He was an idiot.

His mocking look confronted you and you wanted to throw your coffee on him but you weren't going to do that. He didn't even deserve your attention, so you kept serving them as if you hadn't heard that. Smiling and holding your posture to show him that he wasn't worth it.

But something inside you resonated.

What had happened to that boy who came here alone the other afternoon? He had behaved well, he hadn't made jokes, he hadn't made fun of the situation. He just sat down, ordered his coffee, paid politely and greeted you on your way out. You thought that maybe something about him was worth admiring, that maybe he wasn't a jerk like they said or he looked like.

But now... now he was back to being the arrogant idiot Hector Fort. How everyone painted him.

Your chest shrank with emptiness. Your fingers trembled as you set his mug down in front of him and you wanted to tip it over again but you didn't.

—Act four.

Several days passed and like every afternoon, the group of boys continued to visit the store. Right now they were laughing while talking and pointing at something. Today it had been your turn to be behind the counter and you were glad at a certain point, you didn't want to go near them. You could see how Carla brought her red cheeks every time she came back from that table, you knew she liked Pedri, a shy and kind young man, who used to apologize for his friends' mess sometimes.

Compared to Hector, Pedro was someone kind and humble, he would never try to go over the top like the other idiot.

Why did he think you would go out with him? You were a simple girl who only worked to live and pay for your studies. You spent most of your time cooped up here or studying, you didn't have a bulky body, you weren't famous, you didn't even like to go out. What made him think he could treat you like you were just another prude? Idiot.

His jokes were constant, about your phone number, about taking you home, about what you were wearing, about anything to say to get your attention. It was unbearable. And normally you were used to dealing with idiot men trying to flirt with you. But Hector was so much more.

"Stop looking at him!" you heard a little shriek from your friend.

You turned your head quickly toward him. Damn. You'd been staring at that idiot again. Like he was going to commit some crime and you'd be the one to stop him, hoping to catch him in the act. You were watching out for your friend. You didn't know what his next move would be and Carla wasn't an object for him to appreciate. But you knew that was a pitiful lie. You were looking at him.

"I wasn't watching" you say nonchalantly as you brewed coffee in the machine and started it up.

"He's asking about you" he mentioned and your heart skipped a beat.

You relamiste your lip ignoring his comment but your body shuddered. You had been hiding behind the machines, in the kitchen, dodging his gaze, trying to go unnoticed. For some reason you were beginning to feel different around him and you wanted to eliminate any kind of empathy you felt for Hector.

He was a casanova. A womanizer. A jerk.

But you were starting to feel things for him. Like that time he flirted about your sweater or when he noticed you'd cut your hair, no one had ever noticed before. How he smiled at you as you set the coffee down in front of him or the time when his fingers caressed yours when he took the cup from your hands to help you. Your world stopped.

Ever since then you couldn't stop thinking about him. About his damn perfect face, his curly hair that you had wanted to stick your fingers in and comb through, about his muscular arms and the tattoo that covered his forearm. You had definitely lost your mind. You couldn't like him.

So since then you had tried to change your place with Carla during the evenings. You didn't even want to see him from afar. You needed to move on and ignore any feelings that grew in you. You were just a simple coffee server. He was all you would ever have.

—Act five.

After a long day in the cafeteria, you had finally finished serving the last customers of the day. Carla and your manager had already gone home and you were finishing up your business.

It had been a quiet afternoon, especially since the football group hadn't shown up today. But you tried not to make a big deal of it.

It was all gone.

Your little feelings for Hector, they were gone. Your mind was now clearer since you had started dating one of your classmates, nothing serious but at least your mind was occupied with something else. You clearly didn't like Hector, you were just a little persuaded by his constant flirting and you were over him.

So you had gone back to work as a waitress, ignoring the guy who was still trying to get close.

You had started to get along better with some of them, Ferran used to come up to the counter when you were there, he would talk to you and Carla. Sometimes they were joined by Alejandro or Pedro, two other nice and attentive guys.

When everything was ready inside, you left the premises and locked it with the key, making sure it was secure. It was late at night and you would change home today, there was nice weather and you weren't too far away, the streets were empty and it wasn't a dangerous area.

"Hey..." someone greeted and your hand shook as you held the lock.

Your body froze and even though your back was turned you knew exactly who it was. You gulped, catching your breath to slowly turn around. Surprised you watched the boy approach with his hands in his pocket and his gaze expectant.

"Oh, hi" you greeted in confusion. "Sorry, we're closed" you indicated pointing to the shop.

"I know, I was expecting that actually" he mentioned and you raised your eyebrows.

Had I been waiting for you to close? What did that mean?

"For what exactly?" you ask confused.

"To walk you home" he replies and your blood freezes. You are speechless.

Had he been waiting for you to close the place so he could take you home? Did he know you were due to close today or was he just passing by? He hadn't come to the coffee shop yesterday, nor today and you guessed it was because in a few days they would be traveling out of the country for an important match, as you had heard from Ferran.

"You don't have to" you say stowing your things in your bag.

"But I want to, if you let me" he takes a step forward and stands close to you. His deep gaze makes you sigh.

"It's not far. Better go home, Hector" you indicate starting to walk down the sidewalk.

You don't want any trouble. You don't want to owe anyone any favors, least of all him. It's not a bad way, you can just walk yourself home.

You sigh when you feel his footsteps behind you, following you. You turn a little and see him walking a few feet behind you, his hands in his pockets and his gaze fixed on you.

You stop. He stops. You start walking again. He walks back. You stop again and he stops again.

Your belly rumbles and you close your eyes as you feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. What is he supposed to do? Follow you home? Doesn't he understand your words? Or maybe he's just trying to protect you? No. He wouldn't do that, he doesn't have to.

Feelings start to well up in your chest and you feel like you're starting to suffocate. Having him around makes you feel like this. You don't want to feel this. You don't want to fall back into his nets.

"What do you want from me, Hector?" you ask tiredly turning around completely.

When your gaze meets yours your barriers fall. You'd been putting yourself in all this time saying you were over him. You had been pretending but you couldn't do it anymore. You liked Hector.

"I just want to walk you home" he murmurs low and slow.

"Why?" you insist. His gaze glows in the darkness like lanterns as he takes several steps towards you.

There is an overwhelming silence and with your gaze you ask him for explanations. Hector scratches the back of his neck nervously and stands up straight.

"Because I like you" he spits without preamble and your body freezes. "Haven't I made that clear enough to you these past few months?"

You shake your head. He's playing with you. You can't like a soccer player, not someone famous and handsome like him. You're a gamble. Surely he and his friends planned it all while you fell for it like a fool.

"No, you just want to play with me" you almost scream exhausted.

"Why do you think that?" he questions confused and takes another step. ""Is it because we are different?"

You deny again and want to turn to continue on your way but he stops you. His hand encircles yours and he spins you around, you fall onto his chest and your hands rest on his muscles as his hands wrap around your waist.

Your heart starts pounding as you notice how close they are, his breath mingles with yours and you swallow a sigh. Your eyes drop down to his mouth and you're dying to touch his lips, full, marked and appetizing. All your skin bristles as you feel his hands on you, you want to touch his face, his skin, his mouth, his neck. You want him to wrap his arms around you, to hold you, to kiss you.

And he does it. And you let him. His lips crash against yours and you merge in a strong and passionate kiss. His lips are warm and tasty and they kiss fleetingly feeling.

Your chest squeezes with mixed feelings that you thought had vanished. But in reality they haven't. As hard as it is for you to admit, you're in love with Hector. But he's not for you. You are not for him.

Your hands rest on his chest and you shoot out of his kiss, moving away from him.

"I can't" an overwhelming sigh leaves your lips. He looks at you confused and tries to get closer but you stop him.

Your head is dizzy and your lips are burning to kiss him again. But you can't.

"Listen to me, please" he tries to say it but you deny it. "I like you, ¿okay? A lot. I want to be with you" He insists on taking a step but you take another step back.

The butterflies in your stomach make you scared. He's not for you. You don't even know him. You can't.

"I don't want to have you around, stay away from my life" you scream with tears in your eyes before you turn and start running in some direction.

Tears fall down your eyes but this is the best thing for you. For both of us.

—Act six.

Since that night you have never been the same. Your feelings for Hector have grown inside you and now every time the door rings you expect him to be the one who enters the cafeteria. But he doesn't.

Hector hasn't come in since that night, especially after you asked him to leave you alone. He really did. He just stopped coming, stopped insisting. Maybe you overreacted that night or were too harsh and now you feel guilty. He took the news of her walking away very seriously and you were starting to feel your heart breaking.

The worst thing is that you yourself had broken your heart. Being afraid to love or at least to accept that someone could love you. That's what you wanted to think, but Hector wasn't someone for you. You didn't deserve him, you were just a girl who works to survive.

You two could never have anything. You didn't even know if you were really something to Hector. Maybe he was just messing with you and you were here losing your mind.

You walk slowly and depressed to his table, as you have been doing for the past two weeks. Your classmates are there, laughing and chatting as usual. But he's not there.

"Hey guys," you greet barely. "What can I get for you?" you repeat listlessly.

The players greet you and make their requests as they always do for almost seven months now. You want to ask about him, you want to know about him. But you don't know how to say it. You don't even know if you have the right to know. But you think you could take the risk.

"Isn't Hector... coming today?" you try to ask without sounding curious. His friends look at you in denial.

"He stopped coming with us" says one of them. "He says he has to do things" he explains.

I don't think he has anything to do. He just doesn't want to come here anymore. And that breaks your heart.

"He was the one who was excited to come before but now he stopped coming" says another laughing. "We actually got to know this place through him and I think it was the best decision to come here."

Your heart breaks into a thousand pieces. You smile, feeling your eyes sting from holding back tears.

"Thanks guys" you can barely say with your voice in a trickle. You turn on your heels weakly and begin to walk away from them.

Your chest burns and you start to feel like crying. You did that. You hurt him. You told him to stay away and now you ruined everything. All because of your fucking fear of loving someone. Someone like him.

Hector Fort, Barcelona player and Spanish national team player. The boy who has inhabited your heart for the last seven months.

The man you're in love with.

[bellawoso]

We fell in love in October

Alexia Putellas x fem!reader

A/N: this was going to be an Ona fic, but when I discovered this picture of lex, I couldn’t help myself 🤍

i brought back diego for this fic, he is too cute not to, and y/n + diego are besties in every universe :)

You were not happy that you were coming into work today, after working a full day yesterday, crammed with people only seeming to be ordering pumpkin spiced lattes with the now colder autumn days.

You loved your job, working in a small cafe in Barcelona whilst you completed your studies, seeing your favourite regulars each day, and the perk of being able to make yourself a coffee whenever you would like.

It wasn’t unheard of for new customers to come in, however it was extremely rare. The cafe was tucked away in the depths of Barcelona, reserved for locals who new the area extremely well.

One of your favourite regulars was a tall, heavily tattooed, blonde woman, who often came in each morning in a Barcelona training kit, wanting a latte.

At first, you had joked that she was a big fan of Barcelona, thinking her matching kit was quite extreme for a fan, however you later learnt to your surprise that she was on the team, which she still teased you about to this day.

Your co-worker Diego, a massive football fan, still fawned over Mapi each day she came in, until one day you couldn’t stand his shyness and instead asked the question that always lingered on the tip of his tongue.

“Diego wants to know when you will bring some other footballers Mapi”, this statement received a smack to your arm from said co-worker, who had blushed crimson red.

“I’m a big fan, okay?” Diego justified himself.

Except Mapi only chuckled and explained she liked having her “own” coffee shop hidden away, and didn’t like sharing with her teammates.

You and Diego left it there, understanding people like their own secret pleasures, Mapi’s being the staple in her daily routine, of visiting you two and ordering a latte.

———————————————————————

You had forgotten about the conversation with Mapi, until two weeks later, she walked through the door at her usual time, you and Diego had already pre-prepared her drink, except for this time, a blonde woman, also in her training kit, followed her into the cafe.

The moment you and Diego both saw Alexia, you both stood there dumbfounded for a second, completely forgetting Mapi’s drink.

Diego was shocked because as a loyal football fan, he obviously knew who Alexia Putellas was, it was hard not to, internally he was fangirling.

You however, thought Mapi’s teammate was beautiful, her smile, her eyes, her muscles.

You broke out of your trance first, handed Mapi her drink, whilst asking “Would your friend like anything?”

The girl spoke up “a latte aswell please”

When you asked for a name for her order, she froze for a second, the majority of people in Barcelona knew who she was, with her infamous nickname “Reina”

Mapi chuckled and muttered

“Ella es inglesa, y no es fanática del fútbol” (She’s English and not a football fan)

You, having moved from England for your studies only a year ago, had no clue what they were saying rapidly in their heavily accented Spanish.

Diego however, heard and laughed with them “She’s called Alexia chica, do you not know the footballer”

“I’m sure if I knew, then I would not be asking, would I? Idiota!” You replied whilst scribbling down the name on the cup, as Diego feigned a look of hurt as he prepared Alexia’s drink.

“Si Diego, deja en paz a mi barista favorito!” Mapi said (Yes Diego, leave my favourite barista alone!)

“I don’t know what Maps said, but I agree with her” which earned a grin from Mapi, as you handed Alexia’s drink to her.

“Pasarlo bien” (enjoy)

“Gracias y/n” Alexia replied with a soft smile, as her eyes lingered on your name tag.

“Adios chicos! See you tomorrow” Mapi shouted as she left the shop.

“Adios Mapi, and Alexia!” You and Diego shouted.

As soon as the door shut, Diego squealed in excitement, “you like her! You have a crush on Alexia Putellas!”

“Shut up Diego! No I do not”

“Ay! Do not fret chica, I saw she was eyeing you up too!”

“Don’t be silly Diego! Now hurry you have to prepare Val’s drink, she comes in soon!”

Although Diego left his teasing there, it didn’t stop for the next few weeks when Alexia accompanied Mapi each morning, and both you and Alexia constantly flirted with each other, but neither making the first move.

Until one morning Alexia didn’t come in with Mapi, and the regular explained how Alexia had to go in earlier today, but how she was going to call in later after training at around 3 o’clock.

Until at 3pm, just as Mapi said, your favourite blonde stepped through the door.

“Bon día, my favourite customer!” you said, earning a smile from Alexia, she usually complimented your improving Spanish, which always no doubt brought a blush to your cheeks.

“Hola y/n! Can I have a-“

“A latte? It’s already finished Ale” you said, sliding her drink towards her, the use of her nickname falling from your lips made the midfielders cheeks flush pink.

“Thankyou cari, tastes as amazing as always” Alexia had recently been using the term of endearment for you, the first time you head it, you choked on your latte, making Diego and Mapi let out a boisterous laugh.

“Can I get you anything else lexia?” You asked.

“Your number.” The blunt statement caught you off guard, did you hear that right?

The girl you had been pining over for the last month wanted your number?

Alexia mistook the silence as rejectment, and turned to leave muttering a soft “lo siento”

“Ale! Wait!” Which made the Spaniard turn back round, a glint of hope sparking in her eyes.

You grabbed a napkin and scribbled down your number, adding a heart on the end and handing it to the blonde, who looked like an excited puppy.

“Call me?”

“Why else would I want your number cari?”

You blushed at the obvious statement, shrugged your shoulders, and the previous adrenaline high you received from Alexia asking for your number, pushed you to lean over the counter and kiss the blonde’s cheek, making her in turn blush.

“See you tomorrow?” The blonde hesitantly asked.

“Diego missed you.” You stated.

“If I gave you both tickets for the upcoming match, would you go?” The blonde asked uncertainly.

“To cheer you on? Obviously ale.”

The Spaniard grinned happily at your answer, said goodbye, and left.

The same night, you received two e-mail tickets for the upcoming Barcelona match.

When you told Diego, to say he was excited was an understatement.

You however, was only excited to see where your new future with Alexia would take you.

———————————————————————

A/N: Making a part 2 now! But I will do a poll of New Romantics part 3 or part 2 of this! 🤍

[theuntoldstorythatneedsawriter]

Meet and greet 📫⚽️ pt.2

Alexia Putellas x reader

warning : fluffy 💭💗

pt. 1

summary :

After exchanging numbers at the meet-and-greet, you and Alexia finally meet for coffee, and what starts as a casual chat turns into something deeper.

The coffee shop Alexia suggested was tucked away in a quiet part of Barcelona, away from the usual crowds. When you walked inside, the warm scent of roasted coffee beans and freshly baked pastries filled the air, making you feel instantly at ease. But no amount of calming ambiance could quiet the butterflies in your stomach.

You were early, fifteen minutes early, to be exact. The nerves had gotten the best of you, and you had left home far too soon, anxious about the fact that you were meeting THE Alexia Putellas for coffee. As you sat at a small table by the window, you fidgeted with the sleeve of your jacket, trying to steady your racing heart.

This was real. Alexia had texted you yesterday to confirm the meet-up, and now, you were actually going to sit down with her. Not as a fan, not as someone in the stands, but as someone she wanted to get to know better. That thought alone sent a surge of excitement through you.

Just then, the door chimed, and you looked up. Your breath caught as Alexia walked in, wearing a simple but stylish outfit, jeans and a fitted black sweater, her hair loosely tied back. She looked effortlessly stunning, just as she did on the pitch. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and then she smiled, that warm, familiar smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Hola” she greeted, walking over to your table. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

You shook your head quickly, standing up to greet her. “No, not at all. I got here a bit early.”

Alexia chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling as she sat down across from you. “Same. I just took a detour around the block to kill some time. I didn’t want to seem too eager.”

You laughed at her confession, feeling a wave of relief that she was just as human and down-to-earth as you had hoped. “Well, I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

Once she settled in, you both ordered your drinks, Alexia took a black coffee, while you went with your usual. As you waited for the coffees to arrive, there was a brief moment of silence, not awkward, but filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. You could feel her watching you, her gaze soft but focused.

“I’m really glad we’re doing this,” Alexia said, her voice genuine. “It’s not often I get to meet people like you. Outside of football, I mean.”

“People like me?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

She smiled, glancing down at her hands for a moment before looking back at you. “Yeah, people who see me beyond just a footballer. I could tell when we met that you really care about the game, and… I don’t know, I felt like we clicked.”

Her honesty caught you off guard. You had always admired her from a distance, but hearing that she had felt some sort of connection as well was something you hadn’t expected. “I’ve always admired you. Not just because you’re an incredible player, but because of who you are off the field too. You’re a leader, and it’s inspiring.”

Alexia’s cheeks tinted slightly pink at your words, and she smiled in a way that felt almost shy. “Thank you. That really means a lot coming from you.”

Before you could respond, the server arrived with your drinks, setting them down in front of you. You wrapped your hands around your cup, the warmth calming your nerves as you both settled into the conversation.

“So, tell me,” Alexia said, leaning forward slightly. “How did you get into football? You mentioned at the meet-and-greet that you’ve been watching us for a while.”

You smiled, thinking back to when your love for the sport began. “It started when I was a kid. I grew up playing football with my friends in the neighborhood. But it wasn’t until I watched Barça’s women’s team play for the first time that I really fell in love with it. And, well… you were a big part of that.”

Alexia chuckled softly, her eyes brightening. “I’m honored. That’s amazing to hear. I love knowing that we’ve been able to inspire people like you.”

You spent the next hour talking about everything. Football, travel, life outside of the sport. The conversation flowed effortlessly, as if you’d known each other for far longer than just a couple of meetings. Alexia listened intently whenever you spoke, asking questions and sharing stories of her own. It was easy to forget that you were sitting across from one of the best footballers in the world.

But every now and then, a small reminder would hit you, a flicker in her eyes, the way she smiled, or when she’d laugh at something you said. The ease with which you two connected felt surreal.

At one point, Alexia glanced down at her phone, checking the time, and sighed softly. “I hate to cut this short, but I have a team meeting in a bit.”

You nodded, though a part of you wished the afternoon could stretch on forever. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you.”

She hesitated for a moment, then looked back up at you, her eyes soft. “But… I’d really like to do this again, if you’re up for it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the invitation. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

You looked up at her, your face flushing with warmth, and Alexia gave you a small, playful smile. “See you soon" she said, standing up and giving you one last lingering look before she left.

As you sat there, a smile crept onto your face. You had come here expecting to get to know your football hero a little better, but now it felt like you were on the brink of something more. Something real.

Alexia Putellas wasn’t just your champion anymore. She was becoming a part of your life in ways you’d never imagined. And you couldn’t wait to see where it led next.

💕 @lovewomensfootball @wososapologist 💕

pt. 3

[afterglowsainz]

dancing with our hands tied | pablo gavi

part 2

summary: pablo asks for your help to get his ex girlfriend back since you’re her best friend

fc: jenna ortega

a/n: writing this lowkey drained me because i somehow made it longer than i plan to but whatever we won el clásico i had to celebrate !!! (i’ll try to post part 2 tomorrow)

—

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yourusername tried my luck at karaoke (spoiler: i didn’t went well)

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[caption 1: 🎤🎤] [caption 2: how did i even ended up here]

[inuyashaluver]

Lucy Bronze x actress reader mabye Lucy and the lioness watch one of readers flims and you can make up the rest. Love ya work.

proud - lucy bronze

lucy bronze x reader

description: in which your girlfriend and her teammates come to your movie premiere to watch your highly anticipated film

warnings: so. long. i’m actually sorry, swearing

a/n: thank you for your support and request! i had so much fun! hope you enjoy!!!

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you and your girlfriend, lucy met at a coffee shop a couple of years ago when she spilled her drink onto your shirt.

“shit i’m so sorry-” you make eye contact

“aren’t you?-” you both say at the same time, pulling a smile out of both of you. you both recognised each other - england’s defender and star actress.

“i’m so sorry about your shirt” she quickly took off her jacket, moving to drape it over your shoulders

“no no, please lucy, it’s fine” you smile at her to reassure her, she still places the jacket on you, she grins at you, making you feel weak in the knees, something the both of you feeling exactly the same.

“(y/n) at least let me make it up to you” she pleads, you shake your head lightly at her,

“you don’t have to do anything-”

“please” she rushes out, “i want to” she nods at you, you grab her hand into yours lightly,

“how about you take me out or something?” she grins so brightly at you, both of your cheeks turning a light pink.

“i’d love that”

the date went splendid, quickly progressing into a romantic relationship. you have been dating for 5 years, still head over heels for one another. you both share an apartment in barcelona, as well as having a small flat back in england for your work. everyone loved you both as a couple, essentially the both of you were national treasures, highly admired and respected.

—

the lionesses were beginning their training once again, meaning the both of you were in england for the time being. coincidentally, you were working on an upcoming movie which is highly anticipated all over the globe.

you and lucy were so busy, you both barely had time to see each other, schedules misaligned completely. both of you had to rely on quick phone calls, texting and quick appearances at home where you would hug and kiss and go straight off to work.

fortunately, you had a day off, keeping it secret, wanting to surprise lucy. you wave her off in the morning, telling her that you had a busy schedule today. as soon as she left, you phoned up a coffee and drink truck to go to the lionesses’ training grounds, telling them the location and time you wanted them to be there.

you race to the training grounds, knowing that they were probably still in the change room before training actually started. you told the truck where to go, standing in front of it and waiting for the team to come out. one by one, the lionesses start emerging from the training rooms, immediately smiling and bounding over to you for hugs, many of them hadn’t seen their favourite actress in a while.

you told the girls to get themselves a drink, all of them giving you appreciative words and gestures as they moved past you. you were bundled up in one of lucy’s hoodies, waiting for your girlfriend to come out - always the last one to get out, something you endlessly complained about every time you came to watch her play or train.

after a few minutes, she walks out alone, confused by all the excited chatter coming from outside. that’s when she sees it, her lovely girlfriend standing in front of her team with a giant truck making drinks for everyone. she smiles so brightly, your heart was beating so fast seeing her, like you haven’t seen her in months even though you saw her this morning.

she runs over and scoops you up into a hug, lifting you in the air, you yelp, wrapping your arms around her neck and your legs around your waist.

“baby! what are you doing here?” she exclaims, hiding her face in your neck. you move your hand to the back of her neck and her shoulder, she looks up at you, smiling brightly, you returning the cheesy grin.

“hello, you! came to surprise you of course, doing my wag duties” you wink at her and she laughs, pursing her lips up to you for a kiss that you happily give.

she holds the back of your thighs, lightly squeezing them as you both whine into the kiss, enjoying one another’s company until you heard gagging coming from behind you. the whole team, including the staff watching you both with fake unamusement. secretly so happy to see their favourite couple reunite.

lucy rolls her eyes and places you on the ground, wrapping her arm around your waist and keeping you tucked into her side.

“don’t be jealous, girls, be grateful this one here got you the free drinks” she nudges her head down, referencing you.

dutifully, everyone smiles at you “thank you (y/n)!!” sounding like you were a school teacher and they were your students.

you wave your hands, “ah don’t mention it”, you move lucy’s arm off you, her looking at you offended, you quickly peck her lips and told her to get a drink, begging her not to spill it on you, and telling her that you would be right back. you move to find england captain, and a close friend, leah.

“leah, do you mind calling a team meeting for me?” she looks at you confused, “why, love?”, you pout up at her, “just do it” you plead, she smiles at you, ruffling your hair and calling everyone to stand around the both of you for a team meeting, lucy standing with her arms folded against her chest, glaring at you for pulling away from her just moments before.

“my lovely national treasures” you start smiling, “i was wondering if all of you were free next week friday?” lucy is the first one to speak up,

“why, baby?” she was scared you were inviting them to your house.

“well, lucia” giggles were heard and lucy glares in the general direction,

“my movie premiere is that day and i would love nothing more than for all of you to come”

excited chatter and smiles amongst the group occurs, you smiling brightly at everyone and becoming slightly shy, you slowly move up to lucy, grabbing her hand for some comfort, her immediately giving it to you when she places a kiss on your cheek and holding you close. her fake grudge disappearing.

everyone told you they would be there and began to walk to the pitch for training. lucy holding you back and kissing you passionately,

“listen here, woman. you move away from me like that again and you’ll lose privileges”

“woah what! what privileges” you pout,

“um, well. i don’t know yet but you will!” she points her finger at you and you place a kiss on it. she can’t help the smile that takes over her face when you do so.

“go on bronze, training time” you push her towards the pitch, placing a kiss between her shoulder blades. she laughs brightly at you, “come and watch me?” you scoff offendedly at her,

“duh, i’m a wag” she smiles at you, grabbing your hand and making you sit in a spot she knew you would have direct view of her.

the whole training session, she purposely flexes her muscles, legs and arms putting on a show for her special girl. she knew you were freaking out right now, her suspicion correct when she sees you sitting in your spot with wide eyes, hands covering your mouth. she grins at you, waving her hand hello, laughing when you didn’t wave back, just shaking your head in response.

—

it was premiere day, unfortunately, you had to get ready separately from lucy, you woke up extra early to buy her a bouquet of flowers and writing her a note:

hello my love,

can’t wait to see you later, sexy

sorry we couldn’t get ready together, stay tuned for the dress reveal on the red carpet,

i love you, baby,

see you soon

<3 your love, (y/n)

she immediately calls you when she finds the note, you answer on the first ring, “hiya baby!” you gleam,

“my lovely girl, i’m so excited to see you! did you get your gift” she questions,

“what gift-”

as if on cue, your hotel door has a knock, and you open the door to the biggest bouquet of flowers you had ever seen, you quickly accept and go back to your phone.

“baby! we’re soulmates i think, same idea”

“oh we’re definitely soulmates, baby girl” you can hear the smirk in her voice.

“i’ll let you go baby, i’d so give you a big kiss right now so pretend please” she mocks

“yes bronzey, you got it!” she laughs at you through the phone, hanging up the phone after you both say goodbye.

—

you looked good. you looked so good, you were honestly worried for the well-being of your girlfriend. there was a little backstage area that you were waiting in, lucy and the other girls were set to come soon, as you wanted to take as many pictures with them as possible, as well as needing your date for the movie premiere of course.

the england girls start to fill up the room, everyone gasping when they see you, telling you how beautiful they look.

“holy fuck, (y/n/n)! you look so hot!” leah exclaims, running to give you a gentle hug, not wanting to ruin your outfit or hair.

“thanks lee lee” you smile at her, the rest of the girls coming over and chatting with them, so happy they were able to make it.

in nature, your girlfriend always the last one, comes in and her jaw drops when she sees you. she walks outside of the room when she sees you.

“lucy!” you exclaim as she leaves the area, she comes back in, extremely red at your appearance. the girls move away from both of you, engaging in their own chatter before it was time to walk out.

“baby” she breathes out closing her eyes, “you look breathtaking, so incredibly gorgeous” you blush at her words,

“oh stop it” you gasp,

“no, you look beautiful and you need to know it” she grabs your hips and gives them a light squeeze.

you placed your arms on her biceps, lightly scratching exposed arms from her vest.

“look at you missy, you look amazing” you shamelessly check her out and she squeezes your hips again.

“i want to kiss you so bad but i don’t want to mess up your lips” she says, eyes flickering between your eyes and lips.

“give me a peck then, baby, don’t leave me hanging” you pucker your lips up and she places a sweet kiss on your lips, smiling as you wipe your lip product off her lips. you hear your name being called, lucy places her hand on the small of your back as she directs you to the carpet. the girls cheering as you walk past, you wave and tell them that you want pictures with all of them and they all nod excitingly.

you and lucy take the carpet, everyone excited to see the both of you, numerous pictures being taken of you together and solo. you gesture for the girls to come out and they all rush onto the carpet. you standing with them and sharing cheesy grins, having so much fun with your girlfriend and your shared friends.

after some more pictures and interviews, everyone moved into the theatre. you and lucy sat in the front row with the rest of the girls. you get called up for a speech, everyone cheering as you make your way to the stage.

you smile brightly, making eye contact with lucy and she winks at you for encouragement.

“uh hello everyone! welcome to the movie premiere of (movie name)!” everyone cheers again, “thank you everyone for making it out today, i’m so excited for you all to see our hard work for the past 2 years, i want to first thank my family for their love and support” you pause as people cheer, “i also want to thank all the fans and staff that made this movie possible, i’d also like to thank my lovely friends who came today, also known as the lionesses who have been nothing but supportive for this film” everyone cheers louder, mainly the team themselves,

“finally, i want to thank my person, my soulmate, lucy” you look at her as you speak, “baby, thank you for being authentically you” you start to choke up slightly, taking a deep breath before you speak again, “lucy has been there for me through everything, she held me when i cried, endlessly giving me hugs and kisses and telling me that she’s proud of me everyday. i’m proud to be your partner and hopefully a future bronze” you wiggle your left hand and everyone laughs, you look at lucy, both of you lightly crying and her smiling up at you with so much love and adoration.

“thank you for everything, baby, i love you” she mouths the words back at you and you smile, lightly wiping your tears.

“now let’s get this show on the road, enjoy everyone and let’s go england!” everyone cheers loudly as you make your way over to your seat, the girls smiling at you, many of them with matching tears in their eyes.

as soon as you sat down next to lucy, she grabs your hand and places her other hand on your chin, directing your eyes to her.

“i’m so proud of you, my love, i love you so much” she smiles at you, a tear rolling down her cheek, you move your free hand to wipe it off and return the smile.

“i love you more, baby”

the movie went exceptionally well, everyone absolutely loving it and it skyrockets on the charts. england winning their tournament also. you and lucy were both so proud of each other. both of you doing what you do best. and by the way, you were made a bronze, both of you even more proud about that.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 44,232 others

lucybronze: so incredibly proud of my girl, in every way possible. cheers to you, my love ❤️

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yourname: love you baby, you make me proud every day, so grateful for you

↳ lucybronze: no i am

↳ yourname: no i am

↳ lucybronze: you are losing your privileges.

↳ yourname: my mouth is shut

alessiarusso99: parents 😭❤️

↳ yourname: my real baby

↳ lucybronze: WHAT

[girlgenius1111]

adrenaline junkie

r loves to do dangerous things, relishing in the thrill, the rush of ecstasy that rushes through her. until her overprotective teammates find out about some of her hobbies. and then others find out. it doesn't go great.

disclaimer- as has been established, i do not have BDE, so i haven't ever ridden a motorcycle. or done like most of the things r does in this.

At first, it was only small things that the girls noticed. How you would climb up on stuff and jump off, prompting intense scoldings from your captains and the coaches. If this was any indication as to how they'd act if they learned about your... more intense hobbies, you were pretty determined not to let them find out.

There were different rules for professional athletes than people who's jobs didn't rely on their ability to walk. While it wasn't in your contract, you weren't supposed to do anything physically dangerous. No motorcycles, no skydiving, no cliff jumping, no zip lining, no swimming with sharks. It was all very discouraged.

You were an adult, though, a whole entire individual who could safely decide to do dangerous things for fun. Your teammates still thought of you as a kid, Alexia and Lucy especially. And sure, you were young, but completely capable of making rational decisions for yourself.

You'd had a couple close calls; as big of a city Barcelona was, your teammates all lived near you, and it only made sense that it was only a matter of time before you were caught. Your motorcycle was parked in the building's parking lot, but none of your teammates knew that it was yours when they came over. At least, not at first.

-----

You'd decided to use your bike one morning to go grab coffee. The place was too far to walk, but it was a nice day, and you wanted to enjoy the fresh air. It was a few days into the holiday break, so you knew that a lot of your teammates would be out of Barcelona, at home with their families. This is why you didn't worry about going to the coffee shop that a lot of your teammates frequented. Which would turn out to be a mistake.

You'd had to circle the block the coffee shop was on before you could get a spot right in front. You pulled in, turning the engine off and taking off your helmet, leaving your jacket on. When you turned your attention to the coffee shop, or rather the little tables outside of it, you froze.

There, at one of the little tables with their coffees, sat Ingrid and Frido, jaws practically on the floor as they stared at you. Deciding to play it cool, hoping that if you acted like you hadn't done anything wrong, they'd be alright about it, you walked over to their table.

"Hey guys! I didn't know either of you were still in town." Ingrid was supposed to take Mapi with her to Norway, (Mapi had been complaining about the upcoming cold weather for weeks, but every time she even mentioned spending Christmas with Ingrid's family, she got this disgusting, love sick look on her face). Frido was also supposed to head home to Sweden.

Their only response was to gawk at you, stunned into silence.

"Guys?" You said, playfully waving a hand in front of their faces. This seemed to bring them out of their temporary stress-induced coma. Ingrid stood up, almost knocking the whole table over in the process.

"Are you CRAZY?" She shouted, hands flapping in the air as she spoke, gesturing wildly. Frido's mouth was opening and closing, as if she had so many things to yell, she couldn't settle on one.

"About...?" You said, looking between her and Frido, pretending that you didn't know very well what they were upset about.

"YOU KNOW WHAT ABOUT!" Ingrid yelled, pointing a finger insistently behind you.

"Ingrid, you're kind of making a scene." You mumbled, looking out of the corner of your eye at the pedestrians nearby staring at the Norwegian. She only scoffed in response, hands on her hips, waiting for you to explain yourself.

"You know who is going to make a scene? Alexia, when she finds out her perfect, precious, protégée rides motorcycles in her free time." Frido said finally. Your cool demeanor vanished.

"No, no, Frido you cannot tell her, she would kill me. Kill me dead. And if she didn't Lucy would. Actually, I'm pretty sure half of the team would kill me. Besides Pina. And Mapi."

Ingrid lets out an indignant noise. "Sell the motorcycle and we won't tell."

"You want me... to sell it? Come on, guys, it's not even that dangerous." You try, faltering when both girls rise to their feet again.

"NOT THAT DANGEROUS?" They shout together, and you throw your hands in the air, cutting them off before their lecture can really begin.

"Alright, alright, I'll sell it. You guys are boring. And you better not tell anyone about this. No one. Not even Mapi." You said, making them promise they wouldn't speak a word of it.

They insisted on driving home with you, following your bike in Ingrid's car. They honked whenever anyone came even close to you, and every time you caught a glimpse of them through their windows, Frido was staring at you like a cop tailing a murder suspect. At one point, you were going maybe 5 over the speed limit, and Frido stuck her head out the window, instructing you to slow down immediately.

If it wasn't so incredibly annoying, it probably would have been funny.

You parked the bike elsewhere, now, in case either of the Nordic girls decided to check and make sure the motorcycle was really gone.

-----

Mapi must have cracked Ingrid, you're sure of it. And you knew, too, that she only told Alexia on you because she was jealous that you had a motorcycle and she didn't. Of course, Ingrid thought you'd gotten rid of it. You hadn't. And Alexia, being Alexia, was suspicious enough to figure out that you still owned the motorcycle. She'd come over, accompanied by Lucy and Irene, completely unannounced. You'd let her in, somewhat confused. She snooped around without telling you what she was looking for, before triumphantly holding up the keys to your bike. They were hanging on the hook where they always were, but no one had ever thought to pay attention to them before.

Alexia yelled at you like she'd never yelled before, about the dangers of riding a motorcycle, about lying to her, about not listening when the older girls had tried to keep you safe. She was going on and on, and while Irene and Lucy had started off looking like they agreed with her, they were also definitely over the lecture after a few minutes.

You were in hot water with Alexia as soon as the words left your mouth; you weren't stupid, you knew how she would react to what you had just said, but you had always been hotheaded and her hovering and nagging had gotten to you today.

"You don't need to know about everything in my life, Alexia! I've gone skydiving, and I haven't died. I swam with sharks, and didn't die. Cliff jumping? Zip lining? Bungee jumping? Drag racing? I have done all of that, all since I've been with this team, and I am completely fine. You aren't my mother, and I don't need you to act like you are. I don't need your opinion on everything I do, I don't need you watching my every move. I can do what I want." You snapped. Alexia took a step back from where she'd been standing, a look of hurt flashing across her face.

"Y/n, you're way out of line," Lucy said, looking angry again. Irene nodded her head in agreement.

"No, no. She's right. I'm not her mother. She can do what she wants." Alexia said softly. She dropped the keys onto the counter, and walked out your door without another word.

You were flooded with guilt. Alexia had been more of a parent figure than anyone else in your life had ever bothered to be. You were grateful for it, you really were. She was part of the reason you were the person you were today, having spent the last of your teenage years on the team with her. She'd always watched out for you, always took the time to make sure you were okay. She'd expressed to you, before, her worry that she was overstepping, doing more than you wanted her to do. You'd thrown that right back in her face.

"You need to apologize. That wasn't fair of you." Irene said coldly.

"I just-"

"-No. You and I both know everything that Alexia has done for you, gone out of her way to do for you. She loves and cares about you, obviously you doing stupid and dangerous things is going to bother her." Irene's voice was deadly serious, arms crossed over her chest as she stared you down.

"When you moved here from England, do you know that Alexia called Leah, and talked to her for hours trying to get to know you, and make the transition as easy as possible?" Lucy cut in.

"When you got that concussion last season and you were in the hospital, she sat awake, all night, next to your bed, too worried to rest." Irene continued.

"She has an England shirt with your name on it that she wears to watch you play, did you know that? No one is allowed to see her in it, but she doesn't miss any of your games for England. Not one."

"Your first Christmas here, she went all out with Christmas decorations. You were living with her then, and she wanted the day to be special, even if it wasn't the way she normally did it."

They were switching off, seemingly having endless examples of all the things Alexia had done for you. You were blinking, hard, memories of how easy Alexia had made everything for you flashing through your mind. Lucy spoke more gently.

"You were 16 when you got here, y/n. She has done more for you than anyone. You're her kid whether you like it or not. It doesn't matter that you're 19 now, it doesn't matter that you don't live with her anymore."

"She deserves better than you lying to her about your dangerous hobbies, and she deserves better than how you just treated her. Fix it." Irene finished, tone still just as cold as it had been. She was, herself, rather protective of Alexia, you knew. Her reaction was completely warranted, you knew that too.

Irene turned then too, walking out your door and shutting it behind her. Only Lucy remained, staring at you critically.

"I didn't mean to hurt her feelings." You said weakly.

"I know. You did, though."

"I don't know why I said any of that, I was just annoyed."

"You're young, it's a young person thing to not think before you speak. You do it all the time, normally it doesn't end as poorly as this did." Lucy tried to joke, hating the sad frown on your face, even if you probably deserved it. You just shook your head, looking up at her as a single tear fell down your cheek.

"What do I do, Luce?"

"Give it a couple hours, and then go apologize. And sell the damn motorcycle. Or I'll remove the engine or something." At this, you did smile, if only weakly. "C'mere," she said gruffly, pulling you into a tight hug. "It'll be fine, kid. Alexia would forgive you for anything."

You hoped she was right.

-----

You stood at Alexia's door, about a half hour later. You'd meant to wait as long as Lucy had said, but you couldn't do it. You were fidgeting with your fingers as you waited for her to answer, not really sure what would greet you.

You'd seen Alexia mad, obviously. And you'd seen her sad, though less often. But you'd never seen her sad because of something you'd done. It made you feel sick, that you'd repaid her years of kindness with rude comments that completely disregarded how much she had done for you, because you were slightly annoyed with her behavior. If she was sad, you weren't sure how you could fix it.

When she answered the door, you were stunned, stunned, to see Alexia's eyes slightly red and puffy, like she'd been crying.

"Hola pequeña," she said roughly, wiping at her face as if to rid it of the evidence as to how upset she was.

"Can I come in?" You asked.

"Of course," she said, stepping to the side immediately to let you in. She led you to the living room, and you both took seats on the couch. The Alexia sitting next to you was not one you were used to seeing; you could tell how hurt she was by what you said. You could also tell she was trying to pretend she wasn't hurt, whether because she didn't want to make you feel bad, or because she was embarrassed at the obvious and uncharacteristic display of emotion. You chewed on your lip for a minute, trying to figure out how to apologize.

"Ale, I'm so sorry," you began.

"It's fine," she said, brushing your apology off. She tried to smile at you, but it was weak, and it didn't reach her eyes. It was going to be hard for you to get out what you needed to say, you knew. You weren't good at expressing your emotions, and you'd never really admitted to Alexia what an important role she had played in your life. You tried to show her through actions, but your words earlier had undone anything you'd accomplished in terms of letting her know how much you appreciated her.

"No, it's not fine. I was completely unfair to you. I didn't mean what I said, not at all. I... you've been... for me..." You trailed off, words getting jumbled. "I don't know why this is so hard for me to say."

"It's alright, pequeña, I get it," Alexia said, and she did sound less upset, like she knew what you were trying to say.

"I'm not used to having people in my life that care. I mean, I am now, because I have you and the team, but it still surprises me sometimes when I do something, and people... people care about what happens to me. You've always cared, though. Even when I was an angsty 16 year old with an attitude problem, and I didn't want you to care, you did anyway."

You take a big breath, trying to steady your voice. "You've been more of a parent to me than anyone. I value your opinion, I really appreciate that you care enough to be mad at me when I do something stupid. I'm sorry I said otherwise, because that wasn't true. I was just frustrated, but you deserve better than that. I'm really sorry about what I said, and I'm sorry that I don't express how much I appreciate everything you've done for me."

You take a peak at Alexia once you've finished talking, and find her looking out the window, jaw set tightly. At first, you think she's upset about something that you said. You see her lip wobble slightly, though, before she bites down on it, and realize what's actually going on. Your captain schools her features, before turning to you.

"Thank you for apologizing. I... I was hurt by what you said. I can't help but worry about you, and I know I probably go overboard with it sometimes, but I look at you and see the scared 16 year old you were when you got here, and all I want to do is protect you."

Alexia shuffled closer to you on the couch. "And I know you appreciate me, pequeña. You might not say it, but you show it. You don't need to thank me for caring about you, though. You shouldn't ever feel like you have to thank anyone for that. You deserve love, pequeña, I hope you know that."

You fall somewhat unsteadily into her arms, which wrap around you in a comforting embrace. You blink your tears away, wondering how your apology to Alexia turned into her comforting you, but that was the magic of Alexia Putellas.

"Y/n?” She says, chin resting on top of your head.

"Yeah?"

"Did you really do all those things you said you did?" She sounds slightly ill at the idea, and you wince, wishing you hadn't overshared all of those details.

"Yeah," you answer meekly.

"Dios mio," she mumbles.

"I'll sell the motorcycle," you say placatingly. Alexia lets out a short laugh at that, pulling back from you to look you in the eye.

"I know you will. You aren't ever riding that thing again."

"Well..." You said, unable to stop yourself from glancing towards where you had parked said motorcycle.

"You did not... drive it here... to apologize to me..." Alexia choked out, baffled.

"I did," she groans in exasperation. "But only because I'm taking it back to the dealership right after this. I called, they're gonna buy it back off me." You smile sheepishly at her.

She glares at you. "You better be telling the truth."

"I am, Ale, I promise." You rise, heading back towards the door.

"Good. Off you go, then. Get rid of that deathtrap. And wear your helmet. And drive under the speed limit. And stick to side streets, not busy ones. And-"

"-Alexia, I've been riding it for a year, I'll be fine." You say, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. The blonde looks genuinely anxious at the idea of you driving off on it. "I promise, the dealership isn't far from here, and I'll text you once I'm back home."

She nods, looking at the motorcycle parked outside with an expression full of disdain. "Drive safe," she says finally, and you promise that you will.

-----

You did drive safe. It wasn't your fault that someone ran a red light, or that it just happened to occur right as you were in the middle of the intersection. It wasn't your fault that the car practically t-boned you, the last minute braking doing very little to ease the impact. It wasn't your fault that you were thrown off the bike, sliding and rolling painfully along the pavement until you came to a stop several feet away.

It wasn't your fault.

Still, as you looked up at the sky, feeling yourself begin to lose consciousness, you knew that the fact that it wasn't your fault would not get you out of trouble with Alexia. She couldn't kill you if you were already dead, though, you thought. That was horrifying, and you jerked your eyes back open, trying to stay awake. It was no use, though, and your eyes closed against your will, head rolling weakly to the side on the concrete as spots flooded your vision, until everything around you was dark and quiet.

-----

HA.

part 2 tomorrow :)

[iamquiantrelle]

PLAYING FOR KEEPS (chapter 3)──────iamquaintrelle

⌗ pairing : jules koundé x black oc (fc: mimajhn)

⌗ tags : @irishmanwhore @lettersofgold @deonn-jaelle @sucredreamer @greedyjudge2 @f1-football-fiend @2serenity0 @peyiswriting @coffeevacation @sunfairyy @muglermami @bbgkoo @127hydrangeas @enretrogue @cranberryjulce @julescpu @kj77 @hopefulromantic1

⌗ summary : jules is focused on himself — no girlfriend, no drama — but now he seems to have both after pictures of him having fun at a friend's house party shows up in tabloids, and now fashion houses are calling for him? and his agent wants him to keep up this charade? ♡ masterlist. (✨💕)

The Louis Vuitton store at Galeries Lafayette felt different after Barcelona. Mila adjusted her outfit - a reconstructed piece from the latest collection that she'd modified into something actually wearable, turning the denim monogram print jacket into a crop with strategic cutouts and pairing it with the matching denim pants. Let the brand try to complain now that she was trending.

The weekend had been surreal. Jules was different behind closed doors - quieter, funnier, weirdly good at card games. They'd fallen into an easy rhythm of morning workouts and late-night conversations. Their "couple content" had been effortless - coffee runs, lunches, and one particularly viral video of them arguing about his sneaker collection that had their comments flooded with heart eyes.

Less than a day back in Paris and the gossip blogs were wild. The "blind items" about her were getting ridiculous - she was a secret heiress, an undercover model, a plant from a rival team to distract Jules before his big match this weekend. Everyone was speculating if she'd show up to support him. His ex was still watching every single story despite unfollowing her, which was giving obsessed ex-girlfriend energy. Even Jules had noticed.

The ex situation was getting weirder by the hour, however. Not only was she watching stories, but her friends were now popping up in Mila's DMs trying to be subtle about fishing for information. Some fashion blogs had done a whole comparison post of their styles, trying to find similarities in what Jules was "attracted" to. The internet really had too much time on their hands.

"they're saying you're an heiress now?" his text lit up her phone.

"apparently I'm rich and mysterious," she replied. "try to keep up with your fake girlfriend's backstory."

Jules (Da Boo): guess that explains the expensive taste.

LV’s Meanest Stylist: please, you like that I'm high maintenance.

"Mila, your one o'clock is here," her coworker called out.

She looked up to find Levi Colwill already reaching for the monogram duffle that every footballer seemed to own. Even Jules had one, though she'd bullied him into the limited edition version. Levi was exactly what you'd expect from a young defender - tall, built like a Greek god, designer sweatsuit. His style was still in that new-money footballer phase, like he was buying everything with a visible logo just because he could.

"Is it true you're dating Koundé?"

"That's what the internet says." She moved to help him, already pulling better options. These boys were too predictable.

"Jules' girl, huh?" He was examining a wallet now. "Man's been different lately. Actually smiling at training."

"Are you here to shop or gossip?" She texted Jules while Levi glanced at various pieces: "your boy Colwill is fishing for tea."

"Both, actually," he said, his hands landing back to that Godforsaken duffle.

Jules replied instantly: "tell him to focus on his own love life."

"Not falling for it," she told Levi, who was definitely trying to get more details. "But you are falling for that basic duffle, which is honestly worse."

Her phone buzzed again. Jules: "he's probably gonna pull game on you 😂"

LV’s Meanest Stylist: oh? interesting. and look who’s texting me a lot. missing me already?

Jules (Da Boo): whatever. 🙄 i’m just making sure you hadn't exposed my skincare routine to your followers.

Levi pulled on a jacket that actually worked. "So about Jules..."

"So about this jacket," she countered, adjusting the sleeve. "Much better than that duffle you were eyeing. Unless you want to twin with every other footballer in Paris?"

"Including Jules?"

"You're really committed to this gossip mission, huh?" She pulled out a few more pieces for him to try on. "Did your teammates send you to investigate?"

"Maybe." Levi grinned, caught out. "They've got a betting pool going about whether you'll show up to his match this weekend."

Another text from Jules: "please tell me you didn't let him buy that basic duffle."

"give me some credit," she typed back. "already got him into the new collection. Chelsea boys are nosy af btw."

"What's the betting pool up to?" she asked Levi, who was now actually paying attention to the pieces she'd selected.

"Enough to make it worth telling me if you're coming to the match."

"Nice try." She started ringing up his purchases - none of which included that tragic duffle. "But I don't leak information to the opposition."

Her phone lit up again.

Jules (Da Boo): "they're really out here trying to spy on my love life through luxury shopping."

LV’s Meanest Stylist: don't worry babe, your secrets are safe with your fake girlfriend 😘

*******************************************

Lunch had been a sad salad affair while catching up on a week's worth of client emails. Her coworkers kept "casually" dropping by her station, fishing for details about Barcelona. The store's security had to turn away three different paparazzi trying to get shots of "Jules Koundé's girlfriend at work."

"Mila. Office. Now."

Her manager, Philippe, was wearing his serious face - the one he usually saved for customers who tried to return obviously fake bags. She followed him in, already counting the sales numbers in her head from the past week.

He stared at her reconstructed jacket first, mouth twitching like he wanted to start there. But apparently bigger issues were on his mind.

"Corporate called about your situation with Koundé."

"Is there a problem?"

"They're thrilled actually." He sounded like this physically pained him. "Sales are up. Social media engagement is through the roof."

"That's good, right?"

"It's..." he shuffled some papers on his desk, "unexpected. But I need you to remember this is still Louis Vuitton. We have standards to maintain."

Mila bit back a smile. "Of course."

"Just because corporate is excited about your... personal life going viral—"

"Our numbers have doubled since last week."

"Still." He straightened his tie. "Try to keep some separation between work and your... relationship."

She thought about the five influencers yesterday who'd bought everything she'd worn in stories with Jules. About the waitlist growing for pieces she'd reconstructed. "Absolutely. Totally separate."

The Metro was packed on her way home to the 11th. Her head stylist salary meant she could afford a decent spot near Bastille, even if it came with a third-floor walk-up. Two people definitely recognized her - she caught them trying to sneak photos.

Another buzz of her phone - a text from Jules: "eaten yet?"

LV’s Meanest Stylist: had a little something, but i had a fun meeting with philippe today.

Jules (Da Boo): your manager still mad about the sales boost?

LV’s Meanest Stylist: more like mad that corporate loves it. he had to pretend to be happy while telling me to keep things professional.

Jules (Da Boo): he’s a big hater 😆

She started the climb up to her apartment, cursing Paris's hatred of elevators. At least her place was still normal. Small, full of fabric scraps and design sketches, absolutely nothing like Jules' minimalist palace in Barcelona. The couch was covered in reconstructed pieces she'd been working on before this whole fake dating circus started.

Now, sprawled on her couch in leggings and an oversized t-shirt, Mila scrolled through an endless stream of notifications. Her tiny apartment was her sanctuary - the view wasn't much, just a typical Parisian courtyard, but it was still decent.

Her phone rung with a FaceTime request from Jules.

He was stretched out on his couch too, locs falling perfectly around his face like he was in some kind of high fashion editorial. The golden hour light in Barcelona hitting all his facial features just right.

"You look comfortable," he said, taking in her current state.

"You look like you're posing for Vogue." She propped her phone against a pile of sketches. "Bruno's influence?"

"Please. This is natural talent." He shifted, and she caught glimpse of his own off-duty fit - simple white tank that showed off exactly why footballers could charge so much for sponsored posts. "Bruno's been blowing up my phone about the Young Boys match."

"Here we go."

"The whole internet's speculating if you'll be there."

"The whole internet still needs to mind their business."

"It's an easy game," he pressed. "Perfect timing too, right after the gala."

"Watching you play against Swiss teams wasn't part of the deal."

"No, but making our fake relationship look real was." His smile was unfair through the phone screen. "What's more real than supporting your man at work?"

"My man?" She raised an eyebrow. "Getting extremely comfortable with the role, aren't you?"

"Method acting. Very serious about my craft." He sat up slightly, tank shifting in ways she refused to notice. "Come on. I'll even let you roast my warm-up kit."

"Let me? Like you could stop me." But she was smiling now. "I'll think about it."

"That's not a no."

"It's not a yes either." Mila shifted through her sketches. "Some of us have actual work to do, unlike certain footballers who just kick balls for a living."

"Says the girl who spends her day telling rich people their bags are fake."

"Someone has to maintain standards." She held up a sketch to the camera. "Like these gala fits I'm working on. Your usual style choices can't be trusted for our first official appearance."

"My style choices brought you into my life, didn't they?"

"Your tragic style choices gave me content for my blog." But she was grinning. "Now they're giving me gray hairs."

Jules adjusted his position. "The internet thinks you're my personal stylist now."

"The internet thinks I'm everything from an heiress to a spy." She started pinning fabric samples to her sketches. "Your ex's friends are still in my DMs by the way."

"Still?"

"Mhmm. Very interested in our weekend activities." She glanced at him through the screen. "Your ex must be devastated that you upgraded."

"Upgraded to someone who bullies me about my shoes?"

"Upgraded to someone who saves you from yourself." She paused. "Also your ex's style is basic. All Gucci everything? In 2024?"

Jules laughed, the sound doing things to her stomach. "You really have opinions about everyone's fashion choices."

"Only the bad ones." She switched cameras to show him her work table. "These are coming together though. The gala won't know what hit them."

"Bruno's going to have opinions."

"Bruno's going to deal with it. I'm not showing up in straight-off-the-rack anything." She flipped the camera back. "Plus, you like when I reconstruct pieces."

"I like when you're not roasting me."

"Lies. You live for my commentary." She caught his smile through the screen. "Your teammates confirmed it."

"My teammates need to mind their business too." He ran a hand through his locs. "Though if you came to the match, you could tell them yourself."

"Smooth transition back to that topic."

"I'm persistent." His eyes caught hers through the screen. "Come watch me play. I'll score for you."

"Bold promise for someone who plays defense."

"You've been studying football?"

"I've been studying you." The words slipped out before she could catch them.

The silence held for a beat too long, charged with something neither of them was ready to name.

"More market research for your role?" His voice was lower now.

"Method acting. Very serious about my craft." She threw his words back at him.

Another silence, heavy with possibilities they weren't supposed to be considering.

"Your ex is really getting on my nerves though," she said finally, breaking whatever moment was building.

"You're obsessed with my ex."

"Your ex is obsessed with me. I'm just taking notes." She shifted some fabric around. "Did she always watch this many stories?"

"Never dated anyone who posted enough to find out."

"So I'm special?"

"You're something." His smile was soft now. Different from his Instagram version.

Mila's phone buzzed with another notification. Probably Bruno with more gala details. Or another gossip blog with theories about their relationship. Or Philippe with more concerns about professionalism.

"You should sleep," she said, noting the darkening sky in Barcelona. "Early training tomorrow."

"You should say yes to the match."

"You should stop pushing your luck."

"Never." He adjusted his position again, all casual grace. "Think about it though? For real?"

"Go to sleep, Jules."

"That's still not a no."

She ended the call before he could see her smile. Her phone immediately lit up with a text from him: "sweet dreams, fake girlfriend 😘"

"don't make me block you," she sent back.

"you'd miss my tragic style choices."

She looked at her sketches for their gala outfits, then at the pile of notifications about the upcoming match. This fake relationship was getting dangerously comfortable.

Her phone buzzed one more time: "also I'm wearing those Balenciagas you hate tomorrow just to spite you"

Maybe comfortable wasn't the right word.

Mila ignored how her cheeks hurt from smiling too much. Her phone kept lighting up with his texts, each one more deliberately annoying than the last. She'd created a monster with all this fashion commentary.

The Barcelona charity gala proved exactly why she was right about their outfits. Her reconstructed LV pieces turned heads the moment they walked in - Jules in a sleek black suit with monogram details that only showed when he moved, her in a dress that made Vogue write a whole article about "the future of luxury reconstruction." The venue was stunning, all high ceilings and modern art, filled with football royalty trying their best at black tie fashion.

Bruno nearly had an aneurysm when they first arrived, but even he had to admit they'd stolen the show. Jules kept his hand on her lower back all night, leaning in to whisper commentary about his teammates' attempts at formal wear. They played their roles perfectly - the fashion-forward power couple, the defender and his brutally honest stylist. Every fashion house in attendance had someone slip her a business card. By the end of the night, no one remembered it was supposed to be fake.

Which is probably how she ended up here the very next day, at the Camp Nou, wearing a vintage Barcelona jersey Jules had "casually" sent her along with a limited edition LV bag she definitely wasn't supposed to have access to yet. She'd paired it with an LV skort and burgundy leather trench, because if she had to do team colors, she'd do them her way. The bag was just gilding the lily, but it worked. Of course it worked.

The stadium was massive, nothing like watching matches on TV. Her seat was in the VIP section, surrounded by other WAGs who definitely hadn't expected Louis Vuitton's meanest stylist to show up in team merch and thigh-high boots. But Jules had texted her that morning: "wear the jersey. it'll drive everyone crazy."

He wasn't wrong.

The WAG section was full of whispers and not-so-subtle photos of her outfit. Jules hadn't seen her yet - they were warming up on the pitch, all focus and match-day energy.

The match kicked off and suddenly Mila understood why people lost their minds over this sport. On TV, she could barely track Jules. Here, she couldn't take her eyes off him. The way he read the game, anticipated plays, and moved with precision reminded her of the careful way she arranged his closet after reorganizing it.

Young Boys scored first - some lucky break that had the crowd holding its breath. But then Barcelona's attack kicked in, and suddenly it was raining goals. 5-2 didn't even tell the whole story. Jules had been everywhere, breaking up plays, starting counterattacks.

"Your boy's having a game," some WAG next to her said after Jules made a particularly clean tackle. Mila just smiled, and then noticed that his socks were slightly different lengths.

The final whistle brought chaos - good chaos, victory chaos. The kind that had everyone in the VIP section heading for the family area, designer bags swinging. Mila followed the crowd, her new LV bag probably the only one that wasn't actually out yet.

She spotted him before he saw her. Fresh from the showers, locs still damp, wearing the team's post-match tracksuit that somehow didn't look tragic on him. He was talking to someone with a camera - probably post-match interviews.

Then he caught sight of her.

The way his face lit up wasn't for the cameras. Neither was the way he broke off mid-sentence to walk toward her, but the way he pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her cheek? That was definitely for show.

Except his lips lingered a beat too long, and his hand on her waist felt a little too natural, and maybe some of this wasn't entirely for the cameras anymore.

"You came," he murmured against her ear.

"You bribed me with unreleased merchandise." She kept her smile camera-ready. "Very unethical of you."

"Says the girl wearing my jersey."

"Your vintage jersey. There's a difference."

His laugh was genuine, even if their pose was practiced. Cameras clicked around them, probably catching what looked like an intimate moment between Barcelona's star defender and his fashion-forward girlfriend.

"The socks were uneven," she told him, just to maintain their dynamic.

"You actually watched my feet?"

"Of course I did."

He pulled back just enough to look at her, that smile that wasn't for Instagram making her stomach do things it definitely shouldn't. "Dinner? Team's celebrating but we could—"

"Go with your team." She adjusted his hoodie, knowing the cameras would eat it up. "I have an early flight anyway."

"Stay." His voice was low, just for her. "I'll make it worth your while."

"Another bag?"

"Better." His grin was dangerous. "I'll let you plan my outfits for the week."

She laughed despite herself. "Tempting, but I have a job to get back to."

More players were filing into the family area now, some with kids, others with WAGs who definitely noticed Mila's not-yet-released bag. Jules kept his hand on her waist, thumb tracing small circles that the cameras couldn't see.

"You're coming to the next one, right?" he asked as they posed for another photo.

"Don't push your luck."

But they both knew she would. Just like they both knew this was slowly starting to feel less and less fake with every camera flash, every casual touch, every smile that wasn't quite acting anymore.

"Your car's here," he said, checking his phone. "I had Bruno arrange it."

"Always taking care of your fake girlfriend."

"Only the best for Louis Vuitton's meanest stylist."

She reached up to fix his hair, a gesture that looked intimate to observers but was really just her being annoyed at how it was falling. "Go celebrate with your team. Try not to let them dress you for the club."

"You could come make sure they don't."

"Goodnight, Jules."

His kiss on her cheek this time wasn't for the cameras at all. "Text me when you land?"

She waved him off, already planning what she'd say about his uneven socks in their next FaceTime call. The cameras followed her exit, catching what probably looked like a perfect football couple moment.

Her phone buzzed before she even reached the car: "the socks were uneven on purpose. knew you'd notice."

She smiled despite herself. This fake relationship was slowly getting dangerous.

****************************

Mila's post from the match had over 100K likes by the time she got to work the next morning. The comments were a mess: "THE WAY HE LOOKS AT HER 😭" "notice how she styled the jersey tho? queen behavior" "that bag isn't even out yet omg the power" "they're actually perfect???"

Jules hadn't helped, reposting her story at the stadium with "merci d'être venue, chérie 🖤❤️" Like he hadn't basically bribed her with that unreleased bag. His teammates had jumped in too, commenting about how he couldn't stop smiling at training.

"Your match photos are trending," Philippe said instead of good morning. "Corporate wants to discuss your social media strategy."

"Corporate loves my social media strategy." She hung her trench on her office door. "The waiting list for my section is three months long now."

Her phone buzzed - Jules had posted a picture from the gala. She looked good, obviously, but it was the way he was looking at her in the photo that had her mentions exploding. The internet was having a field day analyzing their "couple style."

Another text from Jules: "bruno says we're doing too well. wants us to have a public fight to seem more realistic."

LV's Meanest Stylist: your sock choices are horrible.

Jules (Da Boo): that's not the kind of fight he meant

She bit back a smile. Her coworkers were already too invested in their "relationship" - no need to feed the gossip by grinning at her phone all day.

The store was chaos. After her appearance at the Barcelona match, suddenly everyone wanted Mila's opinion on everything. Three influencers tried to book private shopping sessions. Two footballers' wives came in specifically asking for "something like what Jules' girlfriend wears."

"Miss Lawrence, your two o'clock is here," her assistant called out. She'd never had an assistant before the McDonald's photo and now apparently she was hired a couple days ago.

Jules texted between her appointments: "training done. thinking about that kiss" LV's Meanest Stylist: it was on the cheek Jules (Da Boo): still thinking about it

She didn't have time to analyze that. A Saudi princess wanted her entire collection reconstructed. Two fashion houses had left messages about collaboration opportunities. Her phone wouldn't stop buzzing with notifications about her latest photos with Jules.

"hungry? we can facetime..." his text came through around four.

LV's Meanest Stylist: too busy. some of us work for a living. Jules (Da Boo): kicking balls is work 😤 LV's Meanest Stylist: sure it is, babe.

By closing, she was dead on her feet. The rain had started, turning Paris into a blur of lights and wet streets. She dug her umbrella out of her bag, checking her notifications one last time before heading towards the Metro.

That's when she saw it. A DM notification from Siobhan. Jules' ex.

What the fuck is this?

The Metro was packed with the usual post-work crowd, everyone dripping from the rain. Mila tapped her card at the turnstile, eyes fixed on her screen. After two weeks of watching her stories, viewing her posts, having her friends fish for information, Siobhan had finally made a direct move.

The message sat there, deceptively casual: "We should talk. Girl to girl."

Mila's thumb hovered over it as she descended to the platform. She'd seen enough photos of Siobhan to get why people made the comparisons - they had similar features, both brown-skinned beauties with good style, though Siobhan's aesthetic leaned more luxury influencer than fashion critic. The kind of girl who watched her ex's new girlfriend's every move.

Like the fucking weirdo she was...

Her phone buzzed with a text from Jules: "you've gone quiet. tired from all that actual work? 😏"

The unread DM from Siobhan sat there like a challenge. There were a hundred ways this could go wrong. A hundred reasons to ignore it. But Mila hadn't gotten where she was by playing it safe.

She clicked on the message, marking it as read. Time to see what Jules' ex really wanted.

Mila leaned against a pillar on the platform, watching her train's arrival time tick down. No point rushing to respond. Let Jules' ex sit with that read receipt for a minute.

Three dots appeared. Another message: "I know you saw this."

"did you need something?" Mila typed back, channeling her best 'dealing with difficult customers' energy.

@/siobhan_rchm: Just wanted to chat about Jules. Girl to girl.

"Mm." Mila grumbled, watching the dots appear and disappear for a beat before responding. "about what specifically? his uneven socks at the match? the way he organizes his sneakers? his skincare routine?"

A pause. Then: "You think you're cute."

"i know i am. was there something else?"

The train rumbled into the station. Mila stepped on, finding a spot to stand near the door. Her phone buzzed again.

@/siobhan_rchm: Just wanted to warn you about him.

"warn me that he has terrible taste in exes? already figured that out."

More angry dots. Mila smiled to herself. She could do this all day.

@/siobhan_rchm: You don't know him like I do."

"you're right. I actually let him dress himself occasionally."

The train lurched between stations. Siobhan was typing again.

@/siobhan_rchm: He's not as perfect as you think.

"never said he was perfect. his sock choices prove that."

@/siobhan_rchm: I'm trying to be serious.

"and I'm trying to commute. is there a point to this?"

Three dots. Delete. Three dots again. Mila switched to her chat with Jules: "your ex is sliding into my DMs"

His response was instant: "siobhan??"

"unless you have another ex I should know about?"

Back to Siobhan's message: "You think this is all a game but he'll do the same thing to you. Get bored. Move on."

"like posting thirst traps and watching my stories obsessively? that kind of bored?"

@/siobhan_rchm: You don't know what you're talking about.

"and you don't know when to move on. sad either way."

@/siobhan_rchm: Just remember I warned you. When he—"

Mila hit the block button before reading the rest. Some entertainment wasn't worth the effort.

Jules (Da Boo): what's she saying?

LV's Meanest Stylist: nothing worth repeating. your taste before me was questionable.

Jules (Da Boo): says the girl who dragged my sock choices at the match 😒

LV's Meanest Stylist: someone had to. even siobhan agreed about the socks

Jules (Da Boo): you did NOT talk about my socks with my ex

LV's Meanest Stylist: what can I say? it's the only thing we have in common.

The train ride felt longer than usual, Mila's mind stuck on Siobhan's messages. The night crowd was starting to fill the Metro - tourists heading to dinner, students with their backpacks, the usual mix of Paris after dark. She got off at her stop, umbrella ready for the rain that was still coming down.

The walk from the station to her building was quick but just long enough to get properly soaked despite the umbrella. Water dripped from the edges of her trench as she dug out her keys. At least her new LV bag was water resistant - perks of having the unreleased collection.

"I'm sorry about her," Jules texted as Mila climbed the stairs to her apartment. "Let me make it up to you?"

LV's Meanest Stylist: with another unreleased bag?

Jules (Da Boo): better. dinner in barcelona this weekend?

Mila paused on the second floor landing. "you want me to fly out for dinner?"

Jules (Da Boo): i know this place you'd love. very exclusive, very—

LV's Meanest Stylist: very in Barcelona when you could just come to Paris.

Jules (Da Boo): I have training...

LV's Meanest Stylist: and I have a job. a real one. none of that kick the ball bs.

Jules (Da Boo): next weekend then? I'll book Le Jules Verne.

LV's Meanest Stylist: now you're just showing off.

Jules (Da Boo): is it working?

She pushed open her apartment door, dropping her umbrella in the stand. "maybe. but you're still coming to Paris."

Jules (Da Boo): high maintenance.

LV's Meanest Stylist: you knew that when you fake chose me.

A pause, then: "about that..."

Her phone lit up with Jules' incoming call. Not a text this time. That was different.

"Calling to apologize properly?" she answered, kicking off her shoes.

"About what Siobhan said—"

"Already forgotten. Like I just did with her on Instagram."

"You blocked her?"

"Should've done it two weeks ago when she first started creeping." Mila dropped onto her couch. "Why? Want me to unblock your ex?"

"No," he said quickly. "No, it's just... look, about this whole fake thing—"

"Don't tell me you're catching feelings," she kept her voice light, teasing. "All it took was one match attendance?"

But Jules was quiet for a moment too long. The kind of quiet that made her stomach do things it shouldn't.

"Nah..." He scoffed, but something in his voice wasn't quite right. "Never that."

"Good. Wouldn't want this arrangement getting messy."

"Please. I have standards."

"You have those ugly ass Balenciaga crocs."

"We agreed never to speak of those again." The weird tension dissipated, back to their usual rhythm. "So about Paris next weekend..."

"You're really trying to get out of coming here, huh?"

"I just think Barcelona has better restaurants."

"Barcelona has you wrapped around Bruno's PR finger."

His laugh echoed through the phone. "You're actually impossible."

"Part of my charm."

"Besides," Jules said after a moment, "if I come to Paris, you'll make me carry your shopping bags again."

"That's literally what fake boyfriends are for."

"Thought it was for the Instagram engagement."

"That too." She kicked off her heels, settling deeper into her couch. "Though your ex might have opinions about that."

"Can we not talk about Siobhan?"

"Why? Worried she'll tell me all your secrets?"

"You already know all my secrets. You reorganized my closet."

"True. The real skeleton was that sneaker collection and those goddamn socks."

He made a noise of protest. "You're really never going to let that go?"

"Never."

"The socks were a choice."

"A bad one." She paused, then: "Like dating Siobhan?"

"Low blow."

"Someone had to say it."

Another silence, but different this time. She could almost see him running his hand through his locs, the way he did when he was thinking too hard.

"You really blocked her?" he asked finally.

"Should I not have?"

"No, it's... good. It's good."

More weight in those words than there should have been. This conversation was veering too close to something neither of them was ready to name.

"You really have these girls losing their minds," Mila said. "Between Siobhan and your fan pages..."

"Too much BDE. They can't handle it."

She rolled her eyes so hard it probably translated through the phone. "It's not that big," she muttered, mostly to herself.

But of course he caught it. "You can always find out."

"Never."

"Never say never." His voice was all smugness and suggestion.

Mila ignored the way her stomach flipped at his tone. This was exactly the kind of territory they didn't need to explore. Even if his voice was doing things to her that it absolutely shouldn't.

"I'll make a reservation for our dinner next weekend." Back to that practiced confidence.

"Whatever. Bye." She hung up before he could say anything else dangerous.

Her phone lit up immediately with his text: "bonne nuit, chérie ❤️"

She stared at that heart emoji longer than she'd ever admit to anyone.

A week later, Mila's Uber pulled up to the Eiffel Tower. She'd gone with a Dior slip dress because why not, paired with Aquazzura white slingbacks and a beige trench. The kind of outfit that said 'yes, I'm dating a footballer, but I dressed like this before him.'

Le Jules Verne was exactly what you'd expect from a Michelin-starred restaurant in the Eiffel Tower - all understated luxury and views that made even Paris locals pause. The kind of place where no one cared who you were because everyone was someone.

Jules was already at their table, standing as she approached. The bouquet in his hands was ridiculous - white roses and peonies, probably cost more than the dinner would.

"Ah, you shouldn't have," she said, accepting his hug.

"What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?" he murmured against her ear.

"But you really shouldn't have." She pulled back, taking off her trench coat. "They're gonna die in like two days. I have a brown thumb."

Jules pulled out her chair - unnecessarily gallant for a fake date. "You look nice."

"Just nice?" Mila arranged her dress. "You flew to Paris for 'nice'?"

"Beautiful. Stunning. Better?"

"Now you're trying too hard." But she was smiling. "Speaking of trying too hard, that fit is actually decent. Did you dress yourself?"

"Funny." He settled across from her. "But no. Someone reorganized my closet with very specific instructions."

The sommelier appeared with champagne they hadn't ordered. "Compliments of the house."

"The perks of dating a footballer." Mila raised her glass. "Even if it's fake."

"About that…" Jules started, but their server arrived with menus and a long explanation about the night's specials.

"The chef has prepared something special," the server finished.

"Of course he has." Mila caught Jules' eye over her glass. "More perks?"

"Bruno's influence, actually. He has opinions about our first Paris date."

"Opinions about everything except your sock choices."

"Are you ever going to let that go?"

"Never." She studied the menu. "Like I'll never let go of those Balenciaga crocs."

"I told Siobhan to leave us alone," Jules said between sips of champagne. "Well, technically I told her to leave you alone."

Mila shook her head, more intrigued than annoyed. "Your dick must cure diseases."

Jules choked on his champagne, actually coughed.

"You keep talking about my dick like you want to try it." He settled back in his chair, legs spreading, all casual like he'd practiced this move. "Just say the word and we can—"

"I'm gonna stop you there, buddy." She held up her hand. "I'm just saying these girls are acting like your dick cures diseases, is all. No one is thinking about taking a ride on that thing." She said 'thing' like it personally offended her.

Jules just watched her, that smile that said he saw right through her act. "Mmhm."

Their waiter appeared once more, ready to take their order, saving them both from whatever was about to happen next.

"The lamb," Jules told the waiter. "And she'll have—"

"I can order for myself," Mila cut in. "The fish, please."

The waiter disappeared with their menus and Jules' amused smirk. The restaurant buzzed around them, that particular energy of expensive meals and important conversations.

"So," Mila swirled her champagne. "How's training?"

"How's telling rich people how to dress?"

"Deflecting already? Did Siobhan shake you that bad?"

Jules leaned back in his chair. "Just looking out for my fake girlfriend."

"By making your ex block me on everything?" She raised an eyebrow. "I saw her Instagram's gone private too."

"Had to maintain our image."

"Our image needs that much maintenance?"

"Bruno's words, not mine." He took another sip of champagne. "Though the flowers were my idea."

"Ah yes, the dying flowers. Very thoughtful."

The first course arrived - something fancy with foam. Jules watched her taste it, that same look he had when she'd criticized his sneaker collection.

"You're staring."

"You have…" He gestured to her lip.

She wiped at nothing, knowing he was just messing with her. "Very mature." Mila sampled more of whatever was on her plate. "This is actually good."

"Better than McDonald's at two in the morning?"

"Nothing's better than that." She caught his smile. "Though this view comes close."

"Paris showing off for us."

"For you, maybe. I live here."

"And yet you've never been to Jules Verne before."

"Some of us don't make footballer money." She set down her fork. "Speaking of money, how much did you have to pay Siobhan to back off?"

"Just my eternal soul and first-born child."

"Reasonable price."

The main course appeared - her fish arranged like art, his lamb perfectly cooked. The waiter poured wine that definitely wasn't on the regular menu.

"Bruno's going to love the bill from this," Mila noted.

"Worth it for the content." Jules cut into his lamb. "Though we could give him better content."

"If you're about to suggest something inappropriate—"

"Just saying, the whole 'will they, won't they' thing is working for our engagement numbers."

Mila pointed her fork at him. "No one is engaging with your numbers."

"That's not what you said about my BDE earlier."

"I take it back. All of it." But she was fighting a smile. "Your ego needs no encouragement."

"Too late." He was doing that thing with his eyes again, the one that probably worked on everyone else. "You're already on record about my—"

"If you say dick energy one more time at this nice establishment, I'm leaving."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Their eyes locked across the table. A challenge, maybe. Or something else neither of them was ready to name.

The waiter appeared with dessert menus, breaking whatever moment was building. Jules took his with a smile that was almost too casual.

"Should we share?" he asked.

"In your dreams."

"Often."

Mila kicked him under the table, right as the waiter returned. "He'll have the chocolate thing. I want the one with strawberries."

"Separate desserts?" The waiter looked between them. "Most couples share—"

"We're not most couples." Mila's smile was sweet but final.

Jules watched the waiter leave, that smirk back on his face. "No, we're definitely not."

The desserts arrived looking more like art installations than food. Mila caught Jules' eyes drifting to her neckline again - the third time since their main course.

"Stare harder why don't you?"

"I'm trying." He didn't even pretend to look away.

"Horndog." But she adjusted the strap of her dress anyway, watching his eyes track the movement.

"Can't help it. The dress is…"

"Expensive? Designer?"

"Both." He sampled his chocolate dessert, still watching her. "Though I was going to say dangerous."

"Please. This is modest for me." She tasted her strawberry creation. "You should see what I wear when I'm actually trying."

"Is that an invitation?"

"It's a warning." She pointed her spoon at him. "Your game's weak if you think this neckline is dangerous."

"My game's never weak."

"But you needed a McDonald's photo to go viral before making a move."

"I didn't make a move." He leaned back, all casual confidence again. "Bruno did."

"Tragic." She stole a bite of his dessert just to prove she could. "Using your agent as an excuse."

"Using my agent for business." His eyes dropped to her lips as she licked chocolate from her spoon. "This is pleasure."

"This is a fake date."

"With real dessert." He pushed his plate closer to her. "Want more?"

"Trying to sweeten me up?"

"Is it working?"

She took another bite of his dessert, maintaining eye contact just to watch him squirm. "You wish."

The waiter appeared with their bill - or rather, with no bill at all because apparently Jules had handled that hours ago. Of course he had.

"Very presumptuous," Mila noted as they stood. "What if I hated dinner?"

"You loved it." He helped her with her coat, fingers brushing her bare shoulders. "Even if you won't admit it."

"I admit nothing."

"Your empty plates admit plenty."

Outside, Paris was still showing off - all lights and early autumn beauty. Jules' hand found her lower back as they waited for their cars.

"This was nice," he said, too close to her ear.

"Just nice?"

"Beautiful. Stunning. Better?"

"Now you're recycling lines." But she didn't move away.

His car arrived first - some sleek thing that probably cost more than her annual salary. He opened the door but paused before getting in.

"Next time dinner's in Barcelona."

"Next time?"

"Can't let my fake girlfriend think I'm cheap."

"Too late for that. Your sock choices gave you away."

His laugh echoed even after his car pulled away. Her phone lit up immediately with his text:

Jules (Da Boo): already planning your outfit for barcelona?

LV's Meanest Stylist: planning how to roast whatever you wear.

Jules (Da Boo): worth it

********************************************

"The cheek kisses aren't cutting it anymore," Bruno's voice crackled through Mila's phone. "We need to up the ante."

"Up the ante?" Mila was packing for Barcelona, phone balanced between ear and shoulder. "What exactly do you want us to do, stick our tongues down each other's throats?"

"If that's what it takes—"

"The audacity." She dropped a reconstructed LV piece into her suitcase. "Who are you, our relationship choreographer?"

"The internet's getting restless. They want more."

"The internet needs therapy." But she knew what he meant. The comments were getting wild - theories about their relationship, demands for more content, the kind of attention that made her DMs look like a thirst trap comment section.

Three days later, she was walking through Barcelona's airport arrivals, spotting Jules before he saw her. He was trying to be incognito in a baseball cap and sunglasses, looking exactly like every footballer trying not to be recognized.

"Subtle," she said, reaching him.

"Says the girl in that dress." His eyes tracked over her travel fit - another slip dress because why not torture him a little.

"This old thing?" She let him take her bag. "Just something I threw on."

The Urus was parked illegally because of course it was. Jules loaded her suitcase while she settled into the passenger seat, already plotting how to reorganize his closet again.

"How was the flight?"

"Better than this car choice."

"Still judging my Urus?"

"Always." She pulled out her phone. "Though apparently I need new material. Bruno's orders."

"Heard about that call." He navigated through Barcelona traffic with one hand on the wheel. "No more roasting my fashion choices?"

"Or your ex."

"Tragic. Those were your best bits."

"Please. Everything I do is a best bit."

His laugh filled the car. Match 100 was tomorrow, and here they were, playing house again. At least this time she knew what she was getting into.

"So about Bruno's demands," Jules said, turning onto his street. "Think we should practice?"

"Practice what? Swapping spit for the cameras?" Mila fake gagged, but her heart wasn't in it.

"Could be worse assignments."

"Could be better ones too."

"You wound me." He pulled into his driveway. "Little birdie told me that Chanel's trying to steal you."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure is, and LV can suck my dick and jiggle my left testicle."

Jules let out a chuckle. "Damn, remind me to never get on your bad side. What happened at work?" She just stared at him blankly. "Philippe again?" His jaw tightened. "Should I give him a visit?"

"And do what exactly?"

Jules shrugged, but his grip on the steering wheel said otherwise. "I don't know. Tell him to leave my woman alone. Threaten him?"

"Whatever, Jules."

"I'm serious."

"Be so fucking for real right now."

"I'm so serious, Mila. He got the wrong one." His knuckles went white on the wheel.

Mila caught herself watching those hands, that tension in his jaw. Something about his willingness to protect her - fake relationship or not - was doing things to her pussy she refused to acknowledge.

The opportunities were piling up lately. Fashion houses sliding into her DMs. Offers to branch out on her own. She could do it - build her own brand, be an independent designer like she'd dreamed. Or worse… become an influencer. The thought alone made her want to gag. Though being a freelance stylist had potential.

"Mila." Jules was watching her, that look that saw too much. "You good?"

"Just plotting my escape from corporate hell."

"To Chanel?"

"Maybe." She stretched, knowing exactly what that did to her dress. "Or maybe I'll just become your full-time fake girlfriend. Seems less stressful."

*************************

"Your closet better be exactly how I left it," Mila said as they entered his house. "I'm not doing another intervention with your sneakers."

"Haven't touched anything." Jules carried her bag upstairs. "Too scared of your wrath."

"Smart man." She followed him to the guest room - her room now, basically. Her reconstructed pieces from last time still hung in the closet. "Though we need to talk about that jacket you wore to training yesterday."

"Thought you needed new material?"

"Some crimes can't be ignored."

He dropped her bag by the bed, lingering in the doorway. "Hungry?"

"Depends. Are you cooking?"

"God no. Ordered from that place you liked last time."

"The one with the pasta?"

"The one where you stole half my dinner, yes."

She kicked off her shoes, making herself at home. "It's not stealing if you let me."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"That's what I'm calling it." She started unpacking, aware of him watching. "Don't you have a big match to rest for?"

"Don't you have a closet to reorganize?"

"Your closet can wait until tomorrow." She pulled out her outfit for the match. "This, however, needs steaming."

"Another reconstruction?"

"What else would I wear to your hundredth match?" She held up the piece - another LV remix that would probably give Philippe an aneurysm. "Think Bruno will approve?"

"Bruno would approve if you wore a trash bag at this point." Jules pushed off the doorframe. "He's desperate for content."

"Hence the kissing demands?"

"Hence everything." He watched her hang up the outfit. "Though the kissing thing…"

"Don't."

"Just saying, might need practice."

"In your dreams."

"Often." He ducked the shoe she threw at him. "Dinner's in twenty."

She waited until his footsteps faded before pulling out her phone. Three texts from Siobhan's friends, still trying to get intel. Two emails from Chanel about possible collaborations.

A new text from Jules: "brought you wine from that vineyard you pretended not to like"

Interesting...

Mila came downstairs to H.E.R. playing softly in the background. Jules was at the kitchen island, uncorking wine like this was totally normal.

"Are you trying to get at something?" She took in the dim lighting, the music, the actual fucking candles. What was this man up to?

"Just trying to relax," he said simply, holding out a glass of wine.

"Mmhm." She accepted the glass, watching him plate their food with way too much care before sliding it in front of her.

"Bonne appétit." He settled next to her at the island.

They ate in silence for a few beats before Mila couldn't take it anymore. "Seriously, what're you doing Jules?"

He had the nerve to shrug. "I told you I'm just trying to relax. Big match tomorrow, remember?"

"You're giving out too much game right now. You think I'm dumb?"

"No, Mila, you're far from dumb."

"So what's the play?" She set her napkin down, fixing him with that look she usually reserved for customers trying to play in her face. "What's going on because since when do we have this setup if we're fake—"

Her words cut off as Jules leaned over, pressing his lips to hers. He tasted like eggplant parmesan and wine, and despite herself, she sighed into it. His hands came up to cup her face, lips moving against hers with a precision that shouldn't have surprised her but did. Boy knew what he was doing with that mouth - the same confidence he had on the pitch but softer, more deliberate.

When he pulled back, Mila's brain took a second to come back online.

"What the hell?" she mumbled.

"Practice, right?" His voice was too casual for someone who just kissed her like that.

She blinked, tilting her head. "Bruno wanted us to have more PDA…"

"Oh, yeah." His thumb brushed her cheek where his hand still lingered.

"Was it good?"

Was it? Her mind screamed. But what came out was: "It was alright."

"Alright? Shit, Mila maybe I have to convince you again."

"Please don't." But her eyes dropped to his lips.

"Just a quick one." He leaned closer. "For research."

"No." She didn't move away.

"It's quick…" His mouth was already brushing hers. "For research."

This kiss wasn't quick at all. His hand slid into her hair, angling her head just right. She might have made a sound - something embarrassing she'd deny later - when his tongue traced her bottom lip. This wasn't practice anymore. This wasn't fake anything.

When they finally broke apart, the food was definitely cold.

******************************************

The absolute audacity of this man.

Mila spent the entire match trying not to think about that kiss. Those kisses. Multiple kisses that definitely weren't just "practice." She'd even texted Leon - her most reliable situation-handler - but he was "busy." All her usual distractions were unavailable, leaving her stuck with the memory of Jules' mouth and what his hands had felt like in her hair.

Barcelona was destroying Sevilla, which wasn't helping. Every time Jules made a play, the crowd lost it. Five goals, and he'd been involved in three of them. Show-off.

Then came the post-match ceremony. His hundredth game plaque, the crowd chanting his name, cameras everywhere. And this man - this absolute menace - had the nerve to call her down to the pitch.

"Come here, chérie," he said into the mic, and what was she supposed to do? Say no in front of 90,000 people?

She made her way down, reconstructed LV dress definitely not made for stadium stairs. The cameras were already going crazy, probably catching her "supportive girlfriend" moment.

Then this fucker kissed her. Not a peck, not a casual press of lips. A proper kiss, right there on the pitch, his plaque in one hand while the other pulled her close. The crowd absolutely lost it.

When he finally let her go, she was too disoriented to even pretend to be mad. The cameras caught everything - her slightly dazed expression, his satisfied smirk, the way she had to steady herself on his arm.

"For the cameras," he murmured in her ear as they posed with his plaque.

"I hate you," she whispered back, perfect smile in place.

"No you don't."

The worst part? He was right.

Her phone was already blowing up. The notifications would be insane - fashion blogs, football accounts, probably Bruno having a meltdown about their "organic PDA moment." But all she could think about was how she needed to call every single one of her rotation guys because this tension? Unacceptable.

"Dinner?" Jules asked as they left the pitch, still riding his match high.

"I have plans."

"No you don't."

"I could have plans."

His smile was dangerous. "But you don't."

The cameras were still catching everything - her pretend annoyance, his hand on her lower back, the way they moved together like this wasn't all for show.

"One dinner," he said.

"You already got your kiss for the cameras."

"Maybe I want another one."

She really needed to call Leon. Or Jean. Or both.

The family area was chaos. Mila scrolled through Twitter while waiting for Jules, watching their kiss go viral in real time.

"THE WAY SHE HAD TO STEADY HERSELF 😭" "that man must kiss like he plays football - elite" "did y'all see her face after??? HELLO???" "mila lawrence found SHOOK" "the way he just grabbed her like that i'm—"

Someone had already made an edit set to "Kiss Me More" - her dazed expression on loop, Jules looking too pleased with himself. The engagement numbers were insane. Bruno was probably having heart palpitations of joy.

More tweets kept coming: "jules koundé said watch me score off the pitch too" "miss mila really won" "the grip he has on her waist i'm studying it respectfully"

Her phone buzzed with texts from every single one of her situationship guys.

"You're trending," Jules' voice came from behind her. Fresh from the shower, hair still damp, wearing that post-match designer fit that actually worked for once. "Something about being 'dicked down by Barcelona's finest defender'?"

"That's disgusting." She kept scrolling. "Also inaccurate."

"Could be accurate."

"In your dreams."

"Maybe it can be reality?" He leaned over her shoulder, reading more tweets. "They're really analyzing your face in 4K."

"Your fans are unhinged."

"Our fans now."

Their eyes met in the reflection of her phone screen. That tension from last night was still there, crackling between them like static electricity.

"Dinner?" he asked again.

"I really do have plans."

"With who? Leon?" His smile was knowing. "Already saw his stories. He's in London."

"I have other options." Like Jean, like Gabriel, like Muhammad...

"But you're here with me and you're gonna stay."

The worst part was he was right. Again. Motherfucker.

"Fine." She locked her phone, ignoring another wave of notifications. "But no more surprise kisses."

"No promises."

Bruno was going to lose his mind over their engagement numbers. Their fake relationship was trending worldwide. The internet was already writing their love story.

But watching Jules guide her through the stadium with that hand on her lower back, Mila had to wonder how much of this was still fake.

............tbd

[lunaandco]

well, isn't it awkward?

pairing: pedri x ofc

summary: nuria befriends a pedri's mum at the bookstore. short after she rejects his offer of being friends with benefits, it becomes obvious that rosi is trying to set them up.

author's note: kind of funny how pedri's mum is lately having such big roles in my fics, but honestly that woman seems wonderful

masterlist // I do not take requests

Nuria had that one job every book nerd dreams about. She worked at a beautiful bookstore, full of wooden shelves and colourful special editions.

"Hello, how can I help you?"

The new client was a woman her mother's age. She was wearing a cozy looking jacket and was wandering around the store, seemingly looking for something.

"Oh, hi, yes. Do you have any cook books?"

"Yes, we have plenty!"

Nuria left the counter and led the woman to the right shelf, a mosaic of books about gastronomy and food waiting for them.

"We have traditional, avant-garde, by country..." As Nuria started explaining, the woman's eyes lit up. Before she noticed, they were having a full blown discussion about what kind of books were more practical to have in the kitchen, about the photography and elaboration, the prices...

Nuria hadn't had so much fun in a long time.

By the time the woman, Rosi, had to leave, she had a phone number scribbled in her notes and a promise to meet for coffee.

💙❤️

"I have a new friend," Nuria thought as she left the coffee shop a few hours later that day. Conversation with Rosi had been fluid and fun. The generational difference was proven not be a problem at all. "I like her a lot."

💙❤️

It took six months for Rosi to invite Nuria for dinner at her house. She was making one of the recipes in the cook book she bought the first time they met and Nuria couldn't help but be excited about meeting her husband and one of her sons.

"I'll send my oldest, Fer, to pick you up."

"There is no need, I can take the bus..."

"Nonsense. My boy will be there."

Fer is skinny and kind of handsome. Nuria could see the vague resemblance with his mother as he drove her through the streets of Barcelona. He had the same Canarian accent that made Rosi's voice so soothing.

"So... you're mami's friend, huh?"

"Yeah... I know it can be a little bit awkward, since I'm younger than you..."

"How old are you actually?"

"Twenty."

"Damn, you're a baby." He snorted. "Even my brother is older than you."

Nuria smiled at the comment. Rosi spoke quite vaguely of her younger son. The only things Nuria knew was that his name was Pedri, he was twenty two, and worked with a football team. Nuria hadn't pressed about it too much, scared that Rosi would back off their friendship if she asked too many questions.

💙❤️

The house was bigger than expected. Nuria knew Rosi had money, but she had not thought it was enough to own such a big house. Rosi welcomed her with a big smile introducing her to her husband. The man looked like a textbook father and was just as warm and friendly as his wife.

"Pedri is not here yet," explained Rosi. "Work is running late, again." She seemed a bit embarrassed that the guest had arrived earlier than her son.

"Ah, it's alright, I leave late from work almost everyday..."

The front door opened and a boy that looked like Rosi's clone appeared in the living. It didn't take a genius to figure out that he was Pedri, the youngest son. Nuria is surprised to realise he's kind of handsome, when she had thought about him previously she never thought of picturing him in an appealing way. He was just Rosi's son after all.

The assessment was mutual, because she could see the way his eyes checked her out going as far as to stop for a second on her chest.

Boys.

"What's up?" He greeted her with a quick hug.

They sit for dinner and it took very little time for Nuria to stop feeling like an intruder. The family was tightly knit and it was obvious Rosi's warmth and kindness had rubbed on on everyone.

💙❤️

By the time it was time for Nuria to go back home, the brothers had a hushed argument about who would drive her, which ended being won by Pedri, who grabbed they keys with a triumphant smirk.

Fer rolled his eyes, going back to the kitchen after muttering a quick "don't do anything stupid."

Nuria hugged Rosi goodnight one more time, and followed Pedri outside, where his car was parked. It was expensive and big, another sign of the family being ridiculously well off, but Nuria didn't comment on it.

She sat in the passenger side tightly, trying not to touch anything that could get dirty or be broken. The last thing she wanted to be was a nuisance.

"So you're friends with mami now..."

"Been for a few months. I met her at work."

"Yes, the bookstore girl, I heard the story." Nuria couldn't help but feel that she was about to get the shovel talk from her best friend's son.

"That's me..."

"Did you know I was her son?"

The question caught Nuria off guard.

"What?"

Pedri tsked.

"Did you know I was her son?" He repeated. She's definitely about to get shovel talked. Why, she wasn't sure.

"No? Should I? Why?" She stammered. How could she know that he was Rosi's son? She didn't even know what he looked like until a few hours earlier. Pedri snorted.

"Oh, my God, she wasn't lying. You really don't know."

"Know what?" she snapped crossing her arms over her chest. Nuria did not like being kept in the dark.

"Google me," he told her, as he veered the car to take the street to their right. Nuria obeyed and she was met with a sea if red and blue. Well, that explained quite a lot.

"And here I thought you played in the Sunday league," she snarked quietly. Pedri snorted.

"When was the last time you watched a football match?"

"The Euro final," she replied. Pedri opened his mouth to replicate, but she continued. "From 2012."

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed. "How did you manage?"

"My father died. Football doesn't make any sense without him."

"I'm sorry." Pedri said quietly.

💙❤️

"You're telling me that not only did Xavi retire, he was your coach?" Nuria knew her face must be a poem, but as Pedri caught her up on some of the important football news, she could not help being surprised.

"At least tell me that Messi is still there..."

"He's in Miami."

"What the fuck is he doing in Miami?"

Pedri laughed. They were sitting in the parked car in front of her building, neither of them wanting to say goodbye just yet.

"If Messi is gone, then who is your goalscorer?"

"Lewandowski. And a random seventeen year old from the academy."

Nuria stared at him for two seconds.

"Wasn't that guy in Dortmund?"

Pedri burst out laughing even harder.

💙❤️

Finally, Pedri walked with her to the door, saying that his mother would not forgive him if something happened to her on his watch. Nuria had snorted but allowed it, searching for her keys in the pocket of her jeans.

She opened the door and turned to say goodbye to Pedri, but found that he was way closer than she thought. His hands found her hips. It looked like they had just gotten back form a date night.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Would you like to..."

The proposition was simple. Pedri was clear in the way someone who had done this before would be: he wanted them to become friends with benefits, no strings attached, no exclusivity, just fun.

Nuria considered it for a split of a second. Pedri's face was beautiful and too close to hers. His gaze was dark, his lips promising, the arms around her strong. He smelt good, like safety and deodorant.

If she allowed him to even kiss her, she would fall in love with him.

And he would break her heart.

Nuria pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him away.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I value my friendship with your mother more than whatever attraction I might feel for you."

She would not let any man get between a friendship of hers, never again.

And with that Nuria slipped through the door, leaving Pedri to watch her disappear with his lips parted, his cheeks pink and a growing feeling on his chest.

💙❤️

It seemed like Pedri never told his mother of that incident and Nuria was not going to be the one to bring it up. Rosi only laughed at the fact that Nuria hadn't been able to clock Pedri's job as a professional footballer, but was understanding once she learned the reason.

Nuria had loved football when she was a little girl, playing in the backyard with her father and in the small girl's club in her town, until he died when she was ten, little after the 2012 Eurocup. She never touched a ball after, never watched a game.

Her little jerseys and her father's were buried in a box under her bed, collecting dust. She had been extremely aware of it the night Pedri took her home, the ghost of his hands on her hips and her heart still racing.

💙❤️

It was a matter of time until Rosi invited her to watch a game. When Nuria was a little girl, her dad always promised he woukd take her to Camp Nou one day, but he was never able to do so.

Getting ready, Nuria finally pushed the angst away and opened the box beneath her bed. Papi's clothes were still there, the 2010-11 season Iniesta jersey looking up at her. Nuria put it on, it was still big on her, her father had been a tall man, but she decided to wear it still.

When she rushed out, to find Rosi waiting for her in her car, she was confident in her look. She was taking a part of her dad to Camp Nou.

💙❤️

The game was a bloodbath. It was a team fighting relegation, and Barça did not forgive. Specially Pedri. he was everywhere in midfield, dancing between the rivals, ripping through their pressure and assisting two of the six goals scored that day.

Through half the match, Nuria found herself holding Rosi's hands, trying to clear her vision from the tears.

"He's beautiful," she told her. "Pedri... he's... I've never seen something like this."

Rosi squeezed her hand, and gave her a tender kiss to her temple.

💙❤️

"Bueno, bueno, bueno," Ferran spoke loudly among the celebrations in the locker room. "When was Pedrito here going to tell us he had a girlfriend?"

"What?" Pedri said. He didn't know he had a girlfriend either. But that didn't stop his teammates fro. screeching and focusing all their attention on him.

"Hostia, Pedri, you need to tell us!"

"Is she hot?"

"Is she famous?"

"Since when?"

"What are you talking about? I don't have a girl," he insisted.

"Bullshit!" Called Ferran. "Then who is the pretty girl with your mum?"

Pedri sighed. Well, he fucking wished she was shis girlfriend, but he was not telling that to the pack of hungry hyenas in the locker room.

"That is Nuria. She's friends with my mami."

💙❤️

Pedri met them on the pitch after showering. His cheeks were pink from thee exertion and Nuria had to fold her hands together to avoid pinching them.

He hugged Rosi with a smile on his lips, and repeated the action with Nuria, adding a small kiss to her cheek.

"Did you like the game?" He asked. Nuria nodded silently.

"He would have loved you," she whispered, and by Pedri's expression, she could tell he knew she meant her father.

💙❤️

"Mami, where is the other blanket?" Asked Pedri, returning to the living room with the bowl of pop corn.

"In the washing machine," replied Rosi. "You'll have to share with Nuria."

The family plus Nuria had gotten together to watch a movie, Fer on the single sofa, Rosi and her husband on one corner of the large couch and Nuria on the other. Pddri shrugged, and slipped under the blanket Nuria had picked.

Soon it was made obvious they would have to be practically glued together to keep the blanket on tip of them.

"I thought I hald already cleane—" Rosi pinched her husband into silence.

💙❤️

"C'mon, Fer. One more!"

"No, I'm tired," Fer complained. He did not have his brother's stamina, and it got annoying when he got exhausted but Pedri was still buzzing with excitement.

They had set up a couple of knee height goals and were playing a 1v1 in the garden.

"Nuria used to play. Maybe she can sub you in," joked Rosi from the flower bushes she was tending to, teaching Nuria how to chose what flowers to pick.

Nuria looked at her panicked. She did indeed used to play, but she was always kind of bad. She was nowhere near good enough to play against Pedri and keep him entertained.

"Really?" Pedri's eyebrows rose, and he threw a pass at her. Nuria's first touch was smooth, controlling the ball with his thigh, trying to avoid the shyness of doing it in front of a literal professional.

"Are fucking with me?" Fer seemed delighted. "Thank you, girl, you just freed me from this maniac!"

Fer ran inside the house and Nuria passed the ball back to Pedri. It wasn't as precise, but he controlled it seamlessly.

"C'mon, play with me, please..."

"Alright."

💙❤️

"She's trying to set us up," announced Pedri when they got together on the car. "There is no way she's not doing this on purpose," he said referring to the driving arrangement.

Nuria agreed. Rosi always found a reason for Pedri and her to be paired up together, to have something to do in tandem. There wad no way Fer would drive Nuria back home anymore, it was solely Pedri's task now.

Nuria insisted doing the dishes? Pedri go help her. Nuria had bought a new IKEA shelf? Pedri go help her build it. Nuria returned late from the shift at the bookstore? Pedri go walk home with her, just in case.

It would be less painful if Nuria hadn't realised that, indeed, even if she had kept Pedri at an arm's length since the proposal, at some point down the line she had fallen for him.

"I'm sorry," Pedri said then. "I know this might make you uncomfortable... since I..."

"No, it's okay. I..." Nuria decided to shoot her shot. "I wouldn't mind it..."

"You wouldn't? But you rejected me because you didn't want to put your friendship in an awkward situation..."

"It would have been awkward if we had been fucking, no strings attached, and I developed a ridiculously pathetic crush on you. I would have gotten my heart broken," she explained. "But if it's and actual relationship... I think we can make it work."

"Really?" Pedri sounded excited. "You would date me?"

"Yeah."

Pedri raised his hand to cup her cheek.

"So if I kissed you... you would not be against it?"

"I would be against you not kissing me, actually?" grinned Nuria, as Pedri joined their lips.

From the window of the house, Rosi smiled.