#barcelona imagines | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

purplereina11 · 7 days ago

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You spent your childhood drifting through foster homes, with nothing but a worn photo of two little girls and a note on the back: Your sisters, Alexia and Alba. You never imagined that at 25, after starting a new job, you'd meet them, through your boss who was your sister's girlfriend.

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🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re two months in, and you’re still not sure how Olga Rios manages to be everywhere at once.

She’s answering emails while editing a reel. She’s sketching out a content calendar with one hand and handing you a matcha latte with the other because she remembers that you don’t do coffee, and that still surprises you a little.

Her loft-office smells like lavender and old books, even though the work is anything but quiet. There’s a gentle hum of creativity in the air half Spotify playlists, half the occasional bark from her dog, Nala, who has her own Instagram account with better engagement than most influencers you know.

You sit across from her at a wide wooden table covered in sticky notes, open laptops, two ring lights, and exactly one succulent that’s definitely fake but somehow not thriving. She’s got that kind of energy, Olga. She makes things grow, unless you're fake.

“You’re getting faster,” she says without looking up from her screen. Her voice is warm, honeyed, soft in the way that makes you want to lean closer, like she’s letting you in on something. “The captions today? I liked them. You’re starting to sound less like a brand, and more like a human. That’s good.”

You try not to grin too much, but it’s hard not to. Praise from Olga is never handed out like candy it’s measured, genuine, and usually comes with a Post-it note suggestion five minutes later, but when she says something’s good, she means it.

You glance at your own screen three drafts open, analytics humming in a separate tab. You're starting to notice patterns, pick up her shorthand, even anticipate when she’s about to say, “We can do better.” You’re getting the rhythm now. It feels like learning a dance. Awkward at first, but now... now you’re finding your footing.

“Do you ever sleep?” you ask, half-joking, because she’s been up since six and somehow still looks like she floated here on a sunbeam.

She laughs, a soft, melodic thing that fills the loft. “Only when a campaign’s not launching. So… not often. But I love this. I love seeing things come to life.” She sips her tea, eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I think you’re going to be really good at this.” Something about the way she says it makes your heart lift. A couple of month in, and you’re already certain, this isn’t just an internship. This is the beginning of something.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

It’s a quiet afternoon, the kind that settles like soft dust. The usual buzz of Olga’s workspace is muted no clients calling, no urgent edits, just the rhythmic clack of keys and the occasional sigh from Nala, curled up under the table like she owns the place.

You’re working side by side on a campaign for a small bookstore that’s trying to grow its online presence. Olga is fine-tuning the carousel post for tomorrow, and you’re adjusting the tone of the captions trying to thread that fine line between charming and trying-too-hard. It’s nice. Peaceful, even.

Olga breaks the silence without looking away from her screen. “Do you have anyone in your family who loves books like this?”

You pause. The cursor blinks in front of you. The question is soft, casual, not meant to dig but it hits something that feels like hollow wood. “I…” You swallow. “I don’t know.”

Olga looks up immediately.

You don’t say anything else at first. The words stall. It’s not that you haven’t talked about it before it’s just that people usually don’t ask, not really.

She tilts her head slightly, brows gently furrowed. Her voice lowers. “Hey. You okay?”

You nod automatically, out of habit. But then, without quite meaning to, you add, “I didn’t grow up with a family. I was left at a children’s home when I was a baby.”

The air in the room shifts not heavier, exactly, just… slower. Softer.

Olga doesn’t gasp, or overreact, or flood you with sympathy that feels too bright and uncomfortable. She just sets her phone down and gives you her full attention.

“I’m sorry,” she says. Quiet. Real.

You shrug, though it feels awkward. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s just… how it was. I don't really think about it much now. I just… didn’t have anyone to ask questions like that about.”

Olga nods slowly, like she’s letting your words settle inside her before responding. Then, gently “Well, just so you know any time you want to say, ‘My 'mentor' once told me this,’ you can go ahead and start with me.”

You let out a soft laugh, surprised.

She smiles, warm and a little wistful. “I know it’s not the same. But you’re not on your own here, okay? Not while you’re working with me.”

For a moment, you’re not thinking about metrics or content calendars or trending audios. You’re just sitting across from someone who sees you not just as an assistant or intern, but as a person.

The knock on the door is light but confident. You barely register it at first lost in the middle of scheduling posts for a new client who sells handmade ceramic earrings until Olga perks up with that unmistakable sparkle in her eyes.

She glances at the clock, then at you. “That’ll be Alexia.”

You blink. “Alexia…?”

Before she can answer, the door swings open and there she is.

Alexia Putellas. That Alexia Putellas.

Even if you don’t follow football religiously, her face is familiar. The captain, the icon, the Ballon d'Or winner. The kind of person whose highlight reels show up on your feed whether you asked for them or not. And now she’s in Olga’s office, wearing a simple hoodie, black joggers, and the kind of calm confidence that doesn't need to shout to be heard.

She smiles when she sees Olga, and everything about Olga posture, eyes, even the way she exhales shifts in the softest way. Like a house when someone finally comes home.

Olga stands, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Ale, this is the one I’ve been telling you about.”

You freeze. Alexia’s gaze lands on you, kind and curious. “So you’re the apprentice,” she says, her accent smooth but clear, the kind that could make any sentence feel like a secret. “Olga’s been bragging.”

You blink again. “She—she has?”

Olga shrugs like it’s nothing. “Only a little. Maybe a lot.”

Alexia steps forward and offers her hand. “It’s really nice to meet you. I’ve heard you’re doing great work.”

You shake her hand her grip is strong, grounded and try not to look like you’re meeting a living legend, because you are. But she’s also incredibly down-to-earth, her presence somehow both intimidating and totally easy to be around.

Olga comes around the desk and gently bumps Alexia’s shoulder with hers. “She only comes here to raid my snack drawer and steal my playlists,” she says, teasing.

Alexia grins. “Also because I love you.”

There’s a beat of warmth between them that you feel rather than see, like watching sunlight fall through a window. “Do you want me to go?” you ask, half-joking.

Olga laughs. “No way. Ale's just here to say hi before training. You’re family now. Might as well meet the boss.”

Alexia raises an eyebrow. “I’m the boss?”

Olga winks. “In football, yes. In here, you just eat all my almonds.”

You watch them and feel something shift inside you again like the quiet redefinition of what ‘family’ might look like. Not always blood. Sometimes it's someone who believes in you. Someone who shares their space with you. Someone who brings light with them, just by walking through the door.

You glance at your screen, then back at the two of them.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You invite Olga over to work because it feels normal now. Familiar. Safe, even.

It’s late almost midnight. You’ve both been bouncing between drafts for a new campaign and clips from a client shoot. Nala is curled up on your bed, half-snoring, and there’s the comfort of shared silence between you, broken only by the occasional sound of keys or a soft “Wait, this transition’s better” from Olga.

She gets up to stretch, as she often does when she’s been sitting too long. Paces a little. You barely notice her eyes scanning your bookshelf until you hear her voice. Low. Surprised. “…Wait. What?”

You glance over. She’s holding the small, slightly curled photo that’s been with you for as long as you can remember. You’ve had it since before you could read. Two little girls. One smiling, the other not so much.

You never knew their names. Never knew why the photo was with your things. It was just… always there. Something old, something yours, but now Olga is frozen, staring at it. “Why do you have this?” she asks, but the softness in her voice is already cracking.

You sit up straighter. “What do you mean?”

She turns the frame toward you, her eyes sharp now. “This is Alexia. And her sister Alba. This photo’s from when they were kids. I’ve never seen this before, how do you have this?.”

Your mouth opens slowly. “What?”

She steps closer. “Don’t play dumb.”

You shake your head, heart beginning to pound. “I’m not. I didn’t know who they were. I’ve had that photo since I was dropped off at the home. It was in a box with my baby things, I never even knew there names.”

Olga stares at you like she doesn’t believe you.

“I swear,” you say, voice trembling now. “I never knew. I didn’t know.”

But she isn’t hearing you. Not fully. Her jaw clenches. “So you mean to tell me this is just some random coincidence? You had a photo of my girlfriend and her sister, and you never knew?”

“I didn’t know!” you say louder now, trying to push through the panic rising in your chest. “Olga, I didn’t. They were just two girls in a picture I’ve had it since I was a baby! One of my foster parents told me they were my sisters once but I could never see the resemblance but I, I don't know I just could never throw it away, it was left with me for a reason, I couldn't-”

“You expect me to believe that?” she snaps interrupting, eyes suddenly fierce. “You knew who Alexia was. Everyone does. You had the photo, you applied for this job, and you never once thought to say a word.”

Your breath catches. “I didn’t even connect them to say something. Please why would I lie to you?”

But she’s shaking her head, stepping back, betrayal flashing in her eyes. “I trusted you. I let you into my space. My life. And now I find this?”

She turns, grabs the frame, and holds it tightly like she’s afraid it might disappear. You stand, reaching toward her helplessly. “Please, Olga. I’m not using you. I didn’t know. I swear to you.”

But her voice cuts through the air like glass. “Don’t say another word.”

She storms toward the door. “Olga—please!”

Her hand is on the knob already. “Do not tell anyone about this. Not Alexia. Not anyone. I mean it.” And just like that, she’s gone door slamming behind her, the photo still clutched in her hand.

You stand frozen in your tiny apartment, the silence left in her wake louder than anything you've ever heard.

You don’t remember sitting down. Just that suddenly you’re on the floor, legs folded awkwardly beneath you, and the room feels too still.

The candle you lit earlier is still flickering on the desk, scenting the air with warm vanilla, like any normal night, but everything has changed.

The photo’s gone. She took it.

You wrap your arms around yourself, unsure if you’re cold or just empty. Your hands are shaking. Your chest feels tight, like someone filled it with wet sand. You can’t stop replaying the last ten minutes Olga’s face, the anger, the betrayal in her voice. The way she looked at you like you were a stranger. Worse—like a lie.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, to no one. Your own voice sounds small, cracked open. “I didn’t know.” But the silence doesn’t answer. It just presses in around you.

You don’t know how that photo ended up with your baby things. You never questioned it. It was just… part of the mystery of you. You’d imagined a hundred stories for it as a kid. A fantasy life you were left out of. Two unknown little girls you'd prop up when you had tea parties alone, two faces you talked to when no one else would listen but it never felt real. Not like this.

You wipe at your face and realise you’ve been crying without noticing, not loudly, just slow, quiet tears that slip out like steam from a cracked mug.

You try to work. To check a calendar, finish a caption, edit a reel, but everything blurs. Your fingers hover over the keys, useless. More tears come. Not steady, but suddenly rising without warning like waves. You press your hand to your mouth, like that might stop the sob that’s already too far out to swallow back.

You don’t know what hurts more: the fear that she won’t believe you or the feeling that she already doesn’t, and underneath that, a newer, stranger thought creeps in:

What if the photo really does mean something? What if you're connected to them in some way you never imagined?

You don’t know how to hold that. You don’t even know if you want to.

The night stretches long and quiet. You cry again, not always with sound. Sometimes just with breath that shakes too hard, or thoughts that spiral too fast. You think about messaging Olga. You almost do, but what would you say that you haven’t already begged her to believe?

Eventually, curled in bed, your chest aching and eyes sore, the exhaustion takes over.

You fall asleep and as your breathing evens out in the dark, the photo lives somewhere else now, in her hands.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You shouldn’t go in to work, you know that.

You didn’t sleep more than a couple of hours, and when you looked in the mirror this morning, your reflection startled you, pale, red-eyed, shadows under your eyes like bruises that haven’t fully bloomed. You look like someone who’s been crying on and off for eight hours, because you have, but not going in make it look like you had something to hide, and you loved your job.

So you pull yourself together barely. Tie your hair back. Splash water on your face. Avoid your own eyes as you grab your bag and head out the door.

The walk to Olga’s office feels longer than usual. Everything’s sharp, the sound of your own footsteps, the brightness of the morning, the hum of people who don’t know your world just came apart. You keep your head down.

When you get there, the door is already unlocked, she was here already, you step inside slowly. Olga’s at her desk. Laptop open, headphones around her neck, Nala curled up on the rug at her feet. She looks up instinctively when you enter.

For a moment, nothing moves, then her eyes scan your face and she sees it. The red around your eyes. The way your shoulders hang. The hollow tiredness you didn’t have to fake.

Her mouth parts slightly, like she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she looks back down at her screen.

You nod stiffly, not that she’s looking, and cross the room to your usual seat. Every movement feels brittle. Too careful. You place your laptop on the table as quietly as you can, like noise might crack what’s left between you.

You don’t speak. Neither does she.

The silence is different today. Not the peaceful kind. It’s tight. Pressurised. You can feel her not looking at you, can feel her tension radiating from behind her screen like heat.

Your stomach twists. You open your laptop. Try to focus on the client folder. Everything blurs.

You can’t stop thinking about the way she stormed out. The photo in her hand. The fear in her eyes. The disbelief in her voice.

And now, she’s right there but she may as well be a hundred miles away. You steal a glance at her. She’s typing something. Her jaw is tight. Her ponytail is a little messy, like she didn’t sleep well either.

You want to say something. Apologise again. Explain again. Beg if you have to, but the air around her says not to.

So you sit in the quiet. Trying to work. Trying not to cry. Trying not to lose the one place that ever felt like it might become home.

You’re halfway through pretending to work when the door clicks open behind you. Your heart stops, you know that sound now. You know who it is before she says a word.

“Hola,” Alexia calls out gently, cheerful but quiet, as if she’s stepping into a place where someone might be asleep or upset.

You stay frozen for a half second too long, then shift your body slightly in your chair. Not enough to seem rude, but just enough to make your back the most visible part of you.

Don’t make eye contact. Don’t breathe too loudly. Don’t be more than necessary.

Olga looks up, and the change in her voice is immediate.

“Ale…”

Alexia steps in fully now, holding a brown paper bag and a takeaway cup tray. “You were tossing all night,” she says softly, “so I figured you could use some sugar and espresso.” She walks over, places the treats beside Olga with care. “I got that oat milk one you like. And a croissant, because I know you never remember to eat when you’re stressed.”

Her voice is so easy. So full of quiet affection. It makes your throat tighten. Olga stares at the bag for a moment before letting out a breath you didn’t know she was holding. She smiles, faint but real, and says, “Thanks.”

Alexia leans down and kisses her cheek. It’s a small, domestic gesture. One that would’ve felt sweet yesterday.

Now it’s a stone in your stomach.

They talk for a minute, low and warm too low for you to hear clearly. It sounds like a small exchange about sleep, and schedules, and if Olga’s eaten yet. You keep your eyes fixed on your screen, even though the words are swimming and nothing’s going in.

Then Alexia shifts, you feel her glance in your direction. “Hey,” she says kindly, and you can hear the smile in her voice. “Nice to see you again.”

You muster every scrap of civility you can find and turn your head slightly, just enough to meet her eyes for a breath of a second.

You smile a tiny, exhausted curve of your mouth and lift your hand in a half-wave.

She nods back, just as polite. Just as unaware. “Bueno,” she says, brushing her hand against Olga’s arm. “I’ll leave you both to it.”

Olga doesn’t look at you as Alexia turns to go. She just murmurs a soft, “Thank you,”

"How do you take your coffee?" Alexia stops at your desk, she swallow as you look up at her, Olga watching intently.

"I um. I don't drink coffee"

"How come? Don't like it?"

"No.. I um, I can't have caffeine at all.. I um, its complicated but I have a heart condition so I-"

"My papa was the same," she nodded and your heart pulled, Olga must of sensed it and she spoke

"Amor, Y/N and I are very busy"

Alexia held her hands up, bid you both a goodbye, Olga eyed you before she watches her leave.

The door clicks shut. You exhale through your nose, slow and quiet.

Olga says nothing. She unwraps the croissant with deliberate care, and takes a small bite, her eyes still on the table, on her work, on anywhere but you and the silence that follows is full of everything neither of you are ready to say.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Olga doesn’t go straight home after work, she drives in silence. No music. No podcast. Just the low hum of the road beneath her tires and the sound of her own pulse in her ears.

She should’ve gone home, she doesn’t go to the flat she shares with Alexia, or to a café to decompress, or even to the beach where she sometimes walks when her mind needs quiet.

She drives, to a quiet cul-de-sac on the outskirts of Mollet, where the streetlights buzz low and orange, and the houses are tucked behind tired gardens and climbing vines. She parks without turning off the engine at first. Just sits there, heart tapping a steady, uneven rhythm behind her ribs.

Eli’s car is in the driveway. She’s home. Alone. Just like Olga knew she would be. Olga takes the photo from the glove compartment. It’s still in its cracked, worn frame. She hasn’t looked at it since that night in the apartment. She doesn’t need to. She remembers it perfectly.

She breathes in. Breathes out. Kills the engine.

Then knocks on the door, it opens almost immediately, Eli answers the door in slippers and a cardigan.

“Olga?” Eli’s face brightens with warm surprise. “Qué haces aquí, cariño? Alexia isn’t with you?”

“No,” Olga says quietly. “She’s at home.”

Eli frowns a little. “Is everything alright?”

“I just…” Olga hesitates, standing just beyond the threshold. Then says, “Can I come in?”

Eli steps aside, instantly serious. “Of course, hija. You’re always welcome.”

The house smells the same as always lavender, old wood, something faintly sweet in the kitchen. A candle flickers on the sideboard. Family photos line the shelves,�� birthdays, holidays, the girls growing older in frames that haven’t moved in years.

They sit in the living room. Olga perches on the edge of the couch, she doesn’t take off her coat, her fingers are tight around something in her bag. Eli watches her closely now, concern pinching the corners of her mouth.

“I have to ask you something,” Olga says, voice steady but low. “And if it’s nothing then we never have to talk about it again. I’ll forget it. We’ll both forget it.”

Eli nods, cautious. “Okay…” Eli’s brow furrows. “What is it?”

Olga doesn’t speak. She just reaches into her bag and pulls out the frame. Holds it gently in both hands and turns it around. Eli’s breath stops halfway through her chest. The change in her is instant so small and devastating you’d miss it if you weren’t looking for it. Her hands freeze on her knees. Her face goes white, then pale-blue cold, like all the warmth was drained out in an instant.

Her lips part, but no sound comes. The silence says everything. Olga watches her. Doesn’t blink. Eli’s hand, which had been loosely curled around her teacup, goes limp. Her entire face drains of colour not just pale, but hollow, like a piece of her just dropped through the floor.

Olga doesn’t move. She watches the shift. The silence that thickens around it.

“Where.. Where did you get this?”

Olga doesn’t answer, she just says, “You know who this has come from don’t you”

“I’ve not seen that in twenty five years,” Her voice catches, “After.. After” Olga nods once, jaw tight. Her throat burns with questions, but she asks none of them and still, Eli presses gently, almost begging, “Olga. Please. Where did this come from?”

“It’s true isn’t it,” Olga whispers. “You have another daughter”

Eli closes her eyes. A beat. A breath and then, very softly, very brokenly, “Yes” Olga’s throat tightens. Eli’s voice is barely there. “We left that with her”

“I don’t understand how you could do it!” Eli sits frozen on the couch, hands clasped tightly in her lap. She looks older than she did twenty minutes ago. Like every word being spoken is peeling something back she’s kept buried too long. “You gave up your own daughter,” Olga spits, gesturing wildly to the photo still lying on the coffee table like it’s cursed. “And just carried on like she didn’t exist? How?”

“I didn’t carry on,” Eli says, voice low and shaking. “Don’t you dare think it didn’t break me.”

“Then why?” Olga demands. “Why didn’t you fight for her? Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Olga’s voice cracks, sharp with disbelief, her hands clenched at her sides. She’s standing now, breath short, pacing Eli’s living room like she’s trying to outrun what she just heard. She hadn’t planned to stay only to ask one question, but the answer shattered everything.

Eli is curled forward on the couch, her hands white-knuckled in her lap, her eyes wide and shining. “You don’t understand what it was like,” she says quietly, pleading. “She was born with a heart condition. We didn’t know what it was at first, she was so small always struggling to breathe. She couldn’t even cry properly with out her lips turning blue.”

Olga stares at her, hollowed out. “So you gave her away.”

“I thought she’d get help,” Eli whispers. “We couldn’t afford the surgeries. We didn’t have insurance or savings, I wasn’t working at the time. My parents wouldn’t help. We thought… we thought someone else could save her. I loved her enough to let her go.”

Olga’s breath catches, just for a second, because she knows Eli means that. And still, it’s not enough. “She grew up in multiple children’s home,” she says bitterly. “With no one.” Eli flinches like she’s been slapped. “You’re the one who taught Alexia how to be gentle,” Olga says, voice shaking. “You tell everyone family is everything. You cry at Christmas commercials, for God’s sake. And now I find out that there was another child and you just… gave her up?”

Eli’s eyes are glassy. Her face is pale. “You think that was easy for me?” she says, hoarse. “You think I didn’t wake up every night for years hearing her cry even though I hadn’t seen her since she was—”

“Don’t,” Olga snaps, tears brimming. “Don’t make yourself the victim in this. I think about her alone every night now,” Olga goes on, tears clinging to her lashes. “I see her sitting in that place, wondering why no one ever came back for her. Why her parents the people who are meant to love her unconditionally let her go.”

“Stop,” Eli whispers. “Please, stop.”

Olga stares at her, breathing hard, voice strangled. “And you never told Alexia. Or Alba.”

Eli looks down at the floor like it might save her. “They were so young they didn’t need to know, have that burden.”

“You gave up your baby,” Olga says, gesturing to the photo on the table between them. “You let her disappear into the system, and you never looked for her. Never even told your daughters they had a sister.”

“I didn’t let her disappear,” Eli says, voice shaking. “She was born sick. Her heart Olga, she needed something me and her father couldn’t give her! We did what we thought was best for her!”

Olga stops in her tracks, eyes wide with pain. “So you just gave her away and pretended she never existed?”

“She would’ve died if I’d kept her!” Eli cries. “We couldn’t afford treatment we thought a hospital might place her with someone who could help. It wasn’t abandonment, it was the only mercy I had left to give her.”

Olga’s voice rises. “And you’ve told no one. For twenty-five years. No one.”

Eli’s hands shake now. “Because I didn’t want this. This moment. This shame. This wreckage.”

“Well, it’s here now,” Olga whispers. “She grew up in a children’s home, Eli. Alone. She had no one, she doesn’t understand the meaning of family, I don’t even think she’s ever felt what it’s like to be loved. Do you understand that?”

Eli explodes raw, desperate. “Leave it alone!” The words come like a slap, louder than anything yet. “Just—shut up!” she screams. “You don’t understand what it cost me! You don’t get to stand there judging when you weren’t there!”

The front door slams open. “What the hell is going on?” Alba’s voice slices through the room like lightning. She’s standing in the doorway, flushed from running, alarmed and out of breath. “I could hear you both shouting from the street.” She looks from Eli, who is crumbling in her chair, to Olga, who’s barely holding herself upright. “What the hell is going on?”

Olga turns away, shoulders hunched, face blotched with tears. She’s trying to breathe, but she can’t steady herself. She just shakes her head, mutely.

Eli goes silent, too. Like she forgot anyone else existed. Her face folds in on itself caught red-handed by her own daughter. “Why were you yelling at her?” Alba asks, stepping in, confused and suddenly afraid. “What did she do?”

“She didn’t do anything,” Eli croaks out, broken.

“Then what—?” Alba’s voice wavers. “Why is everyone crying?” No one answers.

Olga breathes in sharply through her nose, sinks onto the armrest of the sofa, her shoulders shaking, barely holding in the sobs now.

Alba doesn’t understand what this is, what it means but something in her bones tells her exactly what to do. She pulls her phone from her pocket, thumb trembling as she finds her sister’s name. She steps back into the hallway and presses the call.

Alexia answers almost instantly. “Albs?”

Her voice is warm, calm, but Alba’s isn’t.

“Ale,” she says quickly, “you need to come to mamá’s. Now.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I—I don’t know, but Olga’s here, and she’s crying, and mamá’s… something’s wrong. I think it’s big mamá was screaming at her I heard her from the street”

There’s a pause. Then, “I’m on my way,” Alexia says, sharp and sure. Alba hangs up, heart pounding, and returns to the living room where the air feels too heavy to breathe. Olga is quiet now, face buried in her hands. Eli sits motionless and Alba stands between them, caught in the middle of a secret she doesn’t yet understand only knowing that whatever it is, her sister will make sense of it.

The knock is soft, but the tension in the room makes it sound like thunder. Alba leaps to open the door, her heart in her throat. Alexia steps inside, face creased with concern, eyes sharp, already scanning the room like something in her gut told her this wasn’t just a misunderstanding.

She’s still in joggers and a hoodie, her hair tied back loosely, eyes sharp and searching. She takes one look at her sister and then scans the room freezes when she sees her mother, crumpled on the sofa. Her gaze lands first on her mother, who’s slumped on the sofa, visibly shaken, hands clasped tightly in her lap like she’s bracing for something else to hit. Then her eyes flick to Olga standing stiff and silent by the window, her back half-turned, her coat still on.

“Olga?” Alexia says gently, walking toward her. Olga doesn't turn. Her arms are crossed tight, like she's holding herself together by sheer will.

“What happened?” Alexia asks again, slower now, as her eyes dart back to her mother. “Is someone hurt? What—?”

She steps closer, reaches out, instinctively placing her hand on Olga’s arm but Olga flinches. Not dramatically. Just enough and then she pulls away. Alexia’s breath catches. She stares at her, confused hurt.

“Olga…” No response.

Alexia’s eyes flick between them again her partner and her mother, both visibly wrecked.

“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” she says, louder now, tension rising in her voice. “Mamá? Olga? Talk to me.” Still, no one speaks.

Olga finally moves. Slowly, she reaches for the door, her hand trembling just slightly. “I need some air,” she mutters, almost to herself.

Eli rises instinctively. “Olga please, wait—”

Olga stops, her hand still on the doorknob. She turns slowly and what’s on her face is something Alexia’s never seen before. Grief. Betrayal. Disgust. “I can’t even look at you right now,” Olga says, her voice hollow, strained. Her eyes fixed on Eli, who seems to shrink under the weight of it. “You are not the person I thought you were.”

Alexia’s breath hitches, heart pounding. She looks at her mother, sees the quiet devastation spreading across her face, and she’s suddenly terrified. “Wait—Olga, please—just… what happened?” Alexia pleads, reaching after her again, but the door opens and Olga is gone.

Silence crashes back in. Alexia stands frozen, her hand still in the air, her heart breaking without knowing why. She turns to her mother. “Mamá,” she says, voice trembling. “What did you do?”

Eli doesn’t answer, she sinks down slowly, like the weight of those words took her legs out from under her. She covers her mouth with her hands, eyes spilling over with silent tears.

And Alexia stuck between the two most important women in her life—feels the walls close in, a thousand questions pressing against her chest. Alba looks at her sister, whose hands are balled into fists at her sides. Alexia is staring at the door, stunned, shaken, she’s never seen Olga like that. Never seen her walk away and whatever happened here, whatever broke her, Alexia knows it isn’t just something they can fix. It’s something that changed everything.

The cool night air hits Olga’s face like a slap sharp and biting. She walks until the porch ends, then stops, clutching the railing with both hands, trying to breathe past the chaos inside her.

She hears the door creak open behind her, soft footsteps following.

“Olga,” Eli calls gently. “Please. Just come inside. Let’s talk, mi amor.” Olga doesn’t turn. Her knuckles are white on the railing. A long silence stretches between them.

Then quietly, without venom, only pain Olga speaks. “Please tell me… their father at least knew.”

Eli stands still behind her, silence falling heavy again. Then a nod.

“Yes,” Eli whispers. “He knew.”

Olga finally turns, slow and rigid, her eyes burning. “And he still let her go?”

Eli’s voice cracks. “He didn’t want to. God, Olga, he held her all night the day she was born. He cried like I’d never seen before, he just he knew we couldn’t give to her what she needed. We didn’t have the money, or the support. We thought it was the only way she had a chance. Giving her up broke him Olga, he was never the same after that day, his spirit, his health, everything”

Olga presses her lips together, shaking her head, tears gathering again. “They lost him when they were barely out of childhood, god Alba was a child” she says hoarsely. Eli nods, tears now running freely. Olga blinks through the tears. “So you gave away your baby and because of that, you think it eventually killed your husband.”

Eli swallows a sob, covering her mouth, Olga turns away again, shoulders rising and falling, behind her, Eli stands on the threshold exposed, crumbling and inside the house, through the windows, Alexia is still watching, not understanding everything, but beginning to feel how deep this fracture runs.

The living room is too quiet when they step back inside. Eli gently closes the door behind Olga, whose eyes are red and raw. She doesn’t move far from the entryway. Her arms are crossed tightly again, a self-made cage.

Alexia is still standing, tense, waiting. Alba sits curled up in the corner of the sofa, chewing the inside of her cheek, a nervous habit from childhood.

Eli breathes in deep like the confession she’s about to make might crush her lungs if she doesn’t hold herself steady. “Sit down,” she says softly, looking to both daughters.

Alexia hesitates. “Mamá, what is this?”

“Please,” Eli says. “Just… sit.” Reluctantly, Alexia lowers herself onto the arm of the sofa, her eyes locked on Olga on the way she trembles. She’s crying again, and that frightens her more than anything. Eli moves to stand in front of them, hands clasped like she’s in church, waiting to confess. “I never thought I’d have to say this out loud,” she begins, voice shaking. “I thought I had buried it deep enough that none of you would ever know.”

Alba shifts uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

Eli’s lips tremble, but she goes on. “You had a sister. A younger one, she was born 3 years after you Alba”

The silence detonates. Alba blinks. “What? You… you’re joking, right?” she asks, glancing at Alexia and then back to Eli. “Is this some weird joke or—?”

“No,” Eli says. “It’s not a joke.”

Alba’s face falls. “No. No, that can’t be true. I don’t remember—”

“You wouldn’t,” Eli cuts in gently. “You were just a toddler, Alba. We, your father and I, gave her up. She was born with a heart condition. We couldn’t afford the care she needed. We thought it was the only way she’d survive.”

Alba stares at her, blinking hard like the words won’t compute. “No,” she whispers again. “No. That’s not—you wouldn’t do that. You’re not like that.”

“I did,” Eli says, her voice cracking. “We made the only choice we thought we had.”

Alba suddenly covers her mouth, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. She makes a small, broken sound as if something inside her just split clean down the middle.

Alexia, meanwhile, is still too still, she stares at her mother, jaw tight, eyes sharp with disbelief. “You lied to us,” she says, flat and cold. “Our whole lives.”

Eli looks up, stricken. “Alexia—”

“You let us grow up thinking we were the only ones. Thinking that Dad died with no secrets. That we came from love. From honesty.”

“You did,” Eli pleads. “I loved you every day of your lives.”

Alexia stands suddenly, shaking her head. “But not her.”

“No,” Eli whispers, ashamed. “Not like I should have.”

Alba sobs now, curling into herself on the sofa, shaking. Olga breaks down again. She tries to wipe her face but can’t stop the tears. “I didn’t want this,” she says hoarsely. “I didn’t want to be the one who broke you. I’m so sorry.”

Alexia looks at her, confused, wounded. “You knew?”

Olga opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. “I found out by accident,” she finally manages. “I-I—God, Alexia, I didn’t want to know.”

Alexia’s eyes narrow slightly, not in cruelty but in disbelief. She looks like someone just pulled the rug from beneath her entire identity.

And still, Alba cries softly in the corner, whispering, “A little sister... we had a little sister…” And across from her, Olga thinks of you. Alone in your apartment. Crying into the quiet, not knowing that the truth is finally breaking wide open—and that it’s going to change everything.

The room feels heavy, thick with silence and unsaid things. Alba sits on the sofa, knees pulled close to her chest, eyes fixed on the floor. She doesn’t cry anymore just quiet. Unreachable, curled inward, eyes fixed on the floor, refusing comfort when Olga cautiously reaches out.

“No,” Alba murmurs, voice barely audible. “Not now.” Olga pulls back, defeated, sitting down quietly a few feet away.

Alexia, however, is a storm, pacing, fists clenched, voice rising, “How could you know and say nothing?” she snaps at Olga, eyes burning. “You found out and just kept it to yourself? Do you have any idea how long we lived in the dark? How much this changes everything?”

Olga meets her gaze, her own eyes shining with tears. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure. Until I spoke to Eli and confirmed it. Like you, I had a hard time believing it myself.”

Eli steps forward, voice pleading. “Alexia, please. Olga didn’t keep this from you to hurt you—”

Alexia was now directing her frustration at her mother, firing questions at Eli with a mix of desperation and anger.

“Why didn’t you tell us? How could you keep this from us for so long? Why didn’t you try harder? What about Dad, did he know everything? Did you ever try to find her again? What—what was her name?”

Eli swallows, unable to meet any of Alexia’s eyes. “I—I don’t know,” she admits finally. “We… we thought it was better to keep it quiet. We gave her a name but the home just called her ‘Baby Girl.’ It’s probably been changed”

Alexia stops pacing, stunned by the silence, the gaps in answers.

Eli has tears pooling again. Alexia looks at Olga, whose face is streaked with fresh tears. Then Alba remains silent, distant, lost somewhere inside herself. The room is fractured everyone aching, separated by secrets and grief, caught in a web of loss no one can untangle yet, and Alexia can’t see her family healing from this.

The room is heavy with silence. Alba hasn’t moved from her place on the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around herself. She’s staring into some unseen distance, tears dried on her cheeks, her expression blank.

Alexia still stands, breath shallow, torn between betrayal and sorrow.

Then, quietly, she moves.

She walks over and sits down beside Olga, not saying a word. The weight of her presence is everything and nothing at all. Her shoulder barely brushes Olga’s. The contact is light, but to Olga, it’s enough to keep her breathing.

“I need to see her,” Alexia says suddenly, softly. “I need to know she was real.”

Her voice cracks on the last word. Eli blinks, startled. “What?”

“A photo,” Alexia says, turning slowly to her mother. “Do you have one? Anything?”

Eli stares at her daughters one silent and broken, the other just barely holding herself together then nods. She disappears into the hallway. For a long while, the only sounds are Alba’s sniffles and the soft creak of the floorboards as Eli moves in the other room. Then she returns. In her arms is an old, battered shoebox edges torn, the lid soft with age.

She kneels in front of the girls and opens it slowly, like unsealing a grave.

Inside theres a small bundle of ultrasound scans, worn at the corners, black-and-white ghosts of a baby not yet born. A tiny, creased hospital card with faded blue ink: "Baby Girl Putellas Segura." Her weight. Her length. The time she arrived. A white card stamped with one perfect footprint and one tiny handprint, pink and curled like a blossom. And then the photos.

There aren’t many. The first few show Eli and her husband in the hospital room, holding a swaddled newborn between them. They're smiling, tentatively, cautiously, but with something fragile and full in their eyes.

In the next few, the smiles are gone. Eli looks down at the baby with red-rimmed eyes. Her husband kisses the baby’s forehead, his face twisted into something halfway between a smile and a sob.

In the last photo, Eli is no longer holding the baby. She is standing by the hospital bed, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her husband has one hand on her back, but his other is empty. They both look like people trying to memorise the little girl on the bed before it’s taken away.

No one speaks. Olga covers her mouth with her hand, tears falling silently, the pain was radiating from the photos.

Alexia reaches forward, touching the photo gently with her fingertips, like she’s afraid it might disappear. “She looks like, us,” she whispers. “Her nose. The shape of her eyes.”

Eli nods, wiping her face. “I only looked at these once,” she says. “Then I put them in a box. I never looked at them again. I couldn’t.”

Alexia glances at her mother eyes still confused, still hurt but quieter now. “She was real,” she says, mostly to herself. “She was ours.” next to her, Olga presses her hand against her chest, trying to breathe through the ache.

Alexia holds the photo delicately, as though it might crumble if she breathes too hard. Her thumb hovers over the image her parents, younger and terrified, their arms newly empty.

She glances sideways. Alba hasn’t moved. She’s still curled in on herself, her chin on her knees, her arms wrapped tight like a shield. Her eyes are open but empty, staring into the middle of the floor, if she’s heard anything, it’s impossible to tell.

“Alba…” Alexia says softly. No response, she turns more fully, holding the photo just a little closer in Alba’s direction. “Do you want to see her?” Her voice is quiet, careful. Not pushing. Just offering.

Alba doesn’t answer. For a long moment, she doesn’t even blink, but then her eyes flicker, just barely, toward the photo in Alexia’s hand. She doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t move, but that one glance is enough to crack something.

Alexia sees it. She leans a little closer. “She looks like you,” she whispers. “When you were little.”

Alba’s lower lip trembles. Her breath shudders out of her like it physically hurts to take in air. “Why didn’t she get to stay?” she says finally, voice fragile and small.

Eli’s breath catches in her throat. She opens her mouth to answer but no words come. Olga whispers for her, “She was sick, your parents did what they thought was best for her”

Alba turns slowly toward the photo, then reaches out, her hand trembling as she takes it. She looks at it for a long time and then, in a barely-there voice that cracks in the middle, she whispers, “She had Papa's chin.”

It breaks Eli. She covers her mouth, sobbing quietly, and Olga gently moves to wrap her arm around her. Alba doesn’t cry. She just keeps looking, at the baby, at the past, at the sister she never got to love. 🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You sit on the floor of your apartment, your laptop closed on the coffee table, long forgotten. The untouched sandwich from earlier is still in its wrapper, resting near your elbow. You haven’t moved much since you got home. Haven’t wanted to.

The apartment feels emptier than usual. Not just quiet but hollow. Like something inside you cracked open when Olga left, and now the silence has a place to live.

You’ve replayed that moment over and over. The look in her eyes when she saw the photo. The way she snapped. The disbelief. The accusation.

You’d tried to speak, to explain, but she wouldn’t let you. Wouldn’t hear you. She thought you’d used her. That you’d known. That the photo meant something you’d kept hidden, but you hadn’t known. You still don’t know.

That picture had always been a strange little mystery to you. Left in the file the home had when you were a baby. Just two smiling girls, a sense of something warm and long-lost. You’d stared at it often growing up. Not because you knew who they were but because they felt like a possibility. Like maybe, once, someone had loved you and now that photo’s gone. Torn out of your hands and taken into someone else’s truth.

You wipe at your eyes again, but they won’t stop watering. Your throat aches from holding back sobs that keep forcing their way through.

You don’t know what’s happening.

You don’t know what to do.

You just keep sitting there, waiting for a knock that might never come. A message. A clue. Something, but there’s nothing. Just the faint hum of your fridge and the quiet ache in your chest.

It’s almost midnight by the time you stop pacing your apartment. Your hands shake as you hold the phone. You scroll past a few names none feel right. Not now. Not after everything.

Then your thumb hovers over hers. Patri 💕

You haven’t told anyone about her. Not even Olga. It was easier that way kept things uncomplicated. Casual. Hidden, but now… nothing feels simple or safe.

You press call.

She picks up quickly. “Hey,” she says, voice warm and soft.“Everything okay, you never call this late?”

You don’t answer right away. Your throat’s too tight. “Can you come over?” you manage. “Please?”

She hears it. Whatever's in your voice. “I’m on my way.”

You don’t move from your spot near the window until you hear her knock. When you open the door, she doesn’t ask questions. She just sees your face red-eyed, exhausted, cracked wide open and steps in with arms that don’t hesitate.

You fall into her without a word. Her hand runs gently down your back, grounding you.

Minutes pass before you pull away, wiping your face with your sleeve. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I just… I didn’t know who else to call.”

Patri nods, patient. “You can always call me. You know that.”

You sit on the couch. She sits beside you, close but not crowding you. Waiting. You breathe in deep. Out. And then, “I think…” You pause, heart hammering. “I think Alexia Putellas is my sister.”

Silence. Patri doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t flinch. Her brow furrows, but her eyes stay soft.

You look down at your hands. “There was this photo. Two girls. I had it my whole life it was left with me when I was dropped off at the children's home. I never knew who they were” You shake your head, tears rising again. “Olga saw it and lost it. Thought I’d known all along it was Alexia and her sister. Took the photo. Stormed out. She hasn’t answered my messages. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t even know if I’m going crazy.”

Patri takes your hand in both of hers. “You’re not crazy,” she says softly. “And even if it sounds impossible… it might not be.”

“I don’t want anything from them,” you say quickly. “I didn’t even know. I just… I want to understand. Why I was left. Who I was before I was just… no one.”

You’re crying again, but you don’t try to stop it now, Patri squeezes your hand, steady and sure, you don’t say anything, but when you lean your head on her shoulder, it’s the first moment you’ve felt even a little less alone.

Patri’s fingers thread gently through yours, her thumb brushing your knuckles. Your eyes are swollen, throat raw, barely holding it together. Then, in the quiet, she leans a little closer. Her voice barely above a whisper, warm and solid against the chaos inside you. “You’re not no one to me.”

It stops your breath, you lift your head just slightly, eyes meeting hers. There’s no pity in her face. No fear. Just quiet certainty.

“You hear me?” she says again, firmer now. “You’re not nothing. I don’t care if you don’t know who you were before. I care who you are now and I see you.”

Your eyes fill again, but this time, the tears feel different. Not jagged or spiralling just full.

You nod. A small one. But it’s real. “Thank you,” you manage, your voice breaking.

Patri leans in, gently presses her lips to your forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” she says. “Together. Okay?” And in that moment, just for a heartbeat, you believe her. 🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The sun creeps in slowly through your curtains, tracing thin golden lines across the floor. You barely slept, but with Patri beside you, the night didn’t feel quite as endless. She stirs first, brushing a strand of hair from your face. You open your eyes to find her watching you, soft and steady.

“Come on,” she says gently. “I’m taking you to breakfast before we face the world.”

You want to protest, you don’t look like yourself, your stomach is a knot, and the idea of being in public right now feels impossible but she’s already pulling the covers back and reaching for your pre hung up work clothes like it’s not up for debate.

So you let her.

The café is small, tucked on a quiet corner near the training grounds and your office with Olga. No jerseys, no fans. Just warmth, fresh bread, and the clink of mugs being set on tables.

You sit across from her, both of you nursing hot drinks. Patri tears a croissant in half and sets one piece on your plate without asking after you said you didn't want anything.

“You don’t have to talk,” she says, watching you. “Just eat something. One small normal thing before everything gets… complicated again.”

You nod, barely able to hold her gaze, but grateful, after a few bites that were dry, tasteless in your mouth, you whisper, “What if she never forgives me?”

Patri doesn’t hesitate. “Then she doesn’t deserve to be in your life." You blink at her. “She’s hurt,” Patri adds, softening. “I get that, but if she can’t believe you, if she won’t even try to, then that’s on her. Not you.”

You glance down at your coffee. “It just… it meant something working with her, i thought I finally had… something that made sense.”

Patri reaches across the table, hooks her pinky around yours. “You do,” she says. “You have me and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod, holding onto that, even if everything else is spinning, this feels real. When you check the time, you realise it's almost time to head in. Patri downs the rest of her coffee and stands.

She pulls you up with her, smooths your jacket at the shoulders, and presses a quick kiss to your temple. “You’ve got this,” she whispers. “Text me when you’re done. No matter how it goes.”

You nod. She squeezes your hand once before heading toward the training facility down the block. You turn toward the office. Stomach heavy. Heart heavier but not quite as alone.

You step away from the café, the last of Patri’s warmth still clinging to your jacket like a hug that hasn't fully let go. The morning air is cool, quiet. You take a breath, try to let the calm hold for just a second longer. Then you see her, Olga, she’s over the road, leaning against the side of a closed bookstore, arms crossed tight, shoulders hunched like she hasn’t slept either. You freeze mid-step, her eyes are on you, it hits you like a punch. She saw. She was watching, maybe the whole time.

You don’t know what she saw exactly, but in your gut it doesn’t matter whatever flicker of healing you’d just started to believe in crumbles under your feet.

She looks up, your eyes meet, her expression doesn’t shift. No relief. No kindness. No fury either just something unreadable, and somehow that’s worse.

You almost step toward her, almost say her name, but the shame wraps around your ribs like wire. The same helpless, spiralling thought churns, I’ve made it worse.

You lower your eyes, quicken your pace, and cross the street without another glance back, by the time you reach the office door, your hands are shaking again.

The walls have started to ease back up, the ache in your chest back in full force and the photo, the truth, all of it… still just out of reach.

The office is cold when you step in, or maybe it’s just you. Either way, you don’t take off your coat.

You slide into your desk, boot up your laptop, and stare at the screen without seeing a word. You hear her before you see her, the soft click of the door, the measured steps. She moves past without a glance. You hold your breath.

She settles into her chair, the rustle of fabric as she crosses one leg over the other, her keys clinking gently on her desk. Then after what feels like an entire hour folded into thirty seconds "How did you meet Patri?"

Her voice is calm, almost too calm, you glance over. She’s not looking at you, her fingers are gently tapping her mug, as though it’s just any other morning.

You swallow. “I, um…” Your throat is dry. “I met her in a bar. A few weeks ago. After work.”

You watch her profile, trying to read her, but she gives you nothing.

“She didn’t know who I was,” you add. “To you. I didn’t tell her. At first”

Silence, you brace for something accusation, coldness, anything, but all she says is, “Do you love her?”

The question stuns you, not because you hadn’t thought about it, but because you never expected her to ask. “I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Maybe. It’s a bit early for that yet. We've not even had sex”

Another beat of silence. Then Olga nods, just once, like she’s filing it away somewhere.

You sit there, confused, the tension still knotted in your chest, but she doesn’t push. Doesn’t snap, just sips from her mug and opens her inbox like this conversation never happened and somehow… that quiet is the most painful sound of all.

The silence between you stretches thin but neither of you moves.

You pretend to work, Olga pretends not to notice your shaking hands. Then she speaks, her voice soft. Measured. “I spoke to Alexia’s mami.”

You freeze, your cursor blinks on the screen, forgotten.

You turn slowly, but she’s not looking at you. Her eyes are locked on the mug in her hands, fingers curling tight around the ceramic like she needs to anchor herself to something.

Your voice barely makes it out. “You did?”

She nods once. “Yeah.”

You wait. The silence stretches again, heavy with everything she hasn’t said yet. “I showed her the photo,” Olga continues, still soft. “The one you had. She went pale. I didn’t even have to ask anything. I knew just by her reaction to the photo.”

A breath shudders out of you. “I didn’t know,” you whisper. “Olga, I swear to you—”

“I know,” she cuts in.

Your eyes snap to hers, she's finally looking at you and in that look is a whole storm grief, disbelief, pain, exhaustion.

“You were just a baby,” she says quietly. “Left with a photo and nothing else.”

You blink back fresh tears. “Then it’s true.”

Olga nods, slowly. “They gave you up, because of your heart, because they couldn’t afford the care you needed. Your—” She pauses, breath catching. “—your father… he knew. He died when Alexia and Alba were teenagers.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, the ache in your chest pulsing to life again.

“They loved you,” Olga says. “You were their baby. I saw the pictures. The scans. A card with your footprints. They held you. Smiled with you.” She swallows hard, and now it’s her turn to look away. “But they left the hospital without you because they thought that would give you the best chance in life.”

The room is still. The weight of twenty-five years settling over your shoulders like fog.

You whisper, “What was my name?”

Olga’s voice trembles. “They didn't get to name you.”

You close your eyes, it doesn’t feel real and yet it explains everything.

Olga stands. You watch her cross the room slowly, quietly, something reverent in the way she moves as if she’s carrying something sacred and she is.

She reaches into her bag, then gently places the photo frame down on your desk in front of you. The same one that had once been your only clue to anything real. It feels heavier now.

“They know,” she says, barely above a whisper. “Alexia. Alba.”

You stare at the photo. Two little girls. You touch the glass. Your fingers don’t shake this time, but your breath catches.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure,” Olga continues. “Until I had the truth.”

“And now they know.” You say it aloud. Like you’re testing it. Like it might disappear.

Olga nods.

“They didn’t before?” you ask.

She shakes her head slowly. “They had no idea. Eli kept it from them all this time.”

You stare at her. “What did they say?”

Her lips press together for a moment. “Alba was… broken. She didn’t believe it at first, then she just went quiet, typically her.”

Your chest tightens.

“And Alexia…” Olga’s voice trails off, her gaze dropping. “She was angry. Confused. At Eli. At me.”

You wince. “At you?”

Olga meets your eyes. “She didn’t understand why I didn’t tell her soon as I found the picture. Why I didn’t come to her the second I suspected.”

You nod slowly, taking that in.

“I told her I needed to be sure,” Olga says softly. “I owed that to everyone.”

Something cracks in your chest at that. You look down at the photo again, then whisper, “Do they… want to see me?”

There’s a pause and then “Yes,” Olga says. “They do.”

You look up at her. You nod, blinking fast. You stare down at the photo. Your throat tightens as you try to find the words that don’t sound like a betrayal of how much this means, how much it changes. You swallow hard, your voice barely there. “I need time.”

Olga doesn’t speak, so you glance up half-expecting disappointment, or worse, pity, but there’s none, she just nods. “Of course,” she says gently.

“I just…” you start, then stop. Try again. “It’s a lot. I’m still trying to believe it’s real.”

Her eyes soften, her shoulders releasing tension you didn’t realise she’d been holding. “You don’t owe anyone speed,” she says, and again, that name hits different. Warmer now. Anchoring.

You nod slowly.

Olga walks back to her desk, sits quietly, like she’s giving you both physical and emotional space. No pushing. No pressure.

Just… waiting.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

Patri’s apartment smells faintly of rosemary and whatever candle she always has burning. It’s quiet except for the soft sound of her socks on the wood floors and the occasional clink of mugs as she makes tea without asking like she already knows you won’t have the appetite for anything more.

You’re curled on her couch, legs pulled to your chest, the familiar soft throw blanket wrapped tight around you. The photo’s not in your bag anymore, but it may as well be it’s burned into your thoughts.

Patri walks over, hands you a mug you barely manage to hold, then settles beside you without touching close enough to feel, but not crowding.

You stare down at the tea. “I have family.”

The words barely leave your mouth. They feel surreal still, like you’re saying them for someone else. Patri doesn’t speak. She waits.

You exhale shakily. “People I’m related to. By blood. I’ve never had that before, never even let myself imagine what it could be like.”

She glances at you, softly, kindly.

You keep going, voice fragile. “They want to meet me. Alexia. Alba. My sisters.” You taste the word, and it stings and warms at the same time. “But I don’t know if I can do it.”

Patri tilts her head. “Why?”

You blink hard. “Because I’m not who they think they lost. I grew up different to them. I have… pieces, but they don’t fit right. What if I’m a disappointment? What if they only want who I could’ve been, not who I actually am?”

The tears come quick this time. Quiet and raw.

“I don’t know how to be someone’s sister. I don’t even know how to be someone’s daughter.”

Patri shifts closer, gently, until your knee brushes hers. She doesn't reach for your hand just gives you space to fall apart without pressure.

When you finally look up at her, eyes glassy, voice cracking, you whisper, “What if I ruin it just by showing up?”

She leans forward then, soft but certain. “Baby,” she says slow, “You ruin nothing by existing. If anything, you’re the one thing that might put something broken back together.”

You don’t reply, but you lean against her, and when she wraps her arms around you, you let yourself fall into the quiet. Not healed. Not ready, but no longer alone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The bedroom is dim, lit only by the soft glow of the city outside filtering through sheer curtains. Alexia is already in bed, lying on her side, scrolling idly through her phone. Her hair’s a little damp from the shower, and the covers are pulled up around her shoulders like she’s cocooning herself from the day.

Olga steps in quietly, brushing her teeth finished, sleep tugging at her limbs but her thoughts too loud for rest.

She climbs into bed slowly, careful not to disturb the peace too much.

Alexia hums, sensing something. “Everything okay?”

Olga hesitates, settles on her side to face her, elbow bent, cheek resting against her hand. “I need to tell you something,” she says softly. "It's been eating me all day and I just need to off load it to someone"

Alexia’s eyes flick up from her phone. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Olga assures quickly. “Just… weird and you have to promise not to freak out.”

Alexia raises a brow. “That’s never a comforting preface.”

Olga gives her a tired, warning look. “I’m serious. No confronting anyone. No speeches. Just… listen.”

Alexia sets her phone down. She shifts onto her back, sighs dramatically. “Fine. I solemnly swear. Go.”

Olga stares at the ceiling for a second. Then “My assistant, the one you met at the office… she’s the girl Patri’s been seeing.”

Alexia blinks. “Wait. What?”

“Shh,” Olga hushes quickly, placing a hand gently on Alexia’s arm. “You promised. No freaking out.”

Alexia sits up a little against the headboard, clearly working through it. “Wait. Your assistant is Patri’s girl? She's the one who everyone’s been speculating about in the locker room for weeks?”

Olga nods slowly. “Yeah. I saw them this morning. Having breakfast together. Just… looked like a date.”

Alexia stares at her, mouth open slightly. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

Olga shrugs. “I didn’t know until today. I wasn’t spying. I was just... walking. Processing.”

Alexia laughs once, disbelieving. “Dios. Patri and your assistant. That’s… wow.” She pauses. Then narrows her eyes. “Is she even Patri’s type?”

Olga gives her a flat look. “You’ve met her once, and all you said was she seemed ‘too polite.’”

Alexia shrugs, but she’s smiling now. “Polite and dating Patri? That girl must have hidden layers.”

Olga hums. She rests her head on Alexia’s shoulder, a little quieter again.

After a beat, Alexia asks, “Is that all? Or is there a reason you brought it up now?”

Olga closes her eyes. “There’s more to it… just not for tonight.”

Alexia tilts her head, trying to read her. “Okay…”

Olga squeezes her hand gently. “Just don’t mention anything at training. Let Patri have her privacy.”

Alexia rolls her eyes. “You act like I’m the drama.”

Olga just smiles, eyes still closed. “You’re the captain and the drama.”

Alexia laughs softly and presses a kiss to Olga’s forehead. “Fine. I’ll behave.”

But even as they settle into silence, you linger in Alexia’s thoughts just a little longer than before.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re mid-call, headset on, trying to sound confident while walking a particularly demanding client through a social rollout calendar. Your laptop is open, filled with colour-coded chaos, and you’re scribbling notes on a pad beside you.

Patri is lounging, because that’s the only word for it, in the visitor’s chair next to your desk. She’s got one ankle lazily hooked over her knee, phone in hand, sunglasses perched on her nose even though you’re indoors. She hasn’t said a word in ten minutes, just keeping you company like some smirking silent bodyguard.

You flick your eyes toward her for a second and she just wiggles her eyebrows. You try not to laugh but the door clicks open.

Olga strides in, crisp and purposeful, folders tucked under her arm and a cappuccino in hand. She looks up, clearly expecting her usual quiet workspace and then spots Patri.

She stops Patri glances up from her phone, sees her, and grins “Hola, jefa.”

Olga narrows her eyes. “Patri.”

You freeze mid-sentence on your call. “—Yes, we’ll have the draft by Friday, absolutely. Thank you, I’ll follow up with the design team. Okay. Bye now.”

You click off and rip off the headset, slowly swivelling toward Olga

“Hey,” you say, cautiously.

Olga looks between the two of you, arms crossed, brow lifted in that unimpressed way that’s both maternal and mildly terrifying. “You know this isn’t a café, right?” she says to Patri, deadpan.

Patri shrugs, completely unbothered. “Had the morning off. Thought I’d escort your best employee through their incredibly stressful workday.”

Olga glances at you, unamused. “Is that true?”

You give her a tight, sheepish smile. “I didn’t know she was coming.”

Patri snorts, Olga sets her folders down on her desk, sipping her coffee. “Well, now that you’re here, maybe you’d like to help sort through thirty Instagram DMs from a dog food sponsor who doesn’t understand what a brand kit is.”

Patri puts a hand to her heart, mock-wounded. “That sounds horrifying.”

Olga deadpans, “Welcome to my life.”

You try not to smile but fail miserably, and Olga catches it her expression softening just for a second.

“Fifteen more minutes,” she says to Patri. “Then she’s mine again.”

Patri gives you a wink. “I’ll take what I can get.”

Olga rolls her eyes and turns back to her desk, but not before you catch the tiniest smirk twitch at the corner of her mouth.

The office quiets again after Patri leaves she kisses your temple before she goes, murmuring something only for you, and you hold onto the warmth of it like a tether. But it fades fast once the door closes behind her.

Olga doesn’t look at you right away. She’s working or pretending to. You sit for a while. Typing. Staring. Breathing. Trying to decide if the knot in your chest will ever untangle itself.

You think about the photo. About the scans in the box. About Eli’s face when she realised who you were. About Olga saying your sisters know now. That they want to meet you.

You think about what you said to Patri and then, softly, “Olga?”

She looks up immediately, her eyes are calm, steady gentle in the way only someone who’s known heartbreak can manage.

You clear your throat. Your hands tremble a little in your lap. “I think…” You hesitate, then push through. “I want to meet them.”

Olga doesn't move for a second. Then she slowly exhales, and something loosens in her shoulders. Not relief something quieter. Respect, maybe. Care. “Okay,” she says, her voice low, warm. “I’ll let them know.”

You nod, once. It still scares you. You’re still not sure who you’ll be to them or who they’ll be to you. Sisters. Strangers. Something in between, but you’re ready to try and maybe, for now, that’s enough.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The home Olga and Alexia share is quiet and vast, tucked away, the kind of place with balconies full of trailing plants and old tiled floors. Olga brings you up the driveway, but she doesn’t say much. Just walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours once or twice, letting the silence be whatever you need it to be.

You stop in front of the door, your hands are cold, you didn’t realise you were shaking until you saw the key tremble in Olga’s hand. She glances at you. “They’re all here.”

You nod once. Like if you say anything, you’ll turn around and run Olga squeezes your shoulder gently. Then opens the door.

The flat smells like coffee and lavender. Eli’s sitting at the dining table. She rises when she sees you, hands twitching like she wants to reach for you but she doesn’t. Not yet. Behind her, Alba leans in a doorway, arms folded tight, guarded and uncertain. Her expression is blank but her eyes are anything but, and then there’s Alexia.

She’s sitting on the sofa. Casual, almost too casual hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair tied back, one leg bouncing anxiously. She stands up when you come in, and for a second, nobody breathes.

This is it. You’ve imagined this moment so many times and never, not once, like this.

Alexia speaks first. “Hi.” Just that. One syllable, but her voice is soft.

You nod. “Hi.”

Olga touches your back gently, guiding you toward the sofa. You perch on the edge, knees close together, hands tight in your lap.

Alba stays back.

Alesia sits back down and studies you like she’s trying to make sense of what’s right in front of her and still can’t believe it. “I didn’t know,” she says. “Until last week, I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t either,” you whisper.

You look at her really look at her. She’s familiar in ways that don’t make sense. The shape of her nose. The arch of her brow. The curve of her mouth when she frowns like yours in the mirror.

Eli clears her throat. “This is yours,” she says quietly, and sets the shoebox down on the table in front of you.

You don’t open it yet. You’re too afraid of what it is will make real, and you really didn't want to cry in front of these people.

Instead, you look at Alexia again and then to Alba, whose jaw is clenched, whose arms are still crossed like armour.

“I’m not here to take anything,” you say, your voice shaking. “I’m not trying to force myself into your lives. I don’t even know how to do this. I just… I wanted to meet you.”

Alba looks away, Alexia doesn’t, she leans forward and when she speaks again, it’s quieter. “I don’t know how to do this either,” she says. “But I want to try.”

Your breath hitches. You nod. Once and when she reaches out, you let her take your hand and time passes in silence, Olga offers you a drink, and the only noise is clanking of glasses in the kitchen,

Alexia hasn’t let go of your hand even when Olga puts your drink on the coffee table in front of you.

It rests between hers, light but sure, a quiet anchor as you sit across from her on the low coffee table. She doesn’t look like a football legend right now. She looks like someone trying not to break apart a thousand different ways.

Olga sits beside you right beside you. So close her thigh presses against yours, one of her hands resting on your back as if she’s afraid you might suddenly vanish.

You feel both of them, like weights you can lean on. Eli sits a few feet away, silent, hands clasped in her lap. Her eyes are rimmed with red, lips pressed in a line. Alba leans against the far wall, arms still crossed, distant but listening.

The shoebox sits unopened on the table. Alexia breaks the silence first.

“So…” she starts, glancing between you and Olga, “You work for my girlfriend. That’s wild.”

You blink, a little startled by the shift but you’re grateful for comfortable small talk. It’s a rope thrown into the storm. You nod. “Yeah. Almost three months now.”

Olga leans in just enough for her temple to graze your shoulder. “She’s brilliant,” she murmurs. “Takes her job too seriously, though.”

You roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Says the woman who once scheduled tweets from the bathtub.”

Alexia barks a laugh genuine, caught off guard. “She would.”

“She did,” "I did" you and Olga say in unison, and for a beat, it feels like a normal moment between friends.

Then silence creeps in again, you fiddle with the hem of your sleeve.

“You guys are close,” Alexia says softly, looking between you and Olga.

You nod. “She’s been… I don’t even know what I’d call it. Kind. Patient. The first person who made me feel like I wasn’t just… passing through.”

You feel Olga’s fingers tighten briefly at your back. A silent I’m still here. Alexia’s expression softens. “I get that,” she murmurs.

You look at her carefully. “Is that why you’re… so good to Alba?”

She looks over at her little sister still silent, still watching and her whole face changes. It’s not obvious, not loud, but it’s there the sharp tenderness, the unspoken devotion.

“She’s mine,” Alexia says simply. “Always has been.”

You nod slowly, your throat tightens, and suddenly you can’t speak Olga shifts beside you, gently leaning into your side, just enough to steady you.

You don’t say anything more, neither does Alexia, not right away, but something’s changing in the room. Not resolved not fixed but thawing.

Across the space, Alba watches it all with unreadable eyes and Eli quiet and still presses a hand to her mouth, as if afraid her emotions might spill out and ruin this fragile moment.

You look at your sister, she smiles at you. Small. Real and you smile back.

It’s quiet again now, not the awkward kind it’s something else. Something rawer.

You feel Olga still beside you, warm and steady. Alexia hasn’t moved far either, perched on the sofa her fingers tap silently against her knee, like she wants to speak but knows this moment isn’t hers.

You’re looking at Eli. She hasn’t looked at you once. Not really. Not since you walked through the door. She sits rigid in her chair, her body folded in on itself like she’s trying to be smaller, her hands twist in her lap, restless and unanchored. Her lips are pressed together like she’s keeping a dam sealed with sheer will.

You watch the way her thumbs rub over one another.

You do that.

You watch the way her brow creases when she’s thinking too loud to speak.

You do that too.

It strikes you all at once not in your chest but in your gut, like something old and invisible pulling taut.

You’re hers you always have been, your voice, when it breaks the silence, surprises even you. Soft. Uncertain. “You look like you need a hug.”

Her head lifts, slowly, slowly, she meets your eyes.

Everything in her face is shaking. Guilt. Hope. Fear. Regret. Love, too but buried beneath years of silence and sorrow.

Her mouth parts, but no words come out, the others don’t move. Not Alba. Not Alexia. Not even Olga.

You don’t push her, you just let the words sit in the space between you Eli swallows. Her eyes fill before a single tear escapes. Her hands go still and then quietly, brokenly “I do”

You stand placing your bag down, she seems surprised by your action but she stands and when you take steps forward she meets you halfway.

She hugs you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear again, her arms wrap around you, trembling, and your face presses into her shoulder. You breathe her in lavender and something warm beneath it. Something familiar you didn’t even know you missed.

Her whole body shudders as she quietly cries, you don’t say anything, you just hold her back, you don’t know what you’re forgiving. There was nothing to forgive for you, you don’t know what still needs to be mended, but in this moment, you’re not lost. You’re held.

The security buzzer goes, you swallow as you and Eli pull away at the same time, "I'll get it that, that'll be" Olga stops herself she knew Patri was coming for you, but she didn't know whether you wanted everyone knowing.

You nod with a little smile, you look to Alexia, "I take it you know"

She nods, "She talks about you a lot, I just didn't know, you were, you, until yesterday"

Patri’s car pulls up as the door is opened just as the sky softens into twilight you stand near the door, jacket pulled around your shoulders, feeling the air shift as the visit comes to a close.

Olga helps you gather your things gentle, wordless, still keeping close like she’s afraid too much space might crack something in you. Alexia lingers near Patri's car they have a quiet conversation you don't catch, her arms folded but her expression soft, uncertain when it turns back to you. Alba follows behind at a distance, watching still wary, still processing, but here that was something.

Eli hasn’t said much since the hug. She’s been quieter than ever, her movements slowed like the emotion has worn her thin, but she’s remained close, watching you with eyes too full for casual conversation.

You hold the letter in your hand for a long time before you finally turn to her.

It’s folded neatly. Ink smudged in one corner from where your hand trembled. You hadn’t planned to give it to her but there were too many things you couldn’t get out in front of everyone. Things too complicated. Too raw. And you wrote it for that circumstance.

You step closer. Offer it with both hands. She looks down at the paper like it might burn her fingers.

You speak quietly, for her only. “I didn’t know how to say it all. So I wrote it instead.”

Eli’s hand reaches out slowly, like she’s afraid if she moves too fast you’ll vanish again. She takes the letter her fingers press around it like it’s fragile like you are.

She nods, eyes shining, lips parting but she doesn’t speak. Just holds it close to her chest.

"Ready to go babe?" Patri smiles, "Pina and her sister are already there"

You nod and turn, your eyes meet Alexia’s, she gives you the faintest smile, then steps aside to let you go. Olga brushes her hand over your back as you move past her, a silent I’m proud of yo and as you walk around Patri's car to get in, Alba finally looks up.

She doesn’t say anything but for the first time, she doesn’t look away.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The front door clicked shut behind you, and with it goes the last of the tension you carried into this house hours ago. The echo of your presence lingers in the room, the kind that doesn’t fade easily. The kind that changes things.

Eli stands where you left her, still holding the letter like it’s made of glass.

Her eyes don’t lift from it Alexia gently steps toward her. “Mami?" but Eli barely hears. Her lips move, soundless.

“I can’t,” she whispers finally. “I can’t read it. I don’t know if I can take what it says.”

Olga watches her closely, her fingers curled around the hem of her jumper, but she doesn’t interrupt. She’s already said what she needed to say today.

Alba, who hasn’t said a word in what feels like forever, finally pushes off the arm of the couch. Her voice is soft, a little raspy.

“Do you want me to read it to you?”

Eli looks up, startled, Alba doesn’t smile. Doesn’t flinch. She just holds out her hand. Eli hesitates for a moment, eyes searching her daughter’s face. And then, wordlessly, she presses the letter into her youngest’s palm.

Alba walks to the center of the room and sits down on the couch, tucking one leg beneath her. She opens the paper carefully, smoothing the creases with tender fingers.

She clears her throat as everyone takes a seat and begins.

I don't even know where to start with this I feel for years of my life I always wanted this moment, the opportunity to have my say, so this probably won't flow or make much sense but I'm going to vulnerably honest and true to myself.

I never blamed you, growing up I never resented you, disliked you, or hated you for the decision you made. I would always wonder what I did wrong. Why I wasn't good enough. The reason you couldn't keep me and love me like parents should, I was always focused on me and my short comings, I never spoke or thought negatively for the decision you made.

I saw everyday the pain giving a child up caused, I heard my carers talk of the despair and sheer pain they would witness when children were removed from the care of their parents. I would hope you didn't ever have to feel that because it wasn't a choice you had made but I understand the gravity of the decision that was made to leave me at the hospital for you and your husband.

I obviously now know the reason for your decision, and I think it's important for you to know, I did get that help I needed and that you may be interested in the journey that took. I had five surgeries before my second birthday, to try and mend the heart I have, I spent the first three years of my life living in the hospital you left me at, before I was discharged to my first foster family but I had very complex medical needs and they couldn't deal with that so I was moved on. I moved I think 5 times before I was 10 and deemed fit enough to live in a communal home where I stayed until I was 12 but then I needed to move again due to my age to what they call a half way house until I was 18.

Tangent lol, back to the heart, its never going to be a fully working healthy heart, I can't eat certain foods I can't have certain drinks and I work everyday to just be the healthiest I can be to give my heart the best chance of being able to sustain me and make the need for a transplant stayed off for as long as possible. That's a case of when and not if.

Olga explained to me of the passing of your husband, I am truly sorry for you Alexia and Alba's loss, I couldn't begin to imagine the pain it caused to loose such a big part of your lives.

I'm not here to ask anything from any of you, I don't know what any of us want from what we've learned, or what any of us expect to happen.

I just hope that this doesn't affect the relationship you have with your daughters because even before I learned what I know now, from the stories I heard from Olga you sounded like such a warm loving tight nit family. It may not be my place to say but I hope it doesn't change what they think and see of you, you are still the mother they know and love that hasn't changed because they learned of me. You are still that same person, and if anything it just shows what strength you have to make the hardest decision a parent can make along with your husband and carry on and raise two amazing people.

I hope you can begin to heal and most of all forgive yourself for the decision you made all those years ago.

You made the right decision, for me and for your family.

I wouldn't be here today without the decision and sacrifice you made so,

Thank You

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

You’re not expecting her.

The quiet of the office is a comfort today, Olga’s out in meetings, the afternoon sun is casting soft shadows across your desk, and the rhythm of your tasks is keeping your mind anchored. Or at leas distracted.

Then the bell above the door chimes, you glance up.

Alba lingers awkwardly by the entrance, her eyes scanning the space like she might still change her mind. She’s dressed simply jeans, oversized tee, hair up in a messy knot and something about her posture makes her look younger than she is. Vulnerable.

You stand slowly, heart thudding. “Hey…”

Alba walks in a few paces, stopping near the front counter. Her hands are shoved deep in her pockets. “I know Olga’s not here,” she says quickly, like a disclaimer. “I waited. I didn’t want to… ambush or anything.”

You nod, unsure what to say yet. She’s clearly nervous, more than you thought she would be from the stories you'd heard of her from Olga.

“I just…” She exhales through her nose, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to talk. To you. If that’s okay.”

You gesture gently toward the small seating area. “Of course.”

You both sit, but she perches on the edge of the chair, like she’s ready to bolt. She doesn’t look at you, not directly, but her voice is soft and unfiltered. “I don’t know how to do this,” she admits. “I’ve been all messed up since we found out. It’s like everything I ever knew just cracked and now I keep wondering what it means. For me. For us.”

You nod, letting her speak without interruption.

“I guess I just…” She finally glances at you. Her eyes are rimmed red. “I want to get to know you, because out of anyone it's really not your fault, but I don’t know where to start.”

Your voice is quiet but steady. “Maybe we don’t have to know. Maybe we just try.” Alba blinks. You smile, just a little. “We could… start with dinner? No pressure. No heavy talks unless you want to. Just two people who might be something to each other, seeing what that feels like.”

Alba gives the tiniest laugh, almost a scoff at herself. “I haven’t felt this nervous about dinner since my first crush in high school.”

You grin. “Should I be flattered or terrified?”

She laughs again, fuller this time. “Maybe both.”

You reach for your notebook, tearing off a corner and scribbling. You hand it to her a small list of places you can eat in the city and your phone number"

“Pick one. You text me when you're ready. No pressure. Just… dinner.”

Alba looks at the paper in her hands like it’s more than just ink and names. She nods slowly. “Okay,” she says, quieter now. “Okay.” She stands after a moment, lingers at the door again like she’s debating something. Then she turns back. “Thank you. For not making it harder.”

You offer her a warm, careful smile. “We’ve both had hard. I’d rather try something else.”

She nods and then she’s gone.

🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

The restaurant is quiet and tucked away one of those cozy little places with exposed brick, warm lighting, and waitstaff that treat you like family. You’re early. You’d rather wait than arrive to faces you’re not quite sure how to greet yet, but you don’t wait long.

Alba arrives first.

She spots you at the table and offers a small, shy smile as she slides into the seat across from you. She’s dressed casually, but there's something softer in her eyes than the last time less guarded.

You’re about to say something when you hear a familiar voice at the hostess stand. “Alba!”

Alexia. Your heart stutters. You weren’t expecting her. Alba glances at you, a half-smile creeping in. “I may have… invited someone.”

Alexia arrives at the table with a warm grin and no hesitation at all as she kisses both your cheeks like she’s always done it. “Hi,” she says, taking the seat beside you. “I figured, three sisters is better than two, no?”

It’s strange how easy the word sisters rolls out of her mouth. You blink at her, then at Alba, then you smile. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

The conversation starts simple, menus, drinks, Alexia teasing Alba about how she always orders the same pasta everywhere she goes. You laugh when Alexia makes a terrible pun in Spanish that Alba groans at. You’re hesitant at first, still watching the way they interact like a spectator, until Alba nudges your arm and mimics your confused face when you try to translate the joke. You burst out laughing.

It surprises even you.

A bottle of wine appears. Glasses are poured. Somewhere between the bread basket and the main course, something shifts. It’s light, natural, unforced.

You find yourself talking, not deeply, not yet, but honestly. Sharing silly work stories, how you met Patri—

“Okay, wait,” Alba cuts in, grinning now, fork paused mid-air. “You’re the secret girl Patri’s been sneaking around with all this time?”

Your face heats instantly. “It wasn’t sneaking,” you say through a laugh. “She just wasn't exactly wanting it announcing it to the locker room.”

Alexia shakes her head, amused. “Patri is awful at subtle. She was glowing at training after she met you. G-L-O-W-I-N-G.”

You laugh, covering your face for a second. “Oh god.”

Alba leans in slightly, her tone playful but with an edge of sincerity. “Just so you know… if she hurts you, I’ll kick her ass.”

You snort into your wine.

Alexia raises a brow. “Alba, Patri is my teammate.”

Alba shrugs, utterly unbothered. “Don’t care. I like her, but blood is blood.”

You’re laughing now, genuinely, shaking your head. “I’ll be sure to tell her she’s been warned.”

Alba points at you with her fork. “Do that. I want her scared.”

Alexia mutters something about drama queen, and Alba throws a breadstick at her. It misses, barely.

You’re still smiling, Alba leans back in her seat, glass in hand, her grin a little wicked.

“So…” she begins slowly, eyeing you over the rim of her glass, “how’s the sex with Patri?”

Alexia nearly chokes on her wine.

You blink, stunned, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Alba!”

“What?” she laughs. “I’m curious!”

Alexia looks horrified. “You can’t ask her that!”

“I just did,” Alba smirks.

You’re giggling now, one hand covering your face as you try to recover. “God, okay, um… we haven’t… actually done that yet.”

Alba’s face flickers with surprise. “Really?”

You nod, a little shy but honest. “Yeah. She’s been… really respectful. Which is kind of adorable.”

Alexia leans back, visibly relaxing. “That’s sweet. Patri’s always been a softie underneath the sarcasm.”

You bite your lip, then laugh quietly. “It is sweet. But sometimes I just… want to be disrespected, you know?”

There’s a moment of silence, Alexia’s eyes go wide, Alba hollers with laughter and you shrink back slightly, eyes darting between them realising who they are to you as your face burns. “Oh my God wait. I can’t talk like that in front of you, can I?”

Alexia makes a strangled noise, waving her hand like she needs to shut her ears. “No. You absolutely cannot. Your my baby sister”

Alba wipes a tear from her eye. “Too late.”

You all dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your ribs hurt. The kind that breaks through walls you didn’t even realise were still up. You glance at them Alexia still slightly horrified, Alba grinning like she won the lottery.

Alexia rests her chin in her hand, watching the two of you with a soft, content look on her face. “You know,” she says, her voice quieter now, “I really didn’t know what to expect when I found out. I was angry. Hurt. But right now?” She looks between you both. “This feels right.”

You meet her gaze. “It does.”

Alba’s smile isn’t wide, but it’s real. There’s still so much to say, still so much to feel, still so much to learn, but for now, there’s wine, warmth, and the first real night where you don’t feel like a stranger.

Just a sister.

#alexia x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas fanfic #woso fanfics #alexia putellas #woso #barca femeni #barcelona femeni #alexia putellas imagine #woso imagine #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas one shot #fcb femeni

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girlgenius1111 · 2 months ago

Text

hard knocks

alexia putellas x reader r gets a concussion, and her girlfriend, alexia, wants to help take care of her. r is incredibly resistant to allowing alexia to help, but she really doesn't have a choice. head injury, blood, etc. soft ale hurt comfort :)

—

You knew it probably wasn’t going to end well for you before you even made the move. The adrenaline was pumping through your veins, and all you could think about was making sure the ball didn’t hit the back of the net. The corner had been taken, and you saw the player you were marking move. She moved with intention, and you just knew the ball was heading towards her.

So, you did what you had to do, what any defender in your position would have done, and jumped just as the other player did. From there, things got somewhat… blurry.

You knew your head hit the ball, sending it away from the goal. You knew your body collided with your opponent’s before you were falling towards the ground. And then a sharp stinging pain as your face collided with something hard just before your head slammed into the grass underneath you.

It wasn’t immediately clear to you what was wrong, just that your head hurt. But when you brought your hands to cradle your face, you could feel the blood. It was all you could do to raise one red stained hand into the air and motion frantically for help.

The next second, there were hands on your back, voices shouting around you. You didn’t know who was talking, didn't know who was touching you, trying to roll you onto your back.

It was dark, which was odd, because you remember the stadium lights being bright. Your eyes were closed, you realized, your face pressed into the grass under you.

Everything began to come back into focus, as if the thoughts that had been smashed out of your head were suddenly allowed back in.

You recognized Cata’s voice in your ear, her gloved hands on your back.

“Don’t move, chica, just stay right there,” Cata was saying. She wasn’t trying to roll you over, you realized; she was trying to keep you as still as possible.

Right. A head wound, you weren’t supposed to move until the medics got there. Forcing your eyes open, you got just a glimpse of the medics in a dead sprint towards you before your eyes slammed shut again, overwhelmed by the light. You groaned, hearing the medics arrive at your side and begin to ask you too many questions as they stabilized your neck and applied pressure to your face.

Did your neck hurt? Not specifically.

Did your back hurt? No.

Could you move your hands? Your toes? Yes and yes.

Question after question, answer after answer, it felt like an eternity before they cleared you to be rolled onto your back. They made you open your eyes again, and you weren’t even aware of the tears beginning to streak down your face. The neck brace they brought next was entirely precautionary, they assured you.

“Okay, they’re driving the ambulance on right now. We’ll get you to the hospital soon.” Adriana said, the blonde physio that was currently crouched at your side, closest to your head. You hummed your understanding, allowing your eyes to flutter shut again.

“Can you open your eyes?” Adriana asked, urgency dripping from her tone.

You let out a choked sob, one you had no idea was even trying to get out, and cracked one eye just barely open. “Too bright. Hurts.” You managed.

“Okay, okay. You’ll be off in a second and it’ll be darker.” Alvaro, the physio on your other side, assured you. “We just can’t have you falling asleep. Keep them open for me, just a few more seconds.”

You forced them back open, just enough to take in the grimly focused faces of those around you. Not just the physios, but the medics they had on standby at the field. At least 6 faces surrounded you, none the one face you were looking for. In fact, you were looking before you even knew you were looking, but some rational part of you must have remained intact in your brain, because you didn’t ask for her.

Alexia was your girlfriend, yes. But only of a few months. It would have been downright absurd to ask for her to come to you. In the middle of the pitch, surrounded by so many curious eyes. Even if there hadn’t been, Alexia was under no obligation to care for you.

Even if you wanted her next to you right now, holding your hand as the ambulance began to drive away. leaving her and your teammates behind. They were all beyond horrified.

Cata was getting new gloves on because her first pair had your blood on them. Vicky looked a concerning shade of green. Irene was trying to force the team to focus again, repeating encouragements and patting them on the back as they walked back onto the pitch, even as her own hands shook.

Alexia, though, was stood rooted to the spot she’d been since Patri had pulled her over to the sidelines, just a minute after you’d gone down. Her eyes were now fixed on where you’d been, terror clear on her face.

“Ale.” Irene said. Hands gripped her forearms, and Alexia’s eyes snapped up, jolted from the fog of worry clouding her every thought. “She’s alright, she’s conscious. She’s going to be fine, but we need you to focus. Can you do that?”

Irene’s words were spoken gently, even as almost everyone else was back on the pitch. Ingrid was jogging on, coming on in your place. The clock was ticking, the match needed to resume. There were probably less than 10 minutes left even with stoppage time, and the team still had a job to do. Irene was confident, of course, that Alexia would snap out of it. Refocus in, transform into the leader the team needed rather than the worried sick girlfriend she was.

But it seemed Irene underestimated just how deeply Alexia cared for you. Even Alexia herself had, until you’d been laying on the pitch with a head injury and Alexia was forced to reckon with the overwhelming emotions and feelings trying to choke her.

“I can’t. I can’t, Irene.” Alexia murmured. There was no untangling all her emotions in that moment. She only knew what she had to do, and that was to get the hell off the pitch and to her car.

Irene tried to mask the look of shock that washed over her, as if Alexia would even have noticed it in the state she was in. She was surprised, but she also knew that if Alexia was saying she couldn’t go on, she couldn’t go on. With a gentle squeeze of Alexia’s hands, Irene turned to Pere, only to find that Aitana was already standing next to the fourth official, waiting to come on. Pere looked somewhat dumbfounded, not having expected to have to make the change, but Aitana looked sure of herself. Rafel was stood behind her and Irene knew instantly who was behind this change. Not their head coach, that was for sure.

When Irene turned back, Alexia was gone. The only trace of her was a mostly brunette ponytail swinging as she sprinted down the tunnel.

Irene jogged back onto the pitch next to Aitana, both of them focused. There was still a job to be done, and they were both going to make sure the team executed.

As for Alexia, she was already out of the locker room, barefoot with her white Nikes in her hand, and her bag in the other. Keys, wallet, phone, shoes. That was all she needed.

That, and to get to you.

—

Alexia had always been such a force, from the moment you’d met her. But confident captain Alexia didn’t arrive at your hospital room. Ale did, hands trembling, brow furrowed adorably with concern. Of course, you didn’t know which version had arrived, only that the door had swung open and you hoped it was a nurse with more painkillers because this hurt.

“Amor?” Alexia murmured, stuck in the doorway as she took in the scene in front of her. A bright light was shining down on your face, a doctor in dark scrubs working to close the gash on your cheek.

“You can’t be in here.” A man said, stepping in front of Alexia just as she tried to move to your side.

“No, no, she is my– I need to see her. She is my girlfriend.” Alexia rushed out, her panic voice only now reaching your ears. She was a mess, face tear streaked from all the crying she’d done in the car. Her ponytail was tangled because it had been raining earlier, and she was still in her kit. It was a miracle her shoes were on the right feet, and she was sure she looked like she’d escaped an involuntary hold or something.

You’d been almost entirely focused on not moving, not flinching or wincing as the plastic surgeon carefully stitched your skin back together. He paused, though, seeing your eyes fly open at the sound of your girlfriend’s voice.

“Ale?” You murmured, heart clenching in your chest at the thought she was here, here for you.

“I understand that, but–”

“It’s alright, she can sit on the other side.” The surgeon interrupted. Alexia didn’t want another second, side stepping the nurse to carefully make her way to you. He was well aware that this was a painful process, one even more painful with the very few things he’d been allowed to give you, considering they were still waiting for the results of your head scan. You’d looked scared from the minute he explained that he was going to stitch up the wound on your face, your body so tense he was surprised it wasn’t shaking.

As he’d hoped, you released a deep breath as Alexia’s hands grabbed yours, your body finally relaxing. Sometimes, the rules needed to be bent for the good of the patient. This was exactly one such case.

“Oh, amor.” Alexia whispered. You barely registered her words, focused entirely on not crying as her warm hazel eyes bored into yours. When you were by yourself, you could hold it together. Now she was here, and you knew you had to hold it together so she wouldn’t see you fall apart. But her hand was so soft in yours, her thumb gently running back and forth over your skin.

You hated being hurt. Hated being vulnerable. But being either of those things around Alexia was terrifying. She hadn’t seen you at anything but your best yet, and you hadn’t realized how much fear you carried at the thought of her being disgusted by your weakness.

So, you grit your teeth, squeezed your eyes shut, and tried to power through. You missed the frown on the surgeon’s face as you tensed back up, missed the furrow of Alexia’s brow as she practically saw your walls come up. You let her keep holding your hand, trying to convince yourself you weren’t lying in the hospital. No, you and Alexia were walking, hand in hand, to the cafe down the street from your apartment.

The delusion didn’t last very long, if at all, before the surgeon was cutting the excess thread and expecting his handiwork.

“All done. It was a jagged laceration, but it should heal pretty cleanly. The scar shouldn’t be too noticeable.”

You nodded your head blankly, ignoring the pulsing pain as you did so, not even thinking to ask any other questions about your injuries. Alexia, on the other hand, appeared to have come with a list. She asked about the concussion severity, when you’d be free to go, wound care. Half of them were questions you were sure she knew the answer to already, and the other half were questions you weren’t quite sure how she’d come up with. You began to tune them all out, allowing yourself to take some deep breaths for what felt like the first time since you’d gone down on the pitch.

Soon, the doctors and nurses filed out of the room, and you were left with Alexia, who was typing frantically into her phone. Either updating the team or taking notes on what the doctor had to say, you guessed. You cleared your throat, reaching for her hand again. There was dried blood under your nails, you noticed, but before you could retract your hand, Alexia was grabbing it in hers. Alexia’s phone fell into her lap as she abandoned her typing, eyes finding yours almost instantly. She was gazing at you so softly it made your cheeks flush.

“Thank you for coming. You didn’t have to.”

“Do not be ridiculous, of course I came.” She murmured, gently brushing a piece of hair off your forehead. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You whispered back, eyes fluttering shut as she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the uninjured side of your face.

“Do not be sorry, either. I am just glad you are okay.”

You blinked a few times, reminding yourself there were to be no tears. “How did you get here so fast? You weren’t supposed to be substituted.”

If you’d been more coherent, less distracted by the pounding in your head and the aching sting of your cheek, you would have noticed Alexia’s face get slightly red.

“I… I asked to come out. I would not have been able to focus. I needed to get to you.” She replied, her eyes still flitting over your face as if to assure herself that you were here, you were okay.

The pain in your head was suddenly overshadowed by a wave of something you couldn’t describe washing over you at her words.

You couldn’t put a name to the feeling. All you could think was oh, you didn’t deserve her. Yet here she was.

A tear escaped, sliding down the side of your face and onto the pillow resting under your head. Alexia moved even closer, her face just a few inches from yours now, absolutely filled with worry and sadness. She cupped your cheek in one hand, resting the other on your chest, needing to feel you and make sure you felt her.

“It’s alright, cariño. You are going to be okay, everything is okay.”

Nothing felt okay. It felt too good and too scary at the same time, and you weren’t sure how to reconcile those two emotions.

“I love you.” You whispered.

Alexia’s eyes widened, and you froze. Where on earth had that come from? You’d been thinking it, yes. Practically since your first date. But they must have given you more painkillers than you thought, or maybe you were suffering a traumatic brain injury, because there was no other reasonable explanation for you saying those words to her before she said them to you.

Alexia looked as surprised as you felt, shocked into silence for a minute before she leaned in, her lips barely brushing yours, she was so gentle. She seemed to be gathering herself when she pulled away, and you felt your stomach drop.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“Shh,” Alexia soothed, stroking your hair once again. “I love you, too, amorcita. So much.”

She said it like it was easy, like she didn’t need to give it a second thought. You were reminded again at how Alexia always seemed to see only the best in you. Here you were, covered in blood and sweat, half your face covered with gauze, eyes half shut because the light hurt too much, making confessions of love at the worst possible time. Yet Alexia seemed to just be content that you were okay, thrilled at what you’d said. She didn’t see the mess, somehow.

Though you supposed you could understand, at least partially. Alexia was practically a disaster at the moment, too, but you didn’t see the tangled mess her hair was, or the dried tear tracks on her face. You didn’t care that she smelled like outside, a mixture of grass and sweat. You were just so glad she was here, with you. So glad, in fact, you’d told her you’d loved her.

So, as confounding as her adoration for you felt, you knew it probably just baffled you. Thinking about it made your head hurt, and your head already hurt.

“You do?”

Alexia rolled her eyes. “Tonta. Of course I do.”

You gave a watery laugh, allowing her to tuck her face into your neck, her arms wrapping around you as best they could.

“I want to go home.” You mumbled.

“Soon, amor. We just need the head scan back and then we can go.” Alexia promised, pressing a series of kisses to the skin of your neck.

“Good. You need a shower.”

She pulled back, looking offended. “Disculpe! You think you do not?”

You laughed, a real laugh, beyond amused at how easily you could rile her up. You didn’t even think about how the room was spinning slightly, or the way it felt like an elephant had stepped on your head. You were mesmerized by the woman in front of you, how she could make you laugh when no one else could.

She must have seen your face soften, because hers did too, into a small, almost shy smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll both get a shower. We’ll get you home, and I’ll take care of you. Whatever you need.”

Your smile faltered only slightly, just barely enough for Alexia to notice. She was struck with the odd feeling you would not be a very willing patient.

—

“Amor, the doctor said,”

“Alexia, it’s fine. I need to wash my hair. It’ll be quick, it’s not a big deal.”

You shakily pushed past your girlfriend, heading for your bathroom. Alexia was just half a step behind you, though, as she’d been since the two of you arrived home 10 minutes ago. Steps unsteady, you were secretly glad for her hovering, knowing that if you stumbled even slightly, she’d catch you.

“But your stitches–”

“Alexia.” You huffed, rolling your eyes as her arms came to wrap around your waist and pull you to a stop. Instead of spinning you around to face her, she moved herself until you were face to face. She looked stern, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed; the face she made when one of your younger teammates misbehaved.

“The wound cannot get wet. He said you could rinse off in the shower if you made sure not to put your head under.” She studied you, her body still between yours and the shower you so desperately needed.

You felt disgusting, covered in mud and dirt and blood. The feeling would stick to your skin, you knew, until you took a shower and made sure all of you was clean, including your hair.

You tried to summon some anger, some frustration that she was being so stubborn, but you couldn’t. Alexia was just trying to help. She’d driven you home, going well under the speed limit and warning you before she turned or braked. She’d let you lean heavily on her as you made your way up to your apartment, pulling you into her arms in the elevator in the most comforting embrace you’d felt in a long time.

And now you were being difficult, but you knew yourself. You genuinely would not be able to get to sleep tonight if something wasn’t done about your hair. It had spent several minutes on the muddy pitch whilst the medical staff had treated you, and you were sure if you were still enough, birds would come along and take it for a nest.

“Ale, I really need to be clean.” You pleaded.

Something in your voice made Alexia falter, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip as she thought.

“Okay.” She said finally. “Okay. Quick body shower and then I’ll wash your hair in the sink, and that way your face won’t get wet.”

You blinked, but Alexia was already moving, tugging you gently towards that bathroom.

“Ale, you don’t have to do that.”

The midfielder just waved you off, guiding you to sit on the closed lid of the toilet as she got the shower ready. She kept the big overhead light off, only turning the small one over your vanity on.

“Alexia, really, it’s fine I can… I can just go to bed like this.” You attempted, embarrassed and ashamed that you had made her think she had to wash your hair for you. If there was anything that could overcome your desperate need to be clean, it was your desperate need to not inconvenience Alexia any more than you already were.

Alexia turned the showerhead on, bringing it to a temperature much less hot than you normally liked, but she didn’t want you to get any dizzier than you already seemed to be. She turned to you, then, already pulling her kit over her head and tugging at the ponytail in her own hair.

“Amor, I said I was going to take care of you. That is what I am doing. Whatever you want, whatever you need. I promise, I don’t mind.” She said softly, crouching down in front of where you sat and placing her hands on your knees.

“But–”

“No buts.” Alexia interrupted, leaning up to peck your lips. “Come on, baby.”

She rose to her feet, extending a hand in your direction, and you made yourself take it.

—

You felt awful. Worse than awful. It hadn’t really hit until after you’d showered and Alexia had shampooed and conditioned your hair in the sink. You’d told her she could just stop after the shampoo but she’d ignored that, insisting she liked the smell of the conditioner and how soft it made your hair.

You knew she really just didn’t want to disrupt your routine, but you appreciated that she didn’t say that.

But as she carefully combed through your hair, she noticed your face grow suddenly paler in the mirror. It wasn’t immediately clear, because half of it was swollen, a large bruise blooming across your cheek over the neat line of stitches, but when she noticed the way your body started to sway, the way your eyes began to glaze over, she knew you weren’t doing well.

Quickly, she put the brush down, steadying you with her hands on your arms.

“You okay?”

You hummed, letting your eyes shut as you leaned your head back on her shoulder. Your hair was still wet, and therefore cold, falling directly onto Alexia’s skin as she only had a cropped tank top on, but she resisted the urge to shiver.

“Talk to me. How are you feeling?” She insisted, wrapping her arms loosely around your waist, still studying your face in the mirror.

“Not… not great.” You replied finally. Your heart fluttered in your chest as she gently kissed your unwounded cheek. “I just need to lie down.”

Alexia took that sentence as a mission directive, kissing you once again before carefully beginning to guide your body out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. Your bed was practically calling your name, the soft blankets and squishy pillows all you’d been thinking about since leaving the hospital.

Your girlfriend helped you under the covers, propping up two pillows under your head so your face didn’t swell too much. Once you were all tucked in, she sat on the edge of the bed, tracing over the bruise on your face with her fingers, so lightly you couldn’t even feel it.

“What else can I get you? Food? Water? An ice pack? Anything, amor.”

You smiled weakly at her, your face erupting in pain at the motion. The laceration was high up on your cheek, so close to your eye that it was now almost swollen shut. It had its own heartbeat, pulsed so painfully you almost felt sick to your stomach. All you wanted in that moment, all you wanted, was for Alexia to climb into bed with you, and hold you until it didn’t hurt anymore.

But you couldn’t say that. Couldn’t ask for that. She’d done so much already. Left the match early, sat with you in the hospital, brought you home and helped you bathe. She’d done much more than enough.

The two of you weren’t the type of couple to spend every waking second together. You each still had your own apartments because you really valued your alone time, and post matches were normally nights you spent separately. You’d eat dinner together, discuss the match, before going your separate ways to decompress on your own. It worked for both of you. There had been exceptions, of course. After a loss in the league, when you could tell she didn’t want to be alone, you slept at her place. And after that awful own goal you’d had, though you’d still won the game, she’d ordered your favorite take out, put on your favorite film, and pulled you into her arms, mumbling something about being too tired to drive home.

Still, you were sure that Alexia wanted to go back to her own apartment, get in her own bed and not be kept up by your tossing and turning [you were sure you weren’t going to be sleeping well that night, either].

“No, no, I’m all good, Ale. Thank you for everything. You can go home now, I know you probably–”

“Go home?” Alexia interrupted. She looked borderline offended at the suggestion, her hand gripping yours as if someone was going to come and try to make her go home.

“Well, yeah. Like always after–”

“Mi amor, you have a concussion. You cannot be by yourself overnight. I have to wake you up every few hours, make sure everything is still okay.” Alexia explained, her face firm again as if daring you to push back.

And, well. You’d forgotten about that part. Maybe you were more affected by this concussion than you thought. Your brain felt unbelievably foggy, all of a sudden, like you couldn’t string all your thoughts together without a few of them getting lost.

“Oh. That’s right.” You replied. “Still, I could set alarms…”

Alexia frowned, something flickering in her eye that you couldn't quite decipher. “Do you really think I’d leave you when you were hurt?”

Alexia looked disgusted at the mere notion, and your lips twitched with amusement.

“Well. No.”

“No.” Alexia echoed. “I’m staying right here, with you. Okay?”

“Okay.” You replied, yet your bottom lip began to tremble and Alexia could see tears pooling in your eyes.

“Cariño, what is it?” Alexia asked, voice dripping with concern that made your stomach twist.

How did you even begin to explain why you were crying? Why this was so hard for you, why you were pushing her away when you needed her desperately to stay?

“I j-just feel bad.” You whispered, averting your eyes from her hazel ones gazing at you. Less than a second later, though, a hand was finding your chin, carefully guiding your face back up to look at her.

She had that look she got when there was a problem to be solved, the face she made when she stood over a free kick and tried to figure out exactly where to place it.

“Why do you feel bad?” She wondered.

You inhaled deeply, and Alexia brought your joined hands up, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. She waited so patiently, absentmindedly raking her fingers back through her hair to get it out of her face. You wondered if she knew how distracting she could be without even trying.

“I just… I’m not good at this. I feel terrible for making you take care of me. It’s stupid, but I feel like…”

“Do not even say it. You are not a burden to me.” Alexia interrupted, forehead wrinkling, eyebrows pulling together as she regarded you unhappily. Her hand tightened around yours. “You are not making me do anything. I am here because I care about you, and I want to take care of you.”

You sniffled, shutting your eyes and leaning your head back. It was too much to look at her and have this conversation. Your head ached too much for that.

“I know that, reasonably. But I can’t turn my brain off, I can’t make it stop overthinking and doubting and worrying and–” You broke off into a sob that you weren’t expecting.

“Oh, mi amor.” Alexia murmured. She nudged you until you opened your eyes, wincing at the light. She opened her arms for you, drawing you in close to her chest. She was so warm, her hands sliding up the back of your shirt, pressing you even tighter against her. Your good cheek rested against her chest, and you inhaled the scent of her, somehow so much better even though you’d used the same body wash. “I wish I could make your brain be quiet.”

She seemed to pause for a moment, still gently rubbing your back as she thought. She wasn’t sure quite what to say, how to make you feel better. After a few seconds she leaned back slightly, her eyes meeting your teary ones.

“Listen, amor. I love you. I would not be here if I did not want to be. There is no place in the whole world I would rather be right now than here with you, making sure you are okay. I know words can only do so much but please, baby. Try to believe me. I love you, I want to take care of you.”

“I love you.” You whimpered, leaning back into her chest. She caught you easily, snuggly tucking you into her yet again. “I’m sorry, I’m trying, and it’s not that I don’t trust you,”

“Shh, I know that mi amor. I am not offended.” Alexia reassured you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “It’s all alright, hmm? Everything is okay.”

You forced yourself to hear it, to internalize it and believe it. Everything was okay. Alexia was here, that was all that mattered. Not the pounding in your head, or the dizziness you felt when you moved even the smallest amount. Not the gash on your cheek, and not the fact that sometimes it felt like your brain was working against you. It was just you and her, and you let that knowledge wash over you like a calming wave.

Once your body stopped trembling and the tears stopped falling, Alexia made you lay back down. She pulled the covers up to your chin, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.

“Now. Tell me what you need before we get some rest.”

Hesitantly, you patted the bed next to you. The tension in the room fell away as Alexia beamed, bounding around to the other side so she could crawl in next to you.

Everything had felt so jumbled and messed up since you’d gone down on the pitch earlier that evening. But as Alexia wrapped herself around you, pulling you back into her, the world seemed to put itself back on its axis. Your girlfriend flicked the light off, the two of you laying there in content silence for a minute.

“I cannot believe you said I love you for the first time in the hospital.” Alexia whispered, breaking the quiet that had settled over the room. “Very cliche.”

You burst out laughing, a laugh that made your cheek sting and your head pound, but you found you didn’t really care.

“I can’t believe you got subbed off when I got hurt. Did you run off the pitch really dramatically?”

Alexia huffed, lightly pinching your side. “Cállate.”

She wasn’t about to admit that it had been probably very dramatic.

Alexia snuggled even closer into you, leaving a few kisses on the skin of your neck. “Goodnight, baby. I love you.”

Tomorrow, you’d think about how good it felt to hear her say that to you. For now, you just placed your hand over hers where it rested on you, and squeezed.

“I love you, too.”

Alexia let the words wash over her, enjoying the feeling of you laying so happily in her arms, even if she hated that you were hurt. She loved when you were snuggly like this, and knew to savor the moment.

Especially knowing that when she had to wake you up in a few hours, you would not be so pleased with her. She didn’t really care though. Not if it meant you were okay and safe and happy.

—

it feels like its been FOREVER since ive written and i'm slightly self conscious of this but im very happy to be getting something done and posted 🙂❤️‍🩹

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas x reader #woso one shot #woso fanfics

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pitchsidestories · 14 days ago

Text

See You in Lisbon II Alexia Putellas x Arsenal!Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 1606

summary: Reader is Arsenal through and through. Her girlfriend, Alexia, on the other hand, bleeds blaugrana. Both can't wait to see each other at the final in Lisbon.

author's note: Hi everyone, when we started writing this fanfic, we never imagined the game would unfold the way it did. We hope this story brings you some comfort, no matter which team you were supporting in the final. And we'd love to hear your thoughts after you have read it. 🫶🏻🫶🏻

disclaimer: everything in this fanfiction is purely fictional and nothing corresponds to reality.

“Any plans for the weekend?”, you asked casually, the phone pressed to your ear. While waiting for an answer from your girlfriend, you traced the rim of your coffee mug standing abandoned on the couch table in your London flat. You bit back a smile, thinking about the weekend when you’d finally get to see her again.

“Yes, winning the Champions League.”, Alexia answered without missing a beat.

You rolled your eyes, still wearing an affectionate smile. That was typical Ale, always thinking about football.

With a smirk, you said: “See you in Lisbon, love.”

“Sure.”, you heard her grin, determined to keep this rivalry up until the final whistle of the Champions League final.

You paused, raising an eyebrow. “Wow. No Sure, amor?”, you asked, feigning a pout.

“No, not before the final.”, Alexia teased.

“Alright.”

“Maybe afterwards.”, your girlfriend added, relenting just a little.

“Can’t wait.”

“Oh, trust me. You won’t have anything to celebrate afterwards.”, she half-joked.

And yes, maybe you felt the same way: excited to see her again which you didn’t do as often anymore since your transfer to Arsenal but also absolutely ready to give it your all and bring that trophy home.

The day of the final promised to be something very special. Sold out stadium, sunny weather and that impeccable atmosphere only a Champions League final could provide. You could feel it as soon as you set foot inside the stadium.

While you focused on getting ready for the game, across the tunnel in the Barcelona dressing room, they were still busy teasing your girlfriend.

“Nervous, Capi?”, Jana asked her as Alexia pulled on her shirt.

She shook her head: “Not at all.”

Esmee grinned at her: “But you’ll see your schatje again.”

“No.”, Alexia replied calmly, shutting the young player up quickly.

Ona giggled from the other side of the room: “Oh wow, that’s brutal.”

“I won’t even talk to her until after the game.”, Alexia added with a laugh.

Meanwhile, Arsenal’s dressing room was equally alive and you were the centre of attention.

“Codi and Vic, stop smirking at me like that.”, you said, trying to sound as serious as possible but eventually, a grin broke through.

Laia blinked at you with exaggerated innocence: “We’re not doing anything.”

Victoria exchanged a quick glance with her before turning to you with raised eyebrows: “Yeah, we’re not the one who’s dating the enemy.”

“The enemy, huh?”, you echoed with a smirk.

Laia nodded eagerly: “Si!”

“Only for a game. It’s not like I’m dating a Chelsea player.”, you said with a nonchalant shrug.

Luckily for you, the Arsenal captain intervened: “Leave her alone, you children.”

“Yes, we’ve no time for that now.”, Renée added, glancing expectantly at the clock, it was almost time.

Quickly, you reassured her: “Don’t worry, we’re ready and fully focused.”

Before your team left the dressing room and stepped into the players’ tunnel, you formed a huddle. Your coach addressed you all one last time before the match: “Then I’ve nothing else to say but to quote the legendary Johan Cruyff: Go out and enjoy.”

“Let’s go and win this.”, you continued, your voice brimming with excitement.

Leah, who was standing beside you, added: “For Kim and us.”

“Can you keep me out of this, please?”, the Arsenal captain said, clearing her throat, uncomfortable with the attention. The midfielder didn’t want the added pressure; she intended to give it her all on the pitch regardless.

“Sorry.”, the defender replied with an apologetic look.

Determined, Kim clapped her hands together, and the huddle slowly broke as each of you headed for the tunnel: “Let’s go.”

The game felt like it lasted an eternity and yet, also like the blink of an eye. But luck was on your side. Stina, who came on late in the match, scored the winning goal.

When the referee blew the final whistle, you leapt into Alessia’s arms. Tears formed in both your eyes as she whispered in disbelief: “We did it.”

Euphoria pulsed through your veins until Laia’s serious voice grounded you: “Y/n? I think someone needs cheering up.”

Your heart sank when you spotted your girlfriend sitting on the grass, looking sad and dejected.

“Ale?”, you called softly.

She looked up and rose to hug you, murmuring into your ear: “Congrats.”

“You all played brilliantly you almost had us at the end.”, you remarked sincerely.

A pained smile crossed Alexia’s lips. “But you were better.” Seeing the concern in your eyes, she quickly added: “I’m alright.”

You hesitated: “See you later, or would you rather be alone?”

“I think I want to be alone.”, she answered. The Barcelona captain wanted you to enjoy the special night ahead with your teammates.

You nodded reluctantly: “Okay.”

“Come on!”, Victoria shouted.

“Go celebrate, amor. Tonight, I’m mad at you but tomorrow I’ll be proud we lost to you,” Alexia declared, giving you a gentle push towards your celebrating teammates.

Your heart was full of love for her, and for your team. You turned to look back at her and responded: “I can live with the hate for tonight, if tomorrow’s only love.”

“Disgusting.”, Beth grimaced playfully. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at her.

Unlike you, Alexia pretended not to hear the winger’s teasing remark. In her quiet confidence your girlfriend promised: “I’ll see you tomorrow. “

“Bye.”, you said softly, watching her turn her back on you. Before she disappeared into the group of Barça players, you felt someone tug on your arm.

You turned to see your coach pulling you into the direction of the stands.

“Renée, I can’t run anymore.”, you complaint through laughter. But of course, there was no way you'd miss out on celebrating with the fans.

“That poor girl gave her everything!”, Leah called over, thankfully jumping to your defence.

Renée still didn’t let go: “Yeah but I could see her getting sadder by the second.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, being read so easily by your coach was slightly embarrassing.

“It’s called empathy and this was about my girlfriend!”, you protested.

“Your girlfriend has three of those already, she will survive.”, Renée teased with a grin.

You paused to think about it, then nodded: “Good point, actually.”

“It’s time to celebrate yourself.”, Renée reminded you.

But you never even made it to the stands because Laia wrapped her arms around your waist and lifted you off the ground like it was nothing, She was beaming, absolutely exhilarated by the achievement.

You squirmed in her arms and laughed: “Laia, put me down!”

“No.”, she replied simply.

“Please, it’s time for the medals!”, you called out, pointing over toward the stage.

“Okay, but only because of that.”, Laia finally gave in and set you back down.

“Thank you.”

During the guard of honour, your eyes continued to drift, trying to find Alexias. She still looked crushed, only offering you a weak smile once the medal was around your neck. But you decided to give her the time she needed, tonight was for celebrating with your team.

The celebrations went on until the early morning hours. You only made it to bed when the sun had already started to rise so when it was time to get up, you felt groggy and disoriented.

Still half-asleep, you opened the door of your hotel room as you were already running late for breakfast. You nearly knocked over a bouquet of flowers waiting at your feet. You rubbed your eyes and picked it up without much thought.

“Who got you the flowers?”, Lia asked cheerfully, appearing down the corridor with Mariona on her side.

You blinked down at the bouquet like you were seeing it for the first time.

A quick check of the off-white card attached to the bouquet revealed the sender.

Grinning, you replied: “It’s from her. But you know what the note says?”

“What?”, Lia asked, intrigued.

“Enjoy the moment but next time, we’ll win again.“, you read the note out loud.

The Swiss woman remarked, amused: “That definitely sounds like her.”

“Seems like she’s already ready to go again.”, you realised, relieved.

Leah, who you hadn’t seen coming, gave you a light hug from behind and commented confidently: “Don’t worry. We won’t make it easy for her.”

With a finger pressed to your lips, you signalled for them to be quiet as you received a phone call from your girlfriend.

Mariona laughed quietly: “Ooh, she’s calling.”

You took a few steps away from the banter of your beloved teammates, heading to a quiet corner where you could look out at the sea.

“Morning, amor. Did you receive my surprise?”, Alexia asked gently.

Filled with deep gratitude, you answered: “I did. Gràcies.”

“You’re welcome. And I mean it—next time, we’ll win.”, your girlfriend emphasised.

Smiling, you shook your head. It was good to see her in that spirit again: “Lee already said we won’t make it easy for you.” You paused for a moment, then added lovingly: “Ik hou van jou.”

“I believe you. But we’ll be better then.”, she replied.

There was hopefulness in your voice as you asked: “See you soon?”

“Yes, promise.”

You had a few days off before joining the Dutch national team for the Nations League matches, but you already knew where you’d be heading first. You might play for different clubs, but beneath it all was a love that only grew deeper with time.

Lisbon had been wonderful, but you couldn’t wait to see her again in Barcelona where it all began between the two of you.

Home was no longer a place. It was in your girlfriend’s arms.

image sources: https://www.instagram.com/wchampionsleague/p/DKCwVPmIBVD/, pinterest

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holyblonded · 6 days ago

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ears off, sleep time | barcelona femeni

pairings: barcelona femeni x teen!reader

summary: you have a worrying habit of taking your ears off at the worst times

notes: in honor of 1k followers, enjoy a new fic/possible new series? reader in this has cochlear implants!!! anything signed is in italics

You’d always considered being deaf a kind of secret superpower—at least, that’s how you framed it in your head since you were little. It gave you the ability to turn the world off whenever you wanted. When you were a kid, people thought it was cute, even clever. You’d pop your cochlear implants out and hum to yourself in the perfect silence, floating in your own little world while the chaos of playgrounds or classrooms carried on around you.

But as you got older, your “power” started to feel more like a headache to everyone else. At La Masia, your coaches caught on quickly. It was hard not to when you’d zone out mid-training drill and someone would yell your name five times before realizing your ears were in your pocket.

Once during a tactical session, your coach was going over corner kick assignments on the whiteboard. You were standing off to the side, arms crossed, head tilted, just quietly nodding. Too quietly. Too calmly. When the coach said, “You got that?” and you just kept nodding, Vicky elbowed you in the ribs. You turned, blinked, and slowly reached into your jacket for your implants.

“Oh my God, not again,” your coach groaned, rubbing his temples. “Put your ears back on, princesa.”

“Wasn’t even talking to me,” you signed back with a shrug.

“You don’t know that!”

It became a running joke—and a mild headache—for anyone trying to give you instructions. Fast-forward to now, 17 years old, playing for Barcelona Femení. Your childhood dream. Your team. And you’re still pulling the same stunts, except now you’ve got a whole village of women watching you, invested in keeping you grounded. Or, more accurately, plugged in.

It was a quiet afternoon training session, the kind that’s soft around the edges. Cool breeze. Golden light. A break in drills. You’re sitting on the grass, cleats digging into the earth, watching the other girls chat and hydrate. You’ve slipped your implants out again. Not for any big reason, just for peace. The world’s too loud sometimes.

Alexia notices. Of course she does. She walks over, towel slung around her neck, brow already raised.

“Estás bien?” she asks aloud.

You nod, wide-eyed, innocent. She squints, suspicious. Then her gaze drops. Your ears.

Are in your hand.

“Oh, qué casualidad,” she mutters. Then she crouches in front of you and starts signing, hands sharp and fast and all mother-hen fury. “You are not a tourist here. This is not a museum. Put your ears on or you’re running laps. You think I won’t make you? I will.”

You stare back at her. You try to hold it, you really do. But you crack. You sigh dramatically, then start fumbling for your cochlears like a kid caught with gum in class.

Alexia watches you with narrowed eyes. “Gracias.”

You roll your eyes but sign back, “Yes, Mama Lexi.”

Another time, it’s mid-practice. The whole team is in a huddle, sweaty and serious. Irene is giving one of her infamous speeches—the motivational, rousing kind that turns into full-on TED Talks if you let her go long enough. You’re standing near the back of the group, hands on your hips, head tilted up toward the clouds, completely at peace. Too at peace.

Suddenly, Irene pauses mid-sentence. Blinks. Scans the group. Her eyes land on you.

“Nena,” she says sharply. “Are your ears on?”

Silence. You don’t even flinch.

Irene sighs, passes her clipboard off to Salma, and walks up to you. The team is already giggling.

She taps your shoulder gently. You turn around, eyebrows lifted like “Oh, is it my turn now?”

Then come the signs. “We are not reenacting ‘The Sound of Silence’ out here. Put them on. Now.”

You sign back slowly, “I was listening… spiritually.”

“A la mierda. Put them on.”

You pop them in with exaggerated slowness while the whole team cracks up around you. Aitana is nearly doubled over, and Patri mutters, “Better?” as you click the last one into place.

“Louder than I’d like,” you mutter.

The last straw comes on the bus ride home from training. You’re sitting next to Vicky, headphones in your lap, just trying to zone out after a long session. But Vicky is talking. And not just small talk, no, narrating her entire existence.

“I think I’m gonna dye my hair again. You think red would look good? No, because like, remember that girl from TikTok I showed you last week? She had that auburn kind of vibe. Not ginger, but like—are you even listening? Anyway, so I told my cousin I’d come visit her in Girona this weekend, but then—wait, did you see the way that one defender stepped to me? Like she was gonna actually press me? I mean—”

You turn your head. Make full eye contact. And very deliberately, you reach up and take your cochlear implants off.

Vicky freezes mid-sentence. “…Did you just—?”

You smile. Nod. Then relish in the silence.

She gasps. Throws her hands in the air. “YOU’RE SUCH A—UGH.”

Then she starts signing furiously, hands moving a mile a minute. “RUDE. YOU ARE RUDE. I WAS SHARING MY THOUGHTS. WITH YOU. MY BEST FRIEND. AND YOU SAID ‘NO THANK YOU, MA’AM.’”

You close your eyes. Peace at last.

“OH,” she signs, gritting her teeth. “COWARD.”

The rest of the bus is losing it. Jana’s wheezing. Marta is crying from laughter. Salma yells from the back, “You deserved that, Vicky!”

Even the driver glances in the mirror and grins.

You’re sitting there, arms folded, eyes closed like a saint in a church pew, while Vicky rants in silent signing, betrayed and dramatic as always.

Eventually, she gives up and leans her head on your shoulder. You wait five seconds. Then crack one eye open, smirk, and sign, “Still love you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Barely.”

Point is, it’s an uphill battle with you and your ears. Especially with your naps.

The birds were chirping. The morning sun cast a golden glow across the practice field, warming the dew-kissed grass. Alexia stood at the edge of the pitch, arms crossed, face tilted toward the sky. For a blissful moment, she let herself inhale the peace. The quiet. The stillness. It lasted all of two seconds.

“ALE! Ale!”

Alexia’s eyes snapped open. She turned just in time to see Vicky sprinting across the field like she was being chased by a swarm of bees, ponytail flying behind her, cleats clacking. Salma was close behind, looking equally panicked but noticeably more composed.

Vicky skidded to a stop in front of Alexia, panting dramatically. “She’s gone!”

Alexia blinked. “Who’s gone?”

“My soul! My other half! My best friend!” Vicky dramatically shrieked, flinging her arms out. “She’s not here!”

Alexia stared at her, unimpressed. “We literally just got here.”

“I know!” Vicky yelled. “But she always gets here early. Like stupid early. She said she wanted to get some shots in before warmups! I got here and went to find her, and she’s nowhere! I even tried tracking her phone, and it’s in her locker!”

Salma nodded gravely. “And her water bottle’s still full. That girl never leaves her water bottle.”

Alexia exhaled, slowly closing her eyes. There went the last shred of tranquility.

“Let’s go find my troublemaker,” she muttered.

It was an operation. Everyone on the team, plus half the staff, the medical trainers, and even two guys from the men’s team who’d come early for treatment were now involved in “The Great Hunt.”

Patri was checking the cafeteria. Pina was combing the physio rooms. Pere was checking the security cameras. Ona yelled into every bathroom stall like a one-woman SWAT team.

“What if she got kidnapped?” Frido asked, standing in the hallway like she was about to file a police report.

“She’s five foot eight and feral,” Ingrid replied, tying her hair back. “First, we would see her lanky self getting kidnapped. Second, whoever tried would return her.”

At this point, Alexia was stressed beyond words. She retraced every step she could think of, calling your name (uselessly, of course), anxiety building. You weren’t in the weight room. You weren’t on the fields. You weren’t tucked in the usual corner of the equipment room where you sometimes napped behind the medicine balls.

Then, passing the locker room again, something made her stop. She turned, eyes narrowing. Your cubby. Your cleats were there. Your bag. And… your cochlear implants.

Alexia stared at them. “Shit.”

The whole situation suddenly clicked together. No implants. No hearing. You hadn’t gone rogue—you just had no idea the entire complex was calling your name like a search party.

Everyone regrouped in the hallway, confused and slightly out of breath. Vicky was halfway through a bag of gummy worms for morale.

“She’s not on the roof, by the way,” she announced.

“Why would she be on the roof?” Salma asked.

“She’s her. I had to check.”

Alexia, pacing with the implants in her hand, suddenly froze.

Her eyes went wide.

“…Wait. My car.”

Everyone watched her bolt down the hallway. She didn’t even say anything, just ran. They all exchanged a look and followed like a parade of curious ducks.

Alexia jogged out to the parking lot and beelined for her car. She didn’t even need to open the door to know you’d definitely been there. The engine was running.

She yanked the door open and there you were. Snuggled up in the backseat. Blanket, pillow, hoodie pulled over your head like a cocoon. Fast asleep. The air smelled faintly like the coconut lip balm you always carried and the vanilla air freshener she kept in the front.

Alexia exhaled, part relief, part exasperation. You’d stolen her keys, turned on her car, and made yourself a personal nap nest like it was your God-given right.

She climbed into the backseat quietly, gently kneeling beside you.

Her hand reached out, slowly brushing over your curls.

You stirred. She leaned closer. “Hey, princesa…”

You blinked your eyes open slowly, squinting in the soft light. The moment you saw her, you gave the tiniest smile and burrowed closer, head tucking into her lap like it was your designated spot.

Alexia didn’t say anything. Just kept stroking your hair, letting the silence settle.

After a few minutes, you stretched, a sleepy little groan escaping as you rubbed your face. Then you looked up at her and signed, “What time is it?”

“Ten fifteen,” she said clearly, letting you read her lips.

Your eyes widened slightly. You stretched again, reaching your arms over your head before slumping back into Alexia’s lap.

That’s when you noticed them.

She held your cochlear implants in one hand, her expression slowly shifting into the classic mom look—stern, tired, and faintly amused all at once.

You blinked. Then sheepishly reached up and took them back, fitting them on like a kid who got caught sneaking candy.

Alexia raised her eyebrow. “Do I even need to start?”

You sighed. “Sometimes,” you signed, fingers moving slowly, “I feel like sounds are too much. Hearing is… so overrated.”

Alexia blinked. Then let out a soft laugh.

“That’s a really funny word, my nena,” she said, pulling you back into her arms.

You didn’t need anything else. The world could be loud. It could be chaotic. But in that car, wrapped up in Alexia’s hoodie and arms, everything felt exactly right.

Even if she was about to give you a long talk once she stopped being so relieved.

#woso x platonic!reader #woso fic #woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #woso x teen!reader #barca femeni x teen!reader #barca femeni x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona x reader #barcelona femeni #barcelona femeni x teen!reader #fc barcelona #alexia putellas x teen!reader #alexia putellas x reader

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wosospacegirl · 1 month ago

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Capi Mami - Alexia Putellas x barcelona femini

Summary: Alexia swears she’s not the team mom… and yet she’s the one confiscating phones, doling out granola bars, and keeping this locker room from imploding.

Word count: 1.5k

This is part of my 1k commemoration blurb! <3

a/n: a single mama who works two jobs

Masterlist

The locker room was a mess. Water bottles were scattered across the floor, shoes were everywhere, and a few jerseys had been tossed carelessly on the benches.

The younger girls were in full gossip mode, laughing and talking over each other, completely oblivious to the chaos they had created.

Vicky was sitting on one of the benches, animatedly chatting about some TikTok challenge, while Salma and Jana were having a loud conversation about the training session they had just finished.

Pina’s laughter echoed through the room as Esmee said something dry and hilarious.

Y/n and Sydney were livestreaming on Instagram–very much against team rules–talking about their training routine and casually throwing shade at the referee from their last match.

Marta walked in first. Her eyes widened as she surveyed the scene. She shook her head with a sigh and muttered, “What is this, girls?”

She took one step and nearly tripped over a bag lying in the middle of the floor.

“Okay,” Marta said angrily, lifting the bag into the air. “Whose bag is this—and why do I have a bunch of stickers glued on my locker?”

“Do you like it?” Vicky asked brightly, the only one acknowledging Marta’s presence.

“I hate it,” Marta replied flatly. “Take it off.”

Vicky rolled her eyes and continued chatting. The others kept pretending Marta didn’t exist.

“You might want to clean this up before Alexia gets here,” Marta warned, but the girls barely looked up.

Marta rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath before walking out.

She walked down the hall to find Alexia stretching on a bench, prepping for another round of training. Marta couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Tus nenas están causando problemas,” [Your girls are causing problems], she said with a teasing smile.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “Qué?” [what?]

"They’re making a mess in the locker room again. And I’m pretty sure I saw Y/n going live on Instagram ranting about the ref being bought."

Alexia sighed, her expression shifting from confused to fondly exasperated. "You know what they’re like," she muttered, standing up. "I’ll handle them, and then I’m confiscating Y/n’s phone."

The moment Alexia stepped into the locker room, her gaze swept across the chaos. Water bottles, jerseys, shin guards, and random clothes covered the floor. Not a single head turned.

Alexia didn’t speak at first.

She simply stood there in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. After a long pause, her voice finally cut through the room.

"Nenas, qué es esto?" [Girls, what is this?]

Y/n jumped to her feet, face paling at the tone. The room fell silent in an instant.

Vicky, Salma, and Pina all sat up straighter. Y/n very discreetly hid her phone behind her back while nudging Sydney to sit properly and kick a rogue boot under the bench.

“Hi, Ale!” Vicky greeted sweetly, putting on her most innocent baby voice.

“Mi reina!” Pina chimed in, springing up and reaching for a hug.

Alexia sidestepped her without missing a beat. “What is all of this?” she asked, gesturing at the chaos with one unimpressed sweep of her hand.

“Nothing! We were just… talking,” Jana said quickly, voice shrinking. “It, uh… got a little out of hand?”

Alexia’s eyes scanned the room like a laser. Her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

“Is this how we treat a shared space?” she asked. Her voice didn’t rise, but the warning in it was sharp.

“No,” they chorused, voices barely above a whisper.

“Is the locker room where we throw our stuff around like toddlers?”

“No.”

“Should I start labelling your bottles and jerseys like you’re in daycare? Or can we act like professionals?”

“We can act like professionals,” they muttered in unison, chastened.

Alexia took one slow step forward. The shift in the room was immediate–every breath held, every eye on her.

“I don’t like doing this,” she said quietly, the calm in her voice somehow worse than yelling. “But this? This is not okay. I expect better from all of you.”

Y/n shifted awkwardly, guilt written all over her face. “Are you mad at us?”

“I’m not mad,” Alexia said, her pause deliberate. “I’m disappointed.”

The words hit harder than anything else could have. The silence that followed was thick.

“We’re sorry, Capi,” Y/n said, her head ducked. “We didn’t mean to mess up. We just got carried away.”

Alexia’s gaze softened, but only slightly. “You should’ve known better. I trust you girls. Don’t make me regret that.”

“We’re really sorry, Alexia,” Salma added quickly, voice sincere.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Alexia replied, crossing her arms. “I better not hear another complaint. Understood?”

“Yes,” they all said, truly meaning it this time.

“Clean it up,” Alexia ordered, turning to walk out. “And next time? Think before you act.”

As soon as the door shut behind Alexia, Sydney let out a dramatic exhale. “I really thought she was gonna make us run laps again.”

“My feet still hurt from last time,” Y/n groaned, flopping back onto the bench.

“Obviously,” Pina snorted. “It was yesterday, genius.”

“We are never doing this again,” Vicky said, voice solemn like she was making a blood pact.

“Nope,” Jana chimed in, hand raised like she was swearing an oath. “From now on, we will clean up before she walks in.”

“We should actually stop throwing stuff the second we get here,” Salma added thoughtfully.

Y/n suddenly sat up, panic dawning on her face. “Wait. Do you think she saw me go live?”

“Yes,” everyone said in eerie unison.

Y/n groaned and buried her face in her hands. “I’m so screwed.”

“You two are a disaster,” Jana muttered, nudging Sydney.

“We are not,” Sydney defended. “The world just needed to know how rigged that ref was.”

“You need to stop,” Esmee said, already starting to clean up the bottles.

Sydney shot her a look. “You’re just mad you didn’t join the live.”

“No,” Esmee said dryly. “I just don’t enjoy being yelled at. Call me crazy.”

Their chatter continued as they cleaned, a little more subdued now. Just outside, Alexia leaned against the wall, listening.

A soft smile tugged at her lips.

Y/n leaned back on the bench, phone in hand, muttering just loud enough for the others to hear, “One day, I swear, I’m gonna figure out how to get away with this. Maybe I’ll just block the older girls on Instagram and on Twitter–problem solved.”

A few of the girls snorted in laughter.

But then…

A voice, calm and deadly precise, cut through the moment.

“You think I’m gonna let that happen?”

Silence.

Alexia had stepped into the room like a shadow. Everyone froze. Y/n especially.

"Phone. Now." Her palm was out, her stance unyielding.

Y/n clutched her phone like a lifeline. “Ale… come on. Please.”

Alexia didn’t budge. “Now. You’ll get it back after training–if you survive it.”

A dramatic sigh escaped Y/n, but she reluctantly handed it over, placing it in Alexia’s open palm like a guilty child surrendering contraband.

Alexia smirked, tucking it safely into her jacket pocket. “You really think I don’t hear everything? I’m always watching.”

As she turned and walked off, Vicky whispered, “She’s got ears like a hawk.”

“No,” Jana said with a grin, “she’s got mom-radar.”

From across the room, Alexia called out, “I heard that, too.”

As soon as she left, Vicky whispered, "Okay… maybe we should behave."

"Maybe," Jana said. "But I doubt it’ll last."

After cleaning everything, the door opened again. Alexia stepped back in and surveyed the room.

"Well done," she said. "Now get ready. Training’s going to be tough."

As they moved, Alexia pulled a small bag from her backpack and began tossing sandwiches and granola bars at them.

“Eat,” she ordered, hands on her hips. “No one’s stepping onto that pitch with an empty stomach.”

“But we already had lunch,” Y/n mumbled, catching hers mid-air.

Alexia raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“You’re serious?” Vicky asked, halfway through peeling the wrapper.

“Sí,” Alexia replied, voice firm but laced with affection. “You need it. You’ve all been dragging your feet since drills this morning.”

Y/n took a bite and sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I was kind of sluggish.”

“You always try to avoid eating before training,” Jana chimed in, smirking. “No more excuses.”

“I’m eating, aren’t I?” Y/n grumbled around a mouthful.

Alexia gave her a knowing smile. “Good. You need the energy to keep up with the rest of them.”

“Okay, mamí,” Y/n teased, raising an eyebrow.

Alexia paused mid-step. “What did you just say?”

“Mamí,” Y/n repeated, grinning now. “You act like a mom. You scold us, you take our phones, you pack our snacks. You’re literally parenting us.”

“I am not,” Alexia scoffed.

“You are,” Vicky said through a mouthful of granola. “This is full-on mom behaviour.”

“Keep calling me that and I’ll ground you,” Alexia warned, but her lips twitched, threatening a smile.

“See?!” Y/n pointed dramatically. “Mom threat.”

Alexia rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Instead, she watched them finish the bars and sandwiches, making sure every last bite was gone.

Once the wrappers were tossed and silence settled back in, she straightened, captain mode back on.

“Alright. Let’s go. Hydrate, boots on, and meet me in five. We’ve got work to do.”

She turned, but not before one last glance over her shoulder at the girls–her girls.

Their chaos, their charm, their energy. They might not be hers, not really, but her love for them was unmistakable.

Strict? Always.

Soft? Only when they weren’t looking.

a/n: Just really wanted to write something platonic haha

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #barcelona femini fanfic #barcelona femini #alexia putellas x reader #alexia x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas

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woso-dreamzzz · 21 days ago

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Icy IV

Barcelona Femení x Teen!Reader

Summary: Your first Barcelona goal

Last year at camp, Ada had sat next to you at breakfast.

Usually, you sat with Ingrid but she still wasn't up yet and your other steadfast guardian, Caro, was still getting her food served up.

"You're good on that left foot," Ada had said to you," But you need to trust yourself more. You need to remember that you can score as well as assisting. You don't need to keep passing."

"I...I'll keep that in mind."

Ada had let it go but Caro didn't.

"When I hit a ball," She'd told you," I know if it's going in or not. You need to get to that stage too."

You hadn't ever really thought you would, not really.

But now, as you cut into the box, refuse to pass to Kika in the box and send it flying away with your left foot, you know.

This is going in.

Your next thought is:

Oh, shit. You've got to be kidding me.

You freeze in your tracks as Misa's outstretched hand can't keep your shot from the back of the net.

You'd gone your whole first season without a goal for Barcelona. You'd racked up assists, of course, like you do every team you've ever been on. But unlike those other teams, goals had eluded you.

Alexia had even been making it her personal mission to get you on the score sheet this season. It's all she ever talked about when you were paired up for drills together.

She's the one that reaches you first now, grabbing at your arms and shaking you triumphantly. She's celebrating like she's just scored in the Champion's League Final again.

The rest of the team end up joining and you're in the air before you can even think about it. You wobble slightly and brace yourself on Alexia's shoulders as she somehow jumps with you still in the air.

"Let's get you another one," She says as she finally lowers you back down to the ground.

"There's only ten more minutes of the match yet."

"And?"

She walks back to the halfway line after that, leaving you with no answers.

Play returns to normal after that and one of Ona's shots hits the post. People scramble to track where it's gone, if it's gone out or if it's still in the box somewhere.

It's neither.

It's at your feet at the edge of the box.

And then it's in the back of Misa's net before anyone even realises.

Your name and face appear on the screen to signify your second goal of the night, only three minutes after your first.

You take a deep breath.

This time Esmee is the one that gets to you first. You like Esmee. She's a good friend. She's like you, kind of. She's a bit awkward at first, quiet in social situations but that doesn't matter.

Ingrid calls you and Esmee two peas in a pod.

"Two?" She says in your ear with a laugh as you hug," Alexia will never let you live it down."

You laugh too. "I better not score that third one then, should I?"

But the universe is clearly against you.

A through ball from Irene deep in your own half falls beautifully to your feet and one quick look up lets you see Misa hurriedly trying to back up from where she's come out of her goal.

She doesn't get there in time though because you're at the halfway line and let the ball fly.

Caro was right.

You know the moment it leaves your foot that Misa has no hope of stopping it.

You're over by the bench before you can blink and Ingrid's arms are around you before you even realise it.

"Look at you," She says," Such an overachiever. Maren told me this would happen, you know. You just needed to settle in."

"For a year?"

"A year and a ten minute hattrick," Ingrid says," I'd say that it was the perfect amount of time."

"Alexia's going to be talking about this for ages," Caro says as she joins at your back," She'll want you to score practically every match."

"She'll be disappointed."

"We'll see."

#woso x reader #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni #barca femeni x reader #barca femeni #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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a-pute11as · 7 days ago

Text

serendipity - kika nazareth

word count - 6.9k | summary - a ray of sunshine stumbles into your quiet cafe one morning, with heart shaped latte art and the added bonus of gaining a new english teacher, she decides to make it her everyday stop, even when your ex decides to pull a stunt. part 2 coming soon!

warnings - mentions of toxic relationships - please take care of yourself <3

the small bell attached to the door dinged as it was pushed open, alerting you to a new customer entering the cafe.

“buenos días” you greeted, not yet turning around, still busy cleaning the coffee machine behind the counter, “qué le gustaría?” (good morning, what would you like?)

when you turned around you were greeted with someone who looked like she’d stepped out of a different world and landed, somehow perfectly, in the middle of your quiet café. she was tall, lean but strong, wearing a matching hoodie and joggers like she’d just come from some kind of gym session. her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her scrunchie wrapped round her hair, a few strands curling around her face. her eyes met yours with the kind of focus that made it feel like the rest of the room had gone quiet.

there was a little half-smile playing at the corner of her mouth, like she’d caught you off guard and knew it. not cocky, just effortlessly aware. you didn’t recognize her, but something about her made you feel like you were meant to know who she was. maybe it was the barcelona logo that sat prominently on her clothes, yet you still couldn’t place her name.

“uhhh hablas catalán?” she asked, her fingers tapping on the counter as she looked up at the menu boards that hung above your head. (do you speak catalan?)

“no, lo siento, solo inglés o español.” you smiled lightly. (no, sorry, only english or spanish.)

“that’s perfect!” she beamed, “can i practice my english on you?”

you raised your eyebrows in slight shock. since moving to barcelona you had had a lot of english customers, mostly ones that butchered every kind of pronunciation when ordering, yet someone who seemed to be a spanish natural wanting to speak english? that was new. “i think that’s the first time anyone has ever asked me that.”

a grin tugged at her lips as she laughed slightly at your response, “well i need to get better so my friends stop bullying how i say words.”

“your pronunciation?” you questioned, tilting your head slightly.

“yes that! pronunciation” she copied, “but i’m not good at saying that word.”

you let out a soft laugh, charmed with her effort and determination, “you actually said it pretty well.”

she smiled at you over the counter, a genuine smile, “thank you, i’ve been watching a lot of tiktoks.”

“that's the best way to learn,” you agreed, “so english practice, what’s your order?”.

she took a moment, scanning the board again like it was a test she wanted to pass. “i will have… an oat milk flat white, please.”

you blinked, “that was pretty perfect, have you been practicing on someone else?”

she grinned, visibly proud of herself. “i had to repeat it a lot in my head before i said it, but they make fun of how i say ‘flat.’ i say it like - ‘flaaat.’” she exaggerated the vowel, pulling a face as she did so.

you laughed slightly, her accent clear in her words, even when she tried to hide it, “well i think it was good.”

“thank you, my new english teacher.” she smiled, small dimples showing in her cheeks as she grinned.

you turned around and started working on her order. you didn’t rush it, she was the only customer in the shop, other than your usual regular who sat reading his newspaper out the front. so you wanted to get it exactly right. the right measurement, temperature of milk and the prettiest heart in the middle of the latte.

as you perfected her coffee you heard her fingers tapping away at the counter, not impatiently, but curiously, as if she was wanting to say something but was working up the courage.

“sooo, how long have you lived here?” she hummed, the finger tapping stopping briefly as she spoke.

“not long, only 3 months.” you responded.

“did you move here for erasmus?” she asked, curiosity clearly getting the better of her.

you laughed lightly, shaking your head, “no no, life just bought me out here.”

now wasn’t the time to tell kika your whole backstory about moving to barcelona. she didn’t know that you moved here to be with your girlfriend of 3 years just to find out she had been cheating on you for the last year and a half, and she certainly didn’t need to know about the way you walked in on her cheating on you on your birthday after only a month of living in barcelona. or even the way your now ex-girlfriend wouldn’t stop texting you, gaslighting you into thinking you were in the wrong, or the way she somehow saw every interaction you had with a pretty girl and accused you of doing the exact thing she had you crying over for weeks.

things you would never do.

but, obviously, she didn’t need to know all that.

you picked up a brown paper napkin, along with a nearby sharpie and as you placed her coffee gently on the counter, you scribbled something quickly before sliding it toward her with the drink.

in perfectly scripted handwriting, it read: “oat milk flat white – 10/10 english. very proud teacher.”

when you looked up, her eyes were already on the note. she let out a laugh, quiet and surprised, before biting her bottom lip in a way that made your stomach flip.

“i need a picture of this.” she mumbled, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she positioned her coffee slightly diagonal to the note, before holding her phone above it. snapping the perfect picture before putting it back in her pocket.

she picked up the napkin carefully, like it was something delicate.

“i’m gonna keep this,” she said, slipping it into the front pocket of her hoodie. “proof that i’m improving.”

“next time, there’s a sticker chart,” you teased, leaning your arms on the counter as you rested your chin on your hand.

“ohhh, dangerous,” she said with a mock-serious nod, “i love rewards.”

“you seem like someone who’s very competitive,” you said, watching the way her eyes crinkled with amusement.

“you have no idea,” she replied, grinning. “but i think i could be convinced to behave if the teacher is nice.”

you laughed, shaking your head, and tried not to let the flush in your cheeks betray you.

the quiet rhythm of the café wrapped around you both again. outside, the sun filtered through the windows, painting soft golden lines across her face. it was almost cinematic, the kind of moment you didn’t realize you’d remember until much later.

kika didn’t leave right away. she pulled out a chair at the table closest to the counter, and sat with her coffee in both hands.

you turned to rinse out a few mugs behind the bar, but her voice called your attention back after a few minutes.

“so, teacher,” she said, resting her chin in one hand while she swirled her coffee with the other, “is there an english word for when you meet someone and they make the whole day better?”

you glanced over at her, your heart beat suddenly picking up in pace, her question didn’t feel as casual as the way she asked it. it felt as if it was more than a question, more like a statement.

“serendipity,” you said quietly.

she repeated the word under her breath, eyes locked on yours, “ser-en-dipity,” she murmured. “that’s pretty. i like that.”

you gave her a small smile. “me too.”

she stayed a while longer, asking little questions here and there between glances at her phone, how to pronounce ‘squirrel’,” why ‘laugh’ was spelled so weird, and whether ‘rain check’ actually had anything to do with weather.

by the time she stood to leave, she had her coffee finished, your napkin still tucked into her pocket and whilst you didn’t know her name, and she didn’t know yours, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time seeing her.

“have a good day, teacher” she smiled, already backing toward the door, still facing you as she did

you just nodded, amused and curious and undeniably intrigued, “you too a-plus.”

the bell over the door jingled again as she slipped out into the street, and you stood behind the counter, staring at the spot where she’d just been.

serendipity.

the bell above the door gave its familiar chime, softer, but still altering. you looked up from the espresso machine just in time to see her step inside, hoodie up, shoulders hunched slightly against the early chill.

she caught your eye immediately and smiled, tired yet still warm. “morning, favourite teacher.”

“sucking up isn’t going to get you a better grade,” you teased, already reaching for a cup. “oat milk flat white?”

“please,” she said with a grateful sigh, leaning against the counter as she watched your every move.

“didn’t peg you as a morning person.” you spoke, pouring the espresso into the cup with precision.

“i’m not,” she murmured, rubbing a hand across her face, “had to be somewhere early, figured i’d get a head start.”

you handed over the coffee, and she took it like it was the best thing to happen to her all morning, “god, this is good,” she mumbled, cradling the cup like she was trying to soak up its energy.

she lingered by the counter, the steam from her cup curling around her face as she tilted her head, eyes still heavy with sleep but alert enough to hold your gaze.

“do you always make them this perfect?” she asked, sipping again, “or am i just the chosen one?”

you smiled, leaning on your forearms across from her, “maybe a bit of both.”

she chuckled under her breath, then glanced at the clock behind you, “we’ve only got a short lesson today, but i wanted you to remind me of that word from yesterday.”

you tilted your head, “which word?”

she thought for a moment before speaking, “the one about making my whole day better.”

you picked up a napkin, scribbling the word on it.

serendipity.

you slid it toward her, “there, now you have study material.”

she read it slowly, then tucked it carefully into her jacket pocket, “you really are my favourite teacher.”

and before you could even respond, she was gone again, disappearing out into the quiet street with her coffee and your napkin, leaving only the soft jingle of the door behind her.

you were just finishing up the midday prep when your phone buzzed sharply in your apron pocket. the familiar weight of it shifted against your side, and you almost ignored it. your coworker had just come in to take over the afternoon shift, and you were minutes away from freedom.

but something about the timing felt... off.

you wiped your hands on a towel and slid your phone out.

bea.

you hesitated, thumb hovering, heart ticking up a notch. then tapped.

[1:56pm] bea - i saw you smiling at her today, again. you know the one with the tracksuit and the ponytail with the scrunchie. cute.

your breath caught mid-read.

[1:57pm] bea - you were definitely already talking to her before we broke up. i’m not as stupid as you think i am.funny how you used to look at me like that, too.

a chill threaded through you, even in the warmth of the café kitchen.

scanning the handful of tables still occupied, no one familiar, no one watching. yet you turned your body slightly, like instinctively shielding yourself.

[1:58pm] bea - especially after all those lies about me cheating on you, yet you were doing it the entire time.

you typed out a reply. deleted it. tried again. deleted that too.

you leaned against the edge of the counter, swallowing hard, your other hand instinctively gripping the rag you’d just used, knuckles turning white. the words stung, not because they were true, but because they echoed every twisted manipulation you’d grown used to for the last 3 years. every time she flipped things around. every time she made you feel like the villain.

you’d been the one who walked in on her. you’d been the one who moved out. you’d been the one who stayed quiet.

and now, here she was again, reappearing only when she sensed something slipping from her control.

the afternoon air felt colder than you'd expected, grey clouds pressing low over the rooftops, filling the sky with the same dread that was filling your body. you pulled your jacket tighter, hands buried deep in your pockets, steps quick without even thinking about it.

you’d done this walk more times than you could count, the same route as usual, yet it didn’t feel as calming as it usually was.

your thoughts drifted to yesterday. the way her laugh had softened the rest of your day, or how her dimples stuck in your mind ever since you saw them. the way being near her felt easy and safe, as if you could simply exist without feeling shame.

you didn’t even know the girls name, but bea didn’t need a name to twist something good into a weapon. a tool to belittle you, something to make you feel small.

the bell above the door chimed, and you glanced up just in time to see kika walk in, yet there were two people just behind her. this time she wasn’t in the crested tracksuit you had seen her in previous days, rather a dark pair of jeans, a black hoodie and a red cap covering her head.

“good afternoon” kika greeted, smiling as her eyes met yours, “i’m surprised you’re still here.”

“it’s your lucky day then, my shift finishes at 3.” you grinned back to her.

“so we really got here just in time for the best coffee in all of barcelona,” she tilted her head slightly, leaning against the counter as usual, “and i bought friends this time.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at her compliment, cheesy but it still made your heart flutter.

“ah so you’re the famous nameless barista.” the shorter brunette smiled, her eyes racking you up and down momentarily.

“famous?” your eyebrows raised, looking between your a+ student and the two new girls.

“apparently your english lessons are as good as your coffee.” patri added with a smirk, “i think i might need to start coming here too.” she winked. you almost missed the way kika shot her quick look, a look of unease before patri’s smirk changed into a teasing smile.

“well what can i get you guys?” you asked, breaking the short silence that had built.

“three oat milk lattes, please.” kika requested, her gaze shifting to yours.

you sent her a nod before turning around to work on the order, jana and patri drifting over to a comfortable sofa in the corner of the cafe, kika still leant against the counter.

“i still haven’t got your name.” she stated, fingers tapping as usual.

you glanced over your shoulder, lips curving just slightly. “i’m starting to think you like the mystery.”

kika let out a soft laugh, “i like knowing the name of the person who makes my day start better, serendipity remember.”

you rolled your eyes lightly but gave in.

kika repeated it under her breath, like she was trying it out for herself. “it suits you.”

you tried not to let the smile that tugged at your mouth show too much as you finished steaming the milk, “and what’s yours?”

“my what?” kika questioned, her head tilting with confusion, before a look of realization snapped, “oh my name, kika.”

you turned around, placing the drinks in front of her, “it’s pretty,i like it.”

you had made the three with differing patterns of latte art, but the one with a heart you pushed forward in her direction, “enjoy.” you smiled.

she laughed lightly before making her way over to the corner where her friends sat. jana gave her a smug look whilst patri whispered something about being a flirt. kika, for the most part, ignored them both but you could see the slight red glow in her cheeks as she angled her seat just slightly, in your direction.

you pretended not to notice the way she stole one last glance your way as she sat down, fingers wrapped around her cup, the heart still intact in the foam.

you were stuck behind the counter, doing anything to look busy, you wiped it down and organised the cups. but your eyes flicked over occasionally, just quick enough to catch jana mouthing something exaggerated that made kika throw a sugar packet at her, and patri laughing behind her hand.

your shift had technically ended five minutes ago, but you were still tidying up, well more like delaying. the cafe had thinned out, a few of your regulars still hanging about, as well the three friends who were still deep in conversation.

from the corner, jana leaned back in her chair, eyes finding yours over the rim of her coffee cup. “chica,” she called casually, “your shift’s done, no? come sit. your star pupil should buy you a coffee, like a date.”

“jana.” kika hissed, her cheeks highlighting red.

“you were taking too long to make a move, she had to say something.” patri shrugged, taking a sip from her coffee.

you wiped down the last corner of the counter, biting back a smile. the warmth of embarrassment rolled off kika, visible even from across the café. you tucked the cloth under the bar, pretending to consider the invitation for just a second longer than you needed.

“i’ll guess i can make some time for you,” you smiled, walking towards the empty chair at their table, “but i’m good for a drink.”

patri watched you for a beat too long, then smiled like she knew something you didn’t, “so, serendipity?”

you blinked, “what?”

“that’s what she’s been calling you,” she said, flicking her head toward kika, “kika doesn’t usually get poetic, so she must really like you.”

kika groaned into her hands, “stop talking.” she mumbled.

“she says your english lessons are better than the catalan lessons she’s getting from the team tutor.” jana added with a small laugh.

your face scrunched a little at the mention of a ‘team’, and then it clicked, the matching tracksuits, the famous football club barcelona logo on each of their chests. there was no way it was a coincidence, maybe they just worked for the club?

kika just shook her head, cheeks red and glowing now, but her eyes flicked to yours with that same softness she always carried when she looked at you.

you let yourself hold her gaze. maybe just for a second longer than you should have.

and just as you were about to ask the question that was circling your brain, it all came crashing down.

the door swung open with a violent jingle of the bell, louder than it had any right to be, your head turned and suddenly you were on your feet.

your blood ran cold.

she didn’t wait. she walked straight toward you, voice already raised.

“you really don’t waste time, do you?”

your body tensed as the air in the room shifted.

a few people looked up, curious but cautious. you glanced toward kika and her friends, their conversation had stopped. kika had straightened in her seat, eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tight.

you forced a breath through your nose, standing up slowly, “bea, not here, i’m at work.”

her eyes flicked past you, to the corner table, then back again, “why not? thought you liked an audience.”

your face burned, not from embarrassment but the sharp sting of something you’d been trying to outrun for months, “i don’t want to speak to you, just leave, please.”

tears were threatening to fall from your eyes, your hands were starting to tremble as you watched her face light up as if she was enjoying this.

bea let out a bitter laugh. “no, you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to act like the injured party when i’m the one who got left!”

your jaw clenched, holding back everything that was threatening to spill, “you didn’t get left. you got caught.”

there was a heavy silence, followed by the scrape of a chair against the floor and then kika was on her feet.

“okay,” she said, stepping forward. her voice was calm, but her posture said otherwise, “you’ve said enough, it’s time to go.”

bea scoffed, eyes narrowing as her arms crossed, a mocking smile curling on her lips as she took a step closer, her eyes drifted to kika momentarily before they were back on you. “oh now you have a saviour?” she sneered, voice dripping with something that could only be described as venom, “cute, is she your rebound? gonna fix you huh, clean up your mess?”

her expression twisted into something crueler, “you act like i’m a monster, like you didn’t just walk away and erase all those years we had together. but sure, blame me, make yourself a saint. it’s easier than admitting you were never committed to us, to me…”

“i made one mistake, one, but you couldn’t handle it. you used it as an excuse to run, an opportunity to get out, just like you wanted. don’t pretend you didn’t want to leave me long before that.”

she looked around the room as if it was a stage, the deafening silence gave her power, “so go ahead and play the victim. let her defend you, but we don’t know the truth, don’t we?”

you stood frozen for a moment, the buzz of the cafe like static in your ears. your hands trembled as you took a step back, brushing past kika with a quiet ‘i need a minute’ and headed for the door. chest tight and vision blurring at the edges.

bea saw it.

you didn’t have to look to know. she saw the way your shoulders curved in, the way your breath hitched and the way your pain was clawing its way to the surface. the same pain you had spent a long time trying to bury.

and just like that, her entire demeanor shifted.

gone was the snarling, spiteful ex as she morphed into someone new entirely, “hey… wait.” the change in her tone was nauseating, it became gentle, as if she was still someone you could trust. like she hadn't just tried to humiliate you in front of a room full of people.

“you're upset, i get it.” she continued, voice laced with faux concern. “but you always do this, remember. run off all emotional. you always break and then you need me to pick up the pieces. that’s what we do, it’s why we work so well.”

bea smiled, too soft, too rehearsed. “just let me talk to you. alone. we can fix this, we always do.”

that’s when kika stepped between you two, no hesitation, “no, you don’t get to twist this,” she spoke, her tone cool and calm. “she’s upset because you made her this way, and you don’t get to feed off that anymore.”

bea’s eyes flicked to kika, as if she was debating whether she would be able to take her on and come out successful. but after a few moments she backed down and then turned her gaze back onto you.

bea’s expression twisted, mouth curling into a smirk that didn't quite reach the eyes. she took another step forward, lowering her voice just enough to make it more threatening than loud.

“oh you don’t want to leave me,” bea spoke, tone mocking. “then maybe i should tell everyone what you were like at the end. all those nights crying on the bathroom floor, begging me to stay, the fucking pathetic texts. the way you…”

bea reached for your arm, fingers latching on with a grip that was too tight. nails digging in.

“maybe everyone would like to hear about how you couldn't even sleep alone without…”

but before she could finish, kika was there, shoving bea back with both hands hard, “back off!”

the force knocked bea a step or two back, almost stumbling over her own shoes. the tension in the room increased, crackling like static in the air. a few gasps broke out from nearby tables.

kika stood in front of you now, solid. her voice was low but lethal, “touch her again, and i promise you’ll regret it.”

jana and patri stood up too, “you better leave before you see how fast three footballers can throw you out of the building.” patri added.

bea stared, blinking as if she couldn't believe what has just happened. her mask cracked, just for a second, and the bravado on display faltered.

her eyes lingered on you for one final moment before she stepped back with a muttered curse, turned, and stormed out, the bell above the door marking her exit.

kika didn’t move until the door had fully swung shut. only then did her shoulders loosen slightly, her attention turning back to you.

“are you okay?” her voice quieter, her face painted with a look of empathy that surprised you. you weren’t used to it, it made your mind stutter.

you shook your head faintly, “i - i’m sorry, i need to go.” with that you grabbed your bag from behind the counter and ran straight out the door.

the next day you called in sick. you couldn’t face kika, your regular customers, or your coworkers after the scene bea had pulled in front of everyone.

you laid in bed staring at the ceiling, your body was riddled with anxiety. the silence in your apartment was suffocating, but the idea of filling it felt like too much.

your phone buzzed once. you didn’t look.

then again.

and again.

you peered at it, your coworkers name lighting up from your bedside table.

you rolled over, clutching your pillow to your chest. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or shame or some mix of both settling in your stomach. sure bea was gone, but her words and the impact they had weren’t.

none of it was true, but that didn’t dull the sting.

you thought about kika. the way she stood between you and everything ugly, the way her voice had cut through the noise. how she put herself on the line for you, protected you from something she knew nothing about.

but then you thought of her seeing you like that, completely frozen and helpless.

you hated it.

so you stayed in bed, hardly moving, in the quiet where you could avoid everything.

but when the next day came, you couldn’t stay bundled up forever. so you pushed yourself out of bed, and went to work.

you were doing your usual morning routine.

grinding the coffee beans, wiping the counter, checking the milk fridge, pretending your hands were shaking as you reached for the cups.

it was too early for your regulars but too late for the commuters. just you and the ache in your chest that hadn’t let up since bea decided to flip everything upside down.. again.

you moved slower than usual, like your body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that it was safe again, as if bea was still somewhere, watching.

the bell above the door didn’t ring, but your eyes kept flicking toward it anyway, like your brain couldn’t help bracing for impact. you didn’t even know if she’d come in.

but then she did.

you didn’t look up right away, you told yourself it was a habit, that you were just focused on wiping down the steam wand.

“morning.” her voice was soft, careful, as if part of her was hesitant to speak.

you looked up. kika stood just inside the door, her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, her eyes on you with something unreadable behind them. she wasn’t smiling like she usually would, but there was a gentleness in her expression, like she was waiting for permission to be there.

“i didn’t see you yesterday.” she said after a beat, stepping forward slowly, like approaching something fragile, “i still came in, your coworker doesn’t make coffee as well as you do.”

you couldn’t help but smile faintly at her compliment, knowing your co-worker wouldn’t have spent the extra time perfecting the latte art or making sure the milk was at just the right temperature that kika liked.

the quiet settled for a moment before you attempted to speak, “i didn’t think you’d come back,” you muttered, quieter than you meant to.

she tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly, “why?”

“i was worried she scared you off,” you started, your hands rubbing the cloth in your hand between your fingers, “she has a habit of ruining things that make me happy.”

she leaned her elbow on the counter, eyes still on yours, her voice dipping a little, playful but steady, “i train against some of the best football players in the world, i don’t get scared easily.”

your head tilted slightly as you tried to decipher what she was saying, eyebrows scrunching, “so you play football?”

kika’s lips quirked, a soft curve that was half a smirk, half a dare, “i mean yeah, i run around a field with a ball for a living, so yeah.”

you blinked at her, brows still drawn, processing, “like for an actual team?”

her smile widened, like she was enjoying watching you put the pieces together, pointing to the barcelona crest that sat on her chest, “mhmm.”

the tracksuits, the subtle discipline, the confidence, the way jana and patri had joked. you felt your mouth part slightly. how did it take you that long for you to put the pieces together?

you exhaled a soft laugh, stepping back slightly with a stunned look. “and you didn’t think to mention that before?”

she raised an eyebrow, “you never asked.”

“i have so many questions.” you admitted.

yeah you weren’t necessarily ‘into’ football, your friends had dragged you to a game before but you spent most of it taking pictures of the cat mascot on the sidelines. barcelona breathed football and yet somehow the footballer who had been visiting you went right under your nose.

“perfect english practice then.” she grinned.

you made kika her usual, before drilling her with every football question you could possibly think of, including a very slowed down version of the offside rule.

you leaned on the counter, chin resting in your palm and a smile across your face as you watched her arrange the sugar packets like defenders and a spoon as the striker. her brows furrowed in concentration, tongue poking slightly out the corner of her mouth as she adjusted the layout so it would finally make sense.

“so,” she said seriously, tapping one of the sugar packets, “this is the last defender. if the striker, the spoon, is beyond this point when the pass is made, that’s offside.”

you stared at it, eyes narrowing. “but what if the spoon was, like, moving back behind the sugar?”

kika looked up at you slowly, “you’re trouble.”

you smiled sweetly, “i’m just trying to understand your world.”

she gave a small laugh, brushing a hand through her hair and shaking her head. “i can’t believe this is how i’m spending my recovery day.”

“you chose to come here.” you pointed out, nudging the napkin she’d used as a goalpost.

“i really did,” she murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours again, softening at the edges, “i didn’t feel like being anywhere else.”

the words sank between you.

lika leant back a little, letting her hand drift across the counter in a casual sweep. “and now you owe me.”

“i owe you?”

she nodded firmly, “you made me explain the offside rule with props, that deserves something.”

you tilted your head, amused. “what do i owe you then?”

“your number.” she grinned, a spark of mischief lighting in her eyes as if she set up that entire interaction perfectly.

a soft smile pulled at your lips, “very smooth kika, very very smooth.”

“what can i say? i obviously need some online english tutoring.”

you laughed slightly before grabbing the napkin she had used as a goalpost and a pen, scribbling down your number before sliding it across the counter towards her.

kika caught the napkin with a quick smile, her fingers brushing against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“looking forward to our next lesson.” she smiled, voice low and teasing.

you felt your cheeks warm but managed a confident nod, with that she was gone.

it had only been 20 minutes before an unknown number lit up your phone,

[unknown number] - guess i’m a good teacher too, after that beautiful offside explanation

you couldn’t help but laugh at her message, quickly changing her number into a contact, before responding.

you - are you trying to steal my job?

kika - nothing could ever compare to your incredible english lessons

something in you was feeling bold, far bolder than you had been to kika in person.

you - careful… i don’t think you’re meant to flirt with your teachers

kika - then i don’t want to be your student

you caught yourself smiling, the kind that crept in slowly and made you warm. her message lingered on your screen, your thumb hovering just above a reply, heart skipping.

before you could type anything, the bell above the door chimed, sharp and familiar. you slipped your phone beneath the counter like it had caught fire, straightening just in time for the midday rush to pour in, pulling you back into routine with both hands.

serving what felt like hundreds of customers, the sudden rush filling the cafe swept you off your feet.

the end of your shift arrived quicker than expected, and very typical for you the sunny barcelona weather had taken a turn. the once cloudless sky was now covered in a dark grey layer, one that had rain pounding against the pavement.

you tried getting an uber, but of course it was nearly 25 euros for a 5 minute ride, so a 20 minute walk in the pouring rain seemed more ideal.

pulling your hood over your head, you left the cafe and stepped out into the downpour, the kind that soaked you instantly. cold drops ran down your neck as you tugged your jacket tighter and started walking, head down, shoes already slipping against the wet pavement.

you’d only made it halfway down the street when a car slowed beside you, creeping just a little too perfectly in time with your steps. you glanced over, ready to ignore a stranger, until you saw her.

kika leaned across the passenger seat, window already down despite the rain.

“you weren’t going to text me back?” she said, one brow lifted, a teasing edge in her voice that was just soft enough to make your stomach twist.

you blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement, “you came all the way here just because i didn’t answer?”

“well my ego didn’t know how to handle it so i had to come check on you,” she gave you a crooked grin, “but now i see i’ve turned up at the right time, so get in because i’m not letting you walk home in this.”

you hesitated for half a second, until a gust of wind blew your hood back and rain trickled down your spine. with a quiet sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, water dripping down your sleeves.

kika reached over instinctively, tugging the heater dial up before glancing at you with a soft shake of her head, “you really were about to walk the whole way, huh?”

you shrugged, trying not to shiver as you pulled your sleeves down over your hand, “it’s only like 20 minutes, and it wasn’t exactly my first choice.”

she glanced sideways at you, her voice lower now, “next time, just text me, i’ll show up faster.”

you let out a breath of a laugh, heart skipping, “and here i thought footballers were busy.”

kika grinned, eyes back on the road as the car pulled away from the curb, “not too busy for you, put your address in my phone.”

you did as was asked and typed in your address before sitting back in the seat, “so do you always drive around rescuing baristas from the rain?” you teased, a grin across your face.

“only the ones who put little hearts in my coffee… and then ignore my texts.” she grinned back.

you laughed slightly, rolling your eyes, as a comfortable silence fell between you before you spoke up again, “thank you, for yesterday and today and just everything.”

“you never have to thank me,” she smiled lightly, “you deserve the same kindness you show people, and i’ll make sure i’m here to remind you.”

you gave her an appreciative hum, unsure of what to say other than thanking her again, but her words were running round your head at full speed.

kika pulled up slowly to the curb outside your building, putting the car in park but making no move to rush you out. you turned to her, hand already on the door handle, then paused.

“i know you’ve just told me not to say thank you, so i appreciate you driving me home.” you smiled softly.

she hesitated for a moment before speaking, “can i walk you in?”

you blinked, surprised at the shift in her voice, a little more uncertain than usual.

“yeah,” you said gently, “of course.”

the two of you stepped out into the drizzle, kika flipping her hood up as she jogged around the front of the car walking in time with you.

inside, the building was quiet, the soft hum of the elevator filling the silence between you. kika stood close, your arms just brushing as you were comfortably close.

when the doors slid open on your floor, she followed you down the hallway, her gaze scanning the space before flicking back to you.

you stopped outside your door, turning back to face her. her hands were tucked in her jacket pockets now, and her brows drew together slightly like she was working up to something.

she let out a soft breath, glancing down for a second before meeting your eyes again. “i’ve got a game next week, a home game.”

you tilted your head slightly, you had a feeling you knew what was going to be asked, but you couldn’t help but tease her anticipation, “oh yeah.”

“yeah,” she nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “i’d really like it if you came.”

there was a short pause before you answered, “i’d really like to.”

her smile widened, warm and full of something unspoken, “i’ll text you the details.”

“looking forward to it,” your voice barely above a whisper but certain.

neither of you moved at first. then, slowly, she stepped back, still watching you like she didn’t quite want to leave just yet. she gave a small wave, backing down the hallway toward the elevator with a grin that stayed with you even after your door clicked shut.

inside your apartment, the silence felt safe. you stood still for a moment, a smile painted across your face as your heart fluttered.

you had gotten so used to shrinking yourself down for someone who refused to let you live in happiness, apologising for taking up space as if you were never good enough no matter what you did. you were always wrong, never said the right thing, didn’t love correctly. even after moving cities, 700 miles away from everything you knew, everyone you loved, and you still become a second option to whatever was easier in the moment.

yet kika made you feel the opposite. she was a ray of light, like a beam of sun that shone around her every where she went. you felt warm around her, safe, protected from everything negative your past could throw at you.

you kicked off your shoes and hung your jacket, still damp from the rain, before moving to the kitchen and flicking on the kettle. the hum of it filled the space as your phone buzzed in your pocket.

kika - i meant what i said by the way. you deserve good things, and people who show up for you.

you - i’m starting to think you don’t need my english lessons anymore

kika - no entiendo ingles, ¿puedes enseñarme por favor? (i don’t understand english, can you teach me please?)

you couldn’t help but smile at your phone, warmth filling in your chest despite the rain still tapping softly against the windows. finally you felt a moment of peace, a moment where you weren’t concerned that a bulldozer was going to run through your life yet again, because in your little bubble, it was just you and her.

a/n - part 2 will be coming soon, i wanted to separate the angst of r's past from the real fluff of kika! thank you for reading, any feedback/requests can be left in my inbox! and ofc thank you @earpskeeper for your incredible help with the angst <3

#woso #woso x reader #woso oneshot #woso imagine #kika nazareth #kika nazareth x reader #kika nazareth imagine #barcelona femeni #barca femeni #barcelona femeni x reader #fcb femení #futfem

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sportswriters · 1 year ago

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you're jealous? - p. gavi

welcome post! “get out, pedri.”

you hear your boyfriend’s laughter echoing from the driver’s seat, pedri looks at you with a frown, but opens the front door and finally gets out. he stares at you and rolls his eyes, but even though he’s annoyed that you kicked him out of the front seat next to gavi, he kisses you cheek affectionately.

“i got here first, you know?” he complains.

you shrug, return the kiss on his cheek and get into the seat he was sitting in before, careful not to wrinkle your loose dress. it took you a while to find the right outfit and you were still a little unsure about the event. gavi is dressed in a black suit, similar to pedri’s, his hair messy, exuding the perfume you know so well.

“would you throw anyone out or is it just because it’s pedri?” your boyfriend asks.

you put on your seatbelt and lean in close enough to steal a kiss from his lips.

“it’s just because it’s pedri,” you reply, mocking.

pedri protests behind you and nips you right in the ear. you glare at him, but turn to your boyfriend in the driver’s seat. when he starts the car again, you grimace and turn to pedri.

“his he driving better than last time?”

pedri laughs.

“what was the last time?”

“oh, you know,” you moisten your lips and move a shoulder. “when he almost ran over that fan at the entrance to the stadium?”

“that was two days ago, y/n,” pedri says with a laugh.

“so the answer is no?” you whine.

“hey!” your boyfriend protests, leaving one hand on the wheel, his attention on the road and using his free hand to squeeze your thigh. “i’m listening, you know?”

you smile and squeeze his hand on your thigh, while he returns concentrating on driving and the three of you start chatting about random things — it distracts you from the nervousness of attending the event. it wasn’t anything too important, just a social thing to promote a new documentary the team has been making for the launch and all the players, their respective girlfriends and family members would be there, as well as the media outside.

nobody apart from the team and the people closest to you knew that you were gavi’s girlfriend. media exposure has always been a fear, mainly because gavi has a lot of young fans and the risk of receiving hate was huge enough for you to have agreed not to make the relationship public yet, coupled with the fact that gavi likes to keep his personal life private, despite his fame.

you were friends before everything. people still think so, although there are rumors. after gavi’s injury, the two of you became even closer and ended up confessing your feelings to each and two weeks later, he asked you to be his girlfriend.

he parks the car and three of you get out, while he hands the key to the valet. as soon as you get in, there’s a carpet that imitates a red entrance and you walk past it, quickly posing for photos and the entering the venue.

“i’m going to find the guys,” pedri announces. “i’m not really into third wheeling.”

gavi laughs, but you roll your eyes and watch the midfielder walk away to join the boys from the team. it’s a nice atmosphere, there’s soft music playing and lots of familiar people, but you feel tense. gavi notices and moves closer, placing his hand lightly on the base of your waist and you immediately feel your muscles relax. it's amazing how he had a calming effect on you.

“are you okay?” he asks you.

you take a deep breath and turn your face just enough towards him, opening a smile to soothe the wrinkle of worry that has appeared on his forehead.

“i’m fine, i promise.”

he looks at you for a moment, but you don’t want to talk about your insecurities, so you take the lead before he asks anything else.

“shall we say hello to the guys?”

he nods, leaving the subject for later. his hand is still on your waist the two of you walk through the hall, greeting acquaintances. you keep a genuine smile on your lips, acting sincere in your friendly conversations and enjoy gavi’s comments in your ear. he had a unique talent for making you feel relaxed in front of everyone like that and you heart leapt for him.

at some point, you were stopped by two girls — who looked to be about your age, both with big smiles on their faces — but you didn't know them. they must have been someone's daughters or something.

“i'm sorry to bother you,” one of them says, the one with the blonde hair, looking directly at gavi, as if you didn't even exist, even though his hand keeps holding you by the waist. “but we're both really big fans of yours, gavi. could you take a picture with us?”

you don't mind him giving attention to his fans. in fact, you make a point of putting him at ease by doing this.

“of course,” gavi replies.

the girls join in and he just moves away enough to fit through the screen of their camera, his hand still on your waist. you tried to move away, giving them space, but gavi insisted on not letting you get away from him.

“thank you, it looks amazing!” the second one says, with black hair.

“it's true, you look hot!” the blonde adds.

the sound of their laughter reaches your ears and you start to feel ridiculous for being annoyed. they're just some fans meeting an idol, their behavior tends to be a bit unusual and you try to take it in your stride.

“didn't you say he was your type, sash?” the black-haired girl asks with an annoying chuckle.

you purse your lips and force a smile onto your face, but none of them pay any attention to you. gavi doesn't say anything, he's just nice enough to remain with a polite smile on his face. you stare at him for a moment.

“broke!” the one called sash complains, but laughs and turns to gavi. “sorry about that. but you're single, right? i'd love to give you my number.”

that’s the last straw for you. jealousy starts to eat you up inside and gavi isn't saying anything, so you lock your jaw and walk away from him, feeling the need to look for a drink, anything. you leave him alone there, with the two of them boldly hitting on him, and you were right next to him. he had his hand around your waist! of course he's not single.

you snort and walk over to the bar, ordering a glass of champagne, something light. you didn't notice the moment gavi came up behind you until he appeared at your side with a confused expression.

“what was that, y/n?” he asks, confused by your sudden behavior.

you stare at him.

“what do you think that was?” you snap, a little annoyed, but he doesn't seem to understand. “you had your hand around my waist and they had the audacity to ask if you were single?!”

his expression softens and he smiles. gavi touches your arm.

“you’re jealous?” he asks, but you don't answer and turn your face to accept the glass of champagne the barman hands you. “come on, you can't make a big deal out of it.”

you take a sip of the drink and narrow your eyes in his direction, wondering if he really meant what he just said. yes, you're seething with jealousy, of course. you wouldn't react any differently to two women hitting on your boyfriend like that and you wouldn't make a scene. not in front of everyone.

so what if they don't know he's dating, since you haven't published anything? his hand on your waist should be enough of a sign that at least he was accompanied.

“really?” you squeak, one eyebrow raised. “so i can let pedri hold me the same way, since it's no big deal?”

he grimace and you know he didn't like it.

“i didn't mean it like that,” he defends himself, grumpily.

you smile, victorious.

“next time, use your voice to communicate that you're no longer single,” you warn, taking another sip.

he comes closer and puts his hand on your waist again, he kisses your exposed shoulder and you sigh at the contact.

“i think it's time to make our relationship public to avoid this kind of situation, then,” he proposes.

you stare at him, wondering if he's serious.

“are you sure?”

he lifts his face towards you and smiles, his face too close to yours. you don't even care if you're in a public place anymore.

“we'll only do this if it doesn't make you uncomfortable," he says. “but yes, i'm sure. it's time to show them that i'm yours.”

your heart races and you turn to him, happiness showing on your face. you may deal with insecurities, you may receive hate messages, but it's all worth it with him by your side. you wrap both hands around his neck.

“i love you.”

gavi smiles and kisses your lips quickly, taking the suggestion of making your relationship public as a positive response. he’ll make sure of doing this when you leave the event.

“i love you, y/n,” he declares. “but i hope that was the last time you used pedri as an example to touch you like that.”

he grimaces again and you laugh, shaking your head. the next thing you do is seal your lips to his once more, oblivious to any public gaze that might be directed at you, because there's nothing you want more at the moment than to let people know that he is yours.

#pablo gavi #pablo gavi imagines #pablo gavi scenarios #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi fluff #pablo gavi angst #football scenarios #football imagines #barcelona imagines #football drabbles #football blurbs #sportswriters ❤

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jude5bellingham · 1 year ago

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imsg ౨ৎ pablo gavi

pairing: pablo gavi x reader

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sports-on-sundays · 1 year ago

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hello! i have a request for marc guiu where marc and reader have been best friends for a long time now and marc gets together with some girl but reader realises that the girl is just in it for the money and the clout and tries telling marc that but he thinks that she's jealous so he kind of distances her and their friendship is at strain (angst). in the end all is resolved and maybe marc and reader realise their feelings for each other? its completely fine if you dont wanna do it. thank you so much!!!

not right for you / Marc Guiu

Summary: Marc x best friend!female!reader

Warnings: heights, crying, censored cursing, being used in a relationship (not reader)

Requested?: Yes, thank you.

You stare at the girl in judgment, taking her in. This girlfriend of Marc's, that he's been talking about a lot, excessively, for a few weeks now, finally stands before you. She has long, soft brown hair, falling down her back, perfectly done makeup, a chiseled face, long legs, a skinny frame, and, well, she's gorgeous.

Just being in her presence makes you feel insecure.

Marc has his hand practically glued to the small of her back as she shows you her million dollar perfect smile.

"I've heard lots about you," you say slowly. You really did mean it to sound friendly, but do have to admit that you sound more like a cowboy from a Western movie trying to pick a fight in some shady saloon.

Marc smiles and says, "I never stop talking about you, Olivia."

She giggles at this, and holds her hand out to shake yours. You nod and shake it, still not so sure about this girl.

You try to remind yourself to give her a chance and not just go by your initial gut feeling- but it's hard. It's hard not to read this book by her cover.

Simply because it seems she's putting a lot of effort into her cover- too much effort. Too much effort for it to not reflect her inner personality.

But! You mustn't make such judgments until you really know her, you remind yourself. Despite how hard it is not to.

Well, you thought maybe you would get all buddy-buddy with her to try and see if you can figure her out, but luckily, it looks like that won't be necessary. She's not the type of girl you think you would get alone with much, anyway.

Because Marc won't, shut, up, about, her.

"She's so sweet," he's going on now, "And, like, honestly, adorable." To you, she didn't look very adorable, and rather just super conventionally attractive. But not interesting or unique in anyway. Of course, you don't say this, as he continues with a boyish giggle, "The other day, she wanted to buy this watch and these earrings. So f*cking adorable the way she looked at me with her big puppy dog eyes. I couldn't resist her."

You nod slowly, taking this all in, and say sarcastically, "Sounds just adorable."

Marc doesn't seem to pick up on it. "And then, get this-" he says as he blushes more.

"Hmmm...?" you ask, unimpressed.

And then he goes on about how sweet she was to him. Showering him with compliments and saying he's the best boyfriend ever and blah, blah, blah.

This isn't the only time you've heard things about this girl. Always hungry for the camera type, won't take no for an answer type, pulls being stubborn off as being cute type, whines to her boyfriend until he says 'yes' type. Type you don't like, and the type you reckon isn't the best for Marc, either.

He talks about how happy he is to be able to make her happy and comfortable, since he's playing professional football now, but you've figured out that this girl is clearly just getting money and attention from him for her own good, and probably doesn't really care about him as a person. Not to mention, dating Marc Guiu- though he's certainly not the most well known footballer- makes you famous on some level, for sure.

Finally Marc seems to snap, "Why don't you like Olivia, anyway?"

You frown, hesitating, before saying, "Do you really want me to answer honestly?"

"Of course I do!"

"Well, alright. I'm concerned for you, because to me, it seems clear this girl only wants you for the money, clout, and attention, and doesn't really care about you as a person. I care about you as a person, so therefore, I want you to see you in a relationship with someone who does, too. I mean, you give her things all the time- what has she ever done for you?"

Marc doesn't seem very happy with this proclamation from you, understandably enough. "I don't know! Kisses me."

You snort ruefully at the dumb answer. "Ah, yes. Of course she does. She's got to keep you interested somehow, otherwise she'll lose all the money coming into her bank account. So she knows all she's got to do is keep you romantically, and possibly even sexually, pleased, and she won't stop getting what she wants. And it's easy for her to use you, because you're falling for her gorgeous looks and letting her. She's using you, clearly. I mean, it's clear to me."

"No, she's not," Marc snaps in annoyance, suddenly standing up. "You're just jealous."

"Jealous? Of what?"

"I don't know! Of her being pretty? Of her being my girlfriend?" He scoffs and walks to the door. "I'm leaving now."

You watch as the door shuts behind him.

So that means Marc doesn't think I'm pretty?

Of course he doesn't, Y/n. He has a girlfriend who's drop-dead beautiful.

And why would he think you'd be jealous of her being his girlfriend?

You don't want to be his girlfriend- at least you don't think so.

It makes you mad to think he would immediately assume your words came from a place of selfishness. They didn't. They're from a place of concern, for your best friend.

For your best friend, who now is avoiding you like the plague.

You haven't seen Marc in two months. You haven't heard him, either. You've only exchanged a few dry text conversations that really did nothing.

You stand up on the rooftop of your apartment building, staring out and down at the sparkling cities lights. Up here, fog has set in, and you feel a chill go through your body. You tighten your jacket around yourself, breathing in the scent of it.

You feel guilty for wearing this coat, though you don't know why.

It's actually Marc's. About a year ago, he left it at your house, and it became yours. When he saw you wearing it, his eyes had lightened up, so though he didn't say anything about it, you know he knew it was his.

And you know it's kind of gross, but you never washed it. You don't wear it often, and frankly, you love the smell of it. It reminds you of him.

And right now, you need to be reminded of him, since you haven't seen him in way too long.

You walk to the ledge and climb up on the barrier, sitting on the flat top of it, letting your legs dangle over.

You feel a little rush travel through your veins at this risky position, before your body calms itself again, and the melancholy feeling returns.

"No one can hear me up here," you say into the air.

"I could say whatever I want, and it wouldn't matter. It could all just get caught in this thick fog and float away. I could forget about it, and pretend it never happened, because no one else is here to hear it."

You let out a shaky breath.

"Marc, I could tell you everything. I could say whatever I want up here, and you wouldn't even know it. It wouldn't matter."

For some reason, at this, your voice cracks a little.

You say softer, "It wouldn't matter, would it?"

You breathe deeply gasping a bit down at the Barcelona street dozens of feet below you.

"Even if I screamed, no one would hear me!" you say, your voice raising.

And you do scream: "Marc! I'll bet my life I care about you more than she does! My life!"

You stare apologetically down.

I guess I'm in he perfect spot to lose that bet.

You feel hot tears threaten at your eyes as you continue, softer, "I want you to be happy.

"You're not happy with her.

"I bet you could be happy with me, Marc."

You sniff, not even sure what you're saying. You've never said things like this before.

But now, alone, knowing nothing you say really matters? It's easier to say things you never really knew you even thought.

"She's not good for you," you practically whine, rubbing at your eyes, getting warm salty liquid all down the back of your hand.

"You're my best friend," you whimper. "And now you're leaving me alone for some faker you just met a few months ago!

"I've known you for years!"

You scream, choking up a little, "Does that mean nothing to you?"

Not even your echo answers you.

You watch as a tear fall off your cheek, and down.

And down and down.

And at some point, it hits the street below.

The thought is surreal, and makes you feel a bit dizzy, even. You clutch the side of the ledge tighter.

Your knuckles are white as you call into the night, your tone lined with tears, "What if I told you I loved you? Would you even care?"

Your head spins. "Would you?"

You shut your eyes and let out a sob, feeling the lights and cars move below you, feeling alone, and separated from the world. Isolated.

But most of all, just very, very confused.

You thought you would be happy to see Marc again. But when you open your door to see him standing there, looking like a wreck, you're not happy.

Not one bit.

"What happened?" you ask as you view the boy with his red, puffy eyes and messy hair.

"Can I come in?"

You sigh, opening the door for him, but comment rudely, "So you only show up at my house, after ignoring me, basically, for two months, because something happened, and you need help?"

"Please, Y/n. That's not the only reason," he sighs, sitting down on your couch with you. You cross your arms, staring at him.

"Then, what?"

"I'm sorry. I realize you were right, now. All along. I was stupid."

"So she broke up with you, huh?"

"I broke up with her."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "What finally knocked you out of your delusions?"

He shrugs. "Your words never stopped bugging me, in the back of my head. Then she started pushing me for more. More, more, more. More money, more attention, more... well, things I wasn't comfortable with so early in our relationship."

You nod slowly. "Right..."

"So, I realized you were right. She's-" his voice breaks. "She's so f*cking greedy."

You lick your lips, still nodding, staring down at the floor.

"But I feel like it was wrong. She begged me to stay... she said she thought I loved her... But I've got to love myself, too, and she was draining me dry. Taking my- my everything."

You nod, finally softening. You put your arm around his back as he stares ahead. A single tear falls slowly down his cheek, before he hastily wipes it away with another sigh. "You did the right thing, Marc. You should have listened from the beginning, but I'm happy you realized it."

"What if I broke her heart, though?"

"That's her fault for getting into a relationship just to use someone! And besides," you add bitterly, "those were probably just crocodile tears."

"You... you think?"

You snort. "I know, Marc."

He hesitates, before saying, turning to look you in your eyes, "I'm sorry... for distancing myself from my best friend like that. I thought you were jealous. I should have taken you for your word."

You swallow back a lump in your throat. You put your hand on his and murmur, "It's okay... I forgive you."

"You- You do?"

You blink in surprise. "Of course I do, Marc. That's what friends are for. Friends will always be there, even when you walk away."

And then your breath hitches when suddenly, he pulls you into a tight hug, half pulling you onto his lap. His hand gently rubs your lower back, which gives you butterflies, and you're extremely aware of every point in which your bodies are touching. "Thank you so much, Y/n," he breathes.

You bury your head in his shoulder, murmuring, "You're welcome. I'm just glad to have my Marc back."

"Your Marc?" he grins, leaning back to meet your eyes. His deep, light brown, gentle eyes. "I like the sound of that. You know, being called yours."

You blush at that. "Only if I can be called yours, too."

He grins and mutters, "You'll always be my best friend first, Y/n. I know I just ended a relationship... but..."

"Oh, God," you squeak, eyes widening. "Are you-"

"I mean, if you-"

"Yeah, I could-"

"Good," he grins, pulling you back into the tight hug. You can feel his heart beating quickly against your chest. He leans his head against your shoulder and gives your neck a little kiss.

"So, you-" you breathe, "you love me- me back?"

His mouth smiles against your neck. "Yeah. I think I've known you long enough to say I love you."

You grin and trace the words into his back.

I love you.

"I'm glad you came around, Marc."

"I'm glad I came around, too, Y/n."

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purplereina11 · 10 days ago

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You are the kind of woman who knows her way around engines and hearts, fast with a wrench, faster with flings, and never one to stick around. A no-nonsense car mechanic with tattoos, oil-stained jeans, and a reputation for leaving partners breathless and ghosted, she lives for the thrill under the hood and between the sheets. That is, until Alexia Putellas walks into the garage. She’s the daughter of your newest client, all polished restraint and sharp glances, dressed like she has no business in a grease-stained shop but somehow looks perfect in it. From the second your eyes meet, you want her, badly. She makes her move, expecting the usual flirt-and-win, but Alexia's not impressed. She sees through your charm and makes it clear: she’s not a pit stop.

Wordcount: 19.7k

No idea why I'm nervous to share this 🫣 Thanks to the Anon for the idea, hope it's what you wanted

You’ve got oil under your nails and a smirk on your lips when the engine purrs just right. It’s a sound that tells you everything you need to know tight timing, good compression, clean combustion. She's gonna drive like a goddamn dream.

You swipe the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand and lean against the open hood, satisfaction heavy in your bones. It’s been a good day. You’ll probably end it wrapped in someone else’s sheets or better, your own, with someone temporary and breathless beside you.

That’s the plan, at least, until the bell over the garage door chimes and you look up and fuck, everything shifts.

She walks in like the air parts for her. Long beige coat, sunglasses even though the clouds are low, posture like she owns the place but doesn’t need to prove it. She takes them off slowly, revealing eyes sharp enough to cut through steel and a mouth you immediately want to ruin.

You’ve seen her before, of course. Who the hell hasn’t seen Alexia Putellas in Barcelona? Ballon d'Or winner, midfield queen, captain of Spain, picture on every corner you turn by, seeing her on a screen is one thing, but seeing her five feet away, glancing around your grease-stained shop like she’s somewhere between bored and curious. That’s another thing entirely.

You wipe your hands on your rag and toss it over your shoulder, “Didn’t think I’d be getting royalty today,” you say, voice low, teasing.

She raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t smile. “My mami's car,” she says, accent smooth and cool. “She sent me to check how you were doing.”

You clear your throat, nod. “Yeah. Almost done. Was just finishing the tuning. Want to take a look?”

She hesitates just for a beat, then steps forward, trainers echoing faintly on the concrete. You watch the way she moves, precise, graceful, every step measured. It’s not just sexy, it’s controlled like everything about her is held back by design.

You offer her the keys. Her fingers brush yours when she takes them. No spark. No flinch. No reaction. You, on the other hand, feel your pulse pick up like you’ve touched a live wire.

She walks around the car. Inspects the paint job. Tilts her head slightly at the restored leather interior.

"You did this yourself?" she asks, finally looking you dead in the eye.

You grin. “These hands with all this talent would be a shame to waste it.”

Still nothing, a pause, then a hint of a smirk. “I’m sure you waste it in plenty of other ways.”

Oh. She knows exactly what you are and she's not impressed. You take a step closer, just one. “You sure you don’t want to take the car, and me, for a test drive?”

She stares at you, unmoved, then hands the keys back without breaking eye contact. “No.” She turns on her heel and walks away. "Keep my mother updated on the progress" she calls back sunglasses coming back down her face and for the first time in a long time, you realise you’re not the one doing the chasing, you’re being left behind.

You watch the door swing shut behind her, the bell’s chime still ringing in your ears like it’s mocking you.

No. Not 'maybe,' not 'later,' not even a sarcastic 'we’ll see.'

Just no.

You laugh to yourself, low and incredulous, rubbing your palm over your jaw. You’ve been rejected before, sure, happens when you live like you do fast, loose, and loud, but this one stings in a way you weren’t ready for, because it wasn’t just rejection, it was dismissal. Like you weren’t even in the running.

You glance back at the car her mother's classic '67 Mustang. Cherry red, curves like sin, restored with your own damn hands. You poured hours into that body, gave it life again. For what? For her to walk in here looking like a dream and tell you you’re not even worth thinking about?

You grit your teeth. No. You’re not going out like that.

She comes back three days later and you make sure you're the one at the front this time.

You see her first, stepping out of a matte black Cupra, hair tied back tight, sunglasses perched on her head. She’s wearing a fitted jacket this time blue Barça training top beneath it. You hate how fast your eyes memorise the shape of her.

She’s not alone, her mother is with her, you push down the twist of something sour in your gut and wipe your hands on your rag as they walk in.

“Mama P,” you smirk with a smile as you chew your gum that the older woman laps up, flirting with older women was always your strong suit, mothers always love you. “She’s ready for you.”

Alexia doesn’t look at you at first, she’s scanning the shop, like she's somewhere she'd rather not be, again.

Her mother on the other hand smiles warmly, shakes your hand. “Looks beautiful Y/N. You did good work, I don't even recognise it, my brother won't believe the wreck he said I should have never bought now looks like this.”

You nod, flipping the keys around your fingers before handing them over. “Want to give her a spin?”

She chuckles, pats the hood. “I trust you, but my daughter insisted we both come, said I wouldn’t understand if the clutch slipped.”

That gets your attention, you glance at her again, her eyes finally meet yours, still unreadable. “Smart,” you say. “Wouldn’t want a legend like you stalling out at a red light.”

That gets a blink, nothing more but she steps forward, slides into the driver’s seat like she was born to be behind the wheel. Her hands on the wheel no gloves, short nails, fingers long and elegant. You wonder what they’d feel like on your skin.

The engine purrs to life. Perfect. She revs it once. Listens. Nods, “Solid,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

You lean on the passenger side window. “She’s got bite, if you want her to.” Alexia raises an eyebrow. “I meant the car,” you add, and for half a second, she almost smiles.

She kills the engine and steps out, handing the keys to her mother. “It’s good,” she says simply, then turns to you. “Gracias.”

She walks out without waiting, you exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding and that’s when you decide, you’re not letting this go. Not because you think you can win her, but because, for the first time in years, someone was actually giving you a chase.

Eli smiled as you watched her oldest daughter leave, "Woman of few words is Alexia"

Your eyes moved to Eli's, "I've noticed" You start towards the front desk to take payment and you just had to ask, "She knows cars?"

Eli laughed to herself, "Not even in the slightest"

You couldn't help the satisfied smirk that crossed your mouth as you handed over the paperwork and the copy of her receipt, "You ok driving it out the garage?"

"I should be fine, thank you"

Eli gave you a warm hug and she left out the door with a ding and you fell back into the swivel chair behind the desk, you felt like you'd been knocked off your feet. You sat there quietly long after the car left in the silence you just couldn't stop thinking about Barcelonas Captain.

🚗

The next week, you start seeing her name everywhere, not that you weren’t already aware of her, but now it's like the universe is playing tricks on you. Highlights from her latest match show up on the TV in the garage. Some customer’s lock screen, her. Hell, one of your suppliers has her face on a sticker on his van.

You hate it. You hate how your stomach knots every time you see her. How your brain replays that almost-smile like a loop you can't break. You try to hook up with someone else one night, tall brunette, loud laugh, easy eyes. You bring her home, start undressing each other and then she says something in Spanish soft, low, meant to be dirty and suddenly all you can think of is her voice, cool, precise, controlled. You stop, apologise and lie, you say you’re tired.

The girl shrugs, pulls her clothes back on, and leaves without a word. You sleep alone. A week after that, she walks back into the garage. No appointment. No car. Just her and suddenly, everything inside you jolts awake.

You don’t expect to see her again, not really, so when she walks into your garage alone, hands in the pockets of her coat, a subtle frown creasing her brow you pause mid-step, socket wrench hanging from your fingers. She doesn’t speak at first. Just stands there, looking around like the place has changed in the last two weeks.

You wipe your hands on your towel and stroll over, keeping your swagger light, practiced, but inside, you’re on high alert.

“Didn’t think Barça royalty did walk-ins,” you say, leaning on the counter. “Need an oil change, or just miss me?”

Her eyes flick to yours. Still unreadable, but she steps closer. “My Mami forgot her sunglasses. Thought I’d save her the trip.”

You nod. Right, the excuse is paper-thin, but you don’t call her on it “They’re in the office,” you say. “Follow me.”

She does. Quiet. Controlled. The way she walks behind you makes you hyperaware of your own movement your posture, your stride, the shape of your shoulders under your tee.

In the office, you dig through a drawer until you find them, classic aviators, probably expensive as hell. You hand them over, but she doesn’t take them right away.

Instead, her gaze lingers on your arms, your forearms are streaked with oil, muscles taut from the half-stripped engine out back. You catch the glance, raise an eyebrow.

“Like what you see?”

She exhales through her nose. “You’re relentless.”

“Only when I want something.”

You expect her to deflect again, shut you down like last time, but instead, she says, “What do you think you want?”

You blink, that wasn’t the game before, that certainly wasn’t part of the script you'd created in your head, you take a step closer. “You.”

She doesn’t move, her chin lifts slightly, her voice is quieter now. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’d like to.”

There’s a beat of silence, your chest tightens, then she takes the glasses from your hand, slides them on with that same, infuriating calm. “You’re not serious,” she says.

She turns to leave, but her walk is slower this time. "You're welcome" you call as she swings the door shut behind her

🚗

You start seeing her around the neighbourhood, not often, just enough to mess with you.

At the café next door, picking up a cortado. At the park across the street, stretching alone with earbuds in. You never approach, you’re not that desperate, but one day, you’re elbow-deep in a beat-up BMW when you hear a voice behind you.

“You missed a bolt.”

You lean up fast, head just barely missing the bonnet and there she is, leaning against the frame of the garage, holding a to-go cup like she owns the damn place.

You stare at her. “You came here to critique my work?”

“No. I came for a coffee,” she says, sipping. “Saw you about to wreck the subframe.”

You glance back at the bolt she pointed to. Damn. She’s right. You squint at her. “You know your way around engines?”

She shrugs. “Heard my dad say it to my uncle when I was little”

You whistle low. “Careful, you’re turning me on.”

“I’m not trying to.”

“But you are.”

She doesn’t answer that, just watches you, eyes cool, unreadable, but not entirely distant. You look away before you say something too honest.

“Is something wrong with your car or? You wanna come inside? You're letting the bugs in”

“No.”

“Still playing hard to get?”

“I’m not playing at all.” She tosses her empty cup into the bin like it’s the end of the conversation. Like she didn’t just shake you up with six words and no smile.

She walks off and you stand there in the middle of your shop dirty, breathless, and completely fucked.

🚗

You're in a bar that is tucked on a quiet corner off Carrer de la Marina, dim and humming low, just enough of a secret that it's not ever overly busy. You come here because it’s casual, low lighting, good beer, music just loud enough to cover the silence without killing it.

You look over your shoulder, you can't believe your look as it seems half the Barcelona women's team was entering the bar but then she walks through the door, hands in the pockets of a leather jacket, eyes scanning the place she'd been brought to until they land on you, you forget how to breathe for half a second. You catch her swallow before looking away and following the group to a table not all that far from you.

"Y/N" Sarah the bar women spoke, "You want your usual?"

You nod, "Extra-"

"Extra prawns, we know" She smiled, putting a full beer bottle taking away the old one.

"Gracias" You mutter, you hear the whispering, you knew they were talking about you, you could feel the gaze, you heard, "That's her?", "She's hot", "Go say hi".

You sipped your beer and chanced a glance out the corner of your eye as two came to the bar and you caught one looking at you, as you squeeze the lemon on your paella you feel a presence beside you.

You look and there stood Alexia, "Hola"

“Hola,” you say, trying to sound cool, if you can make a hello cool.

“I thought it was you,” she replies. “And I was curious.”

You motion to the bar. “Curious about the food?”

“No. About you.”

That stops you, she takes the seat across from you like she’s doing a press conference, composed, distant, professional, but her eyes linger on your mouth when you smile. You catch it. She knows you do.

Her friend places her drink on the bar beside her and retreats “What’s the verdict then?” you ask, watching her sip.

She raises an eyebrow. “You really want it?”

“Try me.”

She sets her glass down. “You’re cocky. Reckless. The kind of person who gets bored five minutes after getting what they want.”

“And yet, you’re still sat here and not with your unsubtle friends.”

Her mouth quirks. Barely. “You’re not what I expected,” she says quietly.

“Disappointed?”

“No. Just… curious.”

There it is again. That word, curious and for the next hour, she comes and goes, like she can't keep away and you talk. About football. Engines. Tattoos. Siblings. Nothing too deep, but enough to feel like something’s cracking open. She laughs once at your story about crashing your boss’s van when you were sixteen. You live off that laugh for the rest of the night, but she never fully relaxes.

Even when the beers are gone and your knee bumps hers when you turn to her, even when your fingers brush as you both reach for the same beer bottle.

You lean a touch closer, she doesn’t move. “I want to kiss you,” you say. “And I’m not gonna pretend I don’t.”

She looks at you for a long time. Too long. Then, “You’re not what I need.”

Your chest tightens. “How do you know?”

“Because you don’t know how to want someone without trying to win them.” You’re quiet, she reaches out, touches your wrist brief, fleeting, warm. “I liked tonight,” she says. “But this isn’t where it starts.”

You blink. “Then when?”

Alexia steps back. “If I ever believe you’re serious.”

And then she’s gone, no kiss, no maybe next time. Just a chill in the air, the fading scent of her perfume, and a space beside you that feels heavier now than it did before she filled it. You catch her looking at you as she settles back with her friends before you just pay your bar tab and head out, alone.

🚗

You want to see her the next day. God, you almost try to engineer it, but the memory of her voice telling you 'You don’t know how to want someone without trying to win them' is still too fresh.

It hits a part of you that you usually keep buried under flirting and leather and oil stains. You don't see her for three days and then you’re locking up the shop one evening just past sunset, sky bleeding pink over the city and she’s there. Sitting on the hood of your beat-up Charger like it’s hers, arms crossed, sunglasses in her lap even though the sun’s almost gone.

“You missed me?,” you say, unlocking the door again like it’s nothing.

She shrugs. “I wanted to see how long you’d wait.”

You glance over your shoulder. “And?”

“I was impressed. Three days is a record for you, I assume.”

You laugh, tossing her a rag for her hands. “What do you want, Alexia?”

She hops off the hood, slow and graceful, her trainers clicking lightly on the pavement. “A ride.”

You blink. “You have a car.”

“This is more fun.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You sure you want to be seen in this junkyard classic?”

She smirks. “Try me.”

You drive. No destination. Just Barcelona at golden hour, the windows down and the air electric with something unspoken.

She doesn’t speak for a while, just watches the city blur past, her hand resting near the gear shift, not on it. Her legs crossed, ankle bouncing in a rhythm only she knows.

You sneak glances, she catches one. “You’re staring.”

“You’re distracting.”

“You’re trying again.”

You grin. “Always.” but this time, she doesn’t shoot you down.

Just turns her face back to the window and says, “Good.”

You end up parked on a cliff just outside the city. Not a romantic spot, not really, but it’s quiet, secluded. The kind of place someone goes when they don’t want to be seen.

She climbs out before you can open her door, walks to the edge and stands there, arms folded, the wind tugging at the ends of her hair.

You stand beside her, “You ever let anyone in?” you ask softly.

“Not often.”

“And yet you’re here.”

“I don’t know why I came.”

You look at her, she’s not pretending anymore, not putting on the wall, she looks tired, not weak. Just real. “Maybe,” you say, “you’re curious.”

That gets a breath of a laugh, barely there and then, for the first time, she looks at you like she’s thinking about it.

About you. About this. You take a step closer, not touching just letting the warmth of you fill the space. “Let me in,” you say. “Just a little, I think I may surprise you.”

She looks up at you, her mouth opens, then closes and then she shakes her head, slow and sad. “I can’t,” she whispers. “Not yet.”

You nod, even though it fucking aches. “Then I’ll wait.”

She blinks. “You will?”

“Yeah,” you say. “But I’m not promising I won’t make you fall for me first.”

Alexia exhales, long and quiet. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Too late,” she says, but before you can speak, she steps away, just far enough and says, “Take me back to my car.”

🚗

It starts to mess with you, the silence. Three days pass, then four. No sign of her. No bar run-ins. No surprise visits to your garage under the pretence of sunglasses or 'funny noises.'

You're not spiralling, you’ve got things to do, hands to get dirty, wrenches to throw. Still, she’s too fucking quiet. So you try to unhook her from your system the way you always do with someone else.

It’s Friday night, you’re in a booth at some back-alley spot in El Raval, fingers around a whiskey glass, flirting with a girl you don’t really care for, she's pretty, loud and into you. You’re not into her, you’re just bored.

She's laughing too much, her nails are perfect. She keeps touching your thigh like she’s already decided where the night’s going. You let it happen, because it's easier than thinking about why Alexia has dropped off the face of the earth.

But when the girl leans in and says something like, “You’ve got that heartbreaker vibe, I love it,” you look past her shoulder and think, what are you doing? You're just proving Alexia right.

You pull away, “Bathroom,” you lie once outside, the air is cold. Barcelona buzzes and you lean back against the wall like someone punched you in the gut.

You take a few minutes before you head back inside , you tell the girl it’s not happening tonight. You don’t give a reason, she rolls her eyes and walks away, and you let her, because you know exactly who you want and she’s not here.

🚗

Two nights later, you’re working late. Sweat down your spine, engine stripped bare. Music low. You haven’t checked your phone in hours.

You're underneath the frame when a shadow breaks the light. You roll out slowly, grease on your tank top, a socket wrench in your hand like a weapon. It’s not a customer. It’s her. Alexia. Hoodie. No makeup. Hair tied up. Her expression unreadable.

“Your garage’s open late,” she says.

You wipe your hands. Try not to look like you want to grab her and pin her to the nearest wall. “Didn’t know you were still in the city,” you say coolly.

“I never left?”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

She leans against the workbench, arms folded. Her eyes flick over your arms, your collarbone, the smudge on your cheek. Then she looks away.

“I saw you on a run the other day,” she says, you don’t say anything, she takes a breath. “I was going to shout you but.. I didn't.”

You nod. Then throw the wrench down harder than you mean to, “What is this?” you ask. “What are we doing, Alexia? I’ve had people walk away before but they usually don’t look me in the eye first and say too late before disappearing.”

Her gaze hardens. “You don’t get to be mad.”

You step closer. “I’m not mad. I’m…” You hesitate. “Confused. You’re hot and cold. You come in here like you want something, then vanish like I imagined it.”

“You didn’t.”

“Then stop pretending you're not curious.” She’s silent, you shake your head, stepping back. “You know what? Maybe I should’ve just taken that girl home Friday. At least she didn’t look at me like I’m a mistake waiting to happen.”

Alexia flinches, barely, but it’s there and for once, she doesn’t have a comeback. She just says, quietly “Maybe I’m not ready for someone like you.”

You fold your arms. “What’s someone like me?”

She looks at you then. Really looks. “Someone who knows exactly how to touch me… but doesn't know how to stay around after.”

It hits you in the gut because maybe she’s not wrong. You swallow the burn in your throat. “I’d stay,” you say. “If you asked.”

"I shouldn't have to ask" and she finally, finally takes a step forward, “You’d stay until you got bored.”

You don’t say no, you should, you know you should fight for a shot to prove her wrong but instead you ask, “Then why are you here?”

Alexia doesn’t answer with words, she just reaches out, takes your jaw in her hand, and kisses you. It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s weeks of tension and confusion and restraint exploding all at once.

You kiss her like you’ve been waiting, because you have and she kisses you like she’s terrified you’ll disappear mid-breath, but just as you go to pull her closer, just as your hand finds the skin under her hoodie she pulls away. Eyes wild. Chest rising. “I have to go.”

“Alexia—”

“Don’t.” And she’s gone, again.

🚗

You’re elbow-deep in the guts of a ‘92 Defender when your phone buzzes. You ignore it at first. Too many scam calls, too many exes, too many people trying to get a piece of you when they didn’t earn it, but something tells you to check.

You wipe your hands on your thigh and pick up the phone.

Alexia Putellas (1 missed call) 1 message

Car died. C-32, near Castelldefels. Can you help?

You don’t answer. You just grab your keys, flick the lights off behind you, and hit the road.

You spot her car like a sore thumb on the shoulder, hazards on, trunk slightly cracked, hazard triangle set up perfectly like she’s still trying to control the chaos.

She’s leaning against the car, arms folded, phone in hand. A brunette perched next to her on the metal guardrail, legs swinging like this is just another Thursday.

They both look up when you pull in behind them Alexia doesn’t smile she just nods.

You hop out of your truck, boots hitting the gravel. “Nice parking job.”

“Thanks,” she deadpans. “You took your time.”

You smirk. “You’re lucky I came at all.”

The brunette watches you both with raised eyebrows, like she’s already piecing things together Alexia hasn't even admitted to her yet.

You walk past them, pop the hood, and whistle low. “Radiator’s cooked and your battery’s working overtime trying to make up for it.”

Alexia joins you, peering over your shoulder. You pretend you don’t notice how close she’s standing. You definitely don’t notice the way her perfume cuts through motor oil and asphalt. “How long to fix it?” she asks.

“Depends. You in a rush to get back to training?”

The woman snorts behind her, Alexia doesn’t answer. Instead, she says, “Can you tow it or not?”

You grin. “Baby, I could tow you with my teeth.”

The woman mutters, “Jesus,” and walks off toward your truck, you glance at Alexia. She’s trying not to smile. “You two close?” you ask, nodding toward her friend.

“She’s my younger sister. That means she thinks she knows everything.”

You shoot her a look. “Sounds familiar.”

She bumps your shoulder light, almost nothing but it lingers in your blood longer than it should, you hook up the tow. Quick, clean. Routine. Except nothing about this feels routine.

Back in your truck, Alba climbs into the back seat and Alexia claims the passenger side like she owns it. You don’t say much at first. The road hums beneath you, windows cracked just enough to let in the night air.

Then Alexia says, “I didn’t want to call you.”

You glance at her. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“I mean, I didn’t plan on it. It just... happened.”

“Emergency contacts dry up or something?”

“No.” She turns to you. “But I knew you’d come.”

You grip the wheel tighter than necessary. “That so?” She nods. It’s not flirty. It’s not soft. It’s just honest and it messes you up worse than it should. "It's my job, I have to" you mutter to try and save your ego.

You pull up to the shop, kill the engine, and step out.

“Keys,” you say, holding your hand out.

Alexia tosses them over without hesitation.

“Give me two days.”

“Take three.”

You blink at her. “You’re not staying to supervise like you did with your mother's car?”

She shrugs. “I trust you.”

You watch her walk toward a taxi where Alba’s waiting, her arms folded, clearly unimpressed with the night.

Alexia pauses before getting in, turns back toward you. “You’re not what I expected,” she says.

You tip your head. “You still pretending you don’t like that?”

She doesn’t answer, just gets in the car and shuts the door. You watch them drive off, the taillights shrinking into the night.

You should feel triumphant or smug, something you can wear easy, but all you feel is that same tight coil in your chest. Like she’s giving you just enough rope to hang yourself and you’re starting to want the noose.

🚗

The shop smells like cheap perfume and lemon Fanta, thanks to the can your nine year old little sister spilled two hours ago and didn’t clean up right.

Isabella is flopped on an old recliner you rescued from the curb, one sock on, a streak of engine grease on her cheek like war paint. She’s got a sketchpad open on her knees, legs swinging over the arm of the chair, completely absorbed in whatever superhero-princess-hybrid she’s drawing.

You’re halfway under Alexia’s car when the front door creaks.

You don’t even look up when you call out, “If you’re a delivery guy, leave it on the counter. If you’re a cop, I want a lawyer.”

But then Bella gasps sharp and high, you twist out from under the car, expecting a spider.

Instead, its, Alexia. In leggings, a loose hoodie, sunglasses on top of her head, holding a coffee in each hand. “Didn’t know you had company,” she says, spotting your sister.

Bella's frozen, absolutely still, mouth open, sketchpad forgotten.

You blink. Then grin. “Alexia,” you say casually, like she hasn’t haunted your thoughts every night this week. “This is Isabella my little sister.”

Bella's voice comes out small. “You’re Alexia Putellas.”

Alexia blinks, surprised, then smiles, slow and warm. “That’s me.”

Bella scrambles to sit up properly, brushing her hands on her pants, trying to look presentable while still covered in paint smudges and wearing a shirt that says why walk when you can cartwheel.

Alexia walks over and squats in front of you, holding out one of the coffees. “This is for you,” she says to you, then glances at Bella. “And I bought a chocolate croissant to. You want it?”

Bella nods like she’s just been knighted. You watch as Alexia sits on the edge of the workbench, talking to Bella like she’s known her for years. Not the 'I’m a famous athlete being nice to a kid' way, either. She sees her.

Bella tells her about the superhero she’s drawing. Alexia asks questions, real ones, and actually listens. She even gives Bella a tip for drawing better knees, apparently, Alexia used to sketch too.

You lean back against the tool cart, sipping your coffee, trying to pretend this isn’t melting something under your ribs. Then Bella blurts, “You’re my favourite player. I watched your goal against Wolfsburg last week like thirty times. You kicked it so hard.”

Alexia laughs, really laughs and ruffles Bella’s hair, you don’t know what to do with the look on Alexia’s face. It’s not her on-pitch intensity, not the cool girl front. It’s just… soft. Real.

Later, when Bella’s gone to clean her hands and find her secret glitter rock she hides behind the garage to show Alexia, you lean against the wall beside her. “She’s obsessed with you, you know.”

Alexia glances at you. “I figured.”

“She made me watch that goal too. Kept pausing it. ‘Look at her face, look at how fast she moves,’” you mimic in a teasing tone.

“She’s smart.”

“She’s nine and terrifying.”

Alexia smiles. “She loves you. I can tell.”

You shrug. “I guess I’m not all bad.”

“No,” she says quietly. “You’re not.”

Something passes between you again. It always does, but this time, there’s no fire or pushback. Just presence, like maybe, just maybe, the life you’ve built here, wrenches and rust and late nights with your sister when your parents are working late, isn’t something you have to keep separate from her.

Alexia looks out toward the back where you're looking, where Bella’s still talking to the rock like it understands.

“She’s the best part of me,” you say, not even meaning to, it slips out, real and unfiltered.

Alexia watches you like she’s seeing something new, “She likes cars too?”

You smile. “No. She likes superheroes, princesses', painting and hiding under my bed to scare me.”

That earns you a laugh. It’s small, but real. “She lives with you?”

“She lives with my parents,” you say, “but she comes to the shop after school when they work late sometimes end up staying at mine. Thinks I’m cool.”

“You are cool,” Alexia says, and it’s so simple, so soft, it disarms you.

You shrug it off, but the corner of your mouth betrays you. “She calls me every night,” you add. “Even if it’s just to tell me she saw a bug shaped like a turtle or that her teacher wears ugly shoes.”

Alexia smiles. “You love her.”

“More than I know how to say.”

Silence but not the bad kind. It’s warm in here all of a sudden, stretched between you like a thread that isn’t being pulled just held. She shifts slightly in her seat, her knee brushing yours but doesn’t move away. “You surprise me,” she says, eventually.

You glance at her. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”

“It’s real,” she replies. “And I didn’t expect that.”

That hits because you know she’s been trying to figure you out since day one, like you’re a locked door she’s not sure is worth opening, “You think I’m just some cocky mechanic who fucks around and leaves before sunrise,” you say. “You’re not wrong.” She says nothing, just watches you. “But I don’t leave people I care about,” you finish, quieter now.

The words hang there. She doesn’t touch them. Doesn’t reach for them, but she hears you, you know she does and for now, that’s enough. She shifts again. “I should go.”

You nod. “I’ll call you when the car’s ready.”

Alexia opens the door, steps out, then pauses leaning down just slightly as you are going back under her car,

“Tell Bella I said bye.”

And then she’s gone again, but this time, it doesn’t sting because something’s shifting, she’s not running away. Not exactly. 🚗

You’ve stopped asking why she shows up. Sometimes it’s in the morning, two coffees in hand, like she’s clocking in with you. Sometimes it’s late, after training, when her hair’s still damp and she’s in a hoodie three sizes too big. Sometimes she doesn’t even talk. Just sits at the workbench while you grease your hands and curse at a carburetor like it insulted your mother.

She always leaves just before it gets too quiet and her coffee is finished, but today, she stays longer, long after Bella arrives from school.

You’re half-distracted by her legs curled up in the corner chair and the way Bella is perched beside her, sketchpad in lap, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she draws.

“Don’t look yet,” Bella says, scribbling faster.

“I’m not,” Alexia promises, smiling into her coffee.

You throw a wrench into the bin and try not to stare, Bella finally flips the pad around. “Tada!”

It’s... a portrait, of Alexia. Messy, wild hair. Huge eyes. Big legs, because Bella said "you have powerful calves like a puma.” A tiny football floats above her head like a halo.

You expect Alexia to laugh, maybe make a joke, she doesn’t, she takes the paper in both hands and looks at it like it’s made of glass “Can I keep it?” she asks softly.

Bella beams. “Yes, but you have to hang it up somewhere cool. No throwing it away when you’re old.”

“I promise,” Alexia says and for a second, you almost forget who she is. What she means to the world.

You wipe your hands and turn away. Play it cool. No one has to know your stomach’s doing flips over a damn crayon sketch.

The knock on the garage door comes sharp, three fast raps like someone’s been waiting too long. You look up just as it swings open. Alba. Pissed. Wearing heels and a fitted blazer like she’s just come from a courtroom or a funeral. You can see the exact moment her eyes clock the scene Alexia on the chair, barefoot, Bella beside her with ink on her hands.

“Seriously?” Alba snaps.

Alexia stands up too fast, folding the sketch like it’s contraband, “What?”

“It’s seven-thirty, Ale. We were supposed to leave half an hour ago. It’s Mami's birthday dinner.”

Alexia curses under her breath. “Shit.”

You watch her move, flustered and guilty, the way you’ve never seen her before. Bella looks up, confused. “Are you in trouble?”

“No, cariño,” Alexia says, kneeling briefly to kiss the top of her head. “I just forgot what time it was.”

That lands like a gut punch, because she never forgets the time. Not on the pitch. Not with media. Not with sponsors. Not with her family.

Just with you.

Alexia walks toward Alba, still barefoot, holding her shoes to her chest.

Alba glares at you. “I figured she was here,” she mutters, you just stare. “You're a bad influence”

That burns.

You don’t reply. You can’t reply, because Bella is right there, and because you’re not sure what you’d say that wouldn’t tear the air in half.

Alexia looks back once as she steps out the door. You don’t wave, but you don’t look away either and she knows what that means.

🚗

Three days. Not that you’re counting, but you know it’s been seventy-two hours since the last time she stood barefoot in your garage, cradling a coffee like it was sacred, laughing at something Bella said. Seventy-two hours since she looked at you like she didn’t know whether she wanted to kiss you or run from you.

She chose the latter.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That this is what you wanted no strings. Just a friend thing, a distraction with good legs and bad timing, but then Bella asks, on the third night, “Is Alexia mad at me?”

You pause mid-bite, fork in hand. “What?”

“She said she’d show me how to make that boat with paper. She never came back.”

You clear your throat. “She’s just busy, Bella.”

“She’s a footballer. You said footballers aren't that busy, it's not a real job” Nine years old, and already calling you out.

You don’t have an answer, "What do I know ay?"

Bella pokes at her food and mumbles, “I hope she didn’t throw away my drawing.”

You bite your tongue until it almost bleeds.

Day four.

You’re wiping down the shop when you hear a car pull up, not hers. Still, you look. Nothing. You curse yourself, then go back to pretending you don’t care.

Day five.

She shows up, late, quiet, hair tied back in a braid, hoodie pulled up to her throat like armour. You’re under a car again. You hear the door. Her footsteps. The hesitation.

“Hey,” she says.

You slide out and don’t look at her. Not right away. She looks tired, not physically, but like she’s been carrying something around and refusing to set it down. “Didn’t know if you’d show your face again,” you say, voice even.

She flinches at that. Just a little. “I’m sorry.”

You shrug. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

You finally meet her eyes. “Then why’d you ghost me?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well. You did.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that cuts deeper than yelling, “I got scared,” she admits.

You blink. “Of what? A kid with glitter on her cheeks and a sister who makes engine grease look like war paint?”

Alexia exhales, frustrated. “Of how easy it felt. Like I’d been here a hundred times before. Like you and her and this,” she gestures to the walls, the mess, the smell of you in the air “were already, normal.”

That hits harder than you want it to, you try to deflect. “You’ve had worse addictions.”

But she doesn’t laugh. “I don’t do messy,” she says. “I don’t do... casual.”

You cross your arms. “Then why come back?”

Alexia doesn’t answer right away, then she pulls something from her hoodie pocket and hands it to you. You unfold it, it's slightly crumpled, but not torn. Corners worn like someone’s been folding and unfolding it over and over again, list of your tools, what you call them.

“I hung it up,” Alexia says. “Right over my locker, you don't have much patience when I don't know what you're talking about so I was... studying I guess”

You don’t say anything. You can’t because there’s a voice inside you screaming, don’t let this matter and another one, quieter, whispering, it already does.

She looks at you, unsure. Guard down for once, you stare at her long and hard. You fold the engine cheat sheet back up and hand it back to her, "Good because your damn car is going to be the death of me, it was meant to be a three day job not a fortnight" You don’t smile but she does and that’s enough.

For now. 🚗

You don’t call it anything. Not a relationship. Not dating. Not whatever weird half-step you’re both dancing between, but she’s here most days now.

She brings coffee that’s always too sweet for you but you drink it anyway and she brings new headphones for Bella after accidentally breaking her old pair during a very aggressive game of 'Who Can Run Faster Around the Shop Without Dying.'

She sits on your workbench like it’s made for her. She knows where the good socket wrenches are. She even started labeling drawers, badly, in her neat handwriting:

“Danger Stuff”

“Loud Shiny Tools”

“Definitely Not a Murder Weapon (I Hope)”

You haven’t fixed it, you let it stay, it makes you smile when no one's looking.

The first time she tries to help, it’s because you’re elbow-deep in her engine and muttering like the thing insulted your lineage.

She wanders over, peers in like she knows what she’s looking at, “You want help?” she asks, totally serious.

You snort. “You gonna bless it with your left foot?”

“Rude,” she says. “I’ve changed a tire before.”

“Oh wow, Queen of Barcelona knows how to get dirty.”

She raises a brow. “You’re dying to find out.”

You choke on your spit, she grins.

It becomes a thing. You let her hold the flashlight. Hand you tools. She’s awful at both. Passes you the wrong wrench every time. Keeps asking what 'torque specs' are.

You should be annoyed. You’re not.

There’s something nice about it. About explaining things. About the way she listens, focused, like learning this stupid, greasy stuff actually matters to her because you’re the one teaching it. Like it's opening your world up to her to understand you more.

Bella watches from the corner, making bets with herself about whether Alexia will break something.

You catch her watching once and she just grins, another time yu catch her, her mouth opens, “Are you two married now?” she asks, deadpan.

Alexia blushes so hard she nearly drops a spanner on your foot.

You fake a cough. “Go do your homework.”

Bella just shrugs. “You’re both weird.” and leaves.

Later, you’re sitting on the hood of a car, feet dangling.

She’s beside you, grease on her cheek, a streak of oil on her thigh. The sun’s gone down and the lights from inside the shop spill out just enough to make her look unreal.

She leans back on her hands. “I’m still bad at this.”

“Fixing cars?”

“Letting people in.”

You nod, eyes on the sky. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I keep thinking I’ll mess it up.”

You turn to look at her. “You will.”

She laughs. “Wow. So supportive.”

You smirk. “But I’ll probably mess it up first.”

Her smile softens and then, out of nowhere, she says, “You know, I like this version of you.”

You squint. “What version?”

“The one that doesn’t always have to be the biggest asshole in the room.”

You snort. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.”

Silence stretches again but it’s good silence, you don’t hold hands, you don’t kiss, but she bumps her knee against yours and doesn’t move it. 🚗

You didn’t even mean or want to be there. It was Bella’s idea Barcelona vs. Atlético, decent seats, popcorn too salty, her eyes wide with excitement the whole match.

You didn’t tell Alexia you were coming. She played well. Sharp. Ruthless. You didn’t cheer, but you watched. You always watch.

After the match, you hang back. Bella wants to see the players, see if maybe someone will wave. You stand near the barriers, feeling out of place in your own skin. You let Bella lean against the rail, beaming and clutching the crumpled roster sheet like it’s gold.

Then you hear her voice, Alexia, just a few steps down talking to a teammate as they work along the line of merch thrust at them to sign. You don’t mean to listen, but you do.

The tone is casual, relaxed, she doesn’t know you’re here. You hear the teammate ask, “So what’s up with the girl at the garage?”

And Alexia says it. Just like that. “The mechanic? No, she’s just fixing my car. She’s just a mechanic.”

Your stomach drops and that’s it. No she’s great, no she’s funny, no she’s someone I like being around. Nothing. Just. A. Mechanic.

You don’t wait for more, you pull Bella gently by the arm and say, “Let’s go.”

“But I wanted—”

“Now, Bella.” She doesn’t argue, something in your voice must’ve told her to not argue, the ride home is quiet.

You park in the garage and sit in the dark for a long time after dropping Bella home. The air smells like oil and metal and the faint perfume she always leaves behind.

Just a mechanic.

It loops in your head like a bad song and you know. You know what you are to her in public. What box she keeps you in. What story she tells when the world starts asking questions and maybe that shouldn’t hurt but it does. Because you showed her the soft parts, let her near Bella, let her in, even when you swore you wouldn’t and still, she made you small and insignificant.

She texts later.

A: Hey. You at the game today? I thought I saw you leaving?

You don’t reply, not yet, maybe not ever, because if she gets to think you don’t matter, then maybe you can learn to do the same.

🚗

You didn’t plan on going out, but when you’re sitting on the shop couch, staring at that text she sent again like she hadn’t just stripped you down to nothing in front of a teammate you snap.

You throw on something loose, dark, let your hair down like armour, put on your rings the girls seemed to want to die for, and head out.

The dive bar is warm and loud, filled with cheap perfume and worse decisions. You welcome it. She’s tall. Blonde. Big eyes, bigger chest. Laughs at your terrible jokes like you’re the best thing she’s seen in weeks. She doesn’t know your name yet. You don’t ask for hers. That’s the point. You’re just about to close the tab when the energy shifts. You feel it before you see it.

Then there she is. Alexia.

In joggers, fresh, flushed and glowing with that effortless look she always had. Flanked by two teammates one of them the same girl from the match, the one who laughed when you got reduced to just a mechanic.

Of course she sees you. Of course she stops.

You try to keep your eyes forward, fingers grazing the blonde’s lower back, guiding her toward the door like this is routine, because it was one you'd easily slipped back into, like Alexia doesn’t mean a goddamn thing and you were about to wash away all the progress you'd made with her thinking you weren't a 'fuck boy'.

“Hey,” she says, voice almost lost in the noise.

You don’t turn fully, just enough to meet her gaze, just enough to see the hurt sitting in her eyes. You don’t blink. “You’re car should be ready tomorrow night,” you say flatly.

That’s it. No hello. No smile. No warmth. Just business. Just a mechanic. You leave before she can say anything back, the blonde grabs your arm once you're outside. “Everything okay?”

You lie through your teeth. “Yeah.”

Later that night, after the blonde falls asleep in your bed, you lie awake staring at the ceiling.

The words echo again, you said it back tonight, she was just a customer, but the part that makes your chest ache the worst makes you want to scream into the walls, you didn’t mean it. 🚗

You weren’t at the garage when Alexia came to pick up her car. Your phone buzzed with a message from your brother.

'She asked if you took the day off.'

You didn’t reply, because you weren’t off. You were at her mother’s place, working on Alba’s car, engine humming, hands deep in grease and oil but your mind was miles away.

The afternoon sun was sliding toward evening when a familiar car rolled slowly into the driveway. Alexia’s car newly fixed, you stiffened without meaning to.

Her mother, Eli, glanced at you, eyes sharp. “You okay?” she asked softly.

You forced a nod, Alexia stood nearby, arms crossed, silent like she was waiting for the world to catch up.

You didn’t meet her eyes Eli’s gaze flicked between you two.

She smiled gently, trying to lighten the air. “Stay for dinner. We’re just about to eat.”

You shook your head politely. “No, thanks. I’m just the mechanic. No need for me to impose.”

The words came out sharper than you expected, you caught the flicker in Alexia’s eyes the slow, sinking realisation.

Her mother’s smile faltered, then softened.

You turned to Eli. “Tell Alba to stop by the garage whenever she’s free to settle up. No rush.”

Alexia’s lips pressed into a thin line, eyes darkening with hurt but saying nothing.

You slipped out, car door slammed behind you, you sat for a moment in your truck, phone buzzing silent in your hand.

The engine started and you drove, you checked your rearview and as her mother was retreating back into her home, she was watching you go. 🚗

You hear her before you see her, the slam of her car door, fast footsteps on the concrete outside the garage. She’s not here for her sister's bill, and you know it. Your gut clenches before you even look up Alexia walks in like a storm shoulders tense, jaw tight, fire in her eyes.

You barely glance up from under the hood of a Jeep, “Not taking dinner invitations today either?” you mutter.

She ignores the jab. “Why weren’t you here when I picked up the car?”

“Didn’t realise you’d miss me,” you say flatly.

“Don’t do that,” she snaps. “Don’t shut down.”

You step out from behind the hood, wiping your hands with a rag, already bracing. “Then what should I do, Alexia? Pretend I didn’t hear you call me ‘just the mechanic’ like I’m the fucking help?”

Her face shifts guilt, shame, something uglier too. “It wasn’t like that—”

“Oh it was exactly like that,” you cut in. “You looked your teammate in the face and reduced me to a job title. Not a person. Not someone who holds a meaningful space in your life. Just a mechanic.”

Her nostrils flare. “I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t mean it?” you repeat, voice rising. “Then what did you mean? Because from where I was standing, it looked a hell of a lot like you were embarrassed.”

She steps forward, furious now. “And you? You go and screw the first slutty blonde you find in a bar like that was going to fix it?”

You go still, the silence that falls is instant, thick, choking. “So that’s what this is?” you say, stepping in. “You get to say whatever the fuck you want about me, but when I stop sitting around waiting for you to admit I matter, I’m the villain?”

“She looked like a groupie,” Alexia spits. “Is that what you want? Someone who doesn’t give a damn who you are outside of a nice face and a good fuck?”

You flinch, then you laugh, but it’s empty. “Maybe it is,” you say. “At least she didn’t pretend I meant something and then treat me like a second rate person.”

That one lands. You see it. She looks away. Voice lower. “I didn’t mean for any of this to get this... messy.”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You can’t play both sides, Alexia. You don’t get to come into my life, judge me for how I choose to live my life, make assumptions on my character, and then back off the second it threatens your perfect little image.”

Her eyes snap to yours. “You think this is about my image?”

“I think you care more about what people think than what you should,” you say. “And I’m done being the one you hide in secret, you said I would get bored after I got what I wanted from you, that I don't know how to stay. But from where i'm stood Alexia, we're more similar than you'd care to admit, the only difference.. you haven't fucked me”

Silence. Her lip trembles. Just for a second. “I never wanted to hurt you,” she says finally.

You nod, cold. “Well, you did.” And you walk away into a part of the garage she's not allowed in. 🚗

The rain has uncharacteristically been coming down for hours, windscreen wipers working overtime, Bella's humming softly in the passenger seat, kicking her feet to the beat of whatever pop song’s leaking from your speakers she insists she has control over.

You’re about ten minutes from your parents’ place when your headlights catch it, a car, pulled onto the shoulder, hazards blinking weakly. Alexia’s car.

You pull over without thinking. Bella blinks at you, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Stay here,” you mutter, already throwing your hood up against the rain.

You jog toward the car, rain soaking through your hoodie instantly, as you approach, you see her Alexia behind the wheel. Her mother, Eli, and Alba in the passenger seats. She sees you, doesn’t roll the window down right away.

Eventually, it hisses open an inch. “Are you okay?” you ask through the downpour.

Alexia doesn’t even look at you. “You didn’t fix my car properly.”

There’s that tone again sharp, distant, angry, you swallow it. “Have you called for recovery?”

Eli leans over. “None of us can get service.”

You glance at the shoulder, at the way trucks blast by feet away, making the car rock each time. “Look, you can’t stay in the car it’s dangerous, especially in this weather. Come get in mine, I’ll take you home. I’ll come tow this tomorrow.”

“No,” Alexia says, arms crossed. “I’ve turned my phone off and on. I’ll get service in a minute.”

You breathe in, hold it, try not to snap. “Are you really being stubborn right now?” Your voice rises, taut with frustration. “Do you realise how dangerous it is sitting here?”

She doesn’t move. “Well maybe I wouldn’t be if your busy hands had been working on my car a bit better.”

Your jaw tightens, you step back, rain drips down your face. “Will you just come and get in my car?”

“No.”

You snap. “Alexia, don’t be so fucking stupid. I’ve got my little sister in my car, I can’t stand here playing stupid fucking games in the middle of a highway in a goddamn storm."

She looks at you, face hard, but there’s a flicker in her eyes something that breaks through the heat.

You shake your head, turning away. “I’m getting soaked. Suit yourself but I wouldn’t bother ringing our emergency number my recovery truck’s already on a job fifty miles away. Hope you find help soon.”

You turn and walk back to your personal truck, shoulders braced against the cold. When you open the door, Bella's eyes are wide as she clutches her seatbelt tight.

“This is scary,” she says eyes wide, "I don't like it."

You sigh, heart squeezing. “I’m sorry, we're going now, you're ok." You’re climbing in when you hear it, feet splashing through puddles.

“Wait!”

It’s Alba. She’s rushing with Eli down the road, arms over their heads. Alexia trails behind, slower, her hood up, rain darkening her sweatshirt.

They reach your truck, and you open the door without a word.

Eli and Alba squeeze into the back beside Bella, who gives them a nervous wave. You shift things around automatically, helping without looking directly at Alexia as she climbs into the passenger seat as you clear your diary and shit off the seat.

She’s shivering. So are you, you silently flick on the heated seats, turn the heat up.

Alexia says nothing, Eli touches your shoulder gently. “You’re soaked through, cariño.”

You wave it off, eyes forward, hands tight on the wheel. “It’s fine.”

You pull back into traffic, wipers beating back the storm, silence thick in the cab, no one speaks, but everyone feels it. "Awkward" Bella sings under her breath only you smile.

The drive is silent now, rain still taps against the roof, slower now, gentler but the tension inside the cab is anything but.

Your hands are firm on the wheel, knuckles pale. You don’t look at Alexia. She doesn’t look at you, at your parents’ place, you pull in just long enough for Bella to unbuckle.

You turn in your seat to the back and lean toward her, voice softening for the first time all night. “C’mere, gimme a kiss.”

She beams, you do your little handshake, quick taps, a snap, a pinky promise and she hugs you tight around the neck. Your entire body exhales without meaning to.

You watch her run to the front door, backpack bouncing. Your parents open it just as she gets there. You flash your lights once in acknowledgment when they're waving then you pull back out.

Alba pipes up. “I’ll direct you, just turn left at the lights.” but you don’t need the help, you know where Eli lives, you’ve been there too many times with her car and Alba's cars.

Alexia’s quiet in the seat beside you, arms crossed, body still damp.

At Eli’s, you don’t pull into the drive you stop in the street, “Thanks,” Eli says quietly, giving your shoulder a squeeze again. “For helping and for putting up with the stubbornness.”

She gives Alexia a meaningful look Alexia pretends not to see it, Alba climbs out next, shooting a cautious glance between you two before closing the door behind her.

You’re alone, still raining Alexia stays frozen in the passenger seat, watching the raindrops race down the window.

You glance at her. “You going or?” you ask, not looking at her directly.

She doesn’t move. “It’s pouring.”

“Yeah,” you say dryly. “That’s why it’s called rain.”

Eli calls from outside. “Alexia?”

Alexia huffs, putting her window down a touch, arms crossed tighter. “I’m not getting out in this. I’ll wait.”

Eli raises a brow. “You’ll wait?”

Alexia shrugs. “I’ll call a cab.”

“You’ve got no service,” you say, staring out the windshield.

“I’ll get some in a minute.”

You rub your jaw, trying not to lose it. “It’s getting late, I'm tired and you’re being ridiculous, can you not just wait in your mother's?”

You watch her mum and sister head into the house and you still wait for her, minutes pass and still Alexia doesn’t move.

Eventually, you put the car back in drive. "You're fucking annoying" you mutter she doesn’t say anything as you drive off and take the turn that leads back to your place and not in the direction only she knows she lives.

When you pull up in front of your building, you throw the truck in park and glance at her.

“You can sit here and wait for your phone to get service in a storm or you can come up just stay I doubt you'll get a taxi in this, it's your choice. I'm not playing your games” you say, opening your door.

You don’t get an answer right away, you sigh get out and shut the door, as you head through the parking garage you hear a car door shut behind you louder than necessary, you lock your car on the fob as you walk as you know she's following you without a word.

Inside your apartment, she hovers near the doorway like it might bite her arms crossed, wet hair clinging to her cheek. Her eyes scan the room but don’t settle anywhere.

She’s never been in your space before, you can tell it throws her too many pieces of you that don’t match the rough exterior she thought she knew.

The clean kitchen, the small stack of fantasy novels on the counter, the art on the wall, one clearly drawn by a child.

“Sit down if you want,” you mutter, not really looking at her as you toe off your boots near the door.

She doesn’t move.

You don’t think twice just start stripping off your soaked hoodie, then your shirt, your skin goosebumps instantly, wet fabric peeled off muscles and a scar.

You're halfway across the room, grabbing a dry tee off the clothes horse set up by the dining table, when you realise she hasn't moved.

You glance over, catch her staring, her eyes drag upward slow, her face tightens when she sees you looking.

You pull the tee over your head without comment, towel off your hair with the one you grabbed also.

“Do you want dry clothes or you planning on standing there dripping on my floor all night?” you ask finally, walking past her toward the bedroom.

She clears her throat, snapping out of it. “Yeah. I mean yeah, that’d be good.”

You toss her a soft old Barça hoodie, it felt apt, you definitely didn’t steal from your brother, and a pair of sweats that might be too big.

She disappears into the bathroom. When she comes back, she looks... smaller. The hoodie swamps her. Her damp hair is tied up, messily. She doesn’t meet your eyes.

You toss a blanket on the couch, “I’ll take the couch. You can take the bed. Don’t touch anything on the nightstand, there’s like, tools and shit.”

You see the flicker of amusement behind her awkwardness. “You sleep with tools on your nightstand?”

You shrug. “Don’t judge me, princess.”

She doesn’t, but when she turns down the hallway, she says over her shoulder “This place is nice.”

You don’t answer.

You just stand in your own living room, suddenly too aware of her smell lingering in the air. Of the wet towel on the back of a chair. Of the sound of your own breathing.

It’s quiet. Not peaceful. Just full.

🚗

You sit on the couch under an old fleece blanket, knees pulled up, one arm resting lazily along the back. The TV glows in front of you, the volume barely above a whisper. Some documentary you’re not actually watching plays on screen all low-voiced narration and muted cityscapes.

You keep the sound low, you don’t want to wake her, but about forty-five minutes in, just when you’re debating turning the whole thing off and giving in to your own restless head, you hear the soft creak of the bedroom door.

She appears barefoot, in your hoodie and sweats, eyes bleary “Couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.

You turn your head. “Yeah?”

“The hammer and drill on the nightstand were… a bit unnerving.”

That pulls a reluctant laugh out of you. “Yeah, well. Maybe they bring me comfort or some shit.” She gives you a look, but it’s not harsh. “I heard you were up,” you say after a second, nodding toward the hallway. “Your steps are loud as hell.”

She rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitches, you lift the edge of the blanket a silent offer. She hesitates but she comes over without another word and sits beside you, legs folding under her as she pulls the blanket over her lap. Her shoulder brushes yours. Warm. Familiar. Too close and not close enough.

You don’t say anything. Neither does she.

The documentary drones on, forgotten. Something about Paris or maybe traffic congestion. It doesn’t matter.

She shifts after a while, curling a little toward your side, not quite touching you, but near enough that you feel the pull of it.

“Your sister’s drawing of me’s on the fridge,” she says quietly, like she just noticed.

You glance over. “Yeah. She was proud of it.”

“She gave me eyelashes for days.”

“She’s nine. She thinks everyone pretty gets extra lashes.”

That gets a breath of amusement from her. Then a pause, “She really likes me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “She doesn’t like many people. Not even our cousin. She says he talks like a cartoon villain.”

Alexia lets out a soft laugh the kind that sounds like it caught her off guard. Then she goes quiet again but after a while “I’m sorry.”

You look at her, waiting. She doesn’t turn to you, just keeps her eyes on the TV.

“For what I said. About you. The bar. The girl.” Her jaw shifts. “It wasn’t fair. And I knew it.”

You sit with it. Then shrug. “You were pissed. You’re allowed.”

“I meant it, though,” she says. Then, quieter, “That was the problem.”

You don’t answer, because if you do, you might ask her what exactly she meant and you’re not sure you want to hear it.

Instead, you shift slightly. Let your knee press against hers and leave it there.

You don’t know how long you sit like that knees brushing, blanket pulled over both your legs, TV flickering something neither of you are really watching anymore.

The silence should be awkward after everything but it’s not. It’s thick, sure. Full of the kind of tension that wants to be touched, turned over, looked at in the light but it’s not awkward.

Until she shifts beside you. “I didn’t mean it,” she says again. “What I said. At the match.”

You glance at her. She’s staring ahead like the words are costing her something. “The ‘just a mechanic’ part?” you ask, voice dry.

She winces, just barely. “Yeah.”

You nod, eyes drifting back to the TV. “Seemed like you meant it.”

“I didn’t,” she snaps too quick, too sharp, then she exhales, frustrated. “I was… jealous.” You blink. She’s chewing the inside of her cheek now avoiding your gaze. “One of my teammates kept asking about you. Said you were hot. Wanted your number. I don’t know.” She waves a hand like she’s swatting the memory away. “It pissed me off. And I—I didn’t want them thinking I... I didn't want them thinking I knew you well enough to set you up, so I just downplayed it. So I didn't have.. to”

You raise a brow. “By acting like I was the tyre-fitter who realigned your third gear?”

“I panicked,” she mutters.

"What were they asking?"

“If you were single,” she says, almost bitter. “If you were seeing anyone. If you were... into footballers.”

You let out a short breath. “And you got pissed because…”

“Because she’s twenty-five, stupidly hot, good at flirting, and I knew you’d like the attention.”

Your brows raise, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth despite yourself. “So I’m not allowed to enjoy being fancied now?”

“Not when it’s by someone I see in the locker room four days a week.”

You turn your body more toward her, one elbow draped along the couch back, the other hand under the blanket near your thigh. “Which teammate?”

Alexia groans. “Does it matter?”

“Kind of.”

She sighs. “Jana.”

You let out a low whistle. “The defender?”

She gives you a look. “See? You know who I mean.”

You laugh. “Not every day a famous, cute footballer wants to date me. Forgive me for feeling kind of smug.”

She turns her head sharply, eyes locking on yours, but something changes in her face. The fight goes out of her just a little. “Yeah,” she says after a beat, softer. “I guess so.”

The room is darker now. The TV’s off, and the only light comes from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside filtering through the blinds. You barely notice.

Alexia’s head is resting lightly against your shoulder, her breath slow and steady. You can feel the warmth of her body against you, the rise and fall of her chest as she settles into sleep.

You’d thought the night would be heavier loud with words you weren’t ready to say but now, all that pressure seems to have folded in on itself, leaving just this.

You don’t move, not even when your arm starts to go numb beneath her, not when the blanket shifts and slips a little. It’s the kind of quiet that speaks louder than anything you could say.

Her hair brushes against your neck. The soft scent of rain and something faintly sweet, maybe shampoo or soap. You wonder how many nights she’s spent feeling like she had to be tough, like she couldn’t let anyone in and here she is. So close you can count the freckles along her jawline.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting yourself feel it this strange mix of peace and something like hope.

🚗

Sunlight filters through the blinds, slanting gold across the kitchen tiles. The smell of coffee hangs faintly in the air.

You’re already dressed for work faded jeans, a plain tee, sitting at the small kitchen table with a bowl of cereal in your hands.

Your eyes flick up every now and then, watching her sleep, Alexia is curled up on the couch, hair messy and damp from the night before. You hear her take a sharp intake of breath as she wakes, she stills for a moment before looking around then, over her shoulder in your direction.

You raise a spoonful of cereal and grin, “Want some?”

She blinks, the slow realisation hitting. “What time is it?”

“Almost eight.”

Her eyes snap open, and panic flashes across her face. “Shit. I’m going to be late for training.”

You laugh quietly, a little teasing, a little warm. “Chill. I’ll drop you.” She blinks at you, clearly surprised. “And don’t worry about your car, I’ll sort it out it's already back at the garage. I’ll just let you know later what’s going on.”

She nods, still looking a bit flustered, but there’s a spark of something softer behind the rush. “You’re unbelievable,” she mutters, half smiling.

You shrug, trying to play it cool, but inside it’s like your chest just got lighter. “Yeah, yeah. Tell me something everyone doesn't say”

She leans back, watching you eat your cereal like this is totally normal and for now, maybe it is.

🚗

The drive to Barcelona’s training ground feels longer than it should, and completely out of your way, the sky’s still soft with morning light, but there’s a weight in the car that neither of you breaks.

You keep your eyes on the road, hands steady on the wheel she sits beside you, quiet, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the windshield.

The radio hums softly, but neither of you turns it up, the tension simmers unspoken things, half-formed feelings swirling between you like the mist on the glass.

Finally, you pull up near the entrance to the training grounds Alexia turns toward you, eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. “Thanks,” she says quietly.

You nod, voice low, a little rough around the edges. “Welcome. Have a good day.”

She offers the faintest of smiles, then opens the door and steps out you watch her walk away confident, strong, but maybe just a little softer than before.

You start the engine and pull back onto the road, the silence inside the car now almost peaceful. 🚗

The garage is quiet when they walk in.

You’re under the hood of a Peugeot, grease across your knuckles and a wrench resting on the workbench beside you. The sharp click of the front door bell pulls your head up.

Alexia with her mother and Alba trailing behind, all three of them dressed in the casual comfort Alba's got something heavy in her hands a crate of Estrella.

You raise an eyebrow, already suspicious. “We brought you this,” Eli says, setting the crate down with a proud smile. “For everything.”

You wipe your hands on a rag and step around the car. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Alba grins. “Well, we did. So just say thank you and drink it.”

You chuckle. “Thank you. Very much.”

Alexia stays near the door, quiet for a second before she steps further into the space. Her eyes flick to the car parked just outside the open garage bay. “Did you manage to fix it?”

You nod, already reaching for the keys. “Yeah. All sorted.” As you hand them to her, you add casually, “Filled your petrol tank up,”

She stares at you, blinking. “Wait, what?”

You lean against the workbench, smirking. “When the little petrol pump light comes on, it means you have to fill it up. The fuel’s actually a pretty important part of the whole engine system. Helps it... you know-go.” you shove your head forward for dramatic affect

She shoves it away with a scoff, but there’s laughter in it. “Dickhead.”

“No need to be embarrassed,” you say, lifting your hands in mock surrender. “You’d be surprised how many people do it.”

“I'm not embarrassed,” she lies, even as her cheeks flush pink. "And I'm not that stupid"

You catch her mother glancing between you both, her eyes knowing, you ignore it. “Anyway,” you say, stepping back toward the bench, “next time you’re stranded on the roadside, I might not be so quick to play chauffeur, given the attitude”

“You love it,” Alexia mutters under her breath, loud enough for you to hear.

You don’t deny it, but you don’t confirm it either. 🚗

Later that evening, the garage is quiet finally. You’re closing up, dragging the shutter halfway down when you hear the sound of footsteps on gravel, you already know it’s her before you look.

Alexia stands just outside the garage, hoodie on, hair damp like she showered quickly after training, hands in her pockets, like she wasn’t sure if she should come.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again today,” you say, letting the shutter go and walking toward her.

She shrugs, toeing the ground with the side of her shoe. “Left something in the car.”

“You mean the car that’s parked safely right behind you? That you drove here in?”

She gives you a dry look. “Yeah. That one.”

"I have an unclaimed pair of sunglasses, maybe they're yours?"

She shrugged, "Maybe"

You open the door behind you without a word, stepping aside. She follows you in, and something about the silence makes your skin itch not uncomfortable, just... expectant.

You grab the sunglasses from behind your workbench and toss them to her. She catches them easily. “I really did mean to fill it up,” she says, like she’s been waiting to admit it. “I just forgot.”

You smirk. “I figured, but the sarcasm was too easy.”

Alexia grins, stepping a little closer. “You’re smug.”

“You like it.” You mean it as a joke, but the second it leaves your mouth, the space between you shifts her eyes flick up to yours and stay there.

You feel it, the weight of the silence, the rise of something heavy and electric in your chest. You clear your throat, turning to grab a rag even though your hands are already clean, it had become a comfort blanket of sorts whenever she was in the garage lately.

She speaks again, voice low. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Fill up someone’s car. Check on their mother. Give them rides. Fix everything, even when they don’t ask.”

You turn back to her slowly. “No. Just yours.”

It’s quiet again, this time, she doesn’t look away. “I didn’t know what to do with you,” she says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“Back then, when I came to check on mami's car. When you looked at me like you already knew who I was, but didn’t care.”

You lean against the bench again, arms crossed now, trying to stay neutral even though your heart’s beating fast. “And now?”

“I still don’t know what to do with you.” You stare at her for a second, then smirk, just a little. "Don't ruin the moment with something like, I wish you'd do me"

You laughed at her mocking voice, before shaking your head, "I wasn't.. I was going to say you could start by saying thank you.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Thank you.”

“And maybe stop calling people 'slutty blondes’ when you’re jealous.”

Her mouth falls open slightly. “I wasn’t—”

You tilt your head, she shuts up and then, you step forward, close, but not touching. She looks up at you like she’s trying not to lean in. You can feel the heat radiating between you but you don’t move. Not yet. “Night, Alexia,” you say softly.

She blinks, then nods once. “Night.” And turns to leave, breath catching just a little as she walks out.

You wait until the shutter’s down, the lights are off, and the street’s quiet before you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

🚗

The next few days are a rhythm, your usual grind at the garage. Her texts, a little more frequent now. Not flirty, exactly. Not obvious but still there.

How long does an oil change take? Why do I keep hearing a clicking noise when I reverse? Be honest. Did you touch my seat settings?

You answer every one. Sometimes with sarcasm. Sometimes with patience. Always with a smile you try to hide.

Late one evening, after closing up, you’re wiping your hands clean when headlights flash through the window.

You already know who it is.

Alexia parks terribly, crooked and too close to your truck, but you say nothing when she steps out holding two takeaway coffees.

She lifts the cups in a small peace offering. “Figured you wouldn’t have eaten.”

You eye her. “I don’t usually eat my coffee.”

She rolls her eyes and pushes one into your hand. “It’s a peace offering, Mechanic.”

You nod, amused. “We fighting?”

She shrugs. “Not today.”

You both sit on the bench outside the garage, backs against the cool metal shutter. The coffee is warm, the air cooler now that the sun’s dropped behind the rooftops. “Training?” you ask.

She nods. “Double session. My legs hate me.”

You gesture to her cup. “You want me to spike that with WD-40?”

She huffs a laugh. “If I didn’t think you’d actually try, I might say yes.”

There’s a pause. One of those heavy, quiet ones you’re both too used to now. You don’t look at her, but you feel it when her leg shifts just slightly, the denim of her jeans brushing yours.

Not on purpose. Not quite.

“I told my mami you'd got her part in for the car"

“And?”

“She asked why I keep showing up here.”

You lift your coffee. “Told her it’s my killer whit?”

She laughs again, more genuinely this time. “She said… maybe you’re the kind of girl who knows how to take care of people. Even if you pretend not to.”

You go quiet at that not because you don’t have a response, but because you’re not used to hearing things like that.

Especially not from someone like Alexia. She doesn’t fill the silence. Doesn’t explain or deflect.

You glance sideways. She’s looking straight ahead. Jaw tense. Lips parted just slightly, you clear your throat. “You know your seat’s still too far from the wheel, right?”

Her had snaps toward you, a groan already forming. “You did touch it!”

You grin into your cup. “Gotta keep the streak alive.”

She kicks your boot, and you catch her laughing again, another night, another almost but she’s still here.

🚗

It’s nearly 9PM when your phone buzzes. You’re halfway through a plate of reheated pasta, legs kicked up on the coffee table, a mindless documentary on TV.

Alexia: Hey… sorry. Are you busy? My car’s making a weird noise.

You stare at the message for a second.

You: What kind of noise?

Alexia: Like… a clicking? Or maybe a tapping? Or maybe it’s just… different.

You smirk.

You: Is this your version of a booty call? Because you’re gonna have to get more specific.

Three little dots appear. Then disappear. Then return again.

Alexia: I hate you.

You: I’m grabbing my keys what's your address?

Twenty minutes later, you’re in your car outside her home security gates, she buzzes you in without a word.

When she opens the door, she’s in a hoodie that definitely doesn’t belong to her baggy, old, familiar. Yours. You left it in her car two weeks ago.

She doesn’t mention it. Neither do you. “Where’s the patient?” you ask.

Alexia points to the left. “Just there. Thought I heard something earlier.”

You follow her gaze, her car sits perfectly fine under the car port, nothing leaking, nothing sagging, and probably nothing clicking.

You glance back at her. “Uh huh.”

“What?”

“Just wondering how long you rehearsed this ‘weird noise’ story.”

She crosses her arms, defensive but trying not to smile. “I thought I heard something.”

You squint at her. “You wanted me to come over.”

“Shut up.”

“Could’ve just said so.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure you do.” You toe your boots off and step inside fully, she already has two beers on the counter. Opened. You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. That’s so weird. This beer… it’s making a clicking noise.”

She groans, but she’s laughing now, leaning against the kitchen island. “I’ll punch you.”

You take a long sip, eyeing her over the bottle. “No you won’t.”

She shakes her head, pushing off the counter. “Come sit.”

You follow her to the couch, where she tucks her legs up, like this is routine, like it’s always been this easy and it is, somehow.

You watch whatever she puts on without really watching, both of you half-focused, shoulders brushing when one shifts, knees close enough to warm each other through the cotton.

Eventually, she glances sideways. Her voice soft, casual. “Do you think it’s weird?”

“What?”

“This. Us.”

You take a beat. “No.”

She nods, slow. “Me neither.” Another moment, another almost, but neither of you pulls away or pushes forward.

🚗

The bar is loud. Some throwback indie track blaring overhead, neon lighting catching in your half-drunk whiskey glass. You’re leaned against the bar, half-listening to your mate spinning a story about her train-wreck date last week, when she excuses herself for the bathroom.

You stay there, swirling your drink, phone in one hand, scanning the room lazily.

You don’t notice the group until she’s coming back and even then, you don’t notice her not until your friend sits back down, looking like she just witnessed a murder.

“What?” you ask, raising a brow.

She doesn’t answer right away, just grabs her drink and downs half of it. Then, her eyes snap to yours. “I’m going to ask you something, and I need you to be straight with me.”

You frown. “Okay…”

She leans in. “I just overheard Alexia Putellas talking to her friends… she was talking about someone they called the mechanic.” Her eyes narrow. “Is that you?” You blink. Once, and the way your body reacts before your mouth can say anything, the way your head jerks up, the stillness that passes over your face, tells her everything she needs “Fuck off,” she breathes. “You’ve just answered my question.”

You drag a hand over your mouth. “What exactly did you hear?”

“She said,” She leans forward, voice lower now, urgent. “She said, ‘She would’ve made a move by now if she wanted me like that.’ Then her friend asked her why she was so sure and Alexia said, and I quote, ‘Because she isn’t exactly shy. She’s a girl who goes for what she wants, and doesn't give a fuck who cares.’” You press your lips together, your face unreadable. “She’s talking about you,” your friend says, more certain now, leaning closer. “Isn’t she?”

You exhale slowly, eyes flicking past her toward the other end of the bar. There they are. Alexia, Mapi, Patri, Ingrid, all laughing. She hasn’t seen you yet, she’s sipping a mojito and pretending she’s fine, but you know that look.

“Holy shit,” your friend mutters. “You like her.”

You don’t deny it.

“You’ve been pretending this whole time, telling us she’s just someone you’re helping with her car and meanwhile, you’re out here catching feelings.”

You finally meet her eyes. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Yeah, I think I am.”

She stares at you. “And she thinks you don’t want her because you haven’t made a move?”

You nod once. "Apparently so"

Your friend snorts. “You’re both fucking idiots.”

You glance back toward Alexia, she’s still laughing but there’s something in her eyes. Distant. Worn.

“She’s torturing herself,” your friend adds, echoing something you hadn’t heard. “One of them said that.” Your hand tightens on your glass. “You gonna let her keep thinking that?” she presses.

You glance at your friend, then back at the woman across the room and for the first time in a long time, you’re not sure if you should go over to a woman, because maybe you're afraid she won't believe you, or you want to make sure when you do, there’s no going back.

Your mami and her friend soon turn up, better late than never, your friend who is your mami's best friends daughter shows them to the bathroom so you're left alone again

You’re leaning against the bar, waiting for your drinks order, when you sense her before you see her that lingering stare, the weight of it tugging your attention sideways.

Jana Fernández. Barcelona defender. And very clearly clocking you.

You turn toward her with a half-smirk. “Hello.”

She tilts her head, arms casually folded. “You know who I am?”

You take a beat. “I know of you.”

Jana shifts her stance, glancing over your shoulder like she’s checking the coast. “You alone?”

You shake your head, keeping your expression unreadable. “No. I’m here with my mami, her best friend, and her daughter. They’ve gone to the bathroom.”

Jana blinks. You watch the gears turn slowly, she nods, eyes flicking briefly toward her table. “I was going to say… you should join us.”

You blink once. “Us?”

She gestures behind her with her thumb. “Yeah. Alexia and the girls. We’re sat in the back.”

You raise an eyebrow, taking your drink off the bar and lifting it casually. “Well. If I get bored of the quilting club tales, I’ll be sure to find you.”

That earns a surprised laugh out of her. Not mocking impressed, she watches you for another second, then just says, “We're just over by the dance floor, if you want to.. come say hello maybe”

You glance past her, to the back of the bar, where you can just make out Alexia in profile. Not looking at you. Not drinking much either.

“Ok,” you murmur, “maybe.”

You turn, drink in hand, and head back to your table before Jana can say anything else, but her eyes stay on your back the whole way and you're already bracing for what the next round of games will look like, because you’ve just been invited into the lion’s den.

And this time… You might be ready to walk in.

You watch Jana walk back to the table, already knowing she’ll say something. You don’t wait to see if Alexia looks, you just move.

Drink in hand, you cut across the bar like you own the damn place, ignoring the buzz of music, the chatter, the glances. When you get close enough, it’s Alexia who sees you first. She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t wait. Her hand reaches out and touches your arm. Light. Barely there.

“Sit with me,” she says quietly. Not a command, not a plea. Just something simple. Soft and that’s all it takes.

You sink down next to her, close the kind of close that says there’s no pretending this isn’t something anymore.

It’s loud, but it’s like you’re both in a bubble, the others talk, joke, drink, but all you can hear is her. Her shoulder brushes yours as she leans in. “You're here,” she says, eyes scanning your face.

“Jana invited me,” you smirk. “And I figured the quilting stories could only keep me entertained for so long.”

She laughs, low, genuine but doesn't question what you mean, but then her expression shifts, her eyes narrow slightly, focusing on something. She lifts her hand slowly and gently tilts your chin. “What’s that?”

You blink. “What’s what?”

She brushes her thumb under your eye it stings faintly when she does. “That,” she says. “You’ve got a bruise.”

“Oh. That.” You shrug like it’s nothing. “Piece of exhaust slipped from the chain. Caught me good.”

Her brow creases. “You didn’t tell me.”

You raise a brow. “Didn’t know I had to report injuries to my client.”

Alexia doesn’t laugh. She just keeps looking and maybe it’s the lighting, or the proximity, but there’s something in her eyes that hits you different tonight. Less guarded. More raw. “You should be more careful,” she says softly.

You watch her. “You always worry about your mechanic like this?”

Her lips twitch. “Just the reckless ones.”

You clink your drink against hers without looking away. “Guess I’m special, then.”

Alexia smiles the real one, that rare, radiant one that turns her eyes gold and for a moment, even though the whole world is humming around you… It’s just you two. That soft golden look in her eyes doing things to your chest you’re too stubborn to name, when a voice cuts through the moment,

“There you are,” she says, thick with warmth and mischief, you don’t have to look to know who it is, but you do anyway.

Your mother’s standing there, hands on hips, eyes scanning the table with a grin so wide it should come with warning signs. She’s already clocked everyone especially the way Alexia’s arm is still touching yours. “I told Theresa,” she continues, loud enough for Alexia’s entire table to hear, “when I found you, you’d be surrounded by beautiful women.”

Alexia presses her lips together clearly trying not to laugh. You don’t move much. Just flick your eyes up to her with a flat look. “Did you need something, mother?”

She waves a hand, already over it. “Just letting you know the drinks arrived and that Camila is not interested in that lad with the mullet, no matter how many times he tries to teach her how to play pool.”

You nod once. “Good to know.”

“Enjoy yourself, mi amor,” she says, already turning. “But don’t be rude. Introduce your friends next time.”

Then she’s gone, back across the bar to her table, like she didn’t just cause a small earthquake. You sigh and shake your head, lifting your glass again.

“Theresa?” Alexia asks, amused.

“Family friend,” you mutter. “Runs a bakery. Always says I’m ‘a good girl who needs more pastry in her life it's not normal to have abs.’”

Alexia chuckles. “She sounds wise.”

You turn to her. “You laughing at me or with me?”

“Neither,” she says, eyes soft again. “I’m just glad I came out tonight.”

You watch her for a long second, then let your shoulder brush hers with a bump, “So am I.” her knee lightly bumps yours under the table now and then, both of you sipping your drinks, basking in the lull after your mother’s interruption.

That is, until you clock movement from the side of the room.

It’s Theresa’s daughter and your friend Camila young, sweet, carefully carrying your drink across the bar toward you.

Right behind her, the mullet.

He’s cocky. Grinning like he’s already won something. Gesturing like he's telling her the funniest story in the world. She’s smiling, but it’s brittle. The second she catches your eyes, she mouths silently

"Help me."

You exhale through your nose and shift your weight.

Alexia straightens, noticing. “Everything okay?” she murmurs, barely audible under the music.

“Give me two seconds,” you mutter.

You rise from your seat just as Camila reaches your side. You take your drink with a small, quiet thank you, and then you pivot to the guy beside her.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it. “Hey, man,” you say, voice level but cold. “Why don’t you head back to your friends?”

He pauses. “I was just—”

“Yeah. I saw,” you interrupt, stepping slightly forward, closing the space. “She’s not interested. You’ve had your shot. Time to walk away.”

His eyes flick between you and Camila, who’s now tucked safely just behind your shoulder. Then he laughs, holds his hands up, and backs away. “Alright, alright. Jesus. Didn’t realise I was stepping on your toes.”

“You weren’t,” you say. “But you’re stepping on hers.”

That shuts him up. He finally turns and walks off, muttering something under his breath that doesn’t matter at all.

You turn back to your oldest friend and tilt your head. “You good?”

She nods, smiling gratefully. “I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” you say. “But maybe don’t follow guys into the back room to learn pool next time, yeah?”

She laughs and gives you a thumbs-up, hurrying back to the table you really should be at.

You drop back into your seat beside Alexia, she gives you a look eyebrows raised, lips twitching with the effort not to smile. “Do I even want to know what that was about?”

You pick up your drink. “Let’s just say I’ve got a strict no-mullet policy when it comes to people I care about.”

Alexia tilts her head. “You care about her?”

You shrug. “She’s a good friend, she’s family, kind of, known her since I was 2” you add, glancing sideways at her, “I’ve got a thing about stepping in when someone’s being ignored.”

Alexia just looks at you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she leans in slightly and says, “Remind me never to bring a mullet around you.”

You grin. “Smart move, Putellas.”

🚗

You’re not even trying to pretend you’re not watching her.

Alexia’s across the bar with her teammates, laughing too loud, cheeks flushed, glass dangling from her fingers. Mapi’s saying something in her ear. Ingrid’s arm is around her shoulder and Alexia, she’s swaying a little. Her smile’s still the most dangerous thing in the room but tonight, it’s drunk, too drunk.

You’re sitting with your mother and both your friends, but your eyes haven’t left her.

You don’t even notice your mother watching you not until her hand finds your arm. “She doesn’t look steady,” she says softly, like she’s letting you off the hook before you even ask. “Go help your friend get home safe.”

You don’t answer. You just stand. You cross the bar in seconds, weaving through elbows and laughter and loud music. When you reach Alexia’s side, she doesn’t see you at first she’s too busy trying to pour herself the last of someone else’s drink, missing the glass entirely.

You gently catch her wrist, her head snaps up, and when she sees you, really sees you, her face changes. Surprise, embarrassment, then relief. Like maybe she’d been hoping you’d come after all.

“Hey,” you say gently, but firm. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

She opens her mouth to argue, but nothing comes out she just nods, slow and small, and lets you take the glass from her hand.

Mapi grins behind her. “About time.”

You ignore her. “I’ll get her to text when she’s home,” you say, already guiding Alexia through the crowd.

Once outside, the air hits her hard she wobbles, you loop an arm around her waist automatically.

“You alright?”

She nods again. “Too much wine.”

“No shit,” you mutter.

She leans into you without asking and you let her. You help her into your truck, buckle her in, crank the heating. You drive in silence, thankful you only had a couple drinks before going to soft drinks, every few minutes you glance at her she’s quiet, head leaning against the window, eyes glassy but calm now.

When you reach her street, she shifts. “I don’t wanna go in,” she mumbles.

You turn the engine off. “Why not?”

She doesn’t answer for a moment. Then, “I don’t wanna be alone.”

You study her face. She’s not just drunk. She’s worn down, like something’s caught up to her tonight, and all her usual guarding walls have melted away.

“Alright,” you say, soft. “I'll stay until you fall asleep then I'll go.”

She looks at you, blinking slow. “Really?” You nod and she just whispers, “Thank you.”

You unlock her front door with her keys, her chin heavy on your shoulder as she watches your hands move.

She’s quieter now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t come from being shy, no, not with Alexia, but from being too full. From holding back the words she doesn’t quite know how to shape.

You help her kick off her shoes at the door, her hand finds your forearm as she straightens.

“I’ll get you water,” you say gently, heading to the kitchen like it’s muscle memory. You’ve never been here long enough to pretend it is but you know her home better than you should given the time spent here.

She sits on the couch in a graceless sprawl, her head leaning back, eyes closed. Her makeup’s smudged, mascara settled just below her lashes. Her hair’s pulled loose from her pony, she’s beautiful, in that devastating, real way.

You bring the glass over, set it in her waiting hand, she cracks one eye open. “You’re not leaving?”

You shake your head. “Not until you’re asleep, that was the deal.”

She nods slowly. “Stay the night.”

You pause. “Alexia—”

“Not like that,” she says quickly. “Just… stay.”

There’s a pull behind her voice, like gravity, and something in your chest answers.

“I want you to stay where I can see you. I don't like the thought of you walking home alone, it's late.”

That hits somewhere deep, somewhere you don’t name, you reach to take the glass back before pulling her to her feet, her body pressing into yours, she leans her head to the side, resting against your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your arm comes up behind her instinctively, letting her settle into the space like she belongs there.

After a long stretch of silence, her voice comes quiet, smaller than you’ve ever heard it.

“You're still here” you try to not laugh, at the fact even though you're the one holding her, she'd clearly thought maybe you'd gone

“I’m still here,” you say.

She nods against you, before doing the most adorable yawn, it was like watching when a baby yawns.

The stairs feel taller when she’s leaning on you for balance, her hand clinging to the back of your sweatshirt like a lifeline.

"These are dramatic stairs," she mutters, eyes focused like she's climbing Everest.

You smile small, not smug and keep her steady, hand pressed at her lower back as you guide her into her bedroom. "I’ll wait outside," you say once you reach the door. “Get into something comfortable. Let me know if you need help.”

She looks up at you, eyes half-lidded but still sharp. "You’d like that, huh?"

You give her a look. "Go get changed, Alexia."

She laughs softly, swaying a little as she walks into her room and closes the door behind her.

You wait in the hallway, eyes on the floor, hands in your pockets. You could leave. You could call her mother, or Alba, or one of the many women who’d trip over themselves to help her right now, but you stay, as promised, because it’s her and when it comes down to it, you care about her. Maybe too much.

When the door opens, she’s in an oversized Barça training top and cotton shorts, her bare legs already blotched with marks where you heard her bump into her furniture.

You wordlessly offer your hand again, and she takes it, letting you lead her into the bathroom. The light is soft, warm, she sits on the toilet lid as instructed, head tilted back looking at you.

“You gonna scold me again?” she murmurs, eyes closed.

“I’m not your coach.”

“You sure about that?” she smirks, barely.

You don’t answer, you just wet a cotton pad and stand in front of her. She doesn’t speak as you remove her makeup, slow and careful, like she’s made of something that needs preserving. Her skin is warm beneath your fingertips, flushed from the alcohol, but soft. Real.

Her eyes flutter open halfway through, watching you. “You always do things like this?” she asks, voice quieter now. “Take care of girls who get to go home with you? Or just me?”

“Just you.”

She doesn’t smile, but something about the stillness in her face shifts. You finish her eyeliner, reach for a clean cloth to wipe her cheeks. The towel grazes her jaw when she speaks again. “You should hate me.”

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t.”

She nods, almost like that hurts more than the alternative.

You rinse the cloth, hang it back up, and stand. She’s still watching you like you’re some riddle she’s only now trying to solve.

“You’re good at this,” she whispers. “At caring.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” you say, turning off the light. “Ruins the reputation.”

She lets you help her to bed, pulls the duvet around herself like armour. You wait until she’s settled before you move to leave. “Stay,” she says again, voice already heavy with sleep.

So you do. "I'll sit here until you go to sleep, ok?"

You curl into the armchair near the window, hoodie pulled over your head, watching her breathing slow as she drifts and just before your own eyes close, she whispers your name in her sleep.

🚗

There’s a golden streak of sun creeping in past the blackout blinds when Alexia stirs.

Her body’s slow to wake, dulled by the hangover pressing into the sides of her skull, but she registers the warmth of her bed, the soft ache behind her eyes, and the sharp, vivid memory of you in front of her the night before. Steady. Patient. Quietly good.

She turns her head and sees you. Still here.

Slouched awkwardly in the chair by the window, knees spread wide, arms crossed over your chest, hoodie pulled up around your ears. You’d shoved a spare throw over your lap sometime in the night, but your face was tilted sideways, pressed into your shoulder like you hadn’t moved once since she fell asleep.

You stayed. Her heart stumbles over itself.

She gets up slowly, legs unsure beneath her, and pads over barefoot. You’re asleep, and not in that light kind of way you’re fully out. There’s a crease in your brow even now, even resting, something in you never switches off.

Alexia crouches in front of you, watching the way your lips part slightly with every breath. She takes you in, the lines of your jaw, the faint purplish hue of the bruise under your eye, the grease still under your fingernails from work the day before.

The hoodie you’re wearing used to be her favourite before you stole it back, she reaches forward and tugs the hood back gently.

You blink awake, confused and slow, your eyes focusing on her. She sees it the flicker of alertness, the way you straighten in the chair like you're ready to protect something, even now.

“Morning,” she says softly.

You grunt, adjusting in the seat. “What time is it?”

“Too early.”

You rub a hand across your face, sitting forward. “You alright?”

She nods. “Bit of a headache. Nothing fatal.”

You lean your elbows on your knees, glance toward her bed. “You should get more sleep.”

She watches you for a second. “Why didn’t you come lie down?”

You shrug. “Didn’t want to over step.”

"I wouldn’t have minded.”

That makes you glance at her again, this time slower. Your eyes settle on hers. “You sure?”

She smiles, it’s soft, barely there. “You look good in the morning.”

You shake your head, smirking despite yourself. “You’re a menace.”

She stands up, takes a step closer, tugging your arm. “Come to bed. Have five more minutes.”

You hesitate and then you let her pull you.

The bed dips as you climb in next to her tentative, careful. She doesn’t hesitate, though. She leans into you, lets her head rest on your shoulder, one hand curling around your hoodie.

You lie there in the quiet, sun warming the room inch by inch.

You don’t know how long you lie there her head still on your shoulder, and your arm has gone a little numb, but you’re not moving. Not when her fingers are gently tracing the small patch of skin she found at the edge of the seam on your hoodie, her breaths still even, slow.

And then she shifts, just slightly enough to look up toward you. You look down at the same time she looks up. It’s quiet. Still and yet everything in you tightens like something electric is crackling through the mattress beneath you both.

She doesn’t speak. Neither do you. You don’t need to, because the way her eyes drop to your mouth and hover there is louder than anything she could say. Because when you tilt your head slightly, her breath hitches, because when your noses brush, there’s no going back.

You kiss her.

It’s slow unsure for only half a second until her mouth parts beneath yours, warm and open and wanting. She sighs into it, a sound that lands somewhere low in your stomach, and you kiss her again, like you’ve wanted to since the first moment she walked into your garage with too much attitude and not enough patience.

You shift, body over hers, hand braced beside her head, not touching too much, just enough, but her hands are bolder than you expect.

They move to your hips, sliding up your sides under your hoodie to your ribs. You freeze slightly when her fingers splay across your skin, hesitating like she’s waiting for permission, and when you don’t stop her, she slides the hoodie up to your shoulders. You sit back to help her, she watches as you pull it off.

Her eyes are wide, unblinking, like she’s trying to memorise you in this light, vulnerable, a little breathless, lips parted, heartbeat clearly visible in your throat.

You’re both suspended for a moment her head tipped back against the pillow, your body hovering just above hers, the world narrowing to the curve of her lips and the heat between you.

Her fingers, still trembling with that early-morning haze, find your abs, you catch your breath as she gently traces them, decisive motion.

Your lips brush hers again gentle at first, testing, savouring. Then everything shifts, her arms wind around your neck, pulling you closer. Your hands settle beside her waiting, holding her there as if you’re afraid she’ll vanish if you loosen your grip.

The kiss deepens, slow and hungry. You cup her jaw, thumb tracing her cheek, and feel her fingers play with the hair at your nape. The space between you ignites, the morning light, the faint scent of her hair, the rising pulse that thrums through your chest.

You trail gentle kisses down her neck, each one a promise. She arches into you, fingers tangling in your hair, urging you nearer. In that moment, all the tension and teasing of the past months dissolves. It’s just the two of you, breathless and real.

She presses her body up to meet yours, and when her lips find yours once more, full, open, searching, you know you’re exactly where you need to be.

You shift your weight, careful, keeping your palm flat on the mattress so you don’t crush her, but she’s not shy, not anymore, she stretches up like she wants to erase whatever distance is left, and your hand lands at the point of her hip where her t-shirt is bunched. You have to steady it, make yourself move slow, let this last. She makes a soft noise when you press your mouth to the corner of hers, then to her jaw, her pulse, her collarbone. She tastes like sleep and faint salt, and you want to run laps over every inch of her, learn her until you could do this in your sleep.

She whispers something you don’t catch, just a breath of a word, and it jams the air between the two of you. For a second you’re paralysed, the question in her eyes so open it makes your chest hurt, but then you nod once, slow, and she grins, actually grins, like she’s won some kind of prize, and you don’t have to be careful anymore.

Everything is fast and breathless, a scramble to get closer, her hands under your shirt and yours under hers. She’s soft and solid and so alive beneath you, and she’s laughing, like it’s the best joke she’s ever heard when you accidentally find her ticklish spot. You want to make her laugh forever. You want to never stop this, not ever. Her skin is warm and she’s tugging you down, hooking a leg over your hip, and you kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her.

You’ve never felt this way. It’s new and it’s terrifying, but it’s the best kind of terror, like standing at the edge of something huge and wild and knowing it’s yours for the taking. She moves under you and you want to cry, shout, sing, something, anything to let it out. There are no words for this.

No words for the way she pulls you in, the way the world goes blurry and bright and she’s the only clear thing. The way she gasps when you find her throat, her shoulder, the dip above her collarbone, the way she’s so close you could drown in the scent of her, the feel of her, and it would be the best way to go. You push her shirt up, slow and eager, kissing every inch of skin as it’s exposed. She’s unravelling under you, hands in your hair, breath catching in her chest, and you think, yes, yes, yes, this is it, this is it, this is it.

Everything is just her, only her. The sun creeping through the window, a witness. The quiet that should be awkward but never is, not with her. You lose track of your own heartbeat, the way it’s keeping time with hers. You lose track of the hours, of the light shifting from dawn to something brighter, bolder. It’s like the world is holding its breath, and you’re holding yours, everything is a blur of skin and touch and heat. She arches when your hand finds her waist, her side, lower, and you’re not careful anymore, not even a little. Her moan is a tug in your gut, and then you’re gone, mouth on her neck and chest as she moves and writhes beneath you, as she comes apart under your touch, as she gasps your name.

You want to brand it into your skin. You want to say it back to her over and over until it’s meaningless, until it’s the only thing that means anything. Her eyes flutter open, and she looks at you like she’s seeing you for the first time, like she’s looking at someone else entirely. She slings an arm over her eyes, and for a moment you think she’s embarrassed, but there’s still a smile breaking loose across her face, uncontainable and bright as noon. You slip your arm around her back your hand resting on behind as she rolls to bury her face in your neck, you whisper, "Don't go all shy on me"

"I liked that" she whispered into your ear, as your hand was smoothing over her skin.

You hum, "You did?" she nodded, you guide her leg over your hip and your hand moves in from over her thigh, her face reappears as she gasps and her head goes back when your fingers disappear inside her once again.

Her hand cradles your face as your 'busy hands' as she had always called them were indeed busy, she hums against your lips as she kisses you.

"Let me hear you" you whisper as her forehead is pressed to yours her body stiffening again, a breath gets caught in her throat and comes out as moan followed by your name, "Good girl"

Her shoulders come up tense both hands gripping your face as your fingers pump the veins standing out on your tattoo'd forearm, her chest was flushed red with a shine of sweat, "I'm gonna.." she breathes, but again it gets caught as your thumb finds her clit and begins moving in time with your fingers.

"That's my girl" you smirk eyes fixated on her, her eyes rose to meet yours as her breathing was ragged her chest heaving, her arm moved around your neck putting your mouth near her ear as she needed you closer, "Come for me" you whispered and her body instantly reacted, her head went back giving you access to her neck and your fingers slowed as you let her ride her orgasm out licking sucking and kissing her neck you quickly realised she liked.

🚗

The morning after is slow, unhurried.

You’re both in comfy clothes, Alexia in her oversized tee and messy bun, you in the hoodie she keeps stealing. The kitchen light is soft, bouncing off tile and kettle steam.

You'er perched on the counter, one leg swinging lazily, watching her try to fry eggs without setting off the smoke alarm. There's a smug smile on your face. She tries to ignore it.

“You want to help, or just critique?”

“I’m here for emotional support,” you say, reaching for a grape off the counter.

She turns, smirking. “Emotional support while I feed you?”

You hold out another grape like a peace offering. “Don’t complain. This is domesticity you wanted, no?”

She raises an eyebrow and takes the grape from your hand with her teeth, grazing your fingers deliberately as she does. “This is you eating my food and laughing at me when I burn toast.”

You grin wider. “Which is charming.”

She holds the spatular to you, you smile hop down taking it you raid her spices to make the eggs how you like them, her turn to sit on the counter watching. She wouldn't admit it but your eggs did look good.

You step between her legs, resting your hands on her thighs. Her laughter quiets.

“I like mornings with you,” she says softly.

Your chest tightens, just enough to notice. “Yeah?” you murmur.

She nods. “Didn’t think I would. I thought this would always be... fast. Dangerous.”

“You thought we’d be dangerous.”

“I thought you would be.” Her smile is smaller now. Honest. “You had the whole ‘too cool to care’ thing going.”

You chuckle, pressing your forehead gently against hers. “Still do, apparently.”

“No,” she says, and her voice is light but her eyes are serious. “You care. You just pretend you don’t, but I see it.”

You tilt your head and kiss her soft, slow, no rush to make it more than it is. You kiss her because you can because you want to, because it’s her.

She kisses you back like she already knows. The eggs crackle gently in the pan. The kettle clicks off behind you. Outside, the world starts its usual chaos. But in this kitchen, it’s quiet.

“You really thought I wasn’t interested?” you ask against her lips.

She leans back just far enough to look at you. “You never made a move.”

“I was busy trying not to prove I can stay when I want to.” She smiles and kisses you again, you laugh into her mouth, pull her closer by the hips. “Still hungry?”

“For food?”

You glance at the stove. “Might be safer to order in.”

She shrugs. “I’m good here.”

You hum in agreement, tucking your face into the curve of her neck, arms around her waist, her legs around yours. You both smell like sleep and coffee. Like something shared. Like something that finally makes sense.

There’s no big ending. No grand gesture. Just a mechanic and a footballer in a sun-warmed kitchen, burning eggs, stealing kisses, and building something they never expected to find.

Together.

The End.

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girlgenius1111 · 2 months ago

Text

different when it's me

barcelona femení x reader you've had a secret for a really long time, one that is getting harder and harder to keep. your friends and teammates know that something is wrong, but they aren't sure how to get you to talk when you seem so insistent on keeping it all to yourself. basically, r is struggling with her sexuality, and her teammates try to help. angst, fluff, you know the drill. cw for internalized homophobia

—

For as long as you could remember, there had been rules. Rules that applied to you, even if they didn’t apply to anyone else. Like how you weren’t allowed to yell at your parents, but they could yell at you. Or how you weren’t allowed to see your friends on school days, but your brother could.

Even as you’d gotten older and moved out, the ‘you’ rules remained. Some of them were entirely self imposed. It was alright if other people took time off training when they were sick, but you couldn’t. It was okay if Vicky left a dish in the sink instead of washing it right away, but if you did that you’d have felt like a terrible roommate.

And then there was the biggest rule of all. It wasn’t even a rule, really. It was just… how things were.

Other people could be gay. Your teammates, your friends. Anyone else, that was okay. You’d stand by that, you’d fight for it.

But you couldn’t be. You just couldn’t.

Maybe it was your parents, or maybe it was the hours you’d spent in church, hearing the priest casually slip into his homelie comments about men and women and Leviticus 18:22. Whatever had kickstarted the shame and guilt within you, it didn’t matter that much. It was there.

Every time a pretty girl smiled at you in public, or when the cute barista would draw a little smiley face on your coffee cup. Every time you instinctually frowned and stepped away from a man who was looking to make a move on you. Every time you noticed a girl’s smile or the color of her eyes, the soft skin of her hand as it brushed yours.

Shame.

And you tried, tried so hard. To imagine the perfect man, the perfect wedding, the perfect life. But it just wasn’t right. The longer you spent away from your parents, away from the catholic church you’d grown up in, you started to wonder. The longer you spent around your friends who didn’t even blink when Jana announced she had a new girlfriend, the standard you set for yourself started to crumble, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto it.

You’d find yourself daydreaming. The domestic life you’d always been so sure you didn’t want would flash in your mind, except this time, it was a lot more appealing. A wife, instead of a husband, and your stomach didn’t turn. For so long, you’d thought that there was no option to accept what you knew, knew really deep down, to be true. You’d rather die than accept it, if life in the closet was so miserable, you’d rather die.

But acceptance began to start without you even telling it to. Like your brain was so tired of the shame, it started to reject it.

So what? It would say. It had never felt like that before, and you were beyond terrified.

—

What kickstarted everything was a visit home to your parents. As it often went, 90% was nice. Home cooked meals, the feeling of not having to be responsible for anything, just for a little while.

It was good. Or, at least, it was alright enough that you could convince yourself it was good. You could pretend everything was okay.

And then, your mother had asked the dreaded question. Do you have a boyfriend yet?

You could tell as time passed, as you got older and never brought home a boy, your parents grew more and more worried. Whether that was worry that you were going to die alone, or worry that you weren’t into guys, you didn’t know.

But they always asked. And when you’d shake your head, say no and give the excuse that football kept you too busy to think about that, they’d always respond the same.

Well, don’t close yourself off! The perfect guy is out there.

You really doubted that. Normally, it stopped there, but this time, your father took it a step further. Said something that made your stomach twist and your palms sweat.

The perfect man, he’d emphasized. I know how your teammates are. Don’t get any ideas.

It was an off handed comment, probably didn’t mean he suspected anything. Logically, you knew that. Illogically, though… not so much.

You spent the whole drive back from their house crying. Disappeared into your room as soon as you got home, shaking off Vicky’s concerned questions. You didn’t emerge until the next morning for training, and you didn’t feel any better.

There was this weight sitting on your chest. It felt like everyone knew, everyone was staring at you, thinking things about you that you were barely able to admit to yourself. It was the weight of obligation; to your parents and to yourself, pulling you in opposite directions.

It was tearing you in half.

—

No one would ever describe as quiet or withdrawn. You hung around with the louder portion of the team, and you were no exception to that group. You were loud and unrestrained and goofy most of the time. Of course, you were serious when you had to be, but normally not a day passed at Ciutat Esportiva where the sound of your laughter wasn’t bouncing off the walls of the locker room, audible to anyone walking through the hall.

That is, until today.

It wasn’t obvious, not to everyone. There were so many players, so many of you messing around that it didn’t raise alarm bells for any of your older teammates. But for your friends, your best friends, they knew something was wrong the second that you didn’t crack up at Jana’s ridiculous story about Ona falling asleep on her couch and rolling off onto the floor. You gave a weak smile, one that was barely there and very fake.

And immediately, your teammates were giving you a closer look. They noticed bags under your eyes, the distant look on your face as you stared off at the wall. You were wound tightly, it seemed, every muscle in your body tense as you waited to walk out onto the pitch with your friends. It didn’t even occur to you that they’d think you were acting any different, but though they could be absolute clowns, they were also observant, intelligent people.

They could tell, without question, that something was wrong. Jana and Claudia exchanged glances, before turning to Vicky, who could only offer them a shrug in response. She’d known something was wrong since last night, when you’d come home from your parents. You’d barely said two words to her, though, and she was fairly certain you weren’t going to talk if anyone tried to get you to.

But Jana was Jana, and soon she was meaningfully looking between the rest of your teammates and the door, a not so subtle nod for them to give the two of you a moment. For your part, you didn’t even notice them walk out the door. You didn’t notice Jana stay behind, gazing at you worriedly. You were stuck in your head, a billion questions racing through it even as you tried to push them out and focus on the training session ahead of you.

Would your parents hate you?

“Are you okay?”

Would they disown you?

“Huh?” You replied, only half hearing your teammate. You should tell them. Just get it over with. But tell them what? You weren’t even sure. No, of course you were sure, but there was always the chance that you were wrong?

“Hey, amiga.” Jana’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, and this time you looked up at her.

You couldn’t tell. It would ruin everything. Absolutely everything.

“Yeah, yeah, what’s up?” You murmured, voice quiet. But how could you keep this to yourself? How could you live with a secret for the rest of your life? You couldn’t.

Jana was really concerned now. You looked destroyed, almost, like you were being ripped in two. Something was really, really wrong.

“Did something happen?” Jana wondered. She had such a calm, soft demeanor. Her expression was so open, and so concerned, it was hard not to break.

It only took a moment for her question to register, and it was as if your brain had detected some kind of threat and instantly drawn all your walls up. You sat up straighter, your eyes clearing. Gone was the look of anxiety and sadness. In its place, you just looked determined. Your face was wiped of any emotion and you stood, giving Jana a half smile.

“Nope! Sorry, I’m tired today. Everything’s fine. Let’s go?”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked towards the door. Jana followed you after, slowly, studying the back of your head as if it would give her the answers.

She wasn’t sure what the hell that was. But she knew, she knew that you were hiding something, and that you weren’t okay. And that wasn’t okay with her.

—

They watched you all throughout training. You could feel their eyes on you, too, and it only strengthened your resolve to act normal. But your friends weren’t having it. They didn’t leave you alone for a second. If it wasn’t Claudia pairing up with you for drills when she normally was always with Patri, it was Esmee standing right next to you during a water break. If it wasn’t Vicky taking the spot right next to you at lunch, it was Jana following you to the bathroom even though she’d just been.

It wasn’t that you blamed them for being worried; you knew you’d been weird upon arriving that morning. Since then, though, you’d made a very strong effort to appear as though you were fine.

Your friends didn’t buy it, but apparently your captains did, because Jana tried to tell them something was up, but they just brushed her off.

Jana explained to Alexia, Irene, and Marta that something was wrong. That you seemed like you were somewhere else entirely that morning, barely fighting back tears.

Vicky had told them how weird you’d been acting since coming home from seeing your parents, and how she could have sworn she heard you crying in the shower that morning.

Claudia told them you didn’t even blink when she took a few blueberries off your plate at lunch, even though you were notorious for being bad at sharing food.

None of them thought anything of it.

Even when Patri told them you hadn’t made any jokes about how she’d worn her shorts inside out for the first half of training, Alexia just shook her head with an amused smile.

“She’s growing up, then? Being more mature?” Alexia asked.

“You’re complaining that she beat you to it, are you?” Irene chuckled.

“The girl doesn’t pull a prank and suddenly she’s been replaced by an alien.” Marta grinned.

Your act was too good; you’d put on a very strong façade since slipping up that morning in the locker room. You had everyone but a few of your best friends convinced you were fine.

—

Annoyingly, no one seemed to be giving up on worrying about you. It continued for the next couple days. Even as you acted normal, completely fine, you could tell you were being watched by one of your friends at all times. They were waiting for you to break, again, which was an unsettling feeling and only made you more determined to be fine. You’d pushed the issue from your mind entirely. Wouldn’t think about it, wouldn’t even name it. It was just the issue, and you’d decided it didn’t matter. You couldn’t handle thinking about it while still pretending to be fine, so you didn’t think about it. If your friends caught even the slightest slip up from you, you knew you’d be cornered and interrogated. And above all else, you couldn’t tell them.

They couldn’t know. No one could know. That was what you lived on, the mantra that kept you going when all you wanted was to curl up into a ball on the ground and cry. No one could find out.

You thought that you’d maybe have a respite when Vicky announced she was spending Thursday night at home with her family as it was one of her brothers’ birthdays. But almost as soon as she’d given you that information, your phone was buzzing with a text from Jana.

We’re coming over to watch a movie tonight, because you have the biggest TV. We’ll bring snacks. 8:00. :)

Your TV simply was not the biggest one, that was a blatant lie. But what could you do?

No, Jana, you can’t come over, I have plans of self loathing and sobbing into my pillow until I fall asleep.

So, there you found yourself, curled up on the couch next to Patri as a movie you couldn’t even recall the name of playing on the average size TV hung on your wall. It was harder at night, for some reason, to block everything out that you refused to think about. Mostly, you were picking at your nails and trying to keep up with the plot of the movie so you could appropriately laugh and not bring attention to yourself.

Claudia and Jana were each in an armchair, both of them annoyingly angled so they could see you out of the corner of their eyes. It was impressive, honestly, how committed they were to this. One or two odd moments, and they’d become an investigative team.

You supposed, though, being with them and pretending to be happy was better than being by yourself and feeling it all.

One second, you were holding firm. You were laughing at the funny parts and smiling when you had to. You were holding it together, and you could almost feel your friend’s worry for you dissipating as you acted like yourself.

It felt like you there was a collapsed building sitting on your chest in doing so, but you were doing it.

But of course, the universe wasn’t on your side. Of course the movie that Patri had put on had a scene where a character came out to their parents. Who knows, maybe Patri had her suspicions about what was going on with you, and the movie choice was intentional. Maybe it was entirely unintentional.

Either way, you were crying before you could even try to stop the tears. It wasn’t even a negative scene; the character’s parents were accepting. Loving. They hugged the kid, told him they loved him no matter what.

It was a happy scene, yet all you could think about was that you would never ever have that. There would be no acceptance. No love. There would be tears, but they wouldn’t be the happy kind. It would be the end of the world as you knew it, and that felt so fucking unfair.

You didn’t want to be like this. You wanted to be normal, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t, and you were going to lose your parents as a result. There was nothing you could do to change that.

So, you cried. Tears silently tracked their way down your cheeks. So quietly, in fact, that it went unnoticed for a minute. Until Jana peeked at you briefly, as she’d been doing all evening, and caught the shine on your cheeks and the tremble of your lip. Most of all, she noticed the devastated look in your eyes, and she was moving before she even knew what she was doing.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” She murmured, sitting down beside you and pulling you into her. You went willingly, or at least you didn’t resist. You let Jana hug you nice and tight, just for a minute. You felt Patri’s hand on your back, not unlike how she’d approach you when you’d get hurt in a match and stay down.

And now…now you were hurting. But not in a way that any of them could fix, you were sure. You wouldn’t let them try, anyway.

The movie was paused when you pulled away from Jana, hastily wiping at your eyes. You could feel the gaze of all three of your teammates on you, insistent and concerned. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to convince them you were fine this time.

“What’s going on with you, hm?” Patri asked gently, nudging your shoulder until you looked at her.

“You’ve not been yourself for days, chica. Talk to us.” Claudia chimed in, moving to perch on the coffee table in front of you. The three of them surrounded you, and maybe it was meant to feel comforting, but all you felt was suffocated.

The walls were closing in in every aspect of your life. You couldn’t hide anymore. Not from your parents, and not from your teammates. That didn’t stop you from trying. Didn’t stop you from clawing at the walls as the room got smaller and smaller, forcing an exit into existence even though there wasn’t one in reality.

“Nothing.” You replied, looking down at your hands fidgeting in your lap. You couldn’t look at them. Not at Claudia’s normally happy face, pinched with concern. Not at Jana, who was surely biting at her lip like she did when she got nervous. Not at Patri, who you knew was studying you closely, brows knit together. You felt transparent, like eye contact would tell them everything, so you didn’t look up, not even when they began to speak.

“Nothing is wrong?” Jana repeated incredulously. You just shrugged in response. “You just started crying in the middle of the movie for no reason.”

Patri shifted closer, slinging her arm around your shoulders. “Vicky said you’ve been acting weird since you came home from your parents. If something happened with them, you can tell us. You can trust us, nena.”

“Nothing happened, I swear.” Finally, you looked up, and it was Claudia’s eye that caught yours. Surprisingly, she looked frustrated… almost stern.

“I don’t believe you.” She said simply.

A flash of frustration washed over you at how insisted they were being. Though it was for your benefit, it made you inexplicably annoyed; they couldn’t just let it go. They couldn’t understand that you didn’t want to talk, that they couldn’t fix this for you. Every push on their part made it harder and harder for you to pretend to be okay. If you broke, fully, not cracked like you did just a few minutes prior, it would be their fault. If you broke and everything came spilling out and your whole life fell apart, it would be on them.

Maybe if that frustration hadn’t been there, you wouldn’t have reacted in the way you did.

Instead, you stood, forcing a scowl onto your face. “Well, that’s not my problem. If something was wrong, I think I’ve made it very clear I don’t want to talk about it.” You snapped.

All three of your teammates blinked up at you, stunned. They’d never heard your voice sound like this, angry and raspy and devastated all at the same time. They’d never felt your anger directed at them, not really.

“Chica–”

“No. You all just keep pushing and pushing no matter how many times I tell you to back off. Leave me alone! I didn't ask you to hover over me, and I didn’t ask you to come over tonight. So please. Go.”

Before you could second guess yourself, before you could let the string of apologies waiting on the tip of your tongue out, you turned and stomped down the hall to your room.

Shame had been your constant companion for a long time. But now, as you lay on your bed listening to the sounds of your teammates quietly leaving your apartment, it burned through you in a way you weren’t used to. Normally, you directed everything at yourself. Every negative emotion was your problem and your problem only. People didn’t see you angry or sad, not even your closest friends.

Something had to give, though. You couldn’t keep going the way you had been, pretending you were fine when it felt like your brain was eating you from the inside out. Like the monster of self loathing inside your head would consume you if you didn’t open your mouth and let it out.

That didn’t stop the guilt.

The apartment was quiet in your friends’ absence. It was quiet, yet the silence was thick. You dragged yourself out of bed, threw on some pajamas and went to brush your teeth. All the while, your head was spinning. Because the way you’d acted tonight might have gotten them to leave for now, but there was no way they’d let this go. You’d been rude and harsh and unkind. All things very out of the ordinary for you. In your attempt to push them back, you’d given them exactly what they needed to know, to prove that you weren’t okay.

You didn’t remember going through your nighttime routine at all, really. Your clothes for the next morning laid out, your water filled and placed on your nightstand, the doors locked, the fan on the correct setting. It was all right, but you didn’t remember doing it.

You did remember curling up under the covers and pulling your childhood teddy bear close. You did remember the text you sent to your friends.

I’m sorry about tonight. There’s no excuse. I’m really really sorry.

It wouldn’t help your case at all, really, but you were a bit resigned to that now, and if your parents had taught you anything other than to despise who you were, it was that you didn’t treat friends the way you had that evening. Not all of their lessons were bad, you supposed.

As soon as you placed your phone back down on the nightstand, the silence was broken with a buzz. Another buzz. And another. You picked your phone right back up, reading the three texts.

Jana. It’s okay, chica. We love you.

Patri. We’re here if you need to talk. Day or night.

Claudia. You aren’t alone, okay?

You pictured them in their own homes, probably already texting Alexia and Irene. All three of your friends, all of your team really, looked to them for guidance on practically everything. They were wise, seemingly all knowing. It shouldn’t have been a comfort that they’d been on your case next, but somehow it was.

Because for all you talked about wanting to be left alone, for all the pushing away you did, you didn’t really want to do it by yourself. Deep down, you wanted someone to come and stay and not let you self destruct. It was really just a matter of which part of you won out; the terrified you or the desperate you. Terrified of honesty and truth and being you. Desperate for someone to tell you that everything was going to be okay.

—

You didn’t expect your teammates to act as quickly as they did. The team had the weekend off, and you thought you’d have a day or so before someone came busting your door down. But Jana, Claudia, and Patri must have called Alexia and Irene and woke them up, because your friends had left after your captain's bedtime.

And so, at just barely past 9 the next morning, your doorbell rang. Whoever was at your door probably thought they were giving you a nice lie in, but it felt like the middle of the night to be woken then on a day off. You pulled a sweatshirt over your head, unable to even form a thought on who was at your door and what you would say to them in your groggy state.

You opened your door, internally sighing when you saw Irene standing there. A part of you was surprised it was just her, more surprised when she didn’t ask to come in. Instead, she handed you a paper bag full of tupperware containers.

“Hi, chica. This is for you.”

Taking the bag, you gave her a confused look, not quite awake enough to talk.

Irene looked a bit frazzled, like she was in a rush. She was in mom mode, three stray stickers stuck on the front of her shirt, though you were sure she wasn’t aware of them. Even so, she softened for a moment, leaning against your doorframe.

“Jana called me last night. Your friends are worried about you, and I am too. We all are, really.” She paused, her very wise eyes searching yours. “Lucía and I are taking the weekend off to go see her family, but I couldn’t leave without stopping by to check on you. And Lucía heard what happened, and she cooked you dinner. Because that is how she solves things.”

At this, Irene rolled her eyes, but did so fondly. You noticed the light in her eyes she always got when she talked about her wife, and you tried to ignore the deep pang inside your chest. Would you ever have that?

“Anyway, I brought food and this.” Irene stepped forward, wrapping her arms tight around you. You were frozen for a moment, unsure how to react. Would giving in and hugging her back be admitting that something was wrong? Maybe you were passed that point. Either way, you allowed yourself to lean into the older woman, letting the momentary comfort wash over you.

“Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.” Irene told you. She squeezed you tight one more time before releasing you and stepping back. “Oh! Alexia will be over later. Prepare yourself to talk, because this whole silent thing is not going to fly with her.”

With that, Irene was walking briskly back down the hall. You watched her go, a little dumbfounded. If the defender’s intentions had been to throw you off, it had worked. All you could think was that you hadn’t said a single word to Irene, yet you felt like you’d confessed everything.

She had three more stickers on the back of her shirt, you noted as she turned the corner and walked out of sight. You couldn’t even really be amused, your brain too busy already anticipating Alexia’s visit.

Alexia… Alexia was going to make you talk if it took all day. She was stubborn like that.

Irene was right. You did need to prepare yourself.

—

The apartment was spotless, Alexia noticed. She looked around, gingerly leaning against your kitchen counter.

It was spotless. You’d channeled your anxious energy into cleaning, and besides; your parents had always taught you to clean for guests, and Claudia had somehow spilled popcorn all over your chair so you had to vacuum anyway.

Alexia was very quiet. She’d shown up at your door, not bothering to explain why she was stopping by. You both knew the reason. You’d let her in, and she’d followed you into the kitchen as you got her a glass of water. It was an awkward silence that filled the room, an awkward silence that was making you antsy.

Alexia, on the other hand, was relaxed. Like she’d cleared her calendar and had all the time in the world. Knowing her… she probably had. She wasn’t waiting for you to talk, necessarily. She was just waiting for the right opportunity to get at what was bothering you.

And when she noticed the picture frame facedown on the shelf above your counter, she knew she’d found what she was looking for.

“Thought you had a picture of your family there.” Alexia commented casually. She actually wasn’t sure what picture had been there, but she was making an educated guess. Judging by the way pain flashed across your face, it had been a good guess.

You could have lied, and say the picture frame had broken. Could have lied and told Ale that you’d knocked it over and forgot to pick it up. You could have played it off defensively, kept yourself closed up like you had been for days.

All morning, you’d been trying to decide how to go about this. Ultimately, you couldn’t get over everyone being worried about you. Nothing felt worse to you than being a burden on other people. Jana was worried. Claudia, Patri, Esmee, Vicky, Salma. They were all worried. Clearly Alexia and Irene were too. You knew what you should do. You just didn’t know if you’d be able to do it when the time came.

Yet when you sighed, nodding your head at Alexia’s statement, your decision was made. And once it was made, it was like the truth had been waiting for a moment of weakness to force its way out.

“I’m gay.” You burst out.

Alexia blinked. That was not what she was expecting. She was a bit confused; she’d come over here thinking you were depressed or something. She’d prepared for that, or something similar. She wasn’t prepared for this, and for a moment she was frozen, searching for the right words.

You, on the other hand. You were about to fall to pieces.

You’d never said it out loud before. Had barely even let yourself think it. But now it was out there, and you couldn’t inhale your words back in. You couldn’t go back, and that knowledge had your hands trembling and your breath catching.

“Oka-” Alexia began, nodding her head and taking a cautious step closer to you.

“I like girls, and it’s going to ruin everything, Ale. My parents are going to hate me, everyone is going to hate me. Everything… everything is going to be so hard and I don’t think I can do it!”

You were crying, by now, a steady stream of tears running down your face. Alexia’s expression was one of deep empathy and concern. She looked like she would have done anything in that moment to make you feel better, but you weren’t sure there was anything to be done.

“And I know it shouldn’t matter, but it feels like it does. It feels like it matters because it’s me. It’s different. It’s different and I don’t know what to do, I don’t want to lose my family.”

For the second time that day, you were being wrapped up in a tight hug. So tight it almost hurt. You clutched onto your captain just as tight, pushing your face into her shoulder and letting the weight of what you’d admitted wash over you. Alexia just held you for a minute, her sweatshirt soft as you pressed your face into it, her hands warm on your back. It felt almost safe.

“It’s not different, nena. It’s not. Not because it’s you. You’re not bad, you’re not weird. You’re still you, and anyone who deserves to know you will understand that.”

You cried harder, but not in a bad way. It was just… exactly what you’d needed to hear for so long. Maybe for your whole life. And someone was finally telling you, someone you loved and trusted. Someone you respected.

“It’s okay. It’s all okay, I promise. I know it feels terrifying, but you’re not alone. We’ve all got you, pequeña.” Alexia murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Thank you.” You choked out. You weren’t sure if you were thanking her for knowing exactly what to say, or for showing up at your door practically the minute she’d realized something wasn’t okay. You had a lot of people to thank, you realized. “Thank you, Ale.”

Alexia just shushed you, running her hand up and down your back. She didn’t let go, and you didn’t either. Because for the first time in so long, you felt like you were safe. You felt like maybe you’d be okay. Maybe.

—

i know this one has been very anticipated, so i hope it lives up to expectations :)

i kind of have an idea for a part two, but i'm not sure if anyone wants that or not.

anyway. enjoy 🙂❤️‍🩹🥰

#woso x reader #woso imagine #barcelona femeni x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #barca femeni x reader #barça femeni x reader #alexia putellas x platonic reader #alexia putellas x reader

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