#stargirl;

[brnettesundoll]

[izzy444angel]

[scorpiomoondoll]

Brittany Murphy

[luciewitch13]

[holyblonded]

the m word | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: 3 times you accidentally called alexia mom and the one time you planned it

warings: bad parents, flu

notes: this takes place a few months to a year or two after estrella joined the team

When you first moved up to the senior team, you had no idea what to expect. You were only fourteen, the youngest player by far, and all your friends (besides Jana and Bruna) were still in the academy. Your mother, on most days, was off doing God knows what, leaving you to navigate this new world on your own.

But something you never expected was how close you’d become with Alexia. From the moment she scouted you, she took you under her wing, guiding you through the chaos of professional football, especially at such a young age. She made sure you ate properly, did your homework, and kept you in line (for the most part) during training. She even gave you rides to and from practice, looking after you in ways no one else had in your life. Tonight was no different.

The team’s plane had just landed back in Barcelona, the clock inching past midnight. You were exhausted, curled up between Jana and Bruna, their heads resting on top of yours as the three of you dozed off in your seats. The steady hum of the plane’s engines had lulled you into a deep sleep, and you barely stirred when the seatbelt sign dinged, signaling it was time to disembark.

Alexia stretched and turned back to find the three of you completely knocked out. With a small shake of her head, she reached over, nudging Jana and Bruna awake. “Come on, we landed,” she said softly.

Jana groaned, rubbing her eyes as she sat up, while Bruna yawned, slowly blinking herself awake. But you didn’t move.

Alexia poked your arm. Nothing. She shook your shoulder. Still nothing.

“She’s not going to get up,” Bruna muttered sleepily.

Jana smirked. “You know what to do.”

Alexia sighed before glancing over at Jenni, who had been watching the whole scene unfold with amusement. “Jenni,” Alexia said, tilting her head toward you.

Jenni grinned. “Oh, I got this.”

Before you even knew what was happening, strong arms scooped you up, lifting you effortlessly from your seat. You stirred slightly, groaning, but instead of fighting it, you simply curled into Jenni’s shoulder, completely deadweight in her arms.

“She’s like a little koala,” Jenni teased, carrying you down the plane steps while the rest of the team laughed quietly.

“Try having to wake her up every day,” Alexia muttered, rolling her eyes as she followed behind.

Jenni carried you through the airport, through baggage claim, and all the way to the car without you waking up once. When they finally reached Alexia’s car, Jenni shifted you in her arms. “You’re heavier than you look, mona (monkey),” she grumbled, carefully maneuvering you into the backseat. You murmured something incoherent but didn’t wake up, your head slumping against the window.

The drive home was quiet, the exhaustion of the match settling into all of them. When they finally pulled up to your apartment, Alexia got out and walked up to the door, fishing your keys from your bag. She slipped one into the lock, but it didn’t turn.

Frowning, she tried again. Nothing.

Jenni, watching from the corner, raised a brow. “Everything okay?”

Alexia’s jaw tensed. “The keys aren’t working.”

Jenni frowned and walked closer, trying them herself. Still, the door wouldn’t budge.

“That’s weird,” she muttered, glancing over at Alexia.

Alexia nodded slowly. Something about this didn’t sit right with her, but she wasn’t going to push it now, not with you dead asleep in the backseat. “She can stay at mine tonight,” she said simply.

Jenni agreed, and soon, you were once again being carried, this time into Alexia’s apartment. While Jenni went to shower, Alexia brought you into the spare bedroom, pulling the covers back before carefully laying you down. You stirred slightly as she tucked the blanket around you, your eyes fluttering open just the slightest.

“Buenas noches, mami,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice barely above a whisper.

Alexia froze.

You didn’t even realize what you had said before you were already slipping back into sleep, your breathing evening out. Alexia stood there for a moment, completely speechless, watching as your face relaxed against the pillow.

She swallowed, something unfamiliar twisting in her chest, but she didn’t say anything.

Instead, she simply exhaled softly, reached out to brush a stray curl from your forehead, and whispered, “Buenas noches, Estrella.”

Then, without another word, she turned off the light and quietly shut the door behind her.

The night sky above you stretches endlessly, the stars scattered like tiny diamonds against the vast darkness. The crisp air carries the electric energy of the stadium, the thunderous roar of the crowd vibrating through your bones. Games like this— games that mattered, games that demanded everything from you, always sent an intoxicating rush of dopamine through your system.

Your pulse thrums in your ears as you take it all in, grounding yourself in the moment. You’ve been here before, but somehow, it always feels brand new. The magnitude of El Clásico never fades, never dulls. The rivalry is embedded in every touch of the ball, every challenge, every goal.

“You ready?” Mario asks, slinging an arm around your shoulders, her voice low but charged with anticipation.

You smirk, shaking out your shoulders. “I’m always ready.”

The first goal comes early, a beautiful sequence of passes that ends with you slipping between defenders, receiving a perfectly weighted ball from Alexia, and slotting it past Misa with the outside of your foot. The eruption of noise is deafening, your name bouncing off the walls of the stadium as you sprint toward the corner, fists clenched in triumph.

The second goal is a blur. Marta intercepts a wayward pass, Laia sends it down the flank, and Leila cuts it back for you at the top of the box. Without thinking, you strike it first time, curling it into the far post. Two-nil.

By the time the third opportunity presents itself, Madrid is desperate, pushing high up the pitch in a last-ditch effort to claw their way back. You see it before it even happens, one bad touch from their midfielder, a brief lapse in control. You pounce, intercepting the ball near the halfway line.

There’s no hesitation. Your eyes flick up, spotting Misa off her line, and your body moves instinctively. You pull your foot back and strike through the ball with perfect precision. Time seems to slow as the ball soars through the air, carrying all the way from midfield, past the scrambling keeper, and into the back of the net.

For a second, the stadium holds its breath. Then, an explosion of sound.

You even don’t think, you just run.

Pure, unfiltered euphoria surges through you as you sprint toward the bench, your legs burning but your heart flying. Alexia is the first person you see, her arms wide open, and you leap straight into them, wrapping your arms around her neck as she catches you effortlessly.

“Mami!” The word slips out in your excitement, a natural instinct, completely unnoticed by you as you bury your face in her shoulder.

Alexia squeezes you tight, pressing a hand to the back of your head. “Qué locura, Estrelleta,” she murmurs, laughter laced in her voice. “You’re unbelievable.”

Neither of you notice the way Mario’s brows shoot up, how Laia covers her mouth to stifle a laugh, how Leila exchanges a knowing glance with Marta. They don’t say a word, but the moment is filed away, stored for future teasing.

Right now, though, none of it matters.

Right now, you’ve just put three past Madrid. Right now, you’re weightless, wrapped in Alexia’s arms, the chants of your name filling the air. Right now, you are exactly where you belong.

The dim glow of the living room lamp barely illuminated the room, casting soft shadows on the walls. You were cocooned in a thick bundle of blankets, your limbs heavy, your body radiating unbearable heat, yet somehow you still shivered. Every breath felt like a monumental effort, your throat raw, your head pounding like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

“Jenni,” you croaked dramatically from your fortress of suffering. “Jenni, please come quick—I am dying.”

Jenni, who had been putting on her shoes by the door, let out a soft giggle as she grabbed her wallet. “I know, bebita,” she said, adjusting her jacket. “That’s why I’m going out to get medicine.”

“No,” you whined, reaching out a feeble, shaking hand like a character in a tragic play. “Don’t leave! It might be the last time you see me. Tell everyone I fought bravely.”

Jenni rolled her eyes, walking back over to you with an amused expression. She crouched beside the couch, brushing your sweaty hair off your forehead before pressing a kiss to it. “You’ll survive, drama queen,” she teased. “Try not to perish before I get back.”

You barely had the strength to glare at her before she slipped out the door, leaving you alone in your misery.

Somewhere in the apartment, a door creaked open. Heavy footsteps padded toward you, slow and groggy.

A shadow loomed over you before a voice, low and thick with sleep, broke through the haze of your fever.

“Estrella.”

You barely registered Alexia standing over you, her hair disheveled, wrapped in a loose hoodie and sweatpants. She blinked at you, squinting as if trying to process the scene before her.

“You’re awake,” you murmured weakly, blinking up at her with glassy eyes. “Mami, I don’t feel good.”

She frowned. “What?”

You waved a limp hand. “Never mind,” you sighed, turning your head dramatically. “I think I’m hallucinating.”

Alexia sighed, rubbing her temple. “You are not hallucinating.” She crouched beside you, pressing the back of her hand against your forehead. “Dios mío, you’re burning up.”

You nodded solemnly. “I am dying.”

“You’re not dying.”

You reached for her hand, gripping it weakly. “Promise me something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Take care of Eli when I’m gone.”

Alexia exhaled sharply through her nose, clearly trying to suppress a laugh. “You are not dying,” she repeated firmly before standing up. “Stay here.”

“Not like I have a choice,” you mumbled into your pillow, your body too exhausted to do anything but sink deeper into the couch.

A few minutes later, Alexia returned with a steaming mug in her hands. She sat on the edge of the coffee table, watching as you blinked sluggishly at her.

“Drink this.”

You wrinkled your nose. “What is it?”

“Tea.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that will make you feel better.”

You groaned. “That sounds fake.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes. “Estrella.”

You pouted but took the mug in your shaky hands. The first sip was bitter, but warmth spread through your throat, soothing the raw scratchiness. You took another sip, then another.

“Good girl,” Alexia murmured, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

When you finished, she took the mug from you, setting it aside before you suddenly grabbed her wrist, stopping her from moving away.

“Stay,” you murmured.

“Estrella—”

“Please,” you mumbled, your fever-dazed brain barely processing anything beyond the need for comfort. “Lay with me.”

Alexia hesitated for a moment before sighing and carefully maneuvering herself onto the couch beside you. You immediately curled into her, burying your face into her hoodie, her warmth soothing in a way nothing else was.

“Mami? Thank you,” you mumbled sleepily.

Alexia stiffened, but when you didn’t say anything else, when your breathing evened out and your grip on her hoodie loosened she simply exhaled, letting it go.

She pulled the blanket tighter around you, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Descansa, Estrellita,” she whispered.

And for the first time that night, your fevered mind let you sleep.

You adjusted the top of your suit jacket anxiously, smoothing out invisible wrinkles as you sat between Jenni and Alexia. Your fingers tapped against your thigh in a restless rhythm, your heart pounding harder than it ever had before a game. The room was filled with the biggest names in football, the air thick with anticipation as the ceremony reached its climax.

On stage, Kylian Mbappé held the envelope in his hands, the golden Ballon d’Or trophy gleaming beside him. The entire room seemed to hold its breath as he slid his finger beneath the envelope’s flap, carefully pulling out the slip of paper inside.

“The Ballon d’Or goes to…” He paused, glancing up with a knowing smile before announcing, “Alexia Putellas!”

The room erupted into applause, cheers echoing off the grand hall’s walls. Jenni let out a celebratory whoop beside you, clapping wildly. You turned to Alexia, but she was frozen for a second, processing the moment. Then, she exhaled sharply, a bright smile breaking across her face as she stood.

You were on your feet before you even realized it, clapping so hard your palms started to sting. As Alexia made her way toward the stage, she turned slightly, meeting your eyes for the briefest moment, and you saw it, the unguarded emotion, the disbelief, the sheer joy.

She took the trophy with steady hands, then approached the microphone. The applause quieted as she scanned the crowd, her expression softening as she took a breath.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” she said, her voice steady yet full of emotion. “First, I want to thank my teammates, my coaches, and everyone at FC Barcelona. This award is not just mine—it belongs to every single person who has supported me, pushed me, and helped me become the player I am today.”

She paused for a moment, glancing down at the trophy, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Football has given me so much, but more than the trophies, more than the accolades, the most important thing it has given me is family.”

Your breath caught in your throat as her gaze found yours.

“To my teammates, my friends, to those who have stood by me no matter what, I love you all,” she continued. “But there’s one person I want to mention specifically.”

You stiffened slightly as she smiled directly at you.

“Estrella,” she said, voice warm, affectionate. “From the moment you walked into our team, you changed everything. You are a force of nature, a player unlike any other, but beyond that, you are one of the strongest, bravest people I have ever met. Watching you grow, on and off the pitch, has been an honor. And I want you to know that no matter what, no matter where football takes you, no matter how many goals you score or trophies you win, you will always have a home with me.”

Your throat felt tight. The room clapped again, but all you could do was sit there, gripping the arms of your chair, your chest aching with something indescribable.

Alexia wrapped up her speech, thanking her family, her late father, and everyone who had been part of her journey. Then, with one last glance at you, she stepped off the stage, the trophy clutched tightly in her hands.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. You weren’t paying attention to the other winners or the speeches, you were waiting. The moment the event concluded, you weaved through the crowd, searching for her.

And then you saw her. She was standing off to the side, trophy still in her hands, talking to a few journalists. But as if sensing your presence, she turned and the moment she saw you, her face lit up.

Without thinking, without hesitation, you ran toward her, closing the distance between you in seconds. She barely had time to react before you jumped into her arms, wrapping yourself around her. She stumbled back slightly but caught you with ease, laughing as she held you close.

You buried your face in her shoulder, inhaling deeply before pulling back just enough to look at her.

“I’m proud of you, Mami,” you said, voice quiet but firm.

It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a slip of the tongue. It was deliberate, intentional.

Alexia’s breath hitched. Her eyes widened slightly, her grip on you tightening. She smiled, something soft and unbearably fond in her expression as she rested her forehead against yours.

“Gracias, mi niña,” she whispered.

And for once, you didn’t mind the tears pricking at your eyes. Because for the first time in a long time, you felt completely, undeniably at home.

[iam-stargirl]

It has finally clicked for me how imagination (4d) is the real reality and the physical reality is just the mirror. It feels so freeing.

I knew this already, I’ve read it countless of times and I’ve heard people say this but it never clicked for me and I never truly understood.

If you can imagine it and if you want it then it’s yours in imagination and it HAS TO reflect in the 3D because it’s the law of assumption.

Just persist that you have it in imagination and it WILL reflect into the 3D because it has no other choice!! It’s the mirror!!

When you stand in front of the mirror and don’t like the outfit, you go and change it into something you want. The mirror doesn’t have a mind of its own so when you come back, the outfit you’re wearing will show in the mirror, it’s not gonna show you wearing a black t-shirt when you’re obviously wearing a pink T-shirt. The mirror has no mind of its own. The 3D is literally YOU. Don’t be afraid of the 3d, see it instead as your bestie or something, that it WANTS to give you what you want, that it WANTS to bring you your desire. You don’t have to do ANYTHING but change your thoughts/states or whatever way you manifest and the 3D will do everything it can to bring it to you in the most perfect way for you. Just sit comfortably and know that since you have it in imagination and persist in it, it will reflect in the physical world.

Maybe this will help or maybe it won’t because this is what everyone says all the time in their own way of telling it. And it took me years to finally understand what it meant so please don’t be hard on yourself.

This is not proofread lol just wanted to write it before I forget

Stargirl

[star24zzz]

may u never forget me

[lost-lisbonsister]

[maxyvert]

🌕 Arenta 🌕 She's so much fun to draw/paint :) I actually started to make a sketchbook just for her and her sister. Ko-fi - Inprnt - Patreon

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Can Be Intense

Billy wants these little guys to go into heroics being the best hero they can be. He just doesn’t realize that while he has good intentions, he can come off as kind of intense. Like the time he tried teaching Wally how to vibrate his entire body through an object.

Marvel: *holding Tim by the neck with one hand while his other hand is crackling with electricity* “You better hurry up Wally or else I’ll blow his brains out on the floor!”

Kid Flash: “WHAT DUDE IM TRYING.”

Robin!Tim: “HE’S BURNING MY HAIR! I THINK HE’S ACTUALLY GOING TO KILL ME IF YOU DON’T HURRY!”

Kid Flash: “I’m TRYING!” *only got his arm through it*

Marvel: “Try harder!”

Or the time he tried teaching Stargirl how to fly one of the ships.

Marvel: “Alright, so the best type of practice is getting it firsthand so what you’re gonna do is fly straight through that asteroid belt.” *points to the belt*

Stargirl: *sounds super concerned* “What? I can’t do that!”

Marvel: “Yeah you can! You just gotta believe. Now do it.”

Stargirl: “I just told you, I can’t. I can barely fly this thing already. Flying through an asteroid belt would completely total the entire thing and we might be stranded out here for God’s sake.”

Marvel: *nods head* “I see. I see. I get your concerns. So instead I’ll just…” *grabs the acceleration and cranks it all the way up and they start flying to the belt*

Stargirl: “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” *grabs the steering wheel and starts making the ship dodge the asteroids*

Marvel: “You’re doing great!” *sunny ahh smile as if he hadn’t put the both of them in mortal danger*

Later…

Marvel: “That was wonderful for your first time, Stargirl.” *looking at the dents in the ship*

Stargirl: “You’re a psychopath.” *still a little shell shocked*

Marvel: “Nuh uh. Here, have some candy.” *hands her some candy*

Then there was the time Beast Boy was interviewed.

Interviewer: “So, who would you say is your toughest teacher? Batman?”

Beast Boy: “Oh, definitely Captain Marvel.”

Interviewer: *slightly surprised* “May I ask why?”

Beast Boy: “Well, he’s a psychopath. Like actually. Like don’t get me wrong. He’s really nice. He makes us cookies. He’s like super kind, but when it comes to training, he’s a complete psychopath. Like the other day he said he’d tear off Starfire’s arms if I couldn’t complete a training exercise. I did complete it don’t get me wrong, and he gave me cookies afterwards, but you don’t just threaten to tear off another person’s arms!”

[dailydccomics]

Absolute Power artwork by Dan Mora

[brnettesundoll]

[izzy444angel]

[cherrycand1]

[holyblonded]

not sick | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, olga rios x teen!reader

summary: you hide your sickness

warnings: passing out, nausea, barfing, sickness in general

notes: this was requested and whoever did thank you 😭 this was so fun to write

You wake up feeling like you’ve been run over by a truck. Not just one truck, an entire convoy. Your head is pounding, your limbs feel like lead, and even breathing takes more effort than it should. Every muscle aches as if you’d played back-to-back matches without rest, and when you try to sit up, a wave of dizziness crashes over you, forcing you to grip the sheets to stay upright.

Swallowing hard, you blink at the ceiling, trying to will yourself to move. It takes several long, agonizing seconds before you manage to swing your legs over the side of the bed, but the moment your feet touch the floor, the room tilts violently.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling slowly through your nose, then exhaling through your mouth. When you finally open them, the dizziness has dulled to a manageable level, but your body still feels like it’s burning from the inside out. With a shaky groan, you push yourself up and shuffle toward the bathroom.

The fluorescent light is unforgiving when you flick it on. You wince at your own reflection, dark circles hang under your eyes, your skin feels hot, and there’s a damp sheen of sweat clinging to your forehead. You look like absolute hell.

You turn on the faucet, splashing cold water onto your face, hoping it’ll shock some life back into you. It doesn’t. Brushing your teeth doesn’t help either. The fever isn’t going anywhere.

Leaning against the sink, you grip the edges tightly, debating your next move. You should tell Alexia and Olga. You should let them know you’re sick before training. But you already know exactly what will happen if you do.

They’ll bench you. No training. No playing. No nothing. Just you, stuck in bed with Olga while the rest of the team prepares for the next match.

That thought alone is enough to make you square your shoulders, ignoring the way your body protests. You can push through this.

A knock on your door startles you, and Olga’s voice follows immediately after. “Are you up? Breakfast is ready.”

You quickly rub at your face, pinching your cheeks in a desperate attempt to bring some color back. Then, clearing your throat, you call out, “Yeah, coming!”

Too late. The door creaks open, and Olga pokes her head inside. Her eyes narrow the second they land on you.

“You look sick,” she says suspiciously.

You force a smile, hoping it looks natural. “Just tired,” you lie, stretching your arms overhead as if that somehow proves your point. “Didn’t sleep well.”

Olga doesn’t buy it. She steps inside fully now, arms crossed, scanning you like she’s a detective about to call bullshit. “Are you sure?”

You nod all too quickly. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just need to wake up, that’s all.” You wave her off, adding a fake yawn for good measure.

Her eyes flicker with doubt. For a second, you think she’s about to press the issue, but after a long pause, she exhales through her nose, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it slide. “Okay… but if you’re feeling off, you need to tell us, alright?”

You nod, swallowing down the guilt creeping up your throat. “Promise. I’m fine.”

She gives you one last lingering look before stepping back. “Alright. Hurry up before the food’s cold.”

As soon as she’s gone, you let out a slow, shaky breath, pressing your palms against the counter to steady yourself. Your body is screaming at you to crawl back into bed, to give in just for a moment, but you know if you do, you won’t get back up.

Instead, you grab your training gear and start getting dressed, gritting your teeth through the exhaustion.

By the time you make it to the breakfast table, your stomach is already churning. The scent of Olga’s cooking, normally something that would make you instantly dig in, turns your stomach inside out. The spread in front of you is filled with your usual favorites, but today, even looking at it makes you feel queasy.

You take your seat, forcing yourself to act normal. You grab your fork and start pushing the food around your plate, occasionally taking small bites just to keep up appearances. Every swallow feels like a battle, and you have to focus on keeping it down.

Alexia notices immediately. Her sharp gaze flickers between you and your untouched food, and it doesn’t take long before she leans in, voice low and firm. “You sure you’re good to play today?” She doesn’t sound convinced. “You’re quiet. And you’re not eating.”

You grip your fork tighter. “I’m fine,” you say quickly, forcing another bite down despite the nausea clawing at your throat. “Just focused on the game, you know.”

Alexia doesn’t look away. If anything, her expression hardens. “Focused?” She studies you carefully. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

You hate how easily she can read you. “I’m fine,” you repeat, sharper this time, hoping the irritation in your tone will be enough to shut her down. You can’t risk her pulling you from the lineup. Not today.

She doesn’t look happy, but she also doesn’t push further. Instead, she exchanges a glance with Olga, one of those silent conversations that tells you they’re both on high alert.

You drop your gaze back to your plate, doing your best to ignore the way your hands tremble slightly when you grip your fork. The rest of breakfast passes in silence, the weight of their concern pressing down on you.

You just have to hold it together. At least until training is over.

The moment you step into the locker room, everything feels wrong. The fluorescent lights overhead seem blinding, their usual hum drilling into your skull. The laughter and music that normally set the pre-game energy buzzing feel like an assault on your senses. Every voice, every laugh, every movement is too loud, too sharp, and it sends another wave of nausea rolling through you.

You slump onto the bench, pressing your forehead against the cool metal of your locker, hoping it’ll ground you. Normally, you’d be the one setting the tone, blasting music, hyping everyone up, cracking jokes that had the whole team in stitches. You’d usually be bouncing from one teammate to the next, full of restless energy. But today, you can barely find the energy to keep your eyes open.

Ona plops down next to you, nudging your shoulder lightly. “Why do you look like you got run over?” she jokes, but there’s an edge of concern behind it.

You force out a weak chuckle. “Just focused,” you mutter, keeping your head down. Even talking feels like a chore.

Aitana, across from you, narrows her eyes. “You sure? You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”

“I’m fine,” you insist, trying to straighten up. The motion makes your vision blur for a second, and you instinctively grip the edge of your locker, fingers tightening as you try to steady yourself.

Ona and Aitana exchange a look. You know that look, it’s the same one Alexia and Olga had at breakfast, the one that screams they’re onto you.

“You’re not fine,” Aitana presses, her voice dropping lower. “Your face is literally gray.”

Before you can answer, Lucy walks by, flicking a towel at your head. “You dying or something?”

“Jesus, Luc,” Ona huffs, shooting her a glare before turning back to you. “Ignore her. But seriously, if you’re sick—”

“I said I’m fine,” you snap, harsher than intended. You can’t afford to sit out. You can’t give anyone a reason to pull you from the game.

The room goes quiet for a second before Aitana raises an eyebrow. “Alright, alright. No need to bite my head off.”

You exhale slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Sorry.”

Alexia’s voice booms from the front of the room, calling for everyone to start getting ready. You take a deep breath and force yourself to your feet. The room tilts slightly, your knees threatening to buckle. You lock your jaw and steady yourself, pretending nothing is wrong. You can push through this. You have to.

The moment you step onto the pitch, you know something is wrong.

Everything feels slow, like you’re moving through water. Your legs are heavy, each step more of a struggle than the last. Your head pounds with every impact of your cleats against the grass, the sun an unbearable weight pressing down on you. The noise from the crowd, the calls from your teammates, even the sound of the ball, it all blends together into an indistinct blur. But you push through. You have to. You can’t afford to show weakness.

Alexia’s sharp gaze follows your every movement. You can feel it, like a predator watching for signs of injury. Every time you stumble, every time you lag a second too long behind the play, her eyes narrow. She knows something is off. They all do. But you won’t let them confirm it.

You force yourself to run, to keep up, to pass, to defend. The world sways dangerously around you, but you grit your teeth and dig your nails into your palm, trying to ground yourself.

A wave of nausea crashes over you so violently it nearly brings you to your knees. You double over, hands on your thighs, trying to breathe through the churning in your stomach. Black spots dance in your vision. You squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing hard. Maybe it’ll pass. Maybe—

Your body betrays you before you can stop it. You barely have time to turn your head before you’re heaving, throwing up onto the pristine grass of the pitch. The world tilts, your limbs feel detached from your body, and suddenly there’s shouting—panicked voices calling your name, the sharp blast of the referee’s whistle cutting through the ringing in your ears.

You try to straighten up, to act like it’s nothing, but your legs buckle before you can even take a step. You don’t even remember hitting the ground.

When you wake up, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead sting your eyes. Your head throbs, your mouth is unbearably dry, and for a moment, you don’t know where you are. A familiar voice is what brings you back to reality.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

Alexia. Her voice is sharp, firm, but beneath the anger, there’s something else. Worry… maybe even fear.

Your vision clears, and you see her standing over you, arms crossed so tightly across her chest it looks like she’s holding herself back. Olga stands next to her, hands on her hips, looking equally unimpressed.

You try to sit up, but the movement makes your head spin, and you sink back into the pillows with a groan. “I’m fine,” you mumble.

Alexia scoffs. “Oh, yeah, sure. You just collapsed in the middle of a match, but you’re fine.”

Olga exhales sharply, rubbing her temple. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you even go out there like that?”

You look away, shame burning in your chest. “I didn’t want to miss the game. Team needs me and I didn’t want to disappoint.” Your voice is small, almost embarrassed.

Alexia lets out a slow breath, her anger dimming into something more exhausted. “And now you’re benched for at least a week,” she mutters, shaking her head. “Do you understand how dangerous that was?”

Your throat tightens. You nod. “I’m sorry.”

The tension in the room shifts. Alexia’s shoulders slump slightly, the fire in her eyes dulling into something softer. She steps closer, reaching out to brush the damp curls off your forehead, her fingers warm against your clammy skin.

“You scared me,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “You could have seriously hurt yourself.”

The words hit something deep inside you, and you swallow hard, blinking rapidly against the burn behind your eyes. “I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to play.”

Olga sighs, her expression softening completely as she leans down, pressing a light kiss to your forehead. “You’re more important than any game, you know that?”

Alexia nods, her hand resting on your shoulder. “Next time, you tell us. No more hiding things like this.”

You nod, swiping at your eyes before anything falls. “Okay. I promise.”

“Good.” Alexia straightens up, giving you one last searching look. “Now, let’s get you home.”

Olga hooks an arm around your shoulders, helping you up. “You’re grounded, by the way.”

You blink at her. “What? For this?”

“Si! No going out until you’re fully recovered.” Her tone leaves no room for argument. “You are now under our watchful eye.”

You groan but don’t even bother trying to fight it. You’re too exhausted, and honestly, you’re just relieved they’re not still mad.

As they help you into the car, Alexia shakes her head with a small, amused sigh. “Only you would try to play with a fever.”

You manage a weak grin. “I get it from you.”

She huffs out a laugh, leaning over to press a kiss to your head. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

When you get home, they don’t leave you alone for a second.

Olga is the first to take charge. She ushers you straight to your bedroom, muttering under her breath about your stubbornness, and forces you to sit while she fills a glass of water. “Drink,” she orders, holding it out to you with that firm, no-nonsense look.

You obey, too exhausted to argue. The second you finish, she’s handing you medicine. “Take these.”

Alexia, meanwhile, is fussing over your bed like it’s a five-star hotel suite. She fluffs the pillows, smooths out the blankets, then fluffs the pillows again like it somehow wasn’t good enough the first time. When you finally lie down, she tucks the blankets around you so tightly you can barely move.

“Do you want soup?” Olga asks, already pulling out her phone. “I’ll order some from that place you like.”

“I’m not really—”

“Soup it is.”

Alexia checks your forehead for the third time in two minutes. “You’re burning up,” she says, frowning. “Do you want a cold compress?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” she counters immediately, disappearing into the bathroom before you can argue further.

She returns with a damp washcloth, pressing it gently to your forehead. The coolness soothes your overheated skin, and you sigh, your body finally relaxing.

“See?” she murmurs, her fingers brushing through over your curls. “Better.”

Olga sits at the edge of the bed, scrolling through her phone. “I got your soup. And Alexia told Pere you’re not training for the next few days.”

You groan. “You didn’t—”

“He fully agreed. You’re grounded, remember?”

“I thought I was only grounded from leaving your watchful eye?” you mumble, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“No. Everything.”

Alexia hums in agreement. “No going out. No training. No sneaking out, either.”

Your protest dies in your throat when Olga tugs the blanket higher around you, tucking you in even more.

“Just sleep, cariño,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Alexia follows suit, brushing another cool stroke over your forehead before settling in the chair beside your bed. You want to tell them they don’t have to hover, that you’ll be fine, but the warmth of their care lulls you under too quickly.

As you drift off, you hear them murmuring quietly in the background, their voices soft but firm.

“She pushes herself too hard,” Alexia sighs.

“I know,” Olga replies. “But we’ve got her now.”

And even though your body aches and your head still pounds, you feel a little lighter knowing they’re there.