#stranded in Barcelona

[cyb0rg-bby]

Once again fighting for my life trying to leave London

[contremineur]

Barcelona at dawn. The hotels are dark. All the great avenues are pointing to the sea.

James Salter, opening lines to Am Strande von Tanger

from here

[a-pute11as]

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.

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 can be found here. 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

[wosospacegirl]

Brunette roots - Alexia Putellas

Summary: You love brunette Alexia, and you'll do anything to get her back

Word count: 2.6k

a/n: they could NEVER make me hate you, baby

Also last fic of the week!

..

The blonde was beautiful. It was hot, sexy. It made Alexia look powerful. 

Alexia has had her fair share of blonde shades, going from dark blonde to bleached hair. Her blonde hair was almost like her signature by now. Some people forgot she was actually a brunette.

But you didn't. You never did.

You started dating Alexia when both of you were teens at La Masia. Alexia was serious about her football, it was her passion, it was who she was. You, not so much. You liked to play football, but that was it. Just a hobby, just something to do after school.

When it got to the point where you needed to choose between pursuing a football career or another career path, it was easy. Off to university you went. Alexia stayed, and she grew into it, winning every challenge thrown at her.

It was difficult to balance your relationship, but you guys always did.

The hardest phase of your relationship was when Alexia tore her ACL. Saying she was depressed was an understatement; she was completely devastated. Her mental state showed through her physicality, especially in her hair. She stopped dyeing it, she stopped eating.

When she got back on her feet again–literally–she was back to her old self. She got back to dyeing her hair.

You were happy and relieved that Alexia was okay again, that she was feeling like herself, but you missed the brunette so much. It not only looked beautiful on her–it made her eyes pop–but it also reminded you of the young Alexia. 

The one who was sixteen when she first kissed you, the one who would pick flowers on the way to La Masia to give to you.

Blonde Alexia belonged to Barcelona, to football, to the media.

Brunette Alexia was... yours. Completely yours.

It was turning into an itch you longed to scratch.

Whenever you saw a little bit of brunette root, you had to hold yourself back from jumping on Alexia and kissing her. But then, days later, she would be back to bleaching it, and you'd be back to pouting and whining.

So you realised... all you needed was a plan. It started small, but it grew.

..

"Fuck!" Alexia said as she was packing her suitcase to go to yet another camp. She was looking at her watch. "You let me sleep too much! You knew I needed to dye my hair before I catch the flight."

She had a frown on her face, a small pout that she would never admit doing, on her lower lip. She was mad at you.

You had promised her to wake her up from her nap three hours ago so she could get everything ready to leave. But she was so sleepy and tired, you didn't have the heart to do it.

"Just don't dye it then," you said, giving her boots and shin pads to pack.

"But I wanted to dye my hair before going. I won't be able to do that at camp," she said, annoyed, taking her sports gear from you before closing the suitcase more aggressively than needed. "I hate when my roots are showing."

"I love when they're showing," you said teasingly. If Alexia was annoyed, you would make sure to annoy her even more. 

She got riled up easily, and you liked that.

"Well, you do," she said. "Yo no!"

Alexia put the closed suitcase on the bed before heading to the big mirror in your room. "Look, it's awful." Her eyes were squinting, as if she were counting each strand of hair that needed to be dyed.

You rolled your eyes but walked toward her, hugging her from behind. "You look pretty, hair dyed or not." You kissed her neck sweetly and smiled when Alexia didn't pull away.

"I like blonde," she stated firmly, but her body language was anything but firm. She was soft now, realising that she wouldn't see you for two weeks.

"I like you whatever," you said, your cold hand making its way under her shirt before stopping at her bra.

"If you really liked me–" Alexia breathed, her body shivering when your hand found her nipple. "You would have woken me up."

You laughed a little. "Oh, are we being dramatic now, la reina?"

"Sí," she breathed, eyes closed. "You were mean to me. You promised me you would wake me up, but you didn't."

"I didn't because you looked too pretty," you said. "You can't blame me."

..

"I bought it," Alexia said, taking the pillows from the sofa and throwing them one by one on the floor. "I know I did. I put them in a separate bag, too."

"Alexia," you held the bridge of your nose. "The bottles of blonde dye are not under the sofa's pillows, for the love of God."

"Then where are they?" Alexia turned to you, an exasperated expression on her face.

"I don't know!" you said.

You were lying. You knew where they were: at the bottom of your office's trash. You wanted brunette Alexia back, and you were willing to do it, even if not by the most righteous of ways.

"I haven't dyed my hair in two months," Alexia said angrily, sitting beside you on the loveseat and wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you closer. "This is my first day off... I wanted to finally dye it!"

You put the book you were reading aside and lifted your head to look at her. "Do you hear how ridiculous you sound? You have a full day off in sixty days and you want to spend it dyeing your hair rather than being with your wife?"

Alexia was silent as you began kissing her jaw. 

"I'm still spending time with you, though," Alexia said, tilting her neck to the side so you would have more room to kiss.

"Uh huh," you shook your head. "You spent the last thirty minutes looking for a bottle of bleach when you could've spent it with me... that's thirty fewer minutes of our life that were thrown in the trash."

"Don't be so manipulative," Alexia mumbled, holding your body so you were straddling her.

"But you like it," you whispered against the skin of her cheek.

"Yes, I do," she agreed eagerly as you slipped your tongue inside her mouth, kissing her deeply.

..

"Ale, come here," you said as you sat on the other end of the sofa. Alexia was playing FIFA.

"Un momento," she said without looking at you. "Almost done."

You waited while flipping through the pages of the very new and handmade album you had just finished. It took you a few weeks, but it was finally done.

When Alexia scored a goal–really Alexia, because her game character was the one who scored–she closed the game and sat beside you, kissing the top of your head.

"What do you have there?" she said, curious eyes gazing at the photography album opened on your lap.

"Just a little thing I've done for Valentine's Day," you said. "Take it as an early gift."

You handed it to her, watching as she flipped through the pages. They were filled with pictures of you two.

It began with you and Alexia at thirteen, both too small in Barcelona's jersey. Alexia's hair was cut very unevenly, she had told you her mom was mad about that. You said she looked cool. That's when your friendship started.

There were pictures of games you shared together, both of you playing for Catalunya under-15s, then more pictures of you dating. Alexia kissed your cheek when you were both sixteen.

"This is so beautiful, amor," Alexia said. "You did it yourself?" she asked.

You nodded, smiling. "Yes, I asked our moms if they had pictures of us when we were younger."

"I love it, thank you," Alexia said. "We were so young."

"Yes, literal kids," you said.

You did the photography album because you knew Alexia would like it, yes. You didn't have millions of dollars to give Alexia an expensive gift, actually, you did, because Alexia's bank account was your own, but you didn't like to use it. Instead, you wanted to create something intimate, something meaningful to give to her, something only you could make.

But this wasn't the only reason. You wanted to show–very subtly–how much you loved her brunette hair, wanted Alexia to associate her brunette hair with the first few years of when you started dating.

Some would call it emotional manipulation. You just called it psychology.

..

Well, psychology didn't work.

Alexia kept buying bottles of bleach, and you kept throwing them away, while very artistically pretending not to know where they were as you helped her search the whole house for them.

Your last plan was something, between the lines, criminal.

You started to pretend to be someone else.

Yes, you weren't proud of it. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

When Alexia would mention she was going to book an appointment to dye or bleach her hair at a salon, you were faster. You would call all the salons you knew Alexia could go to and book appointments during all of Alexia's possible free time.

"This is the fifth salon already!" Alexia complained while eating the fruit salad you had just given her.

"What?" you asked as you were making coffee for both of you.

"Somehow all the salons that specialise in blonde hair are fully booked today," she grumbled, taking a bite of a strawberry. "That can't be normal! I even said they could book me during lunch, and even that time slot had someone already booked."

"Oh," you said in faux pity. "That is so sad, baby."

You were beaming on the inside.

"I think I'll need to go to France to get my hair blonde again," she said.

Oh no, you thought to yourself. Another crime you would have to commit: steal somebody's passport

..

Alexia didn't go to France, but she did find herself a salon in Madrid, of all places. She told you the night before that she was catching a flight to go there, but that she would be back the next day. She was literally just making the trip to get her hair done.

You, of course, couldn't let that happen. Her roots were almost at eye level now—the brunette was coming out beautifully.

When she had her small backpack ready, that's when you began your show.

You lay down on the sofa, legs pressed against your chest, pout on your face. You didn't call Alexia, you didn't need to. She was by your side the moment she noticed you were in pain.

"Hey, princesa," she said worriedly. "What happened?" Alexia was kneeling on the couch, her backpack long forgotten somewhere by the door. Her flight was in one hour, and she would still have to get through Barcelona's traffic. You needed to keep her with you for at least half an hour.

"Cramps," you said, pout on your face. "Got my period this morning."

Alexia looked at you, confused. "Your period? What do you mean? You were on your period two weeks ago."

You almost rolled your eyes. Why did Alexia have to remember everything?

"Well…" you said, trying to think of some excuse. "Guess my hormones are all wrong. My period has been irregular for a few months now."

"It has?" Alexia tilted her head. "Why didn't you tell me? I can book a doctor's appointment for you."

"It's okay–"

"No," Alexia said. "I'm booking a gynaecologist for you tomorrow, sí? Maybe they can get you on the pill. You can't be having two periods a month…you'll get anaemic."

You wanted to hold Alexia, tell her to stay with you, but she was already up. For a moment, you got scared that she was leaving for the airport. But she wasn't.

"I'm going to the pharmacy," she said, hand brushing your cheek gently. "Gonna get some ibuprofen and some iron pills."

You froze. Alexia was taking this too seriously. You didn't need any medicine. Hell, you weren't even on your period, you just wanted a reason for her to stay home and not dye her hair.

"No, Ale, it's alright. Just stay with me."

But Alexia thought she was the one responsible for fixing everything. Of course, she went to the pharmacy like her life and dignity depended on it.

In the end, you had to take two ibuprofen pills that day, plus iron pills for a week, and go to the doctor Alexia had booked for you. 

But hey, at least Alexia's roots were growing during that time.

..

At the end, you didn't need to formulate any more elaborate plans. It was Tuesday night, and Alexia had come home after a long day at training. 

Her hair was now half brunette. You had worked hard enough that Alexia wasn't able to dye it, even if she wanted it a lot.

Alexia walked into your shared bedroom. She looked different, like she had something to say. You knew that look very well, it was the same look the same look she got when she was thinking of something for a long period of time and had finally made up her mind.

"I'm not dyeing my hair anymore," she said, just like that.

She dropped her body on the bed like a starfish. On a normal day, you would smack her arm playfully and tell her not to lie on the bed with her training jersey filled with grass, but you were completely caught off guard.

Alexia's words felt like an angel had just materialised in your room, telling you your biggest dream would come true.

You looked up from your laptop, where you were definitely not researching how to sabotage a bottle of bleach to make the hair of whoever uses it darker.

"What?"

"Yeah..." she said, looking at you, a small smile on her face.

She wasn't necessarily close, your feet were just touching her torso from the way she was lying, but you could smell her post-training scent, the smell of the deodorant she uses.

You couldn't help but peek at her little brunette roots that were getting longer every day.

"I'm letting it grow out–" she stated.

Why? You wanted to ask, but you were scared that if you said anything, she might change her mind. So you just stared at her, trying not to smile too big, trying to keep casual. You let her talk.

"--because," she said quietly, and then, in an instant, she got up and pulled the photography album from the little drawer on your nightstand. She began flipping through the pages. 

"I was seeing these pictures again the other day, and realised how cute I looked with brunette hair. It makes me look younger, I think."

Your heart was doing something weird in your chest.

"And also," she continued, and there was this little smirk on her face, "because I know you've been throwing away my hair dye, amor."

Shit. Your face went hot. Your heart was beating faster, but not because of her brunette roots, but from nervousness. You were caught.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, avoiding eye contact.

"Mhmm." She moved closer, her voice dropping. "And booking appointments at every salon in Barcelona under fake names."

You opened your mouth to deny it, but she put her finger against your lips.

"I'm not mad," she said. "Actually... It's kind of hot how obsessed you are with my hair."

"So you're really going to let it grow out?" you whispered against her finger.

"Sí," she said, settling against you, her head on your shoulder. "Blonde Alexia can take a vacation, don't you think?"

You nodded eagerly, wrapping your arms around her and kissing the top of her head, breathing in her hair, already imagining how perfect she was going to look in a few months when all the blonde was gone.

"Te amo," you whispered.

"Te amo también," she replied. "Even though you're completely loca."

..

a/n: i had so so so much fun writing thisss!! <3

[lnracer]

oscar meets a new girl at hotel, and the reason why she got his attention was because she didn't watch F1 so she didn't knew him, which made him feel interested since she definitely knows 0 about him (sorry for any typo😭 English isn't my first language and it's like 4am here but I hope you understood what I said)

➵ Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female Reader.

➵ Warnings: None.

➵ Word Count: 1.555k.

➵ a/n: Ahh, tysm for your request! Also, don't worry, I was able to understand your vision (and loved it btw!) I hope you like it and that I was able to write what you imagined! ☺️🧡

Oscar stepped through the revolving glass doors of the grand hotel in Barcelona, the energy that only a Grand-Prix weekend could provide already in the air. Cameras flashed from a distance, teams hurried by, and somewhere nearby, the pulse of the city mixed with the hum of engines and anticipation.

As he adjusted his backpack, moving through the lobby, a sudden soft collision made him stumble slightly.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” a sweet voice said, warm and apologetic.

Oscar looked down to see a girl, probably early twenties, with effortless elegance — polished but approachable. She smiled politely, cheeks faintly flushed.

“It’s alright.” Oscar said smoothly, steadying himself. He glanced at her again and noticed something strange — she didn’t have that spark of recognition in her eyes, no hint that she knew who he was.

Curious, but not wanting to seem rude, he said nothing about it. Instead, he offered a small smile and moved on, the question quietly lingering behind his gaze.

“I’m really sorry,” she said again, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear with a sheepish smile. “It’s just— this weekend is insane. Formula One’s in the building, so everyone’s walking around like they’ve had three espressos and a panic attack.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, shifting his weight. “Yeah, I’ve heard it tends to have that effect.”

She smiled at him again, kind and genuine, then glanced around as if remembering she was supposed to be somewhere else. But something made her stay a beat longer.

“You don’t look like you’re here for it either,” Oscar said, tone casual as he slung the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder.

Her brows lifted slightly. “F1? No, I mean— I do know it’s the reason most people are here, but I wouldn’t recognize anyone if I tripped over them.” She gave a tiny laugh.

Oscar quirked an eyebrow, amused — Oh, the irony. “So what brings you here then? Just visiting?”

She blinked once, then tilted her head. “Oh. No, I actually live here.” She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He blinked. “In the hotel?”

“Top floor,” she said with a proud little grin. “My dad owns the place. So… yeah, I’m kind of the live-in plant whisperer-slash-chaos manager.”

Oscar let out a soft, surprised laugh. “Right. That’s… not what I was expecting.”

“Most people think I’m lost,” she said, eyes twinkling as she rocked slightly on her heels. “But I’m usually just hiding from someone asking about towels or logistics.”

Oscar found himself lingering, even as staff passed by with walkie-talkies and guests bustled in behind him.

She didn’t recognize him. Not even a flicker of familiarity. And somehow, that made her stand out more than anyone else had all week.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

The next morning, the buffet hall buzzed with quiet luxury — clinking cutlery, the soft hum of conversation, and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery pastries. Oscar had managed to get up early enough to beat the rush, but not early enough to avoid it completely.

He was pouring himself orange juice when a familiar voice drifted in from behind.

“Hey, it's you! The guy I nearly tripped over yesterday.”

Oscar turned, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he found her standing beside him, this time in a soft cream cardigan and satin lounge pants that somehow still looked expensive. Her hair was loosely tied, and there was a barely-there sleepiness in her eyes that made her look even sweeter.

“Guilty,” he said. “You back at it again, terrorizing hotel guests?”

She let out a chuckle. “Only the ones who don’t watch where they’re going.”

They both reached for the same slice of chocolate cake, and she let him take it, lifting her hands in mock surrender. “Please, go ahead. Guests first.”

He arched a brow, amused. “That sounds oddly official.”

“Well,” she teased, “I do live here.”

Oscar laughed under his breath and offered his hand, finally. “I’m Oscar.”

“Y/N,” she said, slipping her hand into his. Warm. Light. “Nice to meet you, officially.”

They walked together toward the fruit section, plates in hand.

“So,” she said, glancing sideways, “have you had a chance to explore the city, or are you here for...?”

Oscar hesitated, eyes flicking down for a split second. “Kind of here for work.”

“Oh?” she asked, genuinely interested. “What do you do?”

He scratched the back of his neck, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I, uh… drive. Professionally.”

Her brows furrowed for a second, then softened again. “Oh! Like a chauffeur?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

She tilted her head, eyes curious but still gentle. “Then what kind of driving?”

Oscar paused, then gave a shrug. “It’s complicated.”

Her laugh bubbled up again, not pressing him any further. “Alright, mystery man. Keep your secrets.”

He glanced at her, slightly stunned by her lack of insistence. No asking for selfies, no sudden realization. Just... her.

And for some reason, that made breakfast taste better.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Oscar had barely made it through the revolving door before he tugged at the collar of his McLaren team shirt, exhaustion clinging to his limbs like humidity. Free Practice had been long, the media duties even longer, and all he wanted was a shower and something that didn’t involve the word “sector.”

The hotel’s lobby was quieter now — low golden lighting, soft piano music in the background, staff moving at half-speed as the day began to wind down.

And yet, just as he rounded the corner toward the guest elevators—

Thud. A soft bump into a familiar shoulder.

Again.

She gasped softly, stumbling back a step. “Oh my god— you again?”

Oscar let out a tired chuckle. “At this point, I think the universe is doing it on purpose.”

Y/N stood there in a silky slip dress layered with a cardigan, barefoot in fluffy slippers. She looked like midnight comfort and candlelight — like warmth.

Her eyes fell to his shirt, and her gaze lingered.

McLaren.

The logo. The colors. The sponsors.

Something clicked.

Her lips curved into the most knowing, gentle smile. “So... you are part of the buzz this weekend.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, lips twitching upward. “Busted.”

“I knew that ‘I drive professionally’ line was suspiciously vague,” she teased, a soft giggle slipping out. “Let me guess… you’re not the guy who parks the Aston Martins out front?”

“Not unless I really mess up my race on Sunday,” he said dryly, and she laughed, full and free.

“Well, Mr. Mystery Driver,” she said, looking up at him with sparkling eyes, “I hope Barcelona’s treating you well.”

He tilted his head, something softer passing over his expression. “It is now.”

There was a beat of silence between them, light and open. Then she gave him a small, playful nudge with her elbow.

“Good. Just try not to run me over next time, yeah?”

He smiled, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened behind him. “No promises.”

As they closed, she gave a little wave with the tips of her fingers — and he found himself already wondering when they’d bump into each other again.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

The elevator doors had just started to close when Oscar’s hand darted out, stopping them with a soft ding. Y/N had already turned to head back towards the lobby when she heard it.

“Wait— Y/N.”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

He looked suddenly less composed than usual — one hand on the edge of the door, hair slightly messy from the long day, voice just a little rougher from hours of talking. But his eyes? Still warm. Still soft.

“If you’re ever curious about the whole Formula One thing,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t mind showing you a bit of it. Y’know. Explaining the chaos. Only if you’re interested, of course.”

Y/N blinked, the offer catching her off-guard for half a second before a smile broke across her lips, wide and genuine. “I think I could be convinced.”

Oscar’s shoulders relaxed, his own smile curling quietly at the corners.

She took a small step closer, tilting her head thoughtfully. “And I’m pretty sure I could sneak us a plate of leftover pastries from the kitchen. Just in case the lesson needs snacks.”

He laughed under his breath, something easy and unguarded. “Now that sounds like a good deal.”

“Then it’s a date,” she said breezily, but her eyes lingered with a softness that suggested something more than casual.

Oscar watched as she walked off through the hallway, her slippers making no sound on the polished marble. He stayed there for a second, the elevator forgotten behind him, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

Funny, he thought. He came to Barcelona for speed, engines, and lap times.

And yet, the best part of his weekend so far had just offered him stolen pastries and her time.

And he couldn’t wait for both.

[holyblonded]

the girl with the tattoo | something blue

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader, barcelona femeni x teen!reader, sydney schertenleib x reader

summary: sydney manages to break down your walls

notes: y’all this is so cute omfg

Sydney still remembers the day she first saw you. How could she not?

It was the kind of moment that brands itself into your brain, that sits heavy in your chest no matter how much time passes. You hadn’t even said anything yet—hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t so much as blinked in her direction—but you already had her full attention.

Your hair was slicked back, smooth and clean, not a strand out of place. The training kit clung to your figure, sleeves pushed up to reveal the tattoos running down your arm—some delicate, others bold, all of them telling stories she didn’t know yet. One of them peeked out from beneath your collar another behind your ear. She couldn’t read it at first, not fully. But it was in red ink and curled into sharp cursive. Later, she’d find out it read SONDER. And somehow, that would make everything click.

You were leaning against the wall just outside the training building, chewing your gum with disinterest as Alexia hovered. Not annoyed exactly, just… unbothered. Detached. Unreachable.

“Azulita,” Alexia said with a sigh, zipping up your bag after checking it for the third time. “Please try to make friends today. Olga is worried, and when she gets worried it’s no fun for any of us.”

You rolled your eyes and ran a hand across the back of your neck, a subtle motion that made Sydney’s eyes drift there. The red ink stood out against your skin. You didn’t answer right away.

“No promises, Lex,” you finally said, voice dry and just a little amused. “If they’re weird, I’m gonna be weird back.”

Alexia closed her eyes for a second like she was counting to ten in her head, then exhaled through her nose. “Okay. Fine. Just—try not to traumatize anyone.”

You gave a half-shrug, half-smirk. “No guarantees.”

“Today’s a long one,” Alexia reminded you, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Class first, then the scrimmage with the B girls. Then training with us. You good?”

You nodded. “Always.”

Sydney watched it all unfold from a few feet away. She wasn’t eavesdropping exactly, but you made it hard not to look. You were tall—taller than her, which was rare. Broad shoulders, sharp jawline, piercings running all the way up your ears like they belonged there. Your entire presence demanded attention without even trying. There was something wild behind your eyes, something that made people look twice and then want to look away, not because you were intimidating, but because you were… too much to take in all at once.

And Sydney couldn’t look away.

“Bye, Lex,” you said casually, pulling your hoodie over your head. Then you turned around.

Your eyes swept over the small group of players standing nearby, Barça B girls she hadn’t even noticed until then— and then landed on Sydney. She was staring, and she knew it. But before she could say anything or look away or pretend she wasn’t caught, your eyes locked on hers.

You didn’t smile. You didn’t glare. You didn’t say a word.

You just looked.

And then walked right past her.

No hesitation. No acknowledgment. Just the soft sound of your footsteps as you disappeared down the hall.

Sydney stood there frozen, heart hammering too fast, breath a little too shallow.

“You good?” Vicky’s voice snapped her out of it.

Sydney blinked. “Yeah. Just… never seen someone like her before.”

Vicky followed her gaze, then snorted. “Yeah. No one has. She’s Olga’s little sister, from America. I met her the other day, I think she’s warming up to me.”

Lunch at the Barça training facility was always a bit chaotic. With both the senior team and academy players crowding into the dining hall at once, the place buzzed with overlapping conversations, trays clattering, chairs scraping against tile, and the occasional roar of laughter from one table or another. It wasn’t the kind of environment you could fade into, not really, but you tried anyway.

Most of the girls had their usual spots, their people. Their rituals. There were tables dominated by cackling forwards and others where the quieter girls grouped up with their heads bowed over textbooks or phones. You didn’t have a table yet. Or people. Not fully. Alexia didn’t count—not in that way. She was your guardian, not a teammate. Not just a teammate. Her presence always felt like a shield.

You sat alone at the end of a long table near the windows, hoodie pulled up, one knee tucked under you. Your tray was practically untouched— just a fruit bar still in its wrapper and a bottle of water with the label half-peeled off. You were chewing on the inside of your cheek, eyes glued to your phone. No music. No notifications. Just the bright screen acting like a barrier between you and the noise.

Alexia was somewhere in the food line, taking her sweet time. Probably picking your lunch for you like she always did when you didn’t eat properly, which nowadays was often. Not because you were fussy. Just… when you were nervous, the idea of food made your stomach twist.

“Yo,” came a voice, casual and sharp, right across from you. You looked up. Vicky López.

She dropped into the seat like she belonged there, tray clattering in front of her. “Why you sitting here lookin’ like you just got sentenced to juvie?”

You blinked, stunned for half a second, unsure if she was talking to you or just making a scene. But she was definitely looking at you. You had no clue why. She was sunshine, you were stormclouds. But there she was.

Before you could say anything, she launched into a story about Lamine wiping out during training yesterday. Something about cleats, wet grass, karma, and how it was absolutely not her fault he fell, even if she might’ve “accidentally” jinxed him. You didn’t want to laugh. Really. You didn’t. But she was funny, and when she mimicked his fall using her spoon and a cherry tomato, your lip twitched.

A small, involuntary breath escaped you. Almost a laugh. Just a heh. Barely a sound.

Vicky gasped, loud and over-the-top. “Was that a smile?” she beamed, slapping her hand to her chest. “Did I just witness a smile from the ever-mysterious Azulita? I’m writing this down in my journal. April twelfth: I made her smile. Victory is mine.”

You rolled your eyes. “Calm down, Shakespeare.”

Her eyes widened. “Ohhhh! A joke? A whole joke?! Who are you, and what have you done with the girl who almost bit my head off on the first day of preseason?”

You tilted your head, a ghost of another smirk forming. “She’s on break.”

Vicky cracked up, and the warmth of it was almost overwhelming. You didn’t expect it to feel good—to banter like this. To not have to be on the defensive for once. You kind of liked her, though you’d never say it out loud. She was loud in a way that didn’t set off your alarms. Comfortable in her skin. No expectations. Just vibes.

Her gaze flicked past your shoulder and her expression shifted into something mischievous. “Oh my god,” she whispered, not even bothering to hide her smirk. “Sydney’s staring again.”

You stiffened a little but didn’t look.

“Who?”

“Sydney Schertenleib,” Vicky sing-songed, like the name should have meant something to you. “Swiss. Midfield. Baby deer energy. She’s been watching you like you’re a walking moodboard since day one.”

You were about to protest when Vicky cupped her hands and shouted: “Syd! Come sit with us!”

You whipped your head around. “Bro—”

Too late. The damage was done. Across the cafeteria, Sydney’s eyes locked on yours and they went wide like a deer in headlights. Her tray trembled slightly in her hands as she hovered in place, obviously calculating whether she should run or obey.

You kind of expected her to bail. But she didn’t.

Sydney made her way over, cautious and tentative like the table was rigged with traps. She sat next to Vicky, her body stiff, her tray untouched.

“H-Hi,” she said, eyes bouncing between you and Vicky. “I—um—hi.”

Vicky leaned back smugly. “This is Azulita. Azul, this is Syd. She’s smarter than she looks, I swear.”

You nodded, voice even. “Nice to meet you, Sydney.”

Her cheeks flushed. “Y-You too. I mean—thank you. I mean—uh. Yeah. Hi.”

You tilted your head slightly, watching her. “Do you stutter?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. But Sydney didn’t flinch. Her face turned a little redder, but she shook her head. “N-no—I mean, not usually. Just sometimes. When I’m nervous. Not that you—uh—not that you make me nervous—okay, maybe a little—I—”

You nodded once. “Cool.”

That was all. And weirdly, it helped. The tension in her shoulders lessened, and as the conversation picked up again—mostly Vicky narrating every person who walked past your table like it was a nature documentary—Sydney started to relax. The stutter faded. Her sentences got longer. She even laughed once when you said something dry about the mystery meat on her plate.

You could feel her watching you sometimes, but it wasn’t in a creepy way. More curious. Like she was trying to figure you out without spooking you. It reminded you of animals in the wild circling each other. Slow. Careful. Mutual.

Then came the voice.

“Ohhh my baby Azulita,” Fridolina Rolfö called from behind you, loud and theatrical. “Such a big girl now. Eating lunch with the kids and everything. I’m so proud!”

You didn’t even flinch. You just reached back and shoved her chest lightly without looking, pushing her off her dramatic stride. She laughed and collapsed into the seat next to Sydney.

“You’re so dramatic,” you muttered, half-smiling despite yourself.

“I missed you too,” Frido said, reaching out to ruffle your hood. You smacked her hand away, but there was no bite in it. She’d been one of the first people you clicked with when you moved to Barcelona. Something about her energy, big sister meets overenthusiastic aunt, had cracked through your walls faster than you expected.

Alexia showed up next, tray in hand, and dropped into the empty seat on your other side. She didn’t say anything at first, just slid your barely-touched tray aside and replaced it with a new one: grilled chicken, a little salad, fresh fruit, and a small scoop of brown rice. All bite-sized. Easy to eat. No smells that would make your stomach turn.

When you didn’t move, she uncapped your water and nudged it toward you.

“I already ate,” you mumbled.

Alexia gave you a look. “A fruit bar isn’t food. It’s packaging with sugar.”

You rolled your eyes but took a bite of the chicken just to get her off your back. It was good. You were hungrier than you thought.

Vicky and Sydney kept talking, this time about Sydney’s little cousins visiting next week, but you weren’t really paying attention. You were hyper-aware of how Sydney’s gaze kept flicking to you. How she studied the way you sat, the way you moved, like she was trying to commit it to memory.

Frido noticed it too. Her eyes drifted between the two of you with a knowing smirk.

Alexia peeped it from your other side and shared a look with Frido— one of those silent adult conversations you hated. But neither of them said anything. They just watched.

You didn’t say anything either. You just kept eating slowly, one bite at a time.

And even though your hoodie was still up and your shoulders were still a little tense, you weren’t alone. Not anymore.

The afternoon sun hung low over the Ciutat Esportiva, bleeding through a thin veil of clouds and casting a golden haze over the pitch. Training with the Barça B girls was always a mixed bag. Some of them were decent, some didn’t know what to make of you, and some had decided, from the second you stepped onto their field, that they didn’t like you.

You’d seen it before, too many times to count. The way certain girls tightened their jaws when you got the ball. How they followed you just a little too closely. How they waited for the right moment to dig a heel in, nudge with an elbow, clip your ankle. Some of them did it because they thought you were cocky. Others, because they’d Googled you. Knew you’d come from the U.S., had numerous youth caps since you were fourteen, now lived with Alexia Putellas of all people. That you were Ríos’ sister. A name before you even made one here.

You could handle all of that. Usually.

Today, you were running drills with a smaller rotation group, some mids and forwards, including Sydney, who was playing on the opposite team for a possession exercise. She caught your eye every now and then, offering a small smile or tilt of the head when you made a clean pass. It grounded you. Made the little flickers of discomfort in your chest settle down.

But then there was her. Number 16. You didn’t bother learning her name, she wasn’t worth it.

From the moment the scrimmage started, she was on you. Not tight in a good, defensive way—tight in a “this is personal” way. She’d shove you from behind every time you tried to receive a pass. Stick her foot out to trip you. Once, she even dragged your jersey just enough to unbalance you without getting carded.

And every time, the coach blew the whistle. Called the foul. Gave you the ball back.

And every time, she smiled. Not apologetic. Not playful. Smug.

You kept your head down. Bit the inside of your cheek. You didn’t want to mess this up.

This—this training block, this team, this chance to prove you weren’t just here because of Alexia or Olga. You wanted to do right by them. You wanted to show you could handle it.

But the fourth time Number 16 knocked into you, this time shoving you so hard you fell straight onto your shoulder, you couldn’t keep the fire down. Not completely.

You didn’t yell. Didn’t swing. Just sat there on the grass for a second, jaw clenched, fists balled in the dirt as the whistle blew again.

“Back off, 16,” the coach called, irritated now. “That’s enough.”

“She flops easy,” the girl muttered under her breath, turning to jog away.

You were still on the ground, trying to breathe through the red haze at the corners of your vision, when footsteps rushed toward you. Sydney.

She reached you first, her brow furrowed, her voice sharp in a way you hadn’t heard from her before.

“Hey.” She turned, standing right in Number 16’s path. “What is your problem? That’s the fourth time you’ve gone in late.”

“She’s not made of glass,” the girl shot back with a smirk.

“No,” Sydney snapped. “But you are. Back off before someone breaks you.”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t a threat. But the way she said it, low, quiet, firm— hit harder than yelling ever could. Sydney wasn’t the type to raise her voice. But now, she stood tall, eyes blazing, her Swiss accent cutting clean through the tension like a scalpel. Number 16 didn’t have a response. She just scoffed and jogged off.

Then Sydney turned back to you. You were still staring up at her, not moving. Not out of pain— you were fine. You just… didn’t know what to say.

She crouched down beside you, one hand outstretched. “You okay?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just looked at her, eyes scanning her face. Her worried eyes. Her soft frown. The little crease between her brows. She looked genuinely upset, for you. Like she’d taken it personally.

You hadn’t expected that.

You stared for a second too long. Her hand was still there, waiting. You blinked, then slowly reached up and took it.

She pulled you up without hesitation, steady and strong, her hand warm around yours. For a moment, your grip lingered, neither of you letting go right away. Then she dropped your hand, stepping back, brushing her hair behind her ear like nothing had happened.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked again, quieter now.

You nodded. “Yeah. I’m good.”

You didn’t say thank you. You weren’t great at saying that. But you glanced at her again, then gave a small nod— like a truce. Like a promise.

She nodded back. And just like that, you got back in position. Coach blew the whistle again.

You didn’t look at Number 16. Not once. But you noticed she kept her distance after that. You noticed Sydney never did.

The match hadn’t gone badly. That’s what made it worse. There was no loss to explain the weight in your chest, no injury to blame for the way your hands shook long after the final whistle. You’d played well. The team had won. The coaches were satisfied.

But something about it— the tackles, the stadium noise, the way the other team pressed, had scraped something raw in you. One second you were locked in, and the next you were back there, body tensed like you were thirteen again, surrounded by yelling and hands and that feeling that the air was getting smaller, tighter, closing in.

No one noticed. You were good at hiding it. Had been for years.

By the time you and Sydney got back to the hotel room that night, you’d said barely ten words. She hadn’t pushed. Just let you go straight into the bathroom and shower with the water too hot, like you were trying to boil something off your skin.

Now it was past 3 a.m. The room was still and dark, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. Sydney was asleep in her bed or had been, until she rolled over and noticed the other bed empty. Your pillow untouched. Your covers still tucked in. The balcony door was cracked open, the curtain swaying just slightly.

She padded over quietly, the sleeves of her sleep shirt pushed up as she stepped outside.

There you were. Hunched in a hoodie that was much too big, oversized and washed soft from wear, hood up, legs pulled to your chest as you sat in the corner of the balcony, knees tucked under your chin like you were trying to disappear into yourself. Your AirPods were in, the faintest sound of Frank Ocean bleeding out from them. Your head was tilted slightly, eyes on the horizon that offered nothing but distant city lights and the faint outline of hills.

Sydney didn’t say anything. She saw the redness in your eyes, the way your thumb kept fidgeting with the drawstring on your hoodie. You looked like a ghost of yourself.

Instead of speaking, she disappeared back into the room for a second. When she returned, she carried a slice of cake on a little plate— strawberry shortcake from the mini-fridge that Frido had stashed away in your room as a treat.

She sat down next to you without a word, legs crossing as she placed the cake between you, careful not to let the plate slide. You glanced at her from the corner of your eye but didn’t say anything either.

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t push. Just… sat with you.

The music kept playing. You recognized the song: White Ferrari. Something about it always made you ache in a way that felt clean.

You blinked slowly. Then looked down at the plate. “Is that bribery?”

Sydney smiled softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s cake.”

You didn’t reach for it, but the corners of your mouth twitched. A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding escaped your chest.

Sydney shifted closer, her pinky brushing yours. Then she took a deep breath and reached out, lacing her fingers gently through your hand.

It was quiet. Not romantic. Not loud. Just… steady. Her palm was warm.

You stared down at your joined hands for a while. Then finally, voice hoarse from disuse, you whispered, “I hate that I can’t control it.”

Sydney didn’t ask what it was. She didn’t have to.

“I was fine,” you said, eyes back on the skyline. “And then… something just flipped. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.”

She squeezed your hand.

“I didn’t even get hit that hard,” you mumbled. “But it felt like… like I was somewhere else.”

You weren’t crying anymore. There were no tears left. Just that hollowed-out feeling that always came after. Like you’d left pieces of yourself scattered across the pitch and didn’t know how to gather them back.

Sydney turned toward you slightly. “It’s not about the hit,” she said softly. “It’s about what it reminded you of.”

Your jaw clenched. You didn’t want her to be right. But she was.

You didn’t say anything, and neither did she. You just stayed like that. Her hand in yours. Cake untouched between you.

Then she broke the silence, voice careful, but lighter now. “So… what are you listening to?”

You blinked, surprised by the shift.

She tilted her head at you. “You’ve got your sad girl playlist going?”

A soft huff escaped you. “It’s Frank Ocean.”

“Ooh.” She tried to sound casual. “Is he the one who sings that one song about… pink?”

“Pink + White,” you said, finally turning to her. “Yeah. That’s him.”

“Thought so,” she said, then awkwardly bounced her shoulders like she was trying to dance without moving too much. “Should I get into him?”

You stared at her.

She did the shoulder bounce again, this time with a little bob of her head. “Am I doing it right? This is what the cool kids do, right?”

You broke. A laugh burst out of you—surprised and involuntary, your hand going up to cover your mouth like you weren’t sure you were allowed to feel that way right now.

Sydney grinned, proud of herself. “I knew it. Knew I’d get you to laugh.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

She leaned her shoulder into yours. “But effective.”

You passed her one of your AirPods. “Here,” you said quietly. “Listen.”

She tucked it in and sat still as Godspeed started to play. The wind was cool, brushing over your skin like a gentle reminder that you were here. Now. Safe.

You let your head rest against the railing behind you, and she leaned with you. Her thigh warm against yours. Still holding your hand. The city stretched out below, quiet and sleeping.

Neither of you said anything more. You didn’t need to. Just Frank Ocean. Just moonlight. Just her.

You weren’t sure what it was about Sydney Schertenleib that made your stomach feel weird. Especially after that night on the hotel balcony.

Something had changed after that. Subtly, quietly, in the way a tide creeps closer without you noticing until your feet are already wet.

You hadn’t talked about it— not really. You didn’t bring up the way she held your hand under the moonlight. Didn’t mention the cake, or the soft curve of her smile as Frank Ocean played through shared AirPods. But something unspoken had lodged itself between the two of you. A thread. A pull. Something that had no name but was there all the same, humming underneath everything.

It became a pattern after that night. You started lingering around her more, not consciously at first. Your schedules lined up naturally— same time block training, same meal periods, same recovery sessions, and maybe that’s why it was easy to justify. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t just the schedule. You were choosing her. Again and again. Even when you didn’t mean to.

You gravitated toward her in the dining hall, sat next to her without thinking twice. During downtime, you found yourself glancing around, looking for her before settling into your own seat. If she wasn’t in the room, you noticed. If she was, you could breathe a little easier.

Your conversations began to stretch longer, deeper. It wasn’t just football anymore. It was everything. Stupid stuff, random stuff. Favorite Pokémon. Her weird childhood obsession with jellyfish. That time her older cousin made her eat a spoonful of wasabi on a dare. You talked about dreams, about futures, about things you didn’t tell anyone else because they never asked or wouldn’t understand.

And then there were the little things. The ones you never meant to learn but did anyway.

You knew her favorite fruit was mango—dried or fresh, didn’t matter. Her favorite vending machine snack was those pretzel M&M’s you swore tasted like regret. Her coffee order (an oat milk flat white with cinnamon) lived in your brain like a sacred fact. You knew she always brought an extra hair tie, even when she wore her hair down. You noticed the way she pulled at the sleeves of her hoodie when she was nervous, the exact rhythm of her foot tapping when she was deep in thought.

And you memorized her laughs.

She had four distinct ones. The soft chuckle she let out when something amused her but didn’t quite hit. The half-suppressed snort when she was trying not to laugh in front of the coaches. The full-body cackle when someone fell during rondos. And then there was your favorite—the real one. The one that made her eyes squeeze shut and her whole face crinkle, pure and unfiltered, like sunlight in audio form. That laugh lived rent-free in your chest and made you flutter whenever you heard it.

Every long bus ride, she found her way to your row. Every time she fell asleep next to you, her head inevitably drifted to your shoulder. And you? You never moved. Not when your shoulder went numb, not when your neck cramped from staying still. You just let her sleep, heart hammering in your chest like it was counting the seconds she stayed close.

And it scared the shit out of you.

Because no one had ever made you feel like this before. Not in this quiet, slow, aching way. You’d been through too much. Love was messy. Love left. Love hurt. And you didn’t want to ruin what you had with her, even if it killed you to keep pretending you didn’t feel anything.

Then came the night it all shattered. It was late. You were both in your separate hotel rooms, halfway across the world but still connected by your nightly FaceTime ritual. She was under her blanket, hair tied up, face lit by the glow of her screen. You were lying on your stomach, chin resting on a pillow, hoodie pulled over your head.

You were talking about cereal. Something stupid and safe. How she hated the marshmallows in Lucky Charms, which made you gasp in betrayal. She was giggling, rubbing at her eyes, when she suddenly went quiet.

“…What?” you asked, frowning slightly.

Sydney blinked at the screen. Hesitated. Bit her lip.

“I think I like you.”

The words hit like a thunderclap.

Your brain shut down. Froze. Blue-screened. You stared at her, waiting for a punchline that never came.

She panicked almost immediately.

“I mean—never mind. I didn’t mean it like that. I was tired, I meant, like—like, in a platonic way? Or maybe I don’t. I don’t know. I just—forget I said anything. We’re good, right?”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t say anything for three whole days.

And she was quiet, too, like maybe she was waiting for you to bring it up. But you didn’t. You avoided her eyes in the locker room, laughed a little too loud around others to make it seem normal. She didn’t push. She didn’t ask. But the air between you was full of sharp edges. Sydney was spiraling.

By the third day, Vicky cornered her in the hallway after weight training.

“What’s wrong with you two?” she demanded, hands on hips.

Sydney cracked like cheap glass. She told her everything— the hotel balcony, the confession, the silence. “I knew it,” Vicky said, rolling her eyes. “You’re both useless.”

Meanwhile, you were still stuck in your head, stuck in fear. Not because you didn’t want her— but because you did. So badly it hurt. And you didn’t trust yourself not to screw it up.

Later that day during training, Sydney landed funny while pressing in a small-sided drill and went down with a cry. You were the first one there.

“Hey,” you said, crouching beside her. “Don’t move yet. You okay?”

“Yeah,” she hissed, eyes squeezed shut. “Just rolled it a bit.”

You helped her sit up slowly, arms steady around her back, hand gripping hers. When the physio came over, you stayed. When they led her off the pitch, you stayed. When she was sitting on the treatment table and the staff was checking her ankle, you were in the chair beside her, chin in your hand, watching every wince like it physically hurt you, too.

Outside the physio room, chaos.

Frido raised an eyebrow. “They’re so in love it’s disgusting.”

“I give it a week,” said Ingrid.

“Three days,” Salma countered.

“Fifty bucks says it happens by tonight,” Alexia muttered, and someone opened a Notes app to start keeping track.

“Olga is gonna kill you,” Ona shook her head, only to be met with a shrug.

Back inside, Sydney was taped up and good to go. The doctor left the room briefly to grab something, leaving you alone again. Silence settled between you like fog.

And then you finally spoke. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “For not saying anything.”

Sydney looked up.

“I just—when you said it, I froze. Not because I didn’t feel the same. But because I did. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Her mouth parted slightly. You pushed forward, the words tumbling out now.

“I’ve never… felt this way about someone before. And I was scared. Scared I’d mess it up. That you’d change your mind. That I’d ruin the one good thing I have.”

“You wouldn’t,” she said softly.

You nodded, eyes glossy, heart thudding. “I like you too. I just didn’t know how to say it until now.”

A smile bloomed on her face, so radiant it made your knees go weak.

“I know,” she said. “Vicky told me.”

You let out a breathless laugh, and before you could overthink it again, you leaned in and kissed her.

It was clumsy. Awkward. Your nose bumped hers, your lips landed half-off-center, but it didn’t matter. You pulled back quickly, cheeks burning, nerves screaming.

“That was stupid,” you muttered. “Sorry—”

But she was already laughing. The good one. Your favorite one.

“Again, please.”

And this time, it was slower. Softer. Better. You cupped her jaw gently, and she held onto your sleeve like it grounded her. You kissed her again and again until your world shrank down to that room, that moment, that girl.

Outside, the team probably exploded. Bets were settled. High-fives exchanged.

But in that room, none of it mattered.

Because Sydney Schertenleib liked you. And you liked her back. And for the first time in forever, that didn’t feel scary. It felt like home.

[pitchsidestories]

Three weddings and one new love II Patri Guijarro x Reader

romantic masterlist | platonic masterlist | word count: 2169

summary: Patri and Reader cross paths at three weddings. Each meeting brings them closer, but is it enough for something real to begin?

author's note: hi, like everyone else, we absolutely loved all the woso weddings and inspiration struck. We hope you enjoy the fanfic that came from it. <3

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

Lola and Cristina’s wedding was in full swing.

“Patri, do you remember her?” Leila’s question was innocent enough, but when the midfielder caught sight of you, she nearly choked on the champagne she’d been sipping.

Of course, Patri remembered. How could she not? But somehow, you were even more beautiful than she’d allowed herself to recall.

Noticing the brunette’s stunned expression, you laughed, light and effervescent, like the bubbles rising in your glass: “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”, Patri said, recovering quickly. The midfielder felt the warmth rising to her cheeks. Normally, she was cooler, more composed. She blamed the heat. And the drinks.

“It’s nice to see you too.”, you replied, a soft smile on your lips.

“Are you enjoying the party so far?”, the Barcelona player asked, her voice casual, but her eyes lingering just a little too long.

“I do. What about you? I really like your dress.”, you said.

The sleeveless black dress hugged her figure effortlessly, the ink of her tattoos accentuating her sun-warmed skin.

Patri tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous smile playing on her lips: “Oh, thank you.” She paused, gesturing vaguely. “And yeah, Lola and Cristina know how to throw a party.”

You took a moment to absorb the atmosphere. Laughter drifted through the garden, and even usually composed Alexia was dancing in her pink dress, barefoot and carefree, with the bride.

“I’m not usually a fan of weddings, but this one’s something special.”, you confessed.

Patri grinned: “That’s a big compliment, then. Can I get you another drink?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”, you responded, returning her smile.

Like a true gentlewoman, she returned with fresh drinks for you both, gently clinking her glass against yours. “Cheers.” “Cheers.”

“It’s really beautiful.”, Patri murmured, her eyes scanning the joyful chaos unfolding around you.

You followed her gaze. The couple radiated happiness, surrounded by friends, laughter and the soft golden light of early evening.

Knowing them as well as you did, especially Lola, the goalkeeper who’d stood by you when everything in your career was falling apart, you felt a quiet swell of emotion. “I agree.”, you said, your voice low.

Patri turned to you, a playful tilt to her head:” Would you like to dance?”

Her brown eyes caught yours, deep and steady, and something warm unfurled in your chest. You hesitated, nerves fluttering at the edges.

“Oh, um… sure,” you nodded, speaking almost to yourself.

As you stepped onto the dance floor, the DJ smoothly shifted from a fast rhythm to a slow, melodic song. You both paused, smiling, a little shy, a little amused, before stepping closer.

Her hand found yours, and the space between you disappeared. The movement was easy, natural, like you’d rehearsed it without knowing. There was no need to speak, your bodies seemed to anticipate each other, flowing in quiet synchrony.

The moment, soft and perfect, was suddenly broken by the arrival of Irene, her expression tight with concern.

You watched as Patri’s eyebrows knotted together, looking over to her teammate.

“Patri? Can you help me find Mateo?”, Irene asked, the slightest hint of panic in her voice.

“I…”, Patri hesitated, looking back and forth between you and Irene until she nodded firmly: “Yeah, sure.”

She offered you an apologetic smile: “Sorry.”

You waved her off casually: “It’s fine. I need to check on Andrea, anyway, looks like she had enough to drink.”

With a final wry smile, Patri disappeared into the crowd. She eventually found Mateo several minutes later, sitting calmly beneath a table, hidden by the tablecloth and happily playing with his toy cars. The relief on Irenes face when she saw her son was immeasurable.

Happy to have been of help, Patri returned to where she left you earlier but you were gone.

“Ale? Do you have y/n’s number?”, she asked Alexia who was seated on a table nearby, sipping white wine.

She raised her eyebrows as she took another sip: “I don’t. Why?”

“I…”, Patri started. But what was she supposed to say? That she couldn’t find you after circling the parameter of the big yard three times already. That she felt something between you two and didn’t understand why you had just left?

Before she could find the right words, Leila chimed in, her eyes lighting up with excitement: “You want to see her again?!”

“Yeah?”, Patri answered carefully.

This caused Alexia shoot her a knowing, slightly pitying look. Patri wished she hadn’t even asked at all.

Summer break meant wedding season in the womens football world, so the next ceremony was only a couple days later. It felt like the celebrations were never-ending. But you weren’t complaining, not when it gave you another excuse to wear something fancy.

You were stuck in some small-talk with two men you didn’t know, and it quickly became clear that they were more interested in each other’s opinions than anything you had to say. You stood there politely, twirling the stem of your champagne flute between your fingers and pretending to listen. At least until a bright red jumpsuit caught your attention.

It was Patri, smiling carefully as she walked towards you.

You smiled back at her, grateful to have an excuse to leave the one-sided conversation: “You again. I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here.”

“Hi, I didn’t know you knew the brides.”, Patri greeted you and as she took in your uncovered arms added: “… or that you had any tattoos.”

You smirked at her, catching the way her gaze lingered on your body: “Wow, you underestimate me, Guijarro.”

“I did. I thought…”, she started, her cheeks turning pink.

“You thought I was just the girl next door? I feel like I should be offended.”, you teased, leaning in with a grin.

Clearing her throat, the midfielder defended herself: “I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.”, you said quickly, hoping to ease her visible nervousness.

Biting her lip, Patri murmured an apology.

“Yours are really pretty.”, you admitted, lightly tracing the inked lines on her upper arm with your finger. Was this still just friendly chatter between guests, or had it already tipped into flirting? You suspected the latter. You couldn’t help it, the banter between you was too good to resist.

Under your attention, she muttered: “Oh, thanks.”

“Although the tiger might be a bit cheesy.”, you added with a wink.

Pretending to be offended, the brunette shot back: “What? No, it’s cool.”

You chuckled: “Uh-huh.”

Then the mood shifted. A memory surfaced, the last wedding where you’d seen her, and how abruptly it had ended. Your voice softened: “Sorry for vanishing like some kind of Cinderella the last time we saw each other.”

“Is that a thing you do?”, Patri asked, her tone cautious. She didn’t want to be hurt again. The feeling of being left behind was still raw, it hadn’t been a few days ago.

You shook your head.: “Vanishing and leaving a pretty girl behind? No, usually not. At least, not on purpose.”

“So, I don’t have to be scared you’ll disappear again?” she questioned, watching you hopefully.

“No, I won’t do that.” You smiled, heart open. “You want me to stay?”

“I do.”, Patri confirmed, her voice barely a whisper. “I even asked the others for your number.”

“You did?”

Here was the thing, you had all played for the national team together. But after you left for England and refused any further call-ups, not much in the Spanish federation had truly changed. Just fragments. Bits and pieces. And there was still so much left to be desired. Which meant, of course, that none of her football friends would have your contact details.

“I can give you mine now,” you offered, pulling a pen from your small bag and scribbling your number on her arm.

“Thanks,” she responded softly.

“You’re welcome. I’m rarely in Spain these days, but I’m here most summers.”, you explained.

Nervously, she glanced at you, her voice quiet as she hinted at the dance you never got to finish last time: “That’s... fine. I just still owe you a dance.”

“You should do that now,” you replied with a smirk, nodding towards the dance floor. “One of my favourite songs is playing.”

Patri shrugged as if this opportunity was as good as any: “Okay, then.”

You took her hand in yours and led her onto the dance floor.

The music surrounded you both as you started to sway. Patri’s hands settled naturally on your waist, guiding your movements with the rhythm of her own body. She moved smoothly, like water. Almost like the way she played football, you thought.

“You’re surprisingly good at this.”, you smirked.

Patri smiled, lifting an eyebrow: “Surprisingly, huh?”

“Yeah, I mean you’re maestro on the field but the dance floor is very far from a pitch.”, you teased, biting your lip.

She tilted her head, considering for a moment and then said with a slightly challenging tone: “Can’t I be both?”

Her face was so close to yours now, the sunlight catching in her deep brown eyes.

“You can be even more than that.”, you murmured, your gaze locked on her.

You knew she stared at your lips. You waited for her to lean in. Maybe she was waiting for you too. The kiss never came.

And then the moment was gone. You had to leave right after this dance, but you had no idea how much chaos your exit would leave behind.

Later that night, with the music still playing and drinks still flowing, a fine sprinkle of rain began to fall over the wedding and Alexia came running towards her friend group, her high heels dangling from her fingers: “Olga! Leila! Patri is crying… and she won’t tell me why!”

They found her outside, sitting on the venue steps, quietly sobbing and mascara smudging underneath her eyes.

Leila crouched down beside her: “What happened?”

“I had her number but it vanished… just like her.”, Patri sniffed, pointing towards the fading writing on her arm that was almost completely washed away by a mix of sweat and rain.

“Aw, cariño…”, Olga sighed, brushing strands of hair out of Patris face.

“It’s okay. I’m sure we can get her number somehow.”, Leila said softly.

“Promise.”, Olga added, squeezing her shoulder.

Patri wiped her eyes and looked up to them. The crying had finally stopped.

The third wedding was Laia’s. Just as beautiful as the last two ceremonies and with a lot of familiar faces on the guest list.

When you walked in, you noticed one table right away.

“Patri. Get up and stop pouting.”, Ona ordered, elbowing her in the ribs.

Patri was seated next to her, frowning into her champagne glass.

“She’s here!”

“Stop messing with me.”, the midfielder muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

Unmoved by her teammate’s theatrics, Ona gave a half-smile: “I’m not. She and Laia go way back to their Atlético days. So come on now.”

Patri’s head shot up: “Wait, are you serious?”

With a sigh, Ona grabbed her arm and gently tugged her to her feet. She turned her toward the other side of the courtyard, where you stood talking to the bride, laughing in the golden dusk.

“I am.”, Ona said simply.

Laia’s voice rang out beside you, warm and sure. She rested her arm on your shoulder: “I hope you’ll come visit me in Barcelona soon.”

You smiled, hugging her close: “Of course I will.” The promise was meant for her, but when your eyes flicked past her shoulder and found the one woman you'd seen at the last two weddings, your heart quietly wondered if the promise might stretch to her too.

Beaming, Laia announced: “I’ll go find my husband.”

“Okay.”

Their happiness was contagious, easy, natural. It was beautiful to see someone you’d known so long marry the man who had cried the moment she stepped into view at the ceremony.

You and Laia shared one last hug. Then, as you turned, you almost stumbled straight into Patri.

“Oh, hi.”, you mumbled, nerves fluttering in your chest.

“Hey.”, she replied, calm on the outside, though her heart was pounding. Three weddings. Third time’s the charm, maybe this was the moment, like in all the films and books.

You gestured toward the happy couple: “Laia and I were just talking, I’ve got to visit her in Barcelona soon.”

“Yeah,” Patri said. “It’s great to have her back.”

You nodded. “You lot are lucky.”

“We are.”

You hesitated, searching her face: “What if I want to see you too, not just Laia?”

Her expression lit up, hope blooming across her pretty face: “You want to visit me?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “I really do.”

“I’d like that.”, Patri answered, and stepped a little closer. She kissed your cheek soft, deliberate, her lips brushing just a little too close to yours.

Three weddings and maybe, this was the first chapter of your own little love story.

[meazalykov]

every win is not sweet

alexia putellas x realmadrid!reader

you’re still trying to catch your breath as the final whistle blows, the sound of it almost drowned out by the eruption of cheers around the away catalan stadium. bodies are collapsing onto the pitch, teammates rushing toward you with arms wide open. 

your chest heaves, the pounding of your heart matching the excitment of the away crowd that surprisingly had a good turnout. the scoreboard blares its unforgiving truth. real madrid 3, barcelona 1.

the player of the match does to caroline but it’s your name that echoes through the stadium. it was your goal in the 90+6 minute that basically told barcelona that they were not coming back from this match. this time, they fell and you were the one to do it.

your teammates engulf you, the weight of their bodies crashing into yours. laughter, cheers, even a few tears. you can barely stand. someone ruffles your hair, another smacks your back but through it all your eyes instinctively search the pitch. 

those eyes of yours past the celebrating white shirts, past the madridistas jumping in the stands. your gaze finally lands on her. alexia.

she’s still near the barcelona bench, hands on her hips, her head tilted down. that dark blonde  of hers is damp with sweat, strands clinging to her face. the captain’s armband is loose around her bicep. for a moment, she doesn’t move. then, without meeting your gaze, she turns away.

by the time the post-match formalities are over, the adrenaline has worn off. your body aches. the press interviews are a blur….you manage the usual lines, nothing too biting, nothing too cocky. 

the club media officer is relieved. they didn’t want anything inflammatory from you, not after a victory like this but your mind’s not there. it’s with alexia who does take losses like this very seriously.

later you’re barely through the front door of your apartment when you hear the distinct sound of keys jangling. you shut the door quietly, kicking off your shoes. the lights are dim, the city skyline glowing faintly through the wide windows. the hum of barcelona traffic filters in.

"alexia?"

the sound of her footsteps emerges from the kitchen. she doesn’t answer at first. instead, she stands with her back to you, the fridge door open as she retrieves a bottle of water. the tension is palpable, hanging heavy in the air. you swallow hard.

"baby?" you try again, softer this time.

she finally turns, her jaw tight. those usually warm brown eyes are distant now and you know. you know before she even says a word.

"you didn't have to celebrate like that."

the words are clipped, low. they hang between you, and you can't hide the flicker of surprise that flashes across your face.

"what?"

alexia steps closer, the water bottle gripped tightly in her hand, "the way you showed off to our crowd, y/n… you wanted to rub it into our fans faces."

"are you serious?" you ask, your voice cracking slightly, "that was our first win over you ever and i scored in stoppage time. what did you expect me to do? stand there?"

she doesn’t respond immediately. her jaw clenches, her eyes narrowing.

"i get it," she finally says, "it was a big moment for madrid  but you know what it was for us? our first loss to you. do you know how that feels?"

"of course i do," you snap, frustration bubbling to the surface. "every clasico we’ve played, we’ve been humiliated. every time, you walk off the pitch victorious, and i’m left wondering if we’ll ever catch up and today, we did. i’m sorry that hurts you, but it meant everything to my teammates.” 

alexia shakes her head, her lips pressing into a thin line, "this isn’t just about the game. it’s about how you celebrated. you could’ve… i don’t know, shown some respect."

"respect?" your voice rises, incredulous, "you think i disrespected you? alexia, i never played for barcelona therefore i don’t have any loyalty to give to that club… only just to you. i would never disrespect you but i’m allowed to be happy. i’m allowed to celebrate."

she’s silent again, and it’s unbearable. the walls of the apartment seem smaller, suffocating. your breaths are shallow, your pulse quickening.

"maybe you don’t understand because you’re always winning," you murmur, the bitterness slipping through despite your best efforts.

alexia’s eyes flash, and it stings. you’ve never fought like this before. not like this.

"so now i’m the villain for being successful? is that it?" she retorts, her voice sharp.

"that’s not what i said."

"but it’s what you meant."

the weight of the argument crashes over both of you. you see the flicker of hurt in her eyes, the way her shoulders tense. she’s always been passionate, fiery. you love that about her but right now, it’s a wall you can’t get through.

"alexia," you whisper, your voice cracking, "this doesn’t have to be like this. we’re on different teams, yeah, but we’re not against each other…. not really."

she exhales slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor. the tension lingers, but so does something else. something fragile.

"i know," she murmurs, "i just… it’s hard."

at first, it seemed like the tension from that argument had started to dissolve. she had mumbled something about how you played well, and you thanked her, adding that she had too. the words were stiff, like neither of you wanted to bring up what had happened but of course, it didn’t take long before it resurfaced.

"i'm just saying," alexia spoke, her voice laced with frustration, "if jana’s goal wasn’t called offside, the entire game would have been different."

you blinked, confused… "what? but it was offside, alexia."

she scoffed, shaking her head, "barely. it was so tight and those kinds of calls... sometimes they go the other way. we should’ve had that goal."

"but you didn’t." your voice came out sharper than you intended, "because it was offside. that’s how the game works… offside goals do not count."

"so you think that call was perfect? flawless?" her brows furrowed, her jaw tight.

you exhaled, trying to steady yourself, "i think the refs checked it and confirmed it. what else do you want, ale? they didn’t just pull that decision out of thin air.”

"right, because officiating has never been questionable," she shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word.

your patience thinned. she wasn't just upset, alexia was convincing herself of something that wasn’t true. you understood how painful a loss like this was. barcelona’s dominance over madrid had been undeniable, and now that streak was broken. the denial? that was something else.

"are you seriously going to keep this up?" you snapped, your voice rising, "are you really going to sit here and act like jana's goal wasn’t offside just to cope with losing? is that how you’re all dealing with it?"

alexia’s mouth parted slightly, as if the words stung. she held your gaze, the warmth in her brown eyes quickly replaced by something colder. 

"whatever," she muttered, pushing herself off the couch, "congratulations on your win, y/n." 

the way she said it, bitter and dismissive, made your stomach twist. you shook your head as she walked away, disappearing down the hall. 

"unbelievable," you mumbled under your breath, the weight of the night pressing down on you.

all of those hours passed, the air in the apartment thick with unresolved tension. you spent most of the evening scrolling mindlessly through your phone, trying to push down the guilt simmering inside you. 

the truth was, you didn’t like how you handled it. you had every right to stand by the victory, but snapping at alexia like that? that wasn’t fair. she had poured her heart into that match just as much as you had.

when you heard the soft creak of the bedroom door, your eyes flicked up. alexia stood there, her shoulders slightly hunched, her expression unreadable. 

"hey," you said quietly, setting your phone aside.

"hey," she echoed, her voice soft. there was a hesitance in her step as she approached you.

"look," you sighed, rubbing the back of your neck, "i shouldn’t have said that. i was frustrated at your reaction, but that doesn’t mean i should’ve approached it in that manner."

she nodded slowly, "and i shouldn't have... i shouldn’t have made excuses. it wasn’t fair to you. i’m sorry."

the weight of it all lifted slightly. you reached out, gently taking her hand in yours. her fingers curled around yours, that familiar warmth grounding you. 

"i get why you were upset," you murmured, "i would be too. it wasn’t just any game."

alexia’s lips twitched upward in the faintest smile, though her eyes still held a tinge of sadness. 

"it was a big one."

"yeah," you whispered, pulling her closer. your arms wrapped around her waist, and she melted into your embrace, "but i’m glad we’re okay… right?"

she nodded against your shoulder, her breath steady, "we are."

you pulled back just enough to press a soft kiss to her lips. alexia’s hands rested against your back, holding you firmly. the kiss was slow, unhurried.

when you pulled away, you smirked playfully, deciding to lighten the mood, "good luck against wolfsburg this weekend," you whispered, the words brushing against her ear.

alexia scoffed, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. 

"thanks," she replied, "you too, but against arsenal."

masterlist

authors note: I hate madrid so it was very hard to write this one without being snarky LMAO

[ceesimz]

Lavender

A date that unfortunately doesn't go as planned. (autistic!reader - angst -> fluff)

Reverie series here as always! A verrrry real experience depicted in this one, with some amazing help from @pickledwoso that i am very grateful for, thank youuu <3

“Engel, are you ready to leave?” Alexia sang as she headed out of the bedroom towards where you were at the door rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, waiting for her.

“Yes, you fool, I've been ready for the past half hour.” You rolled your eyes at her teasingly, laughing when she lightly pawed at your side where she knew you were ticklish. “Come on! You're taking all day.”

“Ay, it is our day-off, I can take my time for once. No rushing, just calm, and me and you.” She gave an alluring smile, sliding her hand down your arm until she intertwined your fingers, then leaned forwards to kiss your forehead. “Are you excited?”

“Very. I love when we do this.” You told her with a squeeze of her hand. The girl grinned, her eyes brimming with excitement and complete happiness seeping from her pores, like the prospect of visiting a farmer's market with her girlfriend was as exciting as a third Ballon d’Or.

“Me too.” She gently knocked your chin up and pecked your lips before brushing back a strand of hair behind your ear. “Now, are we ready, mi vida?”

“For the love of god, yes!”

Any time the club issued some days-off, one of the things highest on the list for yourself and Alexia was visiting the local farmer’s market. You’d buy the best of the best fresh organic products and cook together a dish of food that, combined with the quality time you'd spend with each other, would make for a night-in together that was so much better than going out somewhere. 

These days had become somewhat of a tradition, and with it being the penultimate day of the short summer break after the tournament Alexia had gone to, it was absolute perfection. The last day had no plans apart from relaxing and spending time together before the season started again. You couldn't think of a better way to spend the last bit of time off than a date to a familiar, easy place with Alexia that was sure to give way for a fun afternoon and evening.

With it being the height of summer, Barcelona was especially warm, which was perhaps the first warning sign of the day.

“Ale, you really need to get your car in the garage, your AC sucks.” You groaned, the vents on full blast yet hardly doing a thing to cool you down against the 35 degree air outside. Your window was open and your head rested against the door dramatically, Alexia couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight even if she did feel a little bad about it.

“It’s got a service next week, they will fix it then. Sorry.” She winced, hardly breaking a sweat in the weather she was more than acclimated to whilst you seemed to be struggling before the pair of you had even left the car.

You shrugged her off because it's not exactly her fault her car's AC has been faulty since the spring, and focused all your attention on the life-saving breeze hitting your face as Alexia maneuvered through some tame midday traffic. Hot weather wasn't one of your favourite things in the world, as a matter of fact much more comfortable in minus degree weather with tiny icicles on your eyelashes, but a year into living under the blaze of the Barna sun you had no choice but to put up with it.

Though, your patience with the heat wore off quick. And in its wake, a simmering feeling of restlessness, which should have been yet another warning sign. But you were too deep in your determination for this to be a good day for anything to write you off.

The market was only a short drive away, the two of you having opted out of walking because, well, duh, the weather, and just as the sweat that found its place on your nose no more than five minutes after stepping out of your ice cold shower finally began to evaporate, it came crawling right back the second you got out of the car. Alexia was starting to feel uneasy about the day's plans, and, really, so were you, but you were set on pushing through the constrictive feeling that had settled in your bones when the first bit of heat came your way after leaving your flat. There wouldn't be much time in the coming weeks for a day like this with your girlfriend, you weren't about to wreck it for the both of you.

From where the car was parked to the entrance of the market, you walked in silence, hand in hand across slightly worn stone tiles until the rusted old gates of the park stood before you. Over the threshold of the entrance, paved tiles turning to cobble, you knew the chaos the market had in store for you. You didn’t know if you could handle it. The writing on the wall was in the prickly sensation in your skin that was all too familiar, as was the way every nerve in your body screamed in discomfort, almost like your soul was desperately trying to find a way out of your body.

You ignored it, and headed towards the stalls before Alexia could ask how you were.

This place was familiar; you knew the ins and outs of each stall, you knew where to go, you knew how long it took to get around. It shouldn’t be too hard, right? 

You loved this place, of course it’d be fine. It beamed with energy, with good vibes, with good people. With its colourful displays of the finest fruit and vegetables, it was more than just a market; it was the heartbeat of the surrounding neigbourhoods.

All kinds of scents and aromas swirled around each corner, weaving themselves into the fabrics of people’s clothes and lingering long after they’d left. They were intoxicatingly good, and it was evident in the looks of wonder on everybody’s face, old or young, experienced shopper or recent newcomer. Vendors positioned at every stall or tattered wagon called out their offerings in a chaotic yet melodic mix of Spanish and Catalan, grabbing the nearest fruit or veg to wave around like an auctioneer with a hammer, the only use for it being to wave off the flies dancing tauntingly around their goods. 

Locals haggled over prices with the farmers they’d come to know just as well as their own family; their loud and boisterous back-and-forth banter may have sounded like arguing to unknowing tourists, but to everyone else it was understood as just some good-humoured ribbing that they all delighted in. It was more of a shuffle than a walk throughout the place thanks to the tourists that seemed to stop in the middle of the aisles every second, clearly oblivious to the well-practiced dance of the locals. Elderly ladies pulled their clueless esposos around with one arm whilst they carried their wicker basket in the other, the woven willow groaning under the weight of the countless ingredients to be used in that night’s meal.

For a moment, as you paused off to the side whilst Alexia caught up with one of the stall owners, a fisherman with his catches of the week proudly on display, which you knew your girlfriend would end the conversation by buying enough fish meat to feed the five thousand, you took a moment to breathe. Everybody seemed relieved of their life’s burdens here, gathered closely in one space that was steeped in the essence of the world’s simplest pleasures; flavour, tradition, and community. Only, the smile that was usually imprinted on your face whenever you came was no more than a distant memory. 

Despite the fairly shadowed area, considering the park was fenced in by sporadic trees that skimmed the roofs of buildings that showed off the city’s beautiful architecture, it was still insufferably hot. It radiated off of the ground, rebounded off the buildings around, and the flurry of structures meant there was no wind breaking through to give a cool Mediterranean breeze like you had before. 

Alexia seemed none the wiser, enraptured by the surroundings like it was her first time there, her head on a swivel and marveling at the mouth-wateringly exceptional variety of things to choose from. You hadn’t really been taking it in, your eyes stuck to the back of her head as you followed her through, waiting on shaking legs whenever she laughed and joked with each worker she bought from. 

This labyrinth of every cook’s dream was well and truly alive, but you weren’t. You couldn’t absorb the intense feeling of belonging and sonder you got whenever you came here. It was too much. The thought ate away at you, as with every fly that landed on your skin or every person that brushed against you, you became more and more on edge. 

All the different smells, the different sounds, the crowd of people, they didn’t spark those usual feelings of contentment and peace that transpired for you normally. Instead, they felt oppressive, like they were attacking your senses. 

The concoction of aromas forced themselves inside your nose and overloaded you completely, the squeamish smell of fish and the fiery linger of hundreds of kinds of herbs and spices bringing on a pounding headache. Every squeak of a wicker basket as the willow was put under more pressure could have been a gunshot for all you knew, the way it echoed around the tunnels of your ears. Anytime someone briefly put a hand on you as they moved past had you flinching, hating the unexpected contact as it was the last thing you needed in such a situation.

You didn’t find any comfort whatsoever in how Alexia’s hand never left yours for more than a minute, when normally it was something that grounded you. Her usually funny comments and little facts and point-outs of detail about her ‘second home’ (the name she had given it as she’d been coming here since she was young) didn’t make you feel any brighter, in fact you were pretty sure you missed most of them.

And as every minute passed, it appeared to get busier and busier, until it started to feel like you were in some kind of mosh pit, people bouncing off of you with every turn only for the next one to come along no more than a second later. You couldn’t hear a word Alexia was speaking, the once calming mix of languages turned into a booming echo of voices that were so close they seemed to be knocking on the bone of your skull, yet too distant for you to make out what anyone was saying, making it all so. much. worse.

Every voice, every footstep, every hearty laughter and every scrape of wood along the floor grated against your ears, all noises around amplified to immeasurable heights. The space was far too loud and far too crowded – each sensation you felt blurred into the next until it became impossible to separate from one another. But you did feel how each individual muscle tensed, from your legs to your shoulders, as Alexia continued to pull you through the market. 

You were hyperaware of everything around you and it soon became unbearable. But Alexia was happy, she chatted away like nothing was happening, comfortable and content as her canvas bag brimmed with stuff you didn’t even realise she had bought. You soldiered on, or at least tried to.

Until, your breathing began to quicken, your lungs unable to take in any of the stuffy air you walked through, your chest tightening in a way that only caused you to panic impossibly more. Each piece of fabric from your clothes grazed against your skin like a hundred scratches in a single second, your shirt and shorts beginning to feel like they were getting tighter with each step you took. And when the claustrophobia, the feeling like there was no escape at all, began to really set in, the day was over.

Your resolve had completely eroded. You tried to focus on grounding yourself — reminding yourself this was a safe space, but that was an empty claim to make to your shredded composure. You tried convincing your mind that Alexia’s hand in yours was comforting, when it only felt constrictive, her hand wholly enveloping yours like a snake, leaving no room to breathe. You clenched and unclenched your fist in time with your breaths, but you couldn't even inhale for a second before your mind went into overdrive. All the tools you relied on before were inadequate in that moment. The rational part of your brain slipped away, instead replaced by an instinctive need to escape. 

Surges of anger, panic, anxiety, fear, they all rose uncontrollably at once. Your jaw clenched, your free hand curled into a tight fist, and your vision turned hazy as your world dissolved into one indistinct blur.

The snapping point came abruptly. Perhaps it was a shrill laugh nearby, the clatter of a crate being dropped, or an impatient shove from someone trying to pass by. It was the smallest thing, but it tipped the scale far out of anybody’s control. You were alone in that moment. Trapped completely in your mind.

You missed how Alexia called your name over and over, how her hand nudged yours to desperately try to grasp your attention. It was only when her hands grabbed both your forearms that you were brought back down, but only for half a millisecond, before it all went south.

“What?!” You snapped at her, jumping back out of her touch. 

As a result, there were about thirty pairs of eyes on you. Everybody around paused, your sharp shout cutting through the buzz of the market, and it went so quiet that every flutter of a fly’s wing and every creek of wood could be heard. 

You took another step back when Alexia came towards you, a worrisome look on her face with her hands out in front of her like she was trying to not spook an untrusting animal in front of her. She rushed out some words of reassurance that fell into the background with all the other noises around that had picked up again, the market-goers losing interest in a seemingly harmless situation. They didn’t register within you, nor did her intentions. Your mind was far too good at playing tricks on you, convincing you of things that were far from the truth but in the moment felt like gospel.

There was no way out of where you were, both in the physical and the mental sense, and that was the main factor in the eruption that had just happened. With so many emotions coursing through you, there was an intense itch to find a release from them all. So before you realised, your arms crossed over your chest, hands on your upper arms just above your elbow, and you began to roughly palm, rub, grab at the skin there, needing a distraction from the volume of your mind and the world, whilst also desperately trying to get the movement to act as a release of the crushing press of the feelings inside of you. 

If you were alone at that time, god only knows what would have happened. Fortunately you weren’t.

The next time Alexia touched you was the featherlight weight of her hand on your lower back, the minor contact enough to lead you through the winding paths of the market. Your legs ran on autopilot, but you stumbled with every few steps, eyes too blurry to see the bumps and dips in the cobbles underneath your feet. There were probably tears down your face, though you’d reached such a broken point that your body was just… numb. You weren’t in control of anything anymore, hadn’t been for a while, but this was a new extremity. You weren’t even present in your own mind. Just an innocent, unknowing passenger in the car crash that had come out of nowhere.

Somehow, with her own hands trembling from concern, Alexia managed to lead you out of the chaos of the market to those same rusted, paint-chipped gates from earlier— the entrance of the park area. She was lost on what to do or say, but rationally she knew the only thing that would work for you right now was getting you home. 

“I will drive us back to your flat, back home, okay?” 

You gave her no indication that you heard her, which she was expecting, though you had heard the one word you were in dire need of and it was the first thing so far that managed to break through into your overwhelmed mind. Your hands were still moving roughly against the skin of your arms, sure to leave marks afterwards, but Alexia knew if she attempted to stop you, it’d only make matters worse. She had to get you home. Seeing you like this was breaking her.

It took a concerningly small amount of effort to guide you to the car; you were pliant and mindless, the exhaustion having fully taken over the minute you left the crowded space. She opened the door for you, helped you into the seat, and put the belt on. You leaned your head back against the seat rest and stared straight ahead. Whether it’d help or not, Alexia wasn’t sure. But she had to do one thing, more for the sake of her sanity than yours. With a quiet call of your name, she gently put a hand under your chin and turned you so you faced her.

“I’ll take you home and look after you. You will be okay.” She whispered, tentatively brushing away some of the tears still on your cheeks with her thumb. Her words were a sentiment for her as much as they were for you. “You’ll be okay soon.”

—

Next thing you knew, you were in your bed, lay on your side with your weighted blanket over you and Alexia nowhere to be seen.

It was definitely the calm after the storm. The room was mostly dark apart from the light that bled through the curtains which were closed, you could hear the quiet whir of the AC as well as the dull hum of traffic on the street below, but that was about it. It was a stark contrast to how things were before.

You don’t exactly remember getting home after what happened after the market, but what you did know was that though Alexia wasn’t in the room, she had been at some point, because you felt her love in the way she made sure everything was properly set up for you. The AC hadn’t been on before you left earlier and it only could have come back on by someone turning it on. The curtains were open that morning, whereas now they were drawn. And last time you checked, your blanket was still in the dryer, waiting to be taken out when you got back. 

Everything you felt earlier still echoed faintly inside your head and chest, but the weighted blanket over you helped to anchor you back to your life again, rather than the chaos you were drowning in not so long ago. Your mind was convoluted, thoughts jumbled, and you flitted from one shattered fragment of insecurity to the other. You were simply too exhausted to hold onto any of them, emotionally and mentally drained. Though, you still tried to identify what you were feeling— was it anger? Shame? Embarrassment? You couldn’t put a finger on it. 

Your hands still shook, your chest still shuddered with every breath. Your clothes still felt scratchy and overbearing, just less so now that you lay in the aftermath of it all. Instead of focusing on that, you drifted your attention to the feeling of the blanket on you; you focused on its texture, its softness, the heaviness of it and how it draped over you and helped to extinguish the flame that was overstimulation and overwhelm. These small but familiar details offered a tiny foothold in the mirror maze of your mind that you were still trying to escape from, only for the ruined reflection of you at the market to be shown back to you.

The longer you spent in that position, a deep, bone-level weariness quietly consumed you, like every aspect of you right down to your soul had been drained. But even still, your mind continued its hyperactive ways, replaying the day’s events over and over like a faulty film reel. The memory of it isn’t the slightest bit cohesive, it was just flashes of moments— the suffocating press of people from every direction, clamour of voices, the overloading mixture of scents. You alternated between frustration and exasperation, wanting to desperately forget what happened whilst not being able to move on from the embarrassment of it. 

However, the strain of it slowly began to dissipate with each minute you spent back at home in bed, a safe space where there were no expectations, where time was temporarily unimportant, and where there were no watchful eyes or scathing glares at the disruption you’d caused. And eventually, you felt like you had gained back control of your mind again. It was quieter then; the world felt muted, less aggressive, though you could feel that you were still wary of your surroundings because of how everything ambushed you earlier.

You weren’t fully recovered, you still felt heavy and your body ached due to the tension in your muscles and joints when it all came falling down, and you weren’t sure how much time had passed but the sun sat a little lower on the horizon when you finally felt able to get out of bed. The desire for time alone had gone, you needed something else then, and at this point of the relationship you felt comfortable enough to seek exactly what you needed without giving it a second thought. 

The door to your room creaked like it always did when you opened it, your apartment mostly silent save for the occasional huff from the kitchen as the person you were looking for busied herself with any chore she could think of as she waited patiently for you. 

You didn’t quite know what to say, but one of the best things about your relationship was that often in times like this, words weren’t a necessity. So you bypassed her and headed straight for the sofa, sitting in the corner and curling your feet underneath you, almost like you were making yourself as small as possible. And, just as you expected, not a minute went by before the blonde headed over, trying to disguise the worry she felt by giving a tight-lipped smile that was more on the amusing side than the reassuring one.

When she sat down, however, she left a gap between you both and perched only on the edge, which wasn’t what you wanted. One shared glance later and Alexia was smiling properly this time, shuffling to sit back against the cushions and beckoning you over with a small wave of her hand. With a sheepish but slightly triumphant look on your face, you moved along the couch and chose to sit sideways on her lap, one of her arms immediately wrapping around your waist as the hand of the other landed just above your knee. She pulled you close to her, and you settled into her with a relieved sigh, indescribably glad to have the final piece of the puzzle to self-regulation in your possession.

For some time, the pair of you didn’t speak, only relishing in the comfort you both needed after the day that had been had. At some point, Alexia noticed the redness to your skin from earlier and subconsciously brought a hand up to one of your arms, her thumb gently tracing over them with a frown on her face. She felt compelled to speak then.

“Please, engel, don’t put yourself through uncomfortable situations just to make me happy. If you asked me to, I would have taken you home earlier in a heartbeat.” The midfielder said carefully, panicking a little when she heard you sigh before calming when you buried your face in her neck.

“I didn’t really know it was going to be uncomfortable until it was already happening.” You told her in a mumbled, downbeat tone that made her hug you tighter against her. She contemplated her next words, wondering whether it was wise to voice them or not, before deciding that you’d hate it if you found out she’d kept her feelings from you.

“I’ve never seen you like that before.” Her fear and sadness was evident when she spoke, matching the frown still on her face and the furrow to her brow. You pressed your lips to the skin of her jaw in a somewhat apologetic gesture, which made her feel a little bad. “We’re both okay though, mi amor. I love you and we’re okay. I’m not mad or anything, this isn’t your fault. I don’t want you to feel guilty. It’s over now, it’s in the past, and we’re here together now.”

It might have been a minor reminder, but it relieved a lot of the remaining anxieties and insecurities you had. Even though she made sure you knew she never judged you for anything, you were only human, and sometimes the devil on your shoulder got the best of you. So, to hear her say she knew it wasn’t your fault and that she wasn’t angry, it was… very needed.

The mix of physical touch and words of affirmation never failed to work wonders for you. The period of time after an event like earlier was a delicate time to say the least, where your mind and your self-esteem was easily swayed by whatever reaction waited for you afterwards. Having Alexia be so welcoming, non-judgemental, caring and adoring even after what she’d witnessed made a world of a difference.

“Better day tomorrow?” You said shyly after moving back to look at her. She shook her head at first, which greatly confused you, before she smiled brightly, softly, reassuringly, and leaned forwards to kiss your temple.

“Better evening tonight after a bad day. And then a very good day tomorrow.” Her words were a little skewed, probably lost in translation, but you understand what she was getting at and it warmed your heart all the same.

It was important to you then, that you voiced your thoughts from just a moment ago. She had to know how important she was to you.

“Thank you, Ale. For everything.” You started, laughing quietly at the puzzled expression on her face. “You always know what to do, what to say. You always make me feel better after a day like this and I don’t know how you do it but… you changed my life.”

Her reaction was the sweetest. Her cheeks blushed red and she turned away for a moment with a tiny disbelieving shake of her head.

“I don’t know about that, cariño.” She murmured, but you weren’t having it. You put a hand on her cheek and turned her face back to you, ensuring she met your gaze before you spoke again.

“You did. I really mean it. I think about it a lot, how you’ve changed me, how I see myself because of you and how you treat me.” You paused for a moment, smiling up at her as her eyes silently urged you to continue. “I… value myself more because of how you value me. I don’t tell you enough how grateful I am for you and what you really mean to me. You’re the greatest person I have ever met.”

The normally sure and confident captain was rendered speechless in that moment, completely caught off guard and lost for words. How she could ever match the gravity and beauty of your words, she didn’t know. But they meant so much more to her than she knew she could ever express.

Ale ducked her head down for a moment as she really took in your words, before she lifted it back up again a moment later, with tears in her eyes. 

If only you knew how much you meant to her too.

“You’re my favourite person in the world, you know that?” She said with a pointed look and a raised eyebrow, almost accusing you of foolishly being uncertain about the fact that she stated so definitively. You knew she only did that to deflect the softness of her words a little. So, you just smiled, and tucked your head back into her neck and closed your eyes, completely at peace. “My favourite person in the whole world. You changed my life too.”

—

i really really tried my best to encapsulate the autistic experience of being overstimulated and overwhelmed in such a place here but i have no idea how well it comes across to a large audience. but for me and probably others, this is the reality, no matter how much you can plan and prepare and be excited for something, it can spiral out of your control so quickly and it's definitely a downer when it happens. hope this is somewhat understandable, im gonna go hibernate out of fear now, thank you v much for reading :)

[no-144444]

꩜summary: you don't need gifts, just him.

꩜pairing: paul aron x fem! reader

You weren’t into the lovey-dovey shit, it just wasn’t what you needed. Maybe that would change with age, maybe it was just something that was hard-wired into you. But you just weren’t interested in gifts or flowers, you just wanted to spend time with Paul. Your love language was definitely spending time together, and his seemed to be anything but.  

He didn’t seem to understand that. Yes, you appreciated the small gifts he sent you, you thought the flowers were sweet, you recognised how nice it was to receive little love notes. All you really wanted was to spend time with him. So you wrapped up at work and flew to Barcelona, just wanting some time with your boyfriend.

Paul walked into his hotel room, exhausted from his day of reserve driver duties. He pulled off his team kit polo and walked into the bathroom, starting up the shower as he brushed his teeth. He was exhausted. It was good practice for whenever he’d get a seat, but the F1 calendar was packed. Going from timezone to timezone felt exhausting, and he wasn’t even driving. It’s not like he wasn’t used to it, he just… needed a break. He wanted to see you. He wanted you to hug him and kiss him and tell him everything was alright. Tell him he was alright. Tell him he was doing a good job. 

Just as he was thinking about you, you appeared in the doorway, one of his hoodies on and some tiny sleep shorts. He could’ve sworn he was seeing things, then you walked into the bathroom and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Missed you,” you mumbled against his chest.

His hands finally sprung into motion and wrapped around you. “Holy shit,” he chuckled in disbelief, toothbrush still in his mouth. He quickly pulled it out and cleaned it, then ducked his head and kissed you. It was perfect, the kind of tension-releasing kiss. You noticed how his shoulder relaxed, how he felt a lot more fluid in his movements, how he smiled. It just made you want to kiss him harder. You did. You leaned into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and surging forwards, just wanting one thing. Yeah, maybe you’d been sexually frustrated while away, and maybe it was because nothing could make you cum as hard as he could. 

“I need to shower-” he started, but you just kissed him harder, your hands finding his hair and pulling. He groaned into your mouth and all he could think about was you. 

“Me too,” you whispered as you pulled back. You quickly pulled off your hoodie and shorts, revealing everything. He swore he’d never been happier to be sweaty. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you pulled his shorts and boxers down, pushing him into the shower. 

Still as he kissed you, he thought back. “Did you get the flowers?” he asked as you began your assault on his neck. It’d be bruised tomorrow, and he couldn’t bring it upon himself to care. He grabbed at your waist, very much soaking in the moment. 

You didn’t stop kissing him. “I don’t,” a kiss to his jaw. “Give a fuck,” a kiss to his lips. “About flowers,” you were hungry for it, and he could tell. He knew what you wanted, and he planned on delivering, even if he left slightly offended by what you’d just said. You grabbed his hands and placed them on your ass yourself. “Touch me.”

After you two cleaned yourself off in the shower, wrapped yourselves up in comfy pyjamas, and collapsed into bed. There was a moment of quiet comfort. A small insecurity crept into Paul's mind. What if you hated the gifts? What if they annoyed you? What if it was too desperate? You were only meant to be hooking up anyway.

“What did you mean?” he questioned, turning to face you. As much as he enjoyed what happened in the shower, he still felt a bit… unappreciated. He liked giving you things. 

“What?” you questioned. “What did I say?” 

“You said you didn’t care about flowers,” he shrugged, fixing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I send you flowers all the time.” 

You saw the deflated look in his eyes and felt something pull at your heartstrings. “Paul, I love that you want to send me flowers, and it’s really sweet. You’re really sweet. But I meant what I said,” you saw the panic and disappointment in his eyes, and quickly finished your sentence. “I just want you near me. I don’t need the gifts.”

His visible panic ceased and he smiled. “You’re sure? It doesn’t annoy you or anything?”

“You could never annoy me,” you chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he wrapped his arms around you and drug his head into your neck. “I just want you here.”

He nodded against your neck, smiling. “That, and my dick-”

“Paul!” you scolded, playfully slapping his hand away, but he just squeezed you harder.

navigation for my blog :)

alpine masterlist

so close to what masterlist

pop queens mixtape

[erikawrites13]

"Victory Lane Hearts"

English is not my first language. I have dyslexia. Let me know what you think about it, please."

Oscar Piastri x Y/N (female reader)- Fluff, sweet post race in Spain.

The cheers were deafening as Oscar stepped onto the top of the podium at the Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya, champagne dripping from his overalls and a smile so wide it could eclipse the Spanish sun. Cameras flashed, fans roared, but all he could think about was the girl waiting just beyond the barriers — Y/N.

She had been with him through the early-morning training sessions, the endless debriefs, the races that didn’t go to plan. But today, everything had gone perfectly.

“Fifth win of the season,” Zak Brown had beamed, slapping Oscar on the back. “You’re leading the championship, mate.”

He barely heard him. He was already running, still in his race suit, weaving through the paddock like a man possessed until he found her — Y/N, standing by the McLaren garage, eyes glistening.

“You did it!” she squealed as he reached her.

Oscar didn’t wait. He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her off the ground as the scent of burnt rubber and champagne clung to them both. She laughed into his shoulder, holding him tight.

“I thought the Red Bulls were going to catch you at Turn 10,” she said breathlessly.

“Not a chance,” he grinned, setting her down. “I promised you a win today, didn’t I?”

She looked up at him, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from his forehead. “You also promised me dinner in Barcelona if you won.”

Oscar smirked, “Right after media. You, me, and whatever the best restaurant in this city is.”

Before either could say another word, a photographer caught the moment — Oscar, his hand cupping her cheek, their foreheads nearly touching as the sun dipped behind the Catalunya hills.

“Guess that’s going on F1 Twitter,” he joked.

“Good,” she said, “Let them all know who your biggest fan is.”

As the McLaren team erupted into celebration around them, Oscar looked at Y/N — his anchor, his peace in the chaos of Formula 1. No trophy, no points, no podium could compare to this.

“Next stop?” he whispered.

“Championship,” she whispered back. “And I’ll be right there, front row.”

[contremineur]

At the very top of the four stone spires which Gaudi left unfinished the light has just begun to bring forth gold inscriptions too pale yet to read. There is no sun. There is only a white silence. Sunday morning.

James Salter, from Am Strande von Tanger

from here

image of Sagrada Família edited from here

[brookediamonds]

who's the cute boy with the white (black) jacket and the thick accent?

Axel Kovačević x fem! reader

Summary: Landing yourself a spot in the Sekai Taikai with Miyagi-Do, you and your teammates are in Barcelona ready to defeat Cobra Kai once and for all but not without challenges and possibly…romance?

Word count: 2k Warnings: None

Masterlist

Part 2

not my gif

You stood next to Robby, hands behind your back slightly bored rocking on your heels as the photographer snapped photos of the team captains.

“You there in the back,” the camera man speaks up. “Show some emotion.”

You turn your head to your left nosely trying to see whom the photographer was referring to when the tallest man stood over you, dressed in sweats, soft brown hair swept up, and a chiseled face for a teenage boy.

He was rather handsome, almost intimidating by the forced closed mouth smile he was asked to put on.

The tall boy caught your curious eyes, and glanced down at you.

You shoot him a small smile before turning your head back to front not catching the blush the crept on the boy’s cheeks after your small gesture.

“Perfect,” the camera man breathes out when he sees stone cold boy finally crack a smile.

“We’re done here,” the man excused the athletes. You let out a sigh of relief, tucking the strands of your hair back behind your ears and stepping away from the swarm of people.

“Miss,” you hear a deep accent approach from behind you, a large hand lightly tugging at your arm.

You turn swiftly coming face to face with the tall pale boy you met gazes with a few seconds ago. You glance down at his hold on your arm, causing him to step back releasing his grip.

“S-Sorry,” he apologizes. “You dropped this.”

He held out a small crescent moon stud that resembled the earrings you put on daily. You gasp when you realize your right earlobe was in fact missing its normal accessory.

“Oh my god!” You exasperate reaching out for the earring. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” he says curtly before walking past you not giving you time to respond. You frown hoping you might be able to introduce yourself but his long strides sent him halfway down a hall.

You see Sam and Robby walk away from the team, leaving you to wonder the aquarium yourself.

Stopping in front of tank of small colorful fishes you smile to yourself admiring the beauty of the fish swimming amongst each other.

You had dreamt of being given this opportunity to show off your skills and fight for a title that could expand your talent and interests and you were finally here. You had made it.

Noticing your bare ear in your reflection of the glass, you fish out your stud from your pocket of your jeans and attempt to place the earring back in.

Unfortunately it was a flat back earring, and while you were able to place the back of earring in, the front was harder to pin point.

You huffed in frustration squinting at your reflection when you noticed another figure in the corner of your eye.

The chiseled boy from earlier stood calmly diagonal from you, tearing his eyes away from your frustrated state, looking at the large tank in front of him.

“Hey,” you take a step towards him slowly. "I'm (Y/n)."

"Axel," he nods barely sparing you a glance.

"Think you could help me put this back in?" You ask holding up the stud, hoping to start a conversation with the quiet boy.

"I- I'm not supposed to speak to opponent," he attempts to excuse himself. You wouldn't let him get away that easy.

"Competition hasn't started. We're not rivals just yet," you tease him playfully.

Your words make him feel at ease, the corners of his lips turning up. Axel takes a few steps towards you until he's toe-toe with you.

“Can’t get the front back in,” you shrug sheepishly holding up the moon. He nods taking the golden jewel out of your small hand and into his large one.

You move your hair to one side revealing the ear that once held the earring. Gently, he tilts your head to the side allowing him to see properly since you were much shorter than him.

You felt butterflies swarm your stomach at his close proximity, his face came so close to yours making sure to place the stud in securely.

"All done," he says removing his hands from the side of your face.

"Thank you," you smile up at him finally taking in his appearance. The blue water surrounding you both reflected in his dark emerald green eyes, pulling you into a trance.

His eyes flickered to the tank next to you, a pink blush cascading across his porcelian skin.

"Pretty isn't it?" You ask turning to the glass filled with sea creatures in front of you.

"Very pretty," Axel agrees twisting to face the aquatic scenery as well. Afraid he might flee again, you take your phone out.

"Do you mind taking me a picture?" You ask.

"Sure," he grins taking ahold of your phone. You stood leaning against the glass lightly, arms crossed behind your back, slightly tilting your head with a smile.

Axel pressed the screen a few times before bringing the device down.

"Do they look okay?" You ask walking up to him to look at the photos.

"Beautiful," he says catching your attention but quickly corrects himself. "T-They're beautiful."

You blush at his statement, about to respond when Sam calls out for you at the end of the tunnel.

"We're heading out," she says waiting patiently for you. You nod at her before turning back to Axel.

"I'll see you later on the mat?" You almost ask as a promise to see each other later.

"I will see you later," he responds sincerely with a genuine smile. You turn to make your way towards your best friend when Axel spoke your name sending your heart fluttering.

"You forgot this," he says handing you your phone making you smack your head.

"Thanks, once again," you laugh embarrassed. He nods shrugging as in no problem before you finally make it to Sam feeling like a giggly school girl.

"What just happened? And who was that?" Sam filled with excitement ambushes you as you both turn the corner.

You sighed dreamily, already thinking back to the small interaction hoping it wasn't the last.

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

Your team was getting their ass kicked. There was some downtime before the next event leaving you and the team to rest and regather yourselves.

Between Robby being distracted by Tory, Hawk and Demetri arguing, and now Mr. Larusso disappearing before the next round had you nervous about this possibly being the last day for your team.

"Voicemail?" You ask as you and Sam make your way to the competition.

"Yeah, I just hope he's okay," she says putting her phone away. You two suddenly hear grunting and the sound of someone sparring.

You and Sam stop in front of the open studio seeing a familiar face standing in a fighting stance with his sensei whom he was practicing with.

"Stop," the older man holds his gloved hand up. "What are you doing wrong?"

Axel looks down at his stance and shrugs confused when his sensei suddenly brings his gloved hand down smacking the boy.

You cock your head back eyes flitting over to Sam who looked just as surprised as you.

"Again," Axel is demanded. When he tries again, he unfortunately fails.

This time his sensei drops his pad angrily, and smacks Axel on his back five times making you hold your breath as you reach out to Sam, scared.

Axel who was slumped over waiting for the beating to be over, glances up making brief eye contact with you.

Before you can interject, Sam hurriedly pulls you by the wrist to get you two out of there.

"Should we go back and make sure he's okay?" You ask worriedly as you both sped walked to your team.

"Something tells me he's used to it," Sam spoke uneasily. "We're running late, maybe we can talk to him later."

You nod in agreement, Johnny was going to be pissed it took you all so long to get here.

You would find Axel later.

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

After winning your last two events and not being eliminated, the team decided to celebrate and relax by going out to a bar nearby.

You hung out with Sam and Robby for about half an hour until you got bored of the scenery and decided to take a walk by yourself to get some air.

Unclasping your sandals, you remove them before stepping into the cool sand and walking along the water.

The smell of the salt air placed a feeling of ease in you, the sound of the waves crashing music to your ears. A shiver runs down your spine as the breeze gets a little stronger making you regret not bringing a jacket.

As you walked further down the shore, you noticed a tall man moving with grace in the sand just a few feet from you.

It was Axel. And he was shirtless. You gulped attempting to keep your cool.

"Hey!" You call out to him. He jumped mid move startled by your presence, but relaxed once he realized it was you.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, I was just getting some air," you explain.

"It's fine," he reassures you, wanting to go back to his routine.

"It's pretty late to be training isn't it?" You ask walking closer to him.

"Always time for training," he responds before bending down away from you to pick up his shirt and jacket off the sand.

You gasped as he stood up, noticing the pink and purple bruises down his back.

"Axel, your back," you want to reach out but hold yourself back incase you're overstepping. "What happened?"

The tall boy throws his muscle shirt over his head, not meeting your eyes.

"Uh, from bo staff competition," he lies stuttering his words. You narrowed your eyes at him not buying his story.

"Nobody's been able to land a point on you yet," you point out. You had been watching him the entire competition, he was unstoppable and a damn good fighter.

He looks at you at a loss for words, avoiding your sympathetic gaze.

"I saw what happened with your sensei earlier," you spoke quietly. Axel looked defeated, and tired it made you want to just hug and hold him.

"My sensei wants me to be the best," he attempts to justify. "It is because of him, I never lose."

You nod moving closer to him.

"There are other ways of teaching," you shrug. "I mean, I gotta admit your dojo's pretty great."

"Thank you," he finally cracks a smile making me feel warm inside. "You're pretty."

You blush at his statement before he corrects himself. "Your dojo's pretty good too."

"We try," you chuckle.

You walk a step past him before looking back at him.

"Do you want to practice some more or join me for a tiring walk back to the hotel?" You ask jokingly.

He squeezes his black jacket in his hands before moving along with you.

"I'd love to join you," he grins. The wind blows through your white sundress making your teeth slightly chatter catching Axel's attention.

As you wrap your arms around yourself, you suddenly feel something drape around your shoulders. You realize Axel had given you his jacket.

"Thank you," you breathe out slipping your arms through the sleeves. He smiles down at you.

"So you've been watching me?" He spoke as you continued to walk down the sand.

You let out a little laugh, your face turning red from embarrassment.

"I've been watching you too," he says. "You're an amazing fighter, very graceful."

You're taken aback by his words, it meant a lot coming from him. You both stop in your place, facing one another.

"Really?" You ask hoping he wasn't messing with you.

He nods reaching his hand out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully.

Your breathing picked up, nerves running over your body as he brought his hand down your arm and intertwined your hands together.

"Very beautiful as well," he says leaning down slowly. You close your eyes, and stand on your tippy toes to press your lips up against his.

You snake one arm around his neck as he grabbed you by your hips pulling you closer to him. His lips were warm and soft, unhurriedly memorizing the taste of yours.

When you both finally pull apart, Axel is smiling softly down at you, admiring the twinkle in your eyes that shone from the full moon.

"So much for being rivals right?" You joke lazily laying your hands on his chest.

"I think we are passed that," he laughs before leaning down and kissing you again.

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

a/n: part 2? i've never really written parts on tumblr before nor made a masterlist. there's a first for everything i guess. hope y'all liked this!

[n0vazsq]

In love | Hector Fort x Reader

pairing . . . hector fort x barca!femeni!reader

summary . . . When you make eye contact with Hector during one of the practices, you never expected that he'd compliment you

request . . . yes!! based on this request!

word count . . . 2.1k+

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . so uh i blinked and suddenly there were 2k words?? also ignore how it goes from formal ahh shakespeare english to normal midway <33 hope you like it!!

taglist . . . @barcapix ,, @f1lover55 ,, @ilovebarcaaa ,, @ann6ella ,, @notm4d1 ,, @httpsdana (lmk if you want to join the taglist!)

part 1 | part 2

. . . You were not one to demand attention.

Quiet and observant, you had spent the first few weeks at FC Barcelona Femení training with a single goal in mind; playing well and blending into the team. It was, after all, your dream opportunity, and you were determined not to squander it.

The others welcomed you kindly enough, encouraging you to open up, but you simply had not yet found your footing amongst the vibrant personalities surrounding you.

It did not help that the men’s team often occupied the adjacent field or sat observing from the sidelines. While your teammates would wave or occasionally chat with the men in passing, you remained distant.

It was not due to shyness, but rather a choice to remain professional. You did not want to appear unserious in a place you had worked so hard to reach.

Still, the presence of the FC Barcelona men’s team was not something one could easily ignore. Hector, in particular, seemed to be an everlasting presence in the area. He was among the younger members of the squad, but there was no mistaking his calm, collected demeanor both on and off the pitch.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t noticed him during those moments of shared closeness. Yet, much like the others, you treated him as an observer and little more.

That particular day of training started off as unremarkable as the others. The sun beat down over the pitches, and your teammates laughed and chatted as you stretched in preparation for the drills.

Your focus remained steady, blocking out the sounds of the men’s team as they arrived to observe. Hector was among them, naturally, along with his teammates who took their seats along the sidelines.

You might have paid them no mind had it not been for the social media team.

"Could we borrow you for a moment?" one of the FC Barcelona media staff called your name, motioning you over.

You hesitated before complying, jogging toward them and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You had avoided the spotlight so far, preferring to build your reputation quietly.

Still, there was no refusing a request that was for a part of your job. The social media staff smiled warmly when you approached.

"We’re doing a quick trend for the socials," one of them explained. "It’s nothing too demanding. Are you okay with that?"

You found yourself relaxing in their presence. "Yeah, that is perfectly fine."

As they prepared their equipment, you exchanged a few quiet jokes with the staff, earning surprised laughter that quickly turned infectious.

Though you were not one to show this side of yourself often, there was something about being in front of a camera in a controlled environment that brought it out.

You participated in their short clip; some trend that needed an enthusiastic and almost dramatic entrance.

It was the first time you allowed yourself to be seen laughing openly, your composure softening as you ran toward the camera with a wide smile.

You had not realized that the men’s team had a perfect view of the entire interaction.

Hector watched, his attention unwavering. The same player who had been so reserved for weeks was now smiling without clear happiness, her voice clear as she joked with the media staff.

He sat up straighter on the bench, exchanging glances with a few of his teammates who were already grinning knowingly.

"So she can speak," Lamine teased quietly, elbowing Hector.

"She’s just quiet." Hector replied defensively, though his gaze remained fixed on you. As you jogged back toward your teammates, you turned your head slightly. For a brief moment, your eyes met his.

Your breath caught in your throat. His expression was unreadable, though his stare was so direct that you felt heat rise to your cheeks. You quickly looked away, pretending to focus on rejoining the team. Hector smirked faintly as he watched you go.

"I think you scared her," Pau said, laughing.

Hector merely shook his head, though he could not deny the amusement he felt. There was something about you that intrigued him, not just the sudden glimpse of your laughter but the fact that you carried yourself so differently from the others.

The training session continued shortly after, with the focus shifting to some practice matches. You pushed any lingering embarrassment out of your mind, focusing instead on the drills.

Playing well had always been your safe zone. It did not matter who was watching or what they were thinking; on the pitch, you were simply you.

As the session progressed, you found yourself fully immersed in the game. The ball came to you cleanly, and your instincts took over. You made precise passes, quick decisions, and strategic runs that left even your teammates impressed.

Unbeknownst to you, Hector and his teammates remained glued to the sidelines, their casual commentary growing louder each time you touched the ball.

"Did you see that?" Marc exclaimed as you cut through two defenders effortlessly before delivering a clean pass to your teammate.

"She’s brilliant," Pedri added.

Hector said nothing, though his gaze remained fixed on you. Every movement you made seemed deliberate, yet natural. You played with a level of skill and composure that he found genuinely impressive.

When you scored a goal near the end of the match, a powerful strike that sent the ball soaring into the top corner, the men erupted on the sidelines.

"Hector, this is your moment!" Gavi shouted, earning a chorus of laughter. Hector shot them a warning look, though the corners of his mouth betrayed a small smile. His teammates, however, were relentless.

"You’ve been watching her this whole time," Pau teased. "Are you going to compliment her or just stare?"

"Mind your own business," Hector replied evenly, though he could feel his face heat ever so slightly. It was true, though. He had been watching you, and he could not deny the admiration he felt for how you carried yourself on the field.

As the match ended and the players left to cool down, you finally allowed yourself to breathe. The session had gone well, and you could feel the satisfaction that came from knowing you had done your best.

You took a seat on the grass, reaching for your water bottle when a shadow fell over you. Looking up, you blinked in surprise to see Hector standing there, his expression as composed as ever.

"You played really well today," he said simply, his voice steady.

You were momentarily caught off guard. Though you had been aware of the men’s team watching from the sidelines, you had not expected any direct interaction, especially not from him.

"Thank you," you replied, managing to keep your tone polite despite the warmth you felt rising to your face. "I appreciate that."

Hector tilted his head slightly, studying you as though he were searching for something unsaid. "Your approach to the game is impressive. I have observed you over the past few weeks, I've never seen such strategy."

You blinked at his unexpected honesty. "I try to focus on improving where I can," you admitted quietly. "There is still much I hope to learn."

He nodded slowly. "That mindset will pay you well." For a moment, there was silence between you, though it was not uncomfortable. Finally, Hector allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips. "You should smile more often. It suits you."

The comment caught you off guard entirely, and you felt your cheeks flush. Before you could form a response, Hector gave you a polite nod before walking away to rejoin his teammates, who were, of course, watching the entire interaction with great interest.

"Oh, he’s definitely in love," Lamine remarked loudly, earning laughter from all around.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head at their behaviour, though you could not stop the small smile that crept onto your face.

From that day onward, something subtle shifted. You were still reserved, but Hector seemed to make a point of acknowledging you when their team was nearby.

Whether it was a simple nod of greeting, a brief conversation, or a lingering glance during training, it did not go unnoticed, by you or by his teammates, who took every opportunity to tease him for it.

As for you, it became harder to deny the quiet flutter in your chest every time your eyes met his. The once distant player from the sidelines was now someone who occupied your thoughts more often than you cared to admit. And though you were still focused on proving

A few days later, as you started gathering your things after another training session, you couldn’t ignore the subtle feeling of being watched. Sure enough, Hector was standing a little way off with the rest of the men’s team, their voices muffled by the distance.

From time to time, one of his teammates nudged him, whispering something that clearly earned a few laughs.

You rolled your eyes to yourself, amused but curious. You were just about to sling your bag over your shoulder when you noticed Hector heading in your direction. Again.

The rest of his team hollered softly behind him, their teasing unmistakable even from across the field. "Just go!" Marc called. Hector waved him off with an exasperated hand, but there was a faint pink tint to his ears as he approached you.

"You again," you teased lightly as he stopped a few steps away. "Should I start charging you for the compliments?"

Hector let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’ll consider it, though I might run out of money quickly at this rate."

You blinked, caught slightly off guard by his response, but you couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face. "Flattery will only get you so far, Hector."

"I’ll take my chances," he replied with a grin, his confidence returning now that he’d earned a smile from you. There was a pause, short but heavy enough to hint at something more, before he cleared his throat. "Look, the guys are unbearable when they’re like this, so I might as well ask. Would it be completely out of line if I asked for your number?"

Your eyebrows raised in mock disbelief. "Are they watching right now?"

He sighed, glancing over his shoulder. "Very obviously."

And sure enough, when you looked past him, a few of the guys were pretending to 'stretch,' hands over their mouths as if that would hide their poorly contained laughter.

"You might want to tell them they’re not as subtle as they think." you said, shaking your head in amusement.

"I’m well aware," Hector muttered before returning his focus to you. "So… what do you say? Maybe if I text you, they’ll leave me alone. Consider it an act of mercy."

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it. "I’m not sure I believe that’s the only reason you’re asking."

"Maybe it’s not," he admitted, his voice dropping just a little. "You’re full of surprises. I’m just trying to keep up."

For a moment, you felt your face heat up at the unexpected sincerity of his words. Finally, you sighed with exaggerated reluctance. "Fine. Give me your phone."

Hector’s smile was victorious as he quickly handed it over. You typed in your number and passed it back, shaking your head as you did. "You owe me now, Hector. Don’t let your friends think this was their idea."

"Trust me, I won’t," he said with a quiet laugh, already saving your contact. "But I can’t promise they won’t still claim credit."

"You’re surrounded by instigators," you teased, starting to walk toward the locker rooms.

"I know," he called after you, his grin lingering. "But they’re right about one thing, I’m glad I came over."

You glanced back at him, shaking your head but unable to stop smiling. "Goodbye, Héctor."

"See you soon," he replied, stepping back toward his team, where they were already waiting to pounce on him.

Back with his teammates, Hector was greeted with playful shoves and whistles. "She gave you her number, didn’t she?" Marc asked smugly.

"Yeah, and she didn’t even charge him for it," Lamine added, earning a round of laughter.

Hector ignored them, though the faint smirk on his face gave him away. "You all really need new hobbies," he muttered, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Admit it, you’re blushing," Pau teased, leaning in close.

"Sure," Hector replied sarcastically, but even he couldn’t fight the grin threatening to spread. As his friends continued their banter, his mind kept drifting back to you; your teasing smile, your quiet confidence, and the way you’d handed him his phone like you already knew he’d text.

And as far as Hector was concerned, he absolutely would.

[ilovejb]

| Hidden Love |

Pairings : Alexia Putellas x sister!reader Ingrid Engen x sister!reader

Summary : Y/N, Alexia Putellas’ younger sister, plays for Barcelona. When she falls in love with Anika Engen, Ingrid’s younger sister, their relationship must remain a secret. But keeping it hidden from their sisters proves harder than they ever imagined.

Warnings : Angst to fluff, kissing ?

Authors note : Never written smth like this hopefully it’s good around 4k word count

You never imagined being this close to your sister, Alexia. She was your older sibling, a legend in her own right. Growing up, you’d always admired her from the shadows, seeing how fierce and driven she was. Now, playing for Barcelona yourself, it was clear she expected nothing less from you.

But there was a deeper connection between the two of you. Alexia had always been protective of you, watching over you at every practice, making sure you were okay — especially when you joined the senior team. She’d never hesitated to keep a watchful eye, even as you made a name for yourself in the team. It was hard to move out of her shadow.

But things got complicated the moment you started noticing Anika Engen — Ingrid’s younger sister.

Anika wasn’t like most people. She had this quiet strength about her that was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful ��� it was something in the way she carried herself. Strong but gentle, confident but with a softness you didn’t see in many others. She played for Barça B, just like you, and training alongside her felt like an unspoken bond.

At first, it was innocent — the shared glances between you two after practice, the easy laughter whenever you talked. It wasn’t anything major. But then came the day when her hand brushed against yours while you were walking back to the locker room. It felt like the whole world stopped, the connection between you undeniable.

For weeks, you tried to ignore the feelings growing inside you. Anika had a way of looking at you that made your heart race. But you had to keep your distance. Ingrid was overprotective, and Alexia… well, you couldn’t even imagine how they would react if they knew. The idea of them finding out about you and Anika made your stomach twist in knots.

But one evening, everything changed.

You’d agreed to meet Anika at a quiet café after training, the dim lighting and the soft hum of chatter around you providing a temporary escape from the pressure. You sat across from each other, talking about your day, about the team, and for a moment, it felt like the world didn’t matter.

Then, without warning, Anika reached across the table and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, her fingers lingering on your skin. Your breath hitched, and before you could stop yourself, your hand found hers. You looked up, meeting her eyes.

“I… I can’t stop thinking about you,” Anika whispered, her voice low and vulnerable.

And that was it. You kissed her. It wasn’t long, but it was deep, full of all the things you had been holding back for weeks. You pulled away, both of you breathless.

“Anika…” You couldn’t find the words. “I don’t know what this means, but I don’t want to stop.”

“I don’t either,” she whispered back, squeezing your hand. “But we have to be careful. I can’t risk losing you. Not like this.”

You didn’t want to stop either. You didn’t know how to navigate this new, messy, wonderful thing between you, but for the first time in weeks, you felt alive, free.

But you knew it wouldn’t be easy. And you were right.

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of emotions. You couldn’t stop thinking about Anika, even when you were on the field. Your mind would wander to her smile, the way she laughed, the way her fingers felt on your skin. But you couldn’t let anyone know. You had to keep it a secret.

You and Anika continued meeting, each time more and more secretive. Quick stolen kisses behind the training field, the brush of fingers in the locker room when no one was looking. Every touch felt like it could send your heart into overdrive. But the fear of getting caught weighed heavily on both of you. And there were signs that someone might be onto you.

Alexia started asking questions. You’d lied, telling her you were just busy with training or that you were spending time with friends. But she could tell. You were distant, distracted. She wasn’t stupid.

And Ingrid… well, Ingrid had been keeping a close eye on Anika, noticing her behavior too. Anika was normally so composed, but lately, she’d been avoiding Ingrid’s gaze and withdrawing from the team.

Ingrid finally confronted Anika after a practice. “What’s going on with you?” she demanded, her voice sharp. “You’ve been acting strange.”

Anika’s eyes widened, and for a moment, you thought she was going to break. But she didn’t. She just shook her head. “I’m fine, Ingrid. It’s just been a lot lately.”

But Ingrid wasn’t convinced. She didn’t trust the way Anika was acting.

It was a few days after that conversation when it all came crashing down. You and Anika had decided to meet after practice at your usual spot. You’d just kissed when you heard the door to the locker room creak open. You both froze, and your stomach dropped.

Ingrid and Alexia stood in the doorway, staring at the two of you with wide eyes.

For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. But the silence was deafening. You and Anika broke apart, but the damage was done. Ingrid’s eyes were filled with shock and something else — hurt, disappointment. Alexia stood beside her, her arms crossed tightly, a cold expression on her face.

“Y/N…” Alexia said, her voice low and steady. “What is this?”

Ingrid was the first to react. “You’re dating her?” she demanded, her voice breaking. “Behind my back?”

You could barely find your voice. “We didn’t plan for this,” you whispered. “We didn’t mean for it to happen.”

But Ingrid wasn’t listening. She was too upset, too hurt. “You should have told me, Y/N. You know better than this.”

Alexia stepped forward, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. “This isn’t just about you, Y/N,” she said, her voice trembling with barely restrained anger. “This is about our family. And you betrayed that.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you choked out, tears welling up in your eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Anika stepped forward, her hand trembling as she reached for Ingrid. “Please, don’t be mad at her. It’s not her fault.”

But Ingrid pulled away. “I can’t believe you, Anika. You should’ve known better.”

For the next few weeks, things were strained. Alexia and Ingrid barely spoke to you. It was like they were punishing you — ignoring you, shutting you out. They didn’t want to see you, didn’t want to hear your apologies. You knew you’d messed up, but it was hard to find a way back into their hearts. Every time you walked past them, they turned away. You felt the coldness of their silence like a physical blow.

Anika was just as miserable. The silence between you two was almost unbearable. You missed the small moments, the stolen glances, the feeling of her hand in yours.

But there was nothing you could do. Or so you thought.

Weeks passed, and the atmosphere in the house you shared with Alexia and Ingrid became suffocating. Neither Alexia nor Ingrid spoke to you or Anika. But Mapi and Olga, noticing the change, finally stepped in.

One evening, after a tense dinner, Mapi pulled Ingrid aside. “You’re punishing them,” she said quietly. “And you’re punishing yourselves, too.”

Ingrid’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t say anything.

Olga, with a more gentle tone, addressed Alexia. “I know this is hard, but they’re not kids anymore. They’re both adults now, and they made a choice. You have to respect that, even if it hurts.”

Mapi and Olga’s words didn’t immediately change anything, but they planted a seed of doubt in Ingrid and Alexia’s minds. Slowly, the walls they had built around themselves started to crumble.

A few more weeks passed, and the tension between the four of you was almost unbearable. But one evening, as you sat in the living room, Ingrid walked in and stood in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice heavy with emotion. “I was scared. Scared that I was losing you. Scared of what could happen.”

You nodded, feeling your heart ache. “I never meant to hurt you.”

Alexia, standing behind Ingrid, spoke softly, “I didn’t want to lose you either. But I see now… you’ve grown. And I can’t hold you back anymore.”

The four of you stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the past weeks heavy on your shoulders. Anika was beside you, her hand gently resting on your arm, her presence a quiet support. It felt like the world was holding its breath.

Ingrid finally spoke, her voice trembling. “I’ve been angry at you, Y/N. But I’ve been angry at myself too. I wanted to protect you, to keep you safe. But I forgot something important.”

Alexia stepped forward, her expression softening. “You don’t need to hide from us. You can be honest with us, all of you. We’re family. And we should be supporting each other, not turning away.”

The tension in the room seemed to evaporate, replaced by a soft sense of relief that you hadn’t realized you were longing for. You stepped forward, pulling Anika closer, your heart full of gratitude.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to both Alexia and Ingrid, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Ingrid gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. “I know. And I’m sorry, too.”

Alexia reached over, pulling you into a hug. “I’m still learning how to be your sister, Y/N. But I’ll always be here for you. Both of you.”

Anika, who had been standing quietly, looked at Ingrid with hope in her eyes. Ingrid’s eyes softened, and she smiled, a gesture that spoke volumes.

“Let’s all just be together, as sisters,” Ingrid said, her voice light, the tension finally easing. “We don’t have to hide anymore.”

With that, you and Anika shared a smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was okay. The healing had begun.

The four of you — Alexia, Ingrid, you, and Anika — sat together, talking and laughing late into the night. The love and support that had been tested had only grown stronger, and the bond between you was now unbreakable.

[pinkpurplesunrises]

You don't know me (yet)

+/- 4000 words - the long story - Alexia Putellas x Reader - This will heal your heart, hopefully - Fluff and Smut - Mentions of loneliness and sick child - Please read with care.

I loved the process of writing this one. It's a different writing style. A different concept. I hope that you like this. Please leave some feedback if you want to. Enjoy reading!

Somewhere in the middle of a tuesday

You don't really remember when Tuesdays started feeling the same as Thursdays. Or why every morning now starts with you. Phone in hand. Scrolling emails like you're disarming a bomb instead of answering clients about deadlines you stopped caring about two promotions ago.

Barcelona was supposed to be a fresh start. A change of scenery, your therapist had said. And maybe it is. There's sunlight here that tastes different on your skin and people speak a language you don't understand but find oddly comforting. You rent a quiet apartment above a bakery that opens at 6 a.m., and every morning smells like sugar and effort.

But the stuck feeling followed you here.

You're on autopilot again today. You tell yourself you'll go outside. Maybe a walk. Maybe try the coffee shop that smells like old wood and orange peel every time you pass by. you grab a book you've only read 30 pages of, shove it into your tote, and leave the apartment.

You don't even make it to the end of the block.

Because that's when you bump into her.

Literally.

She mutters something in Spanish, soft but startled. You step back, flustered, offering a quick "Lo siento... I... sorry..." before looking up.

She's holding a baby. No. Toddler, maybe? Blonde curls tied messily. A pacifier. Big brown eyes, suspicious of you. You blink. "Oh. Sorry, I didn't see you."

The woman shifts the weight of her daughter in her arms, adjusting a diaper bag strap that's sliding off her shoulder. Her eyes flick to yours. There's tiredness there. Not the kind one night's sleep can fix.

"It's okay" she says, voice accented, but her English is clean. "She dropped her toy. I wasn't looking either."

There's a small stuffed unicorn by your foot.

You pick it up and hand it to her. "Here. Guardian of all toys returned safely."

That makes her smile-small, but real. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear and looks at you again, lingering for half a second.

"Gracias," she says, quietly.

And then she walks away.

You watch her disappear into the bakery you live above, little girl now chewing on the unicorn's tail like it's her job.

You have no idea who she is.

You'll find out eventually.

But not yet.

Café Cortado on a Wednesday morning

The next time you see her, it's raining.

Not a cinematic, dramatic rain. Just the sort that clings to your clothes and seeps into your socks. The kind th at makes everyone irritable but quiet about it.

You've escaped into a tiny café with fogged-up windows and exactly four tables. It's half-bookstore, half-coffee place. Entirely empty except for you, a barista who seems mildly annoyed to be alive, and her.

She's sitting in the corner, facing the street. No makeup. Ponytail. Black hoodie. The kind of tired you recognize in yourself, mirrored. Her daughter is in a stroller next to the table, asleep. There's a bottle tucked between a blanket and a tiny hand.

You freeze halfway through wiping rain from your glasses.

She doesn't notice you at first, absorbed in her phone. Thumb moving in slow, deliberate patterns. Then she looks up. Your eyes meet.

You do the small awkward smile. Half-greeting, half apology for existing in the same space again. She tilts her head like she's trying to place you.

You gesture at the empty table beside her. "Mind if sit?"

A pause. Then:

"No," she says. "ls okay."

So you sit.

A few minutes pass. You order a cortado. She's got a tea going cold in front of her, untouched.

"She sleeps through anything?" you ask quietly, nodding at the stroller.

That gets a tiny smirk out of her. "Only when it's inconvenient."

You chuckle. "What's her name?"

"Aïna."

"It suits her," you say. "She looks like she knows secrets."

She glances down at her daughter. Something in her face softens. "She knows too much, think."

You don't ask what she means by that. You let the moment hang.

"I'm not from here," you offer instead.

She looks back up. "You don't speak Spanish."

"Is it that obvious?"

She smiles. "Little bit."

"Im trying" you say, then add, "I know how to ask for bread. And curse."

"Muy importante," she replies with a sly grin. "You'll survive."

That's the first time you laugh, genuinely, in days.

You introduce yourself. She repeats your name softly, like she's testing it for weight. Then she says, "Alexia."

The name means nothing to you.

She seems a little surprised at that, and you don't miss the flicker in her eyes. Relief, maybe.

"You live around here?" you ask.

"Up the hill. Near the park."

"l'm just over the bakery on Carrer de Verdi." She nods like that makes sense.

The barista glares at you both for staying too long without ordering anything more. You glance outside. The rain hasn't let up.

Alexia shifts her bag over her shoulder, standing. Aïna stirs but doesn't wake.

"Well," she says, adjusting the stroller handle. "Maybe next time, you bring an umbrella."

You grin. "Only if you promise not to run me over with a stroller."

She arches a brow. "No promises."

She leaves.

You stare after her through the glass, long after the bell over the door stops ringing.

Still no idea who she is.

But you want to know.

Not because of curiosity.

Not exactly.

More like gravity.

The park bench on a Friday afternoon

The first time you see Aïna smile, it's because of a pigeon.

You're at Parc de la Creueta. Sitting on a shaded bench because your apartment was too small to breathe in today. The sun is back after three days of moody clouds and so is half the city. Children are screaming joyfully at nothing. Dogs are arguing with seagulls. Life is annoyingly loud.

Then there's a small laugh, light and sudden. Like it snuck out by accident.

You turn.

Alexia is sitting a few benches down. Aïna is in her lap, pointing at a pigeon hopping near her stroller. Alexia's hand is resting over Aïna's small chest, protective without thinking.

You watch. Quietly.

Then Alexia looks up and sees you.

You offer a half-wave.

She surprises you by waving back, then gestures toward the space beside her. So you move.

"Big day," you say. "Pigeons. The true entertainers of Barcelona."

Alexia shakes her head, smiling softly. "She thinks they're saying something."

"Maybe they are."

aïna wriggles, trying to get closer to the bird. Alexia holds her tight but lets her lean forward. "She likes you," Alexia says after a pause.

"She doesn't know me."

"She doesn't laugh with just anyone."

You glance down at the little girl, whose eyes are still locked on the bird. Delighted. She has Alexia's mouth. Her stubborn jaw. But her smile is entirely her own.

"She's perfect," you say before you can stop yourself.

Alexia looks away. You notice the way her hand tightens slightly over Aïna's side. Like she's protecting something fragile-herself, maybe.

"She's mine," she says, quietly. "Just me."

You don't speak right away. You hear what she's really saying, even if she doesn't spell it out.

"She's lucky." you say instead. "To have someone who chose her."

Alexia doesn't respond, but her eyes flick toward you. There's something almost cautious in her face now. Not defensive. Just.. unsteady.

"She has a heart problem," she says suddenly. Her voice is flat, controlled.

You blink. "Oh."

Alexia nods. "It's not dangerous. Not right now. But... things. Monitors. Medications. Doctor visits. Always watching."

"Im sorry," you say.

She shrugs like she doesn't know how to accept softness.

"I wanted to be a mother" she adds. Eyes still fixed on Aïna. "Before I had the right person. Before I was ready, even. I didn't care. I did it anyway."

You let the silence sit. You don't fill it. You just listen.

Alexia turns her head, meets your eyes again. "Do you think that's selfish?" she asks. And that's the moment you realize how alone she really feels.

"No," you say. "I think it's brave."

She looks at you like she's not used to hearing that.

Then Aïna lets out a squeal and waves both arms at a new pigeon. Alexia lets out a surprised laugh. It's soft, but real. "She's ridiculous," she mutters, kissing the side of Aïna's head. Then: "She needs a nap."

"I'm told pigeons are great babysitters."

Alexia smiles, almost in spite of herself. "You want to come with us?"

You blink. "To...?"

"Walk back. I'm just a few streets from here. I make good tea. And you owe me conversation."

You glance at Aïna, then at her.

Something in your chest shifts. "Alright," you say. "Lead the way."

Alexia stands, adjusting the straps on the stroller like she's been doing it all her life. But her hand hovers for a second before reaching for yours.

She doesn't take it. Not yet. But she looks like she might.

Someday.

Tea for One-and-a-Half on a Friday afternoon

Alexia's apartment is warm in the way that makes you lower your voice without realizing it. Not because it's fancy. It's not. But because it feels lived in.

The kind of quiet that comes from a place held together by care. There's a stack of folded laundry on the couch. A single orchid on the windowsill that's definitely struggling. And children's books stacked on the coffee table next to two half-empty mugs with forgotten tea stains.

It smells like vanilla and baby lotion and something faintly floral.

Aïna is awake now, fussing gently. Alexia moves with practiced ease. Taking off her shoes. Setting the stroller aside. Scooping her daughter into one arm while switching on the kettle with the other.

"Make yourself at home," she says over her shoulder.

You stand awkwardly in the doorway fora moment, then settle on the far end of the couch, careful not to disturb the laundry pile.

"She's got a whole system in here," you say, glancing at the small shelf crammed with board books and soft toys.

Alexia smirks. "She's the boss. I'm just management."

She disappears briefly into the kitchen. You hear cabinets opening, water running. Aïna coos softly from her little bouncer chair nearby, now chewing on what appears to be the leg of a plastic giraffe.

Alexia returns with two mugs-one green, one chipped and pink. She hands you the green one.

"Chamomile okay?" she asks. Sitting beside you, one leg tucked beneath her.

"Perfect," you say, even though you're not totally sure you like chamomile.

She sips hers in silence. You both listen to Aïna breathing. The click of the giraffe's plastic feet against the floor. There's something sacred in the quiet, almost like the apartment itself is holding its breath.

"She was born early," Alexia says suddenly.

"Thirty-three weeks." You look at her. She's staring into her tea like it might answer something.

"I was alone in the hospital," she continues, voice steady but low. "My mamá wanted to come, but I told her no. I needed to do it. wanted to feel it."

You don't interrupt.

"I thought I would feel strong," she says. "But I was just... scared."

You swallow, throat tight. "Did it get easier?" She shakes her head once.

"It got different."

Aïna makes a soft hiccup noise, and Alexia glances over. She doesn't move. Just watches her for a moment, breathing through the heaviness.

"I don't regret it," she says. "I need you to know that."

"I know," you say gently. "It shows."

Alexia looks at you then. Really looks. "You're kind," she says.

You blink, surprised.

"I didn't expect that."

"You didn't expect me to be kind?" you tease, trying to keep the weight off her words.

"I didn't expect you," she replies. The room goes still.

Your mug is warm in your hands. You stare down at it like it might help you hold this feeling together.

"I didn't expect you either," you say. Alexia leans back, eyes fluttering shut for just a second.

"You're not going to ask?" she murmurs. "Ask what?"

"Who I am. What I do." You shake your head. "I figure you'll tell me if you want me to know."

She opens one eye. Studies you again. "I played football," she says, finally.

You nod. "Professionally?"

"Yes."

"Do you still play?"

Her expression changes. A tiny flicker of something dark. Regret? Grief?

"No," she says. "Not right now." You sense it. There's something she's not saying. You don't press.

Aïna lets out a tiny sneeze and then giggles at herself.

Alexia smiles, soft and slow. You watch the way her whole body changes when she looks at her daughter. Like tension evaporates. Ifonly for a second.

"She likes you too," she says. You smile. "I think I'm just a distraction fromn the giraffe."

Alexia chuckles. "Maybe. But she knows things. More than she should."

You set your mug down carefully.

"Do you want me to go?" you ask quietly. Alexia glances at you.

"No," she says. "Not yet."

So you stay.

And in the soft, slow minutes that follow, something begins to settle between you. Not love. Not yet.

But something like the space it might grow in.

Fever hours on a Sunday evening

It's just past 10pm when your phone buzzes. A message.

Alexia: You awake?

You're already in bed. Half-asleep. Curled around a cup of sleepy tea that's gone cold.

You hesitate, then reply.

You: Yeah. Everything okay?

She calls instead of texting back.

You answer quickly.

"Hi" you say softly. There's background noise. Muffled footsteps. The hush of a sleeping apartment.

Her voice is low, tired.

"Sorry. I know it's late."

"No, it's okay. Really."

A pause.

"Aïna's sick" she says. "Not serious. I don't think. Fever. Crying a lot. just..."

Another pause. The kind that carries too much.

"I didn't want to be alone tonight."

You sit up. "Do you want me to come?"

You can hear the relief before she even says yes.

Twenty minutes later, you're at her door.

She looks exhausted. Hoodie. No makeup. Hair a little messy. Her eyes are soft, a little glassy. And her shoulders sag like she hasn't let herself rest in days.

She opens the door, steps aside. "She's finally sleeping."

You step inside. The lights are dim. The apartment smells like eucalyptus and baby Tylenol.

"I can't tell if l'm helping or just panicking" she says, leading you to the couch. I held her for hours. She finally passed out on my chest."

You reach out gently and tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear without thinking. She doesn't flinch. Just looks at you, startled, like she wasn't expecting that kind of touch.

"Alexia," you say softly. "You're doing more than enough."

Her face crumples for half a second. She hides it by turning away, sitting down slowly.

"I havent slept more than three hours in two days," she admits.

"I'll stay," you say. "As long as you need."

She nods, once. Sharp like she doesn't trust herself to say thank you out loud. You both sit in the hush of the apartment, shoulders touching now. You're not sure how it happened. Just a slow lean, a quiet gravity between you.

"She gets these fevers when she's teething," Alexia murmurs. "Always at night. Always when I think maybe I've got the hang of it."

You glance at her. "Can ask you something?"

She nods, not looking at you. "Do you miss it? Football?"

She doesn't answer right away. Then: "Every day. Every time breathe." You wait.

"I could have gone back" she adds. "There were offers. Contracts. But Aïna came early, and the hole she left in me. When she was in the NICU, small, hooked to machines... I didn't care about football anymore. I just needed her to live."

You're quiet. It's all you can be. "I told myself l'd pause. Just a year. But then she needed surgery. Then recovery. And now..."

She finaly looks at you. "Now I don't know who I am if I'm not on that field."

You reach for her hand. She lets you take it.

"You're her mother," you say. "You're you. That's not small"

Her fingers tighten around yours, briefly.

"I forget sometimes, she whispers. You sit there, side by side, as the city sleeps. Aïna stirs softly from the next room.

Alexia closes her eyes.

And for the first time since you met her, she leans into you. Just her head on your shoulder. Barely touching. But it's enough to make something in you ache.

You don't move.

You stay until her breathing evens out, and she lets out a sigh so small you barely hear it.

Like she's been holding it in for years.

Toast and tension on a Monday morning

You wake up before the sun.

The couch is stiff and your neck aches but there's something soft and full in your chest. It takes a second to remember where you are. And then it hits you. The warm weight of last night. Of Alexia leaning into you. Of being allowed to stay.

The apartment is still and dim. A faint hum from the fridge. Aïna's baby monitor glows faintly from the kitchen counter. You check it out of instinct. She's sleeping. Curled up like a question mark. Safe.

Alexia must still be asleep too.

So you move quietly.

You wash the dishes left in the sink. Fold the laundry that's still on the armchair. Wipe the counters. It's nothing dramatic. Just little things. Just what you'd do for someone who's done too much for too long.

By the time you're cracking eggs into a pan, the sun is starting to stretch across the buildings outside. The silence in the apartment feels different now. Lighter, expectant.

You set the table with two mismatched mugs and toast that's already gone cold.

When you hear footsteps, you turn.

Alexia stands in the hallway in a faded T-shirt and joggers. Her hair tangled. Eyes heavy with sleep.

She blinks.

"You... did all this?"

You shrug, suddenly self-conscious. "I figured it was my turn."

She steps into the kitchen, slowly. Like she's not sure how to exist in this kind of kindness.

"No one's ever just... done this," she says quietly.

You smile. "It's just toast." She looks at you, like it's not.

Aïna stirs through the monitor. Alexia moves toward it instinctively, pauses. "Go," you say gently. "I'll re-toast your toast."

You're plating fresh eggs when she returns with Aïna on her hip. The baby's still groggy, clutching a tiny pink elephant with one fist. Her hair is sticking up in every direction. Alexia kisses her temple absently as she sets her in the high chair.

"She loves breakfast," she says, voice still half-asleep.

You place the food in front of them.

Aïna immediately launches a spoon to the floor. "An early critic," you joke. Alexia smiles, small but real.

Then her phone buzzes on the table.

She picks it up, freezes fora second when she sees the name.

"Mamá" she says softly. Then: "And Alba."

She doesn't answer right away. Lets it ring. Then swipes to pick up and presses speaker, probably out of habit.

"Mami," a voice chirps from the phone. "¿Cómo estás? la pequeña?"

"Estamos bien," Alexia says. "Justo desayunando."

You busy yourself rinsing a plate, giving her space.

Alba's voice joins the call. "Did she sleep better?"

"More or less."

There's a pause. You hear concern layered beneath the casual tone.

"We wanted to stop by today" her mom says. "Bring lunch. Ayudarte un poco."

Alexia tenses just slightly.

"I'm okay," she says. Too quickly. A longer silence.

"Alexia..."

"I said I'm okay."

You glance over. Her jaw is set now. Her hand lightly bouncing Aïna's chair like a reflex. But she's not really present. Her mom's voice is gentler. "No estás sola, hija. No tienes que hacer todo tú."

"I am doing it," Alexia snaps-quiet, but sharp. "And I'm doing it well."

"I know," her mom replies softly. "But that doesn't mean you don't need help." Alexia swallows. Her eyes flick to you, just for a second.

"I'll call later," she says, ending the call before they can answer.

Silence.

Aïna babbles to herself, unfazed. Toast in hand, crumbs everywhere. You sit across from them, slowly.

"You okay?" you ask. Alexia exhales.

"They mean well."

"But?"

"They still think I made a mistake." You pause. "By having Aïna?"

"By doing it alone." Her voice is flat now. "By shutting them out when I decided. And again after."

You want to say something comforting.

But this isn't a wound that words can fix. Instead, you refill her coffee. And when you sit again, you reach out and gently brush your fingers across hers. Just once.

She doesn't pull away.

"I don't think you made a mistake," you say softly.

Alexia looks at you. Tired, proud, shaken, and still standing.

"I know," she whispers.

And maybe, for the first time, she believes it.

On a Tuesday afternoon, the sky didn't fall

On a Tuesday afternoon, the air is soft with the kind of early spring warmth that makes the city feel forgiving.

Alexia had suggested getting out for a bit. Nothing major. Just a walk. Aïna is bundled into her stroller, cheeks pink and round. Blinking up at the trees like they might start speaking.

The park isn't far. You walk slowly, letting your feet find a rhythm beside hers. She glances at you as you both cross a quiet street. "You're quiet."

You smile. "Just thinking."

"Dangerous."

You nudge her elbow with yours. "About what?"

She shrugs, adjusting the stroller with one hand. "I was going to ask you the same."

You walk a few more paces in silence.

Then you say it: "I don't really know what I'm doing anymore.

She looks at you then... really looks. Aïna gurgles softly, her sock slipping halfway off her foot.

"I mean... I moved here because I thought a change would help. I took this new job, made the leap, and now l'm kind of just... floating. The days blur. Work, home, sleep, repeat. feel like I'm watching other people live lives that mean something."

Alexia says nothing. But she's listening. "I didn't plan on meeting anyone," you add. "I didn't expect to feel something again. Not in this... small, slow way."

Still no answer. Just the creak of the stroller wheels, the soft rustle of wind in the trees.

Then she says, "You feel like something is waking up."

You nod. "Yeah."

"I know that feeling."

You stop near a bench. Aïna is already starting to drift off again, her head tilted to one side like she's studying clouds behind her eyelids. Alexia sits down first. You follow, a careful distance between your thighs. Not too close. Not too far.

She looks at her daughter, then at you. "I pushed everyone away," she says quietly. "I didn't want to need anyone. And then I met you." You hold her gaze.

There's a pause. "You don't scare me," she says. "But this does."

"What's this?"

She hesitates.

"This quiet thing. This safe thing. The way can breathe around you."

Your heart folds open slowly in your chest. "And what do you want to do with that?" you ask.

She doesn't answer with words. Just leans in. Hesitating, slow enough that you could stop her if you wanted to.

But you don't.

Her lips are soft and unsure against yours. Not dramatic. Not desperate. Just there. Real and close and slightly trembling. The kiss tastes like her morning coffee and something warmer. Something you don't have a name for yet.

When she pulls back, she doesn't look away. The silence is warm, full. Aïna snorts in her sleep. A tiny exhale that makes you both laugh quietly into the space between you.

"You're a good kisser," Alexia murmurs, teasing lightly.

You grin. "You're not so bad yourself for a tired mom."

She groans and leans back against the bench, eyes closed now. "That's the most unsexy thing I've ever heard."

You nudge her again. "You kissed me, remember?"

"I regret everything."

"No, you don't."

She smiles without opening her eyes. And for a long moment, nothing happens. Except the wind. And the city moving around you. And two people beginning, very quietly, to fall into something neither of them saw coming.

Reaching out on a Monday evening

You hadn't heard from Alexia in a few days. It wasn't unusual. Her life was busy, complicated. But still, the silence felt heavy. Then your phone buzzed late on a Monday evening.

A message from her: "Aina is with my mamá tonight. Can come by?"

You type back almost immediately. "Of course. Come whenever."

Less than an hour later, there's a knock at your door.

She steps inside. Tired but carrying a quiet kind of hope. Her smile is small, a little uncertain. You gesture for her to sit.

"I thought maybe... since Aïna's away... I could breathe a little," she says. Voice low. "And maybe talk."

You nod. "I'm here." She fiddles with her bracelet, eyes distant for moment. "I've been trying to let my mamá and Alba back in. It's hard. They want to help, but I'm scared lose control."

You reach out and squeeze her hand.

"That's normal," you say.

She exhales. want to believe can do this. Not alone."

You smile gently. "You don't have to."

She looks at you, something soft and hopeful flickering behind her tired eyes.

"I've missed this," she says. "Miss feeling like maybe I'm not just surviving."

You take a breath. "Alexia.."

Her head tilts, curious.

"Would you want to be... girlfriends?" you ask. heart thudding loud enough to fill the room. Her eyes widen, then soften.

A slow smile spreads.

"Yes" she says.

It happens without a plan.

The night drapes itself over the apartment slowly, warm from the wine you both barely finished. The quiet music you forgot was playing, and the shared silence that had stretched long between you without needing to be filled.

Alexia sits curled on your couch. Legs tucked beneath her. Her eyes on yours. Something about her tonight feels quieter. Less guarded.

She watches you carefully, like she's letting herself want something and isn't used to wanting out loud.

You're the first to move.

You kneel gently in front of her, brushing a hand over her knee. "Come here."

She leans forward slowly, lips catching yours in a kiss that's softer than you expected. You shift, hands finding her waist and she melts into it like she'd been waiting to exhale.

Time moves strangely after that.

Slow.

Tender.

At some point... Still kissing. Still caught in that warmth... you whisper against her jaw: "Can take you to bed?"

Her breath hitches.

She nods, but then stills.

You pause immediately, searching her face.

"It's been a long time" she says softly. "Not since... not since having her." Your hands stay exactly where they are.

Present, not pushing.

"Okay," you whisper.

She bites her lip, not looking away. "I'm nervous. Not because of you. Just... my body's different. I'm different."

You cradle her face gently. Brushing a thumb along her cheek.

"Thank you for trusting me with that," you say.

She closes her eyes like the words touched something.

You carry her, slow and steady, to your bedroom. Not because she needs you to. But because she lets you. Her arms wrap around your neck. Her head resting just beneath your jaw.

When you lay her down, everything stays soft. No hurry. No assumptions. You kiss her slowly, like there's nowhere else to be.

Your kiss lingers. Slow and exploratory, not searching for anything except her. You map the soft curve of her jaw with your lips. Feel her exhale against your mouth like she's letting go of something she's been holding too tightly for too long.

She's beneath you now. Laid back across your sheets. The room still humming with the last of the music. Your lamp casting a quiet gold against her skin.

Your hands stay light, on her ribs, on her waist, the side of her thigh. Nowhere she hasn't already invited you to be.

But when you pause and look at her, really look at her, you see it: the flutter of hesitation in her eyes.

Not fear.

Not regret.

Just the weight of all she's carried.

Of how new this still is.

You lower your forehead to hers. "Tell me what you like," you whisper.

She blinks.

"I want you to show me," you add, voice low. Honest. "Guide me. I want to learn you the way you want to be known."

Something shifts in her expression. Something warm and undone all at once. Her lips part like she might say something, but doesn't right away.

Then her hand reaches up. Curling into your hair, gently pulling you back into her.

"Okay," she breathes, the word a whisper and a release.

You feel her body move with yours, deliberate now. She shifts your hand with hers, drawing it to where she wants you most. There's a trembling to her guidance, like this trust is as much a surrender as it is a choice.

And it's beautiful.

It's her choosing softness.

It's you listening like it's the only thing that matters.

Her breath catches again, but this time, it's not nerves.

It's when she forgets to be afraid.

When she's just feeling.

Just here.

And you make it your quiet mission to keep her in that space.

For as long as she wants.

She looks peacefull on a Tuesday morning

On a Tuesday morning, the city feels hushed. The usual buzz of traffic and neighborhood noise is softened by the early light spilling through the curtains. Painting quiet gold across your sheets.

You wake before her.

Alexia is curled toward you. One arm tucked beneath her pillow. Her other hand resting on your stomach like her body found yours in the middle of the night and never let go.

You stay still, barely breathing. Just watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Her face is relaxed in a way you haven't seen before. Unguarded. Her lashes twitch a little as she sleeps.

She looks peaceful.

Loved.

Eventually, she stirs. Shifting slightly. Blinking against the light.

"Buenos días," she murmurs. Voice low and rough with sleep.

You smile. "Morning."

She stretches with a small groan, and you can't help but brush her hair back from her face. "I haven't slept like that in... I don't even know," she says, eyes still half-closed.

"Maybe we needed it," you say.

She hums in agreement, then reaches blindly for her phone on the nightstand. You watch her thumb move across the screen. Her face softens instantly.

"What is it?" you ask gently.

She turns the phone so you can see. Her mother had sent pictures-three of them.

One: Aïna holding a toy duck with a serious expression.

Two: Her eating banana slices with half of one squished into her hair.

Three: Her asleep on her grandmother's chest, mouth open, one hand tangled in a blanket.

Alexia stares at them, her smile trembling just a little.

"I miss her," she says quietly.

You don't hesitate.

"We can go pick her up. Whenever you want." She looks at you, blinking like you've just said something she hadn't dared to think.

"You'd come?"

"Of course l'd come," you say softly. "She's part of you."

Alexia sets the phone down slowly and shifts closer, her hand finding yours under the sheets. It's quiet for a long moment. Then she speaks.

"I think we could be a family."

You squeeze her hand.

"I think we already are."

She leans in and kisses you. Slow, certain, full of everything she's still learning how to give.

And in that small bright roomnon a Tuesday morning, nothing big or dramatic happens.

Except everything.

At the stadium on a Sunday afternoon

On a Sunday afternoon, the stadium hums with energy.

The sun is high. Warm against your face as you sit in the stands, surrounded by a sea of red and blue. Flags wave. Horns blow. But your world is smaller. Focused.

Aïna sits on your lap. Tiny legs swinging. Her Barça jersey barely reaching her shorts. On the back, PUTELLAS 11 is printed in white letters, and she keeps twisting around proudly to show anyone who’ll look.

Next to you, Alexia’s mother clutches her scarf. Misty-eyed but smiling, and Alba leans forward. Elbows on her knees, whispering something sharp and funny that makes you both laugh.

Then the announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers.

“Capitana del FC Barcelona, Alexia Putellas!”

The crowd explodes.

You glance down just in time to see Aïna’s hands fly into the air. “Mamá! Mamá!” she squeals. Clapping wildly. Her little voice barely audible over the roar.

Your chest tightens in the best way.

She’s back.

You scan the pitch. Alexia walks out ahead of her team. Armband snug around her bicep. Head high. Expression focused. But when she glances toward your section... just for a heartbeat, her face softens.

She sees you.

Sees Aïna bouncing in your lap.

Sees her mother’s proud tears. Alba’s sharp grin. Your quiet smile.

And in that moment, she doesn’t look like the captain, or the icon, or the player returning from anything.

She just looks like someone who found her way home.

Alexia’s mother leans over, hand gently resting on your arm.

“Gracias,” she says, voice quiet in the chaos. “Por devolverle la luz.”

You swallow thickly, nodding.

“She did that herself,” you whisper.

Maybe you just held the light long enough for her to remember it was hers all along.

On the pitch, the whistle blows.

And Aïna claps again, laughing with her whole body.

Your hand rests over her chest. Feeling the thrum of joy beneath her jersey.

And beside her, your heart answers with the same rhythm.

Family.

Full and real and exactly where you’re meant to be.