Brunette Roots - Alexia Putellas

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

..

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