2truthsand1lie

The bar wasn't somewhere you usually came alone, yet here you were. A long week had finally ended, and the thought of going straight home to your empty apartment had somehow sounded worse than sitting in a crowded bar with strangers.

At least here there was noise, a bit of life, something to distract you.

You sat at the bar, nursing a drink you were in no rush to finish, occasionally glancing towards the television mounted above the bottles behind the counter.

The place was busy, people squeezed around tables, couples laughed in corners, groups of friends shouted over the music.

Nobody paid much attention to anyone else which was why it took you a second to realise someone was looking at you.

You felt it before you saw it, a pair of eyes lingering. You glanced up and froze.

Across the room sat a woman you'd never seen before, brunette hair, sharp features. The sort of confidence that seemed to radiate from her without any effort. The second your eyes met, she smiled, not politely or accidentally a smile meant entirely for you.

Your stomach immediately betrayed you, the sensible thing would've been to look away. Instead, you held her gaze, the smile transformed into a smirk, and you watched her lift her glass almost like a silent greeting.

Before you could stop yourself, you mirrored the gesture, something flashed in her eyes, amusement, maybe victory. You weren't sure, but suddenly your drink wasn't nearly as interesting anymore.

A few minutes passed or maybe only seconds, you couldn't tell, but every time you looked away, your eyes found their way back to he and every single time she was already looking.

The ridiculous thing was that neither of you seemed embarrassed about it, most people would've looked away eventually. She never did. Then, without warning, she stood.

Your pulse jumped, no, surely not you thought to yourself, but she was already moving through the crowd walking directly towards you, each step seemed impossibly confident as if she already knew exactly how this conversation was going to go.

She stopped beside your stool close enough now that you could see the tiny flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, close enough that she somehow became even more attractive.

"Hi." Her voice was smooth, warm and dangerously charming.

You cleared your throat, "Hi."

A grin immediately tugged at her lips, "Nervous?"

You laughed, "Confident, aren't you?"

"Usually." She tilted her head, "Although I have spent the last ten minutes wondering if you're going to tell me to go away."

"You walked across the entire bar without knowing"

Alexia shrugged, "Worth the risk."

Your heart did something deeply unhelpful, "That's a lot of confidence for someone approaching a stranger."

"It's a lot of staring for someone who wasn't interested."

You couldn't even argue, because she was right, Alexia's eyes dropped briefly to your drink, then back to you.

"I'm Alexia."

The way she said it made it sound important, not because she expected you to know who she was. Just because she knew exactly who she was. You smiled, "I'm—"

"Beautiful."

You blinked, "What?"

"I was going to let you tell me your name." Alexia looked completely unapologetic, "But then I got distracted."

Heat immediately rushed into your face, the smile she gave you in response was downright smug.

"See." She pointed at you, "That."

"That what?"

"The blush."

"There is no blush."

"There absolutely is."

You laughed, the sound seemed to make her soften slightly. For the first time since she'd walked over, something gentler appeared beneath all the confidence, something genuine.

She looked at you for a second longer than necessary, then said quietly, "I've been trying not to come over here all night."

Your eyebrows lifted, "Oh?"

Alexia nodded, "Thought I'd make a fool of myself."

That surprised you, because nothing about this woman suggested uncertainty, "And yet here you are."

Her gaze met yours steady and unwavering, "Yeah."

The smile that followed was smaller now, more honest, "Turns out the thought of not talking to you felt worse."

For a moment the noise of the bar seemed to disappear, the music, conversations, the glasses clinking together. None of it mattered, because suddenly all you could focus on was the woman standing in front of you.

The woman who had looked at you from across a crowded room and somehow made everyone else disappear.

Alexia glanced at the empty stool beside you, then back at you, "So." She rested an arm against the bar, "Are you going to let me buy you another drink?"

You smiled, "Depends."

Her eyes sparkled, "On what?"

You leaned slightly closer, close enough to see her own confidence falter for the first time all evening, "Whether you're planning on flirting with me all night."

Alexia's grin was immediate hopelessly pleased, "Oh." She pulled the stool out and sat down beside you, "I was planning on doing a lot worse than that."

The words settled between you dangerously. The kind of comment that could be interpreted a hundred different ways.

The kind that made your pulse immediately pick up whilst Alexia looked entirely too pleased with herself.

You shook your head, trying and failing not to smile, "Does that line usually work?"

"Line?"

"The one where you pretend to be charming."

"Pretend?" she repeated, placing a hand dramatically over her chest.

You laughed, Alexia's eyes lingered on you for a moment a second too long. Something shifted, the teasing was still there, but now there was something else underneath it.

The bartender appeared and Alexia ordered another round without taking her eyes off you, "You're very confident."

"So I've been told."

"You don't seem worried I might reject you."

Alexia considered that, then shrugged, "I don't think you will."

The certainty should have annoyed you, instead, it made your stomach flutter, "And if you're wrong?"

Her expression softened not by much, just enough to notice, "Then I'd thank you for the conversation and spend the next week being embarrassed." The honesty caught you off guard, Alexia noticed immediately, "You didn't expect that answer."

"No."

She smiled into her drink, "People assume confidence means fear doesn't exist."

"And does it?"

Her gaze lifted to yours, "All the time."

The admission hung there suddenly the conversation felt different, more personal, less like a game.

You found yourself studying her, the way she held herself, the way she watched you while pretending not to, the way she seemed completely present in every moment.

It was unsettling, most conversations drifted, this one didn't, Alexia's attention never wandered, not once.

A group squeezed past behind her, and she shifted her stool closer without thinking. The movement left her shoulder brushing yours, neither of you moved away and neither of you acknowledged it.

You became painfully aware of every point of contact, the warmth of her arm, the scent of her perfume, the tiny smile threatening at the corner of her mouth.

She knew exactly what she was doing, "You're staring again."

You rolled your eyes, "You started it."

"I know."

"You admit that awfully easily."

Alexia laughed, "Why would I deny it?" The answer came so naturally that it stole your next response, "You have really expressive eyes, you know."

"Do I?"

"Very." You looked away,which only made her grin wider, "There. You did it again."

"Did what?"

"Got shy."

You immediately scoffed, "I am not shy."

"You're blushing again."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

The look she gave you made it impossible to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Every time you met her gaze, the air seemed to tighten as though the rest of the room had disappeared and the only thing that mattered was the space between the two of you.

Alexia leaned forward slightly, not enough to invade your space, but enough that you noticed, enough that your attention dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.

A mistake, because the second you looked back up, you knew she'd seen it her smile became almost unbearably smug. “What?”

Alexia took a sip of her drink, slowly, deliberately, then she set the glass down, "Nothing."

The liar.

You both knew exactly what had happened and judging by the look in her eyes, she was enjoying it far too much.

The conversation continued. One drink became two then three.

Neither of you seemed interested in leaving, every topic somehow turned into flirting. Every joke became an excuse to lean a little closer. Every glance lasted a little longer than it should have. Eventually there was a pause, not an awkward one, the opposite, the kind where neither person feels the need to fill the silence.

Alexia was the first to break it, her fingers drumming against the condensation on her glass, then, with a kind of lazy certainty, she let her hand fall to your knee. Not an accident, not a conversational pat. Her palm pressed warm and steady just above your kneecap, the pressure light but deliberate. You felt a slow, electric ripple climb your thigh, radiating outward from that single point of contact. Your breath caught in your throat.

She didn’t look at her hand or at your lap. Instead, she watched your face carefully, waited for the microexpression that would tell her how to proceed. You tried to keep your face neutral, but it was impossible. Alexia’s thumb drifted, slow, tracing a circle on bare skin just below the hem of your dress.

“Is this okay?” she asked quietly. The question was so uncharacteristically gentle, it almost broke your focus.

You blinked, then nodded, hoping you didn’t look as desperate as you felt.

Her smile deepened, eyes glinting. “You can tell me to stop,” she murmured.

The implication, she wanted you to say don’t was devastating. You managed, “I don’t want you to.”

She squeezed your knee, her hand moving fractionally higher, pinky brushing the inside of your thigh. You suppressed a shiver, acutely aware of every molecule of space between you and her and every molecule she was now invading.

The bartender dropped off your new drinks, misreading the intimacy as a casual touch. You reached for your glass a little too quickly, almost knocking it over. Alexia grinned, leaning in, her voice pitched for only you to hear. “You seem nervous.”

You took a sip, swallowing against the heat in your cheeks. “You keep saying that.”

“Maybe I like it.”

You tried for an eye roll, but your voice was softer than you meant it to be, “You’re a menace.”

“I’m very well behaved,” she said, the words landing somewhere between truth and open dare.

You glanced at her, weighing it, and found yourself thinking about what well behaved could possibly mean to someone like Alexia. Her hand had not moved from your thigh. If anything, she’d gotten bolder, her palm sliding by literal centimetres higher each time you answered a question, until now it was only the thickness of your dress between her skin and the rest of your leg.

Alexia leaned closer still, her temple nearly touching yours, the air around her glittering with the sharp notes of her perfume. “Tell me something true,” she said.

You pulled in a breath, felt your pulse hammer inside your wrist, “Something true?”

She nodded, watching your lips. Her pupils were blown wide, dark, a little dangerous.

You thought about lying, about saying something clever, but the truth snuck out. “I haven’t done this before.”

Alexia stilled, her hand pausing mid-motion. “Done what?”

“This,” you gestured vaguely at the two of you, the not-quite-touch, the careful choreography. “Let a stranger pick me up at a bar.”

She grinned, slow and predatory. “I’m hardly impersonal,” she said. “I’d like to think we’re both somewhat invested at this point.”

“Somewhat,” she conceded, though she could barely remember the last time she’d felt this alive and fidgety in her own skin.

Alexia’s hand, still at your thigh, moved with slow intent now, her knuckles grazing the delicate skin above your knee, then wandering upward, fingers splayed, as if claiming territory. Your breath came shallow, and you crossed your legs, trapping her hand between them. She didn’t seem bothered by the escalation if anything, she seemed to approve. Her lips curved upward, like she’d just watched a dog perform a new trick. She looked at you in a way that made your whole body feel like the center of a searchlight beam.

“Tell me another thing,” Alexia murmured, voice pitched for your ear alone. “Something only I get to know.”

You considered, momentarily at a loss. “That feels unfair,” you said, “since you already know how to make my heart beat faster.”

Alexia’s thumb drew a lazy semicircle along the inside of your thigh. “Then I’ll trade,” she said. “I’ll tell you something first.”

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded.

“When I walked over here, I was so nervous I nearly forgot how to speak English,” Alexia said, her eyes darting to yours to see if you’d buy it.

“I don’t believe you,” you said.

“You’re right.” Her grin flashed. “I was only nervous for about five seconds, but they were very intense seconds.”

You snorted, and Alexia’s hand squeezed your thigh, anchoring you to the moment. “Are you always like this?” you asked, without looking away.

Alexia tilted her head as though considering. “Not always.” Her expression gentled, suddenly earnest. “Usually only when I actually like someone.”

You blinked, trying to process the cliché and sincerity in one breath, “I don’t believe you,” you said again, but there wasn’t any heat behind it.

Alexia shrugged, as if to say, take it or leave it. “Truth or dare, then?”

“Are we twelve?”

“Would you prefer spin the bottle?” She laughed at her own joke, and the sound did something strange to your nervous system. You found yourself grinning despite the tension, despite her hand, despite the fact that your skin was now abuzz with anticipation.

“Truth,” you said, because you genuinely wanted to know what she’d ask.

Alexia’s eyes went soft for a moment, like she saw something she liked. “What do you want to happen next?”

The question stole your breath. You’d been bracing for innuendo, for some predictable escalation, but this was much riskier. It required an answer, a real one.

You took a sip of your drink, stalling, the ice clinked against your teeth.

You met Alexia’s gaze and said, “I want you to keep touching me.”

If she was surprised, she didn’t show it, if anything, her satisfaction sharpened. “Permission granted, then.”

You expected her to move her hand immediately, to go for the dramatic show, but instead she left her hand exactly where it was palm firm, fingers spread, thumb still tracing that single path, up and up, until your whole leg felt like a live wire. There was no hurry, she seemed to know exactly how long you could stand to be touched and how long you could stand not to be.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. All the words in your body seemed to have gathered somewhere behind your ribcage, hiding. Alexia’s thumb edged beneath the hem of your dress, just a centimeter, maybe two. The contact was delicate, almost accidental, but the intent behind it was not. It was a dare, pure and simple.

You forgot how to breathe.

Alexia leaned her face against her palm, elbow on the bar. She looked at you, eyebrows high and lazy. “You’re very easy to read, you know that?”

You wished you were better at lying, wished you could pull off even a little of her composure. “Not my fault,” you said, voice embarrassingly hoarse.

Alexia smiled, pleased as a cat, and then said, “I’d invite you to get out of here with me, but I don’t want to be rude.”

You almost laughed, but all that came out was a small, open-mouthed sound. “Is that why you’ve been doing this the whole time?” you asked, gesturing at your thigh, your face, the space between you.

Alexia shrugged, not even pretending. “Maybe I just like making you blush.”

“This is a lot for a first conversation,” you said, though you weren’t pushing her away. Every ounce of you wanted her closer.

“I’m not in the habit of apologising for knowing what I want.” Her fingers played a restless tattoo on your leg. “But if it’s too much—”

“It’s not,” you cut in, surprising yourself with the urgency in your voice. “It’s not too much.”

The look she gave you was so direct, so unwavering, it made you wonder if you’d ever actually been seen before tonight.

“Okay,” Alexia said, soft and steady. “So let’s go.”

You felt for your purse, hands a little clumsy, aware of how sharply the world had contracted to the two of you. The rest of the bar was background noise, lights smeared by alcohol and adrenaline. Alexia watched you reach for your coat, then she stood, not offering a hand because she seemed to know you wouldn’t want that. Instead, she waited, gaze never leaving you.

Outside, the Barcelona night air hit you like a splash of cold water. It should have helped, it didn't. If anything, stepping away from the noise of the bar only made you more aware of Alexia walking beside you.

The city buzzed around you, cars drifted past, distant laughter echoed down the street. Yet somehow all of your attention remained fixed on the woman at your side.

You had barely taken three steps onto the pavement when Alexia glanced towards the darkness beyond the entrance, "Get the car."

The words were calm, matter of fact, as though she'd done this a thousand times before.

Your eyebrows furrowed, a figure emerged from the shadows, a woman. A little taller than Alexia, professional, completely unsurprised, "Yes, boss."

Boss? Before you could process the exchange, she was already moving away.

You stared after her, then slowly turned back towards Alexia.

Alexia, meanwhile, looked entirely unbothered, almost amused by your expression, "What?"

You narrowed your eyes, "Nothing." Her smile suggested she knew you were lying.

The questions immediately started piling up in your head. Who was that? Why had she called Alexia boss? Why was there apparently a woman waiting in the shadows for instructions? And perhaps most importantly, what exactly did Alexia do?

The sensible part of your brain told you to ask, the other part was currently too distracted by the way she was looking at you.

So instead you said nothing, Alexia's smile widened, "You're thinking very loudly."

"I'm trying to decide whether you're secretly running a criminal empire."

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine, "I can neither confirm nor deny that."

"That's exactly what someone running a criminal empire would say."

"Good point."

You were still trying to work out whether she was joking when headlights appeared at the curb, a sleek black Rolls Royce glided to a stop in front of you.

You blinked, once, twice.

The same woman stepped out from the driver's seat and without hesitation she walked around the vehicle and opened the rear door for you.

Your brain completely short circuited, Alexia seemed far more interested in your reaction than the car itself, "You look concerned."

"I'm standing outside a bar with a stranger whilst another opens the door of a Rolls Royce for me."

"Fair."

The woman remained waiting patiently as though this was all perfectly normal, which somehow made it stranger.

Alexia stepped closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that the warmth of her presence settled beside you again. Then her hand found the small of your back, the touch wasn't possessive it was reassuring.

You looked up at her, the city lights reflected in her eyes, "Trust me?" she asked quietly.

The question should have been difficult, it wasn't not really, because despite the mystery, the unanswered questions and despite her being a complete stranger you met an hour ago you found yourself nodding.

Alexia's smile softened, "Good girl."

You rolled your eyes immediately, "Don't make it weird."

"Too late."

The woman holding the door looked suspiciously close to smiling, you pointed at her, "See? Even she's judging you."

Alexia glanced towards the driver, the driver instantly looked away, professional once more, "I pay her to pretend I'm charming."

You laughed, the sound escaped before you could stop it, Alexia's expression immediately brightened as though she'd won something, "That joke wasn't funny."

"It was a little funny."

"It wasn't."

"It was." Still smiling and despite your hesitation and better judgment, you ducked into the car. The interior was ridiculous, soft leather, ambient lighting, enough space to comfortably fit half the bar.

You slid across the seat trying very hard not to look impressed, trying and failing, a moment later Alexia climbed in beside you.

The door closed and the outside world vanished instantly, silence settled around you, it was private, comfortable and dangerously intimate.

The driver pulled away from the curb and as the city lights began sliding past the windows, you finally turned towards Alexia.

Alexia watched you for a long moment, her eyes so steady and unblinking it was impossible to decide if she was about to say something of consequence or if she was simply cataloguing which way your hair fell, whether you’d keep avoiding her gaze, how you were pressing your knees together under the hem of your dress. The car glided through the city, the silence between you both like a suspended breath.

Then, without warning, Alexia curved her hand around your jaw and kissed you.

There was no hesitation. No lean in, no shy, searching question in her eyes. One heartbeat you were staring forward at your own reflection in the privacy glass, the next you were tasting her: cold gin, salt from a half-remembered rim, something sweet you couldn’t place. She kissed the way she spoke, direct and unapologetic. Her lips were warm, soft but insistent, and her fingers splayed against the side of your neck, anchoring you in the leather-wrapped capsule of the car. It could have been rude if it hadn’t been so fast, so smooth, so exactly the right amount of pressure.

You froze, a breathless half second, not from shock, not exactly, but from the simple fact of being chosen, of being seen, and then immediately being claimed. Her mouth slid from yours to the corner of your jaw, then back again, as if she’d found the first taste promising and wanted to make absolutely sure. The confidence of it, the way Alexia didn’t bother with permission, only checked with pressure and the answering heat of your lips against hers it undid you like a single, practiced knot.

She pulled back, barely. Her forehead tipped against yours, the scent of her perfume mixing with your quickening breath. Close up, you could see the faint constellation of freckles across her nose, the near invisible scar above her left eyebrow. Her pulse beat beneath your fingertips where your hands had landed, one against her shoulder, one clutching the lapel of her blazer.

“Too much?” she murmured, not even bothering to disguise her amusement.

You were supposed to say something witty, reassert some sense of control over the situation, but all you could muster was, “No. Not enough, actually.”

Alexia laughed, and the sound vibrated through her chest to yours. She kissed you again, slower this time, a measured escalation, her tongue flicking the seam of your mouth before she deepened it. She tasted like adrenaline, like the distilled sharpness of citrus and want. Your body answered before your mind caught up, and you leaned into her, hungry, desperate to make up for every kiss you hadn’t had before this one.

It became clear within minutes that Alexia’s mouth was not the only part of her that lived on the offensive. Her hand found your thigh again, sliding up, warm and greedy, and this time it made no pretense of stopping at polite borders. She gripped, squeezed gently, fingers kneading the soft muscle under your dress hem, as if confirming that you were real and here and entirely at her disposal.

Alexia’s hand drifted with the certainty of someone who had never once been denied. She pressed higher, fingers trailing over the impossible heat where your thighs met, the only barrier a thin band of cotton. The touch wasn’t tentative nothing about Alexia seemed to be, her palm settled at the apex of your legs, fingers closing with almost lazy possession.

The whole world funneled to a single point of contact, you barely registered that the city was flying by outside, that the woman driving the car was a living, breathing witness to the slow burn undoing happening in the back seat.

Alexia’s lips moved to your neck, the pressure of her mouth making you tilt your head back against the seat. She kissed the soft skin under your jaw, then lower, slow and insistent, until your whole body was a single receptive nerve ending. You tried to bite back the noise that wanted to escape when her fingers pressed in, tracing the shape of you through the fabric, but a traitorous gasp slipped out anyway.

Your eyes flew open and landed in the rearview mirror. The driver’s gaze met yours for a heartbeat, cool, unreadable, with the faintest ghost of a smile before she looked away. A flush of something shamed and thrilling ran through you.

“Alexia,” you whispered, meaning it as a warning, a plea, something. She paused, her lips at your ear, her hand unmoving but present, holding you hostage against your own body.

She followed your gaze to the mirror, her lips quirked up. “Cata,” she called, voice just loud enough to be heard over the car’s hush. Like she shouldn’t have had to ask.

“Yes, boss,” the woman replied, sliding a pair of earbuds into place, a low, thrumming music started, insistent, and a moment later, the privacy partition slid up, transforming the rear cabin into a cocoon.

Now it was only you and Alexia, and the velvet black of the car, and the hum of terrible possibility.

Alexia’s hand moved again, this time with no witnesses. She gathered the hem of your dress in her fist and slid her palm beneath, skin to skin. Her touch was purposeful, a slow, winding trail up your thigh until her fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. She lingered there, just barely touching, reading your whole body through the trembling in your legs.

She kissed you again, deeper now, her tongue a soft demand. One of her hands tangled in your hair, the other pressed into your cunt through the thin layer of fabric, fingers moving in an excruciating, perfect rhythm.

You arched into her, breath coming short and fast. She nipped at your bottom lip. “Is this what you wanted?” she asked, not as a tease but a genuine question, her voice ragged around the edges.

You nodded, probably too eagerly.

Her mouth traced a slow line from your throat to your collarbone, then back up to the soft skin behind your ear. "Lift," she murmured against it, barely louder than the hum of the car.

You obeyed without thinking, hips rising, and she drew your underwear down in one unhurried motion, leaving it somewhere forgotten around your calves.

The air hit you first, then her hand, her thumb found your clit with the same faultless confidence she brought to everything else, pressing once, firmly, before beginning slow, deliberate circles that made your breath stutter and your fingers curl against the leather seat.

Your head tipped back against the headrest as her fingers pressed in, slow and deliberate, two knuckles deep before pausing there, letting you feel the stretch of it, the unbearable fullness of almost. Her thumb kept its own time, unhurried, entirely indifferent to the stillness of her fingers and then, without withdrawing, they began to move, curling upward on each slow stroke, finding the soft spot of you from the inside. 

The pace of it. The way her fingers explored with such calm, with such patient violence. It undid every prepared defence, all the quick answers you thought you’d have for this moment. Your hands went to her wrist, not to stop her but to anchor yourself, to make her real, the hard lines of her hand pressed so warm between your thighs.

The car blurred by city lights you barely registered the route, but the only place that mattered was here, in the tight private world of the backseat and the mess Alexia was making of your body. Her mouth returned to yours, rough this time, her tongue a slow demand, her breathing totally unlike the cool, precise woman she’d been at the bar.

You’d meant to perform better at this. You’d meant to be the kind of person who played hard to get, who made her work, made her wait. Instead, you were unraveling all over her hand, hips pressing up, head tipped back so you barely even saw her anymore, only felt the relentless, exacting motion of her fingers.

“Good?” she asked, voice a hoarse promise, lips brushing against your ear.

You couldn’t speak. You had to search for words, any words at all, but all that came out was a whimper. You clung to her shoulder, the soft wool of her jacket, as if something about the fabric could stabilise you. It didn’t.

Alexia withdrew her fingers, and you nearly whimpered at the loss until she brought her hand, glistening, to her own lips and sucked her fore and middle fingers into her mouth. Her eyes never left yours as she tasted you, and she smiled, a lazy, wicked thing, before she pressed her damp thumb to your lips and said, “Try.”

You did. You licked it, and her whole expression softened, she bit her own lip as if surprised.

“Jesus,” she said, and you felt every syllable like a bruise on your chest.

Alexia crowded closer, lips still parted from the last kiss. She tugged at your knee, insisting it fall open for her. You let it. She moved down the seat, somehow graceful in the confined space, until she knelt on the floor between your legs. There was a reverence to the way she looked at you then, a beat of assessment, the hot, clinical attention of someone memorising every square centimetre of bare skin and shiver.

The world was a dark blur outside the windows, the car eating the city block by block. Inside, only Alexia’s hands, her mouth, and the feverish heat pooling at the base of your spine.

She reached up, fingers spanning your thigh, and leaned in, lips grazing the sensitive skin just above your knee, a single deliberate brush that made every hair stand at attention. She trailed upward, slow as torture, kissing your inner thigh, then biting, just enough to leave a mark. You felt the indentation of her teeth long after she moved higher.

You didn’t dare look out the windows, certain the city would be watching, even though you both knew the glass was blacked out. All you could see was Alexia, her head haloed by the car’s ambient light, her eyes locked on yours as she kissed, licked, nipped her way toward the heat between your legs.

She hovered, a breath away from where you ached for her, and you could feel her exhale, warm and humid, her mouth finally, finally pressing in and up. The first pass of her tongue nearly made you convulse, a shock of sensation that stole your breath. She licked you slowly, methodically, hands holding your thighs apart, steady even as they trembled under her grip.

There was nothing gentle in the way she worked you open. She sucked, then licked, then sucked again, and when you gasped or moaned she’d smile, the vibration of it sending you higher. She was thorough, insistent, the kind of lover who wanted proof of her own effect, who liked to leave you shaky and overwhelmed and a little ruined.

You dug your hands into her hair, the silky strands fisting between your fingers, and she responded by moaning into you, the sound so raw and animal it short circuited your brain. Her tongue circled your clit, then pressed, then flicked so fast and so relentless that you lost track of time, of the world, of everything except the wet, obscene sounds and the mounting, unbearable pressure.

She slipped two fingers into you, the same ones that had made you fall apart already, and curled them just right, just as her mouth closed around you and sucked you hard enough to tear a cry from your chest.

Her tongue slid lower, firm and slow as a prayer, flattening along your clit until your vision shimmered at the edges. Then, a slick tease, she pressed the tip just inside you. She drew lazy, savouring circles with her tongue, working you open in increments so small it was almost agony, and when you dug your heel into the seat edge for leverage, she moaned as if you’d given her a gift.

You wanted to say something clever, something cutting, anything to keep this from feeling like pure, animal surrender, but Alexia stole every syllable from you, translating want into sensation, pleasure into pressure, until all you could do was gasp and cling. The world outside the car ceased to exist. There was only the rough texture of the leather beneath your hips, the velvet slide of her tongue, and the steady, unrelenting rhythm she set with her fingers.

She alternated between licking you and fucking you with her tongue, one moment teasing the rim, the next thrusting deep enough you felt your whole pelvis lift off the seat. Her hands, palms broad and sure, held you open, anchored you so tight it was impossible to run, though your entire body wanted to arch away and into her at once. Each time you came close to shattering, she’d back off, tongue circling languidly, a slow drag that made you sob with frustration, then she’d return, hungry and insistent, as if she was intent on mapping you molecule by molecule.

You barely recognised the sounds coming out of your mouth, didn’t believe yourself capable of the high, desperate noises echoing off the car’s plush interior. Alexia ate you like she was starving, like the world had ended and all that was left was this, your body, her mouth, the heat and salt and slick of you. You felt the build start low, a gathering storm, your thighs trembling so hard you worried you’d break her grip.

She must have felt it, the way your pulse skyrocketed, because her tongue redoubled, fast and relentless over your clit, and when she pressed inside you again, it was with her whole mouth, her face buried so deep she could have been breathing you. You came so hard you saw a burst of white behind your eyelids, your hips jackknifing off the seat as you lost all sense of yourself, of her, of the car or the city or even your own name.

When it passed, you were boneless, melting back into the seat with a sound that was half laugh, half staggered sob. Alexia surfaced, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes dark and almost tender.

"Lift," Alexia said, and you surfaced slowly, hands still trailing absently along your own calves, the word arriving a beat late. She was sliding your knickers back up your legs, matter of fact, almost tender. "What's your address? I'll have Cata drop you home."

You almost laughed. You had let this woman pull you into a blacked out car and come apart in her mouth, and yet something in you toyed at giving her your postcode. "Just drop me back at the bar." Alexia almost smiled, as if she’d expected that answer, maybe she had. Maybe this was the kind of thing she did on Fridays, collect women from dim bars, corral them into luxury vehicles, and see what they’d let her get away with before midnight, you only half cared. Your whole body still pulsed with spent energy, core tight and legs jelly weak, and you didn’t trust yourself to speak.

Alexia’s hands were smooth, methodical as she helped you gather yourself, dress tugged discreetly back into position, wrists steadied together momentarily. Not possessive, but careful, as if she knew exactly how fragile a person could be when they’d just let go of a lifetime’s worth of control in the span of a half hour. For a second you almost expected her to light you a cigarette.

“Cata?” Alexia called out after pressing a button near your head, as the divider slid down and the muted thrum of the city returned through her open window. “Back to Calle del Bruc, please.”

No one asked for clarification, Cata’s tone was even, automatic, “Yes, boss.”

Alexia looked at you sidelong, one corner of her mouth quirking in a private joke. “Don’t worry, there’s a shop at the corner if you need a tactical recovery snack.”

It hit you, belatedly, that you might actually be starving, “Don’t suppose you’d let me walk it off?”

“In those shoes?” Alexia made an exaggerated show of glancing at your feet. “You’d make it one block.”

She had a point. Your heels dug into the thick carpet, ankles wobbling, and there was something indecent about offering the stranger in a tailored suit this much leverage over your literal ability to stand, but you didn’t hate it. Instead, a laugh tumbled out, unguarded and light, and Alexia softened to it, slow, genuine, the sort of smile that only happened when she wasn’t trying for effect.

“Okay,” you said, “I’ll take the ride.”

Alexia stayed angled toward you, every line of her posture open, the pants of her suit stretched tight over muscled thighs, her fingers steepled together like someone interviewing for a position only you had no doubt who was being sized up for potential.

“Is this where I’m supposed to say something clever?” you asked.

She shrugged, not breaking eye contact, “Only if you want to.”

You could feel the blush return, but you didn’t try to hide it this time. “I don’t know if I can outdo you.”

“Maybe that’s not the point.” Alexia’s tone was different, now, less tease, more invitation. “Maybe you just enjoy the ride.”

The car settled into a red light outside a late night panadería. Neon flickered against the window, painting the interior in pinks and blues. Alexia tilted her head, as if waiting for you to look away. You didn’t.

Soon the club the night started in came back into view, your hand reached for the handle before you could the door was open Cata standing tall above you in your seat.

You got out from the car, legs unsteady on the pavement, almost forgetting the state of your own body, the way heat still flickered up your thighs with every movement. Cata gave you a single nod, bored or respectful, you couldn’t tell, then ducked back inside, returning to whatever in cabin playlist she’d engineered for herself.

The street seemed too bright, the laughter spilling from the bar at double volume, the world now in high contrast after the hush and luxury of the car. Alexia moved over into the seat you had been in, she looked as immaculate as she had hours ago, utterly untouchable, except for the smear of pink at the corner of her mouth, nearly the same colour as your lipstick.

You wanted to say something, anything to break the spell of the night, but the words were stuck behind your tongue. You were suddenly aware of what it meant to be seen together this way, to be half dressed and full of teeth marks, to have been made open so thoroughly and so quickly you barely remembered your own rules for how moments like this should play out.

“I didn’t get your name,” Alexia said, into the silence between you.

The breeze hit first. You folded your arms against it, against her, against the whole unbearable composure of her still sitting there. “I don’t think that matters much now, does it.” Not a question, you held her gaze one beat longer than was wise. “Bye... Boss.”

She smiled at your quip, you saw it fall the moment you turned away.

The bar door was loud and bright and full of strangers. Behind you, a car door closed, and the engine pulled away down the street as you stepped back into the place it all started.

The Rolls Royce merged silently back into the late night traffic, for the first few minutes, nobody spoke.

Cata's hands rested confidently on the steering wheel, eyes scanning mirrors as much as the road ahead. Years of driving for Alexia had taught her that silence was rarely uncomfortable.

Tonight, however, it felt... different, she caught Alexia's reflection in the rearview mirror still looking out of the window, watching the bar disappear into the distance.

"You want me to turn around?" Cata asked eventually.

Alexia didn't answer immediately, "No." A beat passed, "...Keep driving."

Cata's eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.

Interesting.

💪🏼

The wrought iron gates rolled open before the car reached them.

The estate beyond was more fortress than home, hidden behind centuries old stone walls and towering cypress trees. Cameras tracked the Rolls Royce as it wound up the long drive before stopping beneath the portico.

Before Cata could step out to open the door, the front door swung open.

"About time." Patri bounded down the front steps wearing an oversized hoodie, a packet of crisps tucked under one arm, "We were taking bets."

Cata sighed, "I told you not to say any-"

"You also bet." Patri grinned, "And I won."

Alexia climbed from the car, smoothing invisible creases from her jacket, "What exactly did you win?"

Patri held up a handful of notes triumphantly, "Mapi said you'd be back in an hour."

"I said two," Ingrid called from the doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel.

"I guessed you'd bring someone home." Patri looked dramatically offended, "Which, for the record, would've won if you hadn't decided to be mysterious for once."

Alexia shot her an unimpressed look, "You're all exhausting."

"We know," Mapi replied, appearing beside Ingrid with a mug of coffee in hand, "That's why you keep us."

Inside, the house smelled unmistakably of fresh bread, garlic and slow cooked tomatoes, Ingrid smiled warmly as Alexia stepped through the doorway, "I kept your dinner warm."

Alexia loosened the top button of her suit jacket, "You always do, thank you"

That finally earned a small smile, the kitchen was already occupied, Misa sat at the island cleaning one of the training pistols they used in the private range beneath the house.

She glanced up briefly, "No bullet holes?"

"No."

"No stab wounds?"

"No."

"Disappointing."

Alexia rolled her eyes, "It was a quiet evening."

From the corner of the room came a snort, everyone turned, Pina was leaning against the counter, methodically sharpening a knife with the kind of concentration most people reserved for crossword puzzles.

Without looking up she asked, "So. Was she worth being late for the meeting you called?"

Silence, even Patri stopped eating, Mapi slowly lowered her coffee, Ingrid looked between them all, Alexia reached into the fridge, retrieving a bottle of water."I don't know what you're talking about."

Six voices answered simultaneously, "Boss."

Alexia unscrewed the cap, "I met someone."

Patri slammed both palms onto the counter,"I KNEW IT!"

"You owe me fifty euros," Jana said without missing a beat.

Patri groaned dramatically before fishing money from her pocket, "Worst night ever."

"You literally won the first bet."

"I've now lost the important one."

Mapi folded her arms, "So you met someone..." Alexia nodded, "...and?"

"There isn't an 'and.'"

"There is always an 'and,'" Misa replied.

Alexia took a long drink of water, hoping it would somehow delay the interrogation, but it didn't.

Pina finally looked up from the knife she'd been sharpening for Ingrid after complaining none of the knives she used for cooking was sharp enough, "What was her name?"

Alexia froze just for a fraction of a second, "...I don't know."

The room fell silent, Patri blinked, "You..."

Mapi blinked, "...don't know?" Mapi finished for Patri

Even Cata turned around, "You didn't ask?"

Alexia rested the bottle on the counter, "I did."

"And?"

"She didn't tell me."

Patri stared, then burst into hysterical laughter, "Oh, this is priceless."

Mapi joined in, "The great Alexia. The woman who has politicians returning missed calls. The woman whose enemies cross continents to avoid her...got rejected by a woman whose name she doesn't even know."

"I wasn't rejected."

"No?" Mapi grinned, "Then what's her name?"

Alexia's silence answered for her, Patri was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes, "I love her already."

Ingrid hid a smile behind her mug.

Cata folded her arms, "So what did she call you? If you didn’t find the time to get names"

Alexia couldn't stop the smallest smile from tugging at her lips, "'Boss.'"

That only made everyone laugh harder, Pina slid the newly sharpened knife onto the counter and, for the first time all evening, smiled, "Interesting."

Alexia looked over, "What?"

Pina shrugged, "You've spent years making people fear you." She tilted her head thoughtfully, "And tonight..." A knowing smile spread across her face, "...someone walked away."

The laughter around the kitchen faded, Alexia found herself looking toward the dark windows overlooking the grounds.

She could still picture you disappearing through the door without looking back, without giving your name, or asking who Alexia really was.

For perhaps the first time in years, Alexia realised she wanted something she couldn't simply command, buy, or intimidate into her life.

She wanted another chance encounter, that prospect was far more unsettling than any rival family waiting in the shadows.

💪🏼

The marina shimmered beneath the last of the evening sun, rows of yachts bobbed gently against their moorings, each one more extravagant than the last, but they all paled in comparison to the one looming at the end of the dock.

You stopped walking., "...That's a yacht?"

Lily looked over her shoulder, grinning, "What?"

"That's not a yacht." You pointed towards the floating palace”, "That's a small country."

She laughed, "I know." The thing was absurd, multiple decks, floor to ceiling windows reflecting the orange sky, crew moving efficiently across polished teak decks.

You'd never seen anything like it outside of films, "Remind me," you said, tearing your eyes away for a second, "how exactly do you know someone with a yacht this size?"

"I don't."

You frowned, "You don't?"

Lily shook her head as if that was the least surprising part of the evening, "You know Jana? The one who comes into the coffee shop every morning?"

You hummed, "The one you think I don't know you're sleeping with... that Jana?"

Lily shot you a look, "I'm not sleeping with Jana."

"Her car is outside at the end of your shift four nights a week."

"Coincidence."

"There’s an extra toothbrush at your flat."

"Allegedly."

"You accidentally called her 'babe' while steaming milk."

"I was tired."

You snorted, "So... definitely that Jana."

Lily sighed dramatically, "Fine." A beat, "Maybe."

You bumped her shoulder, "I knew it."

She rolled her eyes, "Anyway, Jana invited me and told me to bring a friend, so I assume she knows whoever owns this ridiculous thing."

"Comforting."

"It'll be fine." You weren't entirely convinced.

The closer you got, the bigger the yacht seemed, people in expensive clothes laughed on the upper deck, champagne catching the fading light, staff moved with quiet precision. Everything about it screamed money, old money, the sort that never had to tell anyone it existed.

Lily was already digging through her handbag, "Found it."

She held up a sleek black invitation with gold lettering before presenting it to a member of staff stationed at the bottom of the boarding ramp.

The woman scanned it, smiled politely and stepped aside, "Enjoy your evening."

Lily flashed you an excited grin, "See? Easy." She bounded halfway up the ramp before realising you hadn't followed, "Y/N?"

You had turned, distracted by movement beside the entrance, your stomach dropped. No...

Standing a few feet away, dressed in a tailored black suit with an earpiece tucked discreetly behind one ear, was a woman you recognised instantly.

Cata. She recognised you at exactly the same moment, there wasn't the slightest flicker of surprise on her face however. Just that same unreadable expression she'd worn outside the Rolls Royce.

Your heartbeat picked up, she walked towards you with measured steps, professional and controlled.

When she stopped in front of you, neither of you spoke, not at first, "Can I check your bag?" Her tone was courteous, almost gentle.

You swallowed, "Yeah... of course."

You slipped the strap from your shoulder and unzipped the bag, holding it open.

Cata's inspection was quick and methodical, she barely disturbed anything inside before stepping back.

For one impossible second, your eyes met again. Did she actually remember you?

Of course she remembered you. She remembered everything.

She gave a single nod, "Enjoy your night."

You managed a small smile, "Thanks."

She stepped aside and you started walking, one foot in front of the other trying very hard to appear completely normal.

Your thoughts, however, had other ideas, Cata, not someone who merely resembled her, the same woman, the same driver, the same bodyguard, the same quiet, observant presence who had watched you climb out of a blacked out Rolls Royce only a few weeks earlier.

Your pulse refused to settle, there were only two possibilities.

Either Cata worked security for multiple wealthy people...or this yacht belonged to Alexia.

You weren't entirely sure which possibility made you more nervous.

"Y/N!" Lily called from further up the gangway, "You coming or what?"

You blinked yourself back to the present, "Yeah."

You forced your legs to keep moving, each step carried you further onto the yacht. Further toward answers you weren't sure you actually wanted and despite every sensible instinct telling you to turn around a small, traitorous part of you hoped with embarrassing intensity that Alexia was somewhere on board.

💪🏼

The upper deck hummed with effortless luxury, music drifted from hidden speakers, low enough that conversations never had to compete with it. Crystal glasses caught the evening sun, laughter rolled across the decking as guests wandered between the bar, the plunge pool and the shaded seating areas.

At the centre of it all sat Alexia, one ankle rested across the opposite knee, an untouched glass of whiskey balanced loosely in her hand.

She looked exactly as she always did perfectly composed and perfectly in control. It didn't seem to matter that half the yacht revolved around her, women drifted in and out of conversation with her, each one impossibly beautiful.

One leaned against the arm of her chair, laughing at something Alexia had said that wasn’t even funny.

Another perched on the edge of the sunbed beside her, making no secret of the fact she was trying to catch Alexia's eye.

Someone else appeared with two fresh drinks, offering one with a hopeful smile. Alexia thanked her politely, nothing more, it hadn't gone unnoticed.

Patri watched another failed attempt and leaned towards Mapi, "That makes..." She counted under her breath, "...eight."

Mapi didn't even look up from her beer, "Nine."

"The blonde by the pool doesn't count."

Across from them, Ingrid laughed quietly, shaking her head, "They'll keep trying."

"They always do," Misa muttered.

Alexia, blissfully ignoring the commentary surrounding her love life, took another sip of her drink.

She wasn't listening to the women competing for her attention, she was listening to the sea, the engines, the rhythm of the yacht beneath her feet.

Then something changed, not the music or the conversation, the atmosphere, someone approaching quickly.

Alexia lifted her head, Cata, she rarely hurried, which meant something had happened. Without waiting to be acknowledged, Cata crossed the deck, weaving effortlessly between guests until she reached Alexia's chair.

"Boss."

Alexia set her glass down, Cata leaned in, speaking quietly into her ear, the words lasted barely three seconds.

Alexia's expression changed instantly not dramatically, anyone who didn't know her would have missed it, but the people around her knew every tiny shift in expression she'd ever made.

"Bring her to me." Alexia picked her whiskey back up, settling into her chair as though the conversation were already over.

Cata didn't move. "I anticipated that. So I went to find her first." A pause, just long enough to be uncomfortable. "I can’t find her"

Alexia turned her head slowly, the glass pausing at her lips, "Then keep looking."

Cata stepped back with a single nod, "Yes, boss," and was gone, threading back through the crowd with the same quiet efficiency she'd arrived with. Alexia brought the whiskey to her mouth, and whatever had just crossed her face crossed it no longer. Across the seating area, Patri, Mapi, Ingrid, and Misa exchanged a glance. Not one of them said a word. They knew better to.

💪🏼

You were grateful for the relative anonymity of the bar that was built into the main deck, a sunken space filled with expensive people who all seemed to know, or want to know, each other. Lily had already vanished into a small knot of women near the bowling alley, because, of course, there was a bowling alley on this ship and you could see her holding court, basking in the attention of anyone who mistook her accent for novelty.

You hovered, uncertain. You tried to make yourself small, blending into the pale curve of the banquette near the glass doors, but every so often you'd catch eyes on you, some tracing the line of your outfit, some evaluating you for a social transaction you didn’t understand.

When you realised you’d been staring at the same drink for ten minutes, you made yourself get up and cross to the rail. The air was spiced with salt and ozone, the city’s skyline had already begun to blue out in the dusk, and the lights on the next yacht over blinked like landlocked constellations.

You felt aimless, suddenly, remembering the rush in the car, the way your own body had become unfamiliar, a stranger’s for a little while. You wondered if Alexia was here, if she ever thought about you, even as a punchline. If she was the kind of person who remembered or the kind who always needed newness.

You tried to picture her among these people, she wouldn’t be laughing in the way you saw the women laughing here. She wouldn’t be smiling for the camera or parading a new girl on her arm. She would probably be quiet, watching, drinking something brown and expensive while running a thousand unspoken calculations.

The thought made you smile, which was, mercifully, the exact moment someone cleared their throat beside you.

“You need to come with me” a low, familiar voice spoke.

You froze, then turned, Cata stood there in her suit, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable. "Took her longer than I expected," you said and something shifted at the corner of Cata's mouth, gone before it fully arrived.

"Follow me." She turned and walked, not waiting.

The upper deck was quieter, the music from below reduced to a low pulse through the floor. Fewer people up here, and the ones who were watched you the way people watch someone walk into the wrong room. You stayed close behind Cata.

"Boss." Cata announced you without ceremony.

"Kiss arse," you muttered thinking she wouldn’t hear you, evidently her hear was better than you gave her credit for.

Cata looked over her shoulder, “Speak when spoken to"

You held her gaze, "Yes, boss," you said, borrowing her own phrase back, and watched something that might have been respect flicker across her face before she turned fully toward you, close enough that you felt the shift in air.

"You have quite the smart mouth."

You let yourself smirk, "Thank you."

"Cata." Alexia's voice came from somewhere behind her, low and unhurried, and you felt it move through you before you even found her face. "Let her be." Cata held your eyes a moment longer, then stepped aside with a single nod, and the space she left open framed Alexia exactly as though it had always been arranged that way.

Alexia's eyes moved down your body and back up. You became aware, suddenly, of your shorts and tank top and the way you'd heard boat party and dressed for the weather instead of whatever this was.

“Come sit” Your feet didn't move, "Do I have to?" The words were out before you could stop them, and the silence that followed had a texture to it. Across the deck, four heads turned in unison, Patri, Mapi, Ingrid, Misa each of them suddenly very interested in you for the first time all evening.

“No” Alexia sipped her drink, you're guess of expensive brown liquid correct, “I’d like it if you did though”

You moved, then. What else could you do? You crossed the deck, conscious of every pair of eyes some curious, some dismissive, some openly assessing. Your body felt a half step behind you, as if your limbs needed reminders to carry out the simplest commands.

You reached Alexia, and even sitting she radiated a tethered energy, a gravity that made the upholstered benches and overfull glasses and even the Mediterranean itself seem like a backdrop for her benefit.

You took the seat she gestured to, two places down from her rather than the empty one directly at her side. It felt less like keeping your distance and more like making a point, though what that point was you couldn’t have explained. For a moment she didn’t look at you, her profile cut a sharp line against the glow of the city behind her, hair slicked back, lashes heavy. You took a breath, then another, and tried to remember how talking worked.

Alexia broke the silence first, “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, as if this were her own birthday party and you were the surprise.

“I wasn’t really given the option,” you replied glancing to Cata, and watched a hint of pleasure arc across Alexia’s mouth.

“I run a tight ship,” she said, though you gathered from the yacht, the suits, the entire performance, that ‘ship’ was a flexible concept for her.

Someone behind you snorted, you glanced back. The four women at the other end of the seating area each with a drink, each angled for maximum eavesdrop were practically vibrating. One said something under her breath Alexia’s gaze flicked her direction and the group fell silent, as if their boss had snapped a leash taut.

You turned back to her, heart pinwheeling, but your hands were steady. “So what’s this?” you asked, gesturing at the yacht, the party, the entire orchestration, “Just another Friday for you?”

“Yes,” she said, as if finding the question quaint, “But not for you?” Her eyes didn’t blink as she asked it.

You shook your head, made yourself relax into the plush seat, “Where I come from, the closest thing to a boat party is watching old men play dominoes on the beach.”

She considered that, head tilted, as if calibrating how much of it was a joke. Then she smiled not the predatory smile from the car, but something private, almost delighted, “I would like to see that,” she said.

You almost said, “You wouldn’t,” but stopped yourself. Alexia already knew what she liked and what she didn’t, she didn’t need anyone to tell her.

A server appeared from nowhere, placing a drink in front of you gin, your favourite, garnished with a literal flower. You raised an eyebrow, “You have people following me?”

Alexia’s face resembled perfect innocence, “We have a good bar staff,” she said.

You sipped, it was, of course, the best thing you’d ever tasted and not what you had been served earlier. You allowed yourself a second sip before returning to the conversation at hand. “Do you always get what you want?”

Alexia didn’t answer right away. She looked at you for a while, fingers tracing a lazy orbit around the lip of her glass “Statistically,” she said, “more often than not.”

You scoffed, “I bet you hate losing.”

She grinned, small and sharp, “I prefer not to waste time on impossible things.” You liked that, or maybe you hated it. Either way, your blood ran a little faster, the gin burning a path down your throat.

“Why did you want me here?” The question surprised even you, the boldness of it, the edge, but Alexia seemed to enjoy it.

She set her glass down, leaned back in her chair, “Curiosity,” she said. “I think better in company.”

You looked around, “You seem to have plenty of company.”

She followed your gaze, the three women at the bar, the servers and silent security detail, the handful of guests now half watching the two of you from the pool, “Most people,” she said, voice dropping a little, “never say anything interesting to me.” She watched you, as if to see what you would do with that. “I like that you do.”

You felt the flush rising again, but met her eyes until she blinked firs, “That’s not a high bar.”

She laughed, and the tension in her posture eased a notch. Behind her, Patri leaned closer to Mapi, whispering “Wait, is she flirting with her?” and both burst into silent laughter.

Alexia ignored them, but you did not miss the flicker of annoyance that crossed her brow before it smoothed flat again. 

“So what do you talk about,” you asked, “when you’re not being entertained by strangers?”

She looked out at the water, considered, “Business, usually. Or Tv shows. Or why Catalan food is objectively superior to all other food and nobody wants to admit it.”

“I’ll admit it,” you said, “as long as you never make me eat a snail.”

It was meant as a joke, but Alexia’s face lit up as if you’d just offered a secret handshake. “Deal,” she said. “We’ll start with something easy. Croquetas.”

“Croquetas are not easy,” you said, remembering the last time you’d tried to make them, oil splattering across your forearms, half the batch dissolving into a kind of béchamel soup.

Alexia raised her glass in a small salute, “They are if you know the trick.”

“I bet you know a lot of tricks,” you said, before you could stop yourself. She looked at you with a look that could turn concrete to steam, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline, as if you’d taken a dare you never meant to accept.

“I do,” she said, very quietly, her voice dissolving the space between you. “Would you like to learn one?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. The urge to say yes was so loud it drowned out every other sound on the deck, but that was not what you said. You said, “Show me.”

She stood, unhurried, glass in hand. “Take a walk with me.” You followed, aware of every person watching, of Cata’s silent shadow two steps behind, and of the way your heart pounded against your ribs, trying to keep pace.

She led you to the prow of the yacht, past the glass walled gym and the helipad, out onto a private viewing deck where the rest of the party was a distant rumour. There was no one else up here, the wind caught your hair and the edges of Alexia’s shirt, untucking it slightly, exposing a bare inch of stomach that glowed under the lighting.

She leaned against the rail, folded her arms loosely, and looked at you as if waiting for the next move. For the first time, you realised she was maybe as uncertain as you were about how the rest of this would go.

You cleared your throat, “So, what do you want to know?”

She gestured to the empty air between you, as if the night itself was the question, “Start with something true.”

You swallowed, tried not to think of her mouth or the hum of the car, or the fact that you’d spent weeks replaying her name in your head until it made almost no sense. “I’m terrible at parties,” you said, surprising yourself with the confession.

She smiled, not in the predatory way, but with a slow warmth that made her eyes crinkle at the corners, “You’re doing better than most.”

You shrugged, suddenly shy, “That’s only because I don’t care what these people think.”

“Is that so?” she stepped closer, angling her body to block the wind, “Does it matter what I think?”

You considered it for a second, then, “Yes.”

She nodded as if she’d known it already, stepped forward until you were pinned by the intensity of her, the hush between your bodies as taut as cello wire. “I’ve been trying not to think about you,” she said, as if reading the lines of your own private screenplay. “It hasn’t worked.”

A laugh caught in your throat, unsteady, “I figured you would have plenty of distractions.”

She didn’t smile. Instead, she extended her hand, palm up, inviting, and after a moment’s hesitation you took it. She squeezed, her grip warm and dry, and drew you closer until your hips touched the railing and the heat of her arm pressed yours.

“I lied, before,” Alexia said, voice pitched low. “I did want you to tell me your name. I still do.” You stared at her, the way the city lights painted bars of gold and blue along her jaw, the sincerity unguarded in her eyes. Her thumb traced the line of your wrist, patient, “You don’t have to.”

For a moment you were six years old, hiding under the kitchen table from your mother’s temper, unheard and unseen until you wanted to be. The urge to withhold was a muscle, one you’d trained since girlhood. But here, in the wind and the hush and the unyielding steadiness of Alexia’s hand, you wanted the opposite.

You told her your name. It came out quieter than you meant, small, like you had to try it out for both of you at once.

She repeated it, tried its weight on her tongue, then, “It suits you,” like it was something valuable, a keepsake she’d been hoping for.

Her thumb lingered, the movement slowing as she watched your reaction, then she leaned in, brushed your cheek with the side of her knuckle. For a second, you thought she might kiss you again, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for it, or the kind of night spent in the blast radius of Alexia’s attention.

Instead, she let the moment stretch, the two of you suspended in the hush of approaching midnight, city lights flickering, the yacht’s gentle sway pulling you both out to sea, metaphorically or otherwise.

You said it again, your own name, like maybe this time it would count more.

She smiled, wider now, the kind of smile that could build bridges or break ribs, and for a moment you saw the edges of the woman you’d met in the car, the one with a whole private world hidden behind calculated calm and jokes that always landed halfway between tease and dare.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and you didn’t know if she was talking about the name or simply standing here beside her without stepping away.

Behind you, the city was already a collection of distant lights. Up here, you didn’t feel watched, or judged, or anything except anchored to the spot. You’d forgotten what that was like, to be in a place and not want to be anywhere else.

You leaned on the railing. Alexia joined you, her shoulder pressed to yours in a way you didn’t hate. She looked at the water, then at you, something thoughtful shading her face. “What do you want, really?” she asked, and for a split second you didn’t know if she meant here, now, on this deck, or in the cosmic sense.

You thought of your answer, surprised at how easy it was, “I want to do something that isn’t about what anyone else wants.”

Alexia’s gaze flickered, as if she’d been waiting for that, “And what would that look like?” Her voice was softer, the competitive edge blunted by something that felt damn close to hope.

You considered the question. There was a time you would’ve answered with the first clever thing to come to mind, but now, wind in your face, her gaze locked on yours, you went for honesty. “I don’t know yet,” you said, “But I think I’d like to find out.”

She nodded, as if this was the best answer she’d ever heard.

You looked at her, really looked, and realised that for all her show and sharpness she was just as curious about the next step as you were. “Show me a trick, then,” you said, and her face split wide, delighted.

“I was making an innuendo”

“What makes you think i didn’t know that?” She was closer now, her face a question. For a long moment all you heard was the wind rushing past the railing and the hollow thump of your heart under your ribs.

She leaned in, her lips finding yours as if the answer to every riddle was hidden in your mouth. This time the kiss was the opposite of the car, no performance, no urgency, a long slow hush that pulled at your bones. She kissed you like she wanted to remember every detail, taste every secret, build the anticipation to a point so bright it burned through all the layers you hid yourself under.

When it broke, she kept her face close to yours, breathing in the same inch of air. "You going to leave just as quick this time," she said, and you had to laugh, because you recognised your own pattern even as she named it.

"Maybe I like the chase," you said, and she traced her fingertip along your jaw, not quite smiling.

"Me too."

The world fell away, the city, the yacht, the crowd, until it was just you and her and the pressure of her hand against your lower back. Alexia drew you in until your hips rested together, her body angled around yours like a shield. You felt something unclench in your chest. The wind lashed at your hair, and she smoothed it behind your ear with unnecessary care.

You could see now that nothing about her was casual, not really. Every gesture, from the careless way she drank to the way she held you, was a tic of discipline learned so early it became invisible. She was always running a calculation, how much to reveal, how much to risk, how close to get before she startled herself into retreat.

You didn't pull away. Instead, you asked, "What now.. Boss?"

She smirked, let her hands drift down your arms, fingers trailing heat, "Sometimes," she said, "the trick is there isn't one."

You felt her smile against your cheek, the slow, coiling satisfaction of a plan coming together. Then her hands were at the backs of your thighs, and in one smooth motion, she scooped you up, your legs reflexively circling her hips. You laughed, startled and delighted, but the sound dissolved when she pressed you into the wall of a stairwell, her mouth capturing yours, hard and slick with intent.

You clung to her, fingers threaded in the fine hair at her nape, only distantly aware of the world beyond her, the city a smear of colour in the porthole window, the thudding bass of the party below now just a private drumline for the two of you. She kissed you with a kind of greedy discipline, her mouth coaxing yours open, teeth gentle but insistent, tongue sliding hot against yours until you forgot to breathe.

She carried you down, footfalls muffled by expensive carpeting, the darkness pressing in close and intimate. At the bottom of the stairs, she manoeuvred you through a heavy door before letting it swing shut behind you. The click of the lock was a perfect, surgical sound. You were alone, the hush of the room thick and absolute.

She set you down your back thudding softly onto a mattress that could have slept four. She loomed over you, all dress shirt and precision lines, the heat of her body radiating over your own. You reached for her, and she let you, gathering your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head on the bed, her mouth returning to yours, then to your neck, then lower, each kiss a claim.

You arched into her, thighs falling open, and she slid between them, grinding in slow, deliberate pulses that made you whimper. She was all pressure and rhythm, the fabric of her trousers rough against the thin fabric of your shorts, each movement a study in controlled violence.

She never let up, never released your wrists, just moved her mouth lower, teeth scraping lightly at your collarbone, then the edge of your breast peaking out the side of your tank top. She shifted, stripping you carefully, exposing you to the cool air and to her.

She took her time then, as if mapping your body for later use, hands and mouth and tongue leaving a trail of heat from your ribs to your hips to the inside of your knee. She was patient, so patient, the kind of patience that only made you want her more, until you were writhing beneath her, pleading wordlessly for her to close the final distance.

She did, eventually. She knelt between your legs and slid her hands up, thumbs tracing the sharp lines of your pelvic bone before pressing your knees wider. Her mouth was a question, and your answer was in the way your back arched, the way your hands found her hair and pulled. She licked slow at first, almost lazy, but when you gasped, she smiled into you, then licked again, harder, faster, tongue and fingers working in unison until your vision went white and the only thing you felt was her mouth, her tongue, the burning pleasure that built and broke, built and broke, until you unravelled so violently you nearly sobbed her name.

Alexia gave you no room to recover. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes gone almost black, hair a mess from your grip. She slid off the bed to her feet, unhurried, pulling you to the edge with one hand under your arm.

She then paused to look at you really look, as though you were something rare she’d found washed up on the sand. You lay there, breathless, skin prickling with the rush of exposure, and for a second you wondered if she’d make you wait for it, if she’d force you to beg. But she only smiled, a crooked, open hunger, and slowly began to work open the buttons of her shirt from top to bottom slowly.

She wore nothing underneath, the sight was enough to make your mouth go dry, the lines of her body sharp and golden under the room’s dim light. She was sculpted, almost severe, the kind of body that came from discipline and war with herself. She stood at the edge of the bed, letting you stare, and when you reached for her, she didn’t slap your hand away, but caught it, kissed your wrist, and pressed your palm to her toned stomach.

“Good?” she asked.

You nodded, unable to manage a syllable.

“Want more?”

Your voice was ragged, “Yes.”

She bent to kiss you, slow and exploratory, her whole weight pressing you into the mattress. She tasted of whiskey and salt, and her hands roamed your body as if memorising every detail for later. When she broke the kiss, she nipped your bottom lip, then traced her tongue along the seam of your mouth, teasing until you were shaking with want.

“I have a strap,” she murmured, voice rough with intent. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded, throat tight. Your gaze locked onto her as she turned toward the dresser, the drawer slid open with a whisper, and her fingers brushed against the leather, the buckles, the polished metal. She lifted it out like it was something sacred, something dangerous.

You watched, breath shallow, as she stepped out of her trousers, the fabric pooling at her ankles before she kicked them aside. Her underwear followed, black lace discarded without ceremony. The strap was already in her hands, the harness fitting snug against her hips with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. The way she adjusted the straps, fingers skillful, movements precise made your pulse hammer in your throat. There was no hesitation, no fumbling. Just the quiet authority of someone who knew exactly what she wanted.

Your lungs locked when she turned, when the mattress dipped under her weight, when her knees bracketed your skull like the jaws of something beautiful and inevitable. The words came low, scraped raw, “I want your tongue.” You obeyed without thought, extending it flat, exposed, a living offering.

Then her hips began their movement, deliberate, her pressing the tip on your tongue. Each roll of her body drew a slow, wet path from the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth, her breath hitching when you flicked instinctively against her, a betrayal of control neither of you acknowledged.

You watched her hips move, the liquid confidence there, the way she didn’t treat you like a prop but like an accomplice, an equal participant in whatever this was between the two of you. She made a small, approving sound as you adjusted angle, depth, pressure, all of it on instinct, as if your own body ran algorithms to anticipate what she’d like most.

She kept her hand in your hair, not to force or dominate, but to feel each trembling, hungry movement you made. The slick, silicone weight of her slid over your tongue, filled your mouth, and each time your lips dove deeper, the muscles of her legs tensed around your head, thighs caging you in the dark. Her breath came ragged, every inhale a shudder that vibrated through her skin to yours, her composure cracked and light poured through the seams.

She looked down at you, hair falling across one cheek, brows knit in focus, an expression you’d never seen on her before. It was completely unguarded, almost raw. The knowledge that you had done this unravelled the perfect Alexia, lit you up from the inside. You doubled down, hollowing your cheeks, flattening your tongue, letting her fuck the softness of your mouth at her own pace.

She started slow, a testing roll of her hips, but soon she found the rhythm she liked, thrust, grind, retreat each stroke making her breath catch at the top, mouth slack and beautiful. You gripped her ass, pulled her closer, and Alexia let her head tip back, a perfect, silent moan written across her throat, the line of her jaw sharp under the pressure.

"Jesus," she muttered, the word both a warning and a surrender. You took her deeper, feeling the fullness in your mouth, the slight burn at the corners of your jaw. She liked that, liked it even more when your breath came short and needy. Every time you tried for air, she’d slow, let you catch it, then start again, showing you that patience you’d already learned from her hands and her tongue.

The world narrowed to the taste and the weight of her, the shuddering in her thighs, the salty sweat on your tongue, the quiet, desperate noises that slipped out of her despite every attempt to restrain them. You lived for those noises, for the messy, unprofessional honesty of them.

Her hands cradled your head gentle, then rough, then gentle again. At one point she cupped your jaw, thumb stroking the hinge, and you nearly broke from how careful she was, even when fucking your mouth. Every inch of her screamed confidence, but the way she held your face, the way she watched you, none of it was cruel. You realised then, in the dark, that you wanted her to break, to lose every scrap of composure with you.

You forced your eyes open, met her gaze, and watched the exact moment her control snapped. She swore, a soft Catalan curse, and pumped into your mouth with a rhythm that was almost punishing, almost needy. You let her, relaxed your jaw, took her as deep as you could and then further. The base of the harness kissed your lips, the heavy drag of it forcing your tongue flat and your eyes watering, but you didn’t stop. You gagged, for real this time, an involuntary spasm that made her flinch like she might pull away, but you gripped her hips tighter, pushed back, let the embarrassment burn through every inch of you and transform into something shameless.

She watched you, transfixed. You knew it wasn’t about dominance or humiliation, Alexia was too careful, too precise for that. It was about proof, about seeing how much of her you’d take, how much you wanted, how much you could stand to bear for the taste and feel of her. You blinked tears from your lashes, swallowed around her, and when the next wave hit, you welcomed it, the fullness and the ache, the sweet stretch of being bruised open for her.

She rocked her hips, short and sharp, a rhythm you felt all the way to your core, and with each pass she said your name, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a growl. You lost yourself in the sound of it, in the heat, in the pure intent of her body moving with yours, for you, because of you.

Eventually her pace faltered, hips slowing, and she dragged herself out, slow and slick. The silicone glistened, your spit threading in lines between you and the tip, and she wiped it on your tongue, a final, deliberate press. You licked your lips, Alexia smirked down at you, “Atta girl”

Your hands found her thighs, the muscle there dense and unyielding under your palms. You traced upward, over the curve of her ass, the harness straps cutting neat lines across it, then up and over her hip bones, then the chiseled marble of her abdomen, each ridge rising to meet your fingertips as they climbed.

Her breasts were softer than the rest of her, a contrast that made you pause, palming her breasts, and you flicked your thumb across a nipple. It hardened instantly, and the noise she made was almost a laugh, almost a threat. You rolled it, pinched, rolled again, and caught the way her jaw clenched, the way her hips rocked forward in reflex.

The cock bobbed just inches from your mouth, shining, and you licked it again, slow, letting the tip bump your lower lip, then your cheek, then your tongue. You looked up to see Alexia watching you really watching, pupils huge, face flushed with the kind of hunger you’d never had directed at you before.

You grinned up at her, hands sliding down her thighs to brace yourself and guide her backwards until, you sat up, chest to chest with her, and held her gaze as you wrapped a hand around the length of her with the other you encouraged her to lay back. You put your leg over her hips and guided it between your legs. You were still shaking, still slick, still wide open from before, but the pressure of the harness against you sent a fresh bolt of heat through your entire body. You lined the cock up, rolled your hips down, and took the whole length in one, trembling motion.

Alexia groaned, and you felt her hands grip your waist, holding you steady as you started to move. The first few strokes were slow, measured, you both watching the way her cock disappeared inside you, the way your bodies slotted together. 

She let you set the pace, her hands resting on the small of your back, just above the swell of your ass, anchoring you in place. You started to ride her, slow at first, then faster, watching her face for every twitch, as you bounced on her lap.

Your hands found her shoulders, and you braced yourself, using her body as leverage. Every time you dropped down, you could feel her fill you, the thickness of the cock stretching you out perfectly, and the soft rub of the harness against your clit.

It was better than any other strap you’d ever taken, because Alexia made it feel like an extension of her will, her control, her desire for you. She didn’t just fuck you, she orchestrated your pleasure, built it up with every roll of her hips and every hungry sound from her throat.

You started to perform for her, grinding down harder, circling your hips at the bottom of each stroke, letting your head tip back so your hair fell in a wild curtain, your breasts bouncing with every movement. You moaned, loud and shameless, and her hands clenched tighter at your waist. You could feel her watching, totally focused, as you rode her, faster and harder, the slap of your skin against her thighs echoing through the room.

“Fuck,” she hissed, a wild, broken sound, and you rode her even harder, chasing sensation, chasing that next impossible edge. She sat suddenly and twisted a nipple with her mouth, teeth scraping, and you nearly lost it, your whole body lighting up with pleasure and pain, the sensations blurring until you were nothing but nerve endings and hunger.

You pulled her in for a kiss, biting her lower lip, still rolling your hips against her in a slow grind, when the ceiling above you thumped. You both stilled, a beat of silence, then voices, sharp and overlapping, somewhere high on the yacht. Alexia's eyes cut to the door.

A single gunshot. Two screams, then nothing.

She was off the bed before the echo died, the harness hitting the floor with a heavy buckle clank. She dressed fast, the efficient movements of someone who had done this before. She was pulling open a drawer, rummaging, when she said, without looking at you, "When I leave, lock the door. Don't open it until I tell you." She found what she was looking for. You didn't see what it was. The door clicked shut behind her, and you were still sitting there, flushed and breathless and completely alone.

The lock clicked, then silence, not true silence.

The engines still hummed beneath the yacht, but inside the cabin the quiet felt oppressive.

You stared at the door, your pulse was still racing, only now for an entirely different reason.

Another shout echoed from somewhere above, closer this time.

You slid off the bed, hastily pulling your clothes back into place with hands that suddenly refused to cooperate. Your fingers fumbled with buttons you'd managed perfectly well only minutes earlier.

Another dull thud reverberated through the ceiling, not another gunshot, footsteps lots of them heavy and running.

You crossed the room before stopping yourself, Alexia had been very clear. Lock the door. You checked it anyway, locked.

Your eyes drifted around the cabin for the first time, it wasn't just a guest suite.

The shelves held books in three different languages. A chess board sat half finished on a side table. One wall displayed framed photographs of coastlines and mountains instead of people.

Nothing about the room felt temporary this was hers, another voice barked somewhere outside, firm and controlled.

You couldn't make out the words, then "CLEAR!"

It was Misa, you recognised her voice from earlier.

Another answered almost immediately, "Port side secure!" that was Patri.

You frowned, they sounded calm not frightened and certainly trained. Your stomach tightened, Alexia hadn't been exaggerating about her world. This wasn't some glamorous fantasy she'd built around herself. It was real, every bit of it.

The sound of footsteps approached your door, you instinctively stepped backwards as someone stopped outside. A shadow crossed beneath the gap, your breathing slowed to almost nothing.

A single knock, three short taps, not Alexia, you didn't move, the was handle tested once, then whoever it was walked away.

Only after the footsteps disappeared did you realise you'd been holding your breath. Minutes crawled by or maybe only seconds time had become impossible to judge.

Then voices again, this time much closer.

"...one in custody."

"...sweep the lower deck."

"...check every cabin."

You caught Alexia's voice among them, steady and completely unshaken.

"No unnecessary casualties." A pause. "I want answers before sunrise."

You closed your eyes, she sounded exactly the same as she had ordering a drink earlier that evening, that frightened you more than the gunshot had.

Eventually, the voices faded, a key turned in the lock, your entire body tensed. The door opened and Alexia stepped inside, her white shirt sleeve was rolled to the elbow now, and there was a faint smear of blood across one cuff you couldn't tell if it was hers.

She closed the door quietly behind her, for the first time since you'd met her she looked tired, not physically, just heavy.

Her eyes found yours immediately, "You listened."

"I wasn't exactly tempted to ignore you."

The corner of her mouth twitched, "Good."

You looked at the stain on her sleeve, "What happened?"

Alexia followed your gaze, she glanced down at the blood almost absently, "Someone made a very poor decision."

"Is everyone okay?"

There was a brief pause, "My people are."

The wording wasn't lost on you, you took a careful step closer, "Alexia..."

She looked at you, really looked at you, the composed facade she'd worn all evening had cracked just enough for you to glimpse the woman underneath.

"I told you," she said quietly. “My world is... complicated."

You thought back to the party, it had looked almost normal, and now you understood why they all watched the exits.

Why Cata searched every bag herself.

Why Alexia always seemed to know exactly where everyone was.

"This happens often?"

Alexia was honest, "Often enough that everyone knows what to do." The answer settled heavily between you, she reached for a clean shirt folded over a chair, unbuttoning the stained one with practiced movements. Then she stopped, "You should leave."

You blinked, "What?"

"Cata will take you ashore."

"And you?"

"I'll be busy."

There it was again, the invisible wall she'd built around herself, the one that separated her life from everyone else's.

You studied her for a long moment before asking quietly, "Are you trying to protect me...or push me away?"

Alexia opened the door. Cata was already there, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable.

"Cata will take you home."

Mollet del Vallès, Spain — December 2025

"Mama?" Alexia asks softly as she pushes the front door to her childhood home open.

"We're in here!" Eli calls from the kitchen.

The catalana sighs lightly, toeing off her shoes at the door and dropping her keys on the counter as she enters the well-loved walls of her youth.

Her little sister Alba sits at the table in sight of the kitchen peeling potatoes.

Good. Both of them are here as Alexia requested.

Alba raises an eyebrow when the midfielder's gaze crosses hers. "Why the demand of family lunch the day you get back?" she asks in lieu of a heartfelt greeting.

Alexia snorts. "Love you too."

The younger catalana rolls her eyes. "You know I love you, otherwise I would have been breaking down your door for my favorite silk top you still have in your possession two weeks after promising to return it the next morning! So, spill. Why the urgency?"

"I have something I want to talk to you both about." Alexia turns to watch her mother chopping vegetables in the kitchen, ears tuned towards her daughters but focus clearly split. "Mama," she says, pulling her gaze up.

"Ale?" she asks softly, wiping her hands on a towel and stepping out of the kitchen. "What is it?"

"Let's sit," the footballer says with a sigh as she heads into the living room.

Alba looks concerned when she ventures into the room, settling on the couch across from the space that at one time housed their father's recliner but now sits an updated model, something their mother picked out a couple years back at Alexia's insistence that she was funding an upgrade to the mismatched furniture of her childhood.

Alexia blows out a breath, eyes focused on her mother and sister sitting still across from her. "I have some things I need to tell you both," she murmurs softly.

"That sounds bad," the youngest Putellas chimes in, a frown on her face.

"Shh, Alba. Let her talk," Eli rebukes gently, a hand landing on her youngest daughter's knee to soften the correction.

"This year has been hard," the footballer begins. "Well, it's all been hard for a while."

Seeing her mother's concerned but caring eyes, Alexia continues forward despite the lump in her throat.

"I started seeing that therapist," she states. The catalana is having trouble finding the path into this conversation.

"I think it's been good for you," Eli says quietly. "You seem lighter, filla. And the family has loved seeing you more."

Alexia nods. "I've been working through some things. And Isla, my therapist, thinks it is time I share it with you guys."

"Ale, what is it?" Alba asks, her thumb nail bitten between her teeth as anxiety seeps in the longer this gets drawn out.

"I—" Alexia starts, and then stops. "I love Papa," the midfielder starts, "his death was devastating."

Eli nods in agreement, eyes searching as she tries to piece together what Alexis hasn't said yet.

"But he left me with this huge secret of his, and I have been drowning trying to carry it."

Silence takes over the home.

"A secret, Alex?"

"He…he took out a second loan on the house," Alexia whispers, eyes closing as her hands press together tightly. "To pay for my football. The National Team and all the travel."

Alba exhales shakily. "Okay, that's not great. But surely we can pay it off now, right? I mean all your sponsors—" the younger woman says.

"Alba!" Eli states, her gaze still locked on her eldest, "loans don't just one day start needing to be paid. Alexia has been carrying this since Papa died, haven't you?"

The footballer's jaw ticks. She nods.

"Why," Eli whispers desperately, "why didn't you tell me, Alexia? I would have handled it."

Alexia shakes her head, tears starting to gather because she knows this is the biggest gut punch of the secret her father saddled her with.

"Why, Ale? I thought we were all pulling together, supporting each other, making it through. But that whole time you were just suffering by yourself? Why would you do that when I was right there? When we would have figured it out together?"

Her mother sounds incredibly hurt, face pinched in pain at the realization of what her eldest has suffered through.

"Because he asked me to keep it a secret," the catalana whispers tightly. "Before he died, Papa made me promise to leave you two out of it. To handle it myself in his absence."

Eli swears.

Loudly.

Her anger is evident, hot and fuming.

Alexia can count the times her Mami has sworn in front of her on one hand it is so rare.

So for her to be swearing now? It has Alexia tied up in knots.

"You fucker," her mom growls.

The footballer blinks. Once. Twice. Three times in disbelief.

Alba looks stunned. "Mama? Did you just call Ale a 'fucker'?"

"No," Eli replies instantly. "I called your papa one. I cannot believe he would do that. That he would demand so much."

Alexia sighs in relief. Her mother isn't angry at her like she feared.

"How dare he. How dare he!" Eli continues. "We made you, Ale. We raised you from a baby. We spent so many nights up talking about the dreams and hopes we had for you like all new parents do. And he does this? He went behind my back for years doing this. And instead of coming clean before he died, he put that weight on your shoulders. Why? Because he thought mine couldn't hold it? But an eighteen-year-old could?"

Alexia looks down at her feet, hands clasped between her knees. She doesn't have the answers to her mother's rant. Because she has asked herself these questions too. And silence is all that has greeted her in return.

"Men. Fucking men thinking they know better. I handled all the finances. He sure had no problem with me paying the bills or balancing the checkbook, but this, this, I couldn't know about?" Eli continues muttering under her breath, brow furrowed.

Alba locks eyes with her sister, eyebrows raising in a silent 'you hearing this?'. Alexia isn't sure what to say or who to look at, her eyes flickering from her sister to her mother and back again.

Finally, Eli takes control of the conversation, having burned her anger back down to something that allows her to speak instead of just muttering in rage at her late husband and his harebrained ideas.

"Alexia, I'm so sorry you lived that. I'm sorry Jaume put any of that on you. You were a kid. A kid who just lost her father, and the last thing you should have had on your mind was repaying a loan. I want you to tell me exactly how much it was. I will repay you—"

"I don't want that," Alexia instantly argues. "I didn't tell you because of the money. I told you because…" she trails off softly.

"Because what?" Alba prompts after a few seconds of silence.

"Because in carrying his secret, it became mine too along the way. And to keep it, I started hiding everything from everyone, including myself."

"What else did you feel you had to hide, filla?" her mami asks in concern. "Did I say or do something that made you feel that way?"

"No," Alexia replies with a sigh. "It was just easier to shut every emotion, every thought, inside and keep pushing forward. I was afraid that if I let one little thing out the dam would break completely."

"Makes sense," Alba murmurs. "Still, how exhausting, no? Is that why you were always working so much?"

"To pay the loan," the older catalana agrees with a nod. "But also," she continues slowly, "staying busy left me less time to ruminate on it all. I was so mad at Papa. It felt like he protected you at my expense. Like he saddled me with this secret that was so big because he couldn't own up to what he did to Mama before he died. And it both stole my time to grieve what I lost and had me hating him when I never felt that before. It fucked me up," she admits.

"Alexia," Eli states, her usual motherly tone replaced by a level of distraughtness Alexia only heard after her Papa's death. "I am so sorry I didn't notice it. I should have. I am your mom. I should have pushed back when you came to me telling me you were getting that job at the supermarket after moving back home. I should have forced you into therapy like I did for Alba. I should have done so much more…"

The woman brings a hand up to cover her mouth as a sob escapes.

"Mama, no," Alexia replies, body slipping out of the chair to land on her knees as she shuffles the couple feet across the tile until she's knelt in front of where her mother sits on the couch. "I don't blame you. I don't even fully blame him. He took out the loan for me. For football. Not for gambling or buying shit we couldn't afford, but because he knew this was something that made me happy and he didn't want that to end for me. I just wish I knew of the sacrifice up front. I could have helped sooner. Maybe the stress wouldn't have affected his heart. Maybe—"

"Papa was sick," Alba cuts in. "His heart was always sick, Ale. Stop taking on blame where it shouldn't exist. We can all be mad at him and how he handled this situation but still love him. We can do both," she finishes, voice hitching.

The older catalana reaches her hand out, fingers curling around her little sister's in appreciation. This talk is difficult for everyone involved.

Alexia has shattered the image Alba and her Mama had about her Papa all these years. She has enlightened them to a struggle neither of them knew she was living through.

It's heavy.

Unbelievably heavy.

But Alba and her Mama don't shrink from it. They embrace her, pulling Alexia off the floor and into a group hug.

"My girl," Eli whispers, "you are so strong. So strong. Thank you for telling me."

"You're not mad?"

"Not at you. But I have some words for Papa when I get to the other side and see him again."

Alba chuckles wetly. "Tell him he's an idiot," she offers.

Alexia chokes on her laughter. "Tell him we miss him every day, even if he is an idiot," she adds.

Eli just tightens her arms around her girls, happy the truth has finally set Alexia free.

The footballer sighs, her forehead coming to rest on her mother's shoulder.

"You deserve to put yourself first for once, my girl," the older catalana murmurs. "Whatever that looks like."

In the past, Alexia would have probably let the silence take over there.

This time, though, she speaks what is on her mind and in her heart.

"I think—I think this is my last season with Barcelona."

The quiet is loud. A gasp from Alba fills it, the younger woman leaning back out of the group hug to look at her sister. "Really?"

Alexia nods. "I'm tired. I have given the club everything. I wanted to make the fans proud. And Papa. But I just don't feel like I have anything left in me anymore. My heart isn't in it the way it was before."

"What changed?" her mother asks softly.

"I think I have. My perspective has," the footballer replies honestly. "Therapy has helped me realize I can't drain myself to water everyone else and be surprised when I start withering from drought. And I can feel I am at that tipping point. I know I'm still in form. It's not that. It's that I don't want to hit a point where I resent the crest for what it demands to defend it. I have nothing left in the tank. I'm tired. So tired," she admits softly.

"Of course you are," Alba mutters quietly. "This team has been the biggest part of your world for the entirety of your adult life. That is a long commitment."

Alexia nods. "This team deserves a captain who will go to war for them. I have lived on the battle field for the past fourteen years. I'm done. I'm ready for the quiet. I'm ready to spend more off the football pitch than on it. I'm ready to build a life that will fill the next forty years with happiness instead of me draining out my soul for the sake of the club and fans and Papa and realizing on the other side of it all that all I have left is balugrana and an obsessive need to try and prove my worth to a man no longer here."

"Alexia, he loved the club. But he loved you a whole hell of a lot more than that badge. He is proud of you; you have nothing to prove. And the pride is not because you played with Barcelona all these years and hit the highest of football highs. But because you have stayed kind and loyal and humble. Because you still get flustered when someone compliments you in public. Because you notice when someone needs a hug or a laugh or a reminder of their importance. He would be so proud of the woman you have grown up to be," Eli finishes with a sniffle.

"And you're rich," Alba adds in cheekily. "And you do good with that money. A lot of good. My shoe collection thanks you very much."

"Alba," their mother states with a sigh, leaning back into the couch cushions. "I'm not sure where I went wrong with you…"

Alexia rolls her eyes but ruffles her little sister's hair.

The youngest Putellas complains with a groan, hands pushing out against Alexia in an attempt to push the midfielder off the couch.

"You have given enough," Eli reiterates, gaze steady. "You take care of what Alexia needs now. You make this choice with her and her alone in mind. This family has given plenty of blood, sweat, tears, and time to the club. There will be others to take up the torch in our absence. You prioritize you, my girl. And we will be here to support whatever that looks like next for you."

Alexia leans into her mother's side, body exhausted from the emotions that have been carried solo for so long and now finally are shared. "Okay," she whispers.

"So, what's next?" Alba asks, leaning into the other side of Alexia.

"Family lunch on Monday?" the midfielder answers with a shrug and smile.

Eli nods instantly. "I'll make all your favorites!"

Alexia bites her lip.

Alba's eyes narrow at the action. She knows her sister too well. "Ale," she drawls, "who is joining us for family lunch on Monday? You don't typically ask to plan—you just show up hungry after training."

"Jenni," the older catalana replies, a smile pulling up her lips.

The younger Putellas smirks.

There it is.

Eli gasps in excitement. "Jenni! Oh, I'll make her favorites," the older woman states, pushing up from the couch to grab a pencil and paper to plan out what she'll need to buy at the shop that morning.

"She loves her more than us," Alba whispers conspiratorially to Alexia as they watch their mother putter around the kitchen, humming happily to herself. "She flipped so quickly from making your favorite dishes to making Jenni's. How does it feel to be second-best?"

Alexia laughs. "Better than being third-best like you," the footballer teases, sticking her tongue out at her sister and cackling as she lunges away from Alba's swat.

Eli shakes her head as her daughters devolve back into little girls, chasing each other around the house as she finishes the food in the kitchen. If she closes her eyes she's transported twenty years back.

Alexia and Alba are laughing and shrieking in the backyard.

Her music is playing softly from the butter yellow radio on the kitchen counter.

Her Jaume is out back, his chuckle low and deep and warm as he yells out suggestions to Alba on how to take down the older and stronger Alexia.

A tear runs down her cheek.

Eli opens her eyes, back in the present where those shrieks from her daughters has now turned into them sitting on the couch, chatting about their lives.

The window in the kitchen is open, a portal to the past. But no crackling laughter filters in from the backyard this time.

Her husband is gone. He has been for years.

But looking at their girls, she sees him daily. In the way the sun catches Alexia's profile, her husband's nose and cheekbones fashioned on their eldest like she is his twin.And in how Alba goads and teases with that quick tongue of hers but is also the first to cross a room and pull someone into a hug, arms warm and welcoming, so much like her father.

Eli knew her husband wasn't perfect. His downfalls were not unknown to her. But it is a painful turning point when your children come to realize their parents are flawed. When their heroes turn into mortals in a single breath and you watch the awe turn into angst.

It is a part of growing up they should have experienced together: watching Alexia and Alba turn into young women trying to find their place in the world and then into adults full of confidence and surety.

Jaume wasn't here for either part. And that will always sting the most because he would have loved seeing these girls of his become the forces they are. He would have been at every match of Alexia's, from the early years with a crowd of only a hundred to her selling out Camp Nou and leading her team to Champions League titles. He would have been at every school event of Alba's where he got to see his baby leading the next generation of children into their futures. And he would have been the loudest cheer in the crowd for both.

She knows he must have been scared beyond measure at the end of his days that he would not get to be here to experience all the years to come.

How cruel is life to give you the chance to build up all your dreams and then take you from the world before having a chance to truly sit back and enjoy them?

She knows fear was a large part in his misstep with Alexia. He was always the one to take on their girls' problems and help fix them. He was the guiding light. So him pining everything to Alexia's chest in a crude hand-off of responsibility was not the action of the man she knew and loved for twenty-some years.

It was the action of a terrified man.

One who felt his place in the world slipping.

One who felt his reign of responsibility over this family he built coming to a shocking end when he wasn't ready to let go.

One who was trying to take care of all the things left on his to-do list from a hospital bed with a failing heart because his body had let him down so dramatically that the door was still off on the bathroom with his tools on the counter where he planned to fix before he landed in the hospital that day instead.

The door had made it back on the bathroom. Eli sighs as her eyes flick to the living room couch. Alexia had fixed the door when they all trudged home from the hospital with wet eyes and one more chair at the table than they now had bodies to fill.

Alexia covered the gaps. And Eli hadn't stopped it.

She should have insisted her eldest step back into her role as child.

But just as her girls were acclimating to losing their father, she too was learning to live without the person who stood by her side for twenty-two years. Eli was re-learning how to breathe when her source of oxygen had disappeared. And Alexia helped hold up the family while that happened. Somewhere along the way, it became hard to remember what it felt like before the footballer had taken over the seat as the head of the family.

Eli can see now the damage that oversight has caused. And while Jaume may have been the one to mend any physical problem in their family, Eli has always been the emotional fixer. She now knows exactly where she needs to put her focus this year: on helping Alexia through this likely last season and transitioning into whatever she decides comes next for her. She can do that. She will do that.

Blinking back the tears, the older catalana whispers out the window, "I love you still. Even through your imperfect actions and harebrained ideas. Our girl kept your promise and then some. She stepped up in ways I can't even comprehend. But she's earned this peace, no? She's earned the right to set down the responsibility she carries for everyone else and live only for herself for once. Wherever you are, Jaume, you help her feel your presence and love as she moves on from Barcelona, okay?"

Eli sighs when silence is all that greets her. The dead are terrible conversationalists, yet still she can't seem to stop herself from chatting to her late husband in this manner, always through her open kitchen window like she did so many years back when he was still flesh and bone and would throw a bright smile over his shoulder to her where she stood framed in the window.

The wind chime hanging from the small tree in the back sounds as a soft breeze runs across the yard.

A bird lands on the ledge, an inquisitive thing that tilts his head to the side, gaze steady on Eli's own. He blinks slowly at her before he takes flight and disappears in the blink of an eye.

"Thank you," she breathes out the window.

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

Madrid, Spain — January 2026

"I can't believe how fast this month has gone by," Alexia sighs into Jenni's shoulder.

They're curled up on that floral couch in Soledad's living room, the late afternoon sun warm and golden across the space.

The air is filled with the quiet peace of a household stuck in the clutches of a late day nap.

Jenni's hands run through the catalana's hair, nails scratching in that deliciously satisfying way.

Alexia moans lightly, face pressing up until her lips land on the smooth skin of the striker's neck. "I don't want you to go," she murmurs. "I want to freeze time right here."

Jenni chuckles softly. "That's not how life works, querida. But how I wish it was," the dark-haired woman sighs, nuzzling into the catalana's hair as her other hand splays across the younger woman's back.

"I think I'm ready," the midfielder whispers after a beat.

"Ready for what?" the striker asks curiously.

"Ready to sit down and truly think about what comes after Barça. Ready for what comes after releasing that responsibility to my Papa and my family and the badge."

Jenni inhales. "So this is really it? Your final season?"

"I think so," Alexia replies. "I have the plus one, but if the season goes well, I want to go out on a high instead of chasing one more year. I don't want to leave the team in a bad spot, so if the wheels start falling off, maybe I'll reconsider activating it. But I'm not sure I can keep pretending I have the fire to carry this club anymore in the way it needs."

"No decisions have to be made right now," Jenni murmurs softly. "You see how the season unwinds and decide from there, yeah?"

Alexia nods into her chest, sighing lightly as she feels the madrileña's arms tighten around her.

"And if it feels right," the older woman continues quietly, "then you take that next step. Clubs will be salivating to sign you," she chuckles. "It's going to be a feeding fest to attract you to their team."

Alexia groans. "I haven't had to deal with joining a new team in fourteen years! I'm about to start itching in discomfort just thinking about it."

Jenni laughs. "You poor thing. Being the favorite is hard, no?" she teases.

The catalana nips at her neck in response.

A sharp inhale answers, fingers tightening where the live in Alexia's hair and the small of her back. "Fuck," she whimpers, hips grinding down involuntarily.

"Shh," Jenni murmurs, fingers relaxing much to her girlfriend's dismay.

"You shush," Alexia responds petulantly as the striker lets the air settle back to calm instead of pushing things further. Jenni's Mama is down the hall; the catalana knows this. But still, the knowledge that Jenni will be headed to the airport to head back to Mexico in only a few hours' time has her aching for more.

"Did I not take care of you enough last night, cariño?" the madrileña purrs.

When the catalana doesn't verbally respond but just grinds her hips down, Jenni laughs.

"I would have thought five orgasms in one night would leave you satisfied for a least 24 hours," the dark-haired woman teases, dropping an affectionate kiss to the side of Alexia's head.

"Not when I know we are going to be apart for so long," the midfielder whispers vulnerably.

"I know, love. But we have our plan, right? We will see how your season pans out and what you want to do. My contract ends in December too. We have some time to figure out what makes sense for us from there. We know it is this, though, don't we?" she murmurs gently. "Us back together and sticking through the ups and downs life throws at us instead of running and hiding?"

"Is it wrong to say that I think us being back together has given me the strength to walk away from Barcelona?"

Jenni pulls back slightly. "In what way?" she asks, curiosity swimming in her eyes.

Alexia shifts, the two now sitting upright side-by-side.

A faint shuffling sounds from down the hallway.

Andy's paws softly pad down the tile. The little dog has been practically glued to Soledad since she has returned from the hospital. Recovery has gone exceptionally well, but still the chihuahua stays as the older woman's shadow.

The catalana reaches down to pull the white pup up into her lap, cuddling him close. She can feel Jenni's eyes on her. A soft smile greets her when her gaze lands on green irises. "Having you back in my life, envisioning the future I want with you, it has given me clarity and perspective I lacked before. Football was everything, especially in the years after we broke up and when I was pushing so hard to come back from my ACL injury. It was football all the time. Losing everything when I felt like I was at the pinnacle broke something in me. I spent so many years feeling like this game saved me and that I owed it something in return as gratitude. But that isn't healthy. And it isn't true. I don't owe football or Barça or Papa anything but being myself. And the me of today wants you and a life that thrives outside the bounds of the pitch more than ever before."

Jenni reaches over, hand grasping Alexia's and squeezing tightly. She's at a loss for words.

The growth Alexia has shown this year has been so wonderful to watch, but it also has helped her own healing in a way she never could have imagined. Because it reiterated what others have been trying to tell her for a while now. The breakup was not because Jenni was broken; it was not because she wasn't enough. But life and history and demons not addressed have a way of slithering into even the smallest cracks even if a relationship is full of love.

And that is where their individual healing journeys repaired not just the damage from their breakups but also the underlying structural issues allowing those tiny cracks in the first place.

"You, my girl," a voice states quietly from behind the couch as Soledad enters the space, "deserve happiness more than just about anyone else. And you two together are going to thrive on whatever comes next. Because you have your tether back, your person. And that makes anything the world throws at you conquerable."

The catalana's gaze holds Jenni's, eyes relaying just how true that statement lands for her now in particular when she's on the precipice of a major change in not just her career but in her life. Barcelona—Spain—has been all she's known. But once she pulls the trigger to walk away from the club of her childhood, she will be forced into a new environment in a new country.

The unknown is scary. Change is too.

"Whatever comes next, we handle it together," Jenni interjects into the silence with a small, soft smile, stopping the midfielder's spiral of overwhelm with that simple sentence.

"Together," Alexia affirms with a nod, feeling in her bones that word settle deep and solid into the foundation for any change to come.

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

Monterrey, Mexico — February 2026

Jenni yawns as she stays up in the late hours of the night, struggling against the fatigue from her early morning training session. Her apartment is bathed only in the lit up skyline of the city, most people already tucked into bed.

She waits, phone in hand until finally a FaceTime request rings through.

Flicking on the side lamp so she will be visible on video, the madrileña answers the call.

"Hola!" she grins.

"You're entirely too cheery for how early it is here," she gets grumbled back at her.

"Aye, chica, you agreed to this time," Jenni replies with a laugh.

"I regret everything," Vicky grumbles, the video feed jostling as she walks.

Jenni lets the silence settle, aware it is early in Barcelona and the young winger is out of bed much sooner than she usually would be otherwise.

A bell chimes as Vicky pushes through a door, the video switching from a view of the lightning Barcelona sky to the dark, warm wood tones of the local bakery Jenni spent far too much money in during her time in the city.

"Which one?" the younger madrileña mutters, her face coming into view for a second before she flips to the front-facing camera, presenting Jenni a view of the glass bakery cases filled with delicious pastries.

"Xuixo," Jenni replies instantly, lips wrapping around the Catalan word like it's home.

Vicky snorts. "You're gonna have to order. I can't pronounce that."

She presents the worker the phone, Jenni's face lit as she greets the worker in Catalan. "Two xuixo, please - one traditional crema catalana and one chocolate. Your best looking ones, yes?" she adds with a dimpled smile. "It's for a birthday surprise."

The worker nods and carefully selects the two pastries under Jenni's watchful eye, Vicky pressing her phone up against the glass.

The young footballer pays, muttering Jenni better Zelle her by the end of the day with extra for her delivery fee.

Jenni snorts. "Pay you, chica? You are our kid, no? We do things for free for family," she goads.

Vicky rolls her eyes but smirks. "Well, Papá," she emphasizes, "then I expect a full sushi experience as my free birthday treat."

The older madrileña chuckles. "You've been spending too much time with Pina," she counters. "How we raised that girl to have such expensive taste is beyond me."

"Have you seen Ale?" Vicky asks incredulously, eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Her entire closet is expensive taste."

Jenni laughs. The girl is right. "You have the note I sent?" she asks quietly as Vicky finishes the drive to the Barcelona training grounds.

"Yes. And no I didn't open it up to read it," the young girl states grumpily.

"Good, my threat worked then, hmm?"

"I doubt it's true. You can't possibly get me blacklisted at my favorite tapas bar here in Barcelona. Surely your reach isn't that far, right? I mean you haven't lived here for years."

"Want to test your theory?"

"No," Vicky sighs. "You are devious under that cheerful ruse," she states.

"I'm protective of Ale," Jenni answers instead. "Her privacy is worth the threat. Even if it is to you," the older woman states gently. "But thank you for respecting my ask. And for helping out this morning. It means a lot, Vicky."

"You make Mama happy, you make me happy," the young winger states with a yawn as she pushes into the locker room and walks towards Alexia's locker. "Just here?"

"Yes," the striker replies. "With the note."

"I've got you, tía," Vicky states, dropping the note and pastry bag on top of it for Alexia to discover first thing when the captain arrives here shortly, a full hour before training starts.

"Money is sent your way," Jenni tells her quietly as the winger slowly walks back out to her car.

"Mmm, you're a good one," the younger madrileña mumbles with her eyes closed as she leans her driver's seat back to catch another hour of sleep before she's absolutely required to be in the locker room. "She's going to be so surprised. Good thing she arrives so early because she is probably going to FaceTime you for like thank you phone sex or something since the locker room will be empty."

Jenni snorts. "Don't talk about us and sex in the same sentence. It's weird."

"Don't have sex in the showers after we win a Nations League trophy then," she winger replies, one eye opening to stare down the older striker.

Jenni chokes. "We didn't—" she starts.

"Mhmm," Vicky interjects, not believing a single word. "I'm not upset about it. I won the bet!" she states with a large grin as her eye closes.

"Wait! What? What bet?" Jenni exclaims. "There was no—"

"Love you," the young winger cuts in, ignoring the question and deflection. "Make sure you two end your session before twenty to the hour, that is when Irene always shows up and everyone follows quickly after her."

The dark-haired madrileña splutters out a "That's not—" before Vicky ends the call with a cackle.

Jenni sighs and looks up to the ceiling, head shaking at how annoying some of these teenagers her and Alexia have acquired can be. She should have message Clara instead.

Pina was definitely out of the question. Because that would have brought Cata and likely Patri into the fold, and the last thing Jenni wants is for this little birthday surprise of hers for Alexia to be spoiled before it ever had a chance to get off the ground.

Vicky seemed like the logical choice. Someone close to Alexia and therefore willing to lose a little sleep for her happiness. Someone who knows them and their history, even if an abridged version, and why Jenni would want to do this for the older catalana.

Mapi or Irene would have been logical choices in the past. But Mapi and them will never be what they once were, even if they can be cordial and professional on the pitch. And Irene is juggling two kids and a wife; she has enough on her plate.

Torre didn't even cross the striker's mind until this second and she groans at her overlook. Marta would have been the preferred choice. Quiet, discrete. She knows them better than almost anyone on the team.

But Jenni chose Vicky.

Cheeky, annoying, romantic-at-heart-even-if-she-denies-it-Vicky.

At some point Jenni will have to alert Alexia to the fact that likely more than a few Spanish teammates think they had sex in the showers after the final match. And that there was some sort of bet going on involving them and money changing hands between at least a few of their "kids".

That's something to address right? At some point?

Jenni pushes that aside for now, head lolling back into the couch as she blink aggressively in an effort to push her body to stay awake until Alexia will arrive at the training grounds at the same time she does every day like clockwork. It is a routine she has lived for more years than she has fingers on her hands at this point.

Alexia does FaceTime her.

They do not have phone sex.

At least not then.

Vicky is five minutes late the younger madrileña informs Jenni via text later that morning. She sends a Zelle request with the memo "For emotional trauma. Mama made me run a lap for every minute I was late…all because you and your sappy heart live an ocean away and couldn't pick up your own pastries."

Jenni adds another zero to the amount when she wakes up, deciding it is well worth the vision that greeted her on the other end of Alexia's FaceTime call.

The catalana's smile stretched wide while her eyes sparkled with excitement at how Jenni pulled off her birthday surprise while being thousands of miles away in Mexico will be etched into the madrileña's brain for the foreseeable future.

You can't put a price on that kind of happiness.

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

Barcelona, Spain — May 2026

The thrum of the Champions League win follows the team home from Oslo, pulsing throughout the city.

Even through the open window of her bedroom in the lazy morning light, Alexia can hear faint drumming as die-hard culers celebrate the club's historic fourth win.

Today is the day.

She knew before the final that truthfully, officially, she had played her last season with Barcelona.

Things unfolded as if she was living in a movie plot this year. The perfect ending. The wrapped up conclusion of a drama filled season still pushing through to victory.

Against all the odds—a team riddled with significant injuries, an extremely short roster full of more youngsters than season veterans at times, and a long and grueling schedule—they did it. They won everything. The league title. Copa de la Reina. Supercopa. And the Champions League title. Her fourth. Barcelona's fourth.

The ending feels written in the stars.

She gets to conclude this chapter of her career on the highest of highs, especially after the lows experienced last year when she felt the Euro and Champions League wins were in the bag and then walked away broken in more ways than one.

"Today is the day," she hears whispered from behind her, soft lips leaving gentle kisses up the back of her neck. "How do you feel?"

"A little nervous," Alexia admits softly, turning in Jenni's arms to face her. "But at peace," she adds firmly. "I'm not worrying whether this is the right choice. I know it is for me. But saying goodbye is still hard."

The madrileña nods in understanding. "It feels like an ending even if it's also wrapped up in a new beginning," she murmurs.

"Yeah," the catalana whispers, nose pressing into Jenni's chest as she breathes deeply. "Thank you for being here today."

"There is nowhere else I would be," the madrileña replies.

"Do you think they'll resent me for leaving?" Alexia mutters quietly, afraid if she voices the concern any louder it will become fact. She tips her head back, vulnerable eyes finding Jenni's instead of hiding, such a change from the past.

"No," Jenni answers.

The corner of the catalana's lip tilts up. "You don't even know who I'm asking about," she responds.

"Sure I do." Said will all the confidence of a woman who knows Alexia inside and out. "You're asking about all of them. Culers. The fans. Your teammates. The other captains."

The younger woman nods. Jenni knows her head.

"And your family," the madrileña states quietly. "Who live and die by the club. Who have donned blaugrana since before you were born. Who feel your Papa with every home match they attend and every chant he used to join in himself."

Jenni knows her heart too.

Alexia swallows thickly. "Do you think I will lose a piece of him? With leaving the club?"

"No," the striker answers with such conviction that the catalana feels her anxiety instantly soothed. "Never. Because he doesn't live within the club, Ale. He lives in here," she states, tapping her girlfriend's chest over her heart. "And within Alba and your mama. He lives on in the people he loved and those who loved him. He doesn't live in that stadium or on that pitch. He was a Barcelona fan, Alexia. But he was your father. And family always, always, trumps football."

"How do you always know what to say?" Alexia asks with a sniffle, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"Because you're my person," Jenni answers. "You know, I talk to your Papa sometimes."

"You…you do?" the catalana asks in shock. "When did you start that?"

The striker chuckles self-consciously. "That first year I moved to the team. When you opened up to me and I saw just how heavy the weight of losing him sat on your chest. He was a huge part of your world, your story. I know he isn't here to talk back, but there is something about speaking words out loud that just seems to hold more weight for some conversations, you know?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean now," Alexia replies with a rueful grin. "Turns out bottling everything up to avoid talking about what hurts is a bad life plan. It almost cost me everything."

"Well," Jenni replies, "it's a footnote in our story now. And I think there's a kind of poetry to us discovering this love, losing each other for a time, fixing what was broken, and ultimately finding our way back to each other. It isn't choice by proximity or by default. It is choice by action. By intention. I choose you. And you choose me. Every day. That means something."

Alexia stares at Jenni with wide eyes, the edges made hard earlier at the magnitude of what today brings now fully softened by the way the madrileña is looking at her and the words that illustrate just how deep this connection of theirs runs.

"We have addressed what broke us up. We have communicated through the fog of uncertainty and misunderstanding back to solid ground. We found our way back to each other in a forest created by mistakes and distance and time. But neither of us were willing to let that love stay lost. And look at where we are now, no? I think this love story is worth so much more than a fairytale storyline without any bumps. It's us, Ale. Our history is full of grit and determination and perseverance. Not just on the football pitch but in love each other too. And that's beautiful to me."

"It is," Alexia whispers, lips millimeters away from Jenni's. "I'd go through hell just to keep holding your hand through this life."

"I think we've already been there," the madrileña quips with a smirk. "Let's stay on the side of heaven for a bit, hmm? Enjoy the view for a while? Let ourselves relax and celebrate finding ourselves and therefore each other?"

Alexia laughs, leaning up to capture the striker's mouth in a kiss.

And when the Instagram post drops and her phone notifications go wild, the catalana's attention is far from the goodbye video she shot weeks ago overlaid with the hauntingly beautiful tone of Rosalía's Magnolias.

While the public falls into a spiral at the news of Alexia Putellas, La Reina of Barcelona, abdicating her title and announcing that she is leaving the club, the woman climbs higher and higher under Jenni's talented mouth and fingers until the only worry left in her mind is if it is possible to die from dehydration as the result of too many orgasms in too quick of succession.

The answer is no, thankfully.

Alexia drags the madrileña into the shower to "rehydrate" and return the favor, a much better use of her time than tracking how the announcement has landed with the public.

People will feel what they feel about the situation, and they're allowed to have those hard feelings. But Alexia knows this is the right decision for her. For once, the catalana is prioritizing Alexia the person ahead of football, ahead of the fans, ahead of the badge she has idolized since she was knee high.

When she voices that to Jenni as the afternoon unwinds into evening, their skin bare and cooling under the ceiling fan after their recent activities, the striker's response will live within her soul for the rest of her life.

"The girl you were, the woman you are now, that player fighting demons nobody else knew existed? She deserves this next chapter. She has waited in the wings while everyone else and their needs were put first. Now it is your time. And I can't wait to see what you do with that freedom."

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

August 2026

Alexia swims her way to consciousness in that deliciously slow way that only hits after a great night of sleep. Arms reaching up and legs tightening into a full body stretch, she sighs lightly, looking to her left and catching the time on the alarm clock sitting on the bedside table. 9am. She is due at her first day of training in a little over an hour.

Without captain duties, without being the main player tapped for excessive media duties, without the weight of the club on her back, the catalana now has the luxury of arriving precisely on time and not an hour or two ahead of everyone else.

So, where before she would already consider herself late and in a mad rush to get out the door, now she pads leisurely to the kitchen to start her coffee. The midfielder has time to breathe before the day sucks her into the football bubble. It has been a long while since she she could say that.

Alexia intends to follow her alarm-free wake up into a new, slower version of her morning routine because for once her time feels like her own again and not doled out to everyone else.

The midfielder feels good.

She has a thread of nervousness thrumming through her veins. It feels in some ways like the first day of school. Excitement. A touch of apprehension. Curiosity of how she will fit into the social landscape of a new environment.

It has been fourteen years since she has had to navigate being the new person joining a team. The catalana has seen many teammates come and go and maneuver through this grey area of belonging in her years at Barcelona.

Now it's her turn.

She is excited to walk into a locker room and not be the one everyone needs to be the motivator when their backs are up against the wall. She is sure she may still slot into that role at times when needed as it is hard to turn that side off once it has been lit, but it won't be demanded of her. And being free from that weight of expectation has her feeling lighter than she has in years.

Her days get to be about the football now. Not about her history with the club. Not about her father. Not the weight of the Barcelona badge. It's back to being pared down to the ball and her boot.

The drive to the stadium feels like a road filled with possibilities, the majority of them not career-related at all.

This move, and largely the therapy that has filled her weeks over the past year, has given her the confidence to turn down sponsorship and collaboration requests. The fear around money has quieted considerably to the point that she does not wake up looking to optimize her output or checking account balances weekly.

The money is there.

She has earned it. She has managed it well. Her family wants for nothing. Thankfully having an abundance where they once had very little has not made her family hungry for more. Instead, they use it well to live as they always have and request not more of it but more of her—her presence, her time, her love.

The catalana has plenty of that to give now that her schedule has shifted to make space for Alexia and not just La Reina.

The new training facility is impressive with its bright and airy building. The colors are not blaugrana, which is an odd sight but not an unwelcome one.

She is a tad early, by choice not obligation.

Her bag sits slung over a shoulder, not quite completing the visual of a kid on their first day of school with a backpack full of fresh supplies (although she does have a new pair of boots courtesy of Nike sitting in the bottom of her tote ready for the new season) but close enough to pull a chuckle from her lips.

She is the new kid in a manner of speaking.

Her new squad has a mix of experienced veterans and young, eager kids who probably still sleep with a football because the excitement of making it professionally is still so fresh. New names to learn, new personalities, new flow on the pitch to adjust to—despite the air of change bringing a thin layer of anxiety with it, Alexia is excited more than anything.

The midfielder wanders out to the groomed pitch.

A ball lays abandoned near the touch line, clearly missed in the round up from a previous session.

She can't help herself.

Her bag gets set down on the grass. Her foot snags the ball towards her, kicking it up lightly before taking off in a comfortable jog towards the nearest net.

One touch.

Two touch.

Three.

Strike.

The ball sails into the back of the goal with force, the net rippling in response.

Alexia breathes deep.

It isn't the same crest marking the fence.

It isn't the same club name staring back at her.

It isn't the same city lulling her to sleep.

It isn't Barcelona.

But still at the heart of it, she is the same.

Football is the same.

The ball is the ball. It finds the net in the same way as before. The sidelines are the same white paint. The rules are unchanged.

"I should have known I would find you out here," a voice calls from behind her.

Alexia turns around, hands landing on her hips as a smirk comes to her lips. "The pitch loves me," she states with a shrug.

"So humble," the other woman snorts. "I'm surprised your head fit past the gates."

The catalana laughs, jogging over to pull the ball out from where it sits deep in the back of the net and dribbling back towards the sideline where her bag sits.

She kicks the ball up, juggling it from a knee to her foot and up to her chest to be craddled back down delicately.

"Who are you performing for?" the voice calls out, amused. "The fans won't be here for another few weeks."

"You're here," Alexia replies.

The other woman smiles. "I am. I thought you might want an escort into the locker room?"

The catalana ignores the question for now, answering the first ask seriously this go around. "I'm performing for me," she replies. "Just me."

"Good. That is the way it should be. It feels good, right? To play football just because it makes you happy and for no other reason."

"There are always other reasons," Alexia admits. "But, yes, it feels very good to be excited to play. Not that Barcelona took that from me—" she starts to explain. A hand held up stops her.

"I get it, Ale. I played for them too, no? The atmosphere is like nothing else. The pressure is like nothing else, and I was never captain. I'm excited for you to experience football here at this club. It is different, but good. Very good. And the people are even better. Come on, I'll introduce you."

Alexia rolls the ball back to where it began, left for the next impromptu goal-scoring session. She goes to pick up her bag, but fingers beat her to it.

"You're still La Reina to me, even if you aren't in the Barça crest." It is said with a smirk and a light tap to the crest on the catalana's new training top. "And the Queen doesn't carry her own bag."

Alexia rolls her eyes at the dramatics but laughs all the same. "If I'm the Queen, what does that make you?"

"I'm fairly certain some parts of the Barcelona fan base still refer to me as La Diosa," Jenni jokes with a dimpled grin. "So you, La Reina, can call me by my proper title: the Goddess. Fitting, no? A Queen deserves a partner of equal standing."

"That you are," Alexia responds with a soft smile as her hand links with the madrileña's, dragging tattooed fingers up to her lips to kiss.

"How are you feeling?" Jenni asks quietly as they head inside.

"I'm excited," the catalana responds. "Really. Maybe a little nervous. I know expectations will be there, whether I'm captain or not. I want to live up to what the team envisions, especially with what they're paying me…"

"It is well deserved," the striker states, "and the club knows it. The coaching staff were thrilled to hear you signed with the Tigres."

"They had the best overall offer for what I was looking for in this next step," Alexia replies diplomatically as her hand drops to squeeze the madrileña's ass cheekily before it grabs the older woman's hand again as if it never happened.

Jenni snorts. "Sex privileges secured them the signing. I feel like they should pay me a finder's fee or something for locking you down for them. The club hardly had to do any work."

Alexia laughs. "Oh you locked me down alright. All those years ago. You squeezed past all my walls and dug yourself a spot in the center of my chest and never left."

The madrileña smiles gently. "And look at you now. You've expanded those walls, Ale. When things broke down between us, we weren't what we had been before. Your heart was protecting itself by rebuilding those walls tighter around itself but with me on the outside. Now, though? You still have that boundary, you need it with the fame and the fans, but it doesn't separate from your feelings anymore or keep everyone out."

Alexia nods. It has been an intentional path of growth she has been on this past year with Isla. Opening parts of herself she long kept hidden and clawing back her humanity, her ability to feel and not view it as weakness in her head.

"You rebuilt with me and your mama and Alba inside this time, and with space for your feelings to exist too. That separation between us and the public eye is everything. Watching you these past months turn down a sponsor party or media obligations to prioritize us or your family has been so healing, Ale. It makes me feel protected, like you're standing guard and giving our relationship the time and care to take up the biggest part of your world. Like you aren't ruminating on losing an opportunity to make money or form career connections by taking a weekend off. I need you to know I see it and appreciate it."

The catalana stops outside the locker room, the faint laugher and multiple voices are barely audible as the rest of the team prepares for practice. She swallows thickly, tears clinging to her eyelashes. "You can't say things like that right before I'm about to meet the team for the first time," she states with a wet laugh. "I have an image to uphold here."

"Oh, you are so soft now, girl," Jenni whispers, pulling the younger woman into her arms. "And I love it. I love you."

"I adore you," Alexia replies, fingers reverently tracing the curve of the madrileña's jaw, eyes locked on the striker's own.

And Jenni can see it in that gaze and all the ones in the months before. Alexia doesn't carry that pinched ghost in her shoulders from carrying the world on her back. Her breath no longer stutters with a wariness whenever her phone dings, just waiting for someone to demand something more from her.

The catalana's soul is calm and content, a lightness shining through that Jenni saw flashes of in the past but that never stayed for long.

It stays now because somewhere along this journey back together, their past bled into the present, they gave themselves and each other the time and space and truth to heal, and it led them down this path towards their future. A future where their foundation is not just well built, it has been intentionally reinforced and maintained—physically, mentally, and emotionally.

Alexia sighs as her lips land softly on Jenni's, a hand cupping the back of the madrileña's head to angle it into something deeper, something that more closely mirrors the depth of her feelings for this woman who she loved, lost, and found again.

The locker room door slams open, the chaos spilling out into the hallway for a second before the door swings slowly shut.

"Damn, kids," Fany whistles, "might wanna save that for the drive home, eh?"

"We drove separately today because I had physio to check my calf," Jenni replies, pulling back to drop a kiss to the side of Alexia's head. "I have to get in the kisses where she's willing to dole them out," the striker jokes.

"Shut it," Alexia mutters, cheeks turning faintly pink. "Hi, I'm Alexia," she introduces herself to one of the longest-standing veterans on the team, a hand outreached. She has heard all about Fany and her family from Jenni.

"Oh, I know," Fany replies with a wink,hand squeezing the catalana's warmly. "This one," she points to Jenni, "has been pining over you on my couch for entirely too long."

Alexia turns and watches as Jenni's cheeks take a turn flushing. "I mean it makes me sound so pathetic when you tell her that."

"No, chica," Fany states with a smile. "It makes you sound like someone who has been so deeply in love that her soul was wandering lost without her other half."

Jenni squeezes Alexia's hand where it sits in hers because that may be the most accurate representation of this past year.

"Welcome to the club," Fany says to Alexia, pulling open the door with the roaring mascot of the club on the front. "This is going to be a great year!"

The sounds of multiple voices raise in greeting as Fany steps through the threshold, the two Spaniards now visible to the rest of the team.

"This is already the best year," Alexia murmurs softly to Jenni, their gazes locked.

"The best are yet to come, mi reina," Jenni replies with a grin and she pulls Alexia into the chaos of the Tigres locker room.

The door shuts softly behind them, and so starts the next chapter of their lives.

Alexia no longer plans their entire future by herself.

The striker is there hand-in-hand as they talk through where they want to be one year, three years, ten years from now. It is a future crafted from both of their dreams instead of Alexia's anxiety.

The dark-haired woman will be her wife one day soon.

Alexia knows this fact not only because they have agreed this is the next step they both want to take but also because the catalana has a ring tucked away for safe-keeping in the velvet-lined box housing her first Ballon d'Or.

The right timing to propose will show itself.

In the meantime, Alexia is content to sit back and wait. With Jenni by her side, standing still no longer feels like slowly drowning in stagnation.

You ignore them, going to catch the Uber that you ordered earlier. You had the time to take a quick shower and change in some neutral clothes, you’re not sure Alexia would let you get in her car later if you were in a full Merengues kit.

The flight to Barcelona passes in a blur, the flight is short, and at this point in your career traveling is second nature. El Prat is quieter than usual, but you aren't letting your guard down. You’ve kept your hat low and your sunglasses firmly on for the entire flight, they now feel completely ridiculous considering it’s pitch-black outside

You keep your head down. One person with a phone camera and a good memory, and you'd be trending before you reached baggage claim. Social media would make crazy theories about you joining Barça if you were seen here, and you don’t even want to think what the Real Madrid group chat would be like.

Alexia already shared her loc in the parking lot, having her meet you at arrivals was never an option. The weather isn’t exactly cooperating for early May, but you suppose it beats the rain back in Madrid. Alexia told you to bring your bathing suit in case you want to use her pool, you doubt it’s going to leave your bag.

Alexia didn’t park close, meaning you have to walk for a bit with a steady undercurrent of stress keeping you on edge. Your eyes flick around every two seconds, scanning the quiet lot. You know the odds of getting caught are tiny, but odds only matter until one person actually recognizes you. After that, it would be an absolute mess.

The rows of vehicles are entirely deserted when you finally spot her Cupra. The moment you approach, the driver's side door swings open and Alexia steps out. She wraps her arms securely around your shoulders, and you instinctively circle yours around her hips, pulling her close. “Hola,” she whispers into your hair, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your head.

You don’t even say it back, you let your forehead sink against her shoulder. All the anxiety of the flight evaporates as you breathe her in, your nose nuzzling into the warm, familiar curve of her neck.

“Someone’s tired,” she murmurs affectionately. She presses one last kiss to the side of your head before stepping back, her arms leaving your shoulders. She opens the passenger door for you, taking your bag in her hand to throw it onto the backseat.

When you’re both seated inside the warm car, you finally take the time to watch her. She’s wearing comfy clothes, a Nike sweater and sweats, but she looks great. She gazes back, reaching over to remove the sunglasses from your nose. She places them on the dashboard and then kisses you properly.

You respond instantly, your hand coming up to cup her cheek. For a few unhurried minutes, the empty parking lot disappears as you lose yourselves in each other. Ignoring the deep soreness settling into your muscles from your own game, you gaze at the backseat, considering it for a second.

Alexia catches that. “I have a massive game tomorrow, and I have to sleep.” You let out a frustrated groan, but you nod. You know the drill.

Her right hand finds your thigh the second she starts driving. You begin to caress the back of it, only to freeze when you notice the details. “No way. Did you seriously get a Barça manicure ?”

She smiles, clearly proud of it. “Yes, but you can’t complain, they’re short.” You laugh louder at that, looking down at her hand again. It’s freshly done, the nails clean and short, alternating between red and blue depending on the finger.

“I like them,” you say, then you see the smug smile on her face and add quickly, “Not the colors, obviously, just the fact that you got them done. The red ones during camp looked great too, just… impractical.” She snorts, but you can see the color on her cheeks from the compliment. “So how are you doing ?”

“Stressed,” she admits, her gaze fixed on the road. “But a lot better now that you’re sitting next to me.”

You roll your eyes, a warmth expanding in your chest. “Flirt,” you tease. She doesn’t even try to deny it, and the rest of the drive passes in easy small talk.

Alexia’s house is in a wealthy neighborhood. It’s called Pedralbes, she informs you, the kind of area where the fences are high and nothing is out of place. You prefer living in the middle of the city, but you understand her need for quietness.

She badges the gate open, revealing a modern house with palm trees standing guard in front. Parking in the middle of the driveway, she grabs your bag from the backseat as you get out. You’re both silent as you walk to the front door, as if respecting the stillness around you.

Pushing inside, you kick off your shoes at the door. The layout is exactly what the ultra-modern exterior promised : tall ceilings, a living room big enough to host the whole Barça team, a patio outside, and a swimming pool glowing in the background.

There are multiple framed jerseys on the walls, perfectly aligned, with her historic 500-games shirt displayed right next to the 300 and 400 ones. There’s no sign of her trophies, making you suppose she keeps them somewhere else.

An adjacent wall is entirely covered in photos : her family, her close friends, casual team pictures, and a dog. They aren't nearly as focused on football as you would have thought, featuring snapshots from vacations, gatherings at relatives' homes, and candid moments in the streets of Barcelona. Some of them still feature pictures with trophies, but they aren’t dominating the space.

As you trace the images, a pair of arms slip around your waist. Alexia hugs you from behind, resting her weight against your back as she presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Can we go to sleep now ?” she murmurs. “I promise I'll give you the full tour tomorrow.”

You agree without hesitation. She has an incredibly important match tomorrow, and you refuse to steal another minute of her rest. But the second you step into her bedroom, you can’t stifle the laugh that escapes your lips. Sitting in a pristine, transparent showcase are her two Ballons d’Or. It’s the only trace of her football career in the entire room, but it’s a pretty shiny one.

“Really ?” you tease, gesturing toward the glass.

She shrugs. “They’re a reminder of why I’m doing all of this.”

“That is an incredibly flex-heavy reminder, just saying.”

She lets out a low chuckle. “Hey, don’t blame me because they’re gold.”

“Ale, you literally texted me a picture of your new Louis Vuitton bag two days ago,” you counter, turning to face her. “I know you have expensive taste. You absolutely love that they’re gold.”

“Maybe,” she murmurs. Before you can reply, she steps into your space, turning you back around so she can wrap her arms around your waist from behind. Pulling you flush against her chest, she leans in until her lips are brushing the shell of your ear, sending an immediate shiver down your spine. “Tomorrow after we’ve won,” she whispers, “I’m going to fuck you from behind while you’re staring at them.”

You choke on air and she smiles against the back of your neck. Alexia had said some filthy things to you in the heat of the moment before, but never a promise like this out of nowhere. You’re into it, so incredibly into it, and she knows it, or she wouldn’t have dared to say these words. You know she isn't even that confident about the match tomorrow, she just wanted to rile you up.

You deliberately press your ass back against her, grinning when you feel her entire posture go rigid. “If you win tomorrow,” you promise, lowering your voice. “I’ll let you do that. And much more.”

“It’s not fair considering we can’t do a single thing about it right now,” she complains, her hands tightening on your waist.

You twist out of her embrace, stepping back to gaze at her with an innocent smile. “You’re the one who started it, Ale.”

“And I deeply regret it now,” she groans, running a frustrated hand over her face.

You get ready for bed quietly, stealing a shirt and a pair of shorts from her drawer despite having packed your own. Ten minutes later, you’re both tucked under the sheets. Her bed is massive and ridiculously comfortable, the kind of warmth you never want to leave.

As you settle down, Alexia shifts until she’s lying half on top of you, her face completely hidden in the crook of your neck. You’ve figured out by now that this must be her favorite way to sleep. Her hand rests flat against your skin under your shirt, while yours settles on her ass, under her shorts. “Goodnight, amor,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“Goodnight, cariño,” she whispers back against your skin. You fall asleep quickly, comforted both by the weight of her body on yours and the deep tiredness left over from the game.

In the morning, Alexia’s stress is so palpable it’s almost painful to watch. You’re quite surprised, with Spain, she’s always so composed before the big games. You suppose this is what she actually looks like in the privacy of her own room. To counter it, you become extra tactile, and it seems to help her relax a little. She sits between your legs eating breakfast on the couch while rewatching the first leg.

Spending your morning analyzing tactical tape isn't your version of an off-day, but you find your own entertainment. Once your hands are free of the breakfast bowl, she lets you trace patterns along her skin and hold her close. As long as you don't interrupt her hyper-fixation on the match, she lets you do whatever you want. Definitely not a waste of time.

You handle lunch while she packs her gear bag, since she has to leave immediately after eating. The kitchen is vast and completely separated from the living room, a layout rare for modern builds like this, but Alexia had mentioned it was one of the details that made her buy the place. She wanders in toward the end, helping you set the table simply because she doesn't know what to do with her hands.

Alexia is buzzing with energy as you eat. You remember her saying that part of the reason her parents were so happy she played sports growing up was because it contained her energy. You understand that perfectly now.

“Can you still live text the game, even if you’re here ?” she asks.

You smile, leaning across the table to press a reassuring kiss to her lips. She sighs against your mouth, letting some of the tension drain out of her. “I will," you promise softly. "Go be great.”

You watch the video of her arriving at the stadium on Barça’s Instagram. She’s not exhibiting an ounce of stress. Her eyes are focused, her shoulders and jaw set, everything expected from the captain. It’s a far cry from the woman who was in this house earlier.

Seeing her that tense this morning felt like a time machine to the early national team days. Even if you weren’t close back then, she wasn’t very good at hiding her emotions. Jenni would spend pre-match hours half-teasing her, half-helping her calm down to the amusement of the rest of the squad. She grew up after that, the spotlight changes people, or at least it makes them learn exactly when to show their soft side.

You watched it all unfold from afar, but the changes were obvious. She had everything hitting her at the exact same time: winning the Ballon d’Or, breaking up with Jenni, claiming the first Champions League, dealing with the mess with the federation, taking the Spanish armband, tearing her ACL, handling becoming mainstream, and likely personal shit you don’t even know about.

She changed so much after that, you sometimes have trouble connecting her with the twenty-two-year-old version you first met. Now, her head always held high when there is an audience, media trained to the point she can’t give a wrong answer, the incarnation of control. 

This morning was a reminder that people rarely change entirely, they grow up, learn what is expected of them, and try to act accordingly. Alexia does a fantastic job at that. You like the soft side she’s showing you better.

You don’t do much after Alexia leaves. It’s not hot enough to want to get into the pool, and though her morning tour left you incredibly impressed by the home gym, it’s supposed to be an off-day, and you know recovery is part of the job.

So you just hang around the house, looking at the pictures everywhere. You wander into her office where the trophies and medals are kept, feeling a pang of jealousy at the sheer number of them. You can't help but picture where your own career would be if Real Madrid actually invested the same kind of resources into their women's section. You know choosing happiness means accepting that yours might never look like this.

Stepping closer, you pick up a miniature Liga F replica, tracing the edge. You aren't even asking for a Champions League trophy right now, just a single domestic title. Looking around the room one last time, you shake your head, she truly has a ridiculous career. You can't help but wonder if she’s going to end up adding a third Ballon d'Or to her bedroom display this September.

You put the game on the TV as soon as the pre-game coverage starts. Alexia showed you use Disney+ three times this morning to be absolutely sure you would be able to watch it without problems. The TV is huge, the disproportionate kind of huge, making you suppose Alexia watches a ridiculous number of games on it.

The commentators are already hyping up the sold-out Camp Nou, discussing how Barça remain the heavy favorites despite carrying a one-goal deficit from the first leg. They also mention the possibility of Aitana being subbed in for her first minutes back from injury, a prospect that brings a smile to your face. The camera pans to the stars, focusing first on the Bayern side : Bühl, Harder, and Stanway.

It's striking how much the roster has turned over since you wore the red shirt. ovana is the only one you shared the pitch with for more than a single season. The others, Giulia, Linda, and Carolin were only there for your final year. It’s wild to think how long ago that was. You often forget you’ve already finished your fifth season with Madrid, the time has flown by so fast it doesn't even feel real.

You don’t hold any resentment toward Bayern. The club was supportive, and your teammates were nice enough. You were simply too young when you moved there. Navigating a foreign country at 18 while barely speaking a word of English at the start had been isolating. Bayern holds a complicated, slightly bittersweet spot in your history, but it’s a permanent spot nonetheless.

The broadcast cuts to the Blaugrana stars : Alexia, Irene, Pajor. They could have panned across the entire squad and the quality wouldn't have dropped, they're world-class top to bottom. You won't support Barça, doing so would violate your DNA. But you will be happy for Aitana and Alexia if they pull this off.

The football on display is elite. Backed by the Camp Nou crowd, Barcelona is a relentless machine. Their transitions are lethal, suffocating Bayern with the kind of possession structure very few squads can execute.

Bayern is holding on for dear life, knowing their only job is to avoid breaking. They manage to survive most of the first half, but in the 43rd minute, Patri delivers one of those ridiculous, line-breaking passes that only she can see. Alexia controls it perfectly. In an instant, she fires the shot past the keeper. Camp Nou explodes. Alexia bows to the crowd, and you hate yourself for the sudden surge of pride swelling in your chest.

The first half comes to an end under the applause of the crowd. Bayern knows they can’t have a second half like the first one if they want a shot at the trophy. The second half is indeed closer, with Bayern playing a little more daringly. There are chances on both sides, but nobody converts, leaving the goalkeepers screaming at their defenses.

 Aitana comes in for Vicky at the 70th minute, and the whole stadium starts chanting her name, you’re seconds away from chanting it too in Alexia’s living room.

In the 85th minute, it’s Graham who makes Camp Nou explode. She gets past her defender and crosses it into the middle, where Pajor’s head is there to meet it and power it to the back of the net. Even through the TV, the noise the stadium makes is deafening, while the commentators scream Goal a hundred times.

The crowd is silenced in the 4th minute of additional time, however, when Bühl’s shot curls right into the top corner, away from Cata’s hands. The broadcast immediately captures Alexia’s reaction, because cameras apparently can’t stay away from her. Her jaw is set, her eyes dark. She has the face of a woman on a mission.

The match goes to extra time, and you’re instantly frustrated because it means Alexia will be coming home even later. Barça continues to dominate possession, but the chances are dead even. The players are visibly exhausted, shirts clinging to their skin, their runs losing their sharpness. In the last few minutes, everyone is starting to accept it’s going to penalties.

Then, deep into stoppage time, Eriksson clears a cross poorly. The ball ricochets directly off Tanikawa’s back and lands miraculously right at Alexia’s feet. She doesn’t hesitate for a single fraction of a second to shoot. It isn’t a great shot, it's nowhere near the posts and lacks any real power. But Mahmutovic didn’t anticipate the strike at all, and she's beaten cleanly.

It’s an ugly goal, everyone will admit that, but nobody at the Camp Nou cares. She whips her jersey over her head, the image instantly triggering your memory of the Bilbao final, which you'd been tortured into watching after losing a bet to Aitana. Her abs are flexing, the tattoos on her back are fully on display, and her entire team is sprinting frantically behind her.

The Bayern players collapse to the turf, utterly dejected. The entire stadium, maybe even the whole city of Barcelona, is chanting her name as she gives her legendary celebratory bow after being buried beneath a mountain of teammates.

You don’t get any news from Alexia until an hour after the game, when she’s finally in her ice bath. She apologizes for the wait, explaining that the media essentially kidnapped her before her teammates did the exact same thing. You have no problem believing that. She progressively replies to all your live texts, her excitement radiating through the screen.

She says you will continue the conversation in person since she has to go shower. Right before she logs off, she drops a link to a high-end Japanese restaurant. “Send me your order,” her message reads. “It’s celebration night.”

Aitana texts you back around the same time, thanking you for the congratulations on her comeback. She wastes no time roasting you for hate-watching her team. You aren't remotely in the mood to reveal your current location, wanting to let her just ride the high of the victory without complicating things with your personal life.

It takes a while for Alexia to fight her way out of Camp Nou. She keeps texting to keep you updated, and you let out a long exhale when she finally messages that she’s leaving, nearly two hours after the final whistle. When the front door finally clicks open, you turn to see her standing there in her Barça-issued tracksuit, a heavy gear bag slung over one shoulder and a massive bag of Japanese takeout in her other hand.

The moment she sees you, a true, entirely unguarded smile breaks across her face. She is still vibrating from the adrenaline of the win, the sheer energy radiating off her. She sets her things down on the floor, and you immediately step into her arms.

“Congrats, amor,” you murmur against her lips before capturing them in a deep kiss. She reciprocates instantly, her fingers gripping your hips tightly. When she starts to drive you back against the wall, you reluctantly break away with a grin. “I’m actually starving, and the food is still warm.”

She lets out a frustrated groan against your throat but complies, giving you a sharp, parting nip on the lips. The absurd amount of food she ordered makes you laugh, running yourself into the ground for 120 minutes apparently creates a black hole in a midfielder’s stomach.

It’s totally not respecting your diet, but you let it slide. You both settle on the couch, her legs draped over your lap. She boldly tries to negotiate putting the match replay on the big screen, but one lethal look from you silences the idea instantly.

You can’t keep the image of her shirtless out of your mind. The knowledge that thousands of people were screaming for the exact woman who belongs entirely to you tonight. The sheer possessiveness of the thought is intoxicating. The second you both finish eating, you slide across the cushions to settle onto her lap, nipping playfully at her earlobe.

“Remember your little promise from last night, captain ?” you whisper against her skin. “I think you deserve that, don’t you think ?”

Alexia’s entire body goes rigid before a dark look takes over her eyes. Without a word, she hooks her arms under your thighs and hoists you up, carrying you toward the bedroom. She nearly loses her footing and drops you midway down the hall when you lean in to bite down hard on her neck, a ragged gasp escaping her lips.

She tosses you onto the mattress a bit unceremoniously, and climbs on top of you without a shred of hesitation. The kiss that follows isn't remotely tentative, her tongue claims your mouth in seconds while her hands slide eagerly under your shirt. It’s the first time she’s taken charge like this since you started sleeping together, and you're more than happy to let her.

She pulls the shirt over your head and trails a line of burning kisses down your neck. You arch instinctively against her body, drawing a smug smile from her lips. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take care of you?” you manage to murmur. “You’re the one who won.”

At first, you aren't even sure she heard you as she continues to press her lips to your skin, slowly licking a path up your jawline to your ear. “You don’t get it,” she breathes against your skin, her voice dark. “This is my prize for winning.”

She nips your earlobe softly, careful with her teeth because she knows you aren't a fan of that so early on. A sudden, violent wave of heat spreads through your entire body at her words, pooling heavily between your thighs. If she stays in this mood all night, it’s going to be an unforgettable one.

You yank at the hem of her top, and she discards it without breaking eye contact. She’s left in her sports bra, the exact image that you saw on a screen earlier. You swallow hard, your hands mapping the defined ridges of her torso while she reaches up to tie her hair. The second her hands are free, she traps your wrists against the mattress above your head.

A brief flicker of surprise crosses your features, and you immediately watch her confidence falter. Her grip loosens. “Tell me if I’m doing too much," she murmurs, her eyes scanning yours. "Or if you don’t like this.”

You easily slip one hand free, reaching up to gently cup her jaw and pull her down into a soft, grounding kiss. It’s entirely different from the frantic heat of before, meant purely to reassure her. “It’s incredibly hot, don’t worry," you whisper against her lips. "I promise I'll tell you if it's too much.”

To prove your point, you give her jaw a teasing bite before dropping your head back down, deliberately placing your wrist back above your head. It’s an unmistakable green light. Instantly, that fierce, confident smile returns to her face.

She's dragging it out, weaponizing her patience in a way that is driving you crazy, but the sheer pleasure on her face makes it impossible to stop her. You fight a losing battle with yourself to keep your hands pinned above your head, failing miserably the second her warm tongue connects with your nipple.

“Hands,” Alexia murmurs against your wet skin, a smirk evident in her tone. “Keep them up.”

You groan in protest but snap your wrists back against the mattress, desperate for her to continue. The sensory overload of her playing with your breasts has you completely unraveled, you're slick and aching without a single touch of any kind below your waist.

Whenever you try to grind your hips upwards to find some relief, she pins you down, shutting down the movement instantly. Sweating and desperate, you genuinely need her between your legs, in whatever way she wants to take you. “Ale, please. Hurry the fuck up,” you pant.

She just lets out a soft laugh, looking up at you from your chest. Dios, her eyes are dark, so completely different from how bright and sparkly they were when she first walked through the front door. “You have absolutely no patience,” she taunts. She is incredibly lucky she scored that winning goal.

“Next time, I’m tying you up,” you promise, your voice tight with desperation. “And we will see how patient you are then.”

A lethal smile touches her lips. “Bet.” She sinks her teeth into your midriff. The sharp spike of pleasure catches in your throat. “Until then,” she whispers, capturing your gaze, “you are entirely mine to play with. Hands back up, captain’s orders.” You let out a whimper, knowing you would die of embarrassment if you could see yourself right now.

You manage to obey the captain’s order, though your fingers curl into fists against the sheets when she finally discards your clothes and drags her mouth along your inner thighs.

“Ale, please,” you beg. You absolutely hate having to beg, but you legitimately can’t help it right now. Every muscle in your arms is shaking with the effort it takes not to grab her jaw and pull her directly where you want her. Since begging isn't working, you pivot to a challenge. “I know how badly you want to taste me.”

She looks up at you, thoroughly amused by your shifting tactics. “I will get to taste you later, cariño. But this position right now is the only one where I get to hear you whimpering and begging.”

A defiant smirk cuts through your desperation. “There are a dozen different ways to get me to beg and whimper, Putellas. You just have to be inventive enough to figure them out.”

She freezes instantly. You hear the faint, rough Joder she mumbles directly against your skin. For a second, she seems entirely torn between speeding up because she wants it just as badly, or continuing to torture you a bit longer

She pushes up onto her extended arms, towering over you so she can take you in completely. A hopelessly cocky smile slowly spreads across her face, but you are far gone enough that you can only find it incredibly sexy. “I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re absolutely wrecked,” she gloats.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” you pant. It doesn’t sound anywhere near as sarcastic as you wanted it to, you are completely stripped of the focus required for a proper attitude. You try to rub your thighs together for relief, but her legs are heavily pinning yours down, completely shutting down the movement.

Alexia reaches up and grabs your left hand, tightly interlacing her fingers with yours and pulling them down onto your stomach, leaving a quiet command for you to keep your right hand pinned above your head. Her free hand anchors firmly on your hip, anchoring you in place as she finally lowers her body between your thighs.

She keeps her gaze locked straight on yours as she licks you for the very first time. The moan that tears from your throat isn't loud, but it is deep, heavy, and throaty. “Dios, you’re so wet,” she breathes against your skin.

Any potential comeback is instantly swallowed as her tongue strokes over you again. Your eyes snap shut, your free right hand blindly clawing into the pillow for support. You completely lose your mind when she focuses all her attention directly on your clit. Apparently, she’s done teasing you and wants to see just how fast she can push you over the edge.

The answer turns out to be embarrassingly fast, especially considering she hasn't even used her fingers. Your entire body spasms as a violent wave of pleasure takes over, and as she climbs up your body to press heavy, hot kisses to your neck while your breathing recovers, you weakly mutter for her to shut up.

You begin to run your hands over her back, sliding your fingers under the elastic straps of her sports bra to pull her body closer to yours. “My turn,” you whisper. “What do you want?”

Alexia smirks, her palms tracing slow circles on your ribs. “Nice try. I distinctly remember saying I was the one doing the work tonight.”

You look up at her, genuinely frustrated. “Are you sure about that ?” To force her to reconsider, you let your hands drift lower, gripping her ass firmly. She lets out a small, involuntary groan but chooses to kiss you deeply instead of answering, her fingers mapping your skin to distract you.

“You really are an ass girl, aren’t you?” she laughs against your mouth.

You smile back, letting your hands slide beneath the waistband of her sweatpants to grip her bare skin. “You have to admit, you have a great ass.”

To your amusement, Alexia actually blushes. Considering what you two are currently doing in this bed, you find it hilarious that she still reacts like that to a simple compliment. “Fine,” you relent. “If I can’t take care of you, at least take the rest of your clothes off.”

Alexia doesn’t obey immediately, clearly too occupied trailing her hands over your skin and peppering kisses down your neck. Impatient, you arch your hips upward to urge her along. She lets out a low laugh against your throat. “I thought being a world-class defender required patience.”

“Yeah, well, that’s my job, it’s not the same. I’m not in a football kit right now, unlike you,” you say, playing with the hem of her Barça sweatpants to emphasize your point.

Alexia finally relents, slipping off the bed with a challenge in her eyes. “If you want to see me naked that badly...” You thoroughly enjoy the view as she pulls her sports bra over her head, followed smoothly by her sweatpants and underwear. “Happy?” she asks, a smug expression on her face as she crawls back into bed and pins you beneath her weight.

“Infinitely,” you hum against her lips as she kisses you deeply. You waste no time letting your hands roam freely over her bare skin. The moment your fingers glide down to trace the inside of her thighs, a triumphant smirk pulls at your lips. “ Fuck, you’re soaked.”

Alexia quickly catches your wrist to pull your hand away, drawing a frustrated groan from your lips. “I have a plan, don’t worry,” she promises breathlessly.

She shifts her weight, sliding her thighs securely between yours. A sharp groan escapes her throat, her head throwing back the exact moment she locks into place against you. You grip her hips firmly to guide her, tilting your pelvis until you catch the friction, a deep moan torn from your lungs as you align.

It is pure electricity, feeling her clit friction flawlessly against yours, hearing the ragged noises she’s making while the exact same pleasure builds inside you. The best part about her house is the complete privacy, you both can be as loud as you want without bothering a soul. Your nails dig deep into her hips, while her own fingers lock securely into the soft flesh of your thigh.

You both are at a loss of words, utterly lost in the sensation. Alexia is more vocal than you, as always, and you greedily drink in every hitching breath and whimper she makes. Watching her ride you like this, her abs and biceps flexing with every rhythmic push, is an intoxicating turn-on that drags you toward the edge, again, at a terrifying speed.

Your movements grow increasingly frantic and messy as the friction brings you both to the brink. She shatters first, crying out loudly as her hips jerk uncontrollably against yours. The intense friction immediately triggers your own release, sending you crashing over the edge right along with her. You pant heavily, gripping her hips so tightly you're certain you'll leave bruises.

Alexia collapses completely against your chest, her breathing ragged and uneven. You wrap your arms securely around her, holding her close. “That felt amazing,” you whisper against her temple, pressing a soft kiss there. Post-win Alexia is definitely something you wouldn't mind experiencing again, even if it means Barcelona keeps winning.

“There’s still one thing left to do,” she says, a lethal smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. You arch an eyebrow, genuinely not seeing where she’s going with this. “Do you remember what I promised you yesterday ?” She points her chin toward the gleaming Ballons d’Or across the room, and your entire body instantly hits with a violent wave of heat in anticipation. You absolutely love post-win Alexia.

She slides off the mattress, pulls open a dresser drawer, and retrieves a sleek box, tossing it onto the bed right next to you. “Pick your poison.” You pop the lid open and shoot an amused look her way when you're met with seven different dildos of varying sizes. She shrugs defiantly, but you can clearly see the pink blush creeping up her neck and onto the top of her chest.

“You’re the winner tonight, so you get to choose,” you argue.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m not the one getting it inside me.”

Fair enough. You select one of the average sizes, purely because you want to get fucked fast and are not in the mood for a ton of preparation. Alexia doesn’t comment on your choice, silently buckling the harness around her hips and snapping the toy into place.

“On all fours, facing that way,” she commands, pointing directly toward the golden trophies. You can't help but smile as you comply.

You drop into position without a second thought. Watching her dominate the bedroom is a massive turn-on, and you want her inside you as soon as humanly possible. She presses her palms firmly against your shoulders, pushing you down to make you bend further. The distinct click of her opening the bottle of lube echoes through the quiet room, making your muscles clench in pure anticipation.

“You don’t need to use your fingers to ready me,” you breathe out, your voice tight. “I just want to take you.”

You hear Alexia take a sharp, deep breath at your words, steadying her own racing pulse. “Tell me if it’s too much at any moment, yeah ?”

You agree instantly, nodding blindly. Her right hand clamps down securely on your hip, and you instinctively push yourself backward against her, feeling the cold slickness of the lube-coated toy graze your skin.

“Always so eager,” she mocks softly, her voice thick. She cuts the talking there, centering the head of the toy against your tight opening. You take a deep breath, consciously untangling the knots in your stomach as she slowly begins to drive forward. The intense, stretching fullness is incredible, and a long, broken groan escapes your lips.

Because of how wet you are from her previous ministrations and the lube, she encounters absolutely no resistance as she slowly pushes inside. Alexia lets out a rough groan the moment she bottoms out, the base of the toy pressing firmly against her clit. “Ale, you feel so good,” you pant, encouraging her as her left hand slides up to caress the curve of your bare back.

Her thrusts are experimental at first, carefully testing your limits. But the moment she realizes she isn't going to break you, her rhythm turns harder, rougher. She anchors her left hand firmly onto your shoulder to steady her weight while she pistons into you with a bruising, unrelenting pace.

Overwhelmed by the friction, you try to turn your head to the side to handle the depth, but her fingers instantly find your jaw, turning your face back toward the front of the room. “No. Look straight ahead at the Ballons d’Or.”

The sheer, unadulterated cockiness of it completely shatters whatever restraint you had left. You lock your eyes forward on the golden trophies. They are impossibly shiny in the dim light, the polished glass of the display case capturing the blurred, rhythmic reflection of her body driving entirely into yours.

The wet, smacking sound her hips make each time they slam against yours is completely obscene, turning you on in a way you never saw coming. The angle she's working from behind is hitting perfectly, threatening to throw you over the edge on internal stimulation alone. When she tries to slide her thumb down to touch your clit, you gently nudge her hand away, knowing you would get too close to overstimulation.

You have absolutely no idea how Alexia still has this much energy, if you had just played 120 minutes of elite football, you would have definitely tapped out by now. Instead, her movements remain incredibly powerful and fast, quickly reducing you to a breathless, moaning mess beneath her.

The next orgasm catches you completely by surprise. You weren't expecting it to be this easy after already coming twice, but Alexia slightly shifts her weight, hitting a spot deep inside you just right. Your walls instantly clamp down around the toy, and you can feel Alexia gasp, taken aback by your sudden, violent release.

Panting against the pillows, you reach your limit. “Too much,” you manage to murmur, shoving back against her thighs. Alexia obeys instantly, sliding out of you with a heavy exhale and removing the harness from her hips. As soon as you’re able to, you pull her down, using your mouth and fingers to make her completely fall apart in a matter of minutes.

The adrenaline evaporates all at once, leaving both of you completely heavy and drained. You melt into her chest, dead weight against her body as she wraps her arms around you, her thumb idly stroking your hip. “We need to shower,” you murmur into her collarbone.

She lets out a dramatic groan at the mere idea of standing up, but somehow, you both manage to drag yourselves out of bed. The shower is a quick, functional affair, purely because your bodies are screaming to get back under the covers.

Soon enough, you’re tangled up in the exact same position as before. The sheets smell intensely of sex, but neither of you has a shred of energy to change them, so you gladly let it slide. You reach over to set your alarm for Monday morning, and Alexia sleepily kisses your shoulder, promising she'll drive you to the airport. You drift in the dark, murmuring quiet nonsense to each other until sleep finally claims you both.

Alexia is incredibly grumpy the next morning, complaining that you completely messed up her sleep schedule and made her sore. In your opinion, it’s more the fault of the game she played yesterday but whatever. She’s also fiercely cuddly and touchy as you get ready, which more than makes up for the attitude.

The drive to the airport is filled with Alexia’s playlist blasting through the speakers and you complaining about the morning training session you are thoroughly convinced you won't survive. You look over at Alexia’s profile, her sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. She is so fucking beautiful. You ache to trace her jawline with your thumb and bite down on her neck right then and there, but you decide that’s a terrible idea while she’s navigating traffic. If she catches you staring, she doesn’t comment on it.

Goodbyes are the same as usual, making out intensely in the car after parking as far from the terminal entrance as possible. It’s especially hard today, considering neither of you knows exactly when you’ll see each other again with her hectic schedule to end the season.

“Thanks for coming,” she says softly, her face close to yours, her eyes earnest now that her sunglasses are pushed to the top of her head. “I know I wasn’t the most available this weekend, but it meant a lot. Truly.”

“Don’t worry, you more than made up for your lack of availability last night,” you tease against her lips. You kiss her again, both of you moving slowly this time, intentionally taking the time to memorize each other. “I had a great time as a whole.”

She smiles, and you both finally step out of the car before you actually miss your flight. The moment your feet hit the pavement, your interactions shift completely, neither of you wants to draw public attention. She casually helps you with your bags, and you exchange a simple, disciplined goodbye before parting ways.

-----------

The absolute first thing Alexia does when she walks through her front door is face-plant straight back into her bed to crash. She finally emerges late in the morning, immediately checking her phone. Seeing your message confirming you have landed safely, a soft smile tugs at her lips as she reacts with a simple heart. She also notices a text from Alba asking about hanging out tonight; not thinking much of it, Alexia types out a quick, No problem.

Considering it’s an official rest day, she spends the vast majority of it curled up on the couch, watching the latest Bayern Munich match and meticulously taking notes on her tablet.

The analytical silence doesn't last. Her screen flashes with a barrage of incoming texts from the group chat she shares with Misa, Irene, Mariona, Laia, and Jenni.

Misa : Okay, so you all remember the whole thing about y/n seeing an English player during camp ? I think Vicky wasn’t saying bullshit. Y/n was literally in London this weekend. She’s saying she was just seeing a random girl but I don’t believe her. @Mariona @Laia I need you all to figure this out.

Alexia furrows her brows at the message. She feels the jealousy, an ugly feeling at the pit of her stomach. Then her brain catches up. Oh she’s the girl you were talking about. She has no idea how you’ve managed to throw the goalkeeper off so much.

Irene : How does that concern us ?

Misa : Oh I know you don’t care about gossip but I want it. Especially if it’s about y/n and another football player.

Jenni : I feel like I’ve missed a few episodes

Jenni : Goodie two shoes was sneaking out at camp ? Seems out of character

Mariona : Yeah, but you didn’t see her last camp she was acting really weird. And she didn’t sleep in her and Vicky room after our England game

Jenni : Wait, miss “I’m too good to be friendly with people that don’t wear the Real Madrid jersey” was put in the same room as Vicky ? That’s hilarious she must have gone crazy

Misa : You’re harsh her bf is literally Aitana

Jenni : Yeah but that’s like the only Barça player she hangs out with. She barely tolerates Mariona since she’s with Arsenal

Alexia considers defending you, but thinks it would be weird, so she just shuts up and let them talk, the game is on pause in the background.

Laia : She actually entertained the kid, to everyone surprise. Vicky got out of her that y/n thinks Misa is the hottest on the team

Jenni : Why do they don’t select me when something interesting like that happens ? Her getting bullied is my jam

Alexia rolls her eyes, Jenni doesn’t like you, to say the least. You’ve never been the friendliest person during camps, mostly staying with players you already know, and often avoiding Barça players not named Aitana. You never taking a stand against the federation was the final nail in the coffin, especially considering you benefited from it. The vice-captain position, always in the front for media and ad campaign. Jenni also isn’t a huge fan of Real, it didn’t help.

There’s some uneasiness, because Alexia distinctly remembers criticizing you along with Jenni a few times. Then she remembers you making lunch for her yesterday before her game and she feels terrible.

Misa : She told me she actually lied to Vicky and that I was only the safe answer

Misa : My heart was broken

Irene : I’m once again asking why does her personal life concerns us ? She’s not even close to anyone here except Misa

The moans she got out of you while Alexia was fucking you from behind resonate in her head. Alexia doesn't lie to her close circle. She's never been that person. The guilt is starting to eat at her. It’s one thing to say nothing, another one to ignore it when they’re straight about talking about it. She almost sends something, but then the chat moves on.

Irene : Wait, are you interested in her ?

Misa : NO

Misa : That’s my bro

Misa : Nothing more

Mariona : Ngl I’m happy about that

Laia : I think you resent her too much for how she acted with the federation

Mariona : It’s not about that, or like not totally

Jenni : No one here was friends with her way before this happened

Jenni : Let’s say it confirmed my opinion of her

Irene : I’m not in this group to read all of you criticize one of our teammates

Jenni : Oh come on don’t start acting like you like her

Irene : I don’t, which is why I don’t talk about her. So once again, why are we discussing it ?

Misa : I’m asking Mariona and Laia for intel

Mariona : Fine we will ask around at Arsenal

Jenni : Now can we come back to something. “The safe answer” ? That’s a weird thing to say. It’s also an asshole move to lie in a bet but that doesn’t surprise me. What did she got in exchange ?

Misa : I think some info from Vicky ? She didn’t say much

Alexia is tempted to send you a text to ask, but it would be admitting that this conversation is going on to you. It doesn’t seem like a great idea.

Mariona : Wdym by it’s a weird thing to say ?

Jenni : Well that kinda means she didn’t want to say the true answer to Vicky

Jenni : And like why would it be shameful

Jenni : Imagine if it’s actually a Spanish player she was sneaking up with

Laia : There’s no way for it to happen with our double rooms

Laia : I mean only Ale has a single room. Are you sleeping with her @Alexia ?

Alexia heart genuinely stops for a second, then two, then three. She exhales when she sees everyone leaving a laughing emoji on the message, even Irene.

Alexia : I leave you all unsupervised for 20 minutes and this is what happens … ?

Jenni : We needed to say that for you to appear ?

Alexia : Laia @ me, I was rewatching the Bayern game

Mariona : Pls no talk about Champions League rn.

Arsenal were eliminated by Lyon on Saturday, Alexia understand it being a touchy subject.

Laia : You do realize we can see that you’ve been reading it all along, right ?

Alexia goes for the safe answer in this group : not responding.

Misa : If our only option is Alexia, we can for sure say we’re back on the English player path

Laia : I mean… Alexia did you slept with her ?

Alexia : Do I really need to answer that ?

Alexia : No.

Jenni : She doesn’t feel like Ale’s type

Jenni : Ale doesn’t need someone who’s even more of a control freak and a law follower than her

Alexia : I’m gonna leave this group for good

Laia : Is Jenni wrong ?

Jenni isn’t wrong per se, but Alexia doesn’t really think you fit what they’re describing, at least from the time she’s been spending with you and talking to you recently.

Misa : She’s surprisingly chill outside of football

Misa : But Alexia is absolutely not her type. Ale is too much of a football nerd, y/n can’t stand that

Okay Alexia is a bit offended now. You’ve been letting her talk about football things, about tactics and the upcoming games. Have you been secretly hating that and just been waiting for her to shut up ? Alexia thinks back to all her rants about Bayern, were you just being nice ?

Alexia : Yeah I’m a football nerd because all my friends are assholes. Football never disappoints

Irene : That’s a very questionable statement

Alexia : Is anyone willing to support me today ?

The thumbs down reaction on her message tells her everything she needs to know.

Alexia : And then you all wonder why I don’t answer

Jenni : y/n isn’t as big as a football nerd as Ale ? I’m genuinely surprised

Misa : They’re very similar in the way they follow their diets, training, sleep schedule and recovery like psychos. But y/n does it because it’s her job, Ale does it because she has a problem with football

Misa : Like if I hang out with y/n and start talking about tactics got the upcoming game she will kill me

Alexia thinks about your live-texting of her games, and she’s thoroughly confused.

Misa : Even with Aitana they don’t speak much about football itself, I think

Jenni : A Merengue that doesn’t like to talk about football tactics ? Can they room together for next camp it could be fun

Alexia is a bit offended that everyone thinks she talks about football so much. She doesn’t. Right ?

Alexia : I have a single room as the captain, remember ?

Mariona : Wait I just remembered something

Laia : Dangerous

Mariona : Do you all remember what Mapi said she heard during camp

Alexia : Oh no

Jenni : I WASN’T HERE YOU IDIOTS

Alexia : Mariona and everyone here I beg you to shut up

Jenni : You can’t do that to me

Jenni : I’m gonna text Mapi to ask her

Alexia : Don’t do that she will overblown everything

Jenni : Then tell me

Laia : I don’t think there’s another way to say it than Mapi and Fiamma heard Ale have phone sex

Jenni : NO

Jenni : I can’t breath rn

Alexia : Kill me

Irene : I hate this group

Jenni : Ale is it true ?

Jenni and her are friends now, but it still feels very weird to discuss her sex life with someone she dated for seven years.

Alexia : I’m not saying her name

Jenni : You’re not fun

Alexia : That girl disagrees

Mariona : Are you feeling well Ale ?

Laia : She’s trying to end this conversation

Jenni : You all are going to hell for not telling that to me as soon as you heard about it

Jenni : But it’s the beginning of the day here, and it couldn’t have started better

Mariona : We were too focused making fun of her, sorry

Mariona : So Ale is that serious with this girl ?

Alexia takes a second to answer, because she hasn’t asked that to herself enough. What are you two even doing ? She has no idea, and Alexia hates situations where she’s underprepared. She, not for the first time recently, asks herself how she got to this point.

Alexia : It’s casual

Irene : Since when do you do “casual” ?

Jenni : It means the girl wants casual and Ale doesn’t know how to say she’s not the casual type

Alexia : Fuck off

Jenni : Thanks for telling me I’m right

Misa : This group better be the first to be told if you two become official

Misa : Or if you need advice on how to transform it into not casual anymore

Alexia : I’m never asking for love advice here

Alexia : And you will be the last to be told

Alexia : Ok maybe second last, before the Barça kids because they will tell everyone

Jenni : Rude.

To Alexia’s relief, the conversation stops there. She was pretty afraid they were gonna make the connection between you and the noises in her room. Good that they think you two are so incompatible, she supposes. It was actually a bit hard to read that. People like Jenni that don’t know you don’t bother her, Misa does a lot more.

Alexia presses play on the Bayern game, but five minutes later she realizes she hasn't registered a single pass. Her phone is still open to the group chat. She closes it.

Alba arrives not long after Alexia finishes the game, even if she didn't reach any important conclusion from it considering how hazy her mind was. They settle outside on the patio, catching the late afternoon breeze with a quick drink and some olives. Alba pours herself a glass of wine while Alexia sticks to lemonade, refusing to touch alcohol during the season. Despite that being the case for literally years now, Alba still can’t resist teasing her about her discipline, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smirk.

At first, the conversation is the usual. Alexia talks about the game against Bayern and Alba about how the kids are at school. Then, because Alexia knew there was a true reason her sister came here, the conversation deviates. “Soooo, what’s her name.”

Alexia feigns innocence. “Who ?”

Alba rolls her eyes. “I’m supposed to believe you just really want to go home last night despite the how good your game was ? Not even accepting to have dinner with us ? And you looked very in a hurry on top of that.” Alexia winces, she’s in a bad position to lie, she’s a terrible liar anyway. “I was nice enough to not badger you in front of mama yesterday. Come on spill.”

“It hasn’t been going on for long, it’s not that important, we’re not even officially together. It’s been a little more than 3 weeks.” Alexia mumbles, eyes fixated on the sun reflecting on her swimming pool to not have to look at Alba.

“You ditched us for a girl you’ve been seeing for 3 weeks and aren’t even dating ?” Alba says, scandalized. Then there’s a pause, a long one, it forces Alexia to look at her sister. There’s a dangerous flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Weren’t you in the Spanish camp three weeks ago ?”

Alexia had no idea Alba would make that connection, her sister doesn’t care about football. Alexia should have anticipated that Alba knows her schedule more or less. Fuck, that was a huge mistake on her part. Alexia can feel her whole face heating up, she knows she’s giving it away. “Alba–”

“Don’t Alba me.” Her sister didn’t even look this delighted when Alexia gifted her some very expressive jewelry last Christmas. “I want a name, or I’m gonna start guessing and you’re gonna be horrified.”

Alexia groans internally. She’s going to tell Alba at the end anyway, getting it over it might be the best plan. “Y/n Y/l/n.”

Alba is in enough football circles, despite her dislike for the sport, to make the immediate connection. “Real Madrid captain ? The one who captains Spain when you’re not here ?” Alexia nods. “You know Alexia, you’re so predictable in every aspect of your life and then there are the women you date.”

Alexia furrows her brows. “What is that supposed to mean ?”

Alba shots her a no-bullshit stare. “It’s just that if it’s not mistaken, she’s been playing with you for ages, I think. You two have never been close, not even a little bit and you go straight to dating her ?”

“I’ve hanged out with enough footballers to know she’s not the most liked one out there. I remember you rambling about her during when the Spanish federation were being dicks even more than right now.” Alba sighs. “Most of the players are kinda like great footballer, but not particularly close to her as a person. A few of them genuinely dislike her.”

These words hurt, because it’s what has been going on non-stop in Alexia’s mind for hours. It must show on her face, because Alba tried to smoothen her words, saying jokingly. “And dating the Real Madrid captain of all people Ale ?”

“We’re not dating,” Alexia defends quickly, she can’t ignore the exasperated look on Alba’s face. “We talked during last camp and I don’t know.” Alexia shrugs. “We just hit off well I suppose. We never really talked like that in the past and then the occasion came and it just… happened.”

Alba looks at her sister up and down, still unconvinced. “You don’t let things just happen.”

“Camp is always a particular environment. It’s close-off, I don’t really have the time to relax and go home to think. She was there and easy to talk to and Vicky was annoying her, so she was with me all the time. I couldn’t even overthink honestly.”

“You’re talking about camp, but she was here in Barcelona, so it didn’t stop there.” There’s a pause, then Alba furrows her brows. “Wait did you invent the event in Madrid last week as an excuse ?”

Alba seems seconds away from rethinking everything she knows about Alexia. “No, the event was real. I might have stayed the night in Madrid which wasn’t in the original plan.” Alexia avoids her sister’s eyes at the admission, she can feel the ears get hotter. “And she’s just so easy to relax with. I don’t need to explain her football, and we talk about lot of things, and we laugh, we text each other stupid shit.” Alexia’s throws her head back, closing her eyes. “I don’t know Alba it’s just so simple when it’s just the two of us.”

“Is that about the sex ?” Alba asks jokingly, bursting out laughing when Alexia becomes as red as a tomato in the span of 2 seconds.

“Alba !” Alexia says, scandalized. She knows her sister likes to broach this subject just because it embarrasses her, but it still work every time. “I’m not talking about…” She gestures vaguely with her hands. “that with you. What even tells you we’ve done it.”

Alba looks thoroughly entertained. “Your reaction just now tells me that. Also when you said “just happened” it was pretty clear what you meant.” Alba wiggles her eyebrows, Alexia reddens even more. “I will get it out of you this summer.” Alba knows Alexia is talkative when drunk, that’s the only way to get this type of information out of her, but it works well to Alexia’s dismay. They already have a planned trip to Mexico.

“We might not be seeing each other by then.” Alexia tries to deflect. She wants to keep seeing you, maybe. She will need to sit down and think about it seriously at one point.

Apparently, Alba is trying to quicken Alexia’s reflections. “First, you’re shit at casual.” Why does everyone say that ? “And you sound really into her when you talk.” Alexia doesn’t want to think about that, that’s something for later. Alba tries to read her sister’s face, she likely can’t because she sighs heavily. “Ale you’re seeing the vice-captain of your national team. It would be a stupid idea for it to be casual. It’s even stupider to go for it without taking the time to actually think about it. You’re the OG overthinker you should know that.”

Alexia lets out a humorless laugh. “I know what the rational choice is, but I’m not sure that’s what I want. So I just don’t think about it.” Alba always had a way to make her talk about things she buried deep. Alexia doesn’t particularly like it.

“What makes you so hesitant ?” Alba softens, seeing her sister has lot of things twirling in her head, which isn’t unusual.

“We were talking earlier on the group chat.” Alba furrows her brows, Alexia immediately clarifies. “Irene, Jenni, Mariona, Laia and Misa.” Alexia swallows hard the lump in her throat from the memory. “They genuinely dislike her, Alba, and I just can’t date someone my close friends dislike.”

Alba eyes her. “You changed your mind, they can too.”

Alexia works her bottom lip. “I just shouldn’t have let it happen. Like I just had to resist 3 or 4 days of camp. Then outside of it it’s so easy to avoid her. I just let my control slip. Imagine the ruckus it would cause if it ever reaches the media ears.” Alexia panics, already seeing the frontpages in her head.

“Ale calm down,” Alba says with force. “You can’t live your life basing it on what people you don’t even know will say.”

“Everyone will criticize it, Alba. But I can’t back down now, can I ?” Alexia laughs humorlessly.

Alba sighs, it reminds her of past conversations with Alexia, where her sister never listened. “You can always back down from relationships, especially when they’ve been going on for less than a month. I know you won’t hear it, but it’s okay to break up with people.” Alexia avoids her gaze, Alba knows it means she’s not listening. “But if you do like her, I would say to go for it.”

“But people–” Alexia gets interrupted.

“You have the right to want things for yourself, you know,” Alba states. “But just don’t get in a relationship with the captain of Real Madrid without thinking of everything that comes with it, including the distance.” There’s the silent understanding between them about Alexia’s last relationship exploding because Olga was living in Madrid and Alexia was staying in Barcelona. Looking back it wasn’t the only problem, but that was the tipping point.

“I’m terrified of letting it go further and then realizing it won’t work because of our friends,” Alexia admits.

Alba sighs. “Ale, you’re acting as if she killed someone. There’s nothing unsolvable here.”

Alexia taps her fingers on the table, looking at the reflection of the sun on the surface on her swimming pool. “I hope you’re right,” she answers with a small voice.

That seems to satisfy Alba “Now come on tell me about her and how it happened, I want to know everything.”

Alexia smiles, grateful that Alba is letting the seriousness go to a territory Alexia is more comfortable with. Alexia tells the whole story to Alba, still not telling the spicy parts, making her sister complain about being told an “incomplete story”. Alexia also carefully avoid the contract part, you told her something that was supposed to be private, she can respect that. Also because Alba runs her tongue too much.

When her sister leaves later, Alexia feels heavier. She knows she has some thinking to do, she’s not sure she wants the conclusions of said thinking.

Later that night, Alexia opens her text thread with you. She starts recording a voice note with her takeaways from the game against Bayern, then she remembers the football nerd comments and just deletes it without sending anything.

-----------

A/n : I wasn't planning to include smut in this one, thought about Alexia fucking her while looking at the Ballons d'or and I just couldn't not write it.