☆ Summary: Being Barça's newest signing is the easy part. The real challenge is letting someone get close. With Alexia, things quickly turn physical, and while you have no problem taking control, letting yourself be seen is a different story. But Alexia isn't used to being kept at a distance.
☆ Word Count: 7.1k
☆ Warnings: SMUT (+18) • Well, how do I even tag this? Guided masturbation? • Torito discovers she has a very unfortunate weakness for being told to behave • Alexia discovers this too and takes full advantage of it • Alexia is a menace • yay Torito comes!! <333
☆ A/n: I'm struggling a lot with my undergraduate thesis right now, which is why I haven't been writing much! It's sucking me dryyy.
Part 7 here
You sighed in defeat. "I'll tell you about my ex if you tell me about yours."
Alexia chuckled. "That's not how it works. I always talk to you about myself, sí? I've already done my part. You're the one who drops a bomb in my lap every two weeks and then goes completely silent."
You rolled your eyes.
She won.
"There isn't much to say about her," you began slowly, trying to dig up memories of your life with your ex. You didn't like thinking too much about her, or who you were when you were together.
"Selene was cool, very cool… That's what got me attracted to her in the first place. She was smarter, funnier, and more confident than me. And when she took a liking to me, it felt... nice, you know? She was a bit older too, which seemed cooler than it does now."
Selene's favourite flowers were daffodils; she took pictures whenever she found them outside. Selene's favourite colour was orange, and she detested darker shades. Selene was kind to everyone else but you. Selene smelled like mango. Mango was your favourite fruit, still is. Not because of her, though.
You weren't sure you were supposed to be sharing all of that with Alexia, so you stopped talking. Alexia, however, did not appreciate the halt.
"Okay… more," Alexia instructed, her tone flat and commanding, as if she had simply decided you were a small robot programmed to comply with her demands.
And you were, a little bit. For her, at least.
"She was a good person, most of the time," you told Alexia. "But being with her wasn't nice. I think we brought out the worst in each other."
You took a longer pause this time. Alexia didn't break the silence, which you were grateful for. She was slowly learning that your silences weren't always an invitation to keep asking questions. Sometimes they merely meant your brain was trying to process some difficult thoughts.
"She wasn't very patient with me," you admitted, staring ahead, making a point not to look at Alexia. "And I think… I think I need people to be patient with me when it comes to... sex and just relationships in general. And she wasn't. So yeah." You exhaled slowly. "That's that. Not very nice. That's why we broke up."
"Yeah…" Alexia agreed quietly, her arm tightening around you. "Not very nice of Selene at all."
The room fell still for a moment.
"She was my first, too," you added, the realisation only highlighting how messy the breakup had actually been. "I even considered joining my parents' church and becoming a nun."
Alexia went dead still. Then she pushed herself up onto her elbow, hovering over to look straight into your face.
"She was your first? The first girl you had sex with?"
"Mhmmm. First person, yes." You kept your eyes glued on the ceiling. "She was the lucky one," you added dryly, throwing the joke into the room because you felt like you had ruined the soft atmosphere you had both been wrapped in.
(And also because you felt too exposed).
Alexia didn't smile. Great.
You had officially ruined her evening.
"You never told me that," she said, her voice a bit heavy.
"I think we've both established by now that I barely tell you anything," You replied, glancing up at her. "That's not exactly new information."
"Still." She was staring down at you with an expression that meant she was recalibrating something internally. "I would have liked to know that."
You smiled at the dramatics of it.
"Would you also like to know that you're my second?"
Alexia froze. It was a total and immediate freeze, as if someone had hit pause on her entire nervous system.
"I'm your second?" she repeated slowly, her eyes widening. "You've only been with two people? You've only had sex with two people?!"
You weren't sure what reaction you had been expecting. Something warmer, maybe, or at least a little more casual. But the shock in her tone made heat rush to your face before your brain could even try to fight it.
"I-I… well, yeah," you stammered, feeling your cheeks turn beet red. "I-I mean–"
"Hey, sorry, I think I'm overreacting," she started, softening and leaning in closer. "There's nothing to be–"
"If you say 'there's nothing to be embarrassed about'", you interrupted, pressing a single finger over her lips, "I will be significantly more embarrassed than I currently am."
Alexia gently moved your finger, her hand wrapping around your wrist. "I just thought you would have been with more people," she admitted quietly, and now it was her turn to flush. "That's all… because you are good at it. At, mhm, sex."
You tilted your head, forcing a slight smirk as you scrambled to pull the control of the conversation back into your hands. "You think so, capi?"
She pouted, nosing at your cheek. "Not capi. Just Ale."
"Okay, Ale," you murmured, letting her press her lips to your cheekbone. "You think I'm good at sex? What's your favourite thing about it, huh?"
Alexia rolled her eyes and flushed a deep pink. "I know you are deflecting again, but… I'll give you this. I-I like when you strap me."
Hearing the Spain and Barcelona captain stumble over the word strap made the blush on your face spike to temperatures previously unrecorded by science. It was an anomaly capable of melting a polar ice cap and leaving hundreds of little polar bears homeless.
"Well, you can thank Selene for that," you murmured, using the line out purely as a shield to hide the prickling insecurity of having so little experience.
Alexia's expression changed. Her embarrassment disappeared, her mouth pulling into a displeased little pout.
"No," she said, her voice dropping.
"No?"
"Don't say that."
"Why?" you asked, tilting your head as you tried to suppress a smile.
"Because I don't want to hear about her… like that."
Jealous Alexia was back.
Ignoring the heat burning your face, a small mischievous streak flared up in your chest. If you couldn't control your embarrassment, you could at least try to control her reaction, play with Alexia a little bit.
"She was the one who taught me how to-"
"No," Alexia whined softly.
Before you could finish, she leaned down and pressed her lips against yours. It wasn't a romantic gesture, more a physical necessity to shut you up.
"Tori, quiet now, vale?"
"You're not really going to let me finish that sentence?" You murmured against her mouth, feeling the stubborn press of her lips.
"No," she said, hovering just half a centimetre above your face, her eyes flashing you with jealousy. "You're mean."
"I'm so nice to you," you said, letting your hand drift lazily down to her lower back.
"Clearly you're not."
"I am."
Alexia rolled her beautiful eyes,
Any other day, Alexia would be completely naked by now.
But she was on her period, and you weren't clear on how to navigate that yet- what she would be comfortable with, where the boundaries were tonight. So, for now, you relied on your words.
"I'm so good to you, Ale," you whispered again, turning your head to press a playful bite against the apple of her cheek. "I'm not mean. You would know if I was ever mean to you."
"I would?" she whispered.
You nodded, biting her again. "Yes."
Alexia liked biting, although she didn't always enjoy having visibly marked afterwards. She often complained that it was unprofessional to walk around with love bites like a teenager, which meant you had long since learned where you could leave them without her having to spend the following day throwing tantrums while covering her neck.
You always gave her a hickey in places no one else could see, mainly the middle of her thighs. There wasn't much privacy, not when you shared a locker room with others. But oh God, tonight she would look so lovely with a purplish bruise right below her ear. She would look so endearing with your canine sunk into the soft meat of her ass.
Fuck. You were burning already.
She groaned when you kissed the same spot again.
"You're gonna leave a mark."
"Mark of what? My teeth in your cheek?"
"Obviously," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Mhm," you hummed, shifting closer so you could trail your tongue from her cheek down her neck and along her jaw. You kissed the spot where her carotid artery lay. It was beating rapidly, like a trapped rabbit. You sank your teeth in just enough to press, just enough to annoy her.
"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?" she murmured as you bit her again.
"I'm in a state of jubilation, yes."
Before you could realise, Alexia's hand was at the back of your throat, pushing you away with a firm grip.
"No mark, Tori," she said as you looked up at her. "Behave, si?"
You closed your mouth immediately.
The low and commanding shift in her voice sent a shiver straight down your spine, a physiological reaction you were wholly unprepared for. You swallowed hard, and Alexia, observant as ever, caught the movement of your throat. You felt like a properly trained dog whose owner said the word walk or bone.
Alexia tilted her head, a dangerous (little) smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
Oh no.
"Oh, did I find a soft spot, torito?"
Your face flushed even deeper. "Stop," you snapped.
Where on Earth did this come from?
"You like it when I tell you to behave?" Alexia teased softly, her hand creeping up to your neck, then your jawline, and you thought you might die. "Who would have guessed, huh?"
"Alexia," you warned, feeling blood rushing all over your core.
"Yes, bebé?"
"Stop," you repeated weakly. You were so screwed.
"I want a kiss," Alexia murmured, pressing her lips against your earlobe. "Can I have a kiss?"
You nodded. "Y-yes."
She leaned down and pressed her pink lips to yours. Her body moved slowly at first, until you felt the full press of her weight as she rested against you – her stomach flush against yours, her long legs entwined with yours, rumpling the hotel sheets even further.
Before she could settle into position, your body reacted on instinct. You shifted your hips and scrambled to flip your position, muscle memory taking over until you suddenly found yourself pinned right on top of her.
"Let me make you feel good," you whispered, your hand coming up to the warm skin of her neck, holding her down. You were desperate, trying to regain some semblance of the control she had stripped away with just one single word.
Alexia shook her head, her lips brushing against yours. "I'm on my period, remember?"
"I don't care," you said quickly, your fingers already tugging at the hem of her shirt. You wanted it off now. "Please?"
She shook her head again, firmer this time. "No, tori."
Why wasn't she letting you do anything?! You could count on one hand how many times she had ever said no to you. So rude!
You pouted up at her, your chest heaving. "Really? You don't want to because of the blood? I really don't mind."
Alexia chuckled. "I don't think I've ever seen you desperate. What happened? Did you get horny when I told you to behave?"
The grip on her neck instantly faltered. Alexia took that split second of hesitation to effortlessly flit you both over. God, she was so fucking strong; you almost always forget it, mainly because she allowed you to handle her like a rag doll half the time.
In a heartbeat, you were beneath her. Alexia looked at you with an unbearably pleased little smile.
"Thought so," she murmured. "But I want to hear you say it."
You had never been under her like this. Not once. You had never received, never surrendered control, never even let her see you entirely naked. You must have looked genuinely panicked for a second, because Alexia's eyes softened immediately. She pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek; her voice stripped of any teasing.
"Is this okay? Too much?" she murmured against your skin. "Do you prefer to be back on top?"
Fuck. Alexia was so gentle and considerate, and you were wet.
"I-It's whatever you want… just please let me feel you?" you pleaded, looking up at her with helpless eyes. "We can just go to the shower afterwards, or I can finger you in the shower, or-or we can lay down a towel–"
"We don't have any more towels," Alexia pointed out calmly.
"Okay, fuck the towel, whatever, I just–"
"Answer my question," Alexia interrupted, her tone dropping into one of authority. "Are you horny?"
You swallowed hard once again, your mind racing as you gave her a stiff (and embarrassed) nod.
"Words."
"Yes."
"Yes, what?"
You rolled your eyes. You were as red as a cherry, you were sure.
"You know what."
Alexia clicked her tongue, shaking her head with exaggerated disappointment. "Tsk, tsk. Not very polite."
She made a move to climb off you, and alarms rang in your ears.
"No! Stay, please," you blurted out, reaching for her. Your hands caught the fabric of her shirt, holding on as though she might disappear if you let go. "Please? I'm sorry. Perdon, Ale."
"You know, usually people say sorry and then stop misbehaving," she said, looking down at you with a smile. "Will you? Will you do what I tell you to do?"
Your mind went completely blank. Head empty. Your brain was firing every single neuron at the same time, trying to make sense of what was happening. Wasn't that the onset of a seizure? Damn, were you seizuring?!
You didn't know what to say, what to do, or how to behave. You had no script for being the… submissive one.
"I-I'm sorry," you whispered again, your voice suddenly small. "I'll try."
Alexia's face went softer. "It's okay, hermosa. Let's try again, sí? I'm sure you'll get it right this time." She paused, watching you. "So… are you horny?"
"Yes…" You admitted, the confession burning you from the inside out. "I'm horny."
"Muy bien," she said, sounding pleased, rewarding you with a brush of her lips against yours. "Now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?"
Yes, it was fucking hard. You thought to yourself. But in the end, you shook your head. Alexia lifted her eyebrows, her gaze fixed on you, waiting patiently for a verbal response.
Frustrating, impossible woman.
"No, it wasn't," you grumbled.
"Good," she said, leaning down to kiss you again and then pulling just enough to look into your eyes. "Now, guapa. It's up to you, sí? I'm completely off the table tonight. You won't touch me tonight, okay? Do you understand me?"
"O-okay," you said. "I understand."
The Catalan studied your face for a second, making sure you really meant it.
"Good girl."
The words made your stomach turn over. Your blood seemed to run faster. The oxygen in the room felt scarce. Why had people ever invented language when two words could apparently wreak someone's mental state this badly?
You stared at her, speechless.
Alexia's mouth twitched. "Oh..." she murmured, noticing your reaction. "We're going to have fun with this, aren't we?"
"S-shut up," you managed. "You are teasing me now."
Alexia pouted. "Okay, now you are being bad. That's disappointing, Tori. But maybe we can deal with your attitude some other time, sí?"
You swallowed, trying to collect yourself.
"Back to what matters," she continued as if nothing had happened. She turned her face to press a kiss to your cheek. "I told you I'm just waiting for you to give me the green light to touch you, yeah? You tell me yes, and I'll make you feel good."
Then, she propped herself up on her elbow, and the teasing disappeared from her face almost immediately; her voice softened into the one tone you knew so well, that made it clear she was paying attention to you.
"...Or you can tell me no, and we don't have to do anything at all, of course. What do you want?"
You were blushing furiously by now, but you were also so fucking horny.
"I-I don't know," you whispered.
"You don't have to figure it out right now," Alexia said gently, her hand smoothing over your waist. "We can just go back to cuddling, maybe get some dinner. I really don't want to pressure you–"
She made a subtle move to shift off you again, and your hand immediately shot up, gripping her shirt.
"Stay," you said.
She smirked slowly, but then clearly tried to hide her satisfaction from you. "Yes?"
"Uhum," you hummed, feeling a lump in your throat. "But I-I'm not ready for you to touch me."
"Alright, tori," Alexia said, her eyes filled with understanding. "We can just–"
"B-but it hurts," you whined, your body betraying your words as you rolled your hips up against her pelvis. You immediately froze, mortified by yourself.
"I-I…" you were unable to continue. There was nothing to say. You were too frustrated with yourself, too needy and far too horny for your own good.
Alexia let out a sharp breath. Her hand came down to your waist, stilling you before either of you could lose your composure. "Can I help you with it?"
You blinked at her. "How? Without touching me?"
She nodded. "Why don't you touch yourself?" Alexia asked, looking down at you, at how utterly trapped and flushed you were beneath her. "Would that be okay?"
And then, for the first time, you saw the full reality of the situation settle over Alexia's face. Just now, she was truly understanding the depth of it, how completely unfamiliar this was for you.
You were completely exposed to her, somewhat relying on her to guide you while simultaneously trying to work out what you wanted for yourself. Suddenly, she was the one who looked on the verge of having a seizure. Alexia looked as overwhelmed as you felt.
"W-what?" you stammered, your eyes widening in disbelief. "I've never done that before."
Alexia stared down at you, her own eyes growing comically wide.
"I meant in front of another person, Alexia!" you blurted, rolling your eyes to cover your embarrassment.
Alexia's brows came together. "I don't particularly like it when you roll your eyes at me, torito," she said flatly.
Before you could formulate a suitably snappy response, she leaned down, one hand coming up to cup your jaw firmly. She pressed her lips to your, deepening the kiss into something slow and possessive enough to wipe away any coherent thought out of your brain.
Alexia reached down, taking the edge of the white hotel blanket, and with a smooth motion, pulling it over your body until you were hidden from her view. Then she took your hand, guiding your wrist under the cover before resting her own hand right on top of yours.
"This way I can feel what you are doing," she murmured. "But I don't have to touch you. Is that okay?"
You gave her a small nod. It felt strange – a deep and vulnerable kind of sensation – but a good strange. A safe strange. Something was reassuring about the blanket between you, about knowing that Alexia was there without being able to see everything you were doing.
"Okay, Tori," Alexia spoke softly; her tone was so, so grounding. "Do you want to take your shorts off under there, or do you want to keep them on?"
What were you doing?
Everything seemed to be moving both too quickly and yet so slowly. Were you even ready for what was about to happen? You weren't entirely sure. You weren't entirely sure of anything anymore. All you knew was that you needed release like never before.
"I-I want to keep them on," you finally responded, biting the inside of your cheek, feeling silly for being so reserved at a time like this.
You had strapped Alexia, had seen her showering, you had your face buried between her legs God knows how many times… and yet here you were mortified by the thought of taking off a few layers of clothing.
"Está bien guapa," she said, offering you a smile. "Tócate por encima, sí?" [Alright, pretty girl / Touch yourself over them, okay?]
You swallowed hard and slowly moved your hand beneath the blanket over the waistband of your shorts. Alexia's hand followed the movement from above the fabric, her palm resting lightly over your wrist. The second your fingers brushed through your shorts, you felt relief immediately flush through you, moving through your spine in a wave of soft heat.
A soft and involuntary sound escaped your throat. It felt so fucking good.
It's been weeks since you had touched yourself. Normally, focusing on Alexia was enough to satisfy you in an entirely different way, but now? Now it was a whole other story. This was just you, with Alexia watching, and somehow that made you feel far more exposed than when you were actively having sex with her.
"Like this," she murmured. "I'm right here, tori."
The reassurance somehow made it easier, but also made you hyperaware that she was indeed watching.
"Estás mojada?" Alexia asked, her eyes glued on your flushed face. [Are you wet?]
You got even wetter at the question alone. She had a habit of switching between Spanish and Catalan whenever things became intimate, and right now her sweet accent was more than welcome.
"I-I don't know."
A tiny smile appeared on her face. "You don't know?"
"I-I'm touching over my shorts," You reminded her, as though this should have been obvious.
"Then go underneath, guapa," she instructed.
You stared at her for a second, and she simply waited. Feeling strangely brave as you looked right into her eyes, you whispered. "O-okay."
You slipped your hand beneath the waistband and were instantly met with slickness. Your cotton underwear was a complete mess. Your fingertips could access your clit more easily like this.
You felt Alexia's hand on top of yours through the fabric, guiding you to start pressing against the sensitive bundle of nerves. You tilted your hips and rolled your eyes.
It felt so good already.
"Qué tan mojada estás, bebé?" Alexia whispered. [How wet are you, baby?]
"Very," you whispered, the admission burning your cheeks and neck. "It's… it's a mess. M-my thighs are all wet."
Alexia's expression melted into something sweet, her lips forming a pout. "Oh… pobrecita." Though her tone was tender, it was also interlaced with unbearable patronisation that made you want to hide your face.
Alexia adjusted her position, her hand settling more firmly over yours, anchoring your palm right over the wetness of your underwear.
"Do you understand me well in Spanish?" Alexia asked, halting her movement over the top of your fingers, which made the friction over your clit stop. "Or do you prefer me to speak to you in English?"
"I–Alexia, whatever! It's whatever, just… ugh!" you gasped, unable to form a complete and understanding sentence while she held you like that. "Just… do something, please."
Alexia chuckled, and the sound made a heat pool in your lower stomach.
"You know, you can just touch yourself without me telling you what to do," she said.
You stared at her.
"Your hand is right there," she continued, looking far too amused. "Nobody is stopping you. So why are you waiting for directions, torito? Do you like taking orders that much?"
You opened your mouth to give her a very sharp response, but your brain was empty. The truth was: yes, you were waiting. You were actively waiting, holding yourself back, waiting for her to tell you what to do. You wanted her to give you her green light.
The realisation was somehow more embarrassing than touching yourself in front of her.
"Alexia," you whined, your cheeks burning again in pure humiliation. "Please, Ale. Don't be mean."
Her expression softened once again.
"Dime, bebé," she murmured, her hand (finally!!) initiating a slow circle over your fingers. You instantly followed her lead, pressing down on your clit gently. "Like this? Así? Tell me."
"Y-yes," you choked out, your hips twitching beneath the blanket as you tried to meet the pressure of her hand. "Like that…"
"Ah! No, no, no," Alexia scolded you gently, her hand pressing down just enough to pin your hips flat again. "Don't rush. I dictate the pace, sí? You slow down."
"Oh, fuck," you groaned as she guided your fingers in very small and agonising circles through the fabrics. The combination of the blanket, the shorts and the weight of Alexia's hand made the sensation build even more.
You squeezed your eyes shut. You have never done anything remotely like this with anyone else. Not with Selene, not with Alexia.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"Look at me," Alexia whispered.
"No," you murmured, your eyes stubbornly remaining closed.
"Okay," She instantly lifted her hand away, breaking the contact.
Your eyes snapped open in panic. "I'm sorry," you blurted out, forcing your eyelids wide open to meet her gaze.
"Muy bien, bebé. Smart choice," she said, smirking as she placed her hand right back over yours. Her thumb brushed the skin of your wrist before guiding your hand back into place. "Now stay right here with me. Don't go wandering off. Don't overthink, sí?"
You swallowed, keeping your eyes fixed on hers. You were far too afraid that if you looked away again, she would take her hands from yours.
"Good girl," Alexia whispered, and you thought you might come just from hearing those two words. She began to move her hand in those painful slow circles again. "Just like that. Keep your eyes on me."
Your breath caught. Without the distraction of your mind, without overthinking about everything, the sensation rushed in to fill the void. For the first time all day, you weren't analysing everything, weren't replaying the match, questioning Alexia's words, or wondering what you were supposed to do next. You were simply feeling it.
You whined lowly against her ear.
"Ale–" you gasped, your body trying to arch up to meet her palm again. Your fingertips were all slick from your own wetness, and you were still just touching yourself over your underwear. You would genuinely have a syncope if you were to touch your bare flesh right now.
"Ah-ah," Alexia clicked her tongue, her hand pressing down to stop your movement. "What did I say about rushing? Stay still for me, torito. Let it build."
Not a single neuron in your brain was functioning properly. Nor, apparently, were your astrocytes or microglia. You had managed to switch off completely, leaving you staring helplessly into Alexia's honey-coloured eyes.
"Does it feel good?" she asked softly. You could tell she honestly wanted to know; she wasn't teasing. "Are you still okay?"
You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip. "Y-yes."
She watched your face for another moment before speaking again.
"Why don't you go under your underwear?" she murmured, her thumb pressing down to guide your hand. "Touch yourself properly, guapa. Touch your clit for me?"
You blushed, a pathetic whine escaping your throat.
Alexia let out a breathless chuckle. "You are so, so reactive to my words, torito. What happened to you today? You certainly weren't like this before. Or were you, and I just never noticed?"
You stared up at her, your brain utterly useless and fried, unable to form a response.
"Maybe I never noticed before because you never allowed me the space to form a thought of my own, huh?" she teased.
"Whenever we are together, you have me in all sorts of positions. Your mouth between my thighs, or strapping me while I'm on all fours for you…" she paused and leaned down until her breath was hot against your ear. "... but now, look at you, bebé. I told you to behave, and suddenly you are my polite puppy?"
"Oh, fuck, Alexia," you moaned; the combination of her fingers guiding yours and the filthiness of her words was sending waves to your cunt.
You felt so good, so wet and so warm that you couldn't decide whether you were in hell or heaven.
"You like dirty talk that much?" she teased, pressing a (very) patronising kiss on your cheekbone. "Qué mona." [How cute]
You nodded frenetically, trying to overlook the condescension dripping from every word she said.
"Touch your coño, now," she commanded. "Go underneath your underwear."
You shook your head out of pure embarrassment.
Alexia's hand relaxed at once, taking her palm from yours. "Okay, if you don't want to, don't. But I'm not going to talk you through it anymore."
"Okay, okay! Sorry!" you blurted out instantly, panicking that you might lose the contact. "Don't stop talking."
Alexia smiled triumphantly, and you finally gave in, sliding your fingers beneath the soaked fabric of your panties, and fuck, you were ridiculously sensitive. Your clit was swollen, and the slick between your thighs was absurd. You had never been this wet in your entire life, not even when you touched yourself alone.
Alexia read your body language. Her eyes darkened as she rested her hand over yours to dictate the speed once again.
"Como está tu coño, dime?" she whispered, her voice as soft as silk.
"I'm-I'm wet, an-and that's it," you stammered. Alexia was exceptionally good at dirty talk; you, clearly, were not.
Alexia raised her eyebrows.
"That can't be all, Tori," she murmured, her fingers nudging yours over your clit. "Get a little creative, sí? I know how smart you are."
"I-I'm swollen all over, a-and it's hot," you confessed, the embarrassment burning you alive.
"Yeah, guapa?" Alexia encouraged you gently. "What else?"
"Mhm… I'm so, so sensitive."
"Okay bebé," Alexia whispered, kissing your lips tenderly. "You talk to me so pretty. I like you like this."
A soft groan escaped your throat. Alexia stayed close, her lips brushing your jawline as her voice dropped into something raw that got your head spinning. "Do you want to put a finger inside?" Alexia asked
You shook your head quickly.
"Are you sure?"
You nodded. "Don't want to. This feels good enough."
"Okay, let's just focus on your clit, Tori," she said, and there wasn't even a hint of disappointment in her voice. She brushed her lips down the side of your neck, and you tried to focus on the feeling, on the warmth of her body.
The pleasure continued to build, but it wasn't enough to overcome the sudden spike of panic in your chest.
You had never come in front of anyone before. Your brain, your worst enemy, was spiralling again. What if you made a weird face? What if you looked ridiculous? What if you ruined everything? Your brows furrowed, your body tensing up – the bad and rigid kind of tense.
Alexia noticed it, of course. The filthy teasing evaporated in a second. She leaned down and kissed your forehead; her hand stopped.
"Hey," she whispered. "Look at me."
You did, although your eyes were beginning to sting.
"You're thinking too hard," Alexia murmured, her hand continuing to move over yours, creating a perfect friction over your clit, making your own fingers move faster. "I can see it, torito. Relax for me, amor. It's okay."
Amor. Amor. Amor.
You wanted to be her lover. You wanted her to love. You wanted to love her. Fuck. Maybe you already did?
"I-I think I want to come," you admitted in a tiny whisper, completely humiliated by how desperate you sounded. "Can I? Please?"
Alexia's face melted, her eyes filled with fondness. "That's good," she whispered, her tone so impossibly sweet it made your heart ache. "Of course you can. I would be very, very happy if you did."
Fuck. Hearing that shattered the last of your logical defences. Every single fibre in your muscles, every hormone in your body scrambled to give her exactly what she wanted… to please her, to make her happy.
"Can you please come for me, amor?" Alexia asked softly, her hand guiding yours one last time.
"Alexia–"
"I'm here," she said gently. "You can let go now, tori."
You broke. Literally. The pleasure washed over you so instantly you didn't have time to mull over it, to decide if you would allow Alexia to see you like this or not. The release was as intense as it was scary, but God, it felt good. You felt your muscles go taut before they all relaxed under Alexia's hand.
"Yes… Just like that. Joder," Alexia whispered with satisfaction as if reciting a prayer. "You look so good. Fuck, I could cum from just watching you."
"Buena niña."
"Hermosa, muy buena for me."
Alexia's words only prolonged your orgasm. She soothed all of your tremors by brushing soft kisses along the curve of your neck and jawline. It was as if she were trying to kiss every single one of your pulse points: the temporal, the apical, the carotid, the brachial, the radial, the popliteal… every single one of them.
But the second the last wave of pleasure subsided, fear instantly reclaimed your nervous system, and before Alexia could even process the shift, you yanked your hand out from under hers, took the hotel blanket, and dragged it straight over your head in a weak attempt to hide.
Under the fake safety of the blankets, you allowed yourself to breathe. It had been so fucking incredible, astoundingly good. But oh God, you were mortified.
Alexia, ever the most patient person in the room, didn't force the blanket off, thankfully. Instead, she simply rested her hand over your waist through the sheets.
"Tori, put this down, will you, bebé?" You could hear the whine in her voice, picturing the pout forming on her lips. "It's so rude to deny me a view of you after that."
"No," you responded pitifully from beneath the blanket. "I-I'm embarrassed."
"Embarrassed about what?" she asked,
"Just… everything."
"Tori, you've seen me come how many times, mhm? A hundred? Maybe more? Now we are a little bit even, don't you think?"
"No," you insisted.
"Okay… " Alexia sighed. "Why don't you want to come out?"
You rolled your eyes into the darkness of the cotton. Wasn't it obvious? "Because I just came," grumbled. "And I'm embarrassed. I've never… nobody had ever seen me like that before."
"Guapa… that was the whole point," she pointed out. "Wasn't it? For you to come?"
You groaned, trying (and failing) to counter her logic. "Well yeah, but initially, I wanted to make you cum."
Feeling defeated, you rolled over onto your stomach, burying your face in the cream pillow.
Alexia took advantage of that, hooking her fingers into the blanket and sliding it down just enough to expose your sweaty, flushed nape. She leaned down and kissed the spot below your ear.
"I miss your face so much…" she murmured. " Let me look at you, tori. It's my favourite view in this whole entire world."
The only response she got was a groan.
"Answer me one thing", Alexia coaxed, her hand trailing a lazy line down your back, her lips never once leaving your neck. "When you make me come, how do you feel?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Answer the question, tori,"
"I feel good," you mumbled against the pillow. "I like making you, well, cum, You sound and look very pretty. I like it. A lot."
"Exactly," Alexia whispered into your ear, her breath warm. "That is exactly how I feel right now. I made you come, bebé. Do you really think I'm going to let you hide that from me?"
You groaned again but finally turned around.
Alexia didn't make a fuss, but the breathless "gracias" that slipped past her lips as she looked down at you was almost sacred.
You locked eyes with her, and the look on her face was one of pure, unadulterated bliss mixed with a smug pride. It hit you like a bullet to the chest. How could you be the reason she looked like that? How could you be the reason that Alexia was this happy, this captivated? You had never, in your entire life, thought yourself capable of causing that kind of reaction in anyone.
She was so painfully beautiful, too. The straight line of her nose, the warmth of her eyes, the flash of her pearly white teeth as she smiled down at you.
You were in so deep, and you had no idea how to swim in this ocean of feelings. There was no lifeboat coming to save you now, was there?
How could you like her this much? How could you have let your guard down so easily? Okay… maybe it hadn't been that easy, but you certainly hadn't fought it as hard as you usually did. You simply let go with Alexia. And it felt so nice. So good. So impossibly pleasurable.
Alexia shifted, laying down and pressing her warm cheek flat over your shirt, right above your breast. Silence washed over the room until she mumbled against the fabric.
"You're rigid like a statue. Relax, tori. You are supposed to relax now."
"I am relaxed," you said, voice stiff and considerably less convincing than you would have liked.
Alexia, apparently in one of her not-so-rare clingy moods, reached up, took your hand and placed it directly on top of her head. "Scratch my head while you pretend to be relaxed," she said.
And, of course, you did because you would do practically anything she asked of you right now. Was it really that easy for Alexia to tell you to do something and for you to just obey? It was so fucking pathetic of you.
God, you loved it.
After you spent a good fifteen minutes of absentmindedly running your fingers through her hair while you still tried to process everything that had just happened, Alexia moved her head and rested her chin on your chest.
"Do you want, by some miracle, to talk about what just happened?"
"No," you said, without an ounce of hesitation.
Alexia pouted at you and it felt like daggers were being purposely dug back and forth into your back.
You rolled your eyes. "Ugh, fine. What do you want to talk about?"
A dangerous smirk spread across her features. "Bien… first of all… I didn't know that my torito liked to obey so much."
"I do not," you snapped back defensively.
"It certainly didn't seem like that," Alexia teased, her voice dropping into a conspiratory whisper. "I could hear how wet you were."
Your face flushed a furious blush, blazing red all over. "Alexia. Stop it."
"I'm just surprised, that's all," Alexia continued, completely unbothered. "I just didn't realise you had that much bottom mentality in you, you know?"
That did it.
You immediately propped yourself up to your elbow, your pride utterly offended. Alexia let out a disappointed whine as she was forced to rearrange herself, no longer able to rest her full weight on top of your chest.
"Excuse me?! Bottom mentality?" you sputtered, glaring down at her. "I'm not a pillow princess if that's what you are implying."
Alexia's smirk only broadened. "Yet."
You deliberately rested your hand on the back of her neck, pulling her closer as you switched positions, sending you both stumbling down the mattress. While hovering over her, you brought your face agonizingly close to hers, speaking very slow against her lips.
"Don't forget who fucked you this morning," you murmured against her lips, taking control back. "Who had you in a whimpering mess."
Alexia pouted, her breath hitched, though she refused to yield completely. She rested her palm on your waist, brushing her thumb over it.
"I'm not a bottom," you stated, driving the point home.
The smirk on Alexia's face returned, three times more infuriating than before. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Tori."
She then leaned in to pack your lips softly, pulling back to look at you with the most angelic, innocent face known to humankind. "You look so pretty right now."
Alexia was messing with you. First, she acted like a brat, and now she was looking at you all soft, showering you with sweet compliments.
"Ugh," you sighed, letting your forehead rest against her, speaking the words right into her mouth. "You're driving me insane."
"Tell me I'm pretty, too," she demanded. "Be nice."
"You're pretty," you said, reaching your hand to the back of her neck before trailing it lazily down her bare arm. "You're as pretty as you are annoying."
"So that means I'm very annoying?" she asked.
"That means you are very pretty," you murmured.
Before Alexia could offer another retort, a loud noise came from your stomach. The Catalan's head snapped up, that insufferable smirk making itself known again. "Hungry much?"
"No," you said embarrassingly quickly.
"Right," she said, chuckling as she pushed herself up onto her elbow. "Well, I am. So, what do you think about getting some food?"
You blinked up at her stupidly. "Like… outside of the hotel?"
Alexia tilted her head. "Obviously outside. Don't you remember what Vicky said about the hotel restaurant closing early tonight?"
"So… just you and me?" you asked.
Alexia let out a sigh, and you couldn't help but notice her eyes twinkling with bratty amusement. "Sí, unless you want fifteen more players to join us, Tori?"
You rolled your eyes.
"Come on, hop hop," Alexia coaxed, patting your thigh as she left the bed. "Go get some fresh clothes. We're going out."
"Where?" you asked, sitting up slowly as you pulled the blanket around your waist.
"I know a really good place near here," Alexia said. "It's very casual, stays open late… quiet and private too."
"Alright," you said, more to yourself.
You finally dragged yourself out of the bed. As your feet hit the cold floor, you noticed how your thighs were still slick and tacky, your fingers slightly wet from your wetness. There was no way in hell you were putting on clean clothes like this. You needed a shower, or at least a quick, five-minute rinse to wash what happened in that bed off your skin.
You walked over to your bag, pulled out a fresh pair of underwear and a clean change of clothes, and headed towards the bathroom. You reached for the door handle, ready to turn on the hot water, only to hear Alexia call your name.
"Ay, tori?"
You paused, glancing over her. "Yes?"
"This is a date, by the way. In case it wasn't clear."
You stared at her for a long second, feeling warmth creep up the back of your neck.
"Thank you for making it clear," you replied dryly.
Alexia beamed. "You're welcome, bebé."
A/n: As someone who loves ✨directions✨, I really liked writing the smut scene, but I am sorry if it is a bit weird or not sexy at all, I promise I'll make up for it! <3 I had such a writers block with this oneeeee. This chapter was done a week ago, but I didn't like it <3
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You had known Clara long enough to remember when she still looked slightly overwhelmed every time she stepped into a room full of first-team players.
That version of her had been easy to understand. She had been younger, quieter, still carrying that unmistakable academy-player nervousness whenever she was called up to train with the senior squad. She listened more than she spoke, watched everything, and seemed almost startled whenever one of the older players went out of their way to include her in a conversation. You had always been kind to her. That was all. At least, that was what you told yourself now. Because somewhere between those early training sessions and the woman currently standing across from you with one eyebrow raised, waiting for you to admit you had been staring, something had changed. Clara had changed. And apparently, so had you.
“Are you going to say something?” she asked.
You blinked. “About what?”
“The fact that you’ve been looking at me for the last thirty seconds.”
“I haven’t.” Clara smiled.
That irritating little smile she had started using more often lately. Confident. Knowing. Nothing like the shy teenager you remembered from a few years earlier.
“You have.”
“I was thinking.”
“About me?”
“Unfortunately.” Her smile widened. You immediately regretted answering. The two of you were standing near the edge of the training pitch waiting for the next drill to begin. Around you, the rest of the team was slowly regrouping after a water break, but Clara seemed entirely uninterested in anything happening outside the small space between you. That had become a problem. Clara was becoming a problem.
“You used to be nicer to me,” she said.
“You used to annoy me less.”
“I barely spoke to you.”
“Exactly.”
Clara laughed, bumping her shoulder against yours as she passed. Your eyes followed her automatically. Then you stopped yourself. No. Absolutely not. You looked down at the grass instead. Twenty-seven. You were twenty-seven. Clara was nineteen. That fact had become something of a mantra over the last few weeks. Every time she made you laugh. Twenty-seven and nineteen. Every time she sat too close during lunch. Twenty-seven and nineteen. Every time her hand landed casually on your arm while she spoke and remained there half a second longer than necessary. Twenty-seven. Nineteen. Eight years. It shouldn't have bothered you as much as it did. You had teammates with larger age gaps between them and their partners. Nobody at the club would exactly gasp in horror if you and Clara went for dinner. But nineteen and twenty-seven felt different. It wasn't just the number. You had already lived through the beginning of your senior career. You had made mistakes, changed clubs, lived alone, figured out who you were outside football, dated people seriously enough to understand what you did and didn't want. Clara was only just beginning that part of her life. And you refused to become the older teammate who blurred the line simply because she liked the way Clara looked at her. Even if Clara made avoiding that line increasingly difficult.
“Y/N.” You looked up. Alexia was staring at you from several meters away. “Are you joining us?”
You glanced around. Everyone had already moved into position. Clara stood nearby trying very hard not to laugh. You pointed at her. “Your fault.”
“I didn't do anything.”
“You exist.”
“That sounds difficult for you.”
“You have no idea.”
Her expression flickered. Just briefly. But you saw it. And judging from the tiny smile that appeared afterward, Clara knew you had seen it too. You walked away before you could make things worse. Training had become dangerous lately. Not because Clara was reckless. If anything, she had become one of the more intelligent young players around the first team. Her decision-making had improved, she carried herself differently, and the nerves that once followed her everywhere had mostly disappeared. The dangerous part was that the coaches kept pairing you together. They liked the way you combined. You didn't. That was a lie. You liked it far too much. Clara seemed to know exactly where you wanted the ball before you asked for it. She learned your movements quickly, understood when you wanted her to come short and when you wanted her running beyond you, and had developed an annoying habit of grinning every time the two of you connected particularly well. Halfway through a passing drill, she slipped a ball between two defenders and directly into your path. You took one touch and finished.
“Again!” the coach shouted.
As you jogged back, Clara was waiting. “Good ball,” you admitted. Her eyebrows rose. “Was that a compliment?”
“Don't get used to it.”
“I think I'll write it down.”
“You're becoming unbearable.”
“Becoming?”
You laughed despite yourself. Clara smiled at the sound. And there it was again. That look. You had spent enough time around women to know when someone was flirting with you. Clara wasn't particularly subtle. The problem was that you had been just as bad until three weeks ago. Before you'd properly thought about her age. Before one conversation in the changing room had reminded you exactly how young she was. Clara had been complaining about something Mapi had said when she casually mentioned her upcoming birthday.
“I'll finally be twenty.” You had looked up.
“Oh is that so”
Clara frowned. “Yes”
Your stomach had dropped. You knew how old she was. But hearing her say it out loud is something different. You had been flirting with a nineteen-year-old. Nothing inappropriate had happened. A few jokes. Lingering looks. Coffee together after training twice. But the realization had been enough. You pulled back almost immediately.
Clara noticed within forty-eight hours. Of course she did. “You're avoiding me.” You nearly walked straight into her. Clara was waiting outside the dining room after training, arms folded across her chest.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I've seen you every day.”
“At training.”
“That is generally where teammates see each other.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You know what I mean.”
You did. You adjusted your bag on your shoulder. “I've been busy.”
“You stopped getting coffee with me.”
“Maybe I'm cutting back.”
“You had three coffees yesterday.”
You stared at her. “How do you know that?”
“I have eyes.”
You sighed. “Clara.”
Your mouth opened.
She beat you to it. “I'm nineteen, by the way.”
“I know.”
“I'll be twenty soon.”
“Congratulations.”
Her eyes narrowed further. “So you'll like me next month?”
You almost choked. “I, what?”
Clara smiled sweetly. “You heard me.”
“I like you now.”
“As a teammate.”
“Yes.”
“Liar.”
You stared at her. She stared right back. There was no nervousness in her expression. No uncertainty. Just Clara. Confident enough to call you on every excuse you made.
You lowered your voice. “You're nineteen.”
“I know how old I am.”
“And I'm twenty-seven.”
“I'm also aware of that.”
“Clara.”
“There you go again.”
“Again what?”
“Acting like eight years is a contagious disease.”
You closed your eyes briefly. “This isn't funny.”
“I don't think it is.” That made you open them. Her teasing expression had disappeared.
“I think you liked me,” she said quietly. “And then you found out exactly how old I was, and now you've decided I'm some kid you need to stay away from.”
Your chest tightened. “You are not a kid.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
“It isn't that simple.”
“Why?”
Because you wanted her. That was the simplest and most complicated answer you could give. Because if you didn't, none of this would matter. You could laugh off her flirting. Ignore the looks. Keep everything firmly where it belonged. Instead, you had spent three weeks actively avoiding being alone with her because you didn't trust yourself not to fall straight back into whatever had been growing between you before.
“You're at a different point in your life,” you finally said.
Clara tilted her head. “And you've decided that for me?”
“No.”
“It sounds like it.”
“I'm trying to be careful.”
“With what?”
You hesitated. Her. You. Both of you. Before you could answer, voices approached from the dining room. Mapi appeared first, followed by Patri. Mapi looked between the two of you.
“Oh.”
You immediately stepped farther away from Clara. Mapi's eyebrows rose. “Were we interrupting something?”
“No,” you said.
“Yes,” Clara answered at the same time.
You turned toward her. She smiled. Mapi looked delighted. “Interesting.”
“Don't,” you warned.
“I haven't said anything.”
“Your face has.”
Patri laughed and nudged Mapi toward the hallway. “Leave them alone.”
Mapi allowed herself to be dragged away, although she looked back twice. You sighed. Clara was still watching you. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That never means nothing.”
Her smile returned. Then she stepped closer. Not enough to touch. Enough that you noticed. “My birthday dinner is Friday.”
“I know.”
“You're coming.”
It wasn't a question. “The whole team is coming.”
“That's also not what I asked.”
You stared at her. Clara held your gaze. “You're coming?” You should have said no. You should have invented plans. You should have done whatever was necessary to put some distance between yourself and the woman currently looking at you like she already knew exactly what your answer would be.
Instead, you sighed. “Yes.”
Clara smiled. “Good.”
She walked away before you could change your mind. You watched her disappear down the corridor, already regretting your decision. Friday. Clara's twentieth birthday. One dinner. An entire team around you. There was absolutely no reason that should be a problem. None at all. So why did you already have the feeling it was going to be one?
-
By Friday evening, you had managed to convince yourself that Clara’s birthday dinner was not going to be a problem. You were an adult. She was an adult. You were teammates. Friends, even, although the definition of that word had become increasingly questionable over the last few months. There would be an entire table full of Barcelona players around you, which meant there was absolutely no reason for anything remotely inappropriate to happen. You had repeated some variation of that argument while getting dressed. Then again in the car. Once more while walking toward the restaurant. It worked beautifully. Right up until you saw Clara.
“Fuck.”
The word escaped beneath your breath before you could stop it. Clara stood near the entrance to the restaurant with Jana and Patri, laughing at something one of them had said. She had traded her usual training clothes for a fitted black dress that stopped above her knees, her hair falling loosely around her shoulders instead of pulled back the way you were used to seeing it.
For several seconds, you simply stood there. Twenty. She was twenty now. Somehow that wasn't helping nearly as much as Clara seemed to think it should. Mapi appeared beside you. You hadn't even heard her approach.
“This is going to be fun.”
You tore your eyes away from Clara. “What?”
Mapi was grinning. “Nothing.”
“You're annoying.”
“I haven't done anything.”
“You're thinking something.”
“Am I not allowed?”
“Not when it involves me.”
Mapi laughed and walked toward the others before you could interrogate her further. You followed reluctantly. Clara noticed you almost immediately. Her eyes traveled over you in a way that was anything but subtle, and the smile that appeared afterward told you she wasn't particularly interested in pretending otherwise.
“Hi.”
You stopped in front of her. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.” Clara waited.
You frowned. “What?”
She raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“You look like you want to say something.”
“I already said happy birthday.”
“No.” Her smile grew. “Something else.”
You knew exactly what she wanted. Absolutely not. “You look…” Clara leaned slightly closer. “Yes?” You sighed. “Nice.” Her face fell dramatically. “Nice?”
“You look very nice.”
“Wow.”
“What?”
“Twenty years on this earth and all I get is nice.”
Patri laughed beside her. You rolled your eyes. “You look beautiful. Happy?”
Clara's expression changed immediately. The teasing disappeared for just a second. “Yes.”
Your chest tightened. Before you could respond, Jana announced that everyone else was already inside. Saved. You started toward the door.
Clara caught your wrist. “Wait.”
You turned. She glanced toward the small bag in your hand. “Is that mine?”
You instinctively moved it behind your back. “No.”
“Y/N.”
“Maybe.”
Her face lit up. “You bought me something?”
“It's your birthday. That's generally how birthdays work.”
“Give it to me.”
“You can wait.”
“No.”
“Clara.”
“Please?”
You stared at her. She clasped her hands dramatically beneath her chin. You lasted approximately three seconds. “Fine.”
Clara grinned as you handed over the bag. She immediately reached inside and pulled out the small wrapped box. The others had started walking into the restaurant, leaving the two of you slightly behind. You were suddenly grateful for it. Clara carefully tore away the paper. Inside was a thin silver bracelet. Nothing extravagant. You had noticed months ago that she always wore the same few pieces of jewelry. Simple things. Silver rather than gold. You had spent far longer choosing the bracelet than you were willing to admit. Clara went quiet. You shifted awkwardly.
“If you don't like it… ”
“I love it.” Her answer came immediately. She looked up.
“You remembered.”
You frowned. “Remembered what?”
“That I only wear silver.”
Your stomach sank. Of course you'd remembered. You noticed far too much about her.
“It wasn't exactly difficult.”
Clara's smile softened. “Put it on me?”
You stared at her. “Seriously?”
She held out the bracelet. “Please.”
You took it. Clara turned slightly and held out her wrist. Your fingers brushed against her skin as you fastened the clasp, and you became painfully aware of how close the two of you were standing.
“There.” Clara looked down at it. Then she wrapped both arms around you. You froze. Only for a second. Then your arms instinctively settled around her waist. “Thank you,” she murmured against your shoulder. “You're welcome.”
She didn't move. Neither did you. The hug lasted a little too long. When Clara finally pulled back, she stayed close enough that you could see the tiny smile forming on her lips. “I'm twenty now.”
You groaned. “There it is.”
“What?”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“Just making sure you noticed.”
“Clara.”
“Does this mean I'm allowed to hug you now?”
“You were allowed yesterday.”
“What about flirting?”
“No.”
“Kissing?” Your eyes widened. “Inside.”
Clara laughed. “You didn't answer.”
“I'm not going to.”
“That wasn't a no.”
You pointed toward the restaurant. “Go.”
Still laughing, Clara walked inside. You waited a few seconds before following. This was going to be a very long night. Dinner started well enough. There were enough people around the table that avoiding Clara should have been easy. Unfortunately, the universe apparently hated you. When everyone settled into their seats, you discovered that Clara was directly across from you. Mapi was beside you. Which was arguably worse. For the first hour, everything remained harmless. Food arrived. Drinks were ordered. Stories were told. Clara was repeatedly embarrassed by teammates sharing increasingly ridiculous memories of her younger academy days. You contributed exactly one.
“You used to hide behind Alexia whenever you came around the first team.”
Clara pointed at you. “I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“I was shy.”
“You once made Alexia ask me where the water bottles were because you were too nervous to speak to me.”
The table erupted. Clara covered her face. “I was sixteen!”
You laughed. “You were terrified of me.”
“I was not terrified.”
“What were you, then?” Clara lowered her hands. Her eyes met yours across the table. “Something else.”
The laughter around you continued. Yours stopped. Clara held your gaze for another second before looking away. Mapi leaned toward you. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Sure.”
You reached for your drink. “Mind your business.”
“You are my business.”
“That doesn't even make sense.”
“It doesn't need to.”
Thankfully, the server appeared before Mapi could continue. She had been taking care of the table all evening. Friendly, probably somewhere around your age, and increasingly talkative every time she stopped near your side. You hadn't thought much of it. Clara apparently had.
“Another?” the server asked, pointing toward your nearly empty glass.
You smiled. “Please.”
She picked it up. “You know, I keep coming over here and somehow yours is always the first one empty.”
You laughed. “That sounds like an accusation.”
“Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to keep checking on you.” Your eyebrows lifted slightly. Oh. There it was. You smiled politely.
Across the table, Clara stopped talking. The server returned your drink a few minutes later, placing it in front of you. “Anything else?”
“I think I'm good.”
“You sure?”
Her hand briefly touched your shoulder as she leaned around you to collect an empty plate. “Completely.”
“Let me know if you change your mind.”
She walked away. You reached for your glass. Mapi made a noise beside you. “Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“She's pretty.”
“Mapi.”
“What? She is.”
You shook your head. When you looked across the table again, Clara was staring down at her plate. The smile she'd been wearing for most of the evening had disappeared. You frowned. “Clara?”
She looked up. “What?”
“You okay?”
“Perfect.”
You knew immediately she wasn't. Before you could ask anything else, Jana pulled Clara into another conversation. You let it go. For now. The server came back three more times. By the third, even you had to admit the flirting was obvious. She asked what you did despite the Barcelona players surrounding you. You explained. She told you she'd never watched much football but might have to start. Mapi nearly choked on her drink. You kicked her beneath the table. The server laughed. Clara didn't. Instead, she became quieter with every visit. She stopped joining conversations unless someone spoke directly to her. She pushed the food around her plate. When you caught her looking at you, she immediately looked away. You knew what was happening. You just didn't want to admit it. Because if Clara was jealous, then the situation between you had officially become something neither of you could keep pretending was harmless. Fortunately, or unfortunately, the lights around the table suddenly dimmed before you could think about it much longer. Everyone started cheering. Clara looked up. The server approached carrying a dessert with two candles shaped like a two and a zero.
“Happy birthday!”
Clara groaned and covered her face as the entire table began singing. You joined in, laughing when she threatened Mapi halfway through the song for singing deliberately off-key. When it finished, Clara leaned forward.
“Make a wish!” Jana called. Clara closed her eyes. You watched her. Just for a second. Then she blew out the candles. Everyone cheered again. The server placed the dessert in front of her before leaning toward you.
“I'll bring some extra spoons.”
“Thanks.”
She smiled at you. Clara noticed. Of course she did. The server walked away. You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table.
“What'd you wish for?”
Clara looked at you. There was something different in her expression now. Something that made the smile disappear from your face. “You know I can't tell you.”
“Why?”
“Then it won't come true.”
You smiled faintly. “Since when are you superstitious?”
Clara glanced toward the direction the server had disappeared. Then back at you. “Apparently it doesn't matter anyway.”
Your brow furrowed. “What does that mean?” She picked up her glass. “Nothing.”
“Clara.” She took a sip. You continued watching her. Finally, she put the glass down and met your eyes.
“Apparently I wished for something I can't have.”
Your chest tightened. Before you could respond, Clara pushed her chair away from the table.
“Where are you going?” She stood. “Bathroom.”
“Clara”
Her jaw tightened.
“I'm allowed to piss without permission, aren't I?”
The table went noticeably quieter. You blinked. Clara turned and walked away. You watched her disappear around the corner. Thirty seconds. That was how long you lasted. Maybe less. You pushed your chair back. Mapi looked up at you.
“Where are you going?” You glared at her. “Don't.” Her lips twitched. “I didn't say anything.”
“You were going to.”
“Maybe.”
You started away from the table. Behind you, Mapi called quietly, “Good luck.” You ignored her. The hallway toward the bathrooms was empty. You could already feel your heartbeat getting faster. This was a bad idea. Following Clara when she was angry was a bad idea. Following Clara when she was angry because another woman had been flirting with you was an even worse idea. You reached the bathroom door. For a second, you hesitated. Then you pushed it open. Clara was standing in front of the mirror, both hands braced against the counter. Her eyes lifted and met yours in the reflection.
Immediately, her expression hardened. “Go back to the table.”
You closed the door behind you. “No.”
Clara turned. “Y/N.”
“Not until you tell me what's wrong.”She laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “Nothing's wrong.”
“Bullshit.”
“Go enjoy your birthday dinner.”
“It's your birthday dinner.”
“Exactly.”
You took a step closer. “Clara.”
She looked away. “Go back to your waitress.”
You stopped. There it was. You stared at her. “Is that what this is about?”
Clara's jaw tightened. “No.”
“Clara.”
“She’s probably waiting for you.”
“She’s doing her job.”
Clara laughed bitterly. “Yeah. She seems very dedicated to your side of the table.”
You should not have found jealous Clara adorable. Absolutely not. This was serious. Unfortunately, the tiny smile tugging at your mouth betrayed you. Clara saw it.
“Don't.”
Your smile disappeared. “What?”
“Don't laugh at me.”
“I'm not.”
“You are.”
“I'm really not.”
Clara folded her arms across her chest. “She’s your age, right?”
The question caught you off guard. “What?”
“The waitress.”
“I have no idea how old she is.”
“Twenty-five?”
“Clara”
“Twenty-six? Twenty-seven?”
Your stomach dropped. Suddenly, this wasn't funny anymore. Clara nodded slowly. “Perfect.”
You went quiet. And the hurt that had been hiding beneath her jealousy all evening finally appeared plainly across her face. “Old enough.”
You stared at her. “Clara…”
She shook her head. “No. You wanted to know what was wrong?” Her eyes met yours. “Fine.” She stepped away from the counter. “Let's talk about it.”
-
There was something about the way Clara said it that made you realize there would be no getting out of this conversation. Not that you wanted to anymore. You had spent weeks avoiding exactly this, finding excuses to leave rooms when the two of you were alone, cutting coffee dates short before they could feel too much like actual dates, pretending you didn’t notice the way Clara looked at you because acknowledging it meant acknowledging the way you looked at her too.
Now she stood a few feet away from you in the restaurant bathroom on her twentieth birthday, arms folded tightly across her chest and hurt written plainly across her face.
You sighed. “Okay.”
Clara’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay?”
“Okay. Let’s talk about it.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The muffled noise of the restaurant filtered through the door behind you, distant laughter and conversation filling the silence neither of you seemed sure how to break.
Finally, Clara did. “I know how old I am.”
You closed your eyes briefly. “Clara”
“No. You said we’d talk, so let me talk.”
You nodded. She took a breath. “I know I’m twenty. And before you say it, yes, I know I was nineteen yesterday. I know you’re twenty-seven. I can count. I know eight years sounds like a lot right now.”
“It is a lot.”
“To you.”
“To me,” you agreed. “Yes.”
Clara seemed surprised that you didn’t argue further. You continued before she could. “And that doesn’t mean I think you’re a child.”
“It feels like you do.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why have you spent three weeks treating me like one?”
You looked away. “Exactly.”
“Clara”
“You were different before you found out.”
You couldn’t deny that. “You asked me to get coffee after training. You texted me at night. You sat beside me whenever you could. You flirted with me.”
“I know.”
Her expression faltered. Maybe she hadn’t expected you to admit it. “I did,” you said quietly. “I flirted with you.”
“Then you found out I was nineteen.”
“And I panicked.”
“Why?” You laughed softly, although nothing about this was particularly funny. “Because I thought you were older.”
“By what? Two years?”
“Twenty-one sounded different in my head.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“I know.” Clara stared at you.
“But it made me actually think about what I was doing,” you continued. “About where you are in your life compared to where I am.”
“I’m your teammate.”
“I know.”
“I have my own career. My own apartment. My own life.”
“I know.”
“Then stop saying it like I’ve just left school.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
Her frustration was building again. You stepped closer. “I’m trying to make sure I don’t take advantage of something.”
Clara stared at you. “Something?”
“The fact that I’m older. That I’ve been around the first team longer. That I have more experience with all of this.” You gestured vaguely between the two of you. “I don’t want you looking back in two years and realizing I should have known better.”
“Known better than what?”
“Getting involved with you.” The hurt that flashed across her face made you immediately regret your wording.
“That's not what I meant.”
“It sounded pretty clear.”
“Clara.”
She shook her head. “No. Because you keep talking about what I might think in two years instead of asking what I think now.”
That stopped you. Clara stepped closer. “If you're worried about the age difference, then talk to me about it. If there are boundaries you need, tell me. If you want to take things slowly, fine.”
Her eyes met yours. “But you don't get to make the decision for both of us and call it protecting me.”
Silence. You stared at her. You had spent weeks telling yourself you were being responsible. Mature. Careful. But Clara was right. You hadn't asked what she wanted. You had simply decided what was best for her and disappeared behind that decision whenever things became uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry.”
Some of the anger disappeared from her face.
“I didn't mean to make you feel like your feelings didn't matter.”
“Well, you did.”
“I know.”
“And I still don't like the waitress.” You stared at her. Clara folded her arms again. “What?”
A laugh escaped you. Her mouth fell open. “Don't laugh at me!”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“You were making an excellent argument.”
“I still am.”
“And then you got jealous again.”
“She was flirting with you!”
“So?”
“So I didn't like it.” You smiled.
Clara glared. “You think this is funny?”
“A little.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don't.”
The words slipped out without thought. Clara went quiet. So did you. The air between you changed instantly. “No,” she whispered. “I don't.” Your smile faded. Clara was close now. Close enough that you could see the rise and fall of her chest. Close enough to smell the perfume you'd noticed the second you saw her outside the restaurant. Close enough that all those carefully constructed reasons for keeping your distance suddenly felt much harder to remember.
Her eyes dropped toward your mouth. Then returned to yours. You swallowed. “What did you wish for?”
Clara blinked. “What?”
“When you blew out the candles.”
Her expression shifted. “That’s what you're thinking about right now?”
“You said it was something you couldn't have.”
“I was angry.”
“You were jealous.”
“I was both.”
“Tell me.” Clara looked away.
“Clari.” Her eyes immediately returned to yours. You stepped closer. “What did you wish for?”
For the first time that night, Clara looked nervous. She swallowed. Then, so quietly you almost missed it, she answered. “You.”
Something inside you broke. Not in a frightening way. Not anger. Restraint. Weeks of deliberately moving away whenever Clara came too close. Weeks of deleting messages before sending them. Weeks of forcing yourself not to look too long, not to touch, not to acknowledge how badly you wanted something you'd convinced yourself you shouldn't. All of it disappeared with one word.
“Fuck it” You closed the distance before you could think better of it. Your hands found Clara's face and you kissed her. There was nothing hesitant about it. Clara made a small startled sound against your mouth before immediately kissing you back, her hands catching at your waist as you moved closer. Every emotion you'd spent weeks swallowing seemed to surface at once, the frustration, the attraction, the jealousy you'd refused to name, the fear, and the simple relief of finally stopping the endless fight against yourself. You pulled back just far enough to breathe. Clara looked as stunned as you felt. Neither of you said anything. Then she whispered, “Do that again.”
You did. This kiss was just as charged, but now Clara was ready for you. Her arms came around you, pulling you closer as your carefully maintained distance vanished completely. You had spent weeks telling yourself touching Clara would make everything complicated. You had been right. You just hadn't anticipated how difficult stopping would be. Clara pulled back slightly, breathing hard.
“Still worried about my age?”
You stared at her. “Really?”
Her mouth twitched. “Bad time?”
“Terrible.”
“Sorry.”
She didn't look remotely sorry. You shook your head, but when Clara leaned toward you again, you met her halfway. And for the next few minutes, every sensible thought you had carried into that bathroom disappeared.
You palmed her ass and Clara let out a small moan. It was like music to your ears. You tapped twice and Clara jumped up on the counter. You stood between her legs and began to attack her neck. “Don’t leave any marks. Our team is still outside.” You kiss from her neck to under her ear. Each kiss she moans. She grabs your back to pull you closer to her. You immediately understood what she was wanting. You pulled back completely and looked at her. “Are you sure?” She nodded. “It’ll be a great birthday gift.”
You pushed her dress up above her waist. Moved her thing to the side and cupped her pussy. She was worked up because she was already wet. The jolt that sent through you was insane. You immediately shove your middle and ring finger inside. The ease of it making you feel wetness hit your own core. Your thumb finds her clit while your other fingers are moving at a decent pace. Clara lets out a loud moan. You slap your hand over her mouth. “Clara you need to be quiet.” She nods and you remove your hand. She grabs your neck and kisses you. Her tongue maps the inside of your mouth. The ecstasy of what she feels is driving her to another world. Your hand on the back of her neck. Fingers shoved all the way inside of her. You are making her look at you while she’s nearing the edge. “You’re about to cum aren’t you? I can feel it coming. God you look amazing.”
Clara’s eyes start to glaze over. Her face red. Her breathing is becoming fast. Her legs locked tight around you. You pull her to the edge of the counter. Sink to your knees. Dive your face straight to her pussy. You latch onto her slit and start sucks. Her legs fly straight up. She grabs the back of your head with both hands and pull you closer to her core. “Oh fuck. Keep going. I’m cumming. I’m cumming. Fuck me. Fuck me. Oh god.”
Reality returned slowly. Not all at once. First came your breathing. Then the awareness of where you were. The locked bathroom door. The restaurant outside. Clara's birthday dinner. Your entire team sitting only a hallway away. And finally, the realization that the woman you'd spent three weeks insisting you needed to keep your distance from was still standing impossibly close to you.
“Fuck.”
Clara blinked. Then her expression fell. Your stomach immediately dropped.
“No. No, not like that.”
“That's generally not what you want someone saying afterward.”
You caught her hand before she could move away.
“Clara.” She looked at you. “I don't regret it.”
“Then why do you look like you're having an existential crisis?”
“Because I probably am.” That got the smallest smile from her. You exhaled shakily and rested your forehead against hers.
“I spent three weeks telling myself I needed to be careful.”
Clara's hands settled at your waist. “And?”
“And apparently all it takes is you saying one word for me to completely lose my fucking mind.”
Her smile grew. “Was it the birthday wish?”
You closed your eyes. “Don't.”
“Good to know.”
“Clara.”
“Sorry.”
She absolutely wasn't. You pulled back enough to look at her. “This is exactly what I was scared of.”
The smile disappeared. “Me?”
“No.” You touched her cheek. “How much I want you.” Clara went quiet. “I don't want that to make us stupid.”
“Speak for yourself.” You gave her a look. She sighed. “Fine.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“We need to actually talk about what we're doing.”
“Okay.”
“Not tonight.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Because tonight has gone so well?”
Despite yourself, you laughed. “Yes, actually.”
Clara smiled. You brushed your thumb lightly across her cheek. “And I'm not taking anything back.”
“Good.”
“But when we're not hiding in a restaurant bathroom while our entire team waits for us, we're having a proper conversation.”
Clara nodded. “Okay.”
“And we're going slowly.”
She stared at you. You stared back. Then both of you looked around the bathroom. Clara started laughing first. You followed seconds later.
“Okay,” she managed. “Maybe we should start going slowly tomorrow.”
“That would probably be best.” You kissed her once more. Different this time. Slow. Deliberate. No explosion of everything you'd been suppressing. Just Clara. When you pulled away, you smiled.
“Happy birthday, Clari.”
Her expression softened. “Best birthday ever.”
“You're ridiculous.”
“And you're twenty-seven.”
“Don't ruin it.” She laughed. Then she looked into the mirror. Her eyes widened.
“Oh, fuck.”
“What?”
She pointed toward her reflection. You looked. Then looked at yourself. Your stomach dropped.
“Mapi is going to know.”
Clara stared at you through the mirror. “She probably already knows.”
You groaned. “This is a disaster.”
Clara smiled. “I think it's going pretty well.”
-
Mapi knew. You hadn't even made it completely back to the table before you accepted that. She watched the two of you approach with narrowed eyes, her gaze bouncing between you and Clara before settling on your face. Slowly, one corner of her mouth lifted.
You pointed at her before sitting down. “Don't.”
Mapi blinked innocently. “Don't what?”
“Anything.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“Your face has.”
Across from you, Clara lowered herself into her chair and immediately reached for her water. Mapi looked at her. Then you. Then Clara again. Her smile widened. You kicked her beneath the table. “Ow!”
Alexia glanced over. “What happened?”
“Apparently Y/N has become violent.”
“You'll survive.”
Clara coughed into her hand. You looked across the table. She was trying not to laugh. Your eyes met. And suddenly you were back in that bathroom. You looked away first. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Especially because Mapi noticed that too. “Oh,” she murmured.
You turned toward her. “I'm serious.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You said oh.”
“It's a word.”
“Not when you say it like that.”
Mapi's grin became unbearable. Thankfully, the conversation around the table picked back up before she could interrogate either of you. Then the server returned. You almost laughed at the timing. Clara noticed immediately. You saw her shoulders tense slightly before she caught herself. The server began clearing plates, eventually reaching you.
“Another drink?”
You shook your head.
“No, thank you.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I'm good.” She smiled before moving away.
Across the table, Clara looked incredibly pleased. You narrowed your eyes. She lifted her eyebrows innocently.
What?
You mouthed, Stop.
Her smile grew. A few minutes later, the bill arrived. So did a folded piece of paper. You stared at it. Mapi stared at it. Clara stared at it. You opened it. A phone number. Of course. You folded it closed again. Clara lifted one eyebrow. You turned toward the server before she could walk away. “Thank you, but I'm actually seeing someone.”
Clara nearly choked on her drink. You looked at her. Her eyes were wide. Mapi's were even wider. The server smiled politely.
“Worth a try.”
“Have a good night.”
“You too.”
The second she walked away, Clara leaned toward you. “Seeing someone?”
You stared at her. “Don't.”
“Who?”
“Clara.”
“Do I know her?”
Mapi made a strangled sound beside you.
You turned toward her. “One word and I'm leaving.”
She held both hands up. Across from you, Clara was openly grinning. “Stop looking so smug.”
“It's my birthday.”
“That excuse expires at midnight.”
She checked her phone. “Then I've still got time.”
You shook your head. You were in trouble.
Two days later, Clara sat across from you in a quiet café, stirring a coffee she hadn't touched. This was different. No team. No birthday. No jealousy. No bathroom door separating you from reality. Just the conversation you'd promised.
Clara finally looked up. “You're nervous.”
“No.”
“You've moved your spoon six times.”
You immediately stopped touching it. Clara smiled. “Cute.”
“Can we be serious?”
“I am serious.”
“You just called me cute.”
“You are.”
“Clara.”
“Fine.”
She sat back. You took a breath.
“What happened Friday.. ”
“Was amazing.”
You stared at her. “Sorry.”
“You're making this incredibly difficult.”
“I know.” Her smile faded when she saw your expression. “Okay. I'm listening.”
You nodded. “I meant what I said. I don't regret anything.”
Clara relaxed slightly.
“But Friday also proved why I want to slow down.”
Her eyebrows rose. “How?”
“I lost my head.”
“I thought you did quite well.”
Your mouth fell open. Clara immediately covered her face. “Sorry.”
“Can you survive one conversation?”
“Probably.”
You stared at her until she lowered her hands. “What I'm saying is that I've spent weeks thinking about this only as something physical I needed to resist.”
Clara stayed quiet.
“And I don't want us to finally give in to that and skip everything else.”
Her expression softened. “I want to date you.” A smile slowly appeared. “Properly.”
“Okay.”
“I want to know what this is when we're not hiding somewhere kissing.”
“Also okay.”
“And I need you to tell me if the age difference ever makes something feel uneven.”
Clara nodded. “I will.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She reached across the table and took your hand. “And you have to promise something too.”
“What?”
“Stop deciding how I'm going to feel before I feel it.”
You smiled faintly. “Fair.”
“I'm serious.”
“I know.”
You squeezed her hand. “I promise.”
Clara looked down at your joined hands. “So we're dating?”
“We're dating.”
Her smile widened. “And taking it slow?”
“Yes.”
She considered that. “Can I still kiss you?”
You laughed. “Yes, Clara.”
“Good.” She leaned across the small table and kissed you quickly. You blinked. “Here?”
“You said I could.”
“You are impossible.”
“And yet.”
She sat back, looking extremely satisfied. You couldn't stop smiling.
The next few weeks were quieter than that first night. And somehow, you liked them even more. There were coffee dates after training and dinners that didn't involve jealousy-fueled bathroom confrontations. Clara came to your apartment and sprawled across your sofa while you cooked. You learned she was incapable of watching a film without talking through half of it. She learned you became unbearably grumpy when you were tired. You talked about the age gap when it mattered. You didn't when it didn't. Sometimes Clara teased you about it simply because she knew it annoyed you. Sometimes you caught yourself treating her like someone you needed to look after instead of someone you were dating, and Clara called you on it.
“You're doing the thing.”
“What thing?”
“The older voice.”
“I don't have an older voice.”
“You absolutely do.”
“Clara”
“That one.”
You threw a cushion at her. She laughed until she couldn't breathe. It wasn't perfect. But it was yours. And slowly, twenty and twenty-seven stopped being the first thing you thought about when Clara walked into a room. She was simply Clara. The woman who stole food from your plate. The woman who wore your bracelet nearly every day. The woman who could make you laugh even when you were determined to be annoyed with her. The woman you were falling for much faster than either of you had agreed was technically allowed. Three weeks after her birthday, you parked outside Clara's apartment after dinner. Neither of you immediately moved. That had become part of the routine too. You would drive her home, park outside, and somehow goodbye always took another twenty minutes. Clara turned toward you. “Thank you for dinner.”
“You're welcome.”
“Very sophisticated.”
You frowned. “What?”
“Nice restaurant. Wine. Cloth napkins.”
“I'm twenty-seven, not seventy.”
“Close.”
“Get out of my car.” She laughed.
You leaned across the console and kissed her. Clara softened immediately, one hand settling against your cheek. When you pulled away, she chased you for one more. You smiled against her lips.
“We're supposed to be taking it slow.”
“We are.”
“Your definition of slow concerns me.”
“You weren't complaining on my birthday.”
Your eyes widened. “Get out.”
Clara burst out laughing. “Immediately.”
“Okay, okay.” She reached for the door.
Then paused. “You know, when you're thirty, I'll be twenty-three.”
You stared at her. “Why are you like this?”
“Just making sure you're prepared.”
“For what?”
“Your inevitable decline.”
“Clara.”
“Back pain.”
“Out.”
“Early dinners.”
“Goodbye.”
“Comfortable shoes.”
You pointed toward the door. Clara laughed before leaning across the console and kissing you again. This one was softer. When she pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours.
“Goodnight, old lady.”
“I regret kissing you in that bathroom.”
“No, you don't.”
You smiled. “No. I really don't.”
Clara's expression softened. Then she climbed out. “Text me when you're inside.” She turned back toward you. “You're watching me walk ten meters.” “Humor me.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Clara.”
She laughed and headed toward the entrance. At the door, she turned around. You waved. Clara waved back. Then, without warning, she called across the parking area. “Love you!”
Your hand froze. Clara froze. Neither of you moved. Even from inside the car, you could see her eyes widen. You stared at her. She stared back. Then her mouth formed two very obvious words. Oh, fuck. You burst out laughing. Clara immediately turned toward the door.
“No!”
You rolled down the window.
“Clara!”
She started fumbling with her keys.
“Goodnight!”
“Come back here!”
“No!”
“You cannot tell me you love me and run away!”
“Watch me!”
She finally got the door open and disappeared inside. You sat there laughing long after the door closed. Then your phone buzzed.
Clari ❤️: Pretend that didn’t happen.
You smiled.
You: Absolutely not.
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Clari ❤️: I'm never speaking to you again.
You: That's unfortunate.
Clari ❤️: Why?
You stared at the screen. Three weeks ago, you would have overthought the answer. Too soon. Too much. Too fast.You'd spent so long believing being careful meant denying yourself anything that felt too big. Now you understood something different. Taking things slowly didn't mean refusing to move forward. It meant making sure you were moving together.
You: Because I love you too.
Your phone rang almost immediately. You laughed before answering.
“Hello?”
“You're an asshole.”
“That isn't usually the response people want after saying I love you.”
“I was trying to have a dramatic exit.”
“You definitely accomplished that.”
“And then you ruined it.”
“You ran away.”
“I panicked.”
“So mature.”
“Shut up.”
You could hear her smiling. Then silence.
“Did you mean it?” Clara asked quietly.
Your smile softened.
“Yeah, Clari.”
You leaned back against the seat.
“I meant it.”
Another pause.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I'm trying to be normal about this.”
“You screamed that you loved me across a parking lot.”
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
You laughed. “Goodnight.”
“Love you.”
This time there was no panic. You smiled. “Love you too.”
When the call ended, you stayed there for another minute. Twenty and twenty-seven. Eight years. None of it had disappeared. You had simply stopped letting the numbers make every decision for you. There would be things to figure out. Conversations you hadn't had yet. Moments when one of you would need the other to slow down. But you could do that. Together. One conversation. One date. One mile at a time. And as you finally pulled away from the curb, your phone lit up one last time.
Clari ❤️: Still counting the bathroom as my best birthday present btw.
Your first morning at London City Lionesses was supposed to feel like a clean slate. That was the whole point.
A new badge. A new training ground. A new changing room full of people who didn’t know every mistake you had ever made in an Arsenal shirt or every argument you had ever gotten into during training. You had spent weeks telling yourself that the move was exactly what you needed, that leaving North London wasn’t running away from anything but moving toward something better. More minutes. A different challenge. A chance to stop feeling like you were waiting around for your career to begin. You believed all of that right up until the second you walked into the changing room and heard a voice you knew far too well.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
You stopped dead. No. Absolutely not. There was no way. Slowly, you turned toward the sound. Freya Godfrey was standing two rows of lockers away with one hand resting on the open door of hers, staring at you like you had personally broken into the building just to ruin her morning. For several seconds, neither of you said anything. Then you exhaled.
“Oh, fuck off.”
Freya’s eyebrows shot up.
“You’re the one who’s just walked into my changing room.”
“Your changing room?”
“Yes.”
“You own it now?”
“More than you do. You’ve been here about thirty seconds.”
You dropped your bag onto the bench beside the locker with your name already printed above it and turned fully toward her.
“I didn’t even know you were here.”
Freya looked offended.
“That’s embarrassing for me, considering the club announced it.”
“Sorry I don’t follow your career, Godfrey.”
Her mouth twitched.
“You follow me on Instagram.”
“I follow everyone.”
“You liked my post last week.”
You froze for half a second. Freya noticed immediately. Of course she did.
“That was an accident.”
“At two in the morning?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Why do you know what time I liked it?”
Now it was Freya’s turn to hesitate. You smiled slowly. “Interesting.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Too late.”
A laugh came from somewhere behind you. You glanced over and found one of your new teammates standing near the doorway, looking between you and Freya with the kind of expression usually reserved for watching two strangers argue in public.
“Do you two know each other?”
“No,” you and Freya answered at exactly the same time.
The teammate blinked. You pointed at Freya. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Freya nodded toward you. “She used to annoy me at Arsenal.”
“You started half of it.”
“You nutmegged me once and talked about it for three months.”
“Because it was funny.”
“It was training.”
“That somehow made it funnier.”
The teammate looked between you again. “Right.” She turned and walked away. Freya watched her go before looking back at you.
“You’re going to scare everyone off on your first day.”
“You literally greeted me by swearing.”
“Because you’re here.”
“Nice to see you too.”
Freya rolled her eyes, but there was something different about it this time. Something almost familiar. Comfortable. You ignored that. You had plenty of other things to worry about. You and Freya had never gotten along at Arsenal. There wasn’t some dramatic origin story behind it. No betrayal. No horrible argument. No moment where one of you had decided the other was suddenly the enemy. You had simply met and immediately irritated each other. Freya thought you were arrogant. You thought Freya had an opinion about absolutely everything. She thought you celebrated too much when you won training games. You thought she became unbearably smug whenever she scored. If you were placed on opposite teams, every challenge became slightly harder than it needed to be. If you were on the same team, you somehow spent more time arguing about positioning than actually playing. Everyone knew. Katie had once seen the two of you walking toward the same drill and muttered, “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” before anything had even happened. Beth stopped putting you beside each other at team dinners because apparently watching two grown women argue over whether pineapple belonged on pizza had been “exhausting.” Leah had tried exactly once to mediate one of your training-ground arguments. She never tried again. And yet, when you left Arsenal, something had felt strange. Quiet. You had told yourself it was just the normal adjustment of leaving a club you had known for years. You absolutely had not thought about the fact that there was suddenly nobody waiting by your locker to complain about your music. You had not noticed that nobody texted you after matches specifically to say your first touch had been terrible, even when it hadn't. You definitely had not found yourself scrolling past Freya’s name more than once and wondering whether sending her something would be weird. And if you happened to still follow her Instagram closely enough to like something at two in the morning, that was nobody’s business. Especially not hers.
Your first London City training session started with introductions, a short meeting and a tour you only half needed because you were still trying to process the fact that somehow, against all odds, you had once again ended up sharing a dressing room with Freya Godfrey. You should have found it irritating. You did find it irritating. Mostly. But when you walked out onto the pitch and realized you had no idea where the GPS vests were kept, Freya appeared beside you without a word and pointed toward a container near the bench. You glanced at her.
“I knew that.”
“Clearly.”
“Was just testing you.”
“Obviously.” She walked away.
Five minutes later, you couldn't find where you'd left your water bottle. Freya kicked one toward you. You trapped it beneath your boot.
“That’s not mine.”
“I know.”
You looked at her. She shrugged.
“Use it.”
You stared for a second longer before picking it up. “Thanks.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
You almost smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Training itself was easier than you expected. New systems always took time, but football was football, and the nerves that had been sitting in your stomach since breakfast disappeared the second the ball started moving. You were sharp. Aggressive. Confident. You wanted the coaches to see immediately why the club had brought you in. Apparently, so did Freya. Because halfway through a possession drill, you realized she kept finding you. Not intentionally. At least, you didn’t think so. But every time you moved into space, the ball seemed to arrive at your feet. You returned the favor without thinking. One touch. Two. Back to her. She turned. Found you again. It was irritating how natural it felt. You had spent years arguing about each other’s football at Arsenal, yet somehow you'd always known exactly where the other would be.
“Again!” one of the coaches called.
The drill restarted. Freya received the ball under pressure and slipped it inside to you. You took one touch and played it back around the defender. Freya broke into space.
“Go!”
She pushed forward. You followed. Seconds later, she cut the ball across the area. You finished first time. Goal. You turned automatically. Freya was already looking at you. For one second, neither of you said anything. Then she smirked.
“Lucky.” You laughed.
“Assist was average.”
“There she is.”
“You missed me.”
Her expression changed for the smallest moment. Barely anything. Then she rolled her eyes. “Keep dreaming.” The drill restarted before you could answer. But you spent the next several minutes thinking about that hesitation.
By lunchtime, you had learned three things. The food was better than you expected. Your new teammates were easy enough to get along with. And somehow, despite having an entire dining room available, the only empty chair was beside Freya. You stood there with your tray. She looked up.
“No.”
You frowned. “What?”
“You’re doing that thing.”
“What thing?”
“Standing there like you’re deciding whether sitting beside me will kill you.”
“I was actually considering eating outside.”
“It’s raining.”
You glanced toward the windows. Of course it was. Freya nudged the empty chair out with her foot. “Sit down.” You hesitated just long enough to annoy her. “Oh my God, just sit.” You did.
“Bossy.”
“You’ve known that for years.”
That was true. Conversation around the table moved easily. Training. Upcoming fixtures. Restaurants nearby. Which player had already lost something important in the new building. You mostly listened. Then someone asked how you were finding London City so far.
“Good,” you said. “Different.”
Freya looked at you. “Better?”
You knew exactly what she was asking. Better than Arsenal? You shrugged. “Ask me in a month.”
Someone across the table looked between you.“You two really played together before?” Freya snorted. “Unfortunately.” You nudged her shin with your foot beneath the table. She kicked you back. Harder. You glared. She smiled sweetly. The teammate laughed.
“I can tell you missed each other.”
You nearly choked on your drink. Freya immediately said, “No.” You answered at the same time. “Absolutely not.”
There was a pause. Then the entire table started laughing. You looked at Freya. She looked at you.
“This is your fault,” you muttered.
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Good argument.”
“Shut up.” Her smile widened.
And the annoying thing was that you were smiling too. The rest of the day passed quickly. Media. Recovery. Another short meeting. By the time you returned to the changing room, most of the team had already left. Your body ached in the satisfying way it always did after a good first session, and for the first time all day, you finally let yourself breathe. You sat on the bench and began unlacing your boots. This had been the right decision. You could feel that already. The club felt good. The football felt good. Even the changing room felt easier than you had expected. A shadow passed in front of you. You looked up. Freya had her bag over one shoulder. She stopped.
“You played well today.”
You stared at her. Freya frowned. “What?”
“Are you ill?”
“Never mind.”
“No, wait.” She turned away. You grinned.
“Say it again.”
“Absolutely not.”
“I want to record it.” Freya continued toward the door.
“Freya.” She held up one hand without turning around.
“Goodbye.”
“Was that a compliment?”
“Fuck off.” You laughed.
Freya reached the doorway. Then she stopped. For a second, she looked back. The teasing expression had faded.
“Seriously,” she said. “You looked good out there.”
Something in your chest shifted. Small. Unexpected. You looked down at the boot in your hands. “Thanks.” Freya nodded. Then she left. You sat there alone for another moment. The changing room was quiet. Your new shirt hung inside the locker in front of you. Blue. Different. Everything was supposed to be different now. New club. New teammates. New start. And yet somehow, the person who had spent years driving you completely insane had followed you straight into it.
You should have been annoyed. Instead, you found yourself staring at the doorway Freya had disappeared through with a smile you couldn't quite explain. Maybe starting over didn't have to mean leaving everything familiar behind.
-
By the end of your first week at London City, you had discovered something deeply inconvenient. Freya Godfrey was making everything easier. You hated that. Not enough to want her to stop, apparently, but enough that you refused to acknowledge it out loud.
The first few days at a new club were always strange. You knew how to play football. You knew how to train. You knew how to walk into a changing room and introduce yourself to people you had played against countless times but never actually spoken to for longer than ninety minutes. It was everything around football that took time. Where everyone sat at breakfast. Which door led to the treatment room instead of the analysts' office. Which member of staff would happily make you another coffee and which would give you a lecture about hydration first. Which teammates wanted silence before training and which seemed physically incapable of experiencing it. Those were the things nobody put in a welcome pack. And somehow, Freya kept being there for all of them. She never made a big deal out of helping you. That would've been easier.
Instead, she'd simply catch you looking confused and tilt her head toward whichever corridor you were supposed to take. She'd save you a seat during meetings without acknowledging she'd done it. When everyone started leaving for lunch and you didn't know whether you were supposed to follow, Freya would appear beside you and mutter, “Come on, idiot,” before walking away like it was completely normal. It wasn't. Nothing about this version of you and Freya felt normal.
At Arsenal, you'd gone out of your way to irritate each other.
At London City, you were still irritating each other.
Except now Freya was also the first person you looked for when you entered a room. You weren't sure when that started. You weren't particularly interested in finding out.
“Why are you staring at me?” You blinked. Freya was sitting across from you at breakfast.
“I wasn't.”
“You were.”
“I was looking behind you.” She glanced over her shoulder. There was a wall. Freya turned back slowly. “Fascinating wall?”
“Very.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
“Paint dried.”
She stared at you. You took another bite of toast. Freya shook her head.
“You're weird.”
“And yet you sat with me.”
“You sat with me.”
“You were already here.”
“And you chose this table.”
You stopped chewing. Freya smiled. “Interesting.”
“Don't.”
“Didn't say anything.”
“You didn't have to.”
Her smile widened. You looked down at your breakfast before she could see yours. That was another problem. You were smiling around Freya far too much lately. The real trouble started on Tuesday. Your car wouldn't start. You discovered this at seven fifteen in the morning, standing outside your temporary apartment with your training bag over one shoulder and your keys in your hand while your engine made a noise that sounded expensive. You tried again. Nothing.
“Brilliant.” You rested your forehead against the steering wheel.
Your apartment was still temporary because the place you'd actually rented wouldn't be available for another two weeks. Half your belongings were in boxes. You hadn't figured out which supermarket you liked yet. Your Wi-Fi worked whenever it felt like it. And now your car was dead. Perfect. You pulled out your phone. There were plenty of people you could call. Club staff. One of your new teammates. A taxi. Instead, your thumb hovered over one name. You stared at it. Absolutely not. You scrolled away. Then back. No. You opened a taxi app. Twenty-eight minutes. Training started in forty-five.
“Fuck.”
You went back to your contacts.
Freya Godfrey
You pressed call before you could talk yourself out of it. She answered on the fourth ring.
“If this is about the Instagram like again, I've already accepted your apology.”
You closed your eyes. “Good morning to you too.”
“Why are you calling me at seven seventeen in the morning?”
“My car won't start.”
Silence. “And?”
Your mouth fell open.
“You're such an arsehole.”
Freya laughed.
“Where are you?”
You gave her the address.
“I'll be there in ten.”
The line went dead. You stared at your phone. No complaining. No dramatic sigh. She hadn't even made you ask. Exactly eleven minutes later, Freya's car pulled up. You climbed into the passenger seat.
“Eleven minutes.”
She looked at you. “What?”
“You said ten.”
“Get out.” You laughed and shut the door.
“Thank you.”
Freya started driving. “Don't mention it.”
“I won't.”
“I mean that literally. If anyone asks, you walked.”
“Embarrassed to be seen with me?”
“Deeply.” You smiled and looked out the window.
For a few minutes, the drive was quiet. Comfortable. That was becoming increasingly common too. You'd never realized you and Freya could exist in silence without wanting to fill it with some ridiculous argument. Her music played softly through the speakers. Rain tapped against the windows. Freya drove with one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. You glanced toward her. Then away.
“Stop staring at me.”
Your head snapped around. “I wasn't.”
“You really need a new lie.”
“You weren't even looking.”
“I could feel it.”
“You're insufferable.”
“Yet here you are in my car.”
“Against my will.”
“You called me.”
“Moment of weakness.”
Freya smiled. Then, quieter, she asked, “You settling in okay?”
The question surprised you. You looked at her. She kept her eyes on the road. “Yeah.”
“Actually?” You hesitated. “Mostly.”
Freya nodded like she understood what you weren't saying. “It's weird.”
“What?”
“Leaving Arsenal.”
Your chest tightened slightly. You looked out the window again. “Yeah.”
You hadn't talked much about leaving. Not with Freya. Not really with anyone. It had been your decision. You knew that. You needed more minutes and a different environment. You wanted a club where you weren't constantly wondering whether you'd be starting at the weekend. But knowing you'd made the right decision didn't mean leaving had been easy.
“It was home for a long time,” you said.
Freya's fingers tightened slightly around the steering wheel. “Yeah.”
You looked at her. Something about her expression had changed. “You missed me.”
There it was. You couldn't resist. Freya immediately scoffed.
“We were having a nice moment.”
“So you admit it was nice?”
“I regret picking you up.”
“You missed me.”
“I missed having someone to beat in training.”
“That's basically a declaration of love from you.”
Freya nearly swerved. “Jesus Christ.”
You laughed. “Relax.”
“Never say that again.”
“What? Love?”
“Especially not while I'm driving.”
You stared at her for a second. There was a faint pink tint spreading across her cheeks. Interesting. Very interesting. You smiled to yourself. Freya noticed. “Whatever you're thinking, stop.”
“Wasn't thinking anything.”
“Liar.”
You turned toward the window again. Maybe. Your car remained at the garage for three days.
Which meant Freya drove you to training for three days. And home. And apparently, somewhere during those journeys, the two of you developed a routine. Freya arrived at seven twenty. You came downstairs at seven twenty-five. She complained. You ignored her.
On Wednesday, she handed you a coffee as soon as you got into the car. You stared at it. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at it like I've poisoned you?”
“You remembered my order.”
Freya's expression went blank. “No, I didn't.”
You looked at the cup. Exactly how you took it. “You absolutely did.”
“It's coffee.”
“With oat milk.”
“Lucky guess.”
“And two sugars.”
Freya started driving. “Coincidence.”
You smiled. “Freya.”
“What?”
“That's cute.”
She slammed on the brake at a red light slightly harder than necessary. “Take that back.”
“No.”
“I'll throw the coffee out the window.”
“You bought it for me.”
“I'm already regretting it.”
You took a sip. “Perfect too.”
“I hate you.”
You smiled into the cup. “Sure.”
On Thursday, you brought her one. Freya climbed into the car, looked at the cup you held toward her, and went quiet. “What's this?”
“Poison.”
She took it. “Finally.”
“You're welcome.”
Freya looked at the label. Her exact order. Her eyes moved back to you. “You remembered.”
You shrugged. “Lucky guess.”
She stared. You grinned. “Coincidence.”
“You're so annoying.”
But she drank it. All of it. The rest of the team noticed the change before either of you acknowledged there was one. It happened after training on Thursday. The coaches had paired you and Freya together again during a small-sided game, which had resulted in the two of you combining for three goals while simultaneously arguing for approximately the entire session.
“Make the run earlier!”
“I made the run!”
“You were late.”
“Your pass was shit.”
“My pass was perfect.”
“It was behind me!”
“You scored!”
“Because I'm talented!”
“Debatable.”
By the time the whistle blew, both of you were laughing. One of your teammates walked past and shook her head.
“You two are exhausting.”
Freya frowned. “What did we do?”
“Do you actually like each other?”
“No,” you answered.
“Yes,” Freya said at the same time.
You turned toward her. She froze. There was a beat of silence. Then Freya recovered. “As teammates.”
You stared at her. “Right.”
“Obviously.”
“Of course.”
Your teammate looked between you. “Sure.”
She walked away. You turned back to Freya. “You like me?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“You said it.”
“As a teammate.”
“Still counts.”
“No, it doesn't.”
“You've never said that before.”
Freya started walking toward the changing room. You followed. “Should I mark the date?”
“Leave me alone.”
“Maybe get it tattooed.”
“Y/N.”
“Freya likes me.”
She spun around. You nearly walked into her. For a moment, the two of you were much closer than you'd intended. The joke disappeared. Freya's eyes dropped toward your mouth. Just for a second. Your stomach flipped. Then she stepped back. “Barely.” She walked away. You didn't follow immediately. Because suddenly the joke didn't feel quite as funny.
Friday brought a different problem. Her name was Lauren. You had met her during your first week, but you hadn't spent much time together until the coaches paired you during gym work. Lauren was easy to talk to. Funny. Confident. And apparently interested in you. You didn't realize that last part until she was standing beside you after training, leaning against the counter while you filled your water bottle.
“So,” she said.
You looked over. “So?”
“Are you doing anything tomorrow?”
“Sleeping.”
She laughed. “After sleeping.”
“Probably more sleeping.”
“Exciting life.”
“I'm an athlete.”
“So am I.”
“Then you should understand.”
Lauren smiled. “I was going to ask if you wanted to get a drink.”
You paused. “Oh.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That's usually not a promising response.”
“No, sorry. I just wasn't expecting it.”
“Is that a no?”
You considered it. Lauren was attractive. You liked talking to her. There was absolutely no reason you shouldn't go. “No,” you said. “It's not a no.”
Her smile returned. “Good.”
“Maybe one drink.”
“I'll take it.”
“Saturday?”
“Saturday.”
“Done.”
“Perfect.”
You smiled. Then noticed someone standing in the doorway. Freya. Her expression was completely neutral. Too neutral.
“How long have you been standing there?” you asked.
“Long enough.”
Lauren glanced between you. “I'll text you the place.”
“Sounds good.”
She walked past Freya. Freya moved aside without saying anything. You screwed the lid onto your bottle.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That face isn't nothing.”
“What face?”
“The one you're making.”
Freya walked toward her locker. “I'm not making a face.”
You followed. “You're definitely making a face.”
“Congratulations on your date.”
The way she said date made you stop. “It's a drink.”
“Same thing.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don't.”
You stared at her back. Freya shoved something into her bag with slightly more force than necessary.
You smiled slowly. “Are you jealous?”
Freya turned around so quickly you nearly laughed. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I absolutely am not.”
“You look jealous.”
“What does jealous look like?”
“You, apparently.”
Freya stared at you. Then laughed, but there was nothing particularly convincing about it. “Don't flatter yourself.”
“That's your favorite line when you're lying.”
“I'm not lying.”
“Okay.”
You held up your hands. “Whatever you say.”
Freya zipped her bag. Hard. “She's annoying.”
You blinked. “Lauren?”
“Yes.”
“You've known her longer than I have.”
“Exactly.”
“And?”
“And she's annoying.”
“Why?”
Freya opened her mouth. Nothing came out. You waited. “Well?”
“She just is.”
You laughed. “Fantastic argument.”
“I don't need an argument.”
“You spoke to her for thirty seconds.”
“Thirty seconds too long.”
Your smile disappeared. There was something beneath Freya's irritation now. Something you couldn't quite place. “Freya.”
“What?”
“Seriously. What's wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
She lifted her bag onto her shoulder. “I said nothing.” Then she walked toward the door. You watched her go.
“Are you still driving me home?”
Freya stopped. For one horrible second, you wondered whether she'd say no. Instead, she sighed. “Yes.”
You smiled. “Thought you hated me.”
She looked over her shoulder. “I do.”
There was no bite behind it. Not anymore. You followed her outside. The drive home was quieter than usual. Freya kept both hands on the wheel. You watched the city pass outside. Neither of you mentioned Lauren. Neither of you mentioned the way Freya had reacted. But the question had already lodged itself inside your head. Because Freya could call Lauren annoying as many times as she wanted. She could insist she didn't care. She could keep saying she hated you until both of you were old and grey. It wouldn't change what you'd seen. And it definitely wouldn't explain why, when Freya pulled up outside your apartment and you reached for the door, she suddenly said your name.
“Y/N.”
You turned. Freya looked like she wanted to say something. For once, you didn't tease her. “What?”
Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Then she shook her head.
“Nothing.”
You waited. She didn't continue. “Okay.”
You opened the door. “See you Monday.”
“Yeah.” You stepped out. Before closing it, you leaned down. “And Freya?”
She looked at you. “You're terrible at being jealous.”
Her mouth fell open. You slammed the door before she could respond. Freya immediately lowered the window. “Fuck off!”
You laughed as you walked toward your building. “Have a good weekend!”
“I hope your date is shit!”
You stopped. Slowly, you turned around. Freya froze behind the wheel. You grinned. She realized what she'd just said. “Not jealous, though?”
“Shut up!”
You laughed all the way to the entrance. But when you got inside and the door closed behind you, your smile slowly faded. Because something had changed. You could feel it. Whatever existed between you and Freya wasn't the same thing you'd had at Arsenal anymore. Maybe it never had been. And for the first time, you found yourself wondering whether all those years of arguing had been hiding something neither of you had been brave enough to name.
-
Your date with Lauren was fine. That was the problem. There was nothing objectively wrong with it. The bar she'd picked was nice, the drinks were good, and Lauren was exactly as easy to talk to outside of training as she'd been inside it. She made you laugh. She asked questions. She didn't spend the entire evening talking about football, which was always a bonus when your entire life already revolved around it. You should have been having a good time. Technically, you were. Except every few minutes, your phone lit up on the table beside you, and every single time it did, some stupid part of you hoped it was Freya. It never was.
By the time Lauren went to the bar for another round, you had checked your phone enough times to annoy yourself. Nothing. No message. No stupid Instagram reel. No sarcastic comment about your date. Nothing from Freya at all. You unlocked your phone anyway. Her name was embarrassingly high in your recent messages. You opened the conversation. The last thing she'd sent was from Thursday.
Freya: 7:20 tomorrow. If you're late I'm leaving without you.
You: You say that every morning.
Freya: One day I'll mean it.
You: No you won't x
She hadn't responded to that. You remembered staring at the little Read beneath it and wondering whether adding the x had been too much. Now you wondered why you cared.
“You look disappointed.” Your head snapped up.
Lauren was standing beside the table with two drinks. “What?”
She placed yours in front of you. “Whoever you're waiting to hear from.”
Your stomach dropped. “I'm not waiting to hear from anyone.”
Lauren sat down. “Sure.”
You flipped your phone facedown. “Sorry.”
“Don't apologize.” She smiled, but there was something knowing about it.
You took a drink. Lauren watched you for a moment. Then she asked, “Is it Freya?”
You nearly inhaled your drink. “What?”
She laughed. “That answers that.”
“There is nothing happening with Freya.”
“I didn't say there was.”
“You implied it.”
“I asked a question.”
“Same thing.”
Lauren leaned back in her chair. “You know, everyone thought you two hated each other.”
“We do.”
“Right.”
“We've always been like this.”
“Like what?”
You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Lauren smiled. “Exactly.”
You looked down at your drink. “We played together at Arsenal.”
“I know.”
“We never got along.”
“So I've heard.”
“She drives me insane.”
Lauren nodded solemnly. “Sounds terrible.”
“She is.”
“And you've checked your phone approximately fifteen times since we got here.”
Your eyes widened. “I have not.”
“You absolutely have.” You sighed.
Lauren laughed. “Relax. I'm not offended.”
“You should be.”
“Why?”
“Because you're on a date with someone who's apparently incapable of putting her phone down.”
Lauren shrugged. “I asked you for a drink. You agreed. We're having a drink.”
She paused. “And now I'm realizing I may have accidentally walked into whatever the hell is happening between you and Godfrey.”
“There is nothing happening.” Lauren stared at you. You stared back. Then you sighed. “Okay, I don't know what's happening.”
“Better.”
You rolled your eyes. She lifted her glass. “To complicated teammates.”
You reluctantly clinked yours against it. “She's not complicated.”
Lauren laughed. “Sure.”
You didn't kiss Lauren. You could have. At the end of the night, when the two of you stood outside waiting for separate cars, there was a moment where you knew she would've let you. Maybe under different circumstances, you would've wanted to. Instead, you hugged her. Lauren pulled back smiling.
“See you Monday?”
“See you Monday.”
“And Y/N?”
“Yeah?”
“Talk to Freya.”
You groaned. “You're as bad as everyone else.”
“I've known you a week.”
“Exactly.”
“And it took me about two days to figure it out.”
“Figure what out?”
Lauren opened her car door. “You'll get there.”
Then she climbed inside and left you standing on the pavement wondering why everyone apparently understood your life better than you did. Your own car arrived a few minutes later. You got in. And before you'd even pulled away from the curb, you opened your phone. Still nothing. You stared at Freya's name. Then typed.
You: Date wasn't shit btw.
You watched the message deliver. Nothing. A minute passed. Then two. You were about to lock your phone when the typing bubble appeared.
Freya: Didn't ask.
You smiled immediately. Ridiculous.
You: You literally said you hoped it was shit.
Freya: And was it?
You hesitated.
You: No.
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Freya: Good.
You frowned. That wasn't the answer you expected.
Freya: Go to bed.
You: Jealous.
Freya: Goodnight Y/N.
You smiled.
You: Night Freya x
This time, you added the x intentionally. Freya read it. No response. But you went to sleep smiling anyway.
Monday morning should have been normal. It wasn't. Your car was fixed, which meant Freya no longer needed to pick you up. You told yourself that was a good thing. Then you arrived at training and immediately hated it. No coffee waiting in the cup holder. No argument about your lateness. No Freya complaining about your music despite being the one controlling the playlist. You walked into the changing room. Freya was already there. She looked up. You smiled.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
That was it. You stopped. Freya went back to tying her boots. You frowned. No insult. No sarcastic comment. Nothing. You walked toward your locker.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“You don't sound fine.”
“I said I'm fine.”
You stared at her. She didn't look up. Something was definitely wrong. You decided not to push. That lasted until training. Freya barely spoke to you. When the coaches put you on the same side during possession drills, she passed to you when she needed to, but that was it. No comments. No teasing. No unnecessary shoulder barges when you walked past each other. You hated it. Which was ridiculous. You had spent years wishing Freya would leave you alone. Now she finally was. And apparently that was worse.
After training, you found her by the equipment shed. “Did I do something?”
Freya looked up. “What?”
“You've been weird all day.”
“I'm always weird according to you.”
“Not like this.”
She grabbed a bag of footballs. “I'm tired.”
“Bullshit.” Freya's jaw tightened. “Can you not?”
“Can I not what?”
“Do this.”
“I'm trying to figure out why you're pissed at me.”
“I'm not pissed at you.”
“Then look at me.”
She did. Immediately. And there it was. Something raw enough that your irritation disappeared. “Freya.”
“What?”
“Is this about Saturday?”
Her expression closed again. “No.”
“Because if it is..”
“It isn't.”
“The date wasn't”
“I don't care about your fucking date.”
You went quiet. Freya seemed to realize how loudly she'd said it. She looked away.
“Right.” You folded your arms. “You don't care.”
“No.”
“That's why you spent Friday telling me Lauren was annoying.”
“She is.”
“And then told me you hoped the date was shit.”
“I was joking.”
“And now you've ignored me all day.”
“I haven't ignored you.”
“You barely looked at me.”
“Maybe I didn't want to.”
That one hurt more than it should have. You stepped back. “Fine.”
Freya looked at you. “Y/N”
“No. It's fine.”
You turned. Her hand closed around your wrist. You stopped. Neither of you moved. Freya's grip loosened immediately. But she didn't let go. “Don't.”
You looked down at her hand. “Don't what?”
“Walk away.”
You turned back. “Then talk to me.”
Freya released you. For a second, you thought she might. Instead, she shook her head. “I can't.”
You laughed bitterly. “Of course.” You walked away before she could stop you again. Things got worse from there.
By Wednesday, everyone had noticed. You and Freya weren't arguing. Apparently, that was more concerning than when you were. At lunch, one of your teammates finally looked between you.
“Did someone die?”
You frowned. “What?”
“You two haven't insulted each other once today.” Freya continued eating.
You shrugged. “Maybe we've matured.”
The entire table laughed. You glared. “Fuck all of you.”
“There's Y/N.”
Normally, Freya would've added something. She didn't. You looked toward her. She kept her eyes on her plate. You were done. Completely done. If Freya wanted to be angry, fine. But you weren't going to spend another week guessing why. You waited until training finished. Freya disappeared toward the changing room. You followed.
“Freya.” She kept walking. “Freya.” Nothing. “For fuck's sake, Godfrey.”
She stopped. Turned. “What?”
“Outside.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I have recovery.”
“So do I. Five minutes.”
You walked toward the side exit without waiting to see if she'd follow. She did. Of course she did. The second the door closed behind you, Freya folded her arms. “What?”
You stared at her. “Enough.”
“Enough what?”
“This.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.”
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Pretending you don't know.”
Freya laughed once. “You're the one who dragged me outside.”
“Because you've been acting like I committed some horrible crime since Saturday.”
“I haven't.”
“You have.”
“I don't care that you went out with Lauren.”
“Then why are you angry?”
“I'm not angry.”
“You're fucking impossible.”
“Then leave me alone.”
“No.”
Freya blinked. You stepped closer. “No. I'm not leaving you alone. Because apparently when I do that, you get even more miserable.”
“Fuck you.”
“There she is.”
“Don't.”
“At least you're finally talking to me.”
“You want me to talk?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.” Freya dropped her arms. “You want to know why I've been weird?”
“Yes.”
“Because you came here.”
You stared at her. “What?”
“You came here.”
“To London City?”
“Yes.”
“I don't understand.”
Freya laughed, but there was something unsteady about it. “Of course you don't.”
“Then explain it.”
“You left Arsenal.” Your frustration faltered. Freya looked away. “You left, and I thought that was it.”
“What was it?”
“You.” You went still. Freya rubbed both hands over her face. “God, this is fucking embarrassing.”
“Freya.”
“You left and everything got…” She stopped.
“What?”
“Quiet.”
Your chest tightened. That was the exact word you'd used in your own head. Quiet. Freya laughed softly, but she didn't look amused.
“I kept thinking I'd enjoy it.”
“Enjoy what?”
“Not having you there.”
You said nothing.
“No one stealing my things. No one winding me up before training. No one arguing with me about absolutely fucking everything.”
She finally looked at you.
“And I hated it.”
Your heart started beating faster.
“Freya…”
“I'd walk into training and expect you to say something stupid. I'd have a good session and think about what sarcastic shit you'd come up with afterward. Sometimes I'd see something and go to text you before remembering we weren't…”
She trailed off.
“Weren't what?”
Freya stared at you. “I don't know.”
That answer hurt in an entirely different way. Because you didn't know either. Friends? Enemies? Something between? Something neither of you had ever bothered to understand because fighting was easier?
“You could've texted me,” you said quietly.
“So could you.”
“I nearly did.”
Freya's expression shifted. “When?”
“A lot.”
“Why didn't you?”
You shrugged. “Didn't think you'd want me to.”
Freya looked almost offended. “I would've.”
“You spent years telling me you couldn't stand me.”
“So did you.”
“Yeah.”
Silence. Neither of you seemed to know what to do with that. Then you remembered Saturday. “Is that why you cared about Lauren?” Freya immediately looked away. You stepped closer. “Freya.”
“Don't.”
“You were jealous.”
“I said don't.”
“Why?”
“Because I don't want to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This!” Her voice cracked. You froze. Freya stared at you, breathing hard. “Whatever this is. Whatever the fuck we've been doing for years.”
You couldn't speak. She continued before you could. “You drove me insane at Arsenal. Then you left and I missed you. Then you turn up here, and suddenly you're everywhere again, and it's worse because now we're not just fighting all the time.”
Her eyes were shining. “You're in my car every morning. You know my coffee order. You sit next to me at lunch. You smile at me like”
She stopped.
“Like what?”
Freya shook her head. “Forget it.”
“No.”
You moved closer. She stepped back. You followed. “Like what?”
“Y/N.”
“Tell me.”
“Like you like me.” Your breath caught. You stared at her. Freya laughed bitterly. “And then you go out with Lauren.”
“Nothing happened with Lauren.”
“I don't care.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Why?”
“Because you obviously fucking care.”
Freya's jaw clenched. You stepped closer again. “Did you miss me?”
She stared at you. “Don't.”
“Did you?”
“Y/N.”
“Just answer me.”
“You know I did.”
“No.”
Your voice softened. “I want you to say it.” Something changed in her expression. Fear, maybe. Or surrender. You didn't know.
“Freya.”
Her eyes met yours. “Did you miss me?”
She snapped. “Of course I fucking missed you!”
Silence. You stopped breathing. Freya seemed to realize what she'd admitted at exactly the same time you did. She stepped back. You caught her hand. “Wait.”
“No.”
“Freya.”
“This was a mistake.”
“What was?”
“Everything I just said.”
She tried to pull away. You didn't let her. “Look at me.”
“No.”
“Freya.”
She finally did. And suddenly you understood. Not everything. Maybe not even half of it. But enough. All those years at Arsenal. The arguments that lasted longer than they needed to. The way Freya always seemed to find you in a crowded room just so she could complain about something. The messages after matches. The night outs where you'd somehow ended up beside each other despite insisting you didn't want to be. That one night when you'd both been drunk and standing far too close outside a club before Katie appeared and interrupted whatever almost happened. You had spent years calling it hatred because that was easier. Safer. Maybe Freya had too. You stepped closer. She didn't move.
“Did you hate me?” Her eyes searched yours.
“At Arsenal.”
Freya swallowed. “I thought I did.”
“And now?”
She looked down at your joined hands. “I don't know.”
You smiled faintly. “Liar.”
Her eyes snapped up. “Fuck you.”
“There she is.” Freya almost smiled. Almost. You were standing too close now. Neither of you acknowledged it. Her eyes dropped toward your mouth. Your heart slammed against your ribs. “Freya.”
“What?”
“I didn't kiss Lauren.”
She looked back at you. “I didn't ask.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you telling me?”
“Because I think you wanted to know.” Freya's expression softened. You took the final step. Her breath caught.
“You're so fucking annoying,” she whispered.
“You've mentioned.”
“I mean it.”
“Sure.”
“I hate you.”
You smiled. “No, you don't.”
Freya stared at you. Then, so quietly you almost didn't hear her: “No.” Your smile disappeared. “I don't.”
That was all it took. You kissed her. For half a second, Freya froze. Then her hands grabbed the front of your training top and she kissed you back so hard you stumbled. Years. Years of arguments and insults and pretending suddenly crashed into one moment. You laughed against her mouth when your back hit the wall. Freya pulled away. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You're laughing at me?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I'm just thinking about how fucking stupid we are.” Freya stared at you. Then she laughed too. “Very.”
You pulled her back in. The second kiss was slower. Not because either of you wanted it less. Because now you knew it was real. Freya's hands loosened against your shirt. Yours settled at her waist. She leaned into you, and something about the softness of it made your chest ache more than the first kiss had. When you finally separated, neither of you moved far. Freya rested her forehead against yours. “So.”
“So.”
“You kissed me.”
“You kissed back.”
“Didn't say I didn't.”
You smiled. “We are really bad at hating each other.”
Freya's mouth twitched. “Speak for yourself.”
“Oh?”
“I still find you incredibly irritating.”
You kissed her again. Freya smiled against your lips. When you pulled away, you raised an eyebrow. “Still?”
“Deeply.” Another kiss.
“Still?”
“Getting worse.”
You laughed. Freya looked at you for a moment. Then her expression softened. “I really did miss you.” Your chest tightened. You reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair away from her face. “I missed you too.”
“You could've texted.”
“So could you.”
“I was busy.”
“Doing what?”
“Enjoying the peace.”
You laughed. “Liar.”
“Maybe.”
Footsteps sounded somewhere inside the building. Both of you froze. Freya stepped away so quickly you nearly laughed again. The door opened. One of your teammates poked her head outside. “There you two are.”
You immediately looked anywhere except at Freya. “Yeah.”
She frowned. “Everything okay?”
“Fine,” Freya answered.
“Perfect,” you said simultaneously.
The teammate looked between you. Your hair was probably a mess. Freya's cheeks were bright red. You were both breathing slightly too hard. Her eyes narrowed. “Right.”
“We were talking,” you added.
“Didn't ask.”
She disappeared back inside. The door shut. You and Freya stared at each other. Then you both started laughing.
“We're fucked,” Freya whispered.
“Probably.”
“What do we do now?”
You looked at her. For once, you didn't have a sarcastic answer. “I don't know.”
Freya nodded. “Okay.”
“But…”
“What?”
You stepped closer again. Her eyes immediately dropped toward your mouth. You smiled.
“I wouldn't mind figuring it out.”
Freya looked at you for a long moment. Then she reached for your hand. Her fingers threaded through yours.
“Yeah.” She squeezed. “Me neither.” You looked down at your joined hands. Something about it felt stranger than kissing her had. More intimate. More real. Freya apparently felt it too because she suddenly released you.
“Okay. We need to go inside.”
You laughed. “Scared?”
“Of you? Never.”
“You're blushing.”
“Fuck off.”
“There she is.”
Freya opened the door. You followed her inside. She made it three steps before stopping. You nearly walked into her.
“What?” Freya turned around. “One thing.”
“What?”
“If you tell anyone I got jealous over Lauren, I'll deny everything.”
You grinned. “Everything?”
“Yes.”
“Even the kissing?”
Her face went red again. “Especially that.”
“Interesting.”
“Y/N.”
“Fine.” You held up your hands. “Your secret is safe.”
Freya narrowed her eyes. “I don't trust you.”
“You probably shouldn't.”
She shook her head and started walking again.You followed. A few feet separated you this time. Enough that nobody looking would immediately know anything had changed. But everything had.You could feel it in the way Freya glanced back at you before entering the changing room. In the smile she tried to hide when your eyes met. In the fact that for the first time since you'd known her, neither of you needed an argument as an excuse to keep looking at the other. Maybe you had never hated Freya Godfrey. Maybe she'd never hated you either. Maybe you'd both just been incredibly bad at recognizing what wanting someone looked like when it arrived disguised as irritation. Whatever it was, one thing was suddenly very clear.
Alexia knows she’s in trouble the second she walks in the room.
She’s a 2 time Ballon d'Or winner, now a 4 time Champions League holder, but the mere sight of you has her trembling in her flats.
You’re hidden away in the corner, caught in conversation with another family member of one of her teammates, but your presence just demands attention. Anyone and everyone seems to stop by to greet you, to get a word in. Whether it be in genuine excitement to meet you, or poorly disguised attempts to talk business, you’re polite, pausing the clear conversation you’re already in the middle of and putting on a well practiced smile.
If she tilts her head just right, it brings her back to the person you used to be. Years ago when Alexia first met you, stumbling and making a fool out of herself before you even shot up in fame.
She should’ve known at that point, but both of you were younger then. And she was too prideful to let your teasing remarks make an imprint on her.
(Or so she’d like to believe)
“Ale!” Alexia can feel her breath physically leave her body when you spot her, face splitting into a wide grin. Her face feels warm, unable to escape as you cross the room in a few strides. Your hug is almost as quick, leaving her craving to feel your touch again.
“La Reina, champion again,” you sigh, feigning faint at her mere presence.
“Callate,” she mutters sheepishly. Alexia quickly runs a hand through her still wet hair, suddenly wishing she had done more after the game to make herself look more presentable.
You’re Aitana’s sister so of course it made sense you’d be here at the game. But how was Alexia to know you were actually coming? Aitana didn’t give her any word of warning.
Though why would she. Aitana definitely was not there the night Alexia realized she was a goner. It started with a lingering hand at hello, more than enough shots somewhere in the middle, and ended with lips locked and her expensive underwear hanging from a lamp in her bedroom.
She woke to your hand running along her back, a whispered apology about a modeling gig across the ocean. Alexia was still groggy with sleep when you pressed a kiss to her forehead and left, leaving nothing but her memories and displaced clothes to prove you were ever there.
And here you are, nearly a year later, looking so good.
You’re wearing a Barcelona jersey, no doubt Aitana’s name on your back. But she feels the pride nonetheless; her childhood club’s colors look good on you.
Alexia’s not ashamed to say she gets lost in conversation with you. People walk by, and unlike before, you barely glance their way if they try to get your attention. She doesn’t pay them any mind either. Some of her teammates drop by to say hello and that’s as much as either of you are willing to entertain.
The conversation moves from the game to your work to your life in London. And as all things do, it eventually goes back to her and the rumors surrounding her future at Barcelona.
You look genuinely interested when she tells you of her tentative plans to leave Spain.
“Where do you think you’d go?”
Alexia shrugs. “Not sure. There is a lot of interest, offers from all over the world. New York. Manchester. London.”
“London,” you repeat. Once. Then twice. A knowing smirk makes its way to your face. “If you wanted to be my wag, you could’ve just asked.”
“No!” she sputters, eyes widening at your insinuation. Of course she knew you lived there. It wasn’t the only reason she was considering going to London though. “London City has a team--”
“No, no, don’t get me wrong. It’s cute.” You’re teasing now, enjoying her panicked expression. “I just didn’t know you were that forward. I guess I could ask Jana to giv--”
“I’m not trying to be forward! And no, you do not need to ask Jana to do anything. I was already offered a contract.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Signing papers already? Put a ring on it first.”
Alexia blinks. “Wha-- we, you-- we’re not dating!”
“Yet. Repeat after me, we’re not dating yet.” Your grin turns into a smirk. “No thanks to you and those failed attempts you call flirting.”
You don’t give her any time to defend herself, next words making Alexia choke on the air.
“You would think after a girl’s seen your boobs she’d try to make things official but…” you trail off with a sigh, not missing the look of alarm that crosses Alexia’s face.
It’s just then Aitana decides to make her entrance. Her step flatters, eyebrows scrunching in disgust.
She looks between the two of you, to Alexia’s clear discomfort and your pleased smile.
“I’m not even going to ask. I don’t want any context.”
“Mi hermana!” You throw your arms around your sister, hug nearly lifting her off her feet. “You played so well. I’m so proud of you.”
Aitana returns your hug almost as hard. It’s been a while since she’s seen you last. Between her commitments and yours, there was barely any time where the two of you could spend any meaningful time together.
You keep an arm looped around her shoulder, pulling Aitana into your side. You drop your voice, but still loud enough for the woman in front of you to hear. “Ale wants to follow me to London. Crazy fan behavior.”
“I’m not--” Alexia breaks off with a strangled noise, pinching the bridge of her nose. You’re going to give her white hairs some day. “No one is following anyone anywhere.”
“Alexia, you’ve seen her naked and you’re still being called a crazy fan? How lame is your game?”
She stares at the two of you. Mouth agape. Lost for words.
Standing side by side, the resemblance is insane. Even if she didn’t already know you were sisters, the way both of you were smiling, with the slight twinge of mischievousness in your eyes, left no one guessing.
“My ‘game’ is fine. You Bonmatís are crazy.”
“Yet you still want to follow me to London.”
Alexia’s eye twitches.
“I’m leaving.”
“To London,” you nod.
“Nope. This conversation.”
Aitana snickers.
You grin. “To prepare for your departure to London.”
Alexia gives you the stink eye, slowly backing away. “Leaving now. Goodbye!”
You can’t resist one more cheeky comment, even as Alexia turns her back to you.
“I have a spare spot in my bed for you when London becomes your calling!”
The middle finger you receive back tells you all you need to know.
Potion Essence: You and Manon come home, half-drunk and half-tired. The air between you is heavy with weeks of teasing and stolen glances. One touch turns into another, and suddenly the living room is a battlefield of need, laughs, and whispered confessions.
Drops: 5,6k
Shelf: Scarlet Extracts
Side Effects: This draught contains potent desires and indulgent flames; uncork with care. Mild discomfort (or comfort) may occur due to mentions of explicit sex, penetration, mentions of top surgery/scars and packer usage. You may sip if your senses are prepared. Also, only those of consenting age & queer or trans identities may partake, meaning that straight cisgender men (and minors) are not welcome in this apothecary.
Apothecary’s notes: I must confess that I already had this extract almost ready on my shelf, although brewed with different ingredients. I got filled with joy to see that a lovely visitor decided to request it. However, as mentioned before, my counter is currently only open for sparkling draughts, so larger potions must wait for another time. Hope you enjoy every sip, dear visitor.
The apartment feels too quiet when she unlocks the door, the buzz of the night still clinging to both of you. Manon’s laughter, a little too loud, bounces off the walls as she kicks off her heels at the entrance. She nearly trips over the second one, grabbing your arm for balance, her fingers curling instinctively against your sleeve.
“See,” she says, grinning up at you, “I told you I could still walk straight.”
You raise an eyebrow, locking the door behind you. “That was… technically walking.”
She swats your arm, stumbling down the short hallway like she owns the place. She does this often; makes herself at home without asking, drapes herself across your couch, rummages through your fridge as if you’re not watching her every move. Tonight it feels different, though. She’s looser, not just from the drinks but from the way the night has wrapped itself around both of you.
Manon collapses onto the couch, her hair falling into her face. She tosses her head back dramatically, closing her eyes, lips parted. “God, my feet are gonna sue me.”
“You could’ve worn sneakers, you know?”
“And look like I was going to rehearsal instead of a bar?” She cracks an eye open, smirking. “Please. Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy everyone staring at us.”
“Everyone was staring at you,” you say, but your voice betrays you. She catches it, of course she does.
Her smirk deepens, sharp and playful. “Jealous?”
You roll your eyes and drop into the armchair across from her. “Of your terrible taste in shots? Absolutely.”
She laughs again, head tipping back, throat bared. You stare for half a second too long before forcing yourself to look away, pretending to be fascinated by the stack of mail on the coffee table.
It’s been like this for weeks now. The teasing, the drawn-out silences that go just a little too heavy, the glances that linger long enough to burn. Neither of you have said anything, but the charge of it has been filling the air like static.
Manon sits up, pulling her knees onto the couch, and studies you. “You’re quiet,” she says softly, not mocking now, just watching.
“I’m always quiet.”
“Not like this.” She tilts her head, eyes glinting. “You’re thinking too much.”
She’s right, but you don’t admit it. Instead you stand, heading for the kitchen. “Want water?”
“Wine,” she calls after you. “Unless you’re out. In which case, water’s fine.”
You shake your head, grabbing two glasses and filling them from the tap. When you return, she’s stretched across the couch like a cat, her tank top riding up just enough to show the smooth line of her stomach. She accepts the water with a soft thanks, her fingers brushing yours.
The touch is nothing; it should be nothing. But it lands in your chest with force. You take a long sip of your own glass, focusing on the cool slide of it down your throat.
Manon watches you over the rim of hers. “You’re doing it again,” she says.
“What?”
“Pretending you’re not staring.”
Heat crawls up your neck. “You’re imagining things.”
She sets her glass down, leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Am I?”
There’s a pause. Not long, but long enough for something to shift. Her eyes hold yours, unflinching, and you feel the ground under your feet tilt just slightly.
You break it first, running a hand over your chest, an old reflex you never quite grew out of even after top surgery. The scars have long since healed into faint lines, softened with time, but the gesture grounds you.
Manon notices. Of course she does. Her gaze flicks down for a second, then back up, softer now. “You always do that when you’re nervous,” she says.
You huff a laugh, dry. “You always point it out.”
“Because I like it,” she admits, surprising you. Her voice dips, a little husky. “It’s raw.”
You don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t. The air feels thicker now, charged.
She shifts, curling her legs under her, and pats the cushion beside her. “Come here. You’re too far away.”
You hesitate, then cross the room and sink down next to her. The couch dips, pressing you closer together. She smells like perfume faded by sweat and smoke from the bar, familiar and dizzying.
Manon leans into you, head resting against your shoulder. “Better,” she murmurs.
Your body goes rigid, then slowly relaxes as her weight settles. It’s not unusual for her to be touchy, but this feels different. It feels heavier, almost intentional.
“You’re warm,” she says, almost absently. “Like a heater.”
“And you’re drunk.”
“Not drunk enough to miss how tense you are.” Her fingers toy idly with the hem of your shirt, tracing the seam. “Relax.”
You exhale shakily. “You’re not making that easy.”
She laughs, soft against your shoulder. “Good.”
The silence that follows isn’t empty. It hums with everything unsaid, with the weeks of banter and glances that both of you have been skirting around. You feel it coiling tighter, inevitable.
Manon lifts her head, studying you again. Her face is close, closer than it should be, her breath warm against your jaw. “Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to kiss me.”
Your heart stumbles. “What?”
Her smile is small, almost shy but not quite. “Don’t act surprised. You’ve been looking at me like you want to. For weeks.”
You can’t answer, not with words. Instead you lean in, closing the distance before you can talk yourself out of it.
Her lips meet yours eagerly, like she’s been holding herself back too. The kiss is messy, not careful, her hand sliding up to your neck, pulling you closer. You gasp against her mouth, and she swallows it whole, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy.
When you break apart, you’re both breathing hard. She presses her forehead to yours, laughing breathlessly. “Finally,” she whispers.
“Finally?”
“You’re slow,” she teases, then kisses you again.
This one is softer, lingering. Your hand finds her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric of her top. She arches into it, humming low in her throat.
The hunger beneath the playfulness rises fast, pulling you under. Manon shifts, swinging a leg over to straddle your lap. You knew for a fact that she could feel your packer against her. The sudden weight of her settles against you, and you grip her hips instinctively.
She smirks down at you, pupils blown wide. “See? This is better.”
Your voice is rough. “You’re dangerous.”
“Maybe.” She leans down, lips brushing your ear. “Do you like it?”
You shudder. “Yeah.”
Her hands slide over your chest, pausing at your scars. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t hesitate. She just traces them gently, reverently. “I love this,” she says simply.
Something in your chest aches. You kiss her hard, desperate to drown in her before the emotion can swallow you whole.
She kisses back with equal ferocity, grinding against you, her breath coming faster. The teasing edge is still there, but it’s laced now with something rawer, needier.
“Bed,” she mutters against your mouth. “Take me to bed.”
You freeze for half a beat, staring at her. Her eyes are dark, intent, waiting.
“Are you sure?”
Her laugh is shaky, almost disbelieving. “Do I look unsure?” She kisses you again, hard. “I’ve been thinking about this forever.”
That undoes you. You stand, lifting her easily. She squeals, laughing into your neck, letting you carry her down the hall toward your bedroom.
She clings to you, legs tight around your waist, lips pressed to your jaw. “God, you’re strong,” she breathes, half teasing, half awed.
“Shut up,” you mutter, but you’re smiling.
When you lay her on the bed, she pulls you down with her, kissing you like she can’t stand the space between you. Clothes are tugged at, shifted, but not fully removed yet. It’s still too frantic, too much about the press of mouths, the feel of hands.
Manon’s fingers are in your hair, tugging, pulling you closer. “I want you,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Please.”
Hearing her pleading sends heat straight through you, almost painful. You kiss her again, deeper, promising without saying it: you’ll give her everything she asks for.
The mattress dips as you lean over her, braced on your elbows, lips still slick from kissing her senseless. Manon’s chest rises and falls fast, each breath brushing your skin. She’s looking at you like you’ve undone her, pupils wide, mouth parted, hair falling messily around her face.
“You’re staring,” you murmur, though your voice is just as wrecked.
She smirks faintly, but it softens into something else, something heavier. “Yeah,” she admits. “I am.”
Her fingers trace your jaw, then slip into your shirt, dragging her nails lightly over your chest. She pauses when she feels the faint ridges of your scars through the fabric, and instead of hesitating, she pushes the shirt higher.
“Take this off,” she whispers.
You freeze for a moment. Even after surgery, even after years of being seen, the request still makes your stomach clench. But her eyes are steady, not demanding, no. Just hungry, reverent, like she wants to see you, not inspect you.
You sit back just enough to tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. The air against your bare chest is cool, grounding, and then her hands are there, warm and sure, sliding up your ribs and over the lines you’ve long since accepted as part of yourself.
“Fuck,” she breathes. Her thumb drags slowly across one scar, deliberate, and she looks up at you like she’s memorizing it. “You’re so-” Her voice breaks a little. “You’re handsome.”
Heat floods your face. You try to deflect with humor. “You’re drunk.”
She shakes her head quickly, curls bouncing. “No. Not drunk enough to imagine this.” She sits up slightly, pressing her mouth to your chest, kissing the skin just above one scar. “I like this. I like you.”
The words hit deeper than they should, and your throat tightens. You bury your hand in her hair, tugging gently, needing her closer to ground yourself. “Manon-”
She cuts you off with another kiss, open-mouthed now, tongue flicking against your skin, dragging heat across your chest. Her hands grip your sides, nails digging in just enough to make you shiver.
Your body reacts fast, pulse hammering low in your stomach. You push her back against the pillows, kissing her again to keep from falling apart. She arches beneath you, restless, the hem of her tank top riding up higher with every movement.
“Take it off,” she gasps against your mouth. “Please…”
You don’t make her ask twice. Your fingers find the hem and tug the fabric over her head, baring her to you. She’s flushed, messy-haired, stunning, and she doesn’t look away, doesn’t hide. Her confidence knocks the air out of you.
“Happy now?” you manage.
She grins, wicked and breathless. “Getting there.”
You cup her breast, thumb brushing over the peak, and she arches into your touch, moaning softly. The sound shoots straight through you, your own center, although packed, jerking against her thigh without meaning to.
She notices. Of course she does; and smirks again. “Oh, you’re needy too, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Make me.”
The challenge sparks something in you, and you bend to take her nipple into your mouth, sucking hard enough to make her gasp. Her back arches, fingers tangling in your hair, holding you there.
“Fuck,” she breathes. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop teasing-” Her words break into a moan when you flick your tongue, rolling the bud between your lips.
You switch to the other side, giving it equal attention, and she’s panting now, writhing under you. “God, you’re-” She can’t finish, tugging your hair tighter. “I didn’t think- I mean, I knew you’d be good, but… fuck.”
You lift your head, lips wet, smirking down at her. “Better than you imagined?”
She bites her lip, eyes half-lidded. “Way better.”
Your hands move lower, over her stomach, finding the waistband of her skirt. You pause, searching her face. “Can I?”
Her answer is immediate, desperate. “Yes. Please.”
You undo the zipper slowly, tugging the fabric down her hips. She lifts to help you, kicking it off along with her underwear, leaving her bare beneath you. Manon was so wet and needy that you could almost smell it. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t cover herself. She just watches you watch her, eyes dark with hunger.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.
She laughs breathlessly, shaking her head. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You drag your fingers lightly over her thigh, watching goosebumps rise in your wake. She spreads for you instinctively, need written all over her body.
“Touch me,” she begs. “I’ve been dying for it…”
Her voice breaks as your fingers slip between her folds, dragging slow circles over her clit. She jolts, gasping, hips bucking into your hand.
“Fuck,” she groans, nails digging into your shoulders. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
You kiss her again, swallowing her moans as you work her faster, your own center throbbing hard beneath your cock. Her body is hot, slick, and she’s so responsive it makes you dizzy. Every twitch, every gasp feels like fuel.
“You feel so good,” you whisper against her mouth.
Her eyes flutter open, glassy with want. “You too. God, I want all of you.”
The words nearly undo you. You grind against her thigh, the friction making your head spin, and she grabs your hips, pulling you harder against her.
“Don’t hold back,” she pants. “I want you messy. I want all of it.”
You groan, burying your face in her neck, fingers working her harder. She’s close, you can feel it in the way she trembles, the way her nails scrape down your back.
“Say it,” you murmur, desperate. “Tell me what you need.”
Her voice is wrecked, breaking. “I need you inside me.”
The request nearly rips a groan from your throat. You kiss her hard, panting against her lips. “Condoms-”
“Drawer,” you whisper. “Top one.”
You waste no time and you fumble it open, hands shaking, pulling one out. She watches, flushed and wild, as you roll it on, her tongue darting out to wet her lips.
“You look so fucking hot right now,” she says, voice raw.
You laugh breathlessly. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I know.” She tugs you closer, her thighs spreading wide. The sight of her, desperate and wet beneath you, makes your stomach twist in want.
“Fuck,” she breathes, voice low and shaky. “Do it slow.”
You nod, rolling it carefully over the packer strapped at your waist. The familiar weight of your own hand presses against you, a mix of reassurance and arousal, and you glance down at Manon. She’s watching your movements like she’s memorizing every detail, biting her lip to keep from moaning.
“You’re beautiful like this,” she murmurs, fingers tracing idle patterns along her own thighs, gripping the sheets. “So perfect. So… you.”
The words hit deep. You swallow, pressing a kiss to her collarbone before leaning back to meet her gaze. “You sure?”
Her grin is sharp, teasing, but her eyes are molten. “Stop asking. I want you. I’ve wanted this forever.”
You inch forward, lining yourself up with her entrance, hand on her hip to steady her. She leans back on her elbows, watching you, legs spread, slick glistening in the lamplight.
“Take it slow,” she whispers again, almost a plea.
You push in gently, the tip brushing against her heat. She gasps, gripping your shoulders, hips lifting slightly to meet you. “Fuck,” she breathes. “Yes. Oh god, yes.”
You pause, letting her adjust, giving her time to settle around you. Her warm body is intoxicating, every nerve firing as her cunt clenches around your cock; it was so apparent you could see it with your own eyes. She moans low, dragging your hands over her hips, nails scraping lightly against your skin.
“Deeper,” she urges after a moment, voice rough, a mixture of need and impatience.
You sink in slowly, inch by inch, watching her face as her breath hitches with each movement. The packer stimulated from the inside, so whenever you went in deeper; you felt it harder. “God, you feel so good,” you whisper, gripping her hips tighter as you adjust your rhythm.
Her hands curl around your biceps. “Move,” she breathes. “I need all of it. All of you.”
You obey, thrusting carefully, letting her feel the full length of you. She shudders under you, chest rising and falling in ragged pants, and you can’t help but groan at how perfectly she takes you. Her slick pussy, the way her muscles clamp instinctively around the packer; it’s intoxicating.
“Fuck, you’re so big,” she gasps, arching her back. “So fucking perfect.”
The praise twists something hot and heavy in your chest. You roll your hips against hers, slower at first, letting her feel each inch, each curve of the packer inside her. Her moans are sharp, frantic, pulling you deeper into her rhythm.
“Harder,” she whispers, tugging at your hair. “I want it harder.”
You pick up the pace, letting your hips roll against hers, your cock pushing in and out of her in a controlled, deliberate rhythm. She’s gripping your shoulders now, dragging you down onto her, pressing her chest to yours, letting you feel every pulse of her body.
“God, I’ve been thinking about this,” she groans. “Thinking about you, all week. Wanting this. Wanting me.”
Her voice breaks mid-sentence into a moan, chest trembling under your hands. You glance down at her, mouth slightly open, cheeks flushed, eyes glassy with need. She catches your gaze, smiles faintly through her haze.
“You’re perfect like this,” she whispers, dragging a hand down your chest, over the scars, fingers grazing the waistband of the packer’s harness. “All of you. Every part.”
You respond with a groan, gripping her hips harder, leaning into her, letting the tension build until every thrust is both desperate and precise. She moans, nails digging into your shoulders, hips rising to meet yours with every movement.
You dare to look down; the sight of her dripping cunt swallowing your cock could nearly drive you insane.
“Faster,” she breathes, hips bucking against you. “Please, don’t stop... I need to cum so bad.”
You obey, letting yourself be guided by her movements, matching her rhythm, letting your hands roam over her body, teasing her nipples, brushing her hair back from her face. The combination of her praise, her needs, her hands, her voice; it’s too much, a delicious pressure that makes your own center spike.
She’s trembling beneath you, moaning your name, each pulse of her cunt wrapping around your cock like she was made for it. You can almost feel her tightening, the slick pull of her muscles, and it drives you wild.
“You’re gonna make me-” she pants. “Gonna make me come so hard.”
“Come on,” you murmur, leaning down to kiss her neck, leaving marks that match the intensity of your thrusts. “I want you to. Come on, baby.”
Her back arches, chest pressing into yours, hands gripping your shoulders like she can’t hold herself up. She cries out, shuddering violently as she comes, squeezing and wetting your cock, clamping instinctively, and you groan, lost in the sensation, letting her pleasure spill over into yours.
You continue moving with her, riding out the tremors of her orgasm, hips rolling in sync, letting her feel every inch. Her body quivers, chest heaving, and you finally pull out slowly, still holding her close, pressing her to your chest.
“God,” she pants, forehead pressed to yours. “You’re incredible. You feel so… so good.”
You kiss her temple, brushing hair from her sweat-slick face. “You too. Always.”
Her fingers trace your scars again, thumb lingering over the harness’ waistband. “I love every part of you,” she whispers. “Every part. Don’t ever hide it.”
You hold her tighter, wrapping arms around her back, chest pressed to hers, letting the aftershocks of desire melt into something softer, warmer. She nuzzles into your neck, her hair against your collarbone, and you can feel the rise and fall of her chest against your chest.
“I could stay like this forever,” she murmurs, voice low, muffled against your skin.
“Then stay,” you whisper, pressing your lips to her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Her hand curls around your arm, squeezing lightly. “You’re mine now,” she breathes. “Don’t forget it.”
You laugh softly, fingers combing through her hair, tracing the line of her jaw. “Not a chance.”
You lie there for a long time, tangled together, sweat cooling on your skin, the packer still tucked safely, the condom discarded carefully. The room is quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside, punctuated by the occasional sigh or low laugh from Manon.
The night stretches, gentle and fairly domestic now, filled with quiet touches, murmured reassurances, and soft laughter. She drifts against you, warm and heavy, and you can’t help but marvel at the way this; messy, loud, desperate, tender. It feels like exactly where you’re meant to be.
She shifts, resting her hand over your chest, thumb brushing lazily across the scars. “Promise me,” she whispers, voice muffled, “that I get to see all of this. Every part of you.”
You press a kiss to the top of her head, smile soft against her hair. “Always. Every part.”
And there, tangled and warm, breath mingling with hers, you realize that all the teasing, all the weeks of tension, all the unspoken words, it’s led here. To this: a shared space of need and trust, of pleasure and care, of messy love that is entirely, unapologetically yours.
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☆ Summary: Being Barça's newest signing is the easy part. The real challenge is letting someone get close. With Alexia, things quickly turn physical, and while you have no problem taking control, letting yourself be seen is a different story. But Alexia isn't used to being kept at a distance.
☆ Word Count: 6.6k
☆ Warnings: Ale's very babygirl • reader is grumpy • golden retriever and black cat vibes • Ale's on her period • literally just vibes no plot.
☆ A/n: Hope you guys enjoy this chapter!! <3333 This is, once again, a direct continuation from where we left off.
Part 6 here
The day had been horrible.
Mostly because it had begun so well and unravelled so badly, and even though it was only five in the afternoon, you were certain it wouldn't get any better from here.
Cuddling with Alexia in the morning had been wonderful, even if it had terrified you a little bit. Having sex with her was amazing; that part wasn't the problem at all, even if it had made you both late to breakfast. Watching Alexia shower afterwards had been honestly a divine experience, even if you were in a rush and couldn't fully enjoy the view.
But then came the soreness, the ibuprofen, and that rather cryptic phrase she had said in the hotel room, the one you still hadn't quite worked out what to do with.
"You have to decide, torito. Your rules. If they still apply or not."
You sighed, shifting against the brick wall of the stadium park. You hadn't known how to process her words then, and you certainly didn't now. Instead, you had done what you always did and disappeared into your own head.
The air was cold around you, while the setting sun washed the Sevilla sky in shades of pink and orange. You took a deep breath, but Alexia filled your thoughts the same way the ocean filled the lungs of unsuspecting swimmers – burning from the inside out, starving every cell of oxygen before leaving them to die an agonising death.
The asphyxiating overthinking was precisely why you had needed thirty minutes to change after the final whistle. You had needed space away from the mistake you had made on the pitch, away from Alexia snapping at you, away from Patri and Kika's gentleness, away from the dangerous voice screaming in your head that Alexia detested you now.
And look where that logic had got you... Getting called out for letting Kika hug you, watching Alexia admit her jealousy with trembling lips before she kissed the top of your head and walked away, leaving you alone.
You wondered if she had done that to process everything that had happened.
"I do notice," her voice echoed in your brain. "When you're not there."
You closed your eyes, but instead of seeing Alexia, you saw the same image behind your eyelids for what felt like the sixteenth or seventeenth time since the final whistle.
The stupid (tiny!) gap you left right in front of the box. The Sevilla girl running. The goal that sealed the defeat.
Now, as you stood in the stadium car park watching a mechanic inspect the underside of the team bus, the scoreboard that no longer existed anywhere except the back of your mind still glowed one-nil. The old voice that you had spent months gradually learning to argue with had found its footing again after the match, and it showed no sign of leaving.
You don't belong at a club like this. The voice was so calm and certain and fucking annoying. Today just reminded everyone.
You knew it wasn't true. You knew the voice in your head wasn't always right, that you shouldn't trust it, but it didn't matter. The thought had already dug its roots in deep, and it was going to require an exhausting amount of mental energy to pull it back out, perhaps days.
A loud and metallic sound snapped you back to the reality of the car park. You looked up just in time to see the mechanic lift an important-looking piece of metal that you were pretty sure wasn't meant to come out of the engine… but not that you were an expert in buses or anything.
The bus back to Barcelona had broken down right outside of the stadium after everyone had already climbed aboard. The plan had been to head back home right after the game; that was why everyone had packed their bags, but it seemed like a change of plans would be necessary.
Marta, sitting near the front of the bus, had overheard the driver complaining about something and passed the news to Caro, who leaned across the aisle to tell Esmee. Within about thirty seconds, the information had spread through the entire bus in a broken-telephone manner. Which meant everyone had to haul their (heavy!) belongings back off the bus and out into the cool evening despite having spent ninety minutes running and fighting on the pitch. Unsurprisingly, everyone was tired and not particularly pleased with the situation.
"We broke down?" Ona asked, a childlike pout forming on her face.
"We broke down," Marta confirmed.
"Yeah, of course we did," you muttered under your breath. This occurrence was so fitting for a day like today, almost poetic.
Pere appeared from the front of the bus, phone pressed to his ear, wearing the expression of a man who had already mentally checked out for the day hours ago and was operating on nothing but professional obligation. He held up a hand for quiet, finished his call, and looked over at the team.
"The bus is staying here tonight," he said. "And so are we. They can't fix it until tomorrow morning, so we have to go back to the hotel."
A beat of silence fell over the team.
"So… the hotel here in Sevilla," Vicky asked slowly, processing the news. "The one we just checked out of?"
"Yes."
"And we're staying another night…?" She continued
"Yes."
"That's good, actually," Cata chimed in. "I forgot my good shoes in the hotel gym..."
"This whole trip is so horrible," Syd sighed. Her headphones were resting around her neck, spilling out a song far too melancholy for this situation.
"Maybe it's your fault," Clara said in a bored voice, her arms crossed over her chest. "Your horoscope was predicting all kinds of bad things, and we still agreed to let you come with us."
"Agree to let me come?!" Sydney shot back, exasperated. "It's not like I can just skip a match because my sun sign happens to be in a terrible position!"
"Yeah, yeah, but–"
"Enough," Alexia's voice cut through the air. "Both of you. Quiet."
They fell instantly quiet, and so did everyone else.
"Oh," Vicky said in a hushed whisper, nudging Kika's side. "Capi's mad.
And so… they waited. And waited.
The mechanic was still beneath the broken-down bus, poking and prodding while everyone waited for ubers. Needless to say, the whole squad was scattered in various forms of shared misery.
Cata was sitting on her travel bag with her headphones in, looking like she very much did not want to be bothered. The younger girls, meanwhile, had clustered around Alexia, the way they always did when something went wrong on a game day.
It was almost endearing from a distance.
Alexia was visibly grumpy, yet as though drawn by some collective gravitational pull, the kids had gathered around her anyway. Aicha was perched on the low wall beside her, Vicky on her other side, Clara nearby, and Syd hovered just behind.
All of them were talking nonstop and overlapping each other, clearly discussing anything and everything unrelated to football just to distract themselves, or maybe distract Alexia. They didn't like it when she was in one of her so-called moods.
At one point, Alexia muttered something short and dry, and the girls immediately laughed. Alexia looked faintly pained by how easily she had made them laugh when she was trying so hard to be unavailable and intimidating.
You watched as she pressed her face briefly into her hands before looking up again. She was, you realised, trying very hard to project the image of a captain who was perfectly fine, the untouchable leader who certainly wasn't eating herself alive over the defeat.
Patri was right; Alexia was extremely competitive, far too hard on herself.
A few meters away, Kika, Patri and Esmee were leaning against the side of the bus, sharing a bag of salty snacks.
"Look at her," Kika whispered, putting a chip into her mouth and motioning toward Alexia with her chin. "Ale looks like a stressed-out mother duck whose ducklings won't stop misbehaving."
"Do not let her hear you say that," Patri said teasingly. "She's five seconds away from making them run drills around the car park just to get some peace of mind."
Esmee shrugged. "That's totally on her, though. I bet she can't sleep until she's convinced every new blaugrana kid feels welcome… and then they grow attached to her."
"Like leeches," Kika said, watching Vicky shove a phone right in Alexia's face while Clara rested her head on Alexia's shoulder, eating a bag of biscuits and letting crumbs fall all over the captain's shirt.
"Like leeches," Patri agreed. "Very annoying leeches."
"She's miserable," Esmee added as Syd set up her phone to film a tiktok, making sure Alexia was unmistakably right in the middle of the frame. The catalan rolled her eyes, shushing Syd and shooing the phone away.
"Nah," Kika countered. "She's right where she wants to be."
Then their attention shifted to you instead.
Patri held up a hand to wave you over. Urgh, more socialisation, but you went over anyway.
"Hi," you said drily, though you didn't hesitate to accept the chips Patri offered.
"Still upset?" Esmee asked nonchalantly.
"No," you lied.
Patri chuckled. "Yeah, right. You look like a puppy that's just been kicked out of its home, but of course you aren't upset."
"We'll recover from the loss, amiga!" Kika said cheerfully. "Don't worry about it–"
"I'm not upset about the game," you interrupted. It was a half-truth.
"What are you upset about, then?" Esmee pressed.
"Nothing," you said quickly, instantly regretting opening your mouth.
Patri and Kika shared a smirk "Let me guess," Patri began. "Problems in paradise?"
You glared at her. "There is no problem."
"Oh, but there is a paradise?" Patri teased back.
"This is exactly why I don't talk to you people," you grumbled, taking another chip.
"You are awfully private," Kika said dramatically, rolling her eyes. "That's soo rude! I literally tell people everything."
"That's kind of a problem on its own," Esmee murmured.
"Don't try to defend her," Kika shot back. "You two are way too alike. Why did we only find out you were dating on your three-month anniversary?!"
"Because I wasn't dating any of you," Esmee deadpanned.
Kika nudged Patri. "Can you help me out here?"
Patri chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Chica, you won't get any information out of Y/n or Esmee by asking. You have to observe."
You stood there stone-faced as they continued to analyse your supposed love life as if you weren't standing right in front of them. You took that as a clue to step back from their circle.
Your eyes drifted across the car park back to Alexia. You looked away before she could catch you staring, though deep down, a part of you wanted her to see you. You were used to hiding; it felt safe, but with Alexia, you wanted to be perceived.
Yet she didn't look up; she turned to her phone instead.
It is a joy to be hidden and a disaster not to be found.
Her uber notification must have come through, because she checked her phone and tapped the screen (rather aggressively) before looking around the car park. Her warm, honey-coloured eyes found yours.
She stepped away from her ducklings, who were practically breathing down her neck and walked the small distance between you.
"Hey," Alexia murmured, keeping her voice down so only you could hear as she held up her phone to show the app. "You're coming with me, right?"
You looked at the screen, then glanced past her. The kids were already lingering a few steps behind her, pretending they didn't care while obviously waiting for her to decide who was getting in her uber.
They were praying for a spot in the car. Cute. They really did admire Alexia like an older sister.
"I don't think there's space," you said, gesturing to the situation with a tilt of your chin.
Alexia glanced over her shoulder quickly, assessed the kids, and turned back to you.
"We'll meet at the hotel then," she said simply.
And that was it.
She turned, and without a single word, the girls simply followed, falling into step behind her in a loose cluster, their voices already rising in volume around her. Aicha said something that made two of them laugh, and even Alexia smiled a bit. She could pretend to be grumpy, but those girls were her ultimate weakness; she could never keep it up for long.
You looked down at your own phone; your uber was four minutes away.
Another night in the hotel room, you thought. Another night with Alexia… maybe?
You shook your head, trying to clear your mind. You shouldn't be thinking about this right now.
She seemed alright with you again – she had just told you she would meet you at the hotel, right? But what exactly does "meeting at the hotel" mean? Sharing a room again? Or going to separate rooms? Had the plumbing issue been fixed? Should you be asking to stay with Kika instead? No, better not; Alexia would have an aneurysm… So, maybe Esmee?
Patri couldn't fit in your uber ride, so she stayed behind to catch the next one with Cata and Pina. That left you sandwiched between Kika and Esmee in the backseat for the entire twenty-three-minute drive, during which Kika could not, for the life of her, shut the hell up.
By the time the car finally pulled up outside of the hotel, Kika had told so, soo many terrible jokes, and Esmee had rolled her eyes at every single one of them.
When you walked into the hotel, the first thing you noticed was how much quieter the lobby was compared to that morning. A few of your teammates were visible through the restaurant window: Clara and Aicha at a table near the back, Aitana sitting with Pajor right beside them, having an early dinner from the look of it.
You continued to walk until you saw her.
Alexia was sitting in one of the leather armchairs near the check-in desk; her travel bag was at her feet and her phone in her hand. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and her pink lips were set in a pout. She looked composed, but tired. You wanted to cover her face in soft kisses, to smooth out the exhaustion on her brow.
Alexia looked up the moment you stepped through the doors. Without saying a word, she stood, picked up her bag, and crossed the lobby toward you.
"Vamos?" she said simply. [let's go]
"I have to check in again," you said, looking at the front desk.
"I've already done it for both of us," she said casually. "Come on."
"Oh, alright… yeah," you said, caught slightly off guard by how seamlessly she had handled it. "Thank you."
You followed her to the lift, and neither of you acknowledged the fact that she had been sitting in the lobby waiting for you when she could have already been upstairs beneath a scalding shower.
She had waited for you, you thought.
The lift was empty when it arrived at the lobby. You stepped inside, and Alexia pressed the button. You watched the doors close and stood beside her. The silence between you wasn't uncomfortable; it was just filled with exhaustion. The complete "emotional rollercoaster" of the day had drained you both.
The floor numbers climbed and seemingly did not stop doing so. You were tired. You wanted to sleep, but your brain was already spiralling, waiting for the conversation about the room assignments to come.
Were you sharing again? Well, it was kind of obvious you were…. Unless she had only checked you both in because it was easier? Should you ask for a key to a separate room? Something in your gut told you Alexia would be upset if you did so.
Before your thoughts could settle, her hand brushed against yours. She didn't take it; her fingertips simply rested against your knuckles for a second.
You loved her warmth, loved how soft her skin felt against you. An ache settled in your bones; it said you didn't deserve to touch her today; you didn't deserve her softness. Still, you didn't pull away.
When the doors opened on your floor. Alexia withdrew her hand and stepped out first. She walked down the hallway with familiarity, stopping in front of the exact same door from this morning. Alexia didn't make a big deal out of it; she just held the door open for you as if sharing space again was the most natural thing in the world.
You dropped your bag beside the bed and sat on the edge of the soft, queen-size mattress. And then, before your rational mind could even register the room, the walls, the mattress beneath you, or Alexia's proximity, the match began again.
It replayed behind your eyelids over and over. You saw every angle of it, every bad decision you made.
Alexia was standing in the middle of the room. She was never one to sit when she was thinking too much about something, so instead, she began moving around the room back and forth, moving from one wall to the other like a broken pendulum.
"We were too passive after halftime," she said, her voice tight with frustration. "Don't you think?"
"I was out of position," you said to the floor.
"We just weren't pressing them enough in the second half… we weren't coordinated. Everyone was doing their own thing… I should have stepped up sooner and reorganised us."
"I read the run wrong," you muttered, ignoring her analysis to focus on your flaw. "I saw the forward making her move, and I waited a second too long… I never wait too long; I don't know what happened!"
Alexia kept pacing, making you dizzy. "We gave them too much space; they had their whole wings to themselves! What was I thinking when I told Esmee to focus on the centre?"
You ignored Alexia right back, locked in your own mind loop… Neither of you was listening to the other. Alexia kept pacing and pacing while you hadn't even taken your shoes off yet.
"Honestly, it's all my fault," you said bitterly "If I had been better positioned, a bit further to the left, that ball might never have reached Cata."
That finally made Alexia stop pacing. She turned to look down at you. "You can't blame yourself for–"
"I watched it back during the drive here," you said. "I was the only one between her and Cata–"
"Which means nine other players on that pitch – myself included – failed before she ever got that close to the goal." Alexia countered.
"But I am the full-back, Ale." Your voice came out flat. "If they score, that's on me. That's my job. That's what I'm here to do, you know? To defend, or well, try to. The game is on me."
Something softened in Alexia's expression, and suddenly she didn't look like a captain trying to comfort a teammate. She looked like… You weren't quite ready to name what she looked like.
"Tori, I was too hard on you," she said, her voice gentle. "I'm sorry."
"No, Ale, it was a fair point, okay?" you said, deflecting immediately. "You don't have to be sorry for–"
"Don't say I was just doing my job," she interrupted. "My job doesn't mean being rude to you."
You tilted your head, analysing her. "You correct other players too," you pointed out. "You don't tell them you are sorry."
She seemed almost confused by her own actions. "I-I, well, I always corrected them, yes, but I'm not half as harsh with them as I was with you…I'm not apologising for the note," she said slowly. "I'm apologising for how I said it. There's a difference."
You opened your mouth, but then closed it. The room felt awfully quiet. You wanted to scream into its void just to break the tension.
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
"I know," you muttered. "Me too."
She looked at the ceiling, then looked at the floor, rubbing her neck.
"I'm the defending midfielder," she said, beginning to vent, "If we don't score, if the press falls apart, if we can't hold possession… that's on me. The whole game is on me," she added, parroting your exact words back.
"Great," you deadpanned. "So we were both terrible at our job, huh?"
"Apparently."
"Wonderful," you said. "Really brilliant. Excellent day's work from both of us."
"Remarkable."
You got up from the mattress and walked past her, going to the window and pulling it open. You breathed in the evening air; it was such lovely weather for such a disaster of a day. When you turned around a few moments later, Alexia still hadn't sat down. Her arms were crossed.
"I had it," she muttered, pacing again. "We could have the game under control; we knew their pattern… I knew their-"
"You can't track every run perfectly for ninety minutes-" you tried to reason.
"I almost always do," she rolled her eyes.
"Almost is the word of the day," you said. "Honestly, we were all rubbish today. Stop putting it all on yourself."
"Stop being reasonable," she grumbled. "I just want to be annoyed."
"Then be annoyed."
"I am."
She let herself fall to the bed with a sigh. You wandered over and dropped down beside her, both of you staring up at the cream ceiling.
"So, we both played badly, we're stuck in this hotel for another night because the bus decided to break down, and it has been a genuinely horrible day."
"Yes," you said simply.
"Good," she said, her side pressing slightly against yours. "So glad we agree on one thing."
"...Were we really just arguing about who failed more?" she continued.
"Yes."
Alexia was about to respond when a knock interrupted her.
Before either of you could even process it, the latch clicked, and the door swung open. In mere seconds, the two of you scrambled up, and by the time the door swung open, you were standing very stiffly near the foot of the bed while Alexia had somehow ended up leaning against the small wooden desk as if she had been there all along doing God knows what.
Vicky stood in the doorway, taking in the room with her sharp, brown eyes.
"Irene sent me," Vicky announced, completely unfazed by the sudden intrusion she just made, "She said if you don't come down to get something to eat now, Capi, the dining room is going to close,e and you'll have to survive on the vending machine–"
Vicky cut herself off as her eyes shifted from Alexia over to you. She blinked once, her face shining with mischief.
"--and apparently you too, Y/n," Vicky added, her tone dripping with amusement. "I didn't realise you two were sharing a room again. I thought the plumbing issue got fixed?"
You could feel your face burning under her gaze, your defensive instinct coming up all at once.
Alexia stared at her, her captain's face locked in place. "Does Irene sending you mean you can just walk into people's rooms, Vicky?"
"Well… I knocked," she said innocently. "So that's not on me."
"Oh, you knocked," Alexia said sarcastically. "Does that mean you can just open the door unannounced?"
"It wasn't locked!" Vicky argued, as if not really understanding what she did was wrong.
"Next time it will be. You can't just walk in."
Vicky's eyes moved around the room again with (very exaggerated) innocence. She took everything in more slowly this time.
She noticed the slightly rumpled duvet and the way both your bags were scattered around. Vicky looked at you, then Alexia, before locking eyes with you, her absolute favourite target.
"Right," Vicky said, "Sorry. Well, I'm also here because I'm genuinely upset about the match. I need emotional support. I need my captain… por favor…? Or are you too busy with Y/n? Am I interrupting something crucial? Oh! Maybe Y/n need emotional support as well?"
"Go find Patri," Alexia cut in, pointing a finger toward the corridor before you could snap at Vicky. Now."
"Patri's not–"
"Patri is exactly as much a captain as I am right now. I'm off duty," Alexia interrupted. "Go down to have some dinner. Eat real food. Talk to Patri. Close the door behind you."
"What about your dinner?" Vicky pressed, taking one last look between the two of you. "Aren't you guys coming down?"
Alexia held the bridge of her nose. "Go."
Vicky lingered, just long enough to make it clear she was leaving on her own terms before pulling the door shut behind her. Her footsteps retreated down the corridor.
Then, a moment later, her voice came bright and happy, echoing through the corridor. "Hey Serra, guess who Capi's in her room with–"
You sat very still, already dreading tomorrow morning's breakfast, when the kids would (undoubtedly) ask whether Vicky had really caught the two of you sharing a room again.
"Vicky knows," you said flatly.
"She doesn't know anything," Alexia replied.
You looked at her. "Are you saying that because you believe it, or because you are trying to make me feel better?"
"I want to make you feel better," Alexia deadpanned.
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Ugh."
"It's okay," Alexia said, trying to offer you a smile. "She won't tell anyone."
You gave her a side eye. "She literally just shouted down the hallway about us to Clara."
"Yeah, but Clara won't say anything."
You groaned again. "Honestly… whatever. Patri knows. Esmee knows. Kika knows. Now Vicky and Serra know…"
"It's not that bad," Alexia countered.
"Do you want them to know about us? Knowing how they are going to tease us?"
Alexia shrugged. "You just have to glare at them, and then they stop. Problem solved."
"I can't glare at people! I get flustered and embarrassed! I'm not half as intimidating as you are."
"I'll intimidate them for you," she smiled as if life was all unicorns and rainbows.
"Oh, you're so kind," you said, rolling your eyes.
When Alexia spoke again, her voice had dropped all of its captain's authority.
"You know what… we should cuddle," she said seriously, which did not match her proposition. "It's been way too long of a day for us."
You studied her up and down. She looked soft and tired, and you needed her to want to touch you.
"Mhmm… okay," you agreed. "Come here."
Alexia shifted a little closer until her shoulder brushed yours. She was testing the waters, seeing if it was really okay. Physical intimacy between you was a rare currency when sex wasn't involved, after all.
After a brief moment, Alexia finally curled into your side, tucking her face against your collarbone as though she had been wanting to do it all day. You stayed very still, adjusting to her weight and her warmth.
"I really didn't mean to snap at you," she said, her voice muffled
"I know," you said, "I'm serious, Ale. You can stop apologising; it's alright."
"It's not, though," she propped herself up on one elbow so she could look at you. "I won't do it again, vale?"
You chuckled. She was cute. "I hope you don't… you sounded a bit intimidating."
Alexia blushed, which was not the response you had expected from a two-time Ballon d'Or winner. You looked up at her, your mind slipping back into its familiar habit of picking every little thing apart.
You found yourself thinking about the part of you that had been waiting, somewhere deep and private, for her to finally see you fail.
About how the correction on the pitch had landed like something you had been half-expecting ever since you had arrived in Barcelona, ever since you met Alexia. Somewhere in a tired, masochistic corner of your brain, there had almost been a sense of relief.
Finally, there it is. Here is the flaw that was always bound to surface.
There was something oddly bittersweet when people were mad or upset at you. Something strangely comforting about disappointing people. How fucked up have you chilhood been for you to feel comfort in that?
It felt safe to know you had made a mistake, because it meant people would stop expecting things from you. They would know you were incompetent, bad and imperfect... except Alexia wasn't looking at you as if you were any of those things right now. She wasn't looking at you like that at all.
Weird.
You didn't want to talk to her about it, though.
You kept those messy thoughts to yourself. Instead, you let yourself stay with her, cuddling, sharing very sweet, absent-minded kisses that barely lasted longer than half a second. But right as you were beginning to melt into her body, to relax, Alexia made a strange face and pulled away.
"Hey, what–" Before you could ask what was wrong, she disappeared into the bathroom and closed the door, murmuring about how she was going to be right back.
You frowned and sat on the bed, listening to the sound of running water. Should you go up and knock on the door? What had happened? You chose to stay put and let Alexia do her thing.
While you waited, your thoughts drifted back to the book you had been reading earlier that week – Madonna in a fur coat – when the water stopped, and the bathroom door opened.
Alexia stepped out, looking, somehow, even more grumpy than when she had gone in. She stood in the doorway and looked at you miserably.
"I got my period," she announced flatly. "I wasn't due for three days. This day needs to end. I'm serious."
You blinked up at her, sitting up a little as you abandoned Sabahattin Ali's universe. "Oh… your peri–"
"I think you're messing with my hormones," she added, crossing her arms. "I haven't been this early in years!"
You pressed your lips together.
"...I'm sorry? I didn't mean to mess with your menstrual cycle."
She pouted at you. "You don't sound sincere at all."
"I'm sorry I don't sound sincere," you said. You couldn't help but think she was rather adorable like this, all pouty. "Do you need anything? Want me to get your bag or–"
"I don't have anything with me, tori. Nada " She gestured helplessly at herself, as if to illustrate the full extent of the situation. "I don't have pads, tampons, nothing! We were supposed to be back in Barcelona by now. I didn't plan for this to happen!"
"Okay, baby, hold on," you said, walking to your own bag. "I'm supposed to have stuff here somewhere, just–" You unzipped your bag and started rummaging through it, searching for a pad, and while on it, you found medicine, one of your little notebooks, the good pen you had been looking for ages, and then, finally, you pulled out the pad. It was a bit creased, but it would do its job.
You walked over and held it out to her.
"I've got a few more if you need them," you said. "They are in the internal left pocket of my bag… and sorry, I don't have any tampons. I can go out for them if you want?"
"No, this is good enough, thank you," she muttered, the pout still holding strong. "I'm just frustrated! I'm literally thirty-two, I should know by now to always carry tampons with me wherever I go…"
"Ah, come on, don't do that, Ale", you said gently. "It came three days early; you are allowed to be caught off guard, don't stress over it, yeah? Just get whatever you need from my bag. I'm sure the girls can help you out, too."
She nodded. "Thank you, torito." Then she walked back into the bathroom.
When she came back out, you closed the distance between you without thinking. Your hands settled on her waist, and you felt her go less rigid beneath your touch, the tension in her shoulders releasing one layer at a time. She pressed herself back into you, her head on your shoulder.
"Feeling a little better?" you asked.
"No, I'm devastated," She pouted into your neck. "And it's all your fault, tori."
"Devastated?" You teased her "That's a big word."
"You are not helping."
"Sorry… let me try again. How is it my fault you got your period?" you said, your voice sweet. "That doesn't make sense, sweetheart."
"You make my body go all wrong," she said.
"I do?"
"Uhum."
Your thumb traced slow circles against her waist as you gently guided the two of you back onto the bed. "You make my mind go all wrong. Guess we're even, then?"
Alexia was quiet for a moment, but then she spoke. "So… I forgive you, and you forgive me?" she murmured. "For messing each other up?"
"Yes, bebé," you whispered, kissing her cheek. "I forgive you, and you forgive me. You are such a good martyr," you said fondly. "Has anyone told you that?"
"Only when I'm on my period," she mumbled.
"Hm," you chuckled.
Alexia's breathing had slowed against your shoulder. You were waiting for the request, almost certain she was about to send you out for an emergency trip to buy her whatever she might need.
"...I'm waiting," you said finally.
"Mhmm… for what?" she murmured.
"For you to send me out for a heat pad. Or ibuprofen. Chocolate. That's usually how this goes. Isn't it?"
She lifted her head enough to look at you; she was a bit tired, her eyelids were heavy. "I don't eat chocolate on weekdays. And I don't usually need heating pads."
You looked at her. "Ah, you don't get cramps?"
"I do sometimes, but they are very, very mild," she said. "I barely feel anything most of the time."
"Oh. That's great."
"Yeah, but I do get light headaches sometimes," she continued. "Barça's doctor told me it's because of low iron, so sometimes I have to take some tablets."
"Poor baby," you murmured, pressing another kiss to her temple.
"I'm waiting too," Alexia said after a moment, nosing at your skin.
"For what?"
"For you to tell me about your period." She said, then she moved like a clingy cat and pressed her cheek against yours. "I just told you about mine; it's only fair, sí?"
"You think it's that easy to get information out of me, capi?" You smirked, teasingly.
"No," she said, her hand drifting lazily up and down your side before coming to rest against your hipbone, and then she tucked her face against your chest. "That's why I'm asking nicely. Please. Be nice to me. I'm bleeding. I'm in pain."
"You just told me you're barely cramping."
"Yes," she said with great dignity, "but you said I was a good martyr. So this is me being a good martyr… Por favor? Tell me?"
You exhaled and looked at the ceiling, giving what she wanted. "Fine, Putellas. I get bad periods.
… Crickets.
"Okay, and…? That's all you're giving me?"
"Well, yes. That's it. I bleed a lot and have bad cramps. The absolute worst mood you've ever seen, too… I'm not exactly a joy to be around."
"Hmm," she sounded a bit suspicious. "Really? I've never noticed any of it, and we've known each other for what? A year?"
"I think I'm just very good at hiding it," you said proudly, but alexia didn't match your energy.
Alexia looked up at you and didn't smile. "You say that like it's a good thing."
You blushed. "I thought it was."
"I don't think it is."
"Oh." You didn't really expect that answer.
Was there one thing you did in life right?
"I mean… I've never noticed you getting more sensitive around that time, or more emotional." She tilted her head slightly against your shoulder.
"I would have thought I'd notice. I should've, shouldn't I?" She furrowed. "I pay attention to you… I even know when Vicky is on hers because she cries at literally everything, and she doesn't even have to tell me."
"Well, I don't get sensitive," you explained. "So that must be the reason why you never noticed. I don't really cry much."
"No?"
"No, I just get a bit angry, impatient. That kind of stuff."
"Angry how?" She asked.
Alexia had apparently decided that tonight was the night she was going to ask every single question she had been collecting for months.
"Just… well, just angry." You said with a small shrug, searching for the right scientific term and coming up with nothing. "Everything irritates me, and tiny things suddenly feel much more urgent than they actually are. That kind of anger."
Alexia didn't say anything immediately, which meant she was thinking about it properly, turning it over in her head.
"So right now," she said slowly. "With the game, and the broken bus, and all of it… You aren't–"
"I'm not on my period," you clarified with a smile. "Unfortunately, this is just me on my good day."
She hummed. "So if you were on your period–"
"Today would have been exponentially worse," you confirmed. "Yes."
"Hmmm… " She narrowed her eyes slightly. "I'll make a note."
"Please don't."
"I'm your captain," she said teasingly. "I have to know these things for scheduling purposes."
"You don't schedule anything. Ever. That is literally not your job."
"As captain, I have a great deal of influence when it comes to scheduling," she replied proudly.
"Oh," you said flatly. "What do you do? Glare at people until they move training?"
"Do you always have to be this sarcastic?"
"Sorry."
"Anyway… tell me next time when you are due," she said matter-of-factly. "Actually… I have a better idea! We should share a period tracking app!"
"Absolutely not." You shook your head immediately. "Nope."
"But-"
"I will leave this bed right now," you threatened. "At once."
In response, she tightened her arm around your waist, pulling you closer to her. Alexia's breathing was even out against your shoulder again, before her voice cut through the silence.
"You know what? Since we're in a talking mood…"
"You're in a talking mood," you interrupted her. "I'm definitely not."
"...you haven't talked about your ex since that night," she continued, ignoring you.
Your stomach turned at that. "You're awfully curious tonight."
"I like getting to know people."
"Funny of you to say that," you said. "I'm pretty sure everyone on the team would tell me they don't remember the last time you played personal quiz with them."
"Okay," she said, without missing a beat. "Maybe I like getting to know you."
You smiled despite yourself, which she definitely felt against your shoulder.
"Oh, are you into me or something?" You teased. "That's so gay of you."
"You're changing the subject," she rolled her eyes, blushing. "Again."
"I'm trying to," you admitted.
"Don't try." She moved, settling more firmly against your body, as if to make clear she wasn't going anywhere. "Let me propose an exercise, torito. One where you don't overthink every single word before it leaves your mouth."
You pouted. "I don't think my brain works like that."
"You can try."
You sighed in defeat. "I'll tell you about my ex if you tell me about yours."
Alexia chuckled. "That's not how it works. I always talk to you about myself, sí? I've already done my part. You're the one who drops a bomb in my lap every two weeks and then goes completely silent."
You rolled your eyes.
She won.
A/n: Hiii!! I hope you guys liked this chapter! I had lots of fun writing it hehehe; they are just so endearing and fucked up in the head!! I personally love how Ale goes all captain with the kids, and then she melts with Tori.
Come talk with me about it!! Talking about fic really helps me with motivation and ideas, hehe
synopsis - what starts as a relaxing day out on the mediterranean turns into the perfect birthday celebration, making alexia realise there couldn't have been a better gift than spending it with you. (wc - 1.8k)
༄ notes - happy birthday to anyone who didn't receive a gift from me
༄ warnings - oral, scissoring, public (?) sex
༄ read more - masterlist
the sun hung high over the mediterranean, casting a golden shimmer across the calm water.
your new yacht- the one you’d gifted alexia for her birthday drifted lazily, anchored far from any shore or prying eyes. the deck was wide and open, luxurious cushions spread out in the center like an invitation.
alexia lay on her back, stretched out in nothing but a tiny black bikini bottom, her toned body glistening with a light sheen of sunscreen and sea spray. her dark hair fanned out around her, a few strands dancing in the warm wind of the sea.
you were beside her, propped on one elbow, tracing lazy patterns across her bare stomach with your fingertips. the two of you had spent the morning christening the boat in every way that mattered- laughter, champagne, sun on skin. now it was quiet, just the gentle lap of waves against the hull and the occasional creak of the yacht.
alexia turned her head toward you, a soft, content smile playing on her lips. “this is perfect, amor” she murmured, voice low and warm. “you spoil me too much.”
You leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone. “you deserve it. happy birthday, ale.”
she hummed in response, her hand sliding up your arm, pulling you closer. the kiss started soft- lips brushing, tasting the salt on each other’s skin. but it deepened quickly, the way it always did with her.
her tongue teased yours, a quiet moan vibrating between you as your hand wandered lower, cupping her breast and thumbing over her nipple until it peaked under your touch.
alexia arched into you, her body responding instantly. you shifted, moving over her, settling your weight between her parted thighs. the bikini bottom was already damp, and you could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric.
you kissed down her neck, sucking lightly at the spot that always made her shiver, then lower, trailing your mouth over her chest. you took one nipple between your lips, swirling your tongue while your hand kneaded the other.
“mm… amor,” she breathed, fingers threading through your hair. the wind picked up for a moment, tousling your hair into a messy tangle. you didn’t care. you wanted her to see you like this- flushed, eager, completely hers.
you continued downward, kissing along the defined lines of her abs, nipping at her hip bone. alexia’s breathing grew heavier, her hips shifting restlessly beneath you.
you hooked your fingers into the sides of her bikini and peeled it down her long legs, tossing it aside. she was bare and glistening already, her pussy flushed and inviting in the bright sunlight.
you settled fully between her thighs, pushing them wider apart. for a moment you just looked at her- the way her chest rose and fell, the flush creeping across her cheeks, those dark eyes watching you with hungry anticipation.
then you lowered your head.
your first lick was slow, deliberate, dragging the flat of your tongue from her entrance up to her clit. alexia gasped sharply, her hand tightening in your messy hair.
you did it again, savoring her taste- warm, sweet, addictive. you circled her clit with the tip of your tongue before sucking it gently between your lips.
“joder… that’s it amor,” she moaned, her head tipping back against the cushion.
her thighs trembled on either side of your face as you worked her open with long, languid strokes. you pushed your tongue inside her, fucking her with it slowly, then pulled back to focus on her swollen clit again.
you glanced up at her through your lashes, eyes wide and bright, locked onto hers. the messy strands of your hair whipped across your forehead in the breeze, but you didn’t break eye contact.
alexia looked down at you, lips parted, cheeks flushed deeper. the sight of you between her legs- eyes pretty and focused only on her pleasure made her moan louder.
you slipped two fingers into her, curling them upward as your mouth sealed around her clit, sucking rhythmically. alexia’s hips bucked, grinding against your face. you let her, encouraging it with a low hum that vibrated through her core.
“dios mio, your eyes… like that,” she panted, voice breaking. “don’t stop looking at me.”
you didn’t. you kept your gaze fixed upward, watching every flicker of pleasure cross her face while you devoured her. your fingers pumped steadily, curling against that spot inside her that made her thighs shake. your tongue flicked fast and firm over her clit, then slowed to broad, wet strokes that had her dripping down your chin.
the boat rocked gently beneath you, the motion adding to the rhythm. sunlight warmed your back as you ate her out with devotion- messy, hungry, completely lost in her. your free hand gripped her thigh, holding her open while you worked her closer to the edge.
alexia’s moans grew louder, unrestrained. her fingers tugged at your hair, not guiding, just holding on as her body tensed. “i’m- joder, I’m so close…”
you doubled down, sucking harder on her clit, fingers thrusting deeper and faster. your eyes stayed locked on hers, pretty and intense, letting her see exactly how much you loved this- loved her spread out on the deck you bought her, coming apart under your mouth in the open air.
she came with a sharp cry, back arching hard off the cushions, thighs clamping around your head. her pussy clenched rhythmically around your fingers as you kept licking her through it, gentler now but no less devoted.
you drank down every drop, savouring the way she shuddered and gasped your name like it was the only word she knew.
even as the orgasm faded, you stayed between her legs, pressing soft, soothing kisses to her sensitive folds, looking up at her with those same pretty eyes. your hair was even messier now, wild from the breeze and her fingers.
alexia’s chest heaved as she came down, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across her face. she tugged you up gently, pulling you into a deep, filthy kiss that tasted of her.
for a while you just lay there together, skin to skin, letting the sun warm you both. your fingers traced idle circles on her stomach while hers ran through your wind-tousled hair, smoothing the messy strands the breeze kept playing with.
the boat creaked softly beneath you. everything felt perfect- peaceful, intimate, and still buzzing with heat.
but the longer you lay there pressed against her, the more you felt it: the aching need between your own legs.
you were soaked.
the taste of her, the sounds she’d made, the sight of her coming on your tongue- it had left you dripping, your bottoms ruined and your thighs slick.
you shifted restlessly, pressing your hips against her thigh, and Alexia noticed immediately.
a knowing smirk curved her lips. “already?” she teased, voice low. her hand slid down your back and cupped your ass, squeezing. “show me.”
you didn’t need to be told twice. you rolled on top of her, straddling her hips for a moment before shifting higher. alexia’s eyes darkened with fresh hunger as she looked up at you- flushed cheeks, messy hair, nipples hard and obvious in the bright sunlight.
you peeled off your own bikini bottoms and tossed them aside, revealing just how wet you were. your pussy glistened, slick coating your folds and inner thighs. alexia’s breath hitched at the sight.
“fuck, amor… look at you,” she murmured, hands gripping your hips.
you moved into position, carefully sliding one of her legs over yours until your soaked cunts pressed together.
the first contact made you both moan- hot, slick, and perfect. you rocked your hips slowly at first, grinding your clit directly against hers. the wet sounds of your pussies sliding together filled the open deck, obscene and loud in the quiet sea air.
alexia’s hands guided your movements, pulling you down harder against her. “buena chica… just like that,” she gasped, her own hips rolling up to meet you.
you leaned forward, bracing your hands on either side of her head so your bodies were flush together. your messy hair fell around both of you like a curtain as you started grinding with more purpose.
the friction was electric. every roll of your hips dragged your swollen clit over hers, mixing your wetness until you were both slippery and shining.
the boat’s gentle rocking added to the rhythm, helping you find a steady, delicious pace.
you scissored harder, panting into her mouth as you kissed her sloppily. breasts pressed together, nipples brushing with every movement. the heat between your joined pussies was intense- slick, hot, and getting wetter by the second.
“god, you’re so fucking wet,” alexia groaned against your lips, one hand sliding up to tangle in your messy hair. she tugged lightly, making you moan louder as you ground down on her. your clits rubbed perfectly with every thrust, sending sparks of pleasure racing through both of you.
you sat up a little, changing the angle so you could watch where you were connected.
the sight was filthy: your glistening pussies mashed together, lips sliding and kissing with every roll of your hips. alexia’s eyes followed yours, her mouth falling open in a silent moan as she watched too.
you picked up the pace, riding her with short, urgent snaps of your hips. the wet, rhythmic slap of skin and the squelch of your combined arousal echoed across the deck.
sweat and sea spray mixed on your skin. your messy hair stuck to your neck and shoulders now, but you didn’t care- all you cared about was the building pressure, the way alexia’s clit throbbed against yours, the way her hands gripped your ass and pulled you down harder.
“i’m close again,” she gasped, voice breaking beautifully. “don’t stop amor. don’t… joder, right there-”
you leaned down, pressing your forehead to hers, eyes locked as you quickened your pace. your messy strands brushed her face with every thrust. the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter until it snapped.
you came first, crying out as your pussy clenched and gushed against hers. the orgasm crashed through you hard, hips stuttering but still grinding, prolonging the pleasure.
alexia followed right after, moaning your name loud enough that it probably carried across the water. her thighs shook, nails digging into your hips as she came, her slick mixing with yours in a messy, beautiful flood.
you kept moving through it, slower now, riding out the aftershocks together. the ocean breeze cooled your overheated skin as you finally collapsed on top of her, both of you breathing hard, bodies slick with sweat and cum.
alexia wrapped her arms around you, kissing the top of your head, then your messy hair, then your lips.
“best birthday ever,” she whispered with a breathless laugh.
you smiled against her neck, the yacht rocking gently beneath your tangled bodies, the sun still shining bright overhead.
☆ Summary: Being Barça's newest signing is the easy part. The real challenge is letting someone get close. With Alexia, things quickly turn physical, and while you have no problem taking control, letting yourself be seen is a different story. But Alexia isn't used to being kept at a distance.
☆ Word Count: 6.3k
☆ Warnings: angst!!! yayyyyyy • reader makes a mistake that costs the team the win • Alexia doesn't handle it well • neither does reader • Patri and Kika being great teammates • jealous Alexia • big girls having big girls conversations • they are lesbians, so a lot of apologies.
☆ A/n: hope you guys like it <3 I was able to post everything together, thankfully. Since this is a direct continuation of the other parts, I think you guys will enjoy it more if you re-read the other parts here
Every player took comfort in believing they were capable of keeping control of a match. That their endless hours of training could somehow matter more than the endless hours of training from the other team; that their sacrifices carried more weight in the game than those on the opposite side.
People, as you had come to realise, all shared the same contradiction: humans were social creatures, dependent on one another to survive, and yet always eager to dissociate themselves from the group at the first opportunity. To be different. And not only that, but better.
You often wondered why this type of trait was chosen by evolution. What kind of survival value could it possibly offer?
The pitch was a good place for those kinds of thoughts, and, if you were feeling ambitious enough, you could drift into sociological questions too. Did people shape sports, or did sports shape people? Was football influenced by politics, or had football itself become political? You could think of at least five examples where the latter was true.
As it was clear, your mind was absolutely everywhere but on the ball at your feet, and not because the game was easy that you, as one of the defenders, were simply chilling beside Cata in the box. Quite the opposite, actually. Turns out, the discomfort you had experienced on the bus still clung stubbornly to your skin, and what made you feel better when you were mentally tired? Thinking. As controversial as it sounded.
Thinking was, admittedly, becoming a problem. A big one.
Maybe you should learn other ways to keep your mind grounded, preferably ones that don't risk losing your team a match.
It happened at the exact mark of 80 minutes, the big screen was shining bright with the number just as a brunette girl from Sevilla broke through the midfield with great acceleration that you did not remember seeing during analysis, despite having spent days studying her movements.
As both disastrous and splendid things in football , it all happened in the space of mere seconds. The girl's run wasn't catastrophic by any means; she didn't bring anyone down, the team was simply in a bad position, leaving great gaps, one of those gaps being you.
The striker made her run past Patri and Ona, and you read her heading in your direction. You saw it coming, and you also took the time to analyse the rotation of her foot to see whether she was setting up to shoot or not. Your body had learned to speak the language of the game before your brain could fully take in the afferent information and convert it into signals down your spine. Maybe that's why your movement was a bit clumsy, perhaps a bit careless, too.
The girl was faster than the tapes suggested; she was also faster right now than what she had been in the first half. You moved, of course you did, but it wasn't enough because you were a few meters out of place, and that mere gap was all she needed.
The ball went in, and the fans at the stadium all roared in unison. It was always a good sensation for the home team to score; right now, you hated their happiness and how it meant that you had failed.
You stood exactly where you were, your boots glued to the patch of yellowish, dry grass, staring at the empty space on the turf where you were supposed to be. Cata spat on the grass before slamming her gloves into the pitch. But milliseconds later, she was already up, already resetting, clapping her hands for the team, shouting that there was still time to turn the score around. She yelled your name, telling you to do something, but you barely registered her words. Then, her eyes moved, looking right over your shoulder, and you knew someone was approaching.
Around you, the game was reassembling itself (or trying to). Sevilla was still celebrating, taking advantage of a referee who was giving them too much time. Most of your teammates were going back into position. You could hear Pere's voice from the sideline in the tone you'd learned to recognise as controlled disappointment. Well… he was not the only one disappointed.
Then Alexia was beside you.
She hadn't run to get to you; you hadn't even seen her move. She was just suddenly there, appearing in your peripheral vision without any kind of warning. Her voice, when it came, was low, controlled, and (painfully) professional. You hated that tone on her; she was too soft to be throwing such cold words at you.
"Adjust your line," she snapped. She wasn't even looking at you; her lips were curled and her eyebrows drawn together. "You have been sitting way too deep since halftime. I've been shouting at you to get back into position, but it's like you decided to tune me out completely."
You hadn't listened to her; that much was entirely your fault. You had been too busy thinking about football and politics. You felt your cheek turn red in shame.
"She had all that space because you handed it to her on a plate," She continued in the same tone. "You're more disciplined than that. Do better."
Alexia wasn't screaming the words at you, but there was an edge in her voice that just usually wasn't there at all.
Your teammates, watching from a few meters away, would have taken it for nothing more than a captain making a tactical correction, but you were far too familiar with her cadence. You had spent months learning every gradient of it: the version she used in interviews and press conferences, the one in team meetings, the one that came out soft and private in the dark of her room. This was the version she used when her competitive side took over, and she decided that cold efficiency was the best response. It was a version she had never once used on you until now.
You were ready to argue, not against her but with her, because she was right, after all. But Alexia didn't give you a single second to reply; her words kept shooting from her mouth so fast she barely stopped to draw breath.
"You have been half a step behind the entire second half," she cut in, each word carefully enunciated, determined to make sure it landed. "I could see it from midfield. You were a step behind the whole time, and you didn't even bother to adjust!"
"We specifically talked about their number fourteen," she went on, stepping closer to you. "We spent days on the tape. We even said–"
"I know what we said."
"Well, it clearly didn't stick, did it?"
She didn't wait for you to answer. She was already turning her back on you to get back into position.
You could have pointed out that Ona had been slow to close her down as well, that the gap left wasn't entirely on you. But the thought didn't take root. Alexia was right, and looking for someone to share the blame with felt worse than the goal itself.
A few seconds later, you felt a warm hand settle on your shoulder, making you realise just how tight your trapezius muscles had been.
"Just take a deep breath, tía," Cata said, looking at you with a mix of pity and sympathy.
Maybe Alexia's reaction wasn't as private as you had thought. You realised Patri was looking at you too, her eyes darting between you and Alexia. She looked at you with sympathy, and at Alexia with a quiet reprimand, though you knew Patri wouldn't actually say anything to her, not right now at least. You hoped she wouldn't. In the end, Alexia was right.
You nodded at Cata, forced a small smile, reset your position and said nothing else. A sudden surge of bittersweet relief washed over you, and that was the strange thing. It was as though your subconscious had been waiting for this exact moment. A hidden part of you had been waiting for Alexia to finally see you get something wrong.
She had been watching you for months with that kind of attention that felt like belief, and belief, in your experience, had a habit of expiring. She had always looked at you as if searching for the good and finding it; even if you showed her the flawed parts of you, the bad and the ugly, she brushed them aside as if dismissing the sight with a shooing motion of her hand, wanting to see only the best in you.
But now? Now she had seen you fail. And thank god she had. She was mad, disappointed, and you couldn't help but feel like it had taken her long enough. You were glad she had seen it, and hated yourself for feeling that way. You were the reason your team was behind, the reason Cata lost a clean sheet. The reason, you would soon find out, that you lost.
You played the rest of the game with focus and precision. Every ball that came near you was met with a good, clean first touch. You closed down every striker. You had been half a meter too slow once, and your body made sure it wouldn't happen again.
And it didn't happen again, but it didn't matter, because the final whistle blew and the scoreboard was still one-nil. Alexia was already walking toward the tunnel before you even had a chance to look for her. You stood on the pitch a moment longer than necessary, sitting with the bitterness of defeat, letting it rest deep in your bones.
Maybe if you let yourself remember exactly how this felt, you would never make that mistake again.
You watched the tunnel Alexia had just disappeared into. She always waited to walk into the tunnel with you. She didn't this time; she disappeared into the dark without looking back, and you weren't sure if that was meant to sting or not. You weren't sure it mattered.
A hand came down on your shoulder, making you lose your balance slightly. It was Cata again; she stepped beside you, her white gloves tucked beneath her left arm.
"Come on, amiga," she murmured. "Let's go to the locker room. Yeah?"
You nodded, but let her walk ahead. As you finally turned towards the tunnel, a Sevilla player, Laura, approached you. You had played together for a few months back in Manchester; you weren't exactly friends back then, but it was nice to see a familiar face.
"Good game, Y/n," Laura smiled, her cheeks still a deep pink from all the running.
"Yeah… it could be better for us, though," you gave her a sad smile and patted her on the arm. "But you were very good. I bet you gave Kika a good headache."
You left after making empty promises of meeting for coffee once the season schedule allowed. Near the entrance of the tunnel, Patri was leaning against the plastic wall. Her chocolate eyes caught you as you approached; she took a step in to meet you.
"I don't know what Ale said to you back there," Patri started, her eyes everywhere but on you, "but don't read too much into it, okay?"
You tilted your head slightly, your defensive instinct flaring up. You were feeling oddly cornered, though you were careful not to let it show on your face.
"Alexia was right about every word she said," you replied simply.
"That's not what I mean," Patri muttered. "She's impossible after we lose, give her a few hours–"
"She doesn't need a few hours," you interrupted. "She has every right to be angry right now."
Patri tilted her head in return, studying you for a moment. "You are upset," she said, reading right through you. You hated it. "Come here–" she stepped closer, but you took a step back.
"It's okay. I'm okay. I-I just messed it up," you continued before she could speak or move any closer. "It's expected of Alexia to be mad. She's the captain. So if a player switches off and it costs us a goal, she's supposed to call them out, hold people accountable."
Patri sighed and clicked her tongue. "I'm not saying she shouldn't have corrected you. What I am saying is that it sounds like you are treating one mistake as if it rewrites the whole season."
"It did rewrite the whole season, though," you said quietly, furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance. "Now we need to beat Real Madrid if we want any breathing room! If we thought the next game against Valencia would be easy... well, now it's all ruined! We are going to have to--"
"We can lose three consecutive games and still be at the top," Patri said, deadpan. "You and Alexia… you've got this little miss-perfect thing going on. Mistakes happen. It's normal. It's just part of the game. Now take a breath and move on."
"I know it's part of the game. And I'm not Miss Perfect. I never said I was," you said, any ambition of not sounding defensive crumbling right at your feet. "I get stuff wrong all the time. Today it just happened to cost us points."
"Yeah… and that's completely okay. No need to beat yourself up over it," Patri said in a shrug. "You shouldn't be this upset. The loss is not on you. You were good... You are good. Maybe there was a small mistake, but I'm sure it won't happen again."
You stopped, looking at Patri as if she were speaking in an alien language. You gestured around, at the dark tunnel, at the scoreboard still shining, at the way the staff were all quietly packing up the equipment.
"It's clearly not okay," You said, completely ignoring everything else Patri had said. "We lost."
"Losing isn't the end of the world," Patri said softly in the same voice she used on the younger players. Great, now she was going to think you were childish.
"It is for me." You frowned, looking down. "
Patri shook her head, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she clicked her tongue once more. "Tsk, tsk. You and Alexia," she said, stepping toward the locker room door. "Cut from the exact same cloth, huh?"
"We're not–"
"Yes, you are," she cut you off "Awfully competitive. Even worse at forgiving yourselves."
You felt a slight surge of annoyance. "Did you give this whole speech to Alexia, too? Or did you reserve it strictly for me?"
Patri smirked, her hand already reaching for the old door handle. "Oh, I wasn't nearly as gentle with Alexia as I was with you."
She pushed the locker room door and walked inside, leaving you standing alone in the hallway for a minute too long.
You stood outside for a few minutes. Taking some deep breaths. Trying to ignore how it stung when Alexia shouted and when she left the pitch alone. You tried to ignore how you felt like an awful player.
Did you even deserve to be in a club like Barcelona?
Of one thing you were sure: Patri was one good co-captain.
The locker room was quiet; the girls were all unusually careful around one another. The room wasn't completely silent per se. There were still familiar sounds here and there: boots being dropped onto the white, dusty, concrete floor, someone's phone buzzing incessantly against a wooden bench, Maria, one of the staff members, talking on the phone outside. But all the conversations that existed were held in a very low voice.
Pere said what he needed to say, which wasn't much, and left almost immediately after. You thought it was a bit rude of him to leave like that, but deep down you knew it was the right call. It was better to be absent than risk losing his head. The players, or more specifically you, were already beating themselves up enough; no need for external help to do that.
Patri and Alexia were standing near the far corner of the room. They were talking rapidly and in a low tone, their heads bent close together, and their body language was rigid. Alexia stood with her arms crossed, her lips in a slight pout, while Patri was doing most of the talking; she was gesturing a lot, as she always did. You couldn't hear what they were saying, but the sight alone told you everything you needed to know: clearly Patri was finishing the conversation she had started in the tunnel.
Vicky chose that exact moment to start playing an upbeat Beyoncé song from her phone. The music lasted approximately fifteen seconds before both Alexia and Patri turned to her.
"Now it's not the time, Vicky," they said in terrifying synchrony, shooting the kid a look that could terrify anyone.
"Vale, vale," Vicky grimaced, hitting the pause button. "Perdón! It's not like I was throwing confetti around! Chill out! I just wanted to end this funeral mood we're all in."
"Clearly it was a bad choice," Clara muttered at her side, a pout on her face. She looked more sad because of the song's interruption than because of the defeat itself.
You, meanwhile, were sitting in front of the locker with your boots still on. They were too tight, you realised, digging into your foot, and you knew you should loosen up the laces, but you didn't. Maybe you deserved to feel this bit of discomfort.
Before you could let yourself go with your thoughts, Kika stepped right beside you on the bench. She looked down at you, wearing that characteristic mix of kindness and mischief you could only ever find in her face.
"I know you've got some deep emotional issues going on when it comes to affection," Kika said, wrapping her arm around your shoulders into a side hug, "but I'm going to hug you anyway. I think you need it, sim?"
You smiled and didn't push her away, choosing to lean into the hug and welcome the pressure of her arms. You even allowed yourself to rest your head against her side. "Do I look that bad that you thought I needed a pity hug?"
"Pity hug?" Kika gasped dramatically, squeezing your shoulders again. "Excuse you? This is a comforting hug. Preventive maintenance, if you want to call it."
"So… I look like I need preventative maintenance?"
"Yes, you look pretty bad," Kika said without missing a beat. "Mostly because you've been letting me hug you for more than two seconds. That's… deeply concerning."
"Thank you."
"For the hug?" she asked, looking down at you.
"No," you said. "For humbling me."
She rolled her eyes and laughed. You were glad you could make someone laugh today.
You were, although, even happier that the joke had shifted the focus away from your actual feelings. You didn't like that kind of attention on you; you didn't like that Kika had picked up on just how deeply the loss had affected you.
"Patri told me you weren't feeling your best," Kika said. "So I came to rescue you."
"Oh, you're working with a sad footballer in your free time, I see?" you teased her.
"Oh, shut up," Kika smiled. "I'm trying to be nice."
But the playfulness slipped from Kika's face a moment later. You looked up at her, and she (very subtly) tilted her chin towards the other side of the room. Your eyes followed her gaze, landing on Alexia, who was looking right at the two of you.
Alexia's face tightened, her whole jaw locking almost imperceptibly. Then, as if just suddenly realising she had been caught staring, she looked away and forced her attention back to Patri.
Patri, also not subtly at all, raised her eyebrows at Alexia before looking at you and Kika. She tilted her head, as if she was a cat analysing if she could squeeze in a small cardboard box or not, before turning back to Alexia with a terrifying knowing smirk.
Then, as if nothing had happened, the two of them resumed talking.
Kika cleared her throat at your side, a playful smirk on her lips "I don't think Capi liked me hugging her favourite full-back."
You tried to fight the pink tinting your cheeks, but it was a lost battle. "Shut up," you murmured embarrassedly. "Don't go around starting rumours."
Kika leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. "We don't need to start anything; you two give us more than enough evidence on your own."
Alexia chose that moment to step toward the centre of the room, bringing all the attention to her.
Kika stepped to the side and watched Alexia, not with her mischievous expression, but with the expression of someone ready to listen to their captain.
"Alright, let's gather up," Alexia called out. "Let's talk about the game."
Naturally, all the girls stopped what they were doing. Irene put her phone away, Marta and Caro halted their conversation in the far corner of the room, and all the younger kids immediately paid attention to the place Alexia stood.
Whenever a defeat could be traced back to one obvious mistake, something that could be pinned on a single moment or a single player, Alexia had a way of addressing it that made the person not feel bad, or, better yet, a way that kept the person from drowning in guilt. She never pretended it hadn't happened, and she never sugar-coated it either. Alexia just said a few words that made the weight of the mistake get distributed across the team rather than left crushing a single pair of shoulders.
Today, for the first time, you were that player. The one who got it wrong. The one responsible for the awful atmosphere in the locker room.
You kept your eyes on your boots when Alexia started speaking. She went on to talk about the second half, about the adjustments that hadn't come, and about how she could have done something about it from the midfield – because Alexia had a habit of taking responsibility for things that didn't belong to her alone. Maybe you two shared that habit; Alexia just carried it with a lot more grace than you ever managed.
Alexia's voice was even and measured; she spoke with certainty, so as not to let anyone misinterpret her true intent. She was always so, so careful with words. Not with you, though, not when you were alone. Not when you shared a mattress with her.
You listened to her without really absorbing the words; you were only half there, too busy letting the guilt eat you alive.
You should have done better.
You should have done better.
Be better.
By the time the voice in your head had quieted a bit, Alexia had stopped talking, forcing you to look up at her frame.
When you did, you saw her looking around the room: Ona sitting with her head down, Aicha staring blankly at the wall, and the three or four players whose minds were somewhere else entirely.
The attentiveness Alexia had needed from them wasn't there. She rolled her eyes, and despite yourself, your mind insisted on supplying the adjective beautiful to them. She then made the (wise) decision to stop pushing against something the team wasn't ready to receive yet. Maybe the loss was too fresh.
You chuckled to yourself.
You could see her mind turning as she tried to solve this locker room issue. Not knowing how to handle a loss was a problem only a few clubs had to endure. Was Alexia thinking of suggesting mandatory psychological sessions for everyone in the team? It would be a ridiculously Alexia thing to do. But maybe mandatory therapy was not a very smart move. People had to want to talk, right?
Back in the reality of the locker room, Alexia let out a puff of air.
"… Let's just get some rest for tonight," she said, her shoulders dropping slightly. She was tired and didn't want to hide it anymore. "It's clear our heads aren't in the right place. We'll look at the tape tomorrow, when we are rested and feeling like ourselves again."
You nodded automatically, and only then did you realise Alexia was still looking at you. Her eyes stayed on you for a second too long, and that was it.
You looked back at your boots. The room began to loosen after that. People started moving, undressing, the sound of the showers multiplying minute by minute. Patri was having a conversation with Pajor while Vicky peeled off her kit, murmuring about how damp it was and how maddening it was to wash a kit when you hadn't won. You could sympathise with that, but truly, defenders' kit got dirty no matter how the game went. You were well used to being covered in dirt, and grass and other people's sweat,
On a normal day you had a system for changing in the locker room: you found small reasons to delay, waiting until the room had thinned out enough that no one was left – no one except Alexia. It was a system that worked, mostly. Alexia knew about it, and sometimes she stayed, almost to provide cover.
But today Alexia was on the other side of the room, her back turned to you, and you found yourself wondering if the usual arrangement still applied.
You couldn't imagine Alexia wanted to deal with you any longer than necessary, and the last thing you wanted was to give her another reason to be frustrated with you. So you simply picked up your bag and left the locker room quietly, not really wanting to bring attention to yourself or to the reason why you were sneaking out.
The corridor outside was empty, and the one beyond it was too. You followed the signposts along dirty walls towards the bathrooms until the signs stopped making sense altogether, ending up in a part of the stadium that smelled like old paint, a place clearly not designed with visiting teams (or anyone, really) in mind.
You found a single-stall bathroom behind a door that required some physical force to open, then you changed quickly and spent a lot of minutes trying to find your way back. And by a lot, you meant a lot. The stadium was bigger than it had looked from the pitch.
You needed to go back to the locker room, but it felt like you were trapped in the minotaur's labyrinth.
You took one wrong corridor, and then another, and by the time you found the right one, your phone showed four missed messages from the team group chat about the bus. Kika had asked where you were; Vicky had tagged you in the messages saying everyone was just waiting on you. You sighed; you were already calculating how many minutes behind schedule you had pushed everyone.
The locker room was almost empty when you (finally) made it back. The showers had stopped running, and the room was a "clean mess", showing that people had been there moments prior. You thought you wouldn't find anyone still in there – you had only come back to take the water bottle you had left behind, but Alexia was sitting on the bench.
She was already showered and changed; her hair was wet, and her game bag was at her feet. She was looking at her phone, but she looked up the moment you came through the door, and your stomach dropped. The expression on her face was not the one you had been bracing for.
It wasn't cold, nor was it the detached expression she had worn while addressing the team. It looked more like relief, but beneath it you could feel the edge of anger that only came from worrying too much.
She snapped your name. "Where the fuck were you?"
You halted, your mouth parting in a surprise "o". "I went to find somewhere to change–"
She stared at you. "It's been thirty minutes."
"I know, I'm sorry." You crossed to your locker, keeping your voice even. "The stadium is... huge..I took a wrong turn, ended up in the wrong section, and I couldn't find my way back."
"You were wandering around a stadium you don't know," she said. "Alone."
"I wasn't wandering, I just—"
"For thirty minutes."
"Alexia." You turned to face her. I didn't mean to disappear. I just went out to change."
"Without telling anyone?" she pressed. "Without telling me?"
You clenched your hands. "Do I need to ask you for permission for every step I take? I'm fine."
"I know you're fine now", she snapped again. It dawned on you then that she must have been sitting here, staring at the door, waiting for you to come back. No shit she was mad. "But I didn't know that for the last thirty minutes because I didn't know where you were!"
"I'm just saying–" she continued, running a hand through her hair. "--that maybe next time you don't disappear for half an hour in a stadium you've never been to! Just… just tell someone where you're going!"
"I didn't think anyone would notice," you said. You meant it practically, logistically, but the words landed differently than you intended. "It was supposed to be quick."
Alexia let out a humourless laugh. "Well, I noticed," Alexia snapped then, taking a step toward you. "I notice everything when it comes to you, as pathetic as it sounds. Just like I noticed you being very comfortable letting Kika hug you!"
You blinked, completely thrown off by the shift of the conversation. "...what?"
"You had no issues letting her touch you," she said, her voice filled with frustration. "You let her hug you; you even leaned into it, but with me? You put up this entire wall the second we are around other people."
You stared at her, your mouth hanging open. "Alexia, what on earth does Kika hugging me have to do with me taking thirty minutes to change?"
"It has nothing to do with it," she blurted out, her cheeks flushing red.
Alexia looked angry, not just at you, but at herself for letting the words slip out. Alexia was usually the emotionally mature one between the two of you, but it seemed like you had a terrifying talent for reducing her to a jealous, flustered teenager.
"Kika gave me a side hug because I was upset. I was upset because you yelled at me," you said. "And that was it! You know we are just friends. You know I like you."
"Y-You just don't talk to me the way you talk to her!"
"Now you are being ridiculous," you said. "You are the person I've opened up to more than anyone in my whole life, and you know that! I've told you that! Me and Kika are friends–"
"And what are you and I?" Alexia cut in, her eyes burning. "We're not far from that either, are we?"
The words hit you like a slap to the face. Now you were angry, too.
"I don't know, Alexia," you said sarcastically, being as dense as her. "Are we? After everything we've talked about these last few days, do you honestly think we are just friends?"
Alexia looked at you, her neck red. Her bottom lip was out, and you could see she was fighting not to cry.
You took a deep breath. "Ale, I don't understand where this is coming from. I don't understand why you are feeling this way."
"Have you ever considered, just for a second, that you don't have to understand everything? Every feeling?" Alexia practically groaned, running her hand through her face out of pure frustration. "Have you ever thought that feelings can be valid even if you don't understand them?! Yo-you are so frustrating! You analyse everything. Why can't you just feel?"
Her words were a knife to an open wound.
"Not everyone is like you, you know?" she continued. "Not everyone can just… bury things over and over again until they disappear, or push stuff down until they convince themselves it's not there anymore!! Some people suffocate if they don't express how they are feeling."
"I am trying," you said, feeling your own throat tighten. "We talked this morning. You told me I have to decide what I want when it comes to you. We literally just had that conversation; now we're suddenly here having a full-blown fight about feelings? I never say anything about you not expressing how you feel! Why are we having this talk?!"
"Because you are doing it again!" Alexia shot back, her voice cracking a bit, but quickly recomposed herself. "This morning I asked you to figure out what you want, and the very first difficult thing that happens, you disappear? You just lock yourself away, run off and don't tell me! You act like I'm the last person you want to be near when you are upset, and that's not how this is supposed to work! If you were upset about the loss, I could have comforted you! Talked to you! But you disappeared!"
"I didn't want to be near you because I thought you were mad at me!" You stood up from the bench, anger and hurt all flaring up at once. "I-I thought you didn't like me anymore."
Alexia stared at you, looking completely thrown off. "And where the fuck did you get that from!?"
"You always wait for me to walk back into the tunnel! An-and today you didn't!" you blurted out, suddenly feeling ridiculous for being upset about that. "After I messed up the game, I just thought you were furious with me. That I was the reason we lost, and you simply didn't want to be anywhere near me anymore.
Alexia groaned.
"I was upset, okay?" her tone softened, the anger slowly dissolving. "I shouldn't have shouted on the pitch, and I should have waited for you. I was just angry about the match. But of course I wanted to be with you. Or what, do you think I only like you because you are some flawless player?"
"I just thought that… if you saw another flaw, you wouldn't want to be with me anymore."
Alexia sighed, looking at you with both exhaustion and tenderness. "Déu meu, we are both so fucked up in the head," she murmured.
"Well, yeah," you muttered.
There was a moment of silence before Alexia spoke.
"I do notice when you're not there."
You looked at her side and watched her speak.
"I-I was upset you left without telling me. We are always the last ones to leave the locker room, but when I got back from the shower, Vicky told me she had seen you leaving with your bag."
You didn't say anything.
"I admit," she continued softly. "Maybe I blew things out of proportion… You don't have to tell me every step you take. I-I just like this little… ritual of ours, and I was upset. I think I'm a little, mhm, sensitive today."
"Well, I'm sorry I left without saying anything," you said. "It wouldn't have hurt to give you a heads up if I really just wanted to change alone. I know I'd be a bit nervous if you were nowhere to be found and your phone had no signal."
"You would?" she asked quickly, her eyes snapping to yours.
You chose your words very carefully, hoping she would understand the weight behind them.
"Of course, baby."
Alexia looked at you before turning to her lap. "...I was jealous of Kika."
A small laugh escaped your mouth before you could stop it. "I noticed. You don't have to be jealous of Kika, you know."
"I know that," she mumbled, her lips forming a subtle pout as she looked away.
You decided not to push her on it.
"I'm sorry I called you frustrating," Alexia added, playing with her fingers. "You're not."
"You don't have to apologise for telling the truth."
Alexia tilted her head. "I wasn't telling the truth."
"I know I'm frustrating," you said softly. "I know I analyse everything so I don't have to sit with how I feel. I'm sorry that hurts you."
"You don't have to apologise for being who you are," Alexia countered immediately.
"Even when the way I am keeps hurting you?"
Alexia let out a long sigh. "No, it's not like that. We are just different people who deal with things differently. It just takes us a little bit of work to meet in the middle, that's all."
You shrugged. Deep down, you still thought you were annoying and frustrating, but didn't have the energy to argue with her any further.
"Did you really think I wouldn't want to be with you just because of a loss?" Alexia's voice came soft into your ears.
Now that the worst of the emotions had settled, it sounded a little ridiculous when spoken aloud. Even though, yeah, you had feelings exactly like that. "Yes. It cost us three points... and you were angry."
"That had nothing to do with how I feel about you," she said firmly.
You sat there listening. You knew it, of course you did, but hearing it and actually understanding were two things very differently. It was like when people tell you that everyone deserved self-compassion: the idea made perfect sense, but applying that same grace to yourself felt unnatural, not right.
"I know," you murmured.
Alexia studied your face. "Do you, torito?"
Before you could create another (logical) defence, Alexia stood up from the bench and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.
"I'm going to the bus, yeah?" she said.
"Okay."
A/n: Come talk to me about the chapter!! I love talking about the character hehe!! I'm sorry for any mistakes; I'm running on 4 hours of sleep <3 Personally, I think their relationship will somehow go smoothly from here? I think they both needed to have this conversation so they can understand they have different ways of seeing relationships and people, etc!!
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Jay was sitting on the kitchen counter watching Alexia make coffee, her legs dangling over the edge, bare feet swinging slightly in the air, wearing nothing except one of Alexia's oversized Barcelona training shirts that hung off one shoulder and came down to mid thigh, exposing enough leg that Alexia kept getting distracted every time she turned around.
It was nine thirty on a Saturday morning, the sun streaming through the windows of their apartment, casting everything in that perfect golden light that made their home feel warm and comfortable and exactly right. They had nowhere to be, nothing scheduled, no training or matches or obligations, just an entire weekend stretching out ahead of them full of possibilities and laziness and each other.
Alexia was moving around the kitchen in her usual morning routine, hair pulled up in a messy bun with several strands escaping and falling around her face, wearing just sleep shorts and a thin tank top, bare feet padding across the tile floor as she gathered what she needed for their coffee. She looked soft and domestic and absolutely beautiful in that specific way she always looked in the mornings before she'd fully woken up, before she'd shifted into captain mode, when she was just Alexia, just Jay's girlfriend, just the woman Jay got to wake up next to every single day for the rest of her life.
Jay was supposed to be helping with breakfast but she'd gotten completely distracted approximately five minutes ago by watching the way Alexia moved through their kitchen, the way her muscles shifted under her skin when she reached up to get the coffee beans from the top shelf, the way the tank top rode up slightly to expose a strip of tanned stomach that Jay wanted to put her mouth on, the way she moved through the space with that unconscious grace she had even when she was doing something as mundane as making coffee on a Saturday morning.
"You're staring again, guapa," Alexia said without turning around, her accent warm and amused, clearly able to feel Jay's eyes on her even without looking, probably could have felt Jay's attention from across the entire apartment at this point given how intensely Jay was watching her.
"You're beautiful again," Jay countered immediately, grinning even though Alexia couldn't see her face. "Not my fault. If you didn't want me to stare you should be less attractive. That's on you, really. That's a you problem. I'm just an innocent bystander being attacked by how gorgeous you are first thing in the morning. I'm a victim here. I should file a complaint."
Alexia laughed softly, that quiet morning laugh that was one of Jay's favourite sounds in the entire world, and turned around to look at Jay properly, her eyes doing that thing they always did when she looked at Jay in the mornings, going all soft and fond and full of so much love that Jay sometimes forgot how to breathe.
"You're ridiculous," Alexia said, but she was smiling, was clearly pleased by the attention, was already moving toward Jay like she was being pulled by a magnet, like she couldn't help herself.
She stepped between Jay's dangling legs, her hands coming to rest on Jay's bare thighs just above her knees, warm and familiar and absolutely perfect, and leaned up to kiss her slowly, sweetly, taking her time about it like they had all the time in the world, which they did, which was the entire beautiful point of Saturday mornings.
Jay's arms came up to wrap around Alexia's neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss because why wouldn't she, because Alexia was right there and soft and warm and tasted like toothpaste and something that was just inherently Alexia, and this was literally Jay's favourite thing in the entire world, kissing her girlfriend in their kitchen on Saturday morning with the sun streaming in and nowhere to be and nothing to do except this.
"Good morning bebe," Alexia murmured against Jay's lips when they finally broke apart, though she didn't move away, stayed right there between Jay's legs with her hands on Jay's thighs and her face close enough that Jay could count her eyelashes if she wanted to.
"Very good morning," Jay agreed, her fingers playing with the loose strands of hair at the back of Alexia's neck, twisting them gently, enjoying the softness of them. "Best morning. Perfect morning. All the mornings should be like this. I'm proposing a new rule where every morning starts with you kissing me in the kitchen. Mandatory. Non negotiable. I'll take it to the board if I have to."
"The board?" Alexia asked, laughing, her accent making the words sound adorable.
"The board of us," Jay said seriously. "Which is just us. And I'm pretty sure I can convince the other member to vote yes on this proposal. I have ways of being very persuasive. Very convincing. I could demonstrate right now if you want. Make my case. Present my evidence."
"You're impossible," Alexia said, but she was kissing Jay again, clearly convinced by whatever case Jay was making, clearly in favour of this proposal.
They were still kissing, Alexia's hands sliding up from Jay's thighs to her waist and then higher, Jay's fingers tangling in the hair at the base of Alexia's neck and pulling her impossibly closer, when Alexia's phone started ringing loudly from where it was sitting on the counter next to the coffee maker.
The sound was jarring and unwelcome and completely ruined the perfect moment they'd been having.
Alexia groaned against Jay's mouth, clearly not wanting to stop, clearly as annoyed by the interruption as Jay was, her hands tightening on Jay's waist like she was considering just ignoring it.
"Ignore it," Jay suggested, trying to pull Alexia back in for another kiss, not ready to stop, not ready for the outside world to intrude on their perfect Saturday morning. "Whoever it is can wait. Or they can call back. Or they can leave a message. We're busy. We're having an important board meeting about kissing policies. Very serious business. Can't be interrupted."
"I can't ignore it," Alexia said reluctantly, apologetically, pulling away and reaching for the phone even though everything about her body language said she didn't want to. "It could be important, amor. It could be the club or the federation or my agent or something that actually needs my attention. I have to at least check who it is."
She glanced at the screen and her expression shifted from reluctant to concerned, her eyebrows drawing together in that way they did when she was worried about something.
"It's Alba," she said, swiping to answer and putting the phone to her ear. "She never calls this early on a Saturday unless something's wrong. Something must have happened. Hola, Alba, qué pasa? Estás bien? What's wrong? Are you okay?”
Jay could hear Alba's voice through the phone even though Alexia hadn't put it on speaker, could hear the panic and stress in her tone even though she couldn't make out the actual words, could hear the way she was talking fast and frantic in rapid Spanish that Jay's brain couldn't quite process this early in the morning without significant coffee.
Alexia's eyebrows were climbing higher and higher on her forehead as she listened, her free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose in that specific gesture she always made when she was dealing with Alba related chaos, which happened more often than it probably should given that Alba was twenty eight years old and supposedly a responsible adult.
"Vale, vale, slow down, hermana," Alexia said, switching between Spanish and English in that way she always did when she was flustered or stressed or dealing with her sister. "Say it again but slower this time. Your kitchen sink what? It leaked? How did it leak? What do you mean someone broke it at the party? What party? Alba, why were you having a party on a Friday night? You're twenty eight years old. Aren't you supposed to be past the age of having parties that end with broken plumbing? Dios mío, you're supposed to be a responsible adult with a job and a mortgage."
More frantic Spanish from Alba's end of the phone, more explanations that Jay still couldn't quite parse but that were clearly making Alexia more stressed and exasperated by the second.
Jay watched as Alexia's expression went through several shifts, from concerned to annoyed to resigned to that specific look of long suffering patience that only came out when dealing with family members who had created preventable disasters.
"Okay, okay, calm down," Alexia said, her voice shifting from annoyed to practical, going into problem solving mode. "Tell me exactly what happened. How bad is it? Is it just leaking or is it actually broken completely? Is there water everywhere? Did you turn off the water main? Please tell me you at least had the sense to turn off the water main before calling me. No? ALBA! That's literally the first thing you do when you have a plumbing emergency! Turn off the water! You turn it off before anything else! Under the sink! There's a valve! You turn it clockwise! No, clockwise! The other direction! The opposite of what you're doing! To the right! Yes like that! Dios mío, hermana, how do you not know this?"
Jay was trying very hard not to laugh at Alexia's expression, at the way she was clearly dealing with some kind of domestic crisis that Alba had created through what sounded like a combination of poor planning and general chaos, at the way she was pinching the bridge of her nose harder like that might somehow make her sister more competent at basic home maintenance and emergency response.
"Okay," Alexia said after a few more minutes of back and forth, after what sounded like she'd successfully walked Alba through turning off the water supply. "So the sink is broken, there's water all over your kitchen floor, you have no idea how to fix it, and you need help. Is that an accurate summary of the situation? And how did this happen exactly? What kind of party were you having that resulted in broken plumbing? Were people doing something in your sink that sinks are not meant for? Do I want to know? Should I be worried about what you're doing with your life?"
More rapid Spanish from Alba, more explanations, and Jay could hear the defensive tone even without understanding the words.
"I can do it," Jay said suddenly, the solution occurring to her immediately, sitting up straighter on the counter.
"Qué?" Alexia said, turning to look at Jay with confusion, the phone still pressed to her ear, Alba presumably still talking on the other end explaining whatever chaos had led to this situation.
"The sink," Jay clarified, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Alba's apartment even though it was kilometers away. "I can fix it. I can fix Alba's sink for her. I know how to do plumbing. It's probably just a washer or a seal or maybe a connection that came loose. Something simple. I can fix it. Easy."
Alexia's expression went through several rapid changes as she processed this information, landing on something that looked like a mixture of surprise and confusion and disbelief and something else that Jay couldn't quite identify.
"You can fix it?" Alexia repeated slowly, like she was making sure she'd heard correctly, like she was confirming that Jay had really just said what she thought she'd said. "You know how to fix plumbing? You know how to fix a broken kitchen sink? Since when do you know how to do that? How do you know how to do that? Where did you learn plumbing?"
"Yeah," Jay said, shrugging like this was completely normal information, like everyone knew how to fix basic plumbing. "I did a plumbing module when I went to that behavioural specialist residential school thing when I was sixteen. You know, the one I went to for like eight months after I got kicked out of my third foster placement. They made us learn practical skills as part of the program. Life skills. Things we could use in the real world if we needed them. I learned plumbing and basic electrical work and carpentry and some other stuff. Auto mechanics. Basic construction. It was actually pretty useful and interesting. I liked it. I'm good at it. I like fixing things. It's satisfying. Makes my brain happy."
Alexia was staring at her now, the phone still pressed to her ear but clearly not paying any attention to whatever Alba was saying anymore, just staring at Jay with this expression of complete bewilderment mixed with something that looked almost hurt.
She moved the phone away from her face slightly, covering the microphone with her hand so Alba wouldn't hear.
"You've never mentioned that before," she said quietly, and there was something in her voice that made Jay's chest tight, something between surprise and hurt and confusion. "You've never told me you know how to do plumbing. Or electrical work. Or carpentry. Or any of these things. These are important things, guapa. These are big things about your past, about your life, about skills you have. Why have you never told me this? Why am I only finding out now, when my sister calls with an emergency, that you have all these skills I didn't know about?"
Jay felt a pang of guilt in her chest, realising that Alexia was right, that this was something she should have mentioned before, that it was the kind of thing that partners should know about each other.
"You never asked," Jay said simply, honestly, because it was true, because it genuinely had never come up in conversation before, because she didn't think about those skills very often since she rarely had reason to use them in her current life. "It just never came up. I didn't think about it. It was so long ago, babe. Like twelve years ago. It's not something I think about day to day. I don't wake up every morning thinking about the fact that I know how to fix sinks. It's just one of those random things from my past that sits in my brain until it's relevant and then I remember it."
"Bebe," Alexia said, and her voice had gone soft now, that specific softness that meant she was feeling emotional about something, that meant Jay had hit on something important. "These are important things about you. About your life. About your history and your experiences and the things that made you who you are. I want to know these things. I want to know everything about you, even the small things, even the random things, even the things you don't think about day to day. You don't have to wait for me to ask specific questions. You can just tell me things. You can just share parts of yourself. You know that, right? You know I want to know everything?"
"Sorry, babe," Jay said, feeling genuinely guilty now, reaching out to pull Alexia closer, to tuck one of those loose strands of hair behind her ear. "I forget sometimes. I forget that these random bits of my past are interesting to you. I forget that you want to know about the boring stuff, the practical stuff, the things that don't seem important or exciting. It was just a thing I learned at a school I went to over a decade ago. It didn't seem worth mentioning. But you're right. I should tell you things. I should share more. I'll try to be better about that. I promise."
"Everything is important," Alexia said firmly, her free hand coming up to cup Jay's face, her thumb stroking over Jay's cheekbone in that gentle way that always made Jay melt. "Everything about you matters to me. Everything. The big things and the small things and the boring things and the exciting things. All of it. I want to know it all. I want to know about the schools you went to and the things you learned and the skills you have and the experiences you had. Even if you think they're not important or not interesting or not worth talking about. Tell me anyway. Please. Promise me you'll try to tell me things even when I don't specifically ask. Promise me you'll share yourself with me."
"I promise," Jay said, leaning into Alexia's touch, feeling warm and loved and slightly overwhelmed by how much Alexia cared, by how much she wanted to know, by how invested she was in every single part of Jay's life and history and existence. "I'll try. I'll tell you things. Even the random boring things. Even the stuff I don't think matters. I'll share more. I want you to know everything too. I want you to know me completely."
"I know," Alexia said gently, and then she leaned up and kissed Jay again, soft and sweet and full of affection and understanding and love.
"ALE!" Alba's voice suddenly shouted through the phone, loud enough that they could both hear it clearly even though the phone wasn't on speaker, loud enough that it made them both jump slightly. "ALE! HERMANA! ARE YOU STILL THERE? WHAT'S HAPPENING? STOP KISSING YOUR GIRLFRIEND AND HELP ME! MY KITCHEN IS FLOODING! THERE'S WATER EVERYWHERE! I'M STANDING IN A PUDDLE! THIS IS A CRISIS! PAY ATTENTION TO ME!"
"LO SIENTO!" Alexia shouted back, flinching slightly at the volume of Alba's voice, putting the phone back to her ear properly. "Sorry, Alba, I'm here. I'm listening. I was just. Never mind. Okay. Listen. Jay says she can fix your sink. She apparently has secret plumbing skills that she's never mentioned to me before because she's ridiculous and doesn't think these things are important enough to share with her girlfriend. But yes. She knows how to fix plumbing. She can come over and fix it for you. Problem solved. Crisis averted."
"She can?" Alba said, her voice suddenly much calmer, much more hopeful, the panic draining out of her tone immediately. "Jay actually knows how to fix a broken sink? She's not going to make it worse? She actually has real skills? Because no offence to Jay but she doesn't seem like the handy fix it type. She seems more like the call a professional and then make jokes while they work type."
"She has many skills apparently," Alexia said, shooting Jay a look that was part affectionate and part exasperated. "Secret skills. Hidden talents. Things I'm only finding out about right now. She can fix your sink. She'll be there soon."
"Oh thank god," Alba said, the relief obvious in her voice. "Thank you. Thank you so much. Tell Jay thank you. Tell her I love her. Tell her she's saving my life. Tell her I'll owe her forever. Tell her anything she wants. Anything. I'll do anything. I'll name my firstborn after her. I'll dedicate my life to her service. Whatever she wants."
"You're being dramatic," Alexia said, but she was smiling slightly. "It's just a sink. She's just going to fix a sink. You don't need to offer your firstborn. Just say thank you like a normal person."
Jay slid off the counter and headed toward their bedroom to get dressed, calling back over her shoulder, "Tell her I accept payment in the form of her eternal gratitude and also maybe some of those cookies she makes, the chocolate ones with the sea salt."
Alexia relayed this to Alba who agreed immediately, enthusiastically, probably would have agreed to anything at this point given the state of her kitchen.
"Jay's going to get dressed and grab her toolkit and she'll be there in like twenty minutes," Alexia said into the phone. "I'll come a bit later after I go get us some breakfast. I'll bring croissants from that bakery you like. The good ones. We'll make a morning of it. Okay? Just hang tight. Try to mop up as much water as you can. Don't touch anything else. Don't try to fix it yourself. Just wait for Jay."
"Okay," Alba said. "Okay thank you. Thank you so much. You're the best sister. Jay's the best sister in-law. You're both the best. I love you. Tell Jay I love her. I'll see you soon."
Alexia was about to hang up when Alba's voice came through again, slightly different now, slightly more mischievous.
"Oh, wait, Ale, one more thing," Alba said, and Alexia could hear the grin in her voice.
"What?" Alexia asked suspiciously, recognizing that tone, knowing it meant Alba was about to say something that would either embarrass her or annoy her or both.
"You know how I said I had a party last night?" Alba said innocently.
"Yes," Alexia said slowly, her suspicion growing. "You mentioned that. That's how the sink got broken. What about it?"
"Well, some of my friends are still here," Alba continued, still in that innocent tone that absolutely was not innocent. "They crashed here last night. They're still asleep in my living room. Well, they were asleep. They're awake now because of all the noise with the sink emergency. So they'll probably be here when Jay arrives. Just so you know. Just as a heads up. Thought you should be aware."
"Okay," Alexia said, not seeing the problem yet, not understanding why Alba felt the need to mention this. "That's fine. Jay won't mind. She's not going to be weird about your friends being there. She'll just fix the sink and leave. It's not a big deal. Why are you telling me this?"
Alba laughed, that got Alexia’s back up.
"How many friends?" Alexia asked, something in Alba's tone making her nervous.
"Eight," Alba said, and Alexia could definitely hear the grin in her voice now. "Eight of my friends stayed over. They're all here. They'll all be here when Jay arrives to fix the sink."
"Okay," Alexia said again, still not seeing what Alba was getting at. "That's fine. Eight people is fine. What's the problem? Why do you sound like that? What aren't you telling me?"
There was a pause on Alba's end of the phone, a pause that felt loaded, that felt significant, that made Alexia's stomach drop slightly with anticipation.
"And the eight friends are..." Alexia prompted when Alba didn't continue.
"Well," Alba said, drawing out the word, clearly enjoying this far too much. "They're from my football group. The recreational league I play in. You've met some of them before. At my birthday party last year. Remember?"
Alexia had a vague memory of meeting some of Alba's football friends, a group of women in their late twenties and early thirties who played in a recreational league together, but she didn't remember anything specific about them.
"Okay," she said slowly. "Your football friends. That's fine. Why are you being weird about this?"
"They're very gay, hermana," Alba said, and she was definitely laughing now. "Like very, very gay. All of them. Every single one. Very gay and very single and very much the type to appreciate a hot tattooed English footballer who shows up to fix a sink on a Saturday morning. Very much that type. Extremely that type. I'm just saying. Just giving you advance warning. Just letting you know what the situation is going to be when Jay gets here."
And then Alexia understood.
Understood completely.
Understood why Alba had sounded so amused.
Understood why Alba had waited until after Jay had left the room to mention this detail.
Understood exactly what was about to happen when Jay showed up at Alba's apartment looking like she always looked, all tattooed and attractive and charming, to fix a sink in front of eight gay women who would absolutely notice all of those things.
"Dios mío," Alexia said, her accent getting thicker immediately, her hand tightening on the phone. "Alba. Why didn't you tell me this before? Why didn't you mention this when I was telling Jay to go over there? Why are you only telling me now?"
"Because it's funnier this way," Alba said gleefully, not even trying to hide how much she was enjoying this. "Because I know you, hermana. I know you're going to get all jealous and possessive and it's going to be hilarious. I know you're going to show up at my apartment ready to mark your territory or whatever it is you do when other women look at Jay. This is going to be so entertaining. I can't wait. This is the best thing that's happened all week."
"Alba," Alexia said warningly.
"Also," Alba continued, clearly on a roll now, clearly having too much fun to stop. "I should probably mention that I already told my friends about Jay. About how she's a professional footballer. About how she plays for Barcelona. About how she's covered in tattoos. About how she's very attractive. They're very excited to meet her. Very interested. Very eager. I might have shown them her Instagram. They might have spent the last hour looking through her photos while we waited for someone to come fix my sink. They might be very prepared to appreciate her in person."
"I'm going to kill you," Alexia said, but there was no real heat in it, just resignation and the knowledge that her sister was absolutely right, that she was absolutely going to get jealous, that she was absolutely going to show up at Alba's apartment ready to remind everyone exactly who Jay belonged to.
"Love you too, hermana," Alba said cheerfully. "See you soon. Can't wait. This is going to be amazing. Bring extra croissants. I think we're all going to need the energy after whatever's about to happen."
And then she hung up, leaving Alexia standing in the kitchen holding her phone and feeling a mixture of exasperation and affection for her impossible sister and a growing sense of possessive jealousy at the thought of eight women watching Jay work.
From the bedroom, she could hear Jay moving around, getting dressed, probably pulling on work clothes, probably looking unfairly attractive even in something as simple as shorts and a tank top.
Alexia looked at her phone, looked at the time, calculated how long it would take to get to the bakery and then to Alba's apartment, tried to figure out how quickly she could get there after Jay arrived.
Not quickly enough.
Jay would be there first.
Jay would be there alone with eight gay women for at least twenty, maybe thirty minutes before Alexia could arrive.
Jay who was beautiful and charming and friendly and completely oblivious to when women were flirting with her.
Jay who would absolutely just smile and be nice to everyone while they stared at her.
This was fine.
Everything was fine.
Alexia was a rational adult who trusted her girlfriend completely.
She was not going to be weird about this.
She was absolutely going to be weird about this.
"Babe?" Jay called from the bedroom. "Where's my toolkit? Is it still in the hallway closet?"
"Top shelf on the left," Alexia called back, already pulling up the bakery's number on her phone to call ahead and order croissants so she wouldn't have to wait, so she could get to Alba's apartment as fast as possible.
This was fine.
Everything was completely fine.
She was definitely not already planning how to mark her territory when she got there.
She absolutely was.
When Jay arrived at Alba's apartment building twenty three minutes later, toolkit in one hand and car keys in the other, she was feeling good about this whole situation, feeling helpful and useful and like she was doing a nice thing for her girlfriend's sister on a Saturday morning.
She liked fixing things, always had, found it genuinely satisfying in a way that was hard to explain to people who didn't understand the appeal of taking something broken and making it work again. She hadn't had much opportunity to use these particular skills in recent years since she and Alexia usually just called professionals when something needed fixing in their apartment, but she'd genuinely enjoyed learning all of this stuff back when she was sixteen, had been good at it, had found it calming and focusing in a way that helped with her ADHD brain that was always looking for something concrete to do with its hands.
She knocked on Alba's door and immediately heard chaos on the other side, multiple voices talking at once in Spanish, someone laughing, someone else saying something that sounded like a joke, the general sound of multiple people in a space trying to function on too little sleep and too much hangover.
The door opened and Alba was standing there looking frazzled and stressed and extremely relieved to see Jay, her hair messier than usual, still wearing what looked like pajamas, dark circles under her eyes suggesting she hadn't slept much.
"Oh thank god you're here," Alba said, switching to English for Jay's benefit even though she'd clearly been speaking Spanish two seconds ago. "Thank you so much for coming. Thank you for doing this. You're literally saving my life right now. The sink is a complete disaster. There's water everywhere. I've been trying to mop it up but it just keeps coming. I don't know what to do. You're amazing for doing this. Seriously. Come in. Please. Save my kitchen before it floods my downstairs neighbours apartment."
Jay stepped inside and took in the scene with professional assessment, already switching into fix it mode, already thinking about what tools she'd need and what the problem likely was.
Alba's apartment was nice, bigger than Jay had expected given Barcelona real estate prices, with an open plan living area that connected to the kitchen through a wide archway. The living room looked like the aftermath of a party, empty bottles and glasses scattered around, throw pillows on the floor, blankets draped over furniture, the general detritus of people having a good time the night before.
And sitting in various positions around the living room, some on the couch, some in chairs, some on the floor leaning against walls, were eight women, all of them somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties, all of them looking tired and slightly hungover but perking up considerably when Jay walked in.
They were all staring at her now with varying degrees of interest, taking in the toolkit, the work clothes, the tattoos visible on her arms, the general vibe of Jay showing up to fix something on a Saturday morning.
Jay gave them all a friendly smile and a wave, being polite, being normal, not thinking anything of it.
"Bon dia," she said cheerfully, her Catalan still not perfect but serviceable enough for basic greetings. "Morning, everyone. Sorry about the early house call. Sounds like you all had a rough night. I'll try to be quick and quiet so you can get back to recovering. Just need to fix this sink situation and then I'll get out of your hair."
"Bon dia," they all chorused back, and Jay noticed several of them were smiling at her in that specific friendly way that people smiled when they were being welcoming and nice.
She headed straight for the kitchen, setting her toolkit down on the counter and crouching down to open the cabinet under the sink to assess the damage and figure out what needed to be done.
It was exactly what she'd expected when Alba had described the problem over the phone, a blown washer on one of the connection points where the pipe met the faucet assembly, water leaking steadily from the compromised seal and pooling on the bottom of the cabinet before spilling out onto the floor.
Easy fix.
She could do this in twenty minutes, probably less if she didn't run into any complications.
She got to work immediately, shutting off the water valve underneath the sink, using her wrench to start loosening the connection point so she could access the broken washer and replace it.
Behind her, she could hear Alba talking to her friends in rapid Spanish, too fast for Jay to follow with her limited understanding of the language, but she caught her own name a few times and Alexia's name and what sounded like explanations about who Jay was and why she was here.
She focused on the sink, tuning out the conversation, letting her hands do the familiar work of disassembling the connection, examining the washer, confirming that yes, it had split clean in half which was definitely the source of the leak.
"Do you need any help with anything?" a voice asked from behind her, and Jay glanced over her shoulder to see one of Alba's friends standing in the kitchen doorway, watching her work with obvious curiosity.
"I'm good, thanks," Jay said pleasantly, turning back to the sink and reaching into her toolkit for a replacement washer. "Just need to replace this washer and tighten everything back up. Should be done pretty quick. Appreciate the offer though."
"You know how to do plumbing?" the woman asked, moving closer, genuinely seeming interested. "That's really impressive. Not many people know how to fix their own plumbing anymore. Where did you learn?"
"Residential school when I was a teenager," Jay explained, not looking up from what she was doing, her hands already working to fit the new washer into place. "They taught us practical life skills as part of the program. Plumbing, electrical, carpentry, that kind of thing. It's actually pretty useful. Comes in handy sometimes. I like fixing things. Makes my brain happy. Gives me something to focus on."
"That's really cool," another voice said, and Jay glanced up to see that two more of Alba's friends had joined the first one in the kitchen, all of them watching Jay work with varying levels of interest.
This was starting to feel less like fixing a sink and more like performing for an audience, which was a bit odd, but Jay was used to people watching her do things given that her entire job as a professional footballer involved thousands of people watching her every move on a pitch.
She went back to focusing on the work, replacing the washer, tightening the connections, making sure everything was properly sealed and secure.
More of Alba's friends had drifted into the kitchen now, she could sense them gathering behind her even though she wasn't looking, could feel their attention on her as she worked.
It was fine.
Everything was fine.
They were probably just bored and hungover and looking for something to watch that wasn't television.
She finished tightening the main connection and carefully turned the water valve back on just slightly, watching carefully to make sure nothing was leaking, checking all the seals.
Perfect.
No leaks.
Just needed to do one final tightening and then test the faucet to make sure everything was working properly.
"Can you hand me that wrench?" she asked, pointing to the toolkit without looking up, indicating the adjustable wrench she needed. "The silver one. Second from the left in the top tray."
There was immediate movement and then someone was handing her the wrench, and when Jay glanced up to say thank you she saw that all eight of Alba's friends were now in the kitchen, all of them gathered in a semi circle watching her work, all of them looking interested and engaged and paying very close attention.
"Thanks," Jay said, taking the wrench and going back to work, not thinking anything of it, just assuming they were curious or helpful or both.
She made the final adjustments, tightened everything to exactly the right tension, and then stood up to test the faucet and make sure water was flowing properly without any leaks.
And that's when it happened.
As she turned the faucet on to check the water pressure and make sure everything was working correctly, one of the connections she'd just tightened shifted very slightly, not enough to create a leak but enough to redirect the water flow in an unexpected direction, sending a spray of water directly at Jay's chest before she could react.
It soaked through her tank top in approximately three seconds, making the fabric cling to her skin, cold and shocking and definitely not what she'd been expecting.
"Mierda," Jay muttered under her breath, quickly turning the faucet off and looking down at her completely soaked shirt with resignation.
She could feel all eight women staring at her now, could sense their attention sharpening, could practically feel the temperature in the room change.
Right.
Okay.
She could fix this, just needed to tighten that connection a tiny bit more to adjust the angle, but there was no way she was standing here working while soaking wet in a cold shirt that was clinging uncomfortably to her skin.
She glanced around at Alba who was standing near the fridge watching this whole situation unfold with an expression that looked suspiciously like she was trying very hard not to laugh.
"Sorry," Jay said apologetically. "I need to take this off. It's completely soaked and I can't work in it. Is that okay? I've got a sports bra underneath so I won't be like completely shirtless but I need to finish fixing this properly and I can't do it while wet. Do you mind? Or I can go sit in my car for a bit and wait for it to dry if it's weird."
"No, no, of course not," Alba said, and she was definitely trying not to laugh now, definitely finding this entire situation hilarious for reasons Jay didn't fully understand. "Do whatever you need to do. We're all adults here. Nobody's going to be weird about it. You do what you need to do to fix my sink. Whatever it takes. Don't worry about us."
Jay pulled off the soaking wet tank top and draped it over the back of one of Alba's kitchen chairs, leaving her in just her black sports bra and work shorts, all her tattoos on full display, all the muscle definition from years of professional football training completely visible.
She crouched back down under the sink, completely focused on making that final adjustment to the connection that had sprayed her, completely unaware of the way every single person in the kitchen was now staring at her with renewed and significantly intensified interest.
Meanwhile, approximately three kilometres away, Alexia was standing at the counter of her favourite bakery trying to order a dozen croissants as fast as humanly possible while also trying not to think about what might be happening at Alba's apartment right this second.
Her phone had buzzed with a text from Alba two minutes ago.
Alba: Your girlfriend just got here
Alba: She's under my sink
Alba: Looking very competent and attractive
Alba: My friends are watching her work
Alba: This is very entertaining
Alba: You should probably hurry
Alexia had read that text and immediately felt her possessive jealousy spike, had immediately started trying to calculate exactly how fast she could get the croissants and get to Alba's apartment.
"Twelve croissants, please," she was saying to the woman behind the counter, her accent thick with stress and hurry and barely contained territorial feelings. "A mix of everything. Chocolate and plain and almond and whatever else you have that's good. Twelve total. As fast as you can, please. This is urgent. Very urgent. Emergency croissants. I need them immediately. Right now. As fast as possible."
The woman behind the counter was moving at what felt like an agonisingly slow pace, carefully selecting each croissant individually, placing them in the box with deliberate precision, and Alexia wanted to climb over the counter and do it herself because this was taking too long, this was way too long, Jay had been at Alba's apartment for at least twenty five minutes now and literally anything could have happened in that time.
Her phone buzzed again.
Alba: Update: your girlfriend is now shirtless
Alba: Well not completely shirtless
Alba: Sports bra
Alba: But very shirtless
Alba: Very tattooed
Alba: Very muscular
Alba: My friends are VERY interested
Alba: You should REALLY hurry
Alba: Like really really hurry
Alba: This is hilarious
Alba: But you should definitely get here soon
Alexia made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a whimper, startling the woman behind the counter who looked at her with concern.
"Is everything okay, señora?" the woman asked carefully.
"Fine," Alexia said through gritted teeth, her accent so thick now she could barely form English words. "Everything's fine. Just need the croissants very quickly please. Very very quickly. It's an emergency. A relationship emergency. A girlfriend emergency. Please hurry."
The woman, bless her, seemed to understand that something urgent was happening and started moving a bit faster, though still not nearly fast enough for Alexia's liking.
Alexia's phone buzzed a third time.
Alba: Hermana your girlfriend is VERY attractive
Alba: Like objectively
Alba: Scientifically
Alba: My friends are losing their minds
Alba: I'm losing my mind
Alba: This is the best Saturday morning entertainment I've ever had
Alba: But seriously you should get here
Alba: Soon
Alba: Very soon
Alba: Like immediately
Alexia grabbed the box of croissants the moment the woman finished packing them, threw probably too much money on the counter, and practically ran out of the bakery toward her car.
Jay had just finished making the final adjustment to the connection point, had just tested the faucet to make sure everything was working properly this time without any unexpected water sprays, and was feeling pretty satisfied with herself for fixing the problem so quickly and efficiently.
She stood up from her crouched position under the sink, stretching slightly to work out the kink in her lower back from being bent over for the past twenty minutes, and turned around to grab a towel to dry off her hands.
And found herself face to face with all eight of Alba's friends, who had formed what could only be described as a semi circle around the kitchen area, all of them watching her with varying levels of obvious interest and appreciation.
It was at this exact moment that Jay's brain finally caught up to what had been happening for the past twenty five minutes, finally registered that these women had been watching her work with perhaps more attention than the situation strictly warranted, finally understood that maybe, possibly, potentially, they were looking at her as something more than just a helpful person fixing a sink.
"All done," Jay announced cheerfully, trying to ignore the sudden awkwardness she was feeling, trying to play it cool and normal and like she definitely hadn't just realised she'd been working shirtless in a sports bra in front of eight women who were very clearly appreciating the view. "Your sink is fixed. One of the washers had split completely in half, which is what was causing the leak. I replaced it and tightened all the connections and everything should be good now. You shouldn't have any more problems."
"Thank you so much," Alba said, and she was definitely grinning now, definitely finding this entire situation absolutely hilarious. "You're amazing. Seriously. You saved my kitchen. You saved my life. I owe you everything. Name your price. Whatever you want. It's yours."
"Just some of those chocolate cookies you make," Jay said, moving to the sink to wash her hands properly now that the job was done. "The ones with the sea salt. Those are incredible. I dream about those cookies sometimes. They're life changing."
She was very aware that she was still shirtless, still in just her sports bra, still covered in water droplets that were slowly drying on her skin, and she really needed to either put her wet tank top back on or get the hell out of here before this got any more awkward.
She grabbed her soaked tank top from where she'd draped it over the chair and looked at it with resignation, trying to decide if putting on a cold wet shirt was better or worse than staying in just the sports bra for the drive home.
Definitely worse.
The shirt was completely soaked through, cold and uncomfortable, and she'd be in the car for at least fifteen minutes driving back to her and Alexia's apartment.
She'd just stay like this and change when she got home.
Decision made.
"Well," Jay said, turning back to face the room, very deliberately not making eye contact with any of Alba's friends who were still watching her with obvious interest. "I should probably head out. Let you all get back to your morning. Recovering from last night. All that. I'm just going to grab my toolkit and head home. Alexia should be here soon with breakfast for everyone. The good croissants from that bakery she likes. So. Yeah. Enjoy those. Have a good rest of your Saturday."
She was rambling slightly, could hear herself doing it, could feel the awkwardness of the situation making her more chatty than usual, and she needed to just get her toolkit and leave before she said something weird or made this situation even more uncomfortable than it already was.
She moved to grab her toolkit from the counter and that's when she heard it.
The apartment door opening.
Footsteps in the entryway.
A familiar voice calling out in Spanish.
"Alba, I'm here, I brought croissants and coffee for everyone, where do you want me to put everything?"
Alexia.
Alexia was here.
Alexia was here and Jay was standing shirtless in Alba's kitchen in front of eight women and this was about to get very interesting very quickly.
Jay turned toward the sound of Alexia's voice just as Alexia appeared in the archway between the living room and kitchen, carrying a large box of croissants in one hand and a drink carrier full of coffees in the other.
Their eyes met across the space and Jay watched as Alexia took in the scene in front of her with rapidly shifting expressions.
Jay, shirtless except for a sports bra, skin still glistening with water droplets, toolkit in hand, clearly just finished working.
Eight women arranged in a semi circle around the kitchen, all of them very clearly looking at Jay with appreciation and interest.
Alba standing near the fridge trying very hard not to laugh at what was clearly about to happen.
Jay saw the exact moment Alexia's brain processed all of this information, saw her eyes narrow slightly, saw her jaw tighten, saw that specific expression cross her face that Jay had learned meant Alexia was feeling possessive and territorial and was about to do something about it.
"Hi, babe," Jay said brightly, trying to defuse whatever was about to happen, trying to sound casual and normal even though she was very aware that she was standing there half naked. "Perfect timing. I just finished fixing the sink. It was the washer like I thought. Easy fix. Everything's working now. Alba's kitchen is saved. Crisis averted."
Alexia set down the croissants and coffee on the entry table with perhaps more force than strictly necessary and walked into the kitchen with purpose, her eyes never leaving Jay, her expression intense and focused and unmistakably possessive.
She walked straight up to Jay, completely ignoring everyone else in the room, completely focused on her girlfriend standing there shirtless and wet and surrounded by admirers.
"Hola, guapa," Alexia said softly, her accent thick, her voice doing that thing it did when she was feeling particularly possessive, dropping lower and warmer and full of intention.
"Hi, baby," Jay responded, smiling down at her, completely unable to hide how happy she was to see Alexia even though it had only been like forty five minutes since they'd last seen each other. "You brought breakfast. You're the best. I'm starving. Fixing sinks works up an appetite apparently. Can I have a croissant? Please? I've been very good. I fixed everything. I deserve a reward."
"Later," Alexia said, and then she cupped Jay's face with both hands, pulled her down, and kissed her thoroughly, deeply, possessively, right there in Alba's kitchen in front of Alba's eight friends and Alba herself.
It was not a quick peck.
It was not a casual greeting kiss.
It was the kind of kiss that made a statement, that marked territory, that very clearly communicated to everyone watching that Jay was taken, was loved, was absolutely completely one hundred percent Alexia's and nobody else's.
Jay made a small surprised sound against Alexia's mouth but immediately melted into the kiss, her hands coming up to rest on Alexia's waist, pulling her closer, kissing her back with just as much enthusiasm because kissing Alexia was literally her favorite activity in the entire world and she was never going to complain about it happening regardless of location or audience.
When Alexia finally pulled back, both of them slightly breathless, Jay's lips were swollen and her eyes were slightly dazed and she was looking at Alexia with that expression she always had after Alexia kissed her like that, all soft and happy and completely gone.
"Home," Alexia said firmly, her hands still on Jay's face, her thumbs stroking over Jay's cheekbones. "We're going home. Now. Right now. You need to change out of these wet clothes. You're going to catch a cold. You need to put on something dry."
"My shirt is completely soaked," Jay said, gesturing to the wet tank top still draped over the chair. "I got sprayed by the sink. It's like really wet. Like dripping wet. I was just going to drive home like this and change there."
"No," Alexia said immediately, her eyes flashing with something that looked a lot like she was absolutely not okay with Jay driving around Barcelona in just a sports bra. "No you're not driving home like that. You need to cover up. You need a shirt. Alba, get her a shirt. Right now. Please. One of yours. Anything. I don't care. Just something. She needs to be wearing more clothes immediately."
Alba was absolutely dying with laughter now, barely able to contain herself, her face red from trying not to make noise as she witnessed her sister having what could only be described as a possessive jealous meltdown in her kitchen.
"Sure thing, hermana," Alba managed to say through her laughter, disappearing into her bedroom and coming back with an oversized Barcelona hoodie that definitely belonged to Alexia based on the size. "Here. Cover up your very attractive very tattooed girlfriend before you have an actual breakdown. This is the most entertainment I've had in months. This is better than television. This is perfect."
Alexia took the hoodie and practically shoved it over Jay's head, helping her get her arms through the sleeves like Jay was a child who needed assistance getting dressed, making sure the hoodie was properly pulled down and covering everything that Alexia clearly felt needed to be covered.
"There," Alexia said with satisfaction, stepping back to assess her work. "Much better. Now you're appropriately dressed. Now we can leave. Get your toolkit. We're going home. Right now. Immediately. No delays."
"Okay, babe," Jay said, grinning widely now because she'd finally fully caught on to what was happening, finally understood that Alexia was jealous and territorial and feeling possessive and it was honestly the hottest thing ever. "Whatever you say. Home it is. Right away. No arguments from me."
She grabbed her toolkit and let Alexia take her hand, lacing their fingers together in a grip that was definitely tighter than necessary but that Jay absolutely loved.
"Thank you for the croissants, Ale," Alba called after them as Alexia pulled Jay toward the door. "Thank you for this absolutely incredible Saturday morning entertainment. This was worth breaking my sink. This was worth everything. I'm never going to forget this. This is going into the family stories we tell forever."
"You're welcome for the croissants," Alexia called back without turning around, still pulling Jay toward the door. "You're not welcome for anything else. This was not entertainment. This was a crisis. A relationship crisis. An emergency. Next time you break something you call a professional. You don't call my girlfriend. She's retired from fixing your problems. This is the last time. Never again."
"We'll see," Alba said cheerfully. "We'll see what happens the next time something breaks. Maybe I'll have even more friends over. Maybe I'll make it a whole event. Maybe I'll sell tickets."
"Don't you dare," Alexia warned, finally turning back to glare at her sister. "I'm serious, Alba. You call a professional next time. You don't call Jay. She's not available. She's busy. She has other things to do. She's not your personal handyman."
"But she's so good at it," Alba protested, still grinning. "And she works for cookies. She's very affordable. Very cost effective. Excellent value. Top tier service."
Alexia made a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a frustrated groan and physically pulled Jay out of the apartment before she could say anything else to Alba.
Jay managed to call out "Bye, Alba! Bye, everyone! Enjoy the croissants!" before Alexia dragged her into the hallway and let the door close behind them.
The second they were alone in the hallway, Alexia pushed Jay against the wall next to the elevator and kissed her again, hard and possessive and full of barely contained jealousy.
"You're mine," Alexia said against Jay's mouth, her accent so thick Jay could barely understand her, her hands gripping Jay's waist through the borrowed hoodie. "You're mine and nobody else's and those women don't get to look at you like that and you don't get to stand there shirtless looking all competent and attractive while they watch you work and I don't like it and I know I'm being ridiculous but I don't care because you're mine."
"I'm yours," Jay agreed immediately, enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around Alexia and pulling her closer. "Completely yours. Only yours. Always yours. Those women could never. They weren't even on my radar. I didn't even notice they were looking. I was just fixing a sink. I was just trying to help your sister. I wasn't trying to be attractive. I was just being normal."
"You can't just be normal," Alexia said, pulling back to look at Jay's face, her expression intense. "You're incapable of just being normal. You exist and you're automatically attractive. You breathe and people notice. You do anything and people watch. It's not your fault but it's true and I hate it and I love it and I hate that I love it and I'm very confused about my feelings right now."
"You're very hot when you're jealous," Jay said, grinning down at her. "Like genuinely the hottest thing I've ever seen. Have I mentioned that? Because you are. You're incredibly sexy right now. This whole possessive territorial thing you've got going on is working for me. It's working really well. I'm very into it."
"Good," Alexia said, and then she pressed the elevator button with more force than necessary. "Because we're going home right now and you're going to shower and I'm going to help you and we're going to have a very long conversation about how you're mine and nobody else gets to see you like that."
"I love conversations," Jay said innocently. "I'm very good at conversations. Very thorough. Very attentive. Very focused."
The elevator arrived and they stepped inside, and the second the doors closed Alexia was kissing Jay again, pressing her against the elevator wall, her hands sliding under the borrowed hoodie to touch bare skin.
"Home," Alexia said between kisses. "Ten minutes. No detours. No distractions. Straight home. And then I'm going to remind you exactly who you belong to. Understand? I'm going to be very thorough about it. Very detailed. Very comprehensive."
"I understand perfectly," Jay said, slightly breathless now, her hands tight on Alexia's waist. "Crystal clear. Completely comprehend. Ten minutes. I'll drive very carefully. Very safely. But also very quickly. Is it possible to drive both carefully and quickly? I'm going to try. I'm very motivated right now."
They made it down to the parking garage and Alexia walked Jay to her car, her hand possessive on Jay's lower back the entire time.
When they got to Jay's car, Alexia pushed her against the driver's side door and kissed her one more time, slow and deep and full of promise.
"Home," she repeated when she finally pulled back. "Ten minutes maximum. No stopping. No delays. Straight home. And then you need to shower, amor. You're all wet and sweaty from working. You need to get clean. You need to wash off. You need to be very thoroughly cleaned."
"Very thorough," Jay agreed, her voice slightly rough now. "Very comprehensive cleaning. I'm very dirty. I probably need a lot of attention. A lot of detailed scrubbing. Very focused washing."
"Exactly," Alexia said, her eyes dark and intense. "Very focused. Very attentive. Very detailed. I'm going to make sure every inch of you is completely clean. Every single inch. Nowhere will be missed. Everything will be thoroughly attended to."
"Fuuuuck," Jay breathed out, her brain fully caught up now to exactly what Alexia was saying, exactly what was being promised. "You're so hot. Like genuinely. Scientifically. Objectively. The hottest person who's ever existed. Much hotter than anyone else in the entire world. Much better than random women at Alba's apartment. Much more attractive than anyone anywhere. You're perfect. You're everything."
"I know," Alexia said, clearly pleased with herself, clearly enjoying Jay's reaction. "Much hotter than those girls in there, sí? Much better than them watching you work? You think I'm hotter, yes? You think I'm more attractive, yes?"
"Well obviously," Jay said emphatically, like this was the most obvious thing in the entire world, like it was a fundamental law of the universe. "Have you seen you? Have you looked in a mirror? You're literally the most beautiful person who's ever existed in the history of humanity. Those women couldn't even begin to compete. They're not even in the same universe. They're not even playing the same sport. You're perfect. You're gorgeous. You're everything I've ever wanted. You're mine and I'm yours and that's it. That's everything."
"Good answer," Alexia said, kissing her once more quickly before stepping back. "Now drive home. Carefully but quickly. I'll be right behind you. Don't make me wait. I'm very impatient right now. Very eager. Very motivated."
And then she walked to her own car, leaving Jay standing there in a borrowed hoodie, completely turned on and slightly dazed and extremely motivated to get home as fast as safely possible.
Jay got in her car and drove home like her life depended on it, definitely pushing the speed limit in several places, definitely not taking the full ten minutes because she was very very motivated.
When she pulled into their building's parking garage nine minutes later, Alexia's car pulled in right behind her at almost the exact same moment, and they both got out simultaneously.
Alexia walked over to Jay immediately, took her hand, and started pulling her toward the elevator without saying a word, her grip tight and possessive and perfect.
They rode up to their floor in charged silence, Alexia's hand in Jay's, the tension between them electric and thick and absolutely delicious.
The second they got inside their apartment and the door closed behind them, Alexia pushed Jay against it and kissed her thoroughly, her hands already working to pull off the borrowed hoodie.
"Shower," Alexia said when she pulled back, her accent thick, her eyes dark with intention. "Right now. I need you clean. I need you in our bed. I need you mine. Understand? All mine. Only mine. Nobody else's."
"Best plumbing job I've ever done," Jay said, grinning widely, already pulling Alexia toward their bathroom. "Seriously. This is the best payment for fixing a sink that's ever existed. Way better than money. Way better than cookies. Way better than anything. This is perfect. You're perfect. This whole jealous possessive thing is perfect. I should fix Alba's sink more often if this is the result."
"Don't even think about it," Alexia said, but she was smiling now, was pulling Jay's borrowed hoodie off completely. "You're never fixing anything for Alba ever again. She can call a professional. She can pay actual money. You're mine. You're busy. You're occupied. You have other responsibilities. You have me to take care of. That's a full time job. That's all you need to focus on."
"I'm very focused," Jay agreed, pulling Alexia into the shower with her. "Very attentive. Very dedicated to my responsibilities. Very committed to taking care of you. Very thorough about it. Very detailed. Very comprehensive."
"Show me," Alexia challenged, and Jay absolutely did.
Several hours later, when they finally emerged from their bedroom looking thoroughly satisfied and extremely pleased with themselves, Jay's phone had approximately seventeen text messages from Alba.
She opened them while Alexia was in the kitchen making them a very late lunch, grinning as she read through her sister in law's commentary on the morning's events.
Alba: That was the most entertaining thing I've ever witnessed
Alba: Alexia's FACE when she walked in
Alba: I have never seen her look so jealous
Alba: So possessive
Alba: So ready to fight eight women at once
Alba: It was MAGNIFICENT
Alba: My friends are still talking about it
Alba: They're still talking about you too
Alba: Very complimentary
Alba: Very appreciative
Alba: But mostly they're talking about how Alexia looked ready to commit violence
Alba: How she literally dragged you out of my apartment
Alba: How she kissed you like she was making a point
Alba: Which she absolutely was
Alba: The point was received
Alba: Loud and clear
Alba: Anyway
Alba: Thanks for fixing my sink
Alba: Thanks for the entertainment
Alba: Thanks for giving me material to tease Alexia with for the next ten years
Alba: You're the best sister in law
Alba: Also I want my hoodie back
Alba: But you can keep it until you've washed it
Alba: Actually maybe just burn it
Alba: I don't think it's salvageable at this point
Alba: Pretty sure it's been through too much
Alba: You know what I mean
Jay showed the messages to Alexia who had come into the living room carrying two plates of sandwiches, and watched as her girlfriend's face went through several shades of red as she read through Alba's commentary.
"Your sister is a menace," Jay observed fondly, taking one of the plates from Alexia and pulling her down onto the couch. "An absolute menace to society. She planned that whole thing. She knew exactly what she was doing. She deliberately didn't tell you about her friends until after I left specifically so you would get jealous."
"She's terrible," Alexia agreed, but she was smiling, was clearly not actually upset about any of it. "The worst sister. The worst sibling to ever exist. I'm disowning her. I'm telling Mami to give her away. I don't know her anymore."
"You love her," Jay said, grinning.
"I tolerate her," Alexia corrected. "Barely. Very barely. She's on thin ice. She's lucky I love her. She's lucky I find her amusing. She's lucky I don't actually commit the violence I was imagining when I walked into her kitchen and saw eight women staring at my shirtless girlfriend."
"You were very hot when you were jealous," Jay said, setting her plate down and pulling Alexia into her lap. "Like genuinely. The hottest I've ever seen you. The way you just walked in and kissed me in front of everyone. The way you dragged me out of there. The way you were all possessive and territorial. That was incredibly sexy. I loved every second of it."
"Good," Alexia said, settling into Jay's lap comfortably, her arms around Jay's neck. "Because you're mine. Only mine. Nobody else gets to look at you like that. Nobody else gets to appreciate you like that. Nobody else gets to see you working shirtless and competent and attractive. Only me. That's my privilege. My right. My territory."
"Your territory," Jay agreed, kissing her softly. "All yours. Every inch. Forever. I'm very okay with this arrangement. Very happy about it. Very satisfied with the situation."
"You should be," Alexia said. "I'm the best thing that ever happened to you."
"You absolutely are," Jay said seriously, no longer joking, just being honest. "You absolutely are the best thing that ever happened to me. The best thing in my life. The best thing in my entire existence. I love you so much, babe. So much. More than I can say. More than I know how to express. You're everything."
"Te amo," Alexia said softly, kissing her again. "Te amo más que nada, guapa. You're everything to me too. Even when you're being ridiculous and fixing sinks for my sister and accidentally making me jealous. Even then. Especially then. Always."
They sat like that for a while, wrapped around each other on the couch, their lunch forgotten, just existing together in perfect contentment.
Jay's phone buzzed one more time with a final message from Alba.
Alba: PS next time something breaks I'm definitely calling you again
Alba: This was too good not to repeat
Alba: Already planning what to break next
Alba: Maybe the toilet
Alba: Maybe the shower
Alba: Maybe everything
Alba: The possibilities are endless
Alba: Alexia's reactions are priceless
Alba: This is my new favourite hobby
Alba: You're welcome
Jay showed it to Alexia who groaned and buried her face in Jay's neck.
"I'm never letting you leave this apartment again," Alexia said, her voice muffled. "You're banned from helping anyone with anything. You're retired from fixing things. You're done. Finished. That's it. No more."
"Whatever you say, babe," Jay said, grinning, holding Alexia tighter. "I'm very okay with staying in this apartment with you forever. Sounds perfect. Sounds ideal. Sounds like exactly what I want."
"Good," Alexia said. "Because that's what's happening. You're mine and you're staying here where I can see you and nobody else can look at you and everything is perfect."
it started in spain, which felt unfair from the beginning.
you’d been in barcelona for a few weeks filming a series, and it was long enough for the city to stop feeling temporary and start feeling personal. long enough to know how summer smelled after dark: heat sitting in the walls, something sweet blooming somewhere nearby, dinner still hanging in the air through open windows. the city always felt a little too intimate at night, like everything meant more there than it should.
you’d known rosalía for years by then. long enough that she no longer felt like someone you knew, but someone you trusted with your soul. you loved her in that easy, permanent way reserved for the people who had seen you at your best, your worst, and every rude, exhausted version in between. she could tell when you were lying, when you were tired, and when you were about to make your life harder for no reason. which meant she was usually annoying, but rarely wrong.
she’d invited you over for dinner one night, calling it casual.
that should have been your first clue.
casual, with rosalía, still meant her house looked better than most people’s actual events. but it was intimate enough. just a few people, music low somewhere in the background, windows open, food already on the table. the kind of night where everyone was supposed to relax, which you didn’t actually believe in.
when you got out of the car, rosalía was already outside waiting, a glass of wine in one hand and a look on her face you didn't trust.
she looked at you for a second.
you frowned. "what."
"i want you to meet someone."
you shut the car door and stayed where you were. "no."
"you don't even know who it is."
"i know you."
rosalía smiled, slow and pleased. "that's fair." she took a sip of her wine. "but i think you'll like her."
"her."
"did i say her?" she asked innocently.
"no te hagas la tonta."
she linked her arm through yours before you could retreat, steering you toward the house. "just one introduction. five minutes. if you hate her, you can go back to brooding by the pool."
"i wasn't going to brood."
"bebé." she patted your arm. "you were absolutely going to brood."
inside, you recognized a couple of faces, said hello to people you knew, took the glass of wine rosalía handed you without thinking, and tried not to feel like she was setting you up for something.
you were failing.
then the front door opened.
"mira," rosalía said, too casually, her eyes on the door. "alexia's here."
you turned to look at her. "you're being weird."
"i'm hosting." she didn't meet your gaze. "hosting involves noticing when guests arrive."
"rosa"
but she was already lifting her glass, already smiling, already acting like alexia's arrival was a pleasant surprise instead of something she'd clearly orchestrated down to the minute.
alexia stepped inside, and your irritation found a new target.
she looked put together in a way that was immediately annoying. dark jacket, light shirt, sleeves pushed up once at the wrists, like she hadn't tried very hard and still got it exactly right. no big entrance, no scan of the room to see who was watching. just a quiet, calm presence that somehow made her more noticeable than anyone else there.
and you definitely noticed her right away.
worse, she noticed you noticing. her gaze found yours across the room, held for a beat too long, and then the smallest shift in her expression. not quite a smile. something more private than that.
rosalía caught it, obviously. she was already moving before you could stop her, crossing the room to pull alexia into a quick embrace, saying something in her ear that made alexia glance in your direction again.
then she brought her over. of course she did.
"this is the friend i was telling you about," rosalía said, and the way she said friend made it clear she'd used a different word when you weren't in the room. "alexia, this is una de mis mejores amigas”
alexia shook your hand. her grip was warm, steady, brief but not rushed. "hola."
"hi."
she looked at you for a second longer than necessary. you looked back for a second longer than you meant to.
that should have been it. a handshake, a hello, and you could have spent the rest of the night avoiding her from a safe distance.
instead, you ended up seated near her at dinner, the kind of near that wasn't accidental, the kind of near that had rosalía's fingerprints all over it. and things got irritating almost immediately.
she started with normal questions. how long you'd been in barcelona, what you were filming, whether you liked the city. easy things, surface things, the kind of small talk you could do in your sleep.
you answered in the driest tone you had available. short answers. no openings. the verbal equivalent of a closed door.
most people either got thrown by that or tried too hard to keep up, overcorrecting with nervous laughter or forced charm until the conversation collapsed under its own weight.
alexia did neither. she just adjusted, like you were a rhythm she'd figured out. stayed calm. answered you right back. not pushy, not impressed. just quietly amused, a flicker of something warm behind her eyes, like she'd met people like you before and had decided, for reasons you couldn't fathom, that she didn't mind.
it got under your skin faster than it should have.
you’d say something dismissive; she’d answer with something better. you’d try to shut a door; she’d somehow make it seem unnecessary. every time you thought you’d thrown her off, she only looked more entertained.
which was annoying.
by the end of the night, you’d already made two mistakes: deciding she was amusing, and letting her make you laugh before you could hide it.
unfortunately for you and your rapidly deteriorating peace of mind, that was only the beginning.
she kept turning up.
sometimes because rosalía had invited both of you, making no effort to hide that she’d done it on purpose. sometimes because your worlds kept overlapping in barcelona: dinners, events, people who all seemed to know each other. sometimes because alexia had a way of appearing exactly where your attention did not need to go.
little by little, she became hard to ignore.
you noticed the specifics first. the clean, understated perfume. the simple clothes that somehow always looked deliberate. the way she listened properly when you spoke. the fact that she never wasted words.
and then you noticed something worse.
she was patient.
if she’d been arrogant, you could have hated her properly. if she’d been obvious, you could have laughed it off. if she’d pushed, you could have walked away and called it self-preservation.
but alexia didn’t push.
she just stayed close enough to be impossible to forget.
the almost-kiss happened three weeks later, at another one of rosalía's "small" gatherings.
you remember it so clearly because your body kept every detail.
the pale stone warm beneath your heels. the thin strap of your silk dress slipping off your shoulder every few minutes. the cool weight of your earrings brushing your neck. the city below, distant enough to feel like a dream you were about to wake up from.
and, unfortunately, you remember the woman alexia had been talking to.
you didn't know her well. you didn't need to. she was beautiful. red lipstick, matte and flawless. one hand resting lightly on alexia's forearm while she laughed, fingers curled just enough to be intimate but not enough to be obvious.
it could have meant nothing.
that was the problem.
if it had meant something real, your irritation would at least have had shape. instead it sat under your ribs, small and ugly and impossible to justify. you didn't like the way she touched alexia. you didn't like the way alexia lowered her head to listen, her whole body inclining toward the woman like a plant turning toward light. most of all, you didn't like how quickly your own mood had turned over something you had absolutely no claim to.
rosalía found you staring into your drink and smiled immediately. the smile of someone who knew you better than you wanted to be known.
"oh, that's bad."
you didn't look at her. "what is?"
"you."
"be specific."
"that face. very tragic. very repressed. very…"
"finish that sentence and i'll drown you in the pool."
rosalía laughed into her champagne. "so you do like her."
you finally looked at her. "i like lots of people."
"no, bebé." she tipped her glass toward you. "you tolerate lots of people. this is different."
"it isn't."
"then why are you dressed like this?"
you glanced down. "like what?"
"you know what."
you hated that enough to know she'd landed it. before she could become any more insufferable, you walked away with your drink, finding a quieter stretch of terrace at the edge of the garden.
alexia found you a few minutes later.
you sensed her before you saw her. she leaned one shoulder against the stone column beside you.
close enough to share the silence but not enough to corner you.
"you disappeared."
you swirled your drink once. "you noticed."
"sí."
just that. no teasing. no deflection. just yes, steady and certain. you hated.
you nodded vaguely toward the party. "i thought you were busy."
alexia glanced back once before looking at you again. "are you talking about lucía?"
"i'm not talking about anyone."
"you are."
"i'm not."
a beat passed, thick with everything you weren't saying. then, quietly:
"you sound jealous."
a dry laugh escaped you. "that's a very confident thing to say to someone you don’t really know"
she didn't move. "am i wrong?"
"i don't get jealous."
one corner of her mouth lifted. "that's not an answer."
"it's the only one you're getting."
the silence settled between you. not empty. waiting.
alexia watched you the way she always did when you tried to make yourself unreadable. patiently.
"you make everything difficult."
"you’re here, aren’t you?," you murmured.
usually that would've been enough. one dry remark, one careful step backward, and the moment would become manageable again.
alexia only looked at your mouth. then your eyes. then she stepped closer. barely. just enough to steal the air from your lungs.
"maybe i like difficult."
you should've had something sharper waiting.
"that sounds like poor judgment."
her smile softened. "probably."
then she leaned in.
slowly.
you let her.
close enough to catch the wine on her breath. close enough that every frantic thought in your head disappeared.
because the awful truth was that you wanted this.
you wanted to kiss her.
for one reckless second, your body wanted it more than your pride.
then your mind caught up. lucía's hand on alexia's arm. rosalía's knowing smile. the simple fact that wanting something was usually the moment everything began to fall apart.
at the last second, you turned your face. not much. just enough.
her lips brushed your cheek instead.
it was somehow worse than pulling away. too close to deny. too deliberate to misunderstand. the spot where she'd touched you burned.
alexia froze. so did you, though you were better at hiding it.
when she finally drew back, there was no anger on her face. that would've been easier. only surprise. and beneath it, something quieter. recognition. as though she'd finally understood exactly what kind of wall she'd been standing in front of all along.
"you should get back to your friend." your gaze drifted toward the party. "she looked invested."
something changed in her expression then. not because of lucía. because she understood you. and somehow, that was worse.
"is that what this is?" she asked softly.
you lifted one shoulder. "i don't know what you mean." a lie. not even one of your better ones.
alexia held your gaze for a long moment. for the first time since you'd met her, she wasn't smiling.
that almost made you apologize. almost.
instead, she nodded once. "okay."
just okay. no argument. no chasing after you. no asking you to explain yourself. only patience. again.
you hated patience.
you watched her disappear into the house, her silhouette swallowed by the light.
she didn’t look back.
only then did you realize you were gripping your glass hard enough that your fingers ached.
maybe the team’s endless meddling isn’t such a bad thing after all, even if you do wake up in a bed that isn't yours with a slight hangover. (16k of chaos and confessions)
Alexia knew, objectively, that inviting nearly the entire team over to her house had been her own decision.
That did not stop her from regretting it a little now.
(Majorly. Majorly regretting it.)
“Well,” Irene murmured from beside her, sipping calmly from her bottle of beer. “At least they haven’t broken anything yet.”
“Don’t jinx it, Irene.”
Alexia kept her eyes on the scene playing out in her backyard, her fingers curled loosely around the neck of her own bottle. The condensation was already slicking her palm, a losing battle against the lingering heat of a Barcelona summer dusk.
Around them, the garden had settled into the easy, sprawling chaos of an end-of-season night. Music drifted from the speakers in her ceiling, a mix of reggaeton and something a little mellower (it was a barbecue after all, not an Ibiza outing). There was a rare and welcome kind of lightness to the team when the pressures of the season finally broke.
Alexia watched them all, a passive smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. It was a good view. It was her home, filled with her people, at the end of a year that had taken everything out of them. She should have been relaxed.
She wasn’t.
Her gaze drifted, entirely out of her own control, toward the other end of the patio.
You were sitting on the low stone wall, one leg tucked beneath you, laughing at something Kika had just said. You were holding a fresh beer – your third, if Alexia’s internal, irritatingly precise counter was accurate – and the fading sunlight was catching the edge of your shoulder, turning the skin there a soft, golden tone.
You looked at ease. A part of the landscape.
And you hadn't looked at Alexia once in twenty minutes.
“You're doing it again,” Irene said, her voice dropping below the volume of the music, though she didn't turn her head. She just took another slow sip of her beer, her eyes fixed forward on the patio.
Alexia’s jaw tightened. She took a deliberate drink of her own beer, the crisp bitterness doing nothing to clear the sudden, tight heat in her throat. “Doing what?”
“Staring at her like you're trying to figure out if she's a tactical problem you can solve by running harder.” Irene shifted her weight, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “It's June, Ale. The season is over. You don't have to mark her out of the game anymore.”
“I am not marking her," Alexia muttered, her voice clipped, though her ears felt suddenly warmer than the night air warranted. “I am hosting. I am ensuring my guests have everything they need.”
“Right. Of course.” Irene tapped her bottle against Alexia's with a dull clink. “That must be why you've spent the last ten minutes looking like you want to, first, physically remove Kika from her personal space, and then personally remove her clothes.”
Alexia choked.
A sudden, dramatic splash of a cough that sent the crisp liquid straight to the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, her knuckles tightening around the neck of her bottle as she tried, with every ounce of discipline possessed, to keep her features entirely flat.
“Irene,” She hissed, her voice dropping to the low and lethal register that usually meant she was scolding a teammate for mouthing off to the referee, seconds away from a yellow.
“What?”
Irene didn’t even blink. She just took another casual sip, the glass bottle clinking softly against her teeth as she watched Patri teach Clara, who apparently had a bit of a fear of open flames, carefully flip the meat over on the grill. The younger midfielder managed two steaks before she screeched and jumped away as the juices sizzled on the coals.
“Watch your mouth,” Alexia muttered, her cheeks burning with a heat that had absolutely nothing to do with the warm Mediterranean air. She shifted her stance, deliberately turning her back slightly toward the patio to break her own line of sight. “She’s a teammate. It is completely inappropriate to say things like that. If anyone heard you–”
“Nobody is listening, Ale. Everyone is halfway into their fourth drink, except you, who has been nursing that same bottle like a sixteen-year-old at their first house party. And Patri, who I’m convinced is trying to smoke us all out with that grill.” Irene finally turned her head, fixing the captain with a calm, unimpressed look. “And let’s be honest–”
“I don’t want you to be honest.”
“–if I said that in the locker room? Half the squad would agree with me. The tension between you is thicker than Pere’s hair.”
Alexia closed her eyes for a brief second. “There is no tension, Irene.”
“There is enough tension to string a tennis racket!” Irene exclaimed with an outraged lift of her shoulders, though entirely untroubled by the stare she was receiving. “You’ve spent the last six weeks passing to her only when necessary in training because every time you get within a two-metre radius of her, you look like you’ve forgotten how to play football. You have also spent almost the whole season blushing like a love-sick teenager anytime you talk to her.”
“Oh my God, no I h–”
“It’s pathetic, really.” Irene shrugged with a sigh. “You’re the captain. Fix up and fix it.”
“There is nothing to fix!” Alexia insisted, though… her words felt hollow even to her own ears.
She knew Irene was right. At least about the physical reality of it– the blushes. She really was like a teenager with a crush.
And in training, too. Which was fucking foolish.
It was a strange and irritating sort of paralysis that’d settled into her bones recently. On the pitch, she could read a game three steps ahead of anyone else; a trait she’d always been proud of. She knew exactly where the space would open and exactly when to release the ball. That didn’t change during actual games, which she was glad for.
But when you ran up beside her, when your shoulder brushed hers in the midfield or when you gave her that small breathless grin after a solid transition? Her brain simply emptied out. It was a biological design flaw.
Two ballon d’ors, maybe soon to be three, and she still went weak at the knees in training when her crush smiled at her.
So unprofessional.
“If you say so.” Irene murmured, her tone dripping with an infuriating lack of belief. She tapped her fingers against her beer bottle. “But if you don’t do something about it before pre-season, so two whole months, I’m going to actually bang your heads together. Concussion protocol date. In bed. Low-lighting, no phone distractions…”
“My god, Irene. Two kids has sunk you beyond saving.” Alexia tutted under her breath with an eye roll.
“I haven’t slept in two days, Ale. I think I can see the veins in my eyes.”
Before Alexia could express any semblance of concern for the Basque woman, a loud burst of laughter erupted from the low stone wall.
Alexia’s eyes snapped back over her shoulder, bypassing her own rules.
Kika had her arm thrown over your shoulders now, her face bright and animated as she leaned in close to your ear, whispering something that had you throwing your head back, your laughter clear over the music. You looked slightly flushed, the tipsy looseness of the evening finally catching up to you as you leaned into Kika’s side.
Right on cue, Marta drifted past the wall, subtly dropping a fresh, cold bottle into your lap while winking at Kika. It was a seamless handoff, so quick that under normal circumstances Alexia wouldn’t have thought twice about it.
But tonight, with Irene’s words lingering in the air, Alexia’s eyes narrowed.
There was also a huddle forming. Patri and Clara had abandoned the cooking lesson and were now drifting toward you, effectively cordoning you off into a small circle of the yard.
“They're up to something.” Alexia grumbled, her host instincts overriding her embarrassment.
Irene followed her gaze, her eyes tracking the movement of the younger players. A tiny, knowing smirk touched the corner of her lips, though she quickly hid it behind another drink.
“They're just enjoying the night, Ale.” Irene said smoothly, though she didn't sound too convincing. “You should do the same. Go talk to someone who isn't me.”
“Ale!” Patri’s voice boomed across the grass, cutting through the heavy reggaeton beat. She was holding up an empty green bottle, shaking it upside down for emphasis. “The cooler out here is empty! We are parched!”
The brunette let out a slow sigh, shooting a sideways glance at Irene. “Parched, she says. They’ve gone through four crates in two hours. Why did I host this, again?”
Before she could even take a step toward the glass double doors of her kitchen, Patri shouted again, her eyes darting over toward the stone wall with a look that was too sharp for someone who’d been allegedly huffing grill smoke and an unknown amount of beers all evening.
“Oye! Don’t go on your own, it’s heavy! You–” Patri pointed a blunt finger directly at you, your alcohol-flushed face blinking in surprise. “Go help her. Show some respect to our host.”
“I c-can manage perfectly fine–” Alexia started, her voice tight, but Kika was already giving you a gentle, completely unnecessary shove from the wall.
“Go on, help her out.” Kika grinned, her fingers subtly tapping your hip as you stood up.
You didn’t look annoyed at all. In fact, as you steadied your footing against the grass, a warm smile broke across your face. The type of smile that only came after three and a half beers; unfiltered and lacking the careful, self-conscious guard you usually kept up around her.
You looked straight at Alexia, your eyes slightly glassy but full of a soft, hazy affection.
“Lead the way, our gracious host.” You said, your voice a little louder, a little looser than normal.
Alexia’s chest did a violent and uncalled-for flip.
She swallowed hard, offering you an awkward knot of a smile in return, and grabbed the cooler before turning on her heel to hide the immediate pink flush creeping up the back of her neck.
As the glass doors slid shut behind the two of you, cutting off the bass of the music, a sudden silence descended upon the garden.
Irene didn’t move from her spot, but she didn’t have too. Within three seconds, a conspiratorial huddle had formed exactly where she stood. Marta arrived first, holding her beer like a weapon, closely followed by Vicky, Cata, and Pina, while Patri abandoned the grill entirely to jog over. On the other side of the patio, Kika immediately corralled Clara, Esmee, and Sydney to follow her over too.
The rest of the squad, the ones who hadn’t been roped into the weeks of subtle matchmaking (or just didn’t want to involve themselves), simply watched on from the outdoor sofas with varying expressions of amusement and exasperation.
“Alright, we don’t have much time.” Patri said as she wiped her brow with the back of her forearm, smelling faintly of smoke. She leaned into the center of the huddle, her eyes locked onto the kitchen window where two silhouettes were moving behind the glass. “They’re in the pantry. If Alexia takes her time to count the bottles like she usually does, we have a few minutes.”
“She will definitely count them.” Marta scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes were gleaming with mischief. “Anyway, not the problem. The problem is that they’ve been doing this awkward dance all season, these last couple months especially. I am tired of watching them exchange glances across the tables at the canteen like they’re in a culebrón.”
There was a collective noise of agreement, along with a few comments of exasperation and tutting of tongues.
“We all are.” Cata chimed in. “It’s painful. Last week, she asked Alexia to put the GPS thing in her vest, and Alexia’s face was red for the whole hour.”
Irene stood at the edge of the circle, her head tilted slightly as she kept watch. “Alexia won’t budge. She’s too stubborn, and she’s convinced she’s being professional by hiding it. If we leave it to her, next season will come around and we’ll be stuck in the exact same loop.”
Kika nodded her head towards where you stood in the window, watching Alexia.
“She’s loose tonight.” The Portuguese woman whispered with a fierce grin. “I’ve been making sure she’s never got an empty bottle.”
Vicky whistled and slapped Kika on the back in praise.
“She’s at that perfect stage where she’s relaxed enough to ramble about what’s inside her head, but she needs a push. She’s too intimidated by Alexia… when they’re looking right at each other. The second Alexia makes eye contact, her guard goes right back up.”
Irene spots that Kika looks incredibly consumed by her thoughts after that. A plan is building, she can sense it. She loves it.
“So we separate them?” Clara asked, her brow furrowing as she tried to visualise the logistics. “That’s stupid. And Patri just sent them inside together.”
“No, tonta.” Vicky tuts, swiping her over the back of the head. That sends the two of them off into some kind of cat-fight.
“No, inside is just the warm-up.” Kika smirked. A conniving look entered her eyes as she began to piece the elements together. She glanced towards the shadow of the stone wall, then toward the corner of the house where the terrace curved out of sight toward the side garden. “We need to get her to open up without feeling like she’s on display. If she thinks anyone is watching her, or if she has to look Alexia in the eye, she’ll clam up and call it a night.”
Another cacophony of curious and considering sounds.
Fingers tapped against chins and foots tapped against the floor in thought.
Until–
A dramatic gasp.
“Oh my god.” Kika breathed out. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as a massive, borderline sinister grin broke across her face. “I know what we can do.”
Meanwhile– inside the pantry, Alexia was crouched over, her spine curved beneath the fabric of her linen shirt as she meticulously lifted bottles of beer by their necks, slotting them into the cooler.
“One… two… three.” Counting them, of course. “Four–”
“Really, Ale?” You stood with your hands on your hips, feigning an unimpressed look just to tease her.
She startled as if she’d forgotten you were there.
You stood exactly two feet away, your back pressed against a shelf stacked with neatly labelled jars of spices and herbs. The three and a half beers had settled into your limbs as a pleasant warmth, stripping away the edge of the self-consciousness that usually kept you up-right and guarded around her.
You’d just been watching her the whole time.
And as she reached for the fifth bottle, her hand froze for a fraction of a second when she caught your unblinking gaze out of the corner of her eye. The pink flush that’d started on the patio flared right back up, colouring the tips of her ears.
She cleared her throat, lifting a cardboard case of bottles and turning to face you. “Shush. Take this one. Do not drop it.”
As she pushed the case into your arms, your fingers brushed. Literally just the briefest sliding contact, and her breath hitched.
You caught the box against your chest, letting out a lazy chuckle that vibrated right against the cardboard. “Please, Capi, I have excellent hand-eye coordination. You know that.”
You laughed to yourself, missing how the harmless comment sounded strangely… inappropriate to her ears. She had to clear her throat again.
Then, you tilted your head. A teasing smile crinkled the corners of your eyes. “Unless you think my form has dropped since the season ended?”
Her eyes widened as she had her back to you, accidentally dropping one of the bottles unceremoniously into the cooler. You let out a scandalised gasp, before you tutted at her for it.
“That doesn’t even make sense.” She grumbled under her breath at your comment, making a mental note to watch how much you drank for the rest of the night. You were far too focused on the fact she’d nearly smashed all the bottles to hear it.
The brunette stood, once she was finally happy with the collection of drinks, and she turned to look at you. Only to get entirely trapped by how relaxed you were, how easily you were sliding into her space without a care in the world.
“Your form is fine,” She muttered. She tried for a stern, captain-like expression, but the severe pink tinge stretching across her cheeks completely ruined the effect. “Your discipline, however, leaves much to be desired. You’re supposed to be helping, not mocking me.”
“I am helping,” You drawled happily, shifting the weight of the box against your hip as you took a step toward the door, not without a final glance back at her face. “And I can follow instructions perfectly well when I want to, thank you.”
Alexia let out a quiet huff that was supposed to be a sigh but sounded suspiciously like a defeated, flustered laugh.
“Just walk,” She murmured, nudging the door open with her elbow. “Before they come inside and raid the kitchen.”
When the double doors opened again, the atmosphere in the garden made Alexia’s footsteps slow down.
The team looked normal. Casual.
Far. Too. Casual.
The transition was so jarring it felt manufactured. Patri was suddenly back at the grill, leaning over the food on it with the hyper-focused expression of a surgeon mid-operation. Marta and Vicky were sitting on the edge of their pool, dangling their feet in the water and conversing with a rigid calmness, their shoulders strangely stiff.
You, completely oblivious to the weird shift, didn’t notice a thing. The moment you stepped outside, a wide grin broke across your face.
“Supplies have arrived!”
Cata, Pina, Patri and Kika erupted into a chorus of cheers that felt three notches too enthusiastic for a box of beers. You laughed, buoyed by the alcohol and the affection, and trotted over to dump the case onto the grass beside them, immediately getting pulled into their chaos.
Alexia, however, remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes scanned the yard, her analytical brain instantly picking up the anomalies.
She locked eyes with Irene first. The defender didn’t say a word; she just took a slow sip of her beer and shrugged one shoulder, her expression blank. Then, Alexia’s gaze flicked to Marta, who chose that exact moment to stare intently at the water rippling around her ankles, refusing to meet her eyes.
Finally, Alexia’s eyes landed on Clara.
The younger midfielder looked like she was carrying a state secret. Her shoulders were hunched, her mouth pressed into a thin line, and she gave Alexia a sheepish look that practically screamed ‘I am hiding a secret that I am greatly excited by, please don’t ask me about it otherwise I’ll accidentally give it away.’
The captain’s jaw tightened.
She grumbled something incoherent and slightly threatening under her breath, her fingers tightening around the handle of the cooler before she finally forced herself to walk across the garden toward the noise of the group.
With an unnecessary dramatic flair, she dumped the cooler onto the grass with a deliberate thud, hoping the sound would startle into someone giving up the game.
No such luck.
Patri just kept aggressively poking one of the steaks to see how much it’d cooked, and Cata gave her an overly bright smile that looked rehearsed.
Alexia kept her eyes narrowed, her gaze sweeping over the perimeter like a prison guard. Kika was standing just behind Cata, her arms crossed, watching you with an expression that was far too pleased with itself. When Kika caught Alexia looking, her grin didn’t falter. It just turned incredibly knowing.
“Alright. Everyone stop.” Alexia said firmly, stood with her hands on her hips as everyone turned to her. “What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?” Marta repeated from the edge of the pool, her voice trailing over the grass with an air of complete innocence. “We’re just enjoying this lovely summer night celebrating the team in the beautiful garden of your mansion, Ale.”
“It’s not a mansion–”
“Why do you always assume there is a crisis?” Vicky asked with a grin that just confirmed Alexia’s fear.
“Because of the smile on your face, and because Clara looks like she’s about to hyperventilate.” Alexia countered smoothly, pointing toward the younger midfielder in question.
Clara immediately gasped, her eyes darting frantically toward the others for backup. “I’m just– the smoke! The grill smoke is getting in my eyes! I’m going to go… rinse them. In the bathroom.”
The girl practically bolted out of the garden and into the house.
“She’s fine, Ale. Leave the kid alone.” Kika chuckled, stepping forward and smoothly bypassing Alexia altogether.
The Portuguese woman’s attention pivoted to you, where you were happily letting Pina explain a complicated card game she wanted to play later whilst not understanding a thing she was saying.
Kika dropped an affectionate arm around your neck, leaning her weight into you.
“Hey. You’re looking a little flushed, how many of those have you had?” She tapped the side of your beer bottle that you’d picked up after coming back out.
“Three and a half.” You replied proudly, before you tilted your head back at Alexia. “But Alexia likes to keep count apparently, so maybe she’s got a better idea.”
Alexia closed her eyes, praying for the ground to swallow her whole. Por favor. Her hair was going to be grey by the end of the night.
“Right! Food’s ready!” Patri announced loudly. Saved by the bell.
“Perfect timing.” Kika beamed, not looking at Alexia as she began steering you away from the main garden area. “It’s getting a bit chaotic out here. Let’s go sit around the side garden, the view of the sunset is much better from there anyway.”
You blinked, the alcohol slowing your reaction time by half a second. Then you went willingly, thrilled by the promise of good food and a sunset, grabbing a plate from Patri as you walked by her.
Your eyes found Alexia as you walked past, giving her a soft and slightly questioning glance without really thinking about it. The brunette caught it, her heart doing another one of those terribly inconvenient flips. She wanted to tell you to stay. Pull you away from Kika’s obvious, hovering trap.
“Are you coming, Ale?” You called back over your shoulder, giving her the perfect opportunity.
“Maybe in a minute.”
She remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes tracked you as you walked, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting decisions.
Part of her – the part that wore the armband and took care of her home – knew she should stay right here, keeping an eye on Patri’s dangerous handling of the barbecue and ensuring the rest of the squad didn’t completely derail the night.
But the other part of her, which had been steadily gaining ground for months, just wanted to give in. For once, she wanted to drop the responsibility, walk around the corner, and enjoy your company without the barrage of overthinking that normally consumed her whenever she let her thoughts drift to you.
She took a breath, trying to unravel the ball of hesitation in her chest. And she made a move to follow after you.
“Let them go ahead, Ale.” Marta said smoothly, materialising out of nowhere and wrapping her arm around Alexia’s shoulders. Her grip iron-like, she guided Alexia towards the opposite side of the garden. “You need to eat, soak up all that beer before you start doing sentimental speeches again.”
The midfielder rolled her eyes at the mention of the night in Oslo following the Champions League win, where she may have had a few drinks and didn’t really… let the microphone leave her sight for about half an hour.
“You all wanted me to do a speech, and then you complained when I did.” She scoffed.
Her internal alarm bells were ringing loudly as Marta led her away. The division was now fully functional. You’d been isolated by Kika, Clara, Esmee, and a few others, who were currently settling you onto a cluster of floor cushions just around the corner of her house– completely out of Alexia’s line of sight where she ended up sitting with Marta. Still close enough to hear your laughter though, which wasn’t lost on her.
Patri slammed a plate of food in front of her at the glass table, while Irene, Cata, Marta and Pina took up the remaining seats around the table. Effectively forming a human wall.
“What is this?” The captain hissed under her breath, glaring at Irene who was cutting into a piece of steak. “Why is everyone acting so fucking weird?”
“We’re just eating, Ale.” Irene answered placidly, not even looking up. “Eat up. You’ve been really tense all day.”
“I wonder why” Alexia muttered, her chest tightening as she heard another distinct burst of laughter from around the corner. It sounded a little higher, a little more uninhibited. Kika was definitely giving you more drinks. “Clara looked like she was going to throw up from anxiety when I walked past her.”
“Clara has a weak stomach,” Marta lied seamlessly, taking a huge bite of bread. “Don’t worry about it.”
Around the corner, hidden in the shadows of the side garden, phase two of Kika’s master plan was already in full swing.
The air was cooler over there, the light of the dusk fading into a deep, bruised violet against the horizon. You were leaning back against the masonry, your legs stretched out on the grass, feeling incredibly warm and thoroughly disconnected from any form of reality. The noise of the main party was just a background noise now.
“Drink up,” Kika whispered, clinking her own bottle against yours with a grin. She leaned in close, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone. “So… you were in that pantry for a while. Just counting bottles, or what?”
You let out a hazy, amused sigh, the alcohol making your head spin in a way that was weirdly pleasant. “She really was counting them. Literally one by one. She’s ridiculous.”
“Yeah?” Kika’s eyes gleamed as she exchanged a look with Esmee over your head. “Just ridiculous? Or do you like it when she gets all captain-like and bossy?”
Under normal circumstances, you would’ve laughed the comment off, changed the subject, or lay into Kika for suggesting such a stupid thing. Yet, with four beers humming in your system and the relief of a four-titled season, your guard was completely gone.
You looked down at your bottle, a helpless smile tugging at your lips as you thought about the way Alexia’s ears had turned that furious shade of pink when your fingers brushed.
“She’s just…” You trailed off, your voice dropping to a quiet mutter that made Kika virtually vibrate with excitement. “She’s always so put-together and… pretty. Even when she’s stressed, she’s really pretty. It’s annoying.”
Clara let out a tiny, stifled squeak, immediately covering her mouth with both hands afterwards.
“Go on,” Kika nudged your shoulder gently as she baited the trap. “Tell us more. We won’t say a word.”
You took another slow sip, the cold liquid taking the edge off the sudden heat in your face. The violet dusk was deepening around the corner of the house, and with every passing minute, the boundaries you usually kept so firmly in place during the season felt farther and farther away.
“It’s just…” You started, waving your bottle in the air as you searched for the words. “She never drops the act. She walks around like she’s completely untouchable, like nothing can faze her. And then she looks at me, and I swear she’s trying to read my mind or pick apart whatever I’m doing. It throws me off completely.”
Kika leaned in further. “Throws you off bad? Or throws you off good?”
“It’s just infuriating,” You sighed, though the massive, helpless smile on your face completely ruined the defense. You leaned your head back against the cool stone wall, looking up at the first few stars blinking into view through the deep purple sky. “Because she’ll do that quiet, serious routine, and then the second I actually step into her space, or—or brush against her like in the pantry? She just freezes. She blushes. It’s like this tiny crack in her armour where she's a completely different person for two seconds, and it makes me want to…”
You trailed off, the realization of what you were actually about to say finally catching up to your beer-soaked brain.
Your mouth snapped shut. Your eyes widened slightly as you looked at the three girls sitting around you. Sydney was leaning forward so far she was practically falling off her cushion, while Esmee looked like she was witnessing history being made in real-time. Clara was still holding her breath, her hands glued tightly over her face.
“Want to what?” Kika prompted, evidently hanging onto your every word and desperate for you to continue.
“Nothing!” You said quickly, cheeks burning a flaming red. You took a hasty gulp of your beer to cover the slip. “Nothing. I’m drunk. Forget I said that.”
You were talking to possibly the worst people on the team for gossip. Oh fuck.
“Oh, no, we are not forgeting that.” Kika grinned. She knew she had you right on the edge. If she pushed you too hard now, your defenses would go back up. Luckily for you, she had the perfect next move. “In fact, I think you need a safe space to properly vent about this.”
Meanwhile, back at the table, Alexia was staring blankly at her plate as her fork pushed around a piece of asparagus.
The human wall around her was proving to be a lost cause; her ears were hyper-tuned to whatever was occurring around the corner. The murmurs had quieted down, and she hadn’t heard your voice in almost three minutes.
“Ale.” Irene’s voice cut through her thoughts.
Alexia blinked, looking up. Irene hadn’t stopped eating but her eyes were fixed on the captain.
“If you chew through your lower lip, you won’t be able to talk tomorrow.” Irene told her. “Relax, girl. They aren’t going to kidnap her.”
“They are definitely doing something.” Alexia whispered fiercely so that Patri wouldn’t hear. “I know Kika. She had that look in her eyes. The up-to-no-good look. She’s plotting.”
“Then let her plot.” Caro chimed in smoothly from her left. “Maybe she will do the heavy lifting for you. God knows you’ve had all the time in the world and haven’t made a single move.”
Alexia opened her mouth to deliver a thoroughly scathing response, but before she could speak, a small figure came shuffling around the stone corner.
It was Clara. The younger midfielder walked with her hands jammed deep into her pockets, her head down, completely refusing to make eye contact with anyone at the main table as she headed straight for the kitchen doors.
Alexia’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Clara.”
The girl froze, her shoulders snapping up to her ears. She slowly turned her head, giving Alexia a terrified, trembling smile. “Yes, Capi?”
“Where is she?” Alexia asked, her voice dropping into that commanding register which brooked absolutely no arguments.
“She’s… around the corner,” Clara stammered, her voice squeaking slightly on the last word. “With Kika. They’re just talking. And I’m just going to get water.”
She practically threw herself through the sliding glass doors, leaving them to bounce shut behind her.
Alexia stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the stone tiles of the patio.
“Alexia, sit down,” Patri groaned. “The meat is getting cold.”
“I’m the host,” Alexia muttered, her jaw set in a line that Irene knew meant there was no stopping her. She smoothed down the front of her linen shirt, her heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against her ribs. “I am going to check on my guests.”
She didn’t even make it past the edge of the table before Patri was up and out of her chair.
“Sit down, Ale.” Patri commanded. “You’ve been hovering over everything like a helicopter parent since we all got here. I’ll go inside and make sure Clara isn’t having an anxiety attack.”
Alexia opened her mouth to argue as her eyes darted toward the stone corner of the house, but a warning look from Irene pinned her to the spot. With a frustrated click of her tongue, the captain begrudgingly sank back into her chair.
Patri darted inside and intercepted a frantic-looking Clara right as she was about to go back outside.
“How’s it going?” The older midfielder asked in a hushed tone, grabbing Clara by the shoulder.
“She’s basically gone already,” Clara answered, her eyes wide as she gripped a glass of water. “She’s so tipsy she’s practically floating. She just confessed to Kika that she thinks Alexia is beautiful when she’s stressed! Kika is setting her up right now– we need you.”
Patri’s face split into a slow smirk. “Perfect. I’ll go to them, you go to Ale.”
Around the now infamous corner, entirely unaware of the tactics and the planning that was occurring, you were staring at Kika with a look of profound skepticism.
“This is the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.” You groaned, voice slurring just a fraction. “You are literally insane.”
“It’s not insane! It’s… therapeutic.” Kika argued back smoothly, sitting cross-legged on her cushion and looking extraordinarily proud of herself. “You’re completely bottled up! You’ve been carrying it around almost all season. Whereas tonight, you are actually relaxed enough to talk about it.”
“So your grand solution is a fake confessional?” You deadpanned with a breathless laugh. “You seriously think sitting me and Patri around the corner of a wall from each other as I ramble is going to help me get over my crush on Alexia?”
Kika didn’t even flinch. She shrugged and threw her hands out. “Duh! Yeah! It’s all psychological. You don’t have to look at her, she can just listen and give you typical-Patri advice, and you get it out of your system. Win-win.”
You closed your eyes, taking a moment to actually think through the fog in your brain.
The four beers were making the ridiculous proposal sound strangely, terrifyingly logical. If you just confessed to Patri – who was too loud and dense to ever overthink it anyway – maybe the weight of it would finally stop pressing down on your chest every time you saw Alexia walk into the locker room.
You let out a long, defeated sigh, your shoulders slumping into the cushions. “Fine. Fine, whatever. Let's just do it.”
Kika bit her lower lip, desperately trying to suppress the victorious shriek that was threatening to burst out of her throat. She cleared her throat quickly, leaning closer to run you through the logistics.
“Okay, okay. Ground rules,” Kika whispered fiercely, her eyes scanning the shadows. “Patri doesn't know, obviously. Because you haven't told her.”
(Technically true, you hadn’t told her yourself. You had told Caro in a moment of weakness, who told Marta, who both told Irene, who then told Patri. And it had spread like a wildfire from there.)
“Don’t say Alexia’s name. Don’t say anything about training or the team– or just anything to do with football.” Kika continued, tapping your knee for emphasis. “Just refer to her as this girl you like. If you give it away, it'll make things a bit awkward, and the whole thing is ruined. Got it?”
You blinked your heavy eyes, processing the instructions with a slow nod. When put that way…
“Okay.” You said with a shrug. A hazy smile returned to your face as you looked back at Kika. “Okay, yeah. It’s actually a pretty good idea. Let’s do it.”
“Excellent.” Kika drawled, basically bouncing on her heels as she scrambled up from her floor cushion. “Take a pillow, go get comfy by the wall. I’ll go fetch our priest!”
You did as you were told, chuckling under your breath at the thought of anyone calling Patri a priest.
You got comfy, legs outstretched with one foot over the other, hands linked together and resting in your lap. There was some commotion you overheard, but honestly, you felt like you were floating in a very comfortable and slightly dizzying bubble.
End of season celebrations really were fun.
“Alright, Patri’s ready,” Kika whispered as she crouched in front of you. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Remember the rules.”
Then, her footsteps faded away. You shifted a little, pressing your spine firmly against the rough stone brick wall. Around the corner, you could hear someone shuffling around.
“Patri?” You called out.
“Yeah, tía, I’m here.” Patri’s voice boomed back, muffled a little by the wall, but definitely her. Perhaps if you weren’t so far gone, you would have noticed how uncharacteristically subdued she was. “Go ahead. Kika said you needed to get some things off your chest.”
You let out a long, ragged breath, staring down at the grass between your knees. “It’s just… I’m so tired of feeling like this. I’ve spent months pretending I don’t completely lose my mind every time she walks into a room. And it’s exhausting, Patri. It really is.”
There was a brief pause from the other side of the wall. “Right. And… what exactly does she do that loses you your mind?”
“Everything,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands with an embarrassed laugh. “The way she carries herself. She’s just so incredibly composed, you know? Like nothing in the world could ever rattle her. She has this quiet authority that completely takes over the room, and whenever she actually focuses on me, I feel like I forget how to breathe.”
Around the corner, Patri’s eyes were wide as saucers. She was gripping the edge of the stone masonry, her chest heaving as she swallowed down a massive laugh. This was gold. This was worth every single Euro she’d bet against Marta earlier in the week.
“But the worst part,” you continued, your voice dropping into a quiet, almost melancholic murmur, “is when she drops it. Just for a second. Like earlier tonight, we were… well, we were somewhere quiet, and our fingers accidentally brushed. And she just froze. She turned this beautiful, furious shade of pink right to the tips of her ears. It’s like there’s this whole other side to her, this incredibly soft, flustered side that she tries so hard to hide. And it makes me want to just… pull her out of her own head and kiss her until she completely forgets to be serious.”
Patri went completely rigid. Madre mía. She had expected some light pining, maybe a bit of standard venting, but this? Uff. It made her more giddy than the quadruple they’d won.
“Wow.” Patri cleared her throat. She needed Alexia here. Right now. “That’s heavy, tía. I get why you needed to get this off your chest. Go ahead.”
Alexia, still back at the main table, was oscillating with irritation.
Marta was in the middle of an elaborate and definitely fabricated story about a dog that’d breached her apartment complex and ran rings around the security for hours, while Irene was nodding along with an expression of feigned interest.
“And then,” Marta waved her fork in the air, leaning across the table. “The dog stopped outside our door and sat there, looking straight into my soul. I think it was a sign.”
“Marta, I don’t care about the dog.” Alexia snapped, her patience completely evaporated. “I swear, I will–”
And it was that precise moment where Kika came jogging over, cutting Alexia’s threat off before she could finish it. She did not look casual. She bypassed the rest of the table and grabbed Alexia by the table, hauling her out of her chair.
“Kitchen, now.” Kika demanded.
The captain’s mind went into overdrive. “What happened? Is she– is everyone okay?”
“Just move!” The Portuguese grunted, dragging her through the glass doors.
The second they clicked shut, cutting off the outdoor noise, Kika spun Alexia around and her hands clamped down on her captain’s shoulders with a terrifying level of intensity.
“Listen to me carefully.” Kika whispered. “You are going to go around the corner right now. You are going to sit in Patri’s place, and you are not going to say a single word. You are just going to listen.”
Alexia’s brow furrowed, a defensive look entering her eyes. “What are you talking about? What did you do to her?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Kika hissed, shaking her slightly. “In fact I have done you a favour, alright? She is currently pouring her heart out to Patri, Ale. And if you don’t go over there and take her place right now, I will post the videos of you dancing after Oslo and not delete them.”
Alexia froze comically. Wide eyes as her heart skipped a beat, and all. Her jaw slackened slightly as the piece shifted in her mind, the realisation hitting her a few moments later.
“She’s… what?” Alexia breathed out.
“Go,” Kika demanded, giving her a shove towards the side door that led to the patio curve. “And for the love of God, Ale, don’t mess this up. I have a hundred euros riding on you taking the shot tonight.”
The brunette didn’t even have time to process the threat before Kika was fully pushing her through the side door. The second her feet hit the cooler outdoor pavement, she was completely ambushed.
A solid, tanned arm clamped around her chest as Marta appeared beside her, while Irene smoothly blocked any path of retreat. And before Alexia could even inhale to demand what they were doing, Vicky’s palm slapped firmly over her mouth, clamping her lips shut.
Together, they muscled Alexia down the small stretch of pavement like a high-value asset under guard. Alexia wasn’t even fighting them; her legs were moving on instinct, her wide eyes fixed ahead as her brain tried to process everything Kika had just told her.
Around the stone corner, you were still leaning your head back against the brickwork. The dizzying buzz of alcohol had completely isolated you from the quiet rustling of footsteps the the brief scuffle just a few feet away.
Patri, seeing the cavalry arrived, executed a flawless retreat from her floor cushion and away from the wall, giving the rest of the group an enthusiastic thumbs up. Vicky shoved Alexia down onto the vacant cushion, Alexia hardly on the ground before she was ripping the hand away from her face.
She whipped her head around, baring her teeth in a silent, lethal glare at Vicky, and opened her mouth to aggressively whisper a lecture and a demand for them all to leave.
But before the first syllable could leave her tongue, your voice drifted from around the masonry.
“And I know it’s stupid, Patri.” You murmured, a self-deprecating sight hitching in your chest. “Like, I know I shouldn’t even be thinking about it. But then Alexia smiles at me after a tough session, or she does that little thing where she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s listening to me speak, and I just… I completely lose it.”
Alexia went utterly still.
The reprimand died in her throat. Her hand, which had been raised to shove Vicky away, froze in mid-air before slowly dropping back down to her lap. Her chest swelled, her heart hammering so hard against her ribs she was certain you would hear it.
Alexia. You’d said her name.
To the right of her, hidden away from your eye line, various members of the team who were clearly in on this huddled together. The smug, triumphant smirks they’d been wearing all night had softened, replaced by a captive silence as they watched two of their teammates finally, at least approach, a bridge they’d been too scared of.
“I can’t tell her,” you continued, your tone dropping to one that sounded agonizingly vulnerable in the cool night air. You tilted your head back against the brick, staring up at the dark sky. “How am I supposed to look her in the eye and say any of this? She’s Alexia. She is a woman who needs everything to be in its exact place, who handles the weight of the world by closing herself off and locking things down. And I am just… me. I'm not organised, I'm spontaneous, and I handle pressure by trying to find something to laugh about.”
Alexia’s breath hitched. She sat perfectly rigid on the cushion, her eyes fixed on the rough stone wall separating the two of you, hanging onto every word.
“We just speak completely different languages,” You let out a bitter chuckle, tracing a pattern on the fabric of your shorts. “When she gets stressed or guarded, she builds up these massive walls to protect her peace. And because I’m naturally wide open, I always feel like I’m misreading the room around her. I don't know how to navigate those walls without feeling like I'm breaking something, or just being an annoyance to her carefully balanced life. If I say something, I’m just going to complicate things for her. She already carries so much for the team, Patri. She doesn’t need me messing with her peace.”
Every word felt like a physical weight pressing directly into Alexia’s chest. It wasn't awe or intimidation keeping you back; it was a deeply rooted fear that your core personalities would clash, that your natural brightness would only disrupt the careful structure she worked so hard to maintain.
Alexia could read between the lines. You were terrified that you weren’t good enough for her. Wouldn’t fit into her life. And that she wouldn’t like you back.
Beside Alexia, Kika bit her lip as a wave of sympathy hit her at how small you looked on the cushion, weighed down by an overthinking tipsy brain. She shot a sharp look at the side of Alexia;s head, silently urging her to fix this.
The captain didn’t move, but her fingers slowly curled into the bottom of her shirt, her jaw tightening as she listened to the raw, unfiltered truth. You thought she wanted to be left alone behind those walls. You believed she didn’t want you there.
“She definitely doesn’t need me.” You whispered to yourself, before falling silent.
How wrong you were.
Everything seemed to catch up with you, then.
Having all those buried thoughts dragged out into the open air left a raw, aching pain in your chest. The fuzzy warmth of the beer suddenly turned cold, and the burden of your own overthinking pushed a stinging dampness to your eyes.
Before the silence could stretch too long, you abruptly scrambled up from your cushion. Your knees shook slightly from the combination of the drinks and the rush of adrenaline, and with a tight swallow, you quickly wiped a stray tear from your cheek with the back of your hand. Desperate to just be alone with your thoughts, you stormed off toward the far edge of the garden, heading straight for the large outdoor sofa tucked away from the main lights.
Alexia remained stuck in her seat, in disbelief at what’d occurred, her ears straining as the sound of your hurried footsteps faded into the distance. The sudden emptiness in your voice before you left echoed in her mind, leaving her stunned.
Slowly, the captain tilted her head, her dazed glance rising until she met Irene’s eyes.
The Basque woman was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed, looking down at Alexia with a definitive told-you-so expression. There was no smugness in her face, a just the satisfaction of someone who had spent months listening to Alexia stubbornly insist that she was completely misreading your signals.
Irene had heard all about Alexia’s agonisingly deep feelings for you, and after catching snippets from Patri about how much you were pining from afar, she’d tried – repeatedly – to tell her captain to just open her eyes.
Alexia simply stared up at her, jaw slack, the certainty she usually carried now shattered by the reality of what she’d just heard.
Clara was the only one who broke away from the huddle to follow you. Mostly to get away from Alexia’s surefire scathing lecture, but also because she genuinely cared about you as a teammate and someone who spent a lot of time mentoring her too, like Alexia.
And as expected, Alexia scrambled up from the floor, her posture rigid and her eyes wide as she turned on Kika, Patri, and the others.
“What the hell is wrong with you all?!” She seethed in a furious whisper that she tried to keep from carrying across the yard. “Are you insane? All of you? To trick her like that, force her into saying things when she’s– when she’s had too much to drink? It is completely out of order!”
“Oh please, Ale.” Kika scoffed, unfazed as she crossed her arms. “We didn’t force her to say anything. We just… gave her a wall.”
“It's a violation of her privacy!” Alexia defended hotly, her chest heaving underneath her linen shirt as she gestured wildly toward the empty corner. “She thought she was speaking to a friend in confidence! If she finds out you all orchestrated this, she will be devastated. You cannot just play with people’s feelings for the sake of your stupid bets!”
“Ale,” Patri cut in with a lazy, amused grin spreading across her face. “It’s very hard to take your captain’s lecture seriously when your ears are currently the colour of a ripe tomato.”
A collective, poorly suppressed titter broke out among the rest of the group. Marta had to shield her face behind Irene’s shoulder to hide her grin, while Vicky openly chuckled. The commanding authority Alexia usually radiated was completely cancelled out by the blush spreading all the way down her neck. She looked less like a quadruple-winning captain and more like an incredibly flustered teenager who had just been caught reading a diary out loud.
“Go take some time to collect your thoughts and calm down, Ale.” Irene placated with a dismissive wave. “You’ve lost the locker room on this one.”
Realising she was fighting a losing battle against a squad that knew her far too well, Alexia let out a sharp breath, before turning and beelining for her house. She deliberately avoided looking at the side garden where the sofa was hidden, and marched straight inside to get away from everyone.
Once inside, she stopped in the kitchen and took a deep inhale.
This was not the night she had envisioned.
So far, it’d left her feeling nothing but stressed, antsy, slightly irate.
As a result, her hands immediately went to work out of pure habit. She couldn’t just sit still with her brain firing at a million miles an hour. She stood at the kitchen island, her movements precise as she began wiping down surfaces that were already clean, determined to begin winding the party down for the night.
And she stayed there for a while; loading a few stray plates into the dishwasher, organising the remaining catering trays with an aggressive level of focus. Disposing of many, many bottles of beer and numerous paper plates, she couldn’t help but think of you outside.
But she stayed in the kitchen for a long time regardless of you. She didn’t want to cause you any more torment by heading outside to see you when it was her you were upset about.
Nearly forty minutes passed before she finally dropped the dish towel. Most of the team had headed inside by now, away from the darkness and cooler air of the night. They’d taken over her living, though in a much calmer manner, so she didn’t feel the need to supervise.
She took a steadying breath, before deciding to do one final sweep of the garden to bring in any bottles or plates or food before locking the door for the night.
Sliding the glass door open quietly, she stepped out outside to her empty garden.
Almost empty.
Because she then heard your shaky voice drifting through the air again. Her eyes scanned the side garden, and there she found you.
Under the dim glow of a single wall lamp, sat Clara. The younger midfielder looked completely trapped. Her legs were pulled up to her chest on the cushions, eyes wide with a look of sheer deer-in-the-headlights terror as she tried her absolute best to be a good friend.
And right next to her, curled up into an emotional ball, you were still thoroughly caught up in your tearful ramble, oblivious to the fact everyone else had headed inside to wind down for the evening.
The captain didn’t mean to eavesdrop (again), but the vulnerability in your tone anchored her feet to the floor.
“-it’s just the way she looks at me, Clara.” You sighed into your knees. “Maybe I’m imagining it, but sometimes it seems like she’s trying so hard to keep her distance, but then she’ll do something really sweet and I can’t ever get it off my mind. Because I know she has a million things on her mind. She’s running the whole show, looking after everyone, and still finds time to do these little things for me.”
Clara gave a stiff nod, eyes wide as if praying for some kind of saviour.
“Meanwhile I’m just over here trying not to trip over my own two feet when she comes near me.” You ran a hand through your hair, letting out a watery laugh that pierced right through Alexia’s chest. “I’m just a mess compared to her. It’ll never work. She’d just think I’m… some annoying distraction.”
Any lingering doubt, any tiny stubborn part of Alexia that was trying to protect herself from misinterpreting the situation, completely vanished.
And it was that exact moment that Clara’s panicked gaze flicked toward the house and locked right onto Alexia standing in the doorway.
Somehow, the girl’s eyes widened impossibly more. She looked like she’d just seen a ghost. For a second, it looked like she might actually faint from the overwhelming weight of the drama that’d unfolded.
Sensing her cue, Clara clumsily scrambled to her feet.
“Right!” Clara blurted out, her voice a little too loud and high-pitched in the quiet garden. You blinked up at her, startled by the sudden movement. “You– you know what? You need water. A very large, cold glass of water. I’ll go get some for you. Don’t move!”
Before you could even formulate a question to ask why she was being so weird, Clara practically sprinted away, past Alexia and disappearing into the safety of the house without looking back. She closed the door behind her with a click, leaving the garden silent.
You blinked into the shadows, a bit dazed by the abrupt departure, before your eyes slowly tracked the movement by the doorway.
Alexia was standing there. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her trousers, her shoulders dropped, and she was looking at you with an expression so soft that the breath caught in your throat.
She stepped fully out of the doorway, the soft scuff of her shoes against the tiles breaking the silence. She walked over slowly, deliberately giving you time to adjust to her presence so she wouldn’t startle you again.
You didn't scramble to hide your face or panic. Instead, you just tilted your head back against the sofa cushions, looking up at her through a heavy, calm, and deeply tired haze. A half-hearted smile of acknowledgment tugged at the corners of your mouth. The sharp edge of your earlier distress had melted into a quiet exhaustion; the alcohol was still humming in your system, but it had left you feeling grounded, heavy-limbed, and thoroughly spent.
“Hey,” You murmured, your voice a little raspy from crying.
“Hi,” Alexia replied softly.
She didn't hesitate. She crossed the small gap and sank down onto the outdoor sofa beside you, leaving just enough space between your shoulders so you wouldn't feel crowded, though the warmth of her presence instantly filled the cool night air. She leaned back, mirroring your relaxed posture, and looked at you sideways.
“What's up?” She asked gently, keeping her tone light and casual.
You let out a tiny, breathy sigh, your eyes dropping down to your lap where your fingers were loosely intertwined.
Despite the beers stripping away your filter, a sudden wave of self-conscious embarrassment kept you guarded. You were mortified by the scene you’d made earlier, thoroughly convinced you'd made a fool of yourself in front of Kika and Patri, even if you still had no idea Alexia had heard a single word of your confession.
“Nothing.” You answered, a little secretive, your shoulders shrugging slightly. “Just... overthinking. The usual.”
“What about?" Alexia pressed in a polite, pressure-free manner.
You just shrugged again, a disheartened frown crossing your features. “Just stupid stuff. Doesn't matter.”
Alexia watched you for a long beat, her chest tightening with an immense, overwhelming fondness.
“Matters to me.” She stated quietly.
The comment made your heart ache, but you remained quiet.
The vulnerability you had just displayed to Clara – the worries that you were too different, too loud, or too much of a disruption to her life – swirled in her head. She wanted to tell you right then and there how wrong you were, but she knew your tipsy, fragile pride couldn't handle the shock of finding out she’d been eavesdropping.
And there was always the chance you would forget it in the morning; if she was going to find the confidence to do it, she at least wanted you to remember it.
Didn’t mean she wasn’t going to take a chance, though.
Instead, a knowing smile took over her mouth. She shifted slightly on the cushion, reaching out and gently nudging the side of your knee with the back of her hand. The contact was brief, but it sent a warm jolt throughout your body.
“You know,” Alexia said, her eyes locked onto yours. “Sometimes people build up walls because… not because they want to keep everyone out, or anything. Definitely not because their lives are too perfect.”
You let out a barely there, amused breath, not looking at her.
“Sometimes they do it because they’re just trying to figure things out. And they might just be waiting for someone brave enough to ignore the structure, make a stupid joke, and break through it.”
You blinked, her words slicing through the foggy, disheartened thoughts in your brain. You turned your head and met her gaze.
The sincerity in her dark eyes was staggering. It wasn’t the look of a captain evaluating a teammate; it was personal, warm, intimate.
“Sound familiar?” Alexia wondered with a smile you recognised as too-proud, even if you hadn’t fully caught the meaning of her words.
A shy, proper smile slowly bloomed across your face. The knot in your chest loosened at the reassurance you didn’t even realise she was giving you, and you gave her a nod.
Her grin widened at the sight and her body flooded with relief as she watched your sadness melt away.
“Anyway,” She hummed, tone shifting back to something a bit more playful as she nudged your knee one more time. “The point is, you shouldn’t overthink things so much. It’s bad for you.”
You let out a tired chuckle, shaking your head against the cushion. “I can’t promise that, Ale. It’s what I’m best at.”
Alexia lifted her hand from her lap, curling her fingers inward until only her smallest finger was extended. She held it up between the two of you, right in your line of sight.
“Well,” She said, her expression perfectly serious though her eyes were dancing with mischief. “You’re going to have to promise.”
You stared at her hand, then up at her face, and a light burst of laughter escaped your lips. The absurdity of the two time Ballon d’Or winner and stern Barcelona captain demanding a pinky promise was too much for your tipsy brain to handle.
“Are you serious right now?” You teased with a bright smile, brighter than one you’ve had in hours. “A pink promise? What are you, twelve?”
“It’s a legally binding contract without pen and paper.” Alexia insisted, her grin turning borderline wicked as she shook her extended pinky closer to you. “Come on. Secure the deal.”
You rolled your eyes, but the helpless smile never left your face. You raised your own hand and looped your pinky finger tightly around hers.
The moment your skin met, the teasing banter ebbed away for the time being. Neither of you pulled away. You held absolute, unbroken eye contact in the dark light of the garden, the tiny physical connection keeping you both still.
Alexia’s smile turned into something tender. You swore you saw her gaze drop to your lips for a split second, before they rose back to your eyes.
The click of the glass doors cut through the silence, making you both break eye contact.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Pina called out, stepping into the garden with her jacket over her shoulder. Behind her, Cata and Vicky were peering over her shoulders, their faces split into identical delighted smirks as their eyes darted down to your linked hands.
“We’re just heading out now, we can see ourselves to the door.” Vicky chimed in with a wicked grin, nudging Pina with her elbow. “We just wanted to say goodbye. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Yeah, you stay there, Ale, don’t stress yourself,” Cata added, holding up a hand before she gave you both an exaggerated wink. “See you guys soon!”
Alexia slowly unlooped her pinky from yours, though her fingers lingered against your skin for a fraction of a second before she settled back against the cushions. “Text me when you get home!”
You quickly offered a sheepish, slightly flushed wave with your free hand as the trio backed through the door, closing it behind them,
The second it shut, the reality of the late hour and the amount of alcohol in your system hit you at once. You let out a long, pathetic groan, and slapped a hand over your eyes.
“Oh god,” You said, your voice muffled against your palm. “I just remembered… I drove here.”
Alexia let out a soft, amused chuckle from beside you. “Did you?”
“Yes!” You whined, peeking out from behind your fingers with a frown. “I didn’t know there would be so much beer and chaos and… whatever the hell Kika was up to. Now I'm stuck. I can’t get home.”
Alexia watched you, her expression melting into something a little shy. She cleared her throat, her fingers tracing the seams of her trousers as she looked at you.
“Actually,” She offered quietly, a tentative smile playing on her lips. “You can stay here tonight if you want. All of the spare rooms are made up.”
A spike of heat hit your cheeks, completely bypassing the beer buzz. Your mouth went a little dry, your brain immediately going into hyper-drive at the thought of sleeping under her roof.
“Oh—no, no, I couldn't” You stammered quickly, waving your hands in a polite, panicked refusal. “I can just call a taxi. It’s fine, really! I don't want to be a bother or invade your space after you’ve been hosting all day. I'll just get an Uber.”
“It's nearly one in the morning, you won't find a taxi easily out here,” Alexia pointed out smoothly, her tone turning a fraction more firm as she leaned in slightly, refusing to let you brush her off. “And you're not a bother. I'm literally offering.”
“But–”
“No buts,” She interrupted gently, her eyes full of a warm, teasing authority that you had no strength to fight. “You made a legally binding promise not to overthink things, remember? The spare room is yours. Unless you'd prefer to sleep out here on the terrace?”
You stared at her for a moment, totally defeated by her logic and the sheer kindness in her eyes. Letting out one final, dramatic sigh, you let your head drop back onto the sofa cushion.
“Fine. I’ll stay.” You murmured, that same helpless and bashful smile returning to your face. You gazed at her, your stomach doing that weird fluttery thing it often did whenever she went out of her way to do something for you. “Thank you, Ale. Really.”
“Don’t mention it.” She replied, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed back into the cushions. She gave you a gentle, assessing look, her eyes scanning your tired face. “Besides, you look exhausted. It’s been a long day, and you need some rest.”
You let out a quiet hum, closing your eyes for a brief second as the weight of the alcohol and the emotional rollercoaster of the night fully settled into your bones. “Yeah. You’re right. My brain feels like mush.”
“Well, luckily for you, I happen to have an excellent solution for that,” Alexia said, a sudden, playful spark returning to her voice. She leaned in a little closer, gesturing back toward the dark house with a perfectly serious expression. “The mattresses in my house? Unbelievable. They’re the best things I’ve ever bought.”
You opened your eyes and stared at her, a breathless laugh escaping you at the absolute ridiculousness of the pitch. “Are you trying to sell me a bed right now?”
“I’m just trying to make you overthink your decision a little less. You won’t regret it when you lay on one,” She grinned, finally standing up from the sofa and extending a hand down to you. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you fall asleep out here.”
You took her hand, letting her easily haul you to your feet. Your legs were a bit heavy and unsteady, but Alexia kept a steadying grip on your arm until you found your balance, guiding you gently through the glass doors and into the quiet, pristine interior of her house.
The main rooms were completely dark now, the rest of the team having finally headed out. Alexia led you up the stairs, the soft ambient lighting illuminating the hallway as she guided you toward one of the guest rooms near the end of the hall.
She pushed the door open, revealing a beautifully neat, cozy space that already felt incredibly welcoming.
“Make yourself at home,” Alexia murmured, stepping inside to turn on a bedside lamp before turning to face you. She took a quick look at your clothes and snapped her fingers softly. “Wait, you need something to sleep in. Hold on.”
She disappeared down the hall toward her own bedroom, leaving you standing awkwardly by the edge of the bed, your heart doing a nervous little dance. A minute later, she returned with a neatly folded pile of clothes in her hands.
“Here,” she said, handing them over. It was an oversized, incredibly soft grey cotton t-shirt and a pair of drawstring shorts. “They might be a little big, but they’re comfortable. Oh, and here.” She reached into her pocket and produced a brand-new, packaged toothbrush. “There’s an en-suite bathroom right through that door. Fresh towels are under the sink in case you want to shower at any point.”
You took the items, your fingers brushing against hers again, sending a familiar warmth rushing up your arms like it had done earlier in the pantry. “Ale, seriously, thank you. You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I told you, it’s fine,” She replied, her voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register again. She stepped back toward the doorway, her hands finding the pockets of her trousers as she looked at you under the warm glow of the lamp. She looked suddenly a little shy herself, her eyes lingering on your face. “Sleep well, okay?”
“You too,” you smiled, a bashful warmth settling in your chest. “Goodnight, Ale.”
“Goodnight.”
The brunette gave you one last smile before slowly stepping out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. You sat on the edge of the bed with a long sigh, a hopeless smile breaking across your face. Then you pressed your palm into the bed, almost groaning in delight at how it was a perfect mixture of density and softness.
On the other side of the door, Alexia hadn’t moved far.
She stood perfectly still in the dimly lit hallway, her hand still hovering near the doorframe. Her stomach fluttered as she took a deep, shaky breath.
The echo of your voice from earlier tonight, confessing how much you liked her and how deeply you cared and how terrified you were of messing up her peace, it all made her heart ache with an intoxicating happiness.
She leaned her head back to the ceiling, a near-silent stunned laugh escaping her lips in the darkness. You were right there, would be sleeping just a few feet away in her house, and it made her feel weightless.
Eventually, with a lingering glance at your door, she turned and walked down the hall to her own room, a smile fixed on her face the entire way.
—
The morning sun was already streaming through the gap in her blackout curtains when Alexia opened her eyes, feeling mostly rested despite the chaotic emotional rollercoaster of the previous night.
She lay in bed for a while. Her brain replayed almost the entire night through, from when people arrived to leading you upstairs to the spare room once everybody had left. The corner of her lips quirked upwards at a few things, and she looked down at her hand where it rested atop the sheets, the one that’d linked with yours in a gesture that was much more than just sealing a promise.
It was past 10AM, and she hadn’t heard any movement from the end of the hall, where you’d stayed.
So she sat up against the headboard with a yawn and a stretch, before she leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed her phone.
(Alexia)
Morning :) are you awake yet?
She dropped her phone onto the bed beside her and rubbed her eyes, waiting as three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared a few minutes later.
(You)
Hi. Yeah. Morning.
My head hurts just ever so slightly.
Alexia chuckled to herself, already moving to get up out of bed.
She padded downstairs and went to the kitchen, moving to open the cabinet where she kept all things health related. Before she could grab what she was after, her phone vibrated in her pocket again.
(You)
I’m also incredibly embarrassed by everything that happened yesterday, so please don’t look at me
The midfielder burst into a quiet laugh, her cheeks aching at how endearing you were being. She locked her phone, filled a tall glass with cold water, and grabbed a pack of painkillers.
Once she’d made it up the stairs, she stopped outside the guest room door and knocked quietly, the rap of her knuckles echoing in the hallway.
Silence.
No movement and no answer.
Amused, Alexia leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, a knowing smirk on her lips.
“I know you’re awake,” She called out, her voice loud enough to cut through the wood but keeping its gentle, teasing warmth. “We literally texted two minutes ago.”
There was another period of silence from inside the room before a muffled and incredibly meek voice finally drifted through the door. “Come in.”
Alexia turned the handle and pushed the door open, stepping into the sunlit room. Her eyes immediately found the bed, and a soft adoring smile took over her face at the sight.
You were curled up tightly on your side, practically swallowed by the sheets. You had apparently raided the clean pile of laundry sitting on the chair in the corner she’d been yet to sort, because you were now drowning in a thick grey hoodie that belonged to her, despite it being Summer.
You’d pulled the hood over your head, leaving only the tip of your nose and your tightly shut eyes visible to the world.
“Good morning,” Alexia said softly as she walked into the room. She kept her steps quiet, setting the tall glass of water down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the mattress beside you.
You emerged from the sheets, letting out a tiny embarrassed whine as you slowly sat up. You reluctantly pulled the hood back off your head, allowing Alexia to look at you properly. She had to blink herself out of her trance as she grabbed the sheet of tablets from her pocket.
“Here,” she murmured, popping two of the tablets into your palm and handing you the water. “Take these.”
You swallowed the pills, chasing them with a long sip of the cold water, throat parched from the night before. As you set the glass back down, you finally risked a glance up at her.
Alexia was simply sitting there, watching you with an unhurried and awfully tender gaze. There was no judgement in her eyes, no teasing smirk, just an attentive focus that made your stomach do a stupid flip.
Under the weight of her undivided attention, you felt a burning blush creep rapidly up your neck, painting your cheeks a crimson that gave away how flustered you were.
Alexia definitely noticed, you could tell by the tiny increase in her smile, but she chose not to comment on it.
“How are you feeling? Aside from the headache?”
“I’ve been better and I’ve been worse.” You answered in a mutter, sleep still evident in your voice as you pulled your knees closer to your chest.
Alexia let out a soft, amused huff. “Well, that’s a start. It was a hectic night.”
“You can say that again.” You grumbled, resting your chin on your knees and staring down at the rumpled sheets. “I can’t believe it was that chaotic. I’m never going to hear the end of it all.”
The brunette watched you, her expression shifting, turning just a bit shy as she cleared her throat and her fingers traced light patterns on the duvet.
“So… how much of it do you remember?” She asked, eyes locking onto yours with a poorly disguised intense curiosity.
A fresh wave of heat hit your cheeks, but you managed a small self-deprecating smile. “God, Ale, I wasn’t that drunk. I remember it. All of it.”
Her smile widened, a spark of satisfaction lighting up her eyes as she slowly nodded, carefully filing that piece of information away for later.
If you remembered everything, you remembered all the things you’d said about her. As well as what she had subtly hinted at on the couch, too.
“Good to know,” She hummed, before pushing herself up from the edge of the bed. She stood at full height, tugging her vest back into its proper place and smoothing down her shorts. “I was going to make some breakfast, are you hungry?”
“Starving, actually," You admitted sheepishly. “Is it alright if I take a quick shower while you do that?”
“Of course.” She replied instantly, gesturing toward the bathroom with an easy smile. “Take as long as you want. I’ll get some more clothes for you and get started on the food.”
With a final, reassuring nod, Alexia slipped out of the room, leaving you to the blissful sanctuary of a hot shower.
True to her word, by the time you stepped out of the bathroom, a cloud of steam rolling out behind you, a fresh stack of clean clothes was sitting neatly at the foot of the bed. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t enjoying the endless supply, drowning in both her clothes and the laundry detergent you’d loved the scent of for a little while now.
You quickly changed, taking a deep, steadying breath to steel yourself before finally bracing the hallway and padding down the stairs.
You walked into the kitchen slowly, your shoulders slightly hunched and your hands tucked into your pockets, still carrying that quiet morning-after bashfulness.
Alexia was standing over the hob, the rich, savoury aroma of frying eggs and toasted bread filling the bright room. She didn’t even have to look up to hear your hesitant footsteps, letting out another amused huff as she flicked the spatula expertly.
“You don’t have to be so awkward, you know,” She said, turning her head to flash you a warm, easy smile. She rested one hand on her hip, looking at how carefully you were hovering near the edge of the kitchen island. “You’re more than just a guest, you’re welcome here anytime. You’re… you’re like Bambi right now. Just totally unsure of your feet. Stop being so scared.”
A quiet, involuntary giggle slipped past your lips, the tension in your shoulders dropping a fraction. “I hope the nickname Bambi doesn’t stick.”
Alexia’s smirk returned in full force, her dark eyes dancing with a wicked, playful light as she turned back to the pan. “Well, that entirely depends on how you behave.”
You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your mouth as you moved to pull out a barstool. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No,” Alexia hummed, her chuckle low and thoroughly satisfied as she plated up the food. “You definitely shouldn’t have.”
The slight hints of tension evaporated into the steam of fresh coffee as you both sat down at the island. The initial awkwardness settled down into a comfortable silence as you both ate. It wasn’t an unpleasant or empty quiet; it was full of the domestic scraping of forks against plates, the hum of the kitchen appliances, the morning chirps of birds in the garden outside, clearly glad the chaos of the previous night was over.
It was a shared lazy morning lull, underscored by the lingering warmth of the sun hitting the kitchen floor.
But as the last few bites were finished and your cutlery finally scraped against the ceramic to a halt, Alexia’s mind began to wonder again. Right back to the shadows of the side garden on the sofa, again.
She stared down at her empty plate, her fingers idly tapping against the handle of her mug. She couldn’t let it go.
Hearing you admit all those things to Clara had been causing an uncomfortable twisting pain within her all morning.
Alexia was used to having to be the structured one, the fortress, the captain who held it together. She revelled in it.
Most of the time.
Hearing that her guard, the very wall she built to survive the pressure, had made you feel small and unwelcome in her life? It made her stomach churn.
Those walls were just a facade. And though, she supposed, it was good enough that it could fool almost anyone, she didn’t want it to affect her life in such a way like it had with you.
She wanted to lay it out, but she needed to be careful. You were still fragile, what with the hangover and the embarrassment.
She took a final slow sip of her coffee, before setting the mug down with a soft clink to break the silence.
“You know last night,” she started, not looking up, keeping her eyes on her mug to give you space. “Before everyone left, when you were on the sofa.”
You instantly felt a spike of adrenaline shoot straight to your chest, your mind racing through the fuzzy timeline– the weird confessional Kika and Patri had baited you into, and then the pathetic tearful rambles you’d unloaded onto an unprepared Clara.
“Yeah?” You squeaked out, clearing your throat to try and sound normal. You gripped your glass of water a little tighter. “What about it?”
“Just…” Alexia trailed off, shifting her weight on the barstool. She glanced up then, trying to gauge how much you could handle. “You seemed really… overwhelmed when you left the group. And when I came out later, you still looked… weighed down. So I just… I guess I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. Because you don’t have to lie or pretend with me, you know.”
“Oh. Right.” You mumbled, looking everywhere but at her. You traced the edge of your plate with your thumb, trying to skirt around the massive elephant in the room. “Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just, you know, too many beers. And I get emotional when I’m tired. I probably just said a bunch of nonsense to Clara. You know how it is.”
Alexia stayed quiet for a minute, mulling it over.
“Was it? Nonsense?” She asked quietly a little later. Almost afraid of the answer.
“Total nonsense.” You liked quickly, nodding your head with a strained, bashful laugh. “Completely ridiculous stuff. Don’t even worry about it.”
Alexia watched you scramble, and though she perhaps should’ve been disheartened at your answer, a helpless surge of affection overtook her instead.
She couldn’t keep the secret anymore; it wasn’t fair to let you hide behind a lie when you were both desperate for the truth.
A small, knowing smile broke across her face. She leaned her forearms onto the island, tilting her head slightly.
“I heard some of it, you know.”
Your hand stopped dead on the table, your eyes widening to the size of saucers as the breath caught squarely in your throat. Your mind blanked out in pure panic as you froze under her gaze.
The brunette let out a low, amused chuckle at the reaction, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
“Again with the Bambi.” She teased, lightly bumping her knee into yours.
“I– I wasn’t… it really wasn't what it sounded like,” you scrambled to defend yourself, the words tumbling out in a panicked rush as you desperately tried to piece together a coherent excuse. “I was tipsy, and Clara was just there, and I talk so much rubbish when I’ve had a few beers, Alexia, seriously, you can’t take anything I say after midnight–”
“Hey, hey, breathe,” Alexia cut in gently, her soft voice instantly halting your spiral. She didn't let the distance grow between you, instead leaning in a fraction closer. The teasing smirk was entirely gone, replaced by an expression so genuinely reassuring it made your mind spin. “Calm down. I’m not mad. I promise you, I’m not mad at all.”
You blinked, your mouth shutting instantly as you stared at her, your heart still thumping a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Your eyes darted around the kitchen, desperately scanning the marble countertops, the coffee machine, the windows– literally anything to avoid the intense, steady focus of her gaze while your brain frantically searched for a way out.
“Why are you looking at the toaster like it’s going to save you?” Alexia asked, a breathless laugh escaping her lips, though her eyes remained completely soft.
“I’m not,” You mumbled miserably, finally dropping your gaze back to your lap. “I just… I really didn't mean to drag you into my messy thoughts.”
Alexia stayed quiet for a moment, letting the room settle. Then, slowly, she shifted her arm across the cool marble of the island and placed her hand directly over yours. Her palm was incredibly warm, her fingers resting securely over your trembling knuckles, grounding you completely.
“Look at me,” She requested softly.
Reluctantly, you lifted your eyes to meet hers.
“If I heard what I think I heard out there,” Alexia murmured, her thumb making a slow, incredibly tender stroke across the back of your hand, “then… you don’t need to be nervous at all about how I will react. Not even a little bit.” She paused, her dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made all your hesitations dissolve. “Just… be honest with me. Please.”
The raw sincerity in her voice almost overwhelmed you. A fresh, deep blush crept right back up to your cheeks, but beneath the embarrassment, an all-consuming sense of relief took over. You swallowed the lump in your throat, staring at her hand over yours, and gave a small nod.
Once the floodgates opened, there was no stopping it.
The slight hangover and the months of suppressed longing collided all at once, causing the words to come rushing out your mouth in a desperate, unfiltered torrent.
“It’s just… I’ve felt like this literally for months, Ale.” You started, your hands gesturing wildly as you tried to explain the chaos in your head. “And every time I wanted to say something, I’d look at how completely composed you are, how you handle everything with this intense focus, and I’d just chicken out.”
Alexia gave a wistful smile, the sight almost derailing you. But you wanted to power through this now, no matter what. No looking back.
“I was so convinced that if I let it slip, I’d just… be an annoying distraction to you. I didn’t want to throw a wrench into your peace or make things awkward at training, and then Patri and Kika kept setting up stupid traps, and I was just so mortified because the last thing I ever wanted to do was burden you with my messy feelings, and I–”
You paused to catch your breath, your eyes finally flicking back to the woman sitting next to you.
Alexia hadn't moved an inch.
She was sitting with her elbow propped casually on the marble island, her chin resting comfortably in her hand as she gazed at you. Her eyes were fixed entirely on your face, completely captivated, and a soft, deeply affectionate smile played on her lips as she drank in every single word of your chaotic confession. She looked entirely untroubled, thoroughly content, and devastatingly beautiful in the morning light.
The undivided intensity of her gaze caused the rest of your sentence to completely die in your throat. Your cheeks flared an even deeper shade of crimson, and you shifted uncomfortably on your stool, suddenly feeling very small under her look.
How the tables had turned; now it was you who couldn’t stop blushing.
“...and I don’t know what to do with myself when you look at me like that, especially,” You finished in a tiny, breathless murmur, your voice trailing off as you nervously tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.
Alexia’s grin only widened at that, a quiet rumbling chuckle vibrating in her chest as she watched you squirm.
“I can’t help it,” She murmured smoothly, her eyes dancing with an unapologetic fondness.
You let out a breathy, nervous huff and rolled your eyes, though the defensive gesture did absolutely nothing to cool the burning heat in your cheeks.
Alexia let the comfortable quiet of the kitchen settle around you for a moment. She dropped her hand from her chin and shifted her posture, leaning closer until the space between you was practically non-existent. She gently took your hand back in hers, her thumb resuming that slow stroke against your skin.
She knew it was her turn now, and she needed to make sure you fully absorbed every single word.
“I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Alexia began, her voice dropping to a low, incredibly gentle whisper. She waited until your eyes flicked up to meet hers, holding your gaze so you couldn't look away.
“You are not too chaotic for me,” She stated firmly, erasing any room for doubt. “You are not an annoying distraction, and you could never, ever disrupt my peace. Nothing of what you’ve built up in your head to be terrified of is true.”
You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs as you listened to the sheer conviction in her tone.
“I like you exactly because you are the opposite of me,” Alexia continued, her expression softening into something heartwarmingly vulnerable. “My entire life is structured, heavily monitored, and constantly under pressure. But you... you bring out entirely different sides of me. Sides I sometimes forget I even have. You make me laugh when I’m stressed, you make me forget about the weight of the captain's armband, and those walls you think I have up?”
She paused, her thumb pressing a little firmer into the back of your hand.
“Whenever you’re around, they come falling down without you even trying,” She confessed quietly, laying her heart completely bare. “You don't need to worry about breaking through them, Bambi. You’ve been on the other side of them for months.”
The breath rushed out of your lungs in a shaky exhale, your vision blurring slightly at the edges as her words washed over you. All those months of agonising over every little interaction, over every lingering touch, suddenly clicked into place.
Alexia’s brow furrowed slightly, a flash of genuine guilt passing through her dark eyes. “It breaks my heart that I made you feel like you were a burden. I was trying so hard to respect your boundaries and not make things complicated for you at the club, but I am so sorry that my distance made you feel–”
“Don’t,” You cut her off quickly, your fingers instinctively curling around hers to squeeze her hand tight. “You don’t need to apologise, Ale. Seriously. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Alexia paused, her eyes searching yours, wordlessly questioning if you really meant it.
“It’s just my useless habit of overthinking.” You admitted with another self-deprecating chuckle. “You were just being you. I build these massive worst-case scenarios in my head and then convince myself they’re real. It’s stupid.”
A grin spread slowly across Alexia’s face, her eyes lighting up with that familiar playful mischief. She leaned in just a fraction closer, her knees bracketing yours as you both sat sideways on the barstools.
“That’s alright, because we found a solution to that last night, didn’t we?”
You blinked, a little confused. “What do you mean?”
Without breaking eye contact, Alexia slowly shifted her hand. She uncurled her fingers from yours, slid her hand just an inch down the marble counter, and hooked her smallest finger tightly around your pinky. She gave it a firm, teasing wiggle right there on the kitchen island.
A bright, genuine laugh burst from you at the sight, your whole body relaxing as the lingering remnants of your morning panic finally vanished.
“You and these fucking promises.” You shook your head, unable to tear your eyes away from how she looked at you.
You quietened after that, though. Your laughter melted into something smaller, just the corner of your mouth turned upward as your fingers remained hooked together and her gaze never left yours. Each of you slowly began to process the others’ words, internally beaming at the unexpected turn of events.
“I can’t quite believe we’ve finally… talked about it.” You whispered, staring down at your intertwined fingers before looking back up at her. It felt completely surreal, sitting in her kitchen and holding her hand while she confessed her feelings.
Alexia just smiled, as a soft and context expression took over her features at the same time she gave a casual shrug of her shoulders. “It’s been a long time coming. We were both just being too stubborn.”
“Definitely too stubborn.” You nodded in bashful agreement, shaking your head. Then you let out a quiet snort as you thought about the madness of the previous night. “Stubborn to the point where our idiotic team had to basically bang our heads together.”
Alexia threw her head back, a loud laugh echoing through the kitchen. “Don’t give them too much credit.”
“They’re never going to let us live this down.” You added with a sigh, your thumb tracing the smooth skin of her hand.
Alexia hummed in agreement, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she kept her pinky firmly hooked with yours. The kitchen fell back into a quiet, content silence, but the air felt entirely different now. The suffocating weight that had been hanging over your chest all morning was completely gone, replaced by a warm and bubbling lightness.
You sat there for a few unhurried moments, just taking her in.
The way the bright morning sun caught the golden undertones in her brown hair, the relaxed slope of her shoulders, and the soft, incredibly peaceful expression on her face. For months, you had viewed her as this untouchable fortress, but right now, sitting sideways on a barstool in a kitchen that smelled of coffee, you were left wondering how on earth you’d let those thoughts slide.
Her gaze dropped to your hands, her thumb mindlessly rubbing the side of your finger. Following her line of sight, your chest swelled with a sudden, overwhelming wave of affection. It was a bizarre, beautiful contrast– the stern captain holding your pinky like a schoolgirl on her kitchen island.
Slowly, your gaze drifted back up, tracing the sharp line of her jaw before finally landing on her mouth. The morning light caught the soft, natural curve of her lips, and the sudden realisation of what you actually wanted hit you all at once. The craving was so sharp it made your breath catch.
You leaned in just a tiny bit, your knees shifting against hers, shrinking the space between you until you could feel the faint warmth radiating from her skin.
“I really want to kiss you,” You whispered, piquing her interest. Only for you to sigh dramatically and lean back again. “But I can’t right now.”
Alexia’s eyebrows shot up, a startled but highly amused laugh escaping her lips at your sudden turnaround. She didn’t let go of your pinky, instead leaning forward with a bright, curious gleam in her eyes.
“No?” She asked, her voice rich with a teasing undertone. “You can’t? You literally just said you wanted to.”
“I do!” You defended dramatically, throwing your free hand up in the air before dropping it back onto your lap. “But I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, I just feel completely gross. I don't want our first proper kiss to be overshadowed by a hangover and general morning grogginess. I want it to be a good memory, Ale.”
Alexia stared at you for a short beat, her expression softening so fast it was almost dizzying. A noise of pure, melting affection escaped her throat, her eyes crinkling deeply at the corners.
“You’re really something, hm,” She murmured, shaking her head. She slowly unhooked her pinky from yours, but before you could miss the contact, she slid her stool even closer, her knees firmly slotting around yours. “Alright. Fine. If you’re being stubborn about that… let me do this instead.”
She reached up, her warm hands gently coming to cradle your jawline. Her fingers were soft against your skin, her thumbs lightly tracing your cheekbones as she tilted your face up slightly. You held your breath, your pulse instantly starting to quicken.
Slowly, deliberately, Alexia leaned in. She pressed a soft, warm kiss to your left cheek, her lips lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle. Then, she shifted slightly, her breath brushing against your skin as she dropped an identical, tender kiss onto your right cheek.
You thought that was it, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she moved to the center, her eyelids fluttering shut as she pressed a firm, affectionate, lingering kiss right against the middle of your forehead.
The contact sent your heart into absolute overdrive. It felt like a physical shockwave of warmth rolling straight down your spine, leaving your stomach doing a series of wild, uncontrolled flips. It wasn't just a casual gesture; the sheer care and gravity behind the way she held your face made you feel like you were floating.
(And not because of alcohol this time.)
When she finally pulled back, her hands slid down to rest casually on your shoulders, a soft, triumphant smile playing on her lips as she looked down at your inevitably crimson face.
“Who’s the blusher now?”
You let out a groan of pure embarrassment, completely defeated, and dropped your forehead forward until it rested heavily against her shoulder. Your face was buried in the soft fabric of her top, your hands instinctively rising to lightly grip the sides of her waist.
Alexia let out a low chuckle that vibrated right through your chest, burying her face into your hair for a brief second.
“That was too soft, Ale,” You grumbled against her shoulder, though a smile was tugging at the corners of your own mouth. “You’re cheating.”
“Too soft?” Alexia retorted, her voice dropping into a thoroughly amused, teasing purr. “Not true for you. I can literally feel your heart hammering from here.”
To make matters worse, she brought her hands down from your shoulders and began to rub them in slow, soothing strokes up and down your back. The gentle friction through the thick grey hoodie only made your stomach do another round of ridiculous flips, and you squeezed your eyes shut, completely content to stay hidden against her forever.
The domestic bubble was abruptly shattered by a sharp ping from the marble counter.
You reluctantly pulled your head back, shooting a glare at your phone as it buzzed again. You slid off the barstool, your legs still a little heavy, and reached for the device. Glancing at the screen, your eyes went wide as the digital clock and a message stared back at you.
“Oh, damn it,” You groaned again, running a hand over your face. “I completely forgot. I have plans with my family this afternoon. I… I have to leave right now or I’m going to be late.”
Alexia’s expression softened with instant understanding, her hands dropping away as she stood up with you. “Don’t stress. Go grab your stuff from upstairs, I’ll wait by the door.”
Ten minutes later, you were walking down her front path toward your car. The midday air was warm and crisp, a stark contrast to the heavy, tearful shadows of the garden the night before. You felt a million times lighter.
“Send me a text when you get home,” Alexia called out from the open doorway. She was leaning her shoulder comfortably against the frame, her hands tucked into the pockets of her shorts as she watched you.
You paused by your driver’s side door, turning back to face her with an easy smile. “I will.”
Alexia lingered for a second, her eyes tracking your face before a small, uncharacteristically bashful look crossed her features. “And… text me after that, too?”
Your heart did a violent, happy flip in your chest. You looked at her, entirely charmed. “As long as you promise to text me back.”
Without a word, Alexia lifted her hand from her pocket and held up her pinky finger, her eyes swirling with that playful affection. You couldn't help the wide, helpless grin that split your face as you lifted your own hand, mimicking the gesture from across the lawn to seal the silent contract.
With a final wave, you unlocked your car and climbed into the driver’s seat. As you pulled the seatbelt across your chest, your hand brushed against the thick, heavy fabric of the grey pullover. You froze, looking down at yourself, and realised with a sudden jolt of amusement that you were still wearing her clothes.
You let out a quiet huff and reached up to adjust the rearview mirror before backing out of the driveway.
But as your eyes tracked the reflection, your gaze travelled past your own face and straight through the large glass window of her kitchen.
There she was, completely oblivious to the fact you were watching. Alexia was standing by the sink, idly wiping down the marble island after breakfast, and she was smiling uncontrollably to herself– a completely private grin that reached all the way to her eyes.
You shifted the car into gear and drove away, the lingering smell of her fabric softeners surrounding you, your own smile matching hers the entire ride home.
—
once again, no idea how this is so long, but hopefully it was worth it 🫠 do let me know if you enjoyed it :)
Forever Was A Sentence (Alexia Putellas x McCabe!Reader)
Part 5 Part 4 here
Your plane landed in Dublin and you took a deep breath. It hadn’t been an overly stressful flight, you did the usual of reading your book and going to sleep. It was just the destination of where the flight was leaving you had you stressed beyond belief.
You were sitting against the window and allowing everyone to get off the plane before you moved. You grabbed your bag off the floor and felt around for your AirPod case, to put your AirPods back in, and that was when you felt something odd in the front pocket of your bag.
Your thumb and index finger held the cold, long metal chain between them as you pulled it out of your bag.
“What the hell?” You mumbled, taking out the necklace you had handed Alexia back the night you arrived in Germany. The necklace she told you she needed when she flew.
You examined the necklace and couldn’t understand how it had ended up in your bag. You’d spoken briefly with Alexia this morning and hugged her goodbye when you headed your separate ways at the airport. Now that you knew she needed that necklace to keep her calm on planes, you were really panicked for her. You took your phone out of your pocket and your signal came back as soon as you turned off airplane mode. That’s when her messages kicked in.
Alexia
Vuelo seguro ✈️
I packed you my necklace to make sure everything would be okay
Y/n 🍀
Will you be okay without it?
I promise to take good care of it until I see you again
Alexia
Sí, estoy bien. I have landed safely already
I know you will
You smiled and put the necklace around your neck, tucking it under your t-shirt. You stood up from the seat, grabbing your suitcase from the overhead and throwing your bag pack strap around your shoulder. You went through the airport and found the driver holding your name at the arrivals section.
The driver took your bags for you and ushered you towards the car. You were flying in from Germany so nobody else was in your car from the squad thankfully. You knew this was going to be the last silent moment you got before seeing everyone.
You arrived at the hotel and mumbled a quiet thanks to the driver when he handed you your suitcase. It was intense from the very first second, the media girl stood waiting with a camera pointed towards you, wanting to get a clip of you arriving. Another staff member handed you a door key when you got inside and you rushed to your room, trying to get out of sight from everyone here. You saw a few players loitering in the lobby, catching up over coffee, and you knew you’d never be able to do something so simple with anybody here again.
“I dunno how ye swung this” Katie huffed from the door opposite yours.
You ignored your twin sister and continued to fumble with the key to your room to try and get the hotel room door open. You never caught any type of luck. The door wouldn’t open, and of all 25 other people here, not even including the staff, you’d ended up in the room opposite to Katie.
“Barcelona’s resident bench warmer and ye still worm your way in where ye are not wanted” Katie continued.
You knew Katie didn’t want you here. She’d told you to leave Arsenal and was probably happy with your lack of minutes at Barcelona, because she presumed you’d never be called into the Ireland squad with how little you were playing.
“You’re the captain” you began, still facing your door. “If ye don’t want me here, say it to Carla. I can’t do anythin’” you finally got the door open and pushed your way inside, shutting it fairly quickly.
“Oh, I will” you heard her shout back and heading off down the corridor to go talk to whoever she wanted. They all liked her.
You put your back against the door, taking deep breaths and trying to relax. When you came around, you realised you were clutching to Alexia’s necklace that was still around your neck. You weren’t ever one to wear jewellery, especially not something like this, but you found it comforting. It was like she was here and you needed someone like Alexia here right now.
You slouched down on the bed and pulled your phone out again. You don’t know why you did it, but you pressed call.
“Hola” Alexia smiled as her face appeared on your phone.
“Hola” you nodded back. You quickly remembered you called her and needed to say something. Anything.
“I got to the hotel okay” you said.
“Good” Alexia replied. “I am at my hotel too” she said, proceeding to turn the camera around to show you her room and the view.
“Looks nice” you mumbled, before proceeding to do the same.
“Have you seen your sister yet?” Alexia innocently asked when you returned to sit on the bed.
“Uh, yeah” you nodded. “She’s in the room opposite mine” you sighed.
“It’s just a few days” Alexia reminded you. “And you have my necklace” she smiled.
“I do” you said and patted your chest, to let the girl know you were wearing it. Alexia’s mind tried to stay in one place then.
“And you have me” Alexia said and you were waiting for her to bust your door down. “You can call me on the phone anytime” she clarified as you understood what she meant now.
“Ye can call me as well” you said before you watched the girl smile and hang up.
You would have been happy to sit in your room all day, but you didn’t pack snacks and you were hungry, so you eventually had to go downstairs to get food. You felt a bit more confident after speaking to Alexia that you could get though this.
When you got downstairs, you could feel the tension before Katie even came into your eye line. She was sat with a group of girls from the team, and the second they saw you, they all relaxed back into their seats and went quiet.
“Ah, Y/n. I didn’t see you come in” Carla said, putting her arm around you and walking both of you towards the food area.
“I got in a little bit ago” you mumbled quietly when your manager finally released you.
The two of you were stood over the table with fruit and snacks on it and you picked up a few things, as did she. Carla knew you were quiet in comparison to Katie and a lot of your other teammates. Even before the move to Barcelona you would stray from the group for the majority of time while you were on Ireland camp.
“Much longer of a flight for you now coming home, isn’t it?” She asked.
“A bit. I was comin’ from Germany this time” you explained to a woman who you knew already knew that.
“I saw the match” she nodded. “You had a great game” she said.
“Thanks” you replied.
“I’ve been meaning to ask” she began, picking her own things up from the table. “What happened with Arsenal?”
“Uh” you stuttered, looking around and seeing the group Katie was sat with all now staring at you. “Ye know how it is, I just go where I’m told” you shrugged. Now wasn’t the time. You don’t think there would ever be a time.
“Barcelona’s not a bad place to be” she joked.
You nodded back politely, before you let silence fill the air for a minute.
“Something on your mind?” Carla asked.
“Why am I here?” You asked. “I know ye said ye saw the game, but I was called in before that”
“You don’t want to be here?” She frowned.
“I don’t deserve to be right now” you groaned. “I’m not playing in Barcelona” you continued.
“But when you do, you’re ten times the player than the next person in the pool of players we have” Carla explained.
“Ye just don’t need to call me in”
“If you don’t want to be here, you say the word and you can be gone. But for now and for this camp, you are here and being paid as my player. Is that understood?” She said, sternly.
“Yeah” you nodded. “Sorry” you said.
Carla shook her head and walked away from you, back towards her staff and you were left stood like an idiot. You grabbed whatever you had to and decided to take it back to your room.
“What ye in her ear about?” Katie frowned, still sat with a group of the team who were all trying to contain their laughter.
“Nothin’” you shook your head, tone a bit aggressive as you were frustrated.
“Calm down, don’t want ye thinkin’ ye can hit me too” Katie challenged as she stood up. “Ye gonna hit me?” She asked.
“No” you said.
“Think because ye got away with it and got your fancy move to Barcelona that anybody here likes ye?” She continued.
“No” you repeated.
“So ye got away with it, did ye?” Katie asked. “Runnin’ to Barcelona doesn’t change what ye did ye know?”
You didn’t reply. You should have replied. You wanted to reply. But what was the point? They were looking at you like you were guilty and nothing you could say was going to change that. So, you turned away from them and walked back towards the staircase to get back to your room.
“Yeah, run away. What’s new?” Katie shouted after you.
“Katie, that’s enough now. You said your piece, drop it” Carla snapped, having had enough of the McCabe twins in the first hour of camp life already.
Carla hadn’t heard the first part of you and Katie’s one way conversation. She’d overheard Katie’s raised voice and had made her way over to the group.
To the coaching staff, they didn’t know what the players knew, or thought they knew. To them it looked like you took an unexpected move to Barcelona and your ex teammates weren’t happy. They knew Katie was more popular with her Irish teammates than you, so when it appeared you two were arguing, naturally they took Katie’s side. The coaching staff believed it would blow over. Boy, were they wrong.
After that encounter with Carla and with Katie, you vowed you would not leave your room unless it was time to go to training. You did leave the hotel however around 11pm that night, after curfew, to go to a shop to get enough snacks to last you through camp so that you didn’t even have to go back downstairs again. You were tossing and turning for quite a while before you gave up and turned the TV on. It was only about 5 minutes later your phone buzzed.
Alexia
Are you sleeping?
Y/n 🍀
No
Within two seconds the girl had pressed call and you were clearing your throat and sitting up straight before you answered.
“Hola” you said.
“Hola” she smiled, sitting in a similar position to you on your bed.
The second you saw her, a thought flashed in and out of your mind as quick as lightening. You wished she was here. You wanted to turn your head to the side and see her sitting beside you rather than through the phone. You had to say something quickly to get the thought out of your mind.
“Couldn’t sleep?” You mumbled.
“No, you also?” She asked.
“No” you shook your head.
“You are still wearing my necklace” Alexia said and you saw she smiled.
“Can’t lose it this way” you chuckled back.
“What are you doing?” She asked.
“Just was about to watch a film” you explained.
“Which one?” She hummed and picked up her own TV remote. “We can watch together” she added.
“Ye can pick one then”
“Okay” Alexia said straight away.
Whenever you watched something together you had to make sure there was Spanish audio or subtitles available. Usually you’d watch things in Spanish with English subtitles. Once you’d settled on a movie, you both simultaneously clicked in and paused it.
“I’ll text ye” you mumbled to the girl.
“¿Qué? No, stay” Alexia pouted. “It will be like you are here” she said.
Sometimes you thought Alexia was flirting with you, even if it was low level flirting. But then again, she also mainly spoke to you in a language that was not her natural one, so maybe it was just a language barrier.
“Okay” you nodded and both of you pressed start.
You’d started nodding off at this boring movie Alexia had picked, but she was glued to it. She’d picked out some romance film you can remember dozing off to when Laine had picked it out one evening in your London home. Back when things were normal. Maybe it was because Alexia was so invested in the movie, it took her way too long to realise what you’d done.
“Wait, pause” Alexia shouted and paused the movie, waiting for you to wake yourself up to press pause.
“Yeah?” You grumbled, waking back up.
“Why are you watching it in Spanish?” She asked.
“Hmm?” You mumbled.
“I can hear your TV. You are watching in Spanish and not English. Why?” She continued.
“Well it wouldn’t be like ye were really here if I was watchin’ it in English, would it?” You said softly.
“No” she smiled and shook her head. “You feel tired?” She asked.
“Yeah” you nodded.
“You sleep, but stay?” She said and you nodded back. “Good night” she whispered.
“Buenas noches” you mumbled back.
-
Due to your late night call, your phone was dead when you eventually woke up. You woke to a banging on your door and you jumped out of bed to answer it. You knew you were in deep shit when you swung the door open and Carla was standing on the other side.
“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Y/n” she huffed. “Get up and get dressed and be downstairs in 2 minutes”. She snapped.
You had never stepped a foot wrong in your career. You were well respected in the football world, maybe not to players, but definitely to staff members. It appeared to Carla that you were rebelling on this camp from your conversation yesterday and now being late to the bus.
“I’m sorry, my phone died and-”
“2 minutes” she shouted, walking off down the hall.
You practically jumped into your training gear and sprinted downstairs with your boots in your boot bag smacking your back with every step you took. You knew you were the last one on this bus because the minute both of your feet were inside, the bus driver closed the doors and started driving. You sat up the front, leaving a three row gap between you and the next person.
The drive didn’t take too long and you had just been smacking your dead phone off the palm of your hand for the entire drive. As usual, you let everyone get off first before you attempted to move. You were content to just stare out the window.
“Nice of ye to actually show up” Katie huffed. “Ye are such a twat”
“My phone died” you explained.
“It’s bad enough ye are here and I even have to look at ye” Katie shouted. “So do me a favour and just do what we have to do and then fuck back off to Barcelona until I have to see ye again”
“Okay” you nodded.
The worst training session of your life commenced shortly after that brief conversation. They were playing everyone against Y/n by the seems of it. Every time you missed a challenge, a shot, a pass, Katie would make a loud jeering noise. Every time you got the ball, someone would tackle you way too harshly. You couldn’t concentrate. You felt like every pair of eyes were on you.
“Get up” someone sneered at you as you dropped to the ground following a studs up challenge to the ankle.
“Barcelona’s finest” another laughed as they shouldered you in the box, sending you tumbling to the ground.
But worst of all, came Katie. Your sister was rough and had a catalogue of yellow cards to back that up. She always found a way to be near you, and always found a way to be pushing you, kicking you, knocking into you. But there was one thing this entire training session that was pissing her off every time you dropped to the ground.
You got back up. If any of them thought what they were doing to you was worse than what Laine had done, they were fooling themselves. Anytime Laine had done anything to you, you’d managed to pick yourself up. Katie and your teammates didn’t have a patch on her.
The coaching staff seemed to be turning a blind eye to the unnecessary roughness directed towards one person. You’d pissed them off this morning. You were making it seem like your move to Barcelona had boosted your ego so much you felt like you were too good to be here. This wasn’t fair. You weren’t the person they thought you were, any of them. This is how you were being treated for trying to protect yourself when Laine was getting the princess treatment after years of treating you badly.
“Okay, that’s time” someone eventually called and the game stopped.
You lay on the ground with your eyes closed for a few seconds. You were covered in cuts, marks and bruises again. Not even your Barcelona teammates did this to you, even if they didn’t really like you.
“And that was only day one” Katie smirked, standing over you intimidatingly.
You didn’t respond. You just got up and walked away, grabbing your water bottle and heading to the changing rooms. You got straight back on the bus, practically limping there and sliding into the first seat you could get to. Your body was aching and after a couple months of being free from this, your body was really taking its toll.
“Not nice when it’s someone your own size, is it?” Katie asked as she stopped at your seat, her mates gone to the back of the bus.
“Look, ye made it clear alright?” You bit back. “I’ll reject anymore call ups. Do whatever ye want to me and rule me out of this camp and I’ll leave tonight”
“Wouldn’t give ye the satisfaction” Katie shook her head and walked off to the back of the bus.
You managed to get yourself up the stairs and into the shower before crawling back into bed. You were a professional at suppressing your feelings, so you never cried. You’d only broke that one time and that was enough. You just lay on the bed, clutching the parts of your body that hurt the most and tried to close your eyes to pretend like it wasn’t real.
Camp continued like that as the days ticked on. Every morning, you dragged yourself out of bed to be absolutely battered by your teammates and then limp back to your room. But you hadn’t cracked. Katie wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of letting you leave camp, so you wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of showing her how badly this was hurting you. Not that any of them would care anyway.
Your messages with Alexia started to become a bit short. You were making up meetings and physio sessions to avoid her calls. Ignoring the messages to ask if you were awake, much rather pretending you were asleep. You liked Alexia, she was a good person and it appeared she cared for you. But you couldn’t face it right now. What Laine had intended was for you to be isolated, and maybe the last thing you could do would be to give her a feeling of accomplishment.
-
You played the full 90 minutes of football by the time you checked out of camp in Ireland and had to fly to the away camp in The Netherlands. You must have kicked the ball five times in the game. Nobody would pass to you, it was like you were the opposition stood in the wrong jersey. You couldn’t make any type of impact and you ended up losing the game. It somehow was your fault. You didn’t get on the ball enough. You didn’t create enough chances. You you you you you.
You’d had it at this stage. You had began to lose your mind. You couldn’t cope with this stress or pressure anymore and you felt like putting your fist through a wall anytime you had a second to think. You didn’t want to be here anymore, in every sense of that phrase. Laine had ruined your life. Nobody could help now.
But then unanswered message 15 turned to unanswered message 16.
Alexia
Hola? I know you can understand hola so you better hola me back 🙄
Y/n 🍀
Hola
I’m sorry.
Alexia
Why?
Alexia didn’t let you answer that though, because she’d requested to FaceTime straight away.
“Hola”
“Why?” She repeated, now face to face, as much as you possibly could be right now.
“It’s been real hard” you mumbled.
“Camp?” She asked.
“Yeah” you nodded. “I don’t like it” you sighed.
“It’s making you sad?” She continued.
“Yeah” you replied.
“I don’t like it when you’re sad” Alexia pouted and the call fell silent for a few seconds. “So, you will stay with me the night you come home, sí?”
“Huh?”
“You will stay with me and we can watch a movie you will not fall asleep to” she smiled.
“Right, okay” you said.
“And we will talk until you are not sad anymore” Alexia stated.
“That might take forever” you chuckled anxiously.
“I could talk to you forever” Alexia swiftly put as you gulped and stared at her.
“I think” you stuttered. “I think it’s makin’ it harder bein’ here cause I miss ye”
“I miss you too” Alexia said quickly to leave no room for you to regret what you said. “Don’t ignore my calls or messages again, okay?”
“Okay” you nodded. “Good night”
“Good night” Alexia cooed in the phone before she hung up.
That night you didn’t really toss and turn much when you were awake. But when you drifted off to sleep, you started having a very bad dream. It wasn’t a dream so much as a flashback, but it was vivid and it terrified you, even your sleeping self. You woke up feeling yourself sweating, throat sore as you’d obviously been shouting or screaming. But worst, you woke to see Katie stood there in your room.
“Ye alright?” Katie asked from the bottom of the bed. “Heard ye screamin’”
“Yeah” you mumbled back, sitting up slightly and rubbing your eyes.
“Then will we shut the fuck up? I’m tryin’ to sleep” Katie huffed and walked towards the door.
“Yeah, sorry” you sighed and let your head drop back on the pillow.
“Ye haven’t done that since we were kids” Katie mumbled. “The screamin’ in your sleep thing” she continued.
“I’m grand” you said.
“Alright” your sister nodded and left the room.
Katie had small glimpses of care every now and again, and that’s how you couldn’t fault her or her reactions to any of this. You knew if you told Katie everything and if she believed you, that she’d spend a lifetime apologising to you and looking out for you. And maybe that’s why when you wrote that letter, you wrote it to her. But maybe you were an absolute idiot who was just kidding yourself.
-
You played the away game and really thought about telling Carla you were retiring from international football there and then. But your club captain would have asked too many questions when that happened, and due to the fact you were seeing her the second you landed, you decided against it.
You’d had a lot of time to kill while you were in The Netherlands. You had more space to roam free, so you spent less time in your hotel room and more time rambling about the streets. You were sending Alexia photos of the city, but she was in Barcelona for the Spain game so she didn’t need to send you photos.
You’d picked up a small gift for her to say thank you for being so nice while you were on camp. In fact, it was just for being so nice since you joined Barcelona. And you were excited to give it to her. Alexia made you nervous, but nervous in a good way.
You didn’t so much as say a goodbye to anyone at camp, you headed straight to the airport in The Netherlands and went straight back to Barcelona. You hopped into an Uber, stopping off at your place to have a shower, get changed and leave your stuff before you went to Alexia’s apartment.
You felt like you could breathe again when Alexia’s arms wrapped around you in her doorway. She kept hold of you while she turned the two of you around so she could close the door behind the both of you.
“I missed you” she said, slowly dragging her arms away from you and letting her finger tips feel every inch of your shoulders as she did.
“I missed ye, but knowin’ I’d see ye straight away definitely helped” you nodded and the girl smiled.
“Sit, sit” Alexia said, pointing into her living room. “I made dinner and you will eat”
Alexia was the type of person who told you what to do, but she did it for the benefit of you rather than her own benefit. She cared about you and wanted to look after you. So, you did as you were told and sat down and ate the dinner she had made you.
“Thanks, that was lovely” you hummed as she whipped your empty bowl from you and took them to the kitchen.
“Pick a movie” she shouted, gathering a few snacks together for both of you.
You picked a similar movie to the one she had picked the night you watched one together over FaceTime. You felt it was a safe bet because she liked those types of movies. Romcoms. You set the subtitles to English and left the audio in Spanish. The girl smiled at you as she came back into the room with a handful of snacks.
“Oh, I love this one” she said when she peered over to the TV, throwing the snacks on the table in front of you.
“I love these” you chuckled, picking up the bag of jellies she’d dropped.
“I know” she stated and sat beside you.
She cuddled into you and you pressed play, beginning to munch on the jellies she’d brought in and somewhat watching the movie. Alexia was watching the movie but was slightly distracted due to something on you being uncomfortable to lean against. Her head had been buried in the crook of your neck, so she lifted it slightly to see what it was causing the issue.
“My necklace” she said, pulling at it lightly which grabbed your attention.
“Oh shite, yeah” you mumbled with a jelly in your mouth.
You threw the bag of jellies on the table and your two hands began to reach around your neck to take it off. You’d kept it safe for her and were very thankful she’d trusted you with it.
“No” she whispered and caught your hand. “I want you to keep wearing it”
“What?” You frowned.
“It’s safe here” she replied, patting your chest. “I see you, I see it. I like that you have it” she added.
Alexia’s hand was still on your chest, covering the small charm on the necklace. Your heart started beating quickly because it had been a long time since you’d ever felt so close to someone without being afraid. You knew if you stayed in this position any longer that Alexia would feel your heart beat.
“One second ’” you exclaimed.
You stood up from the couch and walked out of the room. You completely freaked Alexia out when you did it because she thought you were running away.
“Y/n?” Alexia called, hearing you fumble at your jacket.
You came back into the room holding a small box in your hand that you’d retrieved from your jacket pocket.
“Here” you tried not to stutter as you held out the box in front of her. “I got it for ye”
“What? Why?” She asked.
“I didn’t know ye would tell me to keep this” you gripped to the necklace you were wearing. “But I thought I’d lose it or it would lose effect for ye, so I got you that” you finished with a nod of your head towards the box.
Alexia opened the box to reveal a beautiful, subtle necklace. It was similar to the one she’d just gifted you, because you knew that was her style.
“Y/n” she whispered aloud.
“I just thought I can wear this when I go away and ye can wear that when ye go away” you explained. “When we can’t be together”
“Will you put it on me?” Alexia asked.
You nodded and took it from the girl’s hand. She turned her back to you and you wrapped the necklace around her neck before attaching the latch at the back.
“Es preciosa” Alexia smiled, turning back to you and holding on to the necklace. “Gracias” she added.
“Está bien” you shrugged. “Will we continue?” You said, pointing at the TV and reaching for the remote control.
“Wait” she blurted out, taking hold of your hand that had been trying to get to the remote. “You know since you got here there’s been a story”
“I don’t wanna-” you shook your head and tried to pull away from her.
“No, listen” Alexia stopped you. “I want you to know, I don’t believe what people say about you” she said as she let go of your hand and gripped onto your t-shirt, staring at your lips.
“Ye shouldn’t believe it” you shook your head and subtly licked your lips.
Alexia waited for you to pull away, she was lost in her own thoughts on if she wanted you to pull away or lean closer. But then you leaned closer and her mind was made up. You felt the Spaniard lean in and push her lips against yours, so you completely relaxed and melted against her mouth.
Alexia kissed you like it was her full time job. It wasn’t intense but it had an element of longing from both of you. Something had changed between the two of you, even before the kiss. Maybe it was from the late night calls on camp or the distance that had been put between you, but there was something different in the way you saw her now.
You never wanted anything with anyone after Laine, but Alexia was different. It had been a show with Laine, constantly at her beck and call, showing off in front of people and online. But with Alexia it was like this level of calm, where nothing was forced or pushed. You didn’t have to be anything other than yourself with Alexia.
“Dios, te he deseado” God, I’ve wanted you Alexia practically groaned as she sat on your lap and continued to kiss you. You had no idea what she said so you just continued to kiss her.
“I promise ye, none of what ye heard about me was true” you said before you kissed her neck. She let you continue for a few seconds more before she pushed herself away from you.
“I want this” she clarified, tugging your t-shirt again. “But you need to tell me everything that happened with you and her” Alexia challenged and you sighed.
i know you’re leaving in the morning when you wake up
༄ the only exception - paramore (nrk. live studio recording)
༄ pairing - alexia putellas x fem!reader
༄ synopsis - after finally admitting that she’s in love with alexia, y/n becomes trapped between wanting more and knowing their fake relationship has an expiration date, and as the countdown to the end grows smaller, every shared moment begins to feel like something she’s already grieving- until her fear of being left behind pushes her to pull away from the very person she can’t bear to lose.
༄ word count - 4.0k
༄ notes - be appreciative because it's 12:45am and i have school tomrrow ( or today ? )
༄ warnings - fake dating, kinda angsty ?
༄ series -
༄ read more - masterlist
falling in love with alexia putellas turns out to be the worst thing that has ever happened to you. which feels unfair- because she hasn’t actually done anything wrong.
if anything, she’s the exact same person she’s always been.
that’s the problem. nothing changes. except now you know.
and suddenly everything feels different.
—
you make it exactly twenty-four hours before embarrassing yourself.
alexia finds you before training. like always.
coffee in one hand. your coffee.
obviously.
“morning.”
you take it automatically. “morning.”
alexia smiles.
and immediately your heart does something deeply irritating.
you hate that. you used to be normal. you used to be able to look at her without your entire nervous system malfunctioning.
those were good times. simpler times. before your brain decided this was a fantastic idea.
“you look tired.”
you nearly choke. “what?”
“you look tired.”
alexia studies you carefully.
“didn’t sleep?”
you slept terribly. mostly because you’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling after realising you were in love with her.
which feels like relevant information. unfortunately.
“i slept.”
“liar.”
rude. accurate. rude.
you look away. pretending to check your phone.
alexia doesn’t seem convinced. which isn’t surprising. she notices everything. always has. and that’s becoming increasingly inconvenient.
—
the problem with being in love is that suddenly everything means something.
before, alexia touching your arm was just alexia touching your arm.
now?
now your brain writes entire novels about it. which is exhausting. you don’t recommend it. not that anyone asked.
during training, alexia brushes past you. nothing unusual, just reaching for a ball.
her shoulder bumps yours lightly. normal. completely normal.
yet your heart immediately starts behaving like it’s being hunted for sport. ridiculous. absolutely ridiculous.
you spend the next ten minutes angry at yourself.
which unfortunately doesn’t help.
—
by lunch, you’ve developed a new strategy.
avoidance. it’s a terrible strategy. but it’s all you’ve got.
you sit further down the table. not obviously. just enough. you answer messages slower. you don’t seek her out after meetings.
you tell yourself it’s temporary. necessary. smart.
you need distance. distance is healthy. distance is good.
the plan lasts approximately forty-three minutes.
“why are you over here?”
you look up and alexia is standing beside your chair. holding her tray. confused.
you freeze. “what?”
“you’re sitting over here.” she sounds genuinely puzzled. like you’ve violated some unspoken law. which somehow makes this worse.
“and?”
“and usually you’re over there.” she points toward your usual seats.
you stare.
alexia stares.
around you, several teammates have suddenly become very interested in their food.
cowards. every single one of them.
“i wanted a different seat.”
“why?”
“because.”
alexia narrows her eyes. suspicious. you refuse to elaborate. eventually she sits beside you anyway. which defeats the entire purpose.
“problem solved.”
you hate her.
—
except you don’t.
that’s the issue. you like her too much. far too much.
and now every moment feels dangerous. because now you know what’s at stake. you know this isn’t sustainable. you know eventually the fake relationship ends. you know alexia never signed up for this. never asked for this. never chose this. never wanted this.
she agreed to play a role. and somewhere along the way, you forgot that. or maybe you didn’t. maybe you’ve just been pretending not to remember.
—
a few days later, you’re halfway through a sponsor shoot when disaster strikes.
not an actual disaster, just emotional devastation. which is arguably worse.
you and alexia are sitting together waiting for the next setup.
she’s scrolling through her phone. you pretend not to watch her. poorly.
a member of the marketing team approaches with a smile. already suspicious. “good news.”
nobody has ever said those words before delivering terrible news. you’ve noticed that.
“what?”
“the campaign’s been incredibly successful.”
alexia smiles politely. you nod. everyone seems pleased. great. wonderful.
then: “hard to believe it’s almost finished.”
your stomach drops. instantly. violently. almost finished. the words echo. because of course. of course it is.
there was always an end date. there was always a deadline. there was always an expiration date hanging over all of this.
you’ve known that from the beginning. yet somehow hearing it out loud feels different.
real.
alexia doesn’t seem affected. why would she be?
she already knew. everyone already knew. you’re the only idiot surprised by it.
“another month or so, right?” the staff member asks.
alexia nods. “something like that.”
another month. four weeks. roughly thirty days, thirty one if you get lucky enough and it’s a good month.
your chest feels tight. suddenly the room seems smaller. louder. you force a smile. nobody notices.
except-
alexia glances toward you.
frowning slightly.
“you okay?”
immediately. of course. always immediately. you hate how much she notices. “fine.”
“you sure?”
“yes.”
mentira.
alexia doesn’t look convinced.
but before she can push further, someone calls her name.
the moment passes.
thank god.
because you’re not sure what would’ve happened if she’d asked again.
—
that night is worse.
because now there’s a number attached to it.
a deadline, a countdown. one month- roughly. give or take. and suddenly every interaction feels different. temporary.
you hate that word. temporary.
it sounds harmless. it isn’t.
temporary things leave, temporary things end, temporary things disappear.
which is exactly the problem.
because the idea of alexia disappearing from your life makes you feel physically ill. not completely. not forever.
you’ll still be teammates. friends. probably. hopefully. but it won’t be this.
there won’t be breakfast every morning. there won’t be late-night texts. there won’t be hands finding each other automatically in crowded rooms. there won’t be excuses. that’s what terrifies you. the lack of excuses.
because when the arrangement ends, alexia won’t have a reason to choose you anymore.
and why would she?
why would she choose someone who’s spent years insisting love isn’t real? someone who only figured out her feelings when it was already too late?
you laugh bitterly. and the sound isn’t particularly pleasant.
—
your phone buzzes. you don’t even need to look.
alexia. obviously.
alexia: you disappeared.
you stare at the message.
then at the ceiling.
then back at the screen.
you: went home.
three dots appear instantly.
alexia: without saying goodbye?
something painful twists inside your chest.
because she noticed. of course she noticed. she always notices.
you: was tired.
a pause.
alexia: everything okay?
the question sits there. simple. innocent. dangerous. why?
because the truthful answer would ruin everything. everything is absolutely not okay.
you’re in love with your fake girlfriend. the fake relationship is ending. and every day feels like sand slipping through your fingers.
but you can’t exactly text that.
so instead:
you: yeah.
another lie. another easy one. alexia takes longer to answer this time. which makes you feel guilty immediately.
alexia: okay.
just one word. yet somehow it feels wrong.
distant.
you stare at it, uncomfortable. because alexia isn’t stupid. she knows something’s off. she just doesn’t know what. and the worst part?
you almost tell her. for one reckless second, you almost type it. almost throw the whole disaster into her lap and let the universe deal with it. your fingers hover over the keyboard. then stop.
because no. you can’t. you absolutely cannot.
not when she’s leaving. not when this was never real for her. not when there’s a very real chance she’d look at you with sympathy. and sympathy would kill you.
so instead you lock your phone. set it face-down. and stare into the darkness. and for the first time in your life, solitude feels strangely empty.
you think about alexia. about mornings, coffee, shared seats, inside jokes. all the tiny pieces of her that have become woven into your life.
and for the first time, the truth settles in completely. not just that you’re in love with her. you already knew that. the worse truth. the one that’s harder to face.
you are running out of time. and alexia has absolutely no idea.
—
you start measuring time differently.
that’s the first thing you notice.
not in days. or weeks. or matches.
in moments. alexia moments.
which is significantly more pathetic.
you don’t recommend it.
—
“you’re staring.”
you blink, looking away immediately. “i’m not.”
mapi doesn’t even bother pretending to believe you. “okay.”
“i wasn’t.”
“okay.”
“stop saying okay.”
“okay.”
you consider kicking her… hard. instead, you glance back toward the training pitch. just once. immediately spotting alexia. which unfortunately proves mapi’s point. again. alexia is laughing about something- head tilted back slightly, sunlight catching in her hair. completely unaware that you’ve apparently become incapable of functioning like a normal person.
“this is embarrassing.”
you look over and mapi is watching you with genuine pity. which is somehow worse than the teasing.
“what is?”
“you.”
offensive. accurate. offensive.
“mind your business.”
“tia, your business is standing in the middle of a football pitch.”
you hate everyone.
—
the countdown starts without permission.
thirty days becomes twenty-eight.
twenty-eight becomes twenty-six.
then twenty-three.
and suddenly you’re noticing everything. memorizing things. collecting them.
the way alexia always steals your chips but refuses to admit it. the way she taps her fingers when she’s thinking. the exact sound of her laugh when something genuinely surprises her.
you don’t mean to memorize these things, it just happens. the same way everything else happened. slowly. then all at once.
one afternoon you’re sitting together on the team bus. alexia asleep beside you. head resting against your shoulder. completely trusting. completely comfortable.
you stare out the window. trying not to move. trying not to think. because someday this won’t happen anymore. the thought arrives uninvited.
and stays.
you swallow hard, staring harder at the passing scenery. as if that helps.
it doesn’t.
—
alexia notices something is wrong.
of course she does. she always does. you just hoped it would take longer.
“okay.”
you immediately groan. because that’s her serious voice. the one she uses before conversations you’re trying to avoid.
“no.”
“yes.”
“alexia.”
“y/n.”
you glare. she glares back. capitana mode. terrifying.
“what?”
alexia crosses her arms. “what’s going on?”
your stomach drops. “nothing.”
“liar.”
everyone is so rude to you lately.
“i’m not lying.”
alexia just stares… waiting. you hate that look. patient. steady. impossible to escape.
“talk to me.”
the words are soft. which somehow makes them worse. because she sounds worried. actually worried. about you. and for one horrible second, you almost tell her.
almost.
the confession rises right to the surface.
i’m in love with you.
there. simple. easy. honest.
except it isn’t.
because the second you imagine saying it, you imagine the aftermath. the awkwardness. the sympathy. the disappointment. losing her.
you can’t risk that. not yet.
not while you still have this.
so instead: “i’m fine.”
alexia’s expression falls. just slightly. barely noticeable.
you notice anyway. always anyway.
“you’re not.”
“i am.”
“you’re not.”
you look away. coward.
the silence stretches. long. uncomfortable.
finally alexia sighs, a tired sound. defeated.
“okay.”
the word hurts. because she doesn’t believe you. because she’s giving up. because you’ve made her give up.
you hate yourself immediately.
—
the argument happens three days later.
if it can even be called an argument. it’s more like a crack. small. quiet. dangerous.
the team is eating dinner after training. conversation flowing around the table.
normal, easy, everyone laughing.
except you.
because you’ve spent the entire evening trapped inside your own head. again.
alexia says something. you miss it.
“what?”
she repeats herself, but you still don’t hear. because you’re busy wondering what life looks like when she’s gone. which is a terrible use of your time.
“earth to y/n.”
you blink. everyone’s looking at you.
great.
“sorry.”
alexia frowns. “you’re doing it again.”
immediate dread.
“doing what?”
“disappearing.”
silence.
the table suddenly becomes fascinated by their food. cowards. all of them.
you force a laugh. “dramatic.”
alexia doesn’t smile. that’s when you know you’re in trouble. “i’m serious.”
your chest tightens. “i’m right here.”
“not really.”
the words land harder than she intends. you know that instantly. because regret flashes across her face. but it’s too late. the damage is done.
you look down. staring at your plate. suddenly unable to breathe properly. because she’s right.
you haven’t been here. not really.
you’ve been mourning something that hasn’t even ended yet. living half a step away from every moment. waiting for the goodbye.
alexia shifts beside you. voice quieter now. “talk to me.”
there it is again. that request. that impossible request.
talk to me.
tell me what’s wrong.
let me help.
except she can’t help. because she is the problem. not intentionally. never intentionally. because someone as perfect as alexia putellas could never intentionally be the problem.
but still. how are you supposed to explain that?
how are you supposed to look at her and say: i’m terrified because i love you and i think i’m about to lose you.
you can’t. so you do the worst possible thing. you shake your head. “it’s nothing.”
alexia closes her eyes briefly. and when she opens them again, something has changed. not anger. worse.
hurt.
“right.”
your stomach drops immediately. almost violently. “ale-”
“forget it.” the words are quiet. calm. which somehow hurts more.
she stands, grabs her things, and leaves.
just like that.
the conversation around the table doesn’t resume immediately. nobody knows what to say. you don’t either.
because all you can think about is the look on her face. the disappointment. the hurt.
the way she looked at you like she’d reached the end of her patience.
you stare at the empty seat beside you. heart sinking.
“well.” mapi’s voice is unusually gentle.
which is terrifying, so you don’t look up.
“don’t.”
“you need to tell her.”
you laugh- short and humourless.
“that’s not happening.”
“why?”
finally you look over. mapi’s expression softens immediately. because she sees it. whatever is written all over your face. she sees it.
and suddenly you know. she knows. maybe she’s known for a while.
“because.” your voice cracks slightly. you clear your throat. try again. “because this ends in three weeks.”
silence. real silence.
mapi doesn’t joke. doesn’t tease. doesn’t smile. she just looks at you. and for the first time in months, you wish she would say something.
anything.
instead she sighs. slowly and sadly.
“idiot.”
you laugh again. this time it almost sounds like crying.
—
that night you lie awake replaying everything.
every second. every word. especially the look on alexia’s face when she walked away.
you hate it.
you hate yourself. you hate this entire situation. because she was trying. she was reaching for you. and you pushed her away. again.
but that’s not new for you, is it? you push everything away anyways.
your phone stays silent. for the first time in months.
no goodnight text. no stupid joke. no random conversation at one in the morning.
nothing.
the absence feels enormous. you stare at the empty screen. the silence. the distance. and finally understand something.
you thought losing her would happen all at once. a clean ending. a final goodbye.
instead it’s starting now. little by little. moment by moment. piece by piece. and somehow that’s worse.
because alexia is still here. still within reach. still part of your life. yet for the first time, she feels far away.
and the terrifying part?
you’re the one who put the distance there.
—
you spend the entire evening pretending.
which is fitting, really.
if there’s one thing you’ve become good at, it’s pretending. pretending you’re fine. pretending your chest doesn’t ache every time you look at alexia. pretending you’re not counting down the final days of whatever this is. pretending you aren’t completely in love with her.
easy, simple even. or in other words:
a complete disaster.
—
the event is beautiful. of course it is.
some sponsor gala. expensive venue. expensive food. expensive people.everyone dressed like they’re attending the royal wedding.
you hate it immediately.
“you clean up well.”
you look over. and immediately youforget whatever sarcastic response you’d prepared.
because alexia looks unfair. there’s really no better word for it. unfair. the dark suit. the soft makeup. the familiar smile.
“do i?” she’s smiling now. properly smiling. the kind of smile that’s been painfully rare these past few weeks.
something twists in your chest. because you miss this. you miss her.
which is ridiculous.
she’s standing right there. and somehow you still miss her.
—
the night gets worse.
not because anything goes wrong.
because everything goes right.
that’s the problem.
everybody loves the two of you. the sponsors. the journalists. the guests.
everyone.
every time you turn around someone is asking for photos. or interviews. or comments. all about the relationship. the perfect relationship. you almost laugh every time.
if only they knew.
if only they knew you’re standing beside the woman you love while preparing to lose her.
that would probably ruin the marketing campaign.
—
at one point, you’re pulled onto a small stage for a quick interview.
you and alexia side by side. like always.
the host grins, already dangerous. “you two are everyone’s favourite couple.”
those around laugh.
alexia smiles politely. you force yourself to do the same.
“how have you survived all the attention?”
alexia answers first. thank god for her. “i think we’ve been lucky.”
lucky.
the word lands strangely.
because lucky isn’t the word you’d use.
you’d use impossible. beautiful. terrifying. temporary.
mostly temporary.
the interview continues. questions, jokes, laughter.
until the host asks: “what’s your favourite thing about each other now?”
your stomach drops.
because you’ve already answered this once. months ago. back when it was easier. back when the truth wasn’t trying to claw its way out of your chest.
alexia goes first. she glances at you. and for a second something soft crosses her expression. something that makes it difficult to breathe.
“she makes people feel safe.”
the people listening go quiet. not entirely. just enough.
there it is. the question you’ve been avoiding for weeks. months. the question that always ruins everything. you look at her. really look at her. the woman you love. the woman who’s talking about the end like it’s inevitable.
like it’s practical. like it doesn’t hurt.
maybe because it doesn’t. maybe because she was always better at separating reality from pretending than you were. the thought feels unbearable. “i’m tired.”
alexia studies you, not convinced. never convinced. “right.”
you hate that word. you hate how disappointed it sounds. you hate yourself for putting it there.
—
the ride home is quiet. too quiet.
alexia keeps glancing at you. you keep looking away. coward.
the word follows you all the way back to the hotel. all the way to your room. all the way into bed.
because you’re a coward.
and because you know exactly what’s happening.
you’re leaving first. emotionally. pulling away before she can. creating distance before she chooses it. because if she leaves you, it’ll destroy you. but if you leave first-
maybe it’ll hurt less.
the logic is terrible. you know that.
but doesn’t stop you.
—
your phone buzzes just after midnight.
alexia. of course. for one awful second, you consider ignoring it. instead you open the message.
alexia: did i do something?
your breath catches. the words blur slightly. because that’s the problem.
she thinks this is her fault. she thinks she’s done something wrong. when really she’s done everything right.
that’s why this hurts.
because she was kind. because she cared. because she made you fall in love with her without ever meaning to.
you stare at the message for a long time. too long. eventually you type:
you: no.
the lie sits on your screen. ugly. obvious.
alexia: then what’s going on?
your chest aches. because there’s only one truthful answer.
you.
it’s you.
you’re what’s going on.
you’re the problem.
the feeling.
the heartbreak.
the countdown.
all of it.
you delete the words before they’re sent. start again.
you: just tired.
another lie. easier this time.
alexia takes longer to answer.
when the message finally arrives, it somehow hurts more than all the others.
alexia: okay.
just okay. nothing else. no heart. no joke. no goodnight.
just okay.
the conversation ends there. you stare at the screen. waiting. for another message. for anything. nothing comes. eventually the screen goes dark.
and for the first time since this whole disaster began, you allow yourself to imagine the future.
the real future. the one after the arrangement ends. no morning texts. no saved seats. no excuses. no pretending. just absence.
the thought settles heavily over your chest. suffocating.
because the worst part isn’t that the relationship is ending.
the worst part is that alexia still has no idea she’s taking your heart with her when she goes. and tomorrow, for the first time, you’re going to start letting her.
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Before anyone feels the need to say anything I am not talking about the players themselves I'm talking about just the situation as a whole.
WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON IN THE BARCA BOARD ROOM. I'M SORRY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.
This is one of the best teams in women's football. I have supported this club my whole life. My grandad was a Barca fan I have watched both teams my whole life but I natural took more of an infinity to the women's side. I still watch both.
The last two years they've lost some of the best players in the world and the only revenue to come from that was Jana and that was 300,000. I get the club is broke but yet they can sign Anthony Gordon for 69 million and they can go after Julian Alvarez for 100 million.
The women's team is actually winning the shit that's important and they're doing it constantly. They had a reduced squad last season and still managed to win it all. Yet now every day academy players are leaving the team and I get there are still people to come through who are incredible but it just paints the wider picture.
Now if player want to leave a club that is an entirely different conversation but this isn't players wanting to leave a club most of the time. This is a club on the brink of probably a collapse. This is player abandoning ship before it sinks (and fair enough if I was a player I'd do the same thing).
I'm watching the destruction of MY team in real time and it's actually breaking my heart because it makes no sense. I watched this team go through the struggles and I watched this team build into what it is now but I'm now watching it fall apart. I know that's how football works and has always worked and always will but it just frustrated me when the men's team can spend all these ridiculous amounts money and I have to watch the best women's team in the world currently fall apart as a result of a men's team.
It winds me up so much and it actual makes me so mad.
Barcelona is one of the biggest teams in the world how the fuck do you fuck up your finances so badly. They have teams of accountants and lawyer for this shit how has it gone so badly wrong. Like seriously.
summary: you sit with Alexia after her final game reminiscing.
word count: 1.8K
enjoy!
🏆 🏆 🏆
“When all the dust is settled and all the crowds are gone, the things that matter are faith, family and friends.“ - Barbara Bush.
There.
Right in the centre, a figure was sat on the grass overlooking the now, empty Johan Cruyff stadium. A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips seeing her there, it didnt surprise you one bit that she would sit here and drink the sight in, one last time in her Barça jersey.
You came up beside her, plonking down and getting comfortable sitting crisscross, much like Alexia was. She didn’t even pay attention to you, lost in her own little world.
“I figured I would find you here, how do you feel?” You asked gently, your fingers running up and down the back of her jersey that clung to her form.
“At peace.” Her voice equally as soft, the serene look on her face told you that she was being truthful.
“You played a beautiful game tonight baby,” at that, she turned her head to look at you.
“Yeah?”
You nodded, “You really did. You gave every bit of your heart and soul out there tonight, just as I knew you would.”
A smile broke out on her face, her eyes a little misty. “They deserved to see me at my best one last time.”
“I started crying when you did your bow,” you confessed and she let out a small laugh, no heat behind her words when she spoke.
“That’s very predictable of you bebè,”
You grinned ruefully, “I know.”
Alexia let the conversation fade out, simply taking her time, remembering it all one last time. Whilst she did that, you took the time to observe her — no, admire her. For everything she was and everything she stood for. She had dedicated 14 years of her life to this club, it was a legacy no one could ever take from her.
She was a true inspiration to a whole generation, dedicating the better half of her life to this club, to changing women’s football for the better. For being a leader everyone could look up to, girl or boy, young or old. When they saw Alexia, they saw greatness personified.
But you’d gotten to see the intimate moments, when the spotlight faded, you’d seen the flip side of what it meant for her to be the greatest and the price she had paid. Professionally, she’d had one of the best years of her entire career this past year. But personally, you had seen her at her lowest. All from the days where she couldn’t get out of bed, plagued by headlines from a game they’d lost or the threat of injury looming over her head like a thunder cloud. She had pushed her body, fine tuning it into a weapon, putting in insane work hours, sometimes working out twice a day for 3 hours.
You had started to notice the light in her eyes dim. She smiled, but it was forced. She laughed, but it missed the warmth that you were so used too. She made conversation, but she only listened with one ear. And you noticed it, you’d been with Alexia for long enough to know when something was troubling her, but you also knew to give her space. To let her come to terms with whatever she felt before you could ask her about it. You could tell it was something big she was wrestling with, you felt it deep in your bones, an unexplainable feeling but you knew it would be something that had the power to shake up your lives.
Like waiting for a storm to come, but never knowing when it would occur. That ever present sense of dread. It made a tight knot form in your belly, sitting heavy like an anchor.
The breaking point finally came one night, you'd been asleep and reached out for her only to find the sheets cool. You cracked one eye open seeing the bed empty and the unmistakable sound of sniffles. Immediately, you were wide awake and out of bed, feet quietly following the sound of Alexia’s tears, only to find her sat in the corner of your shower. Legs pressed against her chest, hugging herself wearing her ratty sleep shirt and shorts. Your heart dropped at the sight of her.
“Ale? Baby, what’s wrong?” You scooped her into your arms and she went willingly, letting herself be held and you relished the warmth of her skin, the smell of sleep still lingering on her.
“I can't do it anymore,” her voice cracked which made you hold onto her tighter, lips pressing against the back of her neck.
“Do what?” You whispered, making space for her emotions and simultaneously bracing yourself for whatever she had to say.
“Play for Barça anymore,” once the words were out a silence fell upon the two of you, the implication and not to mention the weight of those words had shocked you into speechlessness. Alexia in turn only cried harder because you knew without a shadow of a doubt, that you were the first person she’d told this to, out loud.
“You can’t?” You whispered, anything louder than a whisper would make this feel too real and right now, that’s not what either of you wanted.
She shook her head, clinging to you as though you were her life line. “I can’t,” she confirmed, sounding more scared than you’d ever heard her. “It's taken too much from me, I am broken, I am a shell of who I used to be and you dont deserve that, my family doesn’t deserve that and most importantly, I don't deserve that. I deserve to be happy, to play football for the reason I fell in love with it and if I keep going, I won’t love it anymore and I cant let the club down like that,” she paused and you braced yourself, feeling your heart crack into a million jagged pieces.
“I can’t let papà down like that,” she finished and this time your own tears fell that you weren’t even aware had gathered. You kissed the top of her head, gently stroking her back as she twisted her face in your neck.
“You've given the club everything Ale, but I won’t let it take your happiness, so if this is how you feel, I’ll support it, I will support you. Always,” you murmured fiercely and she let out a shaky breath, nodding jerkily. There wasn’t anything else to say, words felt too heavy for this admission at 3 in the morning. She didnt need anything else than your support right now which you gave her, wholeheartedly and willingly.
“Penny for your thoughts?” You asked softly, shifting so that you sat behind her, putting your weight on your arms and Alexia leaned back against you. A metaphorical you can lean on me, I’ve got you ever since that night in the bathroom.
A bone deep and heavy sigh escaped her and she relaxed fully against you which had you smiling ear-to-ear, waiting for her to speak.
“I feel at peace,” she said softly. At that you pressed a kiss to the top of her head, waiting it out knowing she had more to say.
“Barça will be the greatest love story of my life. I came here a young lost girl, and I leave here a woman who knows exactly who I am having made friends and family for life. There is no part of me that will ever stop being a culer. That’s ingrained in me, I will be their biggest supporter no matter what.” She spoke with such love and fondness that it made your heart clench.
“This team shaped me into who I am today, I came for my love of the club all those years ago, but I stayed for the people. My teammates, the staff — everyone I've ever had the privilege of walking out onto that pitch with. I have so much admiration in my heart.”
You wrapped both arms around her now and her arms came up to hold them, leaning against your shoulder.
“I have so much admiration for you,” you whispered in her ear, unable to stop kissing her cheek. You felt her smile, the dimple deepen and you knew she was fully and completely content with her decision.
“Why?”
“Because it takes incredible amounts of bravery to know when to walk away, and when to put yourself first no matter how much it hurts. You’ve done that baby, and you’re leaving the club in more than capable hands.” You said, hearing the ragged breath she exhaled, your words affecting her.
“I love you Alexia, and watching you give this team everything you have, one more time, winning the quadruple in a way no one else ever has under your leadership. It’s awe-inspiring baby, you can rest now, put yourself first for once,” you finished and she let out a sniffle, wiping at her eyes and you simply smiled softly.
“I hate you, I told myself no more tears,” she huffed wetly which made you laugh.
“They’re good tears, stop lying to yourself,” you grinned knowing, without even seeing it, that she rolled her eyes.
“Do you think I made the right call?” She asked suddenly, her voice taking on a vulnerable edge.
“Look at me,” you murmured, waiting until she had turned in your arms before you spoke, her teary eyes locked on you. “I know you made the right decision, and do you know how I know that?”
She shook her head, hanging onto every word. “You're at peace. You're becoming my Ale more and more each day since that night you made the decision. You’re laughing more freely, you’re glowing again and the determination you’ve shown in getting all of these trophies with the girls,” you stopped, taking a breath as your own throat constricted. “God, I’m so proud of you, there won't ever be another capitana like you, and everyone who’s ever played with you knows that. You are Barcelona Ale, and Barcelona will forever be in you.”
A sob ripped from her throat and she leaned forward, letting her forehead rest against yours as her body shook from the tears, relief, adrenaline — you name it, but everything she’d felt these past few days were finally coming out one last time in the place she’d given her all, so it was fitting truly that she had a breakdown here.
“You are a legend in every sense of the word baby, and now you’ll get to play football and find your love and passion for it again. You have revolutionised the way the world sees football. There won’t be another you ever again and for that, I’m the luckiest girl in the world getting to stand by your side, witnessing it.”
She cut you off with a kiss, tears and teeth clashing as she poured all of the things she couldn’t say. You held her waist, keeping her steady, finding comfort and solace in the kiss and the closeness of her.
She broke the kiss, giving you an emotional smile. “Visca el Barça,”
