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A soft knock echoed through the apartment, followed by the unmistakable sound of the front door opening with the spare key Alexia had eventually found after loosing weeks ago.

"Y/N?" she called softly.

She knew the bedtime routine by now, knew that if she was too loud she'd be responsible for undoing forty five minutes of carefully negotiated sleep.

"We're here."

You smiled to yourself from inside the nursery, Olivia had finally settled, her favourite rabbit tucked beneath one arm.

You gently eased your hand away from where it had been resting on her back, waited a few seconds, then quietly stepped backwards, pulling the nursery door almost closed behind you.

The baby monitor rested in your hand as you walked into the living room, "She's just gone down"

You placed the monitor on the coffee table before finally looking up, Alexia was already watching you. Gone were the joggers and oversized hoodie she'd become so accustomed to seeing you in, instead you'd made an effort, nothing extravagant, just different.

A nice top and a short skirt showing off the legs, your hair done. The faintest hint of perfume, Alexia's eyes travelled over you before she could stop them, her throat bobbed. You were completely oblivious.

You smiled, "Well..." You folded your arms, "Don't you scrub up well."

Alexia blinked, it took her a second to recover, "You..." She cleared her throat, "You too." Her voice came out noticeably quieter than she'd intended.

You smiled, "Thank you."

Eli, who had been standing quietly beside the door, looked from Alexia to you, then back again, a knowing smile slowly appeared, she'd caught the way her daughter's eyes had lingered.

Alexia, meanwhile, was still looking at you, "You clean up alright yourself."

You laughed, "'Alright'?"

"I didn't want your ego getting too big."

"My ego?"

"You've been insufferable all week."

You gasped dramatically, "I've been lovely."

Eli couldn't help herself, she laughed and only then did you notice the two women standing just behind her, Alexia seemed to realise at the same time.

"Oh." She stepped aside, "I should probably introduce everyone." She pointed first to the older woman, "This is my Mami, Eli."

Eli smiled warmly, "So you're Y/N."

You stepped forward, offering your hand, "It's really nice to finally meet you."

Instead of shaking it, Eli gently took your hand in both of hers.

"It's lovely to meet you too" There was something immediately kind about her, comforting. You instantly understood where some of Alexia's softer moments came from.

Alexia turned to the younger woman beside her, "And this is my sister, Alba."

Alba grinned, "Hi."

"Hi."

"You know..." Alba looked you up and down before smiling, "I've heard quite a lot about you."

You looked towards Alexia, "You have?"

Alexia looked horrified, "Alba."

"What?"

Alba laughed, "I'm just saying."

"You two enjoy yourselves."

"We will." Alexia answered perhaps a little too quickly, Eli's smile only grew, Alexia noticed immediately, "Mami..."

"I didn't say anything."

"You don't have to."

"The point is..." She looked back at you, "...we're here to make sure Olivia is cared for if she wakes up."

You smiled gratefully, "Thank you, both of you. I really appreciate it."

Eli waved a hand dismissively, "We're very happy to help."

Alba nodded, "Besides..." She smiled towards the nursery door, "...I've been wanting to meet the famous Olivia."

Alexia immediately pointed a finger at her, "And no waking her up."

Alba looked offended, "I wasn't going to."

"You thought about it."

"I absolutely did."

You laughed, "I'm beginning to understand this family dynamic."

"Good luck." Alba said, "You'll need it being apart of the family now."

Alexia rolled her eyes, "Come on." Before either of them could embarrass her any further.

You picked up your keys and checked the monitor one last time, the steady sound of Olivia's breathing filled the speaker.

Satisfied, you slipped out the living room Alexia held the apartment door open for you, "After you."

You stepped into the hallway, as soon as the door closed behind you, Alba slowly turned towards her mother, "...They are so gone for each other."

Eli smiled knowingly, "I think they've both got a little way to go before they realise it themselves."

Inside the lift, blissfully unaware of the conversation one floor above, that her mother and sister had worked her out within thirty seconds of meeting you, you glanced sideways at Alexia, "So..."

"Hm?"

"You really don't look half bad."

Alexia smiled to herself, "Careful."

"Why?"

"You keep complimenting me like that..." She looked across at you, "...and I might start believing these famous moves of yours are real after all."

You laughed, shaking your head as the lift doors slid open, "You are impossible."

"And yet..." Alexia held the building door open for you, "...you still agreed to join me."

You couldn't argue with that, which judging by the smile Alexia wore all the way to the car, was victory enough for her.

🍼

The drive across Barcelona was surprisingly easy, you'd expected traffic, instead, you spent most of it listening to Alexia explain which teammates would be there.

"...and if Pina starts asking you embarrassing questions, don't answer."

You looked across at her, "Why?"

"Because she'll somehow make it everybody else's business within five minutes."

"So she's the gossip."

"The worst."

"Good to know."

Alexia smiled, "I've warned you."

You laughed, "I work in an emergency department, Alexia. I've dealt with far worse than footballers."

"Oh, she's worse."

"You say that like you're frightened of her."

"I am."

You snorted, "I don't believe that for a second."

"You should."

The dinner was being held in one of the city's waterfront hotels, the foyer buzzed with quiet conversation as club staff, coaches and players filtered inside.

Alexia barely stepped a foot into the reception before someone from the club greeted her immediately.

"Capitana." They smiled warmly, "It's lovely to see you."

"And you."

They glanced towards you, "You must be Y/N."

You smiled politely, "I am."

Alexia noticed your slight surprise, "I might have mentioned you."

"Might have?"

The staff member laughed, "We've heard wonderful things."

You shot Alexia a suspicious look, she very deliberately looked anywhere but at you, "I don't know what they're talking about." she mumbled.

"Hm."

The staff member gestured towards the dining room, "Your table's this way." You followed them through.

The room was elegant without being over the top, sound tables dressed in white linen, soft lighting, the low hum of conversation already filling the space.

Your guide stopped beside one of the tables, "There you are."

Alexia thanked them before pulling your chair out for you, you gave her an amused look, "Oh. You do have manners."

She looked mildly offended, "I always have manners."

"Mhmm."

"You'll see."

You sat down beside her and around the table already sat several familiar faces.

Patri looked up first, her grin was immediate, "Well" She looked between you and Alexia, "look who finally showed up."

Alexia sighed, "It has been approximately thirty seconds."

"I've been patiently waiting."

Patri smiled at you as she leaned back in her chair, "I've heard loads about you coming to this."

Alexia groaned quietly beside you, "Not you as well."

Pina looked up from across the table, "Wait" She pointed between the two of you, "This is the doctor?"

Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose, "Pina."

"What?" She smiled brightly at you, "Hi."

You couldn't help laughing, "Hi."

"Alexia said you were incredible in the hospital that day."

Your smile faltered slightly, "Oh."

Alexia noticed immediately, before you had chance to question, she smoothly changed the subject, "Pina. Food. Now."

Pina grinned, "Fine." She picked up the menu dramatically, "I wasn't going to interrogate her"

Patri snorted, "You absolutely were."

"I was going to ease into it."

You laughed quietly, Alexia leaned slightly closer, "I told you."

"You did."

"They're exhausting."

"I quite like them."

Alexia looked at you sideways, "Give it an hour."

Across the table, Mapi watched the exchange over the rim of her glass, she nudged Vicky with her elbow, "She's smiling."

Vicky followed her gaze, Alexia was and more than that she looked relaxed, comfortable, she looked different.

"You don't see that very often."

Mapi smiled knowingly, "No."

Meanwhile, completely oblivious to the quiet observations happening around the table, you picked up your menu. "So..." You looked at Alexia, "If Pina interrogates you..."

"Mhm?"

"am I allowed to interrogate you?"

Alexia smiled, "You can certainly try."

Patri looked up immediately, "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Alexia sighed dramatically, "I've made a terrible mistake bringing you."

"You absolutely have." You smiled, reaching for your glass, "And it's far too late to change your mind now."

Dinner settled into an easy rhythm, conversations crossed over one another around the table. Patri was halfway through telling some story to Mapi. Pina had somehow convinced Vicky to watch something on her phone. A coach at the other end of the table was discussing training plans.

Nobody was paying much attention to you or Alexia, which suited Alexia perfectly. She lifted her beer bottle to her lips, taking a slow sip before glancing sideways at you. "So..." She rested the bottle against her lower lip, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "About your moves."

You looked at her over the rim of your own glass, "My moves?"

"The ones you apparently have." A slow smile spread across your face, "I'm still waiting."

You set your drink down, “I don't know..."

"You've been talking a very big game."

"I have."

"So?"

You tilted your head, "I don't think I should."

"Why not?"

"Because." You let your eyes settle on hers for a second longer than usual, "I don't think you're ready."

Alexia laughed quietly, "I'm not ready?"

"No."

She folded her arms, "Try me."

You held her gaze, then, very deliberately, let your expression soften. The teasing smile disappeared replaced by something quieter, more intent. Alexia's own smile faded almost immediately. You spoke more softly now, turned slightly in your chair until you were facing her properly.

"I suppose..." Your voice lowered just enough that it felt like the rest of the restaurant faded away. "...they're actually very simple."

Alexia rested her forearm on the table, "I'm listening."

"The first one..." You held her gaze, didn't rush it or look away. You simply watched her, long enough that she became acutely aware of being watched. "The eye contact." You smiled softly, "You don't break it."

Alexia realised she hadn't blinked in several seconds, "And?"

"And" You leaned in just a fraction, "The trick..." Your voice was calm, "You don't keep looking around the room." Your eyes never left hers, "You make them feel like, for a few minutes..." A tiny smile tugged at your lips. "...they're the only person in it."

Alexia swallowed, you noticed and she didn't realise you had, Alexia's throat tightened. It was ridiculous, nothing had happened, you hadn't touched her, hadn't even flirted that much and yet she suddenly couldn't hear anyone else. Couldn't remember what anyone else at the table was talking about, there was just you watching her, speaking quietly, like this conversation belonged only to the two of you.

"And then..." Your gaze dropped briefly only for a heartbeat, before returning to her eyes. "...you move a little closer."

Alexia hadn't realised she'd stopped hearing everyone else until the laughter around the table seemed impossibly far away.

"I even sometimes..." You lowered your voice another notch, "...touch."

Your fingertips drifted lightly across the table, barely brushing the inside of her wrist where her hand rested, just enough for her to feel the warmth of your skin.

Your finger tips traced the faintest line over the place where her pulse fluttered beneath the surface, "...sometimes."

Alexia's eyes immediately dropped to your hand, her pulse betrayed her completely, quickening beneath your fingertips. You felt it with quiet satisfaction before looking back up at her.

She watched your fingertips trace lazy patterns over the inside of her wrist, her heart was beating far harder than she was comfortable with.

"You'd be surprised..." You smiled gently, "...how much people say without saying a word.”

For a second neither of you moved, neither of you spoke. Alexia swallowed, hard, you heard it.

You smiled, "There." You withdrew your hand, "My moves."

For a moment Alexia simply stared at you speechless, then, very deliberately, she cleared her throat snapping back to reality, she reached for her napkin, unfolded it. Then, with far more concentration than a napkin had ever required, spread it carefully across her lap.

You watched her, one eyebrow lifting, "...Alexia?"

She still didn't look at you, "Hm?"

"Everything alright?"

Only then did she finally glance sideways, there was the faintest flush creeping across her cheeks. She gave a tiny shake of her head and let out a quiet, breathless laugh, "...You did that on purpose.”

You smiled innocently, "I thought you wanted proof."

Alexia held your gaze for a long second before laughing under her breath again, "I did."

She picked up her beer took an unnecessarily long drink, then looked back at you.

"...I'm beginning to think I may have underestimated you."

Your smile widened, "I did try to warn you."

"You really did."

For the rest of dinner, every now and then, Alexia caught herself absently rubbing the inside of her wrist, as though she could still feel where your fingertips had rested.

She hated how much she'd noticed something so small, she hated even more that you seemed to know exactly what you were doing.

You smiled to yourself before taking another sip of your drink, "So." You looked at her, "Your turn."

Alexia raised an eyebrow, "My turn?"

"You've criticised my technique enough."

"I didn't criticise it."

"No?"

"No." She smiled, "I admitted it was... effective."

You folded your arms, "So let's see these famous Alexia Putellas date moves then, i've been hearing so much about all these years."

Alexia laughed softly, "You want me to flirt with you?"

"I want to see if all that hype is actually warranted."

"It is."

"Prove it."

She looked at you for a long second, then, unlike you, she didn't lean closer. She leaned back, like she had all evening.

She let the silence sit, you found yourself waiting for her to speak. She knew you were, a slow smile spread across her face.

"You know..." She twirled her beer bottle idly between her fingers, "That's the first one."

You frowned, "What is?"

"Patience." She shrugged lightly, "Most people panic when there's silence." Her eyes never left yours, "They start talking."

You opened your mouth, then realised that's exactly what you'd almost done. She smiled wider and you laughed, "That doesn't count."

"It absolutely counts." She rested her elbow on the table, chin balancing against her knuckles, "You've been waiting for me to say something for nearly thirty seconds."

"I have not."

"You have."

"I was observing."

"Oh?"

"Mhm."

"What were you observing?"

You tilted your head, "Whether you actually had any moves."

Alexia chuckled, "You still sound unconvinced."

"I am."

She nodded slowly, "Okay." This time she leaned in, just enough that her perfume reached you, she lowered her voice, "My second one..."

Her eyes drifted over your face slowly to your eyes, your mouth, then back again.

"...is making people feel seen."

Your heartbeat stumbled slightly, Alexia noticed, of course she did.

"You've got this thing..." She spoke quietly. "...where every time you laugh properly..." Her eyes softened, "...your left eye squints just a little before the right one does."

You blinked, "I..."

"You also push your sleeves up whenever you're thinking."

You instinctively glanced down, your sleeves were halfway up your forearms.

Alexia smiled, "And..." She nodded towards your glass, "...when you're nervous, you always turn it a quarter turn before you take a drink."

You looked down again, your fingers were resting against the glass exactly as she'd described.

"I notice things." She said it simply like it wasn't intended to have any effect at all, but it did.

You looked back at her, "You've been watching me."

Alexia didn't even try to deny it, "A little."

"A little?"

She smiled, "Enough."

Something warm settled in your chest, Alexia reached for your hand, not taking it, just turning it over gently where it rested on the table.

Your brow lifted, "I thought touching wrists was my move."

"It is." She smiled, "I'm borrowing it."

Her fingertips brushed slowly across your palm instead barely there, not teasing, but intentional.

"You know what the difference is?"

"What?"

"You touched me to see my reaction." She looked into your eyes, "I'm touching you because I already know it."

Your breath caught, Alexia's thumb traced one slow line across your palm before letting go picking her beer back up as though nothing had happened.

You stared at her for a moment, "...That was cheating."

She laughed, "It wasn't."

"You psychoanalysed me."

"I observed you."

"You've been studying me."

"I have."

You couldn't help smiling, "That's unfair."

Alexia's grin turned almost unbearably smug, "What? You never heard of the concept of studying for tests before?" She took another sip of her beer, "So... Who wins?"

You looked at her for a long moment, then shook your head, "I don't know."

"No?"

"No." You leaned a little closer, "I think..." A smile tugged at your lips, "...we're both in a bit better at this than we thought."

Alexia had no clever reply, she simply smiled into her drink, hiding the blush that crept onto her cheeks.

You laughed quietly, shaking your head, "I'll admit..." Alexia looked pleased with herself, "...that was annoyingly good."

"I know."

"You've definitely done that before."

She feigned innocence, "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"Liar."

"Probably."

You smiled into your drink before setting it back on the table, "I'll be right back."

Alexia looked up, "Everything alright?"

"I just need the bathroom."

"Okay."

You pushed your chair back, standing, as you stepped behind Alexia's chair, your fingertips found the back of her hand where it rested on the edge of the table. You didn't stop, you let your hand glide slowly over hers, from the tips of her fingers across her knuckles your thumb brushing lightly over the back of her hand before your fingers slipped away completely.

Alexia felt every second of it, you continued around the back of her chair, your hand gliding up her arm before settling briefly on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze, it was intimate.

You leaned down just enough that only she would hear you, "Behave while I'm gone."

"I always behave."

You laughed under your breath, "That's the biggest lie you've told"

Alexia looked up at you, smiling, you took a few steps away, turning back over your shoulder, you caught her eyes immediately.

Exactly where you'd expected them to be, still on you, your smile grew, "And now..." You tilted your head ever so slightly, "...you're watching me walk away."

For a split second Alexia looked caught, then she recovered, realised then laughed, "You set me up."

"I absolutely did."

You winked, then turned and continued walking towards the restroom, Alexia watched you go, she didn't even try to stop herself this time.

She watched until you disappeared around the corner, only then did she let out a slow breath, "...Madre mía."

She rubbed a hand over her face, your hand she could still feel it against the back of hers, against her shoulder.

She looked down at the table, then quietly laughed to herself, "She has good moves." and had absolutely no idea what to do next.

🍼

Alexia was still smiling to herself when you returned. She spotted you before you'd even reached the table, you noticed immediately, "You are." Alexia looked up innocently, "Still watching."

"I happened to look up."

"Mhm."

"Coincidence."

You laughed as you slid back into your chair, "If that helps you sleep tonight."

Alexia shook her head, smiling into her beer, "It will."

You settled comfortably beside her again, "So" You picked up your glass, "...did you miss me?"

Alexia didn't even hesitate, "No."

"Do you want to think about that answer?"

"I enjoyed the peace."

"Ouch."

Alexia shrugged, trying and failing to hide her smile behind her beer bottle, "You asked."

"I was hoping for something a little more flattering."

"You should've lowered your expectations."

You nudged her knee lightly beneath the table, "I'll remember that."

"I'm sure you will."

A comfortable silence settled between youneither of you seemed in any rush to fill it. You found yourself smiling.

"What?" Alexia asked.

"I was just thinking."

"Dangerous."

"Very."

She smiled, "What about?"

You swirled the drink in your glass thoughtfully, "Olivia.. I miss her when I'm not with her now"

Alexia's expression softened immediately, "So do I."

You looked across at her, "You do?"

She smiled into her drink, "My life feels..." She searched for the right word. "...quiet when she's not there."

You laughed softly, "I know."

"I walked in yesterday after training and actually thought something was wrong."

"What?"

"There wasn't a tiny person trying to steal my shoelaces."

You smiled, "She does have quite the obsession lately she's also started doing this thing." Your smile grew without you even noticing. "When she's concentrating she sticks her tongue out."

Alexia immediately laughed, "I've noticed that."

You smiled, shaking your head as you looked down at your glass, "I think she's changing me."

Alexia's voice became quieter, "How?"

You took a moment before answering, "I've never been someone who wanted children."

She looked surprised, "You didn't?"

You shook your head, "I loved paediatrics. I loved Olivia, but..." You shrugged, "I liked giving them back."

Alexia laughed, "Fair."

"I always thought my life would be work because i wouldn't have time for anything else and i was ok with that as it was a career i chose."

"And now?"

You smiled to yourself, "Now I don't want to go back to work" Alexia listened quietly, "I'd spend half my shifts wondering what she's doing. If she's napped. If she's eaten. If she's learnt something new." You laughed under your breath, "I've become that person, the one who shows everyone photos."

Alexia smiled warmly, "You have."

"I showed one of the consultants twenty three photos the other day when I went in for a meeting."

"Twenty three?"

"They asked how she was."

"I don't think they needed a slideshow." Alexia laughed properly.

Another comfortable silence settled, Alexia traced a finger around the rim of her bottle, "I convinced myself I never wanted children either."

You looked at her, "You did?"

She nodded her head slowly, "Football was always..." She shrugged, "Everything. I never really let myself think beyond that and i thought maybe by the time my career ended that wouldn't be an option for me"

You frowned slightly, "And now?"

Alexia looked down at the table, "I don't know." She admitted it so quietly you almost missed it. "I didn't expect" She smiled faintly, "...any of this." Her eyes met yours again, "I didn't expect to look forward to bath time or reading the same book six nights in a row or finding tiny socks in my training bag."

You laughed, "She does put them everywhere."

"I found one in my boot."

"How?"

"I genuinely don't know."

You smiled, "I've stopped questioning it."

Alexia nodded, "Me too." Alexia slid the dessert she'd ordered for you both to share towards you, "So." You looked up, "I've been thinking. I don't think we've finished our experiment."

You rested your chin on your hand, "The experiment?"

"Mhm. Seeing whose moves are better."

You laughed, "Oh, we're still doing that?"

"We're absolutely still doing that."

You picked up your spoon, "I thought I'd already won."

Alexia looked offended, "Won?"

"I made you blush."

"I did not blush."

"You fiddled with your napkin like-"

"I was..." she interrupted, "...organising it."

"Mhm."

She narrowed her eyes, "You think you're funny."

"I know I'm funny."

Alexia smiled despite herself, "Fine." She leaned back in her chair, "Round two."

You mirrored her, "Go on then."

She didn't say anything straight away, instead, she reached across the table, not for your hand, for the dessert spoon in it.

She turned it over in her fingers, studying it thoughtfully. You frowned, "What are you doing?"

"You'll see." She scooped up the first spoonful, then held it out towards you.

You blinked, "...Seriously?"

She shrugged, "I've found sharing dessert works surprisingly well."

"You've found?"

"Mhm. It catches people off guard."

You looked at the spoon, then at her, "You feed all your dates?"

Alexia laughed, "No. Just the ones I like." The words slipped out before she could stop them. Her own eyebrows lifted slightly, you noticed, she noticed you noticing, neither of you acknowledged it.

Instead you leaned forward and accepted the spoonful.

"Well?" She asked.

You swallowed, "The dessert's good."

"I'm talking about the move."

You smiled, "It would've worked if you hadn't pre-warned me."

"It did work"

You raised an eyebrow, "Confident."

"I have reason to be."

You shook your head, laughing, "My turn."

"Oh?" You reached for her spoon, Alexia looked almost triumphant, "I knew you'd copy me."

"I'm not."

"No?"

"No."

You ignored the dessert completely, instead reaching across the table for the small dish of fresh strawberries that sat in the middle.

You picked one up by the stem. Alexia watched curiously, "What now?"

"You said your thing is catching people off guard."

"It is."

"So..." You held the strawberry out towards her, "...open up."

Alexia laughed, "You've literally just copied me."

"Have I?"

"Mhm."

"Then don't eat it." Without another word you brought the strawberry back towards yourself.

Alexia watched, still expecting some kind of trick, instead, your eyes stayed on hers, never wavering.

You smiled, the smallest, knowing smile, then, deliberately took a slow bite from the strawberry yourself, not breaking eye contact once.

Juice caught briefly at the corner of your mouth before your tongue swept it away almost absentmindedly.

You chewed, still watching her, still smiling, Alexia's brain seemed to short circuit, her eyes had followed the strawberry, then your mouth Then she realised she'd been staring, her heartbeat kicked unexpectedly hard against her ribs.

She cleared her throat, far too late, you'd already seen it.

You swallowed, "Hm." You nodded approvingly, "That's actually really good."

Alexia blinked, "What?"

You tilted your head innocently, "The strawberry."

She opened her mouth and closed it again, your smile grew just a fraction.

"Oh..." You rested your chin lightly against your hand, "...were you expecting something else?"

Alexia let out a short laugh, rubbing a hand across the back of her neck, "You..." She shook her head, "...that was deliberate."

"What was?"

"The eye contact."

You smiled, "I learnt from the best."

Alexia looked away for a second, laughing quietly to herself. When she looked back, there was a faint warmth across her cheeks she couldn't quite hide. "I think" She admitted, almost under her breath, "...that might actually have been your best one."

You raised an eyebrow, "Really?"

She nodded once, "Really."

There was a beat of silence, then she reached for her beer, taking a drink that was perhaps a little longer than necessary. You watched her over the rim of your own glass, "So..."

"Hm?"

"What do the women win..." You smiled into your drink, "...when you decide they've given you a good date?"

Alexia didn't even hesitate, "Sex, usually."

You let out a small, "Oh." She looked at you expectantly, you rested your elbow on the table, "So..." Your smile turned teasing, "...you put out on the first date, do you?"

Alexia laughed, "I wouldn't phrase it quite like that."

"But it's accurate."

She tipped her head from side to side, "...Sometimes."

You raised your eyebrows dramatically, "Alexia."

"What?"

"I thought you had standards."

"I do. They're just... flexible. I don't sleep with just anyone"

You laughed, "That's one word for it."

She nudged your knee lightly beneath the table, "Don't judge me."

"I'm trying very hard not to."

Alexia smiled into her drink, "I don't always."

"No?"

Alexia met your eyes, "No" A slow smile appeared, "and what about you?"

You looked up, "What about me?"

She mirrored your earlier question, "What does someone get if they've given you a good first date?"

You pretended to think about it, "Hm." You laughed quietly, "I don't know..." She waited, "I don't even really kiss on a first date."

Alexia looked genuinely surprised, "You don't?"

You shook your head, "No."

"Never?"

"I didn't say never." You smiled, "I just... don't usually."

"Why?"

You shrugged, thinking for a moment, "I suppose because if I'm kissing someone" Your expression softened "...it's because I actually want to."

Alexia smiled, "I'd hope so."

You laughed, "No, I mean..." You searched for the words, "I don't kiss people because it feels like it's expected, or because it's the end of the evening. If I'm kissing someone" You held her gaze, "it's because I can't quite convince myself not to."

Something about the way you said it made Alexia's smile falter into something quieter, "So" She rested her chin against her hand, "how many dates?"

"It depends."

"On?"

"The person."

She laughed, "That's a very diplomatic answer."

"It's an honest one."

"So there isn't a rule?"

"No." You smiled, you took another sip of your drink, "I just think..." You shrugged. I'd rather it just happen naturally but usually because I don't know them I'm not comfortable enough doing that."

Alexia looked at you for a long moment, "I get that."

"You do?"

She nodded as she twirled her beer bottle slowly between her hands, "I don't think I've ever looked at it like that."

"No?"

She shook her head, "I've always been..." She smiled to herself, "...quite impulsive."

"I'd noticed."

Alexia looked down at the table for a second before looking back up, "So, if tonight really was a date" She let the question hang. "and it ended in an hour" She smiled, just enough to tell you she was only half joking. "I'd have absolutely no chance of kissing you?"

You looked at her with an expression somewhere between amused and thoughtful, "I didn't say that."

Her eyebrows lifted, "You didn't?"

You slowly shook your head, "I said I don't really kiss on a first date."

"But?"

You smiled, "There are exceptions to every rule."

Alexia laughed under her breath, "I was wondering when the doctor was going to let loose... what makes someone an exception?"

You leaned back in your chair, "I couldn't possibly tell you."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't kiss and tell"

Alexia smiled, unable to look away from you. 🍼 The apartment was quiet when you unlocked the front door, you stepped inside first, immediately slipping your heels off with a grateful sigh.

"I've never been so happy to walk on flat ground."

Alexia laughed behind you as she locked the door, "You chose those shoes."

"I was lied to."

"By who?"

"The salesperson. They told me they'd be comfortable and they were, but only for the first six minutes."

Alexia smiled to herself, "You're dramatic."

"I work in A&E. I'm entitled to be."

Before either of you could continue, Eli appeared from the living room. She smiled the moment she saw you, "There you are."

You smiled back, "How was she?"

Eli's face softened immediately, "Not a peep. She slept the entire time."

Relief settled across your features, "Good." You bent down to pick your heels up, "Thank you for sitting with her."

"Oh, it was no bother." Eli waved a hand dismissively, "Honestly." Behind her, Alba wandered into the hallway carrying two empty mugs. "We've just been watching films."

She looked between you and Alexia with an expression that was entirely too curious, "So how was your evening?"

Alexia answered before you had chance, "It was nice."

"Nice?" Alba folded her arms. "That's all we're getting?"

Alexia shrugged, "The food was really good. And..." She glanced sideways at you, "it was just" Her smile was smaller now, "...nice."

Alba looked unconvinced, "Right."

You bit back a smile, Eli noticed. "So..." She asked gently, "You enjoyed yourselves?"

You nodded, "Yeah. I did. It was lovely."

Eli smiled knowingly, "I'm glad."

She picked up her handbag from the worktop, "Well. We'll get out of your hair."

You looked between her and Alba, "You don't have to rush off."

"It's getting late." Eli smiled warmly, "And you've both got an early start."

You nodded reluctantly, "Fair enough." As Eli reached the front door, you leaned back against the kitchen counter, "You'll have to come back sometime" Both women looked towards you, "when she's actually awake."

Eli's entire face lit up, "I'd love that."

"So would I." Alba grinned, "I've heard she's got everyone wrapped around her little finger."

You laughed, "That she has."

Alba smiled at you, "It was lovely meeting you."

"You too."

For just a second, Eli looked a little emotional, "Thank you, we'll arrange something soon" She stepped forward, giving your forearm a gentle squeeze, "Take care of yourselves."

"We will."

"And give Olivia a cuddle from us tomorrow."

"I will."

Eli smiled one last time before opening the apartment door, "Goodnight."

"Night."

"Goodnight."

The door clicked shut behind them and the apartment fell quiet again, you let out a slow breath, still leaning against the kitchen counter.

Alexia had wandered to the fridge for a glass of water, you watched her absently, she'd loosened the top button of her shirt at some point since she'd got back, rolled the sleeves up to her forearms.

She looked...it was a thought you didn't let yourself finished as she took a sip before setting the glass down.

When she turned, she found you already looking at her, "What?"

You smiled, "Nothing."

Alexia studied you for a second, then, instead of saying anything, she walked back across the kitchen stopping directly in front of you, close enough that you could see the tiny flecks of gold in her eyes.

Close enough that you caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with the cool night air from outside.

You smiled first, "What? You've been standing there for a full minute."

"It hasn't been a minute."

"It feels like it."

Alexia smiled, "I was deciding something."

"And?"

She was smiling, but there was something nervous underneath it you'd never seen before, "I have a question."

"Okay."

"It might be a stupid one."

"I'll be the judge of that."

She laughed quietly, "I suppose you will."

You waited, Alexia looked at you for a long moment before speaking, "Theoretically..." Your eyebrows lifted, "If" She glanced down for the briefest second before meeting your eyes again, "...tonight had actually been a real date..." Your heartbeat immediately sped up, "...would you have kissed me?"

You didn't answer straight away not because you didn't know, because you wanted to be sure.

Your eyes searched hers, looking for the teasing smile, the joke, the easy escape. There wasn't one, she was genuinely asking.

You smiled softly, "I think" You admitted quietly, "I'd have wanted to." Alexia's breath caught, "But" You continued, "...I'd probably have spent the whole evening trying to work out whether you wanted me to."

A tiny laugh escaped her, "You really are a doctor."

"What does that mean?"

"You overthink everything."

"I do."

She smiled, "I've noticed."

You looked at her, "So" Your voice was barely above a whisper now, "...would you have wanted me to?"

Alexia didn't answer with words instead she took one small step closer, until there was barely any space left between you.

She lifted one hand slowly, giving you every opportunity to move away, her fingertips brushed lightly against your jaw, almost tentative.

"You know" She murmured, "for someone who says they don't kiss on a first date" Her thumb rested gently against your cheek, "you've been making it very difficult not to ask."

You smiled, "I did say there were exceptions."

"I remember." She searched your face one last time, "This is okay?"

You nodded immediately, "Very." You closed the last inch between you, not all at once. Slowly giving her time to change her mind, but she didn't, her eyes drifted shut only at the very last moment.

Your lips met so gently it almost wasn't a kiss at all, just a soft and warm press of lips, neither of you moved for a heartbeat, simply letting the reality of it settle.

Alexia was the first to respond, her fingers slipped carefully into your hair as her lips began to move as she kissed you, a little more confidently this time, still unhurried, still impossibly gentle.

You found your hand settling against her waist, feeling her breathe and feeling her smile against your lips, that it made you smile too.

When you finally drew back, it was only far enough to look at one another.

Neither of you seemed capable of saying anything, Alexia's forehead rested lightly against yours, "...Well."

You laughed quietly, "So..."

"I've definitely kissed you now."

"You have."

She smiled, "I was right."

"About what?"

"You don't kiss people because it's expected."

You shook your head, "No."

"What changed?"

You looked into her eyes, "I couldn't quite convince myself not to."

Alexia let out the smallest laugh, then, before either of you could lose your nerve she leaned in again.

This kiss was even softer than the first more about simply enjoying the fact that, somehow you had both ended up exactly where you wanted to be.

When she finally pulled away, she rested her forehead against yours once more.

"I think..." She whispered, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I should go”

She groaned, a near silent sound, and pressed her palm sweetly to your jaw, her thumb drifting down, slow, deliberate, learning the shape of you. Her hair fell forward, grazing your cheek, and then you were kissing again, this time with the relief of having crossed some invisible line, the tension unspooling down your spine.

Everything about her was new and familiar all at once, the taste of her tongue, she was sturdy and soft at the same time, confident but uncertain, like she was calibrating each new sensation as it happened.

"Careful," you whispered, breathless, "if you keep that up, I might actually sleep with you on the first date."

She smiled against your mouth, "Promises, promises," she said, and you felt the vibration in her chest, a richness you wanted to bottle and keep next to your bed, to open each night before sleep.

For a while, you just stood together in the dim kitchen, her body a buffer between you and the rest of the world, her arms bracing you against the counter as if she couldn't let go. 

Nothing in your last thirty years had prepared you for the sensation of being kissed in your friends' apartment with their child in the next room and the taste of cheap wine still on your tongue, of being wanted so specifically, so precisely, not as an afterthought, but as the direct line between Alexia’s mind and her hands and her whispered, "I want you, but I don't want to mess this up, either."

You let yourself rest your forehead on her collarbone, drew in a breath. She was real, not a fantasy, not a theory, not some impossible future you watched from a safe, unpopulated distance. She was right here. It was both fantastic and terrifying.

"In case you couldn't tell," she went on, "I've never really done this before."

You laughed into her shirt, your lips brushing the place where her pulse beat. "Kissed someone?"

She pinched your waist, enough to make you yelp and grin, "No. Not like this." Her voice gentled, "Like it actually means something."

You felt the words settle under your skin, somewhere that hadn't been reached in years not since the last time you'd let anyone stay past midnight.

She must have sensed the shift, because she pulled back, hands braced on either side of you as if she was worried you might flee if she gave you any more room. “I need to hear you say it” Alexia held your eye contact, “I need to know what ever happens tonight, it doesn’t affect how we care for Olivia” Your fingers found the collar of her shirt without meaning to, turning it over slowly. "I'm nervous," you said. Alexia's arm came back around your waist, her forehead returning to yours. "I don't do this." Your hand stilled against her chest. "And there's Olivia to think about." You felt her waiting. "It's just" you exhaled, "it's been a long time since I've wanted someone the way I want you right now." Alexia let the silence sit for a moment, then quietly, "Shall we go to bed?"

You didn't answer right away. Just lifted your eyes to hers, and nodded.

She took your hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, threading her fingers through yours and guiding you down the hallway with a confidence borrowed from floodlights and full stadiums. In private, she was still learning to be this brave, but there was a steadiness to her that buoyed you both. You could feel the heat of her palm all the way up your arm.

The bedroom was darker than the rest of the apartment, the slow orange glow of a city night creeping in through the slat of blinds. There were shadows everywhere; you barely had time to catalogue them before she pulled you in and kissed you again, deeper this time, her hand splayed flat at the small of your back. You pressed into her, feeling the hard line of her thigh between yours and the softness that belied the strength of her arms.

It was slow, almost ridiculous how slow, and you tried to make a joke about it "Is this one of your famous moves?" but the words died in your throat as she ran her hands up your sides, mapping the lines of your rib cage through your shirt.

Your hands found her collar, thumbs tracing the notch of her throat. You had never been so aware of the mechanics of a button before. Each one yielded to you, slowly, exposing more of her skin, the way her shoulders sloped, the scar under her right clavicle, the shimmer of her necklace in the light. You took your time, letting your fingers learn her, the way her breathing deepened, the way she smiled at you when you did something right.

When her shirt was off, she stood still for a moment, bare to the waist, letting you look. She didn't cover herself or turn away, and something about her confidence, no, her trust made you ache. You reached for her, hands following the curve of her ribs, up and over the delicate plane of her back. She felt solid, like a promise. You pressed your mouth to her shoulder, to the hollow of her neck, and she exhaled, her hands sliding up to cradle your jaw, tipping your face up to hers.

It was a slow dance, and you half expected her to take the lead, to pin you to the bed or flip you over, but she didn't. She let you set the pace, let you explore her body with the kind of awe you didn't know you were capable of. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you into her lap, her hands spreading over your thighs. You ran your fingers along the waistband of her jeans, unsure, but she guided you, her breath warm in your ear, "Whatever you want. I want you to touch me wherever you want"

So you did, tracing the curve of her hip, the heat blooming under her skin as you learned her, every inch, every freckle. Her hand found the back of your head, tangling in your hair as your tongue mapped the notch of her throat. There was nothing but the sound of your breathing, the hush of sheets, the creak of the mattress when you finally, finally let the rest of the world fall away.

At some point she tipped you back into the bed, half on top of you, her mouth at your ear, her body flush with yours. She kissed you until you had no idea where she ended and you began, until you forgot whose heart was pounding hardest, until the only words either of you could remember were please and yes and don't stop.

Even then, she moved with care, you knew she was strong enough to take you apart, but she never did, not even when your leg locked around her waist, not even when your hand trembled against her spine.

Alexia’s hand was a map sketched in the dark, each new inch of skin she discovered a place she wanted to memorise. She found the hem of your skirt, hesitated, and then her palm slipped beneath, resting warm and electric on your thigh. Her other hand followed, so careful, like she was worried you might vanish if she moved too fast. You felt the air shift as she drew your skirt upward, you lifted your hips to meet her, and for a heartbeat, the two of you hung there suspended, breath held, time odd and elastic.

She slid the skirt down your legs, and let it fall to the floor. You became hyper aware of every exposed inch, the coolness of the room on your skin, the way her gaze lingered not in the abstract but in the most literal sense, she watched you. She watched all of you.

You should have felt shy, maybe, or self conscious, but instead, you felt in a word devoured. Alexia looked at you like she’d been waiting for this her whole life, she ran her hands along your outer thigh, up to the waistband of your underwear, and paused again.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” she said, and her voice was low and rough, not a question but a promise of safety.

“I’ll tell you if I want to stop,” you managed, but what you wanted was for her to keep going. She lowered her mouth to your navel, pressing a slow, open mouthed kiss there, then another, just below the line of your underwear. You felt her smile when you arched toward her, and when she finally hooked her thumbs into the waistband and drew your underwear down, you had to close your eyes.

She kissed the inside of your knee, the apex of your thigh, the softest part of skin you’d never thought of as a place to be worshipped, and then she moved up and up.

She was patient, so patient, and when you finally felt her tongue, you almost sobbed. She found your rhythm quickly, of course she did, but she didn’t just memorise, she innovated. She drew you out, drew you open, and when you pressed your palm to her head, she moaned in response, as if the compliment was physical, as if your need was feeding hers. You didn’t recognise the sounds you were making, but Alexia seemed to know them already.

After, you dragged her up by her chin, kissing her hard, tasting yourself on her lips. Your hands fumbled with her jeans, but she was already helping, getting them off, her mouth, her hands, her everything. She shimmied them down and off, tossing them somewhere that neither of you would probably ever find again, and then she was bare, skin to skin, the heat between your bodies almost comical in its intensity.

You reached up, suddenly greedy, and Alexia let you run your hands up and over her, worshipping the lines of her shoulders, the soft dip of her lower back, the muscle beneath her stomach. Her breasts pressed against you, perfect, and you found yourself gasping, every nerve ending on high alert.

She kissed you again, and your hands fumbled for her, trying to get her underwear off, and she helped you, both of you laughing a little at how tangled and graceless it was until you were both finally, completely bare.

You pulled her to you again, legs locked around her hips, and this time she kissed you with an intensity that left you dizzy. Her hand found your breast, cupped it, thumb brushing over your nipple. You inhaled sharply, you’d forgotten how sensitive you could be when you let yourself go and her mouth followed, hot and wet, tongue circling, then teeth, and it was all you could do not to cry out.

“Fuck, look at you” she mumbled, mouth still busy with your breast, and you felt her smile when you arched into her. She switched sides, greedy, worshipful, and you let her, hands in her hair and nails digging deliciously into her back.

When she finally made her way down, her mouth mapped a line of heat over your ribs, your stomach, every inch accounted for, and then she was between your legs again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if she wanted to see how long she could keep you on the edge.

Her fingers were devastating, you’d had partners before who were eager, enthusiastic, but never, never someone who seemed to know what you wanted before you did. She was attentive, relentless, and when you bucked against her, she didn’t pull away, just held you steady, groaning into your mouth as if this was the only thing she ever wanted.

When you came, it was like a circuit closing, an inevitability, heat arcing up your spine and blooming out in every direction. Alexia didn’t stop, not right away, working you through it, letting you shudder against her fingers until she finally eased back.

You were still catching your breath when she kissed you, slow and deep, and you could taste yourself on her tongue.

She rolled you onto your back with more strength than you expected, and you let her, finding an odd comfort in the way she took control, the way she seemed to know exactly where to touch, when to slow and when to press harder. She kissed your jaw, your throat, the soft dip of your clavicle, both of you drifting through the half-light with nothing but the sound of your breathing, your moans, the urgent hush of the sheets twisting under you.

She kissed you again, this time with tongue, urgent, almost greedy, her thigh sliding between yours, pressing up, forcing your legs wider. She wanted all of you, and you wanted her back with almost violent intensity. When she ground her hips against you, you gasped, the heat at the apex of your thighs turning molten. You bucked against her, and she moaned, her mouth tracing frantic lines up your neck. Her hand curled around your thigh, moving you where she needed you, the heel of one of your feet moved to rest on her shoulder.

She shifted, bracing herself over you, and you felt her slick, feverish pussy pressed against your own, your hips aligning perfectly.

She smiled, wicked, and then she rocked into you, slow at first, then harder. You met her, thrust for thrust, moving together, not thinking about what you looked like or how it sounded, but only about how it felt. Every movement sent shockwaves through your belly, every grind a new jolt of pleasure.

Her hand slipped between your bodies, and the first brush of her fingers against your clit sent you wild. She kept working you, not stopping for a second, alternating between circling and pressing, her hips never losing their rhythm against you. You felt her muscles flex, her abs tight and trembling, the sweat pooling in the hollow above her sternum under your explorative fingertips.

She was lost in it too, completely gone, her voice raw as she whispered your name, once, twice, like a prayer.

Your hand gripped her arse cheek hard leaving marks, needing something to anchor you, because you were starting to come apart. She felt it, matched your urgency, grinding harder, her thigh slick with her own wetness. She was right there, and so were you, both of you straining, shaking, unable to stop.

When you came, you cried out, your whole body arched and slick with sweat. She didn’t stop, didn’t even slow, chasing her own finish with a focus that was almost terrifying. She shuddered, gasped, and then you felt her pulse against you, a wet, hot rush that only made you press closer. You carefully let your leg fall from her shoulder, as she eased her body down on top of yours.

You stayed like that for a long time, tangled together, neither willing to move, the sticky heat of your bodies sealing you in place. You could feel her heartbeat against yours, wild, then slowing. She kissed you, softer now, her whole weight splayed over you, and you ran your hands over her back up and down.

Eventually, she moved to your side, facing you in the dark, she laced her fingers with yours, the heat between your palms a quiet echo of everything you couldn't vocalise. She watched you, eyes soft, as if she wasn't sure if she was still allowed to be gentle with you.

you had been dating lamine yamal for a few months now.

he was always so sweet with you, stealing moments after training to pull you into quiet corners for soft kisses, sending you silly voice notes when he was away with the national team and showing up at your door with your favorite snacks after long days.

everyone around him assumed he was this experienced guy.

the way girls used to throw themselves at him and how the media painted him as a young heartthrob with a list of exes.

you never pushed. you loved the way he blushed when things got a little heated.

one quiet evening after a big win, you were both in his apartment, curled up on the huge couch watching a movie.

lamine kept glancing at you instead of the screen, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh under the blanket.

you turned to him smiling and kissed him softly.

the kiss deepened quickly, his breath hitching as you climbed into his lap, straddling him. his hands settled on your waist, gripping a little tighter as your tongues met.

“i want you,” you whispered against his lips, feeling the heat building between you.

lamine nodded and carried you to his bedroom like you weighed nothing.

clothes came off slowly. he was so gentle, worshipping every inch of your skin with his mouth.

you could feel how hard he was against your thigh, his body trembling slightly with anticipation.

when you finally guided him between your legs and he pushed inside you for the first time, you both moaned at the feeling.

he was thick and warm, stretching you perfectly, but something felt off.

his movements were hesitant, a little clumsy, like he was concentrating too hard not to hurt you.

you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, and noticed the way his hips stuttered, the slight wince on his face mixed with pure bliss.

that was when you tilted.

you cupped his cheeks, slowing him down gently as you looked into his eyes.

“lamine… baby, have you done this before?” you asked softly.

he froze for a second, burying his face in your neck, embarrassed.

“no...” his voice came out quiet and shy.

your heart melted at his confession. you kissed him deeply, running your fingers through his hair.

“it’s okay, we’ll go slow,” you smiled.

lamine relaxed against you, nodding as he started moving again, this time with more confidence guided by your praises.

you showed him how to roll his hips, how to find the rhythm that made you gasp his name.

it turned into something hotter, sweat-slicked skin sliding together, his moans growing louder and more desperate every time you clenched around him.

he was a quick learner, soon thrusting deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you while his thumb found your clit, circling it shyly at first then firmer when he heard how much you loved it.

you smiled through your moans, pulling him closer so your bodies were completely flush.

the room filled with the sounds of skin meeting skin, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

lamine lasted longer than you expected for his first time, focused entirely on making you cum first.

when you finally tightened around him, shaking with pleasure, he followed right after, burying himself deep and spilling inside you with a broken groan of your name.

afterwards, he didn’t pull out right away.

he stayed on top of you, catching his breath, pressing soft kisses all over your face and neck.

“thank you for being patient with me. next time i’ll be even better, i promise.”

you laughed softly and held him tight, running your fingers down his back.

“you were perfect, lamine.”

the two of you stayed tangled together under the sheets for hours, talking quietly, laughing about the rumors and how wrong everyone had been, sharing gentle touches and more kisses until sleep took you both.

he was inexperienced but so full of love and eagerness to learn everything with you.

“Models of the pitch: 10 most handsome faces in the 2026 World Cup.” A playful smile spreads across your face as you read the Instagram post. This is the… fifth or sixth one to appear in your feed in just the few minutes you’ve spent scrolling on your phone to distract yourself.

Your finger involuntarily swipes through the carousel; you aren't the least bit surprised when a photo of Ferrán appears—this time, in the third spot. Ever since World Cup fever took hold, it’s been impossible to escape those posts—a constant reminder of just how sought-after he had become.

“This one or this one?” Ferrán’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

You look up to see Ferrán holding two shirts out in front of you.

“The white one”, you say, before turning your attention back to your phone.

“You’re supposed to be helping me pack”, Ferrán points out as he puts the shirt into his suitcase.

“And I am. My opinion on your fashion sense counts as help. Besides, I deserve a little break after helping you with your pants”.

Ferrán’s laughter draws your attention back to him. He moves aside the stacks of athletic shorts neatly piled at the edge of the bed to join you. His arms wrap around your waist as his nose tickles your neck.

“You’re right, we should rest for a while”, he exhales, settling back against the pillow while keeping his grip firm.

With him close by, you notice his expression is easier to read: the tension in his jaw, his lips slightly pursed, and a look where worry spills from the corners of his eyes.

“You’re going to be fine, I’m sure of it”.

Ferrán gave a half-smile. “Although, come to think of it, I think the break should be for lunch. Pizza?” he asked, sitting down and reaching for his phone.

“Yes, thanks”, you replied, masking the disappointment of having been pushed away by him —yet again.

You watch him order the food, following him with your gaze as he leaves the room, excusing himself by saying he needs to enter his new card details into the app.

In the solitude of his room, a sense of frustration washes over you once again. You tried to connect with him on a deeper level, only to run up against an emotional wall.

You had met Ferrán four months earlier when you modeled with him in an Under Armour shoot. After texting casually for a few days, he had asked you out.

That’s how the weeks went by—moving from casual dates to spending the night at his apartment, meeting his friends and family, and eventually watching him play in the final matches of Barcelona’s season.

Yet, just when you thought Ferrán was finally going to let you into his life in a more serious way, he would pull back. Just when you thought he was finally going to let his guard down with you, he would put his walls back up to keep his distance.

And yet, there were those little gestures: a surprise visit to your apartment with your favorite dessert, his hand holding yours while you were out with friends, the way his eyes followed you whenever you stepped away until you returned to his side.

Burying your face in the pillow, you try to make sense of it all. Especially since your feelings for him are clear—you cared for him, and deeply. Yet you don't know how much longer you could put up with this nameless dynamic. Especially when he is about to leave for the World Cup, with an ocean between you and thousands of girls ready to try their luck.

The bed dips beside you; you lift your head to find Ferrán sitting next to you. You slowly sit up and easily read his expression again: he is nervous.

“There’s… there’s something I want to ask you. Well, I’ve wanted to ask you for a long time, but first I had to check your schedule with your agent so it would be a surprise”, he stammered, under your confused gaze. “I’d like you to come with me; it would mean a lot to me”.

Ferrán holds out a plane ticket and a ticket for the match between Spain and Saudi Arabia, which was to be played in Atlanta.

Your eyes widen in surprise. A warm feeling spreads through your entire body as you take them between your fingers. Ferrán wraps his hands around yours, his nervousness giving way to a look of determination.

“What a surprise!” you smiled excitedly, your heart racing.

“I would have liked you to be there from the start, but your agent told me you were working. Still, the important thing is that you’ll be there”.

You throw yourself at him, wrapping him in a hug; his hands quickly catching and pulling your body close. “Of course, I’ll be there. Thank you so much”.

“Your hotel reservation is all set, too, so you don’t have to worry about anything”.

Once again, confusion slowly crept through your system. One moment he was shying away from you, and the next he was asking you to be there for one of the most important moments of his career.

Ferrán kisses you sweetly, momentarily pushing that feeling aside.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

People could be cruel—you knew that for a fact. That was one of the reasons you had decided to keep your situation with Ferrán 100% private. Not a single photo together, not a mention, not a comment that could link the two of you.

After the draw against Cape Verde, social media had turned its vitriol on the players; while some managed to dodge the criticism, Ferrán hadn't been so lucky. The usual—and, honestly, by now tiresome—jokes about his struggle to score were flooding social media.

You knew it had affected him when he went completely silent for two days after the match, returning to your messages without replying to the earlier ones in which you’d asked how he was doing and encouraged him to keep going.

Now you see him come on in the second half, and you stand up to applaud him. Spain had already won the match, but you wouldn't be fully satisfied until Ferrán scored his goal, he deserved it.

It’s the erratic way he hunts for every pass and chases the ball with the conviction of someone who has something to prove.

The chance comes in stoppage time. You rise to celebrate his long-awaited and well-deserved goal, only to notice a hint of hesitation in the celebration. The referee heads to the VAR monitor to check for a possible offside.

You cross your fingers, wishing with all your might for it to be a goal—for him to have that moment. The decision echoes throughout the stadium, and disappointment tightens your chest as the goal is disallowed.

You kept clapping, though, because that didn't change the fact that Ferrán was giving it his all, just as always.

The final whistle blew a few minutes later, and despite the victory, Ferrán’s shoulders were slumped. He shuffled toward the tunnel and disappeared from sight.

Laura signals for you to follow her to greet the players. Ferrán’s family stays in the stands, chatting among themselves.

Dani walks over to say hello to Laura. You smile as you catch Ferrán’s eye, but he abruptly looks away and walks right past you. Your smile freezes on your face, then slowly fades.

Embarrassed, you take a step back and lower your gaze, trying to regain your composure. Maybe he didn’t see you, or didn’t recognize you.

“He… maybe he was too lost in thought to say hello”, Laura asserted. “Right, babe?” she asked Dani.

“Yeah”, he replied awkwardly. Laura gave him a nudge in the ribs. “So, I’ll talk to him and find out what’s going on, but I’m sure it wasn’t intentional”.

You nod, sensing the awkwardness in the air. Laura puts her arm around your shoulders as Dani runs off toward the locker room.

“Let’s wait for them outside, shall we? Some fresh air would do us good”.

Questions pile up in your mind as the minutes tick by. The players begin to emerge to join their loved ones. You spot Dani heading toward you, wearing a look that spells bad news.

“Ferrán isn’t feeling well and is heading straight to the hotel”, he announces as he catches up to you.

“What—? He’s not—he’s not coming?” you ask, confused.

Your stomach sinks the moment Dani shakes his head apologetically.

“What’s wrong with Ferrán? That’s not like him; there has to be an explanation”, Laura interjects, fixing her boyfriend with a piercing stare to get more information.

Dani shrugs, avoiding her gaze. “Don’t shoot the messenger”.

“It’s okay, Dani. Thanks for letting me know”, you say, offering a small, forced smile.

“I’ll accompany you to the hotel—”

“Don’t worry, I’m fine. Enjoy your night”, you say, cutting Laura off.

You say goodbye to the couple, hugging each of them. You run into Ferrán’s family making dinner plans with Pedri’s family, but you decline the invitation, using the excuse of an “unexpected meeting with your agent”.

The trip back to the hotel feels endless; the tears start flowing the moment you step into the room.

With blurred vision, you start looking for the next flight back to Barcelona. Frustrated at not finding an option for the following day, you toss your phone to the other side of the bed.

To others, the situation might seem insignificant—he simply didn't say hello. But the way your blood ran cold at feeling intentionally ignored made you realize you had reached your limit.

You open your suitcase and, without thinking, start packing a few clothes to distract yourself. Yet, your mind refuses to quiet down.

It’s not just ignoring you; it’s having sent Dani to let you know he wasn’t going to speak to you. It’s, once again, building those stupid walls to keep you out. And perhaps it’s your fault for developing feelings for what was likely always meant to be a casual relationship—just a fling.

A knock at the door interrupts the torrent of thoughts in your mind. You wipe away your tears before looking through the peephole. Your blood boils when you see Ferrán standing on the other side. You consider not opening the door—giving him a taste of his own medicine. No, that would be immature and would only put off a conversation that is inevitable.

You slowly open the door, biting your inner cheek, your eyes full of hesitation.

“Hey”, Ferrán murmurs, not meeting your gaze.

You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for something more.

“Can I come in?” He gestures toward your room.

You step aside and let him enter. Whatever was about to happen, you didn’t want to make a scene in the hotel hallway.

You close the door and lean back against it, still waiting for an explanation.

“I think there was a bit of a misunderstanding…” he begins.

He had looked up, though his gaze was fixed just to the side of where you stood. You could sense it—that holding back in his demeanor, as if he didn’t want to open up to you completely.

“I made a mistake by inviting you here”.

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. Of all the things you expected to hear, that was the last one.

You bite down harder on the inside of your cheek, hoping to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

“Is that what you think?” you manage to say. Ferrán nods, lowering his gaze. “Then look at me when you say it”.

A stifled laugh escapes your throat as you see that Ferrán won’t lift his eyes from the floor.

“It would be best if you went back to Spain; I’ve already taken up too much of your time”.

“Bullshit,” you interrupt. “What are you trying to do? Why do you always abruptly pull me away when things get tough?”

“You wouldn’t understand”.

“Right—if you don’t talk to me, I’m not going to understand. I really… I really thought this could turn into something real”, you say, shaking your head. “I’m so stupid”.

“No… God. You’re not stupid, I…” Ferrán hesitated before continuing. “I just don’t want…”

“Don’t want what, Ferrán?”

“I don’t want you to be with a fucking loser like me”.

Ferrán finally looked you in the face; uncertainty and fear danced in his eyes. He had finally let his guard down, and you found yourself looking at a frightened young man.

Everything makes sense in an instant. The distance, his reserved attitude, the way he acted as if he had something to prove.

“You’re not a loser”, you soothe him, approaching cautiously.

“Yes, I am. Everyone always has something to say about my performance at Barcelona—always. In every match, I try to be better. I thought this World Cup would be my chance to prove I’m worth it, that I deserve you. I invited you here to prove that, but what did you see? A damn goal disallowed for offside”, he admitted dejectedly.

Sighing his name, you moved a little closer until you managed to take his hand. This time he didn't pull away. Instead, he intertwined his fingers with yours and pulled you into a needy embrace.

"I want you to succeed because that makes you happy, not because it makes you worth it. You're already worth everything," you comforted him, stroking his hair. “I care because you care, not because it makes me want you more or less”. 

“Really?” he murmured. “It’s just that I’ve seen those posts where they call me nothing but a pretty face, rather than a good footballer”.

“I know, but the World Cup is just getting started; you still have plenty of time ahead of you. Besides”, you say, positioning yourself in front of him to see him better, “you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. As long as you know how important and vital you are, no one else’s opinion matters”.

The words seem to sink in for Ferrán; his furrowed brow relaxes, and he slowly exhales.

“It’s hard. You’re incredibly beautiful and talented, and you make it look easy”.

A small smile escapes your lips as you feel your cheeks warm up. “I know it’s hard—that’s why you have us for. The people who care for you for being you, regardless of performance. And for what it's worth, you're a very good player, as well as a quite attractive one”.

Ferrán laughs and lightly caresses your cheek.

“I was a jerk; I’m so sorry. I was really embarrassed about today’s game and… and I acted immaturely. I don’t want you to leave”, he sighes, tightening his grip on your waist. “I want you to be with me for the rest of the way. And not just as a friend, but as my girlfriend”.

Your heart leapt several times in your chest; Ferrán had finally spoken the word you had so longed to hear.

“Really?” you stammer, knees trembling.

“Of course. I wanted to ask you once I’d finally proven I was worthy of you, but I don’t want to risk losing you in the meantime”.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Ferrán—just that you want me the way I do”.

“That’ll be easy”.

Ferrán kisses you, and despite having done so hundreds of times over the past few months, this kiss feels different. More intentional, with the lightness of someone finally freed from the chains that had been holding him back.

Bayern had already arrived and spread out by the time Barcelona stepped onto the pitch for the pre-match inspection, players and staff scattered across the field with the easy confidence of people standing on familiar ground. It was their stadium after all, their territory, and they carried themselves like they belonged there.

But Alexia could see the nerves lying beneath the surface, no matter how brave and intimidating Bayern tried to appear - she wasn’t scared, and neither was the rest of the team.

Pitch inspections had become routine to her. A chance to feel the grass beneath her shoes, feel it in her hands, adjust to the atmosphere of the still empty stadium and see her opponents before kickoff. But as Barcelona spread out across the pitch, the blonde's attention caught on someone standing near a goalpost.

While most of Bayern’s training staff stood huddled together near the bench, already relaxed and laughing amongst themselves, one lone figure had wandered further onto the pitch entirely on her own. An iPad was tucked securely beneath her arm while she held a notebook and pen in her hands. 

If not for the moving pen in her hand, Alexia might have mistaken her for a statue with how still she was standing. Not even looking down to see what she was writing, instead completely focused on how the girls from Barcelona behaved and moved on the pitch - even if they were just walking around and joking.

Alexia found herself staring at the mystery woman much more than she should.

The difference between her and the rest of the Bayern staff felt unsettling to the captain - so concentrated and isolated while the rest were already done with the inspection and were just chatting in a corner.

“Who is that?” Alexia asked quietly, more to herself than anyone else. Mapi followed her gaze and shrugged. “No idea. Maybe an analyst? Bayern’s got like five of them.”

She didn’t really expect her teammate to have a useful answer but was disappointed by the answer nonetheless. Just as she was about to tell her as much, she felt a stare settle on her.

Alexia looked up, and the stare didn’t falter. She was still and composed, pen hovering above her notebook, as if she had been studying Alexia just as closely as Alexia had been studying her. 

The moment stretched for only a few seconds, but it was enough to feel deliberate, neither of them in a hurry to look away first. Then, almost casually, the woman lowered her gaze back to her notebook, breaking the connection with a small shift of her shoulders before continuing to write as if nothing had happened at all - but Alexia could see the small smirk on her lips.

The blonde frowned slightly.

She had expected something. A reaction, a flicker of recognition, anything that showed the woman knew exactly who she was - Alexia Putellas, two-time Ballon d’Or winner, with more than enough titles under her belt to intimidate most opponents. 

But there was nothing.

“She’s weird,” Patri muttered, having just caught the end of her captain’s interaction. If you could even call it that.

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes were still fixed on the goal area, watching the way the woman moved a few steps closer, completely absorbed in whatever she was writing down.

Then, without really thinking about it anymore, Alexia turned her head slightly. “Bühl?” she called as the German approached them. 

Klara Bühl looked over. “Hm?”

Alexia nodded subtly towards where the woman had just sat down, leaning against a goal post “Who is she?”

Klara followed her gaze, then let out a small laugh, like the answer was obvious. “Oh,” she said, “that’s our tactical assistant coach. She basically runs half our tactical prep.”

Alexia’s eyes drifted back toward the goalpost almost immediately.

The woman still hadn’t moved much, now sitting against the white metal frame with one knee pulled up slightly while she wrote something down across an already crowded page of notes. Every now and then her gaze flicked back toward Barcelona’s players, focused and thoughtful in a way the Catalan found increasingly difficult to ignore.

And before she could properly think things through her feet were already moving towards you.

“Oh my god,” Patri groaned somewhere behind her. “You’re actually going over there?”

The woman noticed her approach long before Alexia reached her and just stared at her while she was making her way over. Before the captain had reached her, she had stood up, the pen had stilled and the notebook had been closed and vanished into a coat pocket.

Up close, she looked younger than Alexia expected, however the stare didn’t waver and was still scary as hell.

For a moment neither of them spoke, just sizing each other up. But the blonde broke first, nodding to the coat pocket, “Find anything useful?”

The corner of the woman’s mouth lifted slightly.

“That depends,” she replied smoothly, finally closing the notebook. “Are you planning on making this easy for us?”

The faint smirk still lingered on your lips, subtle enough that Alexia almost thought she had imagined it, but there was something undeniably amused in the way you watched her now, as though her walking over had only confirmed whatever conclusion you had already come to.

“Confident,” Alexia noted lightly.

One of your eyebrows lifted slightly. “Would you prefer I wasn’t?”. The Catalan found herself caught off guard for half a second by how easily you held your ground beneath her stare.

Up close, you somehow seemed even calmer than before, completely unaffected by the fact that the Alexia Putellas was standing directly in front of you. There was no nervousness in your expression, no awkward fumbling for words.

And it unsettled her more than she cared to admit, how your eyes seemed to constantly analyse her.

“What exactly are you writing down?” Alexia asked after a moment, nodding subtly toward the notebook now tucked away inside your coat pocket.

You tilted your head slightly, considering her question for a second before answering.

“Tactical adjustments, patterns, weaknesses.” That small smirk appeared again, just barely visible at the corner of your mouth. “And maybe,” you said smoothly, “which Barcelona players are easier to distract than others.”

Before she could respond, someone further down the pitch called your name sharply and said something in German. Your attention shifted immediately toward the Bayern bench before returning to Alexia one last time.

“You should probably go warm up properly, Putellas,” you said calmly as you stepped around her. “I’d hate for all those Ballon d'Ors to lose against Bayern.”

Then you walked away before Alexia could think of an answer good enough to stop you.

Usually warming up before the match was calming, and helped Alexia focus on the game. The familiar rhythm of drills, repeated movement and stretching were addicting to her, but this night was different, no matter what the blonde tried her attention kept drifting off.

The stadium was slowly filling up with supporters clad in red and white, while music echoed through the speakers - just enough to entertain the people but, but quiet enough that conversations were easy to overhear.

Barcelona had been warming up for nearly ten minutes before the Bayern staff started to take their places on the bench and behind it. Her eyes immediately found your figure again - the reason for her distraction.

Just behind you was a woman that appeared to be close to your age, also dressed in staff gear, holding a cooler of Powerade while you walked slightly ahead, flipping through the notebook with concentration.

Alexia could hear the woman talk to you in English, the Brit was loud enough that her words made their way over to the captain, but she only caught part of it at first.

“... seriously need to relax.”

She could only scoff at the woman’s words. Relax? You certainly didn’t look stressed. You barely looked up from the page. “I am relaxed.” 

The woman snorted beside you. “Right. Because stalking Barcelona’s warmup from the goalpost definitely screams relaxed.”

Alexia’s mouth twitched despite herself, just a bit amused at how passionately you had watched them.

You finally glanced sideways at the woman with weary eyes. “It’s called tactical preparation.”

“Sure,” she said dryly. “And I’m sure your actual coaches appreciate their little overachiever assistant doing all the hard work for them.”

Something about the comment immediately bothered Alexia.

Maybe because of how quickly you went quiet afterward. Or maybe because Alexia had already spent enough time watching Bayern’s technical area to know your role clearly extended far beyond “assistant” and that it simply wasn’t true.

You only stood quiet at the comment, eyes already dropping back to your notes. The woman sighed quite loud and dramatically. “God, you’re impossible before matches,” then, quieter this time, “You act like you’re the one actually coaching.”

Alexia’s jaw tightened, her eyes locking onto the British woman beside you. Because from everything she had seen so far, it certainly looked like you were coaching and analysing.

And judging by the way your shoulders stiffened almost immediately beside the woman, this clearly wasn’t the first time she had said something like that.

Eight minutes.

It had taken Barcelona all of eight minutes to be ahead. 

The stadium erupted instantly in anger, as Ewa Pajor disappeared beneath a crowd of celebrating Barcelona players. If there’s one thing the polish woman knew how to do, it’s score goals, especially against Bayern. No matter if in Barça’s blaugrana or Wolfsburg’s neon green.

Alexia patted the goalscorers back with pride and satisfaction while her gaze swept to the sideline where the Bayern bench looked shocked.

The head coach was already speaking rapidly to one of the assistants beside him, frustration clear in every sharp movement, but you had gone strangely still again, eyes locked onto the pitch with that same intense concentration Alexia remembered from the inspection earlier.

And then suddenly you moved - the notebook was gone, replaced by the iPad tucked beneath your arm as you stepped directly into the technical area beside the coach, who stopped talking immediately. 

The Catalan didn’t have more time to observe your actions closely as play resumed, she did however see Giulia Gwinn make her way over to you in the coaches box, where she listened to your instructions.

Bayern’s shape changed almost instantly after Gwinn made her way back and made a few gestures that clearly meant something to the others. 

The midfield line dropped slightly deeper whenever Barcelona tried building through the center, forcing them wider instead. Bayern’s strong and experienced wingers stopped tracking aggressively and started blocking passing lanes first - effectively shutting every attempt on goal down.

Alexia frowned slightly as she jogged back into position after another corner, eyes flicking toward the bench area again. The head coach had stepped back already but you hadn’t.

You were still standing near the line, one arm folded across your chest while the other held the iPad against your side, eyes constantly moving across the pitch as Bayern reorganised themselves exactly the way you had indicated moments earlier.

You were observing and shaping the game. Just as a content smile made its way onto your face the Brit tugged you back by the jacket, out of Alexia’s sight.

The whistle for halftime couldn’t have come sooner, finally letting you breathe for a moment as Barcelona still led, but only barely. The home team's adjustment had worked well enough to slow the game down, much to the frustration of the Spanish team.

As Alexia made her way toward the tunnel, she found you again - hands full with an iPad, notebooks and a tactical board. You flinched when a heavy hand landed on your shoulder. 

“Nice adjustment,” she said casually, her spanish lilt soft in your ears. For the first time all evening, you looked genuinely surprised. Then your expression settled back into something smoother, more controlled, though Alexia didn’t miss the faint satisfaction that flickered across your face at the compliment.

“Careful, Putellas,” you replied lightly. “People might start thinking you enjoy talking to me.”

Alexia’s mouth twitched upward, a cocky smirk settling on her lips. “They wouldn’t be wrong.” And before you could answer that one, she disappeared further down the tunnel alongside the rest of Barcelona’s squad.

The second half started much messier than the first had ended. Barça still had most of the possession, moving the ball across the pitch with the same irritating patience and speed that had frustrated Bayern in the first half. But the home side looked sharper, hungrier. 

The equalizer came in the sixty-ninth minute. The Allianz Arena exploded in cheers, the second Franzi Kett buried the ball into the back of the net with a stunning shot assisted by Pernille Harder. Bayern's bench erupted into chaos, finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel.

Alexia swore quietly under her breath while Bayern’s players disappeared into celebration near the corner flag. And despite her teammates teasing comments from earlier, her eyes searched for you again. For the first time all evening, you weren’t composed, no you looked thrilled.

One of Bayern’s assistant coaches grabbed your shoulders excitedly while players on the bench shouted toward you, and for a brief moment you laughed openly, the sound completely swallowed by the roaring stadium around you.

Your face looked much softer when you were this happy.

However, the game turned ugly quickly after that.

The foul happened directly in front of the sideline with the team benches and the coaches boxes. One second Franziska Kett was desperately trying to recover against Salma Paralluelo, the next Salma hit the ground with an angry shout as she held up some strands of hair - the referee’s whistle cut sharply through the stadium noise. 

At first, nobody seemed too worried - only a couple of weeks earlier Katie McCabe didn’t get anything for her action.

Then the referee reached into her pocket.

Red.

The entire stadium erupted instantly.

Bayern players crowded the referee almost immediately while the Barcelona bench shouted for the decision to stand, and a few meters away Kett looked completely stunned as she backed away slowly with both hands pressed against her head.

José Barcala was already storming out of the coaches box furiously, shouting so aggressively toward the ref that everyone could hear it. Several staff members tried unsuccessfully to calm him down, but the Bayern coach only grew louder. 

Then came the second red card.

The stadium noise somehow became even louder.

Barcala stared at the referee in disbelief before being forced away from the sideline by security and staff members alike, still shouting over his shoulder while Bayern’s bench dissolved into confusion around him.

You were already stepping forward before Barcala had even fully disappeared down the sideline tunnel, one hand reaching automatically for the tactical board while Bayern’s assistants and players turned toward you. 

Alexia watched as you spoke rapidly in German, pointing sharply toward the pitch while Bayern’s players looked uncertain, now a player down and desperately trying to reorganize.

A strange thrill settled low in Alexia’s chest as your eyes lifted briefly from the tactical board and met hers across the pitch again. In the middle of complete chaos, you looked terrifyingly calm and completely happy.

The final whistle finally released the high strung tension of the crowd. The Allianz Arena erupted into a relieved applause as Bayern’s players collapsed into each other, congratulating themselves on making it through the game.

After saying good game to her opponents and teammates alike Alexia made her way back over to where you were standing on the pitch. The captain pointedly ignored Pina’s wiggling eyebrows. You looked tired for the first time since she’s met you, while your fellow staff celebrated.

“That was good,” Alexia said as she stopped in front of you, slightly breathless. “Very good.” Your eyebrows only lifted a bit in surprise at the kind words. “We still only drew.”

“Sí, but after all this?” Alexia gestured vaguely toward the pitch with a small scoff. “With ten players and crazy coach?” A grin pulled at her lips. “Vale, maybe you save them a little.”

A soft laugh escaped you as you shook your head, knowing damn well that the catalan herself wasn’t happy with a draw, always wanting to win.

Before you could make her aware of her hypocrisy, the British woman from earlier suddenly appeared beside you again, a possessive hand on your shoulder. Well, she hadn’t exactly materialized out of nowhere, but Alexia had been far too busy admiring your smile to notice the woman approaching. 

“There you are,” she sighed dramatically in a heavy English accent before finally noticing Alexia properly. “Oh.” You straightened slightly. “Alexia, this is Emma.”

“Her girlfriend,” Emma added smoothly before you could say anything else. Well. That certainly wasn’t what the footballer wanted to hear, but she could see something unreadable flicker across your face for the briefest second.

Emma, meanwhile, looked far too pleased by the attention she had gotten by such a prominent figure of women's football. “I handle travel schedules and staff accreditation for the club,” she explained quickly. “Matchday logistics mostly.”

Alexia blinked once. Because the way Emma had been talking and behaving all evening, she had half expected her to be running Bayern herself. 

Then Emma laughed lightly, nudging your side. “She takes football way too seriously honestly. I swear she cares more about tactics than actual people sometimes.” 

“Hmm.” A faint smirk pulled at her lips. “One organises buses, the other organises football.” 

Emma’s smile faltered slightly and for the first time all evening, she didn’t seem to have a response ready. “Right,” she muttered after a second, patting your shoulder once more before stepping away toward the rest of Bayern’s staff.

The Catalan looked back at you with a much softer smile now.

“So,” she said casually, switching the conversation back where she wanted it, “you like Spain?” Your head lifted again, confusion flickering across your face. “What?”

Alexia grinned faintly. “Barcelona.” She shrugged. “Maybe one day we steal you, no?”

This time your laugh sounded more genuine as you tilted your head, “Can Barcelona even afford me?” you asked lightly.

Alexia’s grin only widened.

“For you?” she said smoothly. “Vale. Maybe I ask president personally, huh?”

27th of April - Barça Training Facilities, Barcelona Spain

Back in Barcelona the analysis session had been over for nearly 20 minutes, but Alexia was still there, reviewing their lines against Bayern and what went wrong. Pere Romeu stood beside her, arms folded as he watched his captain re-watch the game again and again.

“The adjustment they made after our goal, that wasn’t Barcala,” she said suddenly.

Pere glanced over briefly. “Hm?”

Alexia pointed on the screen where she could see you talk to Gwinn, giving her the changes they were supposed to make. “That was her.”

A small smile pulled at the coach’s mouth, like he had been waiting for somebody else to notice. “She’s good,” he admitted simply.

She crossed her arms loosely. “You need another assistant?”

That earned her a proper look this time. Pere leaned back slightly against the desk. “Why? Are you recruiting for me now?”

“Maybe,” Alexia replied without shame.

The older man laughed quietly before glancing back toward the frozen image on the screen where you stood near the sideline, iPad tucked beneath your arm.

“She already applied.”

Alexia blinked.

“What?”

“For next season,” Pere clarified casually. “Not officially finalized yet, but we’ve been watching her for a while.” Something strange twisted low in Alexia’s chest at that. “She wants to leave Bayern?”

Pere shrugged lightly. “From what I heard, Bayern’s not exactly trying very hard to keep her, and they’re losing a few of their core players of the last few seasons as well.”

“Well,” she said lightly, already turning toward the door, “sounds like Barça will be happy about that.” 

02nd of May 2026 - Barça Press room, Barcelona Spain

The heat in the press room felt unbearable in preparation for the second leg of the semi final, now in Barcelona. Not only the heat of so many people in a room without windows, the bright lights or the cameras heating up, but also the what of the questions.

Alexia sat upright beside Pere Romeu, hands loosely clasped in front of her, though she wasn’t really listening to the final questions anymore, her attention drifting in small, toward the other side of the table where you were sitting with Klara Bühl and bombarded with questions about the red cards and how you’ll move on from it as a team.

“Alexia,” a journalist called from somewhere in the middle rows, voice cutting cleanly through the room as the last of the movement settled, “in matches like this, how much do you think influence from the bench actually changes what happens on the pitch, especially when the coaching structure shifts during the game?”

Alexia leaned back slightly in her chair, hands still loosely interlaced, listening properly this time and taking a moment before she answered.

“It depends,” she began slowly, slightly measured, “but in games like this… you can feel when something changes from outside, no?”

She paused for a second, searching for the right word, eyebrows drawing together slightly.

“Like… hm… how do you say… when someone is seeing the game before it happens?” She glanced briefly toward Pere, then shook her head lightly, continuing anyway. “Sometimes it is not the coach shouting, it is someone who is… already there, mentally.”

“And that kind of influence can decide matches?” The question came again, a bit sharper now.

Alexia exhaled softly through her nose, almost amused.

“Sí… It can be very dangerous, or very good. If you understand football like that… you don’t need to be on the pitch to change everything.”

The end of the press conference couldn’t have come sooner in your opinion, as chairs were scraping back and journalists started talking to each other.

Alexia stood with Pere, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder when she saw you pass just a little too close to the edge of the exit path, holding one of your notebooks against your chest.

The hallway outside was quieter, dimmer after the harsh lights of the press room, the noise of voices bouncing further down toward the exit. Pere was a step ahead of her, when a movement at the edge of the corridor near a side passage caught her eyes. The blonde gestured to her coach that she would see him tomorrow, telling him she wanted to use the washroom before leaving.

In front of the bathroom you sat on a bench, files iPads and notebooks stacked on top of each other as one of them dropped. With a soft slap of paper and leather it landed on the florór, sliding slightly before coming to rest near the wall. 

Alexia got to it first, picked it up and looked at the open page. Your handwriting was dense, chaotic and a mess of german and english.

A small sound left her, halfway between amusement and disbelief at seeing her name in there. “Hm,” she said quietly, tilting the notebook slightly so you could see what she was looking at.

You shifted instantly. “That’s private.”

“No,” Alexia replied easily, finally looking up at you with far too much confidence for someone currently invading your privacy, “I think maybe you should watch us again, vale?”

“I watched you for ninety minutes.”

“Mm.” She tilted her head slightly, unconvinced. “Not enough, clearly.”

The smugness in her voice only made you step forward quicker, reaching for the notebook before she could continue embarrassing you further, but the second your fingers nearly brushed the paper, Alexia reacted faster.

Her hand closed around your forearm smoothly, almost lazily, while her other arm lifted the notebook higher and further away from you in the same motion.

The movement was so effortless it completely caught you off guard with how easy it clearly was for her.

Her hand was large and warm against your skin in the cold hallway, fingers firm around your arm while she held you back without even properly looking like she was trying, and for one brief second your body simply stopped responding the way you wanted it to.

Alexia noticed the lack of bite coming her way, and looked at you again - amused by the flicker of surprise across your face and the way your eyes darted down toward where she was holding you before lifting back up to her again.

And the smile that spread across her face after that was unbearably smug. “Ah,” she said softly, amusement dripping through every syllable now, “mira eso.”

You frowned slightly. “What?”

“If I knew you go this quiet when I hold you like this,” she continued, voice lower now, teasing in a way that made heat crawl annoyingly fast into your face, “maybe I do it earlier, hm?”

Your mouth fell open slightly in disbelief.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, trying once more to tug your arm back, only for Alexia’s grip to tighten just enough to stop you again with ridiculous ease.

“Sí,” she agreed immediately, completely unashamed. “But you are still trying.”

The worst part was that she looked entirely too pleased with herself now, dark eyes flicking between your face and your arm in her grasp like she was enjoying every second of watching you realize exactly how much stronger she was than you had expected.

Then, almost casually, she tilted the notebook again.

“Hm,” she hummed teasingly, “and this here is definitely wrong.”

You groaned quietly. “Alexia…”

“No, no, listen.” She laughed softly now, clearly having the time of her life. “You think you understand us, but maybe you are too distracted every time I look at you.”

“That is not happening.”

“Mm.” Her eyebrows lifted knowingly. “You sure, cariño?” Heat rushed even faster into your face at that, making your cheeks burn and eyes divert. “Ah,” she grinned, satisfaction written all over her face now, “there she is.”

You stared at her in disbelief. “You’re so annoying.”

“Venga,” she scoffed lightly, finally letting your arm go, though not before her thumb brushed once against your skin almost absentmindedly. “You started this when you stare at me from goalpost like psychopath.”

“I was analysing you.”

Alexia’s grin only widened. “Sure you were.”

Only then did she finally lower the notebook enough for you to snatch it back, though she kept standing far too close afterward, eyes still fixed on your face with amusement.

“You know,” she added lightly after a second, “for someone so scary before the match, you get very quiet when I touch you.”

You scoffed softly, trying to ignore the heat still sitting in your face. “You’re unbelievably full of yourself.”

“Mm, maybe.” Her grin only widened slightly. “But I am also right. ”Your eyes narrowed at her while you gathered your notebooks back against your chest. “Do you flirt with everyone like this?”

A slow grin spread across Alexia’s face. “Cariño, you are not everyone.” The answer came far too easily.

Before you could recover properly, her gaze flicked briefly toward the notebook in your arms before returning to your face again.

“And your girlfriend?” she asked casually, though the curiosity beneath it was obvious. “She knows you get like this?”

You blinked once, then let out a soft breath through your nose. “Emma’s not my girlfriend anymore,” you corrected calmly. “Hasn’t been for a while.”

For the first time since picking up your notebook, Alexia looked genuinely caught off guard.

The reaction only lasted a second before something far more pleased settled across her face instead, slow and smug and entirely too satisfied for your liking.

“Ah,” she murmured softly, unable to stop the grin pulling at her mouth now. “This keeps getting better for me.”

You rolled your eyes immediately. “You’re unbelievable. What’s with the sudden obsession?” Before she could answer that, the bathroom door beside the bench suddenly opened.

Klara stepped out first, still fixing the sleeves of her hoodie before she stopped dead at the sight in front of her.

You standing flustered with your notebooks clutched against your chest.

Alexia standing far too close with the most self-satisfied expression Klara had ever seen on another human being.

The German blinked once. Then slowly looked between the two of you again. “…Oh my god,” she muttered in disbelief.

Your face immediately hardened. “Don’t.”

Klara ignored you completely, her gaze moving slowly between the two of you before one eyebrow disappeared into her hairline. “…Why are you two standing so close?” she asked suspiciously.

“Nobody is standing close,” you answered immediately. At the exact same time Alexia said, completely calm, “We are having conversation.”

Klara stared at both of you for a second.

Then her eyes dropped briefly to your face, clearly noticing the embarrassed look and wide eyes, before looking back at the Barcelona captain, who still looked unbearably pleased with herself.

You let out a long sigh. “Please don’t start.” But the winger was already grinning now. “You flirted with her,” she accused Alexia outright. The Catalan only shrugged lightly, entirely unashamed. “Maybe.”

Klara looked between the two of you again, visibly trying and failing not to laugh.

“Wow,” she said slowly, eyes lingering on your still warm face, “I leave for five minutes and somehow you’re the one losing your head?”

“I’m not losing anything,” you shot back immediately.

Alexia hummed softly beside you, clearly unconvinced. “No?” she asked innocently. “Then why you look at me like that?”

Your mouth opened briefly before closing again when absolutely no good answer came to mind fast enough. Which only made Alexia’s grin widen.

Klara outright laughed this time, folding her arms across her chest. “This is incredible actually.”

“You’re both annoying.”

“Sí,” Alexia agreed easily, not taking her eyes off you for even a second. “But only one of us has you blushing in hallway, no?”

You shot Alexia one last look, still visibly flustered and annoyed all at once, before adjusting the notebooks against your chest again. “Enjoy your ego while it lasts, Putellas,” you muttered dryly. “Tomorrow I’m making your life miserable for at least ninety minutes.”

The grin on Alexia’s face only widened at that. “Ah, vale,” she laughed softly, “there she is again.”

You rolled your eyes hard enough that Klara snorted beside you.

“Come on,” you said, nudging the taller blonde sharply with your elbow as you finally started walking down the corridor. “Use those stupidly long legs and move your ass. Some of us actually have work tomorrow.”

“Excuse me?” Klara called after you, laughing in disbelief as she hurried after you with far less dignity than she probably wanted.

“And good luck tomorrow,” you called over your shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

Alexia let out a quiet laugh through her nose, shaking her head as she watched you disappear around the corner with Klara still complaining beside you in German. 

“Qué mujer,” she muttered under her breath, still smiling long after you were gone.

03rd of May 2026 - Camp Nou, Barcelona

Camp Nou was already loud by the time Barcelona stepped onto the pitch for warmups, fans clad in blaugrana trickling in and filling the stands, music echoed around the stadium. Normally the atmosphere helped Alexia settle into herself before a match, but tonight her attention kept drifting elsewhere.

Straight toward Bayern’s bench.

You were already there, standing near the technical area with an iPad tucked beneath your arm while clips from the first leg flashed across the screen in front of you. Two analysts stood beside you, along with Gwinn and Bühl, all listening while you pointed something out with quick, sharp gestures toward Barcelona’s midfield shape during rondos.

“Madre mía,” Mapi muttered after catching her staring again. “You have a serious problem.”

Alexia scoffed immediately. “I am warming up.”

“With Bayern’s assistant coach?”

“She is a tactical assistant,” Alexia corrected automatically.

Mapi’s grin widened instantly. “Ah, so now you know the exact title too?”

Patri snorted somewhere behind them while Alexia ignored the both of them with as much dignity as possible, though the smug looks on her teammates’ faces made that increasingly difficult.

A shout cut through the noise, forcing Barcelona back into drills, though even then her gaze kept wandering between passing sequences and stretches. It wasn’t until a short water break that your eyes finally lifted from the iPad.

Straight toward her, but you only smiled faintly before looking away again, continuing your conversation with Gwinn as if nothing had happened.

“Alexia!”

Pere’s voice snapped across the pitch sharply enough that several players turned.

The blonde looked over. “Sí?”

“You plan to finish warming up today or keep scouting Bayern staff for me?”

Patri nearly folded over laughing, catching herself on Pina’s shoulder, while Alexia rolled her eyes hard enough to make Mapi shove her shoulder teasingly.

“Very funny,” she muttered under her breath before jogging back into position.

Still, when she glanced toward Bayern’s bench one last time, she caught the corner of your mouth twitching upward again.

Barcelona came out aggressively from the very first whistle, moving the ball with sharp, suffocating movements that immediately forced Bayern deep into their own half. Within the opening minutes they had already created two dangerous chances, one forcing a strong save from Mahmutovic while another flashed narrowly wide after a quick combination through midfield.

Once the match started properly, Alexia’s focus narrowed almost completely toward the game itself.

This was a Champions League semi-final at Camp Nou. There was no room for distractions once adrenaline took over. Every movement became automatic, and Bayern spent most of the opening minutes trying desperately to survive Barcelona’s intensity.

The pressure finally paid off in the thirteenth minute.

A quick switch of play pulled Bayern’s defensive line apart just enough for Salma Paralluelo to attack the space behind Gwinn, and once she got through on goal there was never really any doubt about the outcome. Camp Nou erupted as Salma buried the finish confidently into the bottom corner before disappearing beneath celebrating teammates.

Alexia barely even looked toward Bayern’s bench afterward, already jogging back to her position while Barça tried to keep momentum high.

But Bayern answered almost immediately.

Only four minutes later Linda Dallmann found space after a messy second ball dropped awkwardly outside Barcelona’s box, and before anyone properly reacted the midfielder drove the ball low past Cata into the corner.

Alexia swore quietly under her breath while retreating back, frustration flashing hot through her chest. Bayern settled deeper after that, slowing the tempo wherever possible while Barcelona tried forcing openings through the middle again.

Then came the twenty-second minute.

The attack itself was ugly, the ball bouncing wildly around Bayern’s box after a corner while defenders desperately threw themselves in front of every attempt. One clearance failed, then another, until suddenly the ball rolled loose toward the penalty spot.

Straight to Alexia and her instincts won.

One touch. Strike. Goal.

The stadium went nuts around her, teammates on and off the pitch screaming as the culers started another chant.

Alexia turned immediately toward the sideline as the net rippled behind Mahmutovic, and this time, her eyes found you instantly.

Without slowing down properly, she angled her run closer toward Bayern’s coaches box before dropping into her familiar celebration, a bow, with a smug grin pulling at her mouth.

Directly toward you.

Then, just before teammates crashed into her from behind, Alexia lifted her head again and winked.

You just stared at her for half a second too long before rolling your eyes sharply and gesturing for your players to reset. But the Catalan still caught the reluctant twitch at the corner of your mouth before she disappeared beneath celebrating teammates.

The match settled into something scrappier after that.

Bayern dropped deeper and deeper, trying to slow Barcelona’s rhythm whenever possible while frustration slowly crept into challenges across midfield. In the twenty-ninth minute Stanway earned herself a yellow card despite her protests.

From there Bayern focused almost entirely on surviving until halftime.

Barcelona dominated possession while Bayern defended and tried to calm the game down whenever possible to get it back to their side. One minute of added time appeared on the fourth official’s board.

Then finally, at 45+1, the whistle for halftime echoed through Camp Nou.

The tunnel under Camp Nou was loud with halftime movement, boots echoing off concrete as both teams filtered away from the pitch, and Alexia barely had time to reset her focus before someone bumped lightly into her shoulder and, when she turned, there you were walking beside her, Bayern jacket half open and iPad tucked under your arm.

“Nice goal,” you said casually, though your eyes lingered on her just a fraction too long. “Bit dramatic with the celebration.”

Alexia’s smile came immediately, easy and unbothered as she kept walking in step with you. “Ah, you watching very close hm?,” she said, voice warm with amusement, letting the words roll a little as her gaze flicked over you.

“Hard not to when you bow in front of our bench.”

That earned a quiet laugh from her, low and pleased.

“Vale,” she replied, leaning just slightly closer as the tunnel narrowed around them, “so you like it enough to remember.”

You shot her a sideways look. “Don’t overthink it.”

Alexia tilted her head, eyes narrowing playfully as if she was weighing something she already knew the answer to, and then she said it, light and almost teasing as they kept walking, “you trying to get into my head?”

The captain saw the shift in your expression, the brief hesitation before you recovered, and the corner of her mouth lifted as she softened into something almost fond. “Mm,” she added, quieter now, amused rather than sharp, “cute.”

Your stare sharpened immediately. “It’s not…”

“Tranquilo,” she cut in easily, still smiling like she’d already decided what she thought, “I like it.”

A voice called your name from further down the tunnel, pulling you away as you turned your head and began to step back toward Bayern’s dressing room. “Second half,” you said over your shoulder, regaining yourself quickly, “don’t get too comfortable.”

Alexia’s grin lingered as she watched you go.

“No promises,” she called after you, still amused, before finally turning toward Barça’s dressing room and shaking her head once under her breath.

The second half started with a similar energy.

But Barcelona came out sharper, faster, more ruthless in possession, and it didn’t take long before Bayern started getting pushed deeper again, forced back into survival mode as the pressure built.

In the 54th minute, the breakthrough came again.

A quick combination through the left half pulled Bayern’s defensive line just half a step too late, and Ewa Pajor didn’t need a second invitation, she finished and Camp Nou erupted as Barcelona stretched the lead.

Two minutes later, Claudia Pina came on for Caroline Graham Hansen, and immediately Barcelona looked even more dangerous in the final third, the game speeding up with fresh legs as Bayern tried to adjust.

Then in the 58th minute, it happened again.

From the right half, Pina floated a long free-kick cross toward the far post, Esmee Brugts rose to meet it and nodded it back into the danger area, and there, half turning, body already falling, Alexia connected instinctively, guiding the ball into the far corner.

She celebrated only briefly, turning toward the crowd with that familiar lift of her arm and a grin.

She didn’t dwell on it then, not with the game still alive, not with Bayern still dangerous, and her attention snapped back into place almost immediately as Barcelona pushed forward again, not giving up.

When the 85th minute board went up and her number appeared, she already knew what was coming, on her way toward the sideline she clapped for the fans in thanks, handing over the captain’s armband to Patri. 

There were tears in her eyes, as she took in the sight of a packed Camp Nou wearing her colours and her name, of a semi-final played at home for the club she had grown up dreaming of, and she blinked hard once again.

On the bench she sat slightly back from the noise, breathing more evenly again now but still watching the pitch, still locked into the game even without being on it, and her gaze inevitably found you once more at the edge of Bayern’s coaching box, where your focus remained absolute despite the pressure building around you.

She saw Emma beside you then, talking frantically, gesturing confidently and saying something that you clearly didn’t agree with, based on your expression, as you tried to stay locked on the game while clearly fighting the distraction beside you.

The Catalan could see the tension in the way you stood, the way your attention kept snapping back to the pitch, and when Emma continued speaking you finally shook your head once, firm and decisive, cutting through it and turning your focus fully back to the match, effectively ending the discussion.

Then came the 89th minute.

Caruso won the ball in the midfield and Bayern shifted forward instantly, as Harder drove through the centre and slipped Imade into space before the ball came back across in a messy way that ended with the finish. Bayern didn’t celebrate much as they could immediately hear the Spanish team and fans protest.

Even from the bench Alexia felt her eyes finding you, because she had learned by now that you didn’t react like everyone else. At first you were completely still while your players were protesting on the field.

The blonde saw the slight drop in your shoulders, the shift in your weight, the way your head turned toward the officials before anyone else had even processed what was happening.

You were waiting. And then came the announcement, the goal would be VAR-checked.

Foul in the buildup - Goal disallowed.

The noise flipped violently from Bayern celebration to frustration and disbelief, but on the sideline Alexia saw you let out a controlled exhale that didn’t try to hide the disappointment, only accept it.

Just disappointment, clean and honest in a way that made you look younger for a second.

The final five minutes passed in a blur of exhausted pressing, clearance after clearance, and Barcelona simply trying to manage the game rather than force anything new, while Bayern threw everything forward in one last attempt that never quite broke through the Catalan structure.

When the whistle finally went, it didn’t explode into chaos so much as release—arms dropping, bodies bending forward, players collapsing into exhaustion and relief all at once, before both teams slowly began to find each other for the ritual that always followed matches like this.

Handshakes first, then brief embraces, words exchanged in passing that were half respect, half disbelief at what had just been survived.

Pere found you almost immediately, “Very good,” he said simply, nodding once as he looked at you properly, with respect. “You did incredible for the first time coaching.”

A few Barcelona players passed by while shaking hands, some offering quick smiles, others stopping long enough to pat your shoulder or exchange a few words in Spanish or English, still slightly breathless but clearly appreciative of what they had just been through. 

After you joined the rest of the Bayern players and Staff on the pitch in a quieter circle, shoulders close, with visible emotions. A few wiping their faces quickly before they all walked together toward the away end, clapping their hands and raising them in thanks to the small cluster of travelling supporters who had stayed until the end. Finally they retreated to their dressing room.

Barcelona, in contrast, had already started their full lap of the stadium, players moving together toward the stands where drums were already being played for team chants and huge flags were being waved, the atmosphere shifting fully into celebration.

Alexia only broke away from the celebrations once the initial wave had settled, slipping out of the cluster of teammates, her breathing still slightly elevated as she crossed back toward the centre circle where Pere Romeu and you were still standing.

She slowed as she reached you both, a faint grin already forming like she had been waiting for this exact moment.

“Oh,” she said lightly, glancing between the two of you with clear amusement, “I see my scouting worked, no? Very good job for me.”

Pere let out a short laugh, shaking his head as if he had expected nothing less from her. “Careful, Alexia, you start taking credit and I will start charging you.”

“That is fine,” she replied without missing a beat, still smiling as she shifted her attention fully onto you now. After a quick shared look with Pere, he gave a small nod before stepping away, leaving the two of you with the noise of the stadium stretching out behind you.

Alexia didn’t waste the space he left.

She tilted her head slightly, studying you for a second before speaking with that effortless confidence you were just slightly jealous of.

“Next year you win… in blaugrana then, vale?”

You exhaled softly through your nose, not quite a laugh, but not resistance either. “Maybe,” you replied, more careful now, eyes flicking briefly toward the pitch before returning to her.

That made her hum lightly, but instead of pushing further, her gaze sharpened just a little. “What was that Emma talking to you about?” she asked.

You paused, then gave a small shrug. “She wanted me to make substitutions again,” you said honestly, glancing down for a second as if replaying it in your head, “but I didn’t see the point. Not if I couldn’t actually fill the gaps properly with what we had on the bench.”

Alexia nodded slowly, like she was filing that away, but her eyes stayed on you. “And what is the deal with her anyway?” she asked after a beat, more direct now, though still calm. “Why she says she is your girlfriend?”

That made you let out a short breath, tiredness slipping through. “She isn’t,” you said simply. “Not anymore. She just… doesn’t really accept that.”

“And you?” she asked then, quieter. “What is stopping you from coming to Barça?”

“I’m scared of the change,” you admitted, voice lower now, “but I still want to grow. That’s why I sent the application to Pere in the first place… a while ago. I just wasn’t sure if I would actually follow through with it.”

Alexia didn’t push further right away, she just watched you for a second longer, then her expression softened, the intensity easing back into that confidence she wore so naturally.

“Vale,” she said quietly, more so to herself, then let out a small breath through her nose, “I know you will like Spain,” she added after a beat, tilting her head slightly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, “the sun, the food… the people.”

A faint grin tugged at her mouth as she glanced at you again, a little more pointed now, “Especially the people,” she added, not really trying to hide what she meant with that.

You gave her a look at that, somewhere between disbelief and reluctant amusement, and Alexia noticed it immediately, of course she did.

She just smiled a little wider in response, unfazed.

“And you are already here a lot in your head, no?” she continued, calmer now, voice dropping slightly as she stepped half a pace closer again. “So it is not so big a change. Just… make it official.”

There was a brief pause, the stadium noise distant enough now that it felt like it belonged to another world entirely.

“Next season, you come. And I show you the rest properly, vale?”

“And if I do come,” you asked, tilting your head slightly, “and you get what you want… will you just keep looking at me like this, or do you move on to the next thing you decide you want?”

Alexia didn’t answer immediately. She just looked at you, really looked, like she was weighing the question properly instead of brushing it off. Then her grin came back, honest in its amusement.

“Ah,” she said quietly, almost like she understood what you were really asking. “So that is what you think.”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“I don’t think you are something I ‘finish’,” she said simply, her voice steady and matter-of-fact, like the idea itself didn’t really make sense to her. “If you come… I think you will just be there.”

“And I don’t get bored of interesting things,” she added, a faint exhale through her nose. Then her expression softened just a fraction as she lifted her hand, brushing it lightly over your cheek, the touch brief and soft making the heat shoot up to your face.

“And you, cariño,” she murmured, her tone dropping slightly, “you are very interesting. Always will be.”

You blink, startled, turning your head just slightly instead of your whole body.

Jenni stands a few feet away, hands on her hips, a crooked grin on her face. Beside her, a few steps back, Alexia finishes a serious-sounding phone call, her brows knitted tight.

“Las rocas van a contraatacar algún día si sigues lanzándolas,” Jenni teases with grin. [The rocks are going to fight back one day if you keep throwing them.]

You glance back at the pond. “They don’t have arms.”

Jenni snorts. “That’s not the point.”

Alexia ends her call and strides forward, slipping her phone into her pocket. “¿Dónde estabas?” she demands, worry bleeding into irritation. “We’ve been looking for you. This isn’t Barcelona.”

You flinch at her tone, shoulders instinctively tightening. You stand up too quickly and brush invisible dirt off your palms.

“Sorry,” you say, quieter than you meant to.

Alexia exhales sharply. “You can’t just disappear.”

“Ale,” Jenni cuts in gently, stepping closer to you, “she’s an adult.”

“She just turned eighteen!”

“Exactly. An adult.” Jenni rolls her eyes before turning to you and offering her hand. “Come on. It’s almost time to get ready. And if you’re late, Ale will actually combust.”

“I will not combust,” Alexia mutters, though she doesn’t deny it fully.

You take Jenni’s hand and let her pull you up the rest of the way, dusting your jeans off in precise strokes. You glance once more at the water before following them.

The three of you walk in silence for a moment, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You keep your eyes on the ground, counting your steps without meaning to. Eight per breath—inhale, exhale.

“Where did you even find this place?” Jenni asks, bumping her shoulder lightly into yours.

You shrug. “I asked the front desk lady.”

Jenni falters, her smile dropping. “You asked the—” She turns to Alexia. “We could have asked her if she had seen you.”

Alexia’s lips press into a thin line. “We were too busy worrying.”

“She was,” Jenni corrects, nudging you playfully. “I was calm. Completely relaxed. Zen, even.”

“You were not,” Alexia deadpans.

You hum mindlessly at their bickering, the sound low in your throat as you slip into the backseat of the rental car. You sit directly in the middle, despite how uncomfortable it feels. It feels symmetrical that way.

Jenni slides into the driver’s seat. Alexia gets in beside her, twisting slightly to look back at you.

“What’s wrong?” Alexia asks quietly now, her voice softened, stripped of its earlier edge.

You look down at your interlinked fingers. You wiggle them slowly, feeling the familiar stretch between your knuckles. You avoid her eyes at first, focusing instead on the seam of the seat in front of you.

“I guess I’m nervous,” you say. You pause, recalibrating. “I think.”

“You think?” Jenni echoes gently as she starts the car.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “My stomach feels tight. And my head keeps replaying training. I missed two shots yesterday. One should’ve been near post.”

Alexia sighs, turning fully in her seat now. “You scored four.”

You brush it off. “That’s not the point.”

Jenni glances at you in the rearview mirror. “You are going to do great,” she says softly. “You are one of the best forwards I’ve seen developing at this pace.”

You shake your head almost immediately. Your thumb begins tracing the outline of your opposite fingernail. “But it’s not enough.”

“Not enough for who?” Alexia asks.

“For… for this,” you gesture vaguely. “For the expectations.”

Alexia’s jaw tightens. “It is more than enough, nena.”

You swallow. It doesn’t feel like it, you can’t help but think.

Your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and the vibration makes you jump slightly. You pull it out to see notifications from the England group chat, but you lock the screen without reading it fully.

Jenni notices, hearing the custom group chat buzz. “They’re excited for you.”

“They expect things,” you reply.

“They expect you to be good,” Jenni corrects. “Because you are.”

You look out the window as the hotel comes into view, the building looming taller than you remembered.

“I don’t want to mess it up,” you say, barely audible.

Alexia’s expression softens in a way she rarely allows others to see. “You will mess up,” she says simply. “Everyone does.”

You blink at her.

“And then,” she continues, “you will fix it. That’s what makes you different.”

Jenni nods. “You train like the world is ending every day. That’s why you’re here.”

The car jolts as Jenni pulls into the parking lot, parking quite awfully across the line. She doesn’t notice but you stare at the crooked angle.

Jenni turns and pats your knee, pulling you out of your trance. “Mira,” she says firmly, making you lift your shiny eyes to meet hers, even though it feels overwhelming. You hold eye contact for three seconds, almost four before you look at her chin instead.

“You are a generational talent,” she continues. “I know that. Ale knows that. The team knows that. Even the media knows that. Only person that doubts you is you.”

Your throat tightens instantly. Bile rises up your esophagus, leaving a burning trail and a harsh taste in your mouth. Compliments feel like pressure, like a god awful weight you can’t shake. You reach for the door handle, ready to escape.

“Hey,” Alexia calls gently. You pause but don’t look back. “Breathe,” she says.

You inhale for eight counts then exhale for eght counts.

“I am breathing,” you reply quietly.

Jenni sighs as you step out of the car a little too quickly, adjusting your hoodie sleeves over your hands. You smooth your shirt down twice then an extra time when your hands twitched.

Alexia watches you walk toward the hotel entrance, posture straight, shoulders tight.“She’ll understand one day,” Alexia murmurs, resting her hand briefly on Jenni’s arm.

Jenni keeps staring at the space you’d occupied in the backseat, at the perfectly aligned imprint you left behind. “I’m not too sure about that,” she says softly.

Misa sits in her cubby, music booming through the locker room speakers. Someone had connected their phone to the Bluetooth the moment they walked in, and now the bass rattles faintly through the metal benches. Laughter echoes off the wall as boots scrape against tile and tape tears somewhere across the room. But somehow it all fades into the background.

She plays mindlessly with the wraps around her wrists, tightening them, loosening them, smoothing the fabric down with slow, practiced movements. Her fingers are quick, methodical with years of repetition.

Across the room someone shouts about shin guards. Another player complains about the referee from their last match. Someone else starts arguing about whether Barcelona’s midfield is overrated, but noise blends together for Misa.

“Barcelona today,” Ivana, her captain, speaks up from the cubby beside her. Her voice cuts through the rest of the room easily. “Are you nervous?”

Misa snorts softly, not even looking up. “Never,” she replies without a thought.

Ivana glances at her. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“Why would I?” Misa shrugs, still focused on the tape around her wrist. “They’re eleven players. We’re eleven players.”

Ivana hums like she’s not entirely convinced but doesn’t push.

Across the room, someone speaks up. “Have you seen their number eight?”

Several heads lift.

“La niña?” Ivana clarifies, raising an eyebrow. “The English one?”

“That’s the one,” a defender says from the far bench, tying her boots aggressively. “She’s a beast.”

Another player scoffs immediately. “Please. She’s easy to read,” she claims. “She’s not as talented as Barça and England want her to be.”

“Exactly,” someone else chimes in. “Media loves a prodigy story. Especially a foreign one.”

“I know, right?” another voice adds, leaning back against the lockers. “I was watching film the other day and she’s an open book. Makes the same runs. Same body shape before she shoots.”

Misa’s hands pause for a second on the tape. Across the room the conversation keeps rolling.

“And she’s weird,” the defender continues, lowering her voice like she’s sharing something confidential. “Never celebrates her goals.”

A few girls laugh.

“Maybe she thinks she’s above it,” someone says. “Like scoring is just expected.”

“Or maybe she’s trying to look cool,” another teammate shrugs. “You know… mysterious superstar energy.”

Ivana smirks faintly. “You all sound jealous.”

“Jealous?” the defender scoffs. “Of her?”

Ivana just shrugs.

Misa finally lifts her head slightly, her gaze drifting down to the tiled floor between her boots.

Number eight. The English golden girl. She’s seen the clips of all the goals. All the slow-motion analysis on sports shows and commentators talking about “vision” and “instinct” and “generational potential.” You are just another privileged, manufactured forward who thinks they run the game. Exactly the type of player Misa despises.

“Oye,” Ivana says suddenly, leaning slightly toward her. “What are you thinking about?”

Misa’s fingers tighten the tape one last time around her wrist before she presses it flat.

“Number eight,” she replies simply.

Ivana waits for Misa to continue.

Misa finally looks up, her dark eyes sharp now.

“I want to break her down,” she says calmly. “I will break her down.”

Ivana blinks, momentarily rendered speechless by the quiet certainty in the younger goalkeeper’s voice.

Across the room someone overhears. “Ahí! ¡Ese es el espíritu!” a teammate laughs, walking past and clapping Misa hard on the back. [That’s it! That’s the spirit!]

Another girl whistles. “Careful, Misa. Sounds personal.”

“It’s not personal,” Misa mutters. “I don’t knwi the girl.”

But she doesn’t look away from the floor. In her mind she’s already building the game.

The angle of your runs, your body positioning, your foot preference. Where you look before you shoot, where you don’t look.

She wants to win. And if that means crushing you—some system-made, Barça-built prodigy who the football world keeps crowning before she’s earned it—so be it.

Her jaw tightens slightly as across the room - staff member calls for them to start warming up.

Boots slam into lockers and jerseys are pulled on, spiking the energy in the room.

Misa pushes herself to her feet slowly, rolling her shoulders once.

“Hey,” Ivana says quietly as she stands too. “Don’t underestimate her.”

Misa smirks faintly. “I don’t underestimate anyone,” she replies.

Then she grabs her gloves. “But I do enjoy proving people wrong.”

You have an odd pregame routine. It has been the same since you were a kid, with only minimal tweaks over the years.

You sit quietly at your cubby, the stadium noise filtering faintly through the concrete walls. The locker room hums around you—teammates talking, boots knocking against tile, someone laughing too loudly at a joke you didn’t quite catch.But you focus on your process.

First, your hair. You pull it back slowly, carefully collecting it into a tight bun before securing it into a slick back. Not a single flyaway is allowed. You smooth the sides with gel again… and again… then once more for good measure then it’s perfect.

Next come your boots. You place your right boot on first and then your left. But you tie the left boot before the right. You always have. You tried reversing it once when you were thirteen and played terribly that match. Since then, the order has never changed. You tighten the laces firmly, tugging twice on each knot.

After that comes the granola bar, your favorite one. You break it exactly in half. No crumbs scattered and no uneven break. If it is, you have back up ones and Ona usually eats the defects. Half of the bar goes into your mouth while the other half stays wrapped in the foil. You chew slowly, counting each bite without realizing it.

Then you wash it down with orange juice—pulp, no added sugar. The texture settles your stomach in a way nothing else does.

A few lockers down, Jenni watches you with a fond sort of amusement.

“You’re eating half again?” she asks.

“Yes,” you reply simply.

“You know you could just eat the whole thing.”

You glance at her. “That would be incorrect.”

Jenni laughs quietly, shaking her head. “Fair enough, nena.”

Next comes the book. You pull it from your bag carefully, sliding the bookmark back one page. One chapter. No more, no less. Your eyes move steadily across the page, absorbing the words even though your brain keeps drifting back to the film you’ve watched. When the chapter ends, you close the book immediately.

Finally, you slip your headphones on and scroll to the same song you have listened to before every game since you were eight. Get’cha Head in the Game from High School Musical. You know it is strange, but also know it is necessary.

Your teammates never questioned it. At least not seriously. They cared about one thing: your performance on the field.

And when the whistle blows, routine complete, nerves buzzing under your skin, you jog onto the pitch.

The stadium is loud, bright, and alive. But once the ball starts moving, the world narrows.

You receive the ball just outside the box. For a moment, you have a clear view of the goal.

You swing your leg back and propel it forward, striking the ball cleanly. The instant it leaves your foot, something feels wrong.

You know it. The angle paired with the timing was far too rushed. You just didn’t expect it to go straight into Madrid’s goalkeeper’s hands.

Across the box, Misa catches it easily, the ball settling securely into her gloves.

Her eyes snap onto your figure immediately. The intensity of her stare is sharp enough that you feel it before you fully process it.

You look up and for a brief moment your eyes meet. Her gaze is unwavering while yours falters almost instantly, dropping to the grass.

“Better luck next time, superestrella,” Misa says, her voice dripping with condescension, a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth.

You don’t seem to hear her. Or at least, you don’t react. You reset your position slowly as your thoughts begin spiraling. I should have angled it. Or waited half a second. Or gone near post. Or—

“Hey.” Alexia appears beside you, her voice calm and steady. “It was just one shot,” she says quietly.

You nod, though the words pass through you more than they settle. “I will get the next one.”

Alexia studies your face for a second longer before jogging back into position.

And then, lo and behold, your next opportunity arrives.

From across the field, Leila sends a long pass slicing through the air. The ball drops perfectly at your feet and you don’t waste a second, taking off.

Your defender reacts a beat too late as you accelerate forward, boots digging into the grass as you close the distance to goal.

The world narrows again and you glance up once. Only once this time, then you strike. It was a soft, controlled this time, only striving for accuracy and precision.

You tap the ball into the net, rolling it cleanly past an unprepared Misa who dives a split second too late in an attempt to save it.

The net waves at you just as the Barça crowd explodes. Chants erupt from the stands as your name mixed with the club’s anthem being chanted.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You turn away from the goal immediately.

Behind you, Misa remains on the ground, propped up on one elbow, staring at you with burning intensity.

Your teammates swarm you before you make it three steps. Jenni sweeps you up into her arms with a loud laugh.

“¡Vamos!” she shouts, squeezing you tight. “That’s how you do it!”

You let a small smile grow on your face, brief and shy.

“You see?” Alexia says as she pats your head once. “Next one.”

Meanwhile, Misa pushes herself up slowly, jaw clenched. She stays there longer than she needs to just watching you.

You aren’t some lucky, goody two-shoes player. You can actually play. And for some reason, that realization makes her blood boil.

Later, when you score a second time—another precise finish that slips just beyond her reach—Misa feels like her skin is on fire, burning with fury.

How could someone like you score on her twice? And then again, like the superstar everyone claims you are, you don’t celebrate.

You just let your teammates clamber around you, laughing and shouting as they drag you into another group hug.

She hates it.

You single-handedly break through Madrid’s defensive line again and again throughout the match, forcing Misa to throw herself into risky saves just to keep the score from climbing higher.

By the final whistle, her gloves are slick with sweat and grass stains.

Misa rips them off the moment the whistle blows, tossing them down beside the goalpost before turning away.

She’s sweaty, irritated, and, though she’d never admit it out loud—honestly intrigued. You are supposed to be an arrogant pain in the ass. The kind of golden girl she loves knocking down a few pegs. But you are the exact opposite. And somehow, that bothers her even more.

“Just go without me,” you insist, lying flat on your back, staring at the ceiling like if you stay still enough the night will pass without you.

“Not an option,” Patri, your roommate for the weekend, replies from across the room, already half dressed and fixing her earrings in the mirror. “Everyone is meeting downstairs in twenty minutes. If I don’t come down with you, there are already talks of Jenni coming up here herself and dragging you out.”

You groan loudly, dragging your hands over your face before throwing the duvet off of you.

“She wouldn’t actually do that,” you mutter.

Patri turns, raising an eyebrow. “You want to test that theory?”

You sit up immediately. “…No.”

“There we go!” Patri cheers, clapping once as you swing your legs over the side of the bed and shuffle toward your suitcase.

You unzip it carefully, pulling out something simple and familiar, jeans and a nice top.

Patri watches you for a second. “You know this is a club, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re dressing like we’re going to dinner with Alexia’s family.”

You pause, looking down at your outfit. “This is appropriate.”

Patri snorts. “You’re unbelievable. Don’t worry, we bought you something early and you will be wearing it, or else.”

The next hour or so is a blur with numerous taxis to fit all of you and voices overlapping, including Jenni yelling something from one car to another through an open window.

You sit pressed against the door, counting streetlights as they pass by. Eight… sixteen… twenty-four.

By the time you arrive, the music is already thumping through the walls of the club. You often forget that you are technically celebrities, so it catches you off guard when the bouncer immediately recognizes the team and waves everyone through with a grin.

“Buenas noches, chicas.”

The owner practically beams at the sight of you all, greeting the team like honored guests and ushering you toward a reserved section.

Purple and red lights flash as the bass resonates in your core You sit awkwardly on the couch, shoulders slightly hunched, with Ona and Laia next to you, both deep in an intense debate.

“Stracciatella is objectively the best,” Laia insists.

“No, pistachio,” Ona counters. “And it’s not even close.”

“It tastes like grass.”

“It does not taste like grass!”

You blink between them. “I like mango,” you offer quietly.

They both turn to you, incredulous looks on their faces.

“That’s not even in the conversation,” Laia says as Ona pats your shoulder.

You nod. “Okay.”

“Drink?” a bottle girl asks, leaning close so she can hear your order over the music. You visibly gulp at the proximity, shoulders tensing as you lean back slightly.

“Uh, just a Shirley Temple for me, please,” you say. “Sin alcohol.”

The woman smiles warmly. “Claro,” before turning away.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, shoulders dropping.

“Aww,” Jenni smirks from the side, leaning forward with a teasing glint in her eyes. “El primer pánico gay del bebé.” [Baby’s first gay panic.]

You glare at her. “Quit it.”

Jenni raises her hands in surrender, laughing as she grabs another shot from the table. “I’m just saying, you looked like you were about to combust.”

“I was not.”

“You were,” Ona mutters under her breath.

“I was not,” you repeat, more quietly this time.

“Welcome to the party!” Patri suddenly shouts over the music.

Your head—along with several others—whips toward the source of the commotion. Numerous Real Madrid players filter into the club.

Some of the Barça girls cheer, greeting familiar faces. National team overlaps blur the rivalry just enough for nights like this.

You stay seated, your eyes drift across the group until you accidentally meet hazel eyes that are already on you.

Misa’s gaze is steady and intent, holding something reminiscent of amusement.

You flinch instinctively, looking away too quickly, focusing instead on the condensation forming on the table.

Misa smirks to herself before turning her attention to Patri, slipping into easy conversation like nothing happened.

Later in the night, you realize, with a sinking feeling, that you are going to be babysitting your extremely drunk teammates as you watch Jenni drunkenly sing along to the song playing that didn’t have any lyrics. That alone makes you crave another Shirley Temple.

You slide off the couch and make your way to the bar, weaving through people carefully, avoiding unnecessary contact.

You stand there, hands clasped in front of you, staring at the bottles lined up behind the counter.

The lights are too bright and music is too loud. There’s much too many voices and movements to allow you to feel calm. You focus on your breathing, trying to ground yourself.

“You’re quieter in person, you know.”

The voice from beside you makes you flinch for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

Your head snaps toward her—towards those same hazel eyes, studying you up close now.

“My name is Misa,” she says, extending her hand casually.

You hesitate for half a second before taking it, your grip polite but brief. “Misa?” you repeat, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

After all your years in Spain, nicknames still confuse you. Hell, your own nickname confuses you.

“María Isabel,” she clarifies. “But everyone calls me Misa.”

You nod once. “Nice to meet you, María Isabel.”

“Misa,” she corrects immediately.

You cringe slightly. “No.”

Misa’s eyebrows lift in surprise, a slow grin spreading across her face.

“Alright,” she says. “Keke.”

You squirm almost instantly at the nickname. It’s what the fans chant sometimes—pulling from the first sounds of your middle and last name.

You don’t like it and immediately Misa notices, though she pretends not to.

“You don’t celebrate,” she says instead.

Your face scrunches. “You mean drinking? I don’t drink. I’ve taken the job of making sure everyone gets back safely.”

Misa huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

“No, no es de eso de lo que estoy hablando,” she says. “Tus goles. No celebras.” [No that’s not what I am talking about. Your goals. You don’t celebrate.]

You accept your drink from the bartender with a quiet, “Gracias,” before turning back to her.

You shrug, taking a small sip. “Es mi trabajo anotar.” [It’s my job to score.]

Misa hums, watching you carefully. “Parecías bastante decepcionada cuando anotaste,” she says. “¿Sabes?” [You looked rather disappointed when you actually scored, you know.]

Your jaw tightens immediately. “Because I missed the first shot,” you reply, like it’s obvious.

Misa tilts her head slightly, like she’s trying to solve something. Or rather like you’re something to figure out.

“Well,” she says casually, leaning a little closer, “instead of staying here, drinking your very red drink and taking care of your teammates… why don’t you come with me to mine?”

You blink. “It’s called a Shirley Temple,” you say automatically. “This one is ginger ale instead of Sprite, which I don’t mind but—”

You stop yourself. “…Wait. Like your house?”

Misa smirks. “Where else?”

Your eyes widen slightly. “Oh. Um—I don’t think—”

“It’s fine,” she interrupts, already straightening up, nodding toward the exit like it’s already decided. “Let’s go.”

You hesitate, glancing back toward your teammates. No one is looking at you, all too distracted in the moment.

You look back at Misa and she’s already walking. For some reason beyond you—you follow.

The drive back is a void, filled with a charge you can’t quite name. Misa is silent, her focus on the road absolute, leaving you to drown in the echo of your own heartbeat. You don’t remember her parking. You don’t remember the walk up to her loft. You don’t remember your dress slipping off, a silky pool on the floor.

All you remember is the weight of Misa on you on the sofa, the heat of her body pinning you into the cushions, and the taste of her her lips was a cooling mint, clashing with your bright, citrus lip gloss. Her hands, rough from years of goalkeeping, find your waist, pulling you flush against her until your hips align, until you could feel the hard line of her thigh pressing into your core.

Misa’s mouth is relentless. It moves from your lips, down your jaw, tracing the frantic pulse in your neck, then lower, across the slope of your breast, her teeth grazing your nipple in a sharp shock. You gasp, your hands fumbling at her shoulders, unsure whether to push or pull. She doesn’t give you time to decide.

Her lips travel down your stomach on a slow, devastating conquest. You are trembling and your mind a blank screen of sensation. And then Misa’s there, between your legs, her breath hot against your damp skin.

She looks up at you, from that intimate vantage, her usual bemused smile replaced by something focused, almost reverent. Then she lowered her head.

The first touch is a soft, open mouthed kiss against your inner thigh, teasing you. Then her tongue finds you with a slow, deliberate stroke, from bottom to top, a flat, wet pressure that makes your entire body jolt. Your back arches off the sofa. Her hands tighten on your hips, holding you down for her.

Misa works with a methodical intensity that steals your breath. Long, languid licks that coat you in her saliva, followed by focused, circling attention on your clit. Misa’s very thorough, intently learning the shape and response of you with each movement. Her tongue flicks, presses, rubs in tiny, devastating circles. The pleasure built in a steady, mounting wave, a tension coiling deep inside your belly.

You are panting, your fingers now tangled in her long, dark hair as if she were the only solid thing in a spinning world. Your eyes are shut tight, the dim light of her loft a distant concept to you. All that existed was the wet, slick sound of her, the smell of your own arousal mixed with her perfume, the overwhelming rightness of her mouth on you.

Misa shifted, one hand left your hip and you instantly feel the blunt pressure of a finger, probing, testing your entrance before it slid in without resistance, a smooth, full intrusion that made you cry out.

She doesn’t stop her tongue, and keeps working your clit while her finger pushes deeper, then curls, sending a sharp spark of sensation that ripped a moan from your throat. She curls her finger again, pressing up into that spot, and her tongue presses down on your clit simultaneously.

The duality is unbearable to you. The internal fullness, the external friction. The pleasure wasn’t a wave anymore, but rather a crackling current of electricity inside circling within you. She maintains the rhythm, finger curling, tongue circling, her breath coming hard against your skin.

“Misa—” You manage to choke out something in between a warning and a plea.

She hears it, as her movements became more urgent and more insistent.

You are hit with a white hot burst of release floods out from that curled finger, washing over every nerve. You shudder, your legs clamping around her head, your hips bucking against Misa’s hold as her tongue softening to gentle, soothing strokes as you come down, trembling and spent.

Misa slowly withdraws her finger before rising from her position. Her face glistening, looking utterly satisfied, her cocky smile back on her lips as she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Superestrella,” Misa murmurs, her voice rough. “You taste like victory.”

You are still dazed, floating in the aftermath. She airs back on the sofa, legs spread, an open invitation in her posture. The look in her eyes was a challenge. Your turn.

A spike of pure anxiety pierced the haze. You move clumsy, sliding off the sofa to kneel on the floor between her legs. The reality of the moment crashes into you. The musky scent of her arousal, the confident way she watches you.

“I’ve… I’ve never done this before,” You whisper, looking at the floor between her knees.

There’s a beat of silence. Then Misa’s hand comes down, right to the back of your head. Her fingers threads through your curls, a firm, grounding grip. “I know,” she says, simple, direct. “Just follow my lead.”

You press your face against the inside of her thigh first, a mimic of Misa’s own start. Then you look up to meet her heavy, imploring gaze. You find her center, starting tentatively, with a closed mouth kiss. Then you open your lips, let your tongue extend to taste her.

You copy what Misa did to you: a long, slow lick from base to tip. She exhales sharply, a hissed “Fuck.” Her fingers tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding.

You repeat the lick, then focused on her clit, tracing the firm little bud with the tip of your tongue. Misa groans, her hips shifting. You find a rhythm, alternating broad strokes with tight circles, listening to the sounds she makes, feeling the way her thighs tensed.

Her guidance becomes more active. She pushes your head slightly when she wants more pressure, or tilt it to change the angle. “Right there,” she grunts, and you obey, locking onto that spot.

You lose your nervousness in the mechanics of it, in the feedback of her body. You experiment, sucking lightly, then flicking faster. Her breath becomes ragged, her grip in your hair almost painful.

You double your efforts, tongue and lips working in concert, driven by a sudden, fierce desire to win this, to make her fall apart. Her thighs began to shake. A series of short, sharp gasps escape her.

Then she freezes, her whole body locking for a second before a deep, guttural cry tore from her throat. Her back arches off the sofa, her hand still clenched in your hair, holding you firmly against her as she convulses. You feel the pulse of her climax against your mouth, the hot rush of it, and keep gentle, lapping motions until her shuddering subsided.

She collapsed back, breathing heavily. Her hand fell from your hair, sliding down to cup you cheek. You look up, lips wet, and your heart pounding.

She stared at the ceiling, a faint, stunned look on her face. “Estoy corregido,” she breathed. “You are a prodigy.” [I stand corrected.]

You crawl back onto the sofa, lying down beside her. You don’t touch, just breathed in the quiet, dark room. You stare at the ceiling, the textured plaster blur in your vision.

What the hell just happened?

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears even after you stepped into the hotel room you stayed at during the World Cup and closed the door, separating you and your boyfriend from the rest of the world. Another Spain game, another step towards the win, and another stressful evening for you as you sat in the middle of the thousand fans and were mainly rooting for one particular person. 

Ferran was close behind you, his hands steady on your waist the whole time from the car, but that smile is what made your heart swell—the big, bright, and almost cocky one. He assisted the last goal, ensuring a win for the team after a long streak of missing, and now you could finally see some of the weight dropped off of his shoulders. He was supposed to be with the team now, probably resting and recovering after the match. Hell, he even might get in trouble for sneaking out and following you to your own hotel room instead of following the schedule, but he truly didn’t care about any of it.

“You were incredible out there.” You smiled, looking back at him while you kicked off your shoes, finally alone and away from anyone who could disturb you. Ferran’s hair was still damp from the shower, thick and dark strands of hair curling wildly and looking perfectly fluffy for you to run your fingers through it. He flashed a smile back at you, brown eyes briefly darting towards your, or his, jersey that you were wearing. 

His name. His number. On his girl. After you were rooting for him and then hugging and kissing him after the game as if he scored a damn hat trick. Could it be any more perfect? 

“And you’re incredible right now.” He mumbled, following you instantly, pulling you flush against his chest while his lips found the side of your neck. Ferran nipped at your skin, then kissed the same spot softly, while his hands sneaked under your jersey impatiently. He didn’t care that his body felt a bit sore after the game or that you barely even got inside of your hotel suite—he wanted you now. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me when you’re wearing my kit.”

You laughed softly, the sound bubbling up as he nuzzled into your neck, kissing and nipping playfully again. “You’re so happy tonight.”

“I am happy.” He grinned against your skin, cocky and bright all at once, pushing his hips forward and nudging you to walk. “I wanted to win for you. My lucky charm.” He suddenly turned you around, not letting you move even an inch away from his body, catching your lips in a kiss. Your hands wrapped round his neck instantly, melting under so much affection and attention.

You giggled as he walked you both towards the bedroom, both of you struggling a little, way too consumed by the messy and smiling kisses, hands wandering over each other’s bodies. Ferran kept one hand under your jersey, brushing the side of your bra with his thumb, while the other one cupped your face softly while his lips moved hungrily against yours. When you finally felt the side of the bed with your legs, he pulled back, looking as hot as ever—lips puffy, cheeks boyishly flushed, and eyes sparkling with emotions and pure hunger. 

“I’m so proud of you.” You whispered, reaching for his lips again, finally threading your fingers through his hair and softly tugging at the roots. 

“Yeah?” His voice dropped, playful but now sounding a bit deeper with undeniable heat and intensity. “Then show me, princesa. Keep the jersey on.”

Ferran spun you around gently again, slightly pushing you forward until you bent over, palms flat against the bed. He pulled down your jeans along with your underwear, leaving you bare and heated in front of him, his warm hands greedily palming your ass as if he had been impatient this whole time.

You looked back at him over your shoulder, taking in the disheveled look, his slightly open mouth—everything that never failed to turn you on even more. You pushed your ass back at him, arching your back and falling forward and face down on the bed as if presenting yourself for him. Ferran groaned loudly, adjusting your position with firm yet gentle hands, while the prominent bulge visible through the blue tracksuit bottoms was already pressing against your bare thighs. 

“Joder… look at you.” He breathed with a laugh, brushing his hair back in that signature gesture, then not wasting any more time to pull down his sweats and boxers. 

His hard and leaking cock pressed against your entrance impatiently, you both groaning at the familiar feeling. You couldn’t help but moan when he rubbed the thick head along your slick folds, fingers digging deeper into the plush of your ass. 

“Ferran…” You whispered, pushing back again, ready and aching to take him in. 

“Sì, princesa, I've got you.” The accent alone made you clench helplessly, but when he finally, fucking finally, guided his cock with one hand, your eyes instantly rolled back in pleasure, your mouth open in a silent moan. 

The stretch and fullness felt delicious. He steadied you with one hand on your lower back, another one gripping your hip when he started moving slowly but steadily. His hips met your ass with each deep and slow thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling your bedroom. Ferran’s eyes were glued to your back, to the way you were wearing his name so proudly—the sign that you were his and with him no matter the shit he was going through. 

“Te sientes tan bien.” He murmured, the Spanish slipping out naturally in his pleasure. 

Every thrust made his name in bold red letters bounce on your back, the oversized jersey rolling up your spine to reveal more of your already damp and warm skin. Ferran slid one hand to your chest, blindly tugging at the cups of your bra and palming your tits in his large hands, thumbs softly circling hardened peaks.  

You couldn’t stop moaning, couldn’t stop saying his name, and a smile spread on your face every time he said some sweet or dirty nonsense in Spanish. He leaned slightly forward, now close enough for him to bend forward and kiss your neck, changing angle and fucking you deeper, pushing your body further into the mattress, while all you could do was take it. 

“P-please, Ferran—“ You gasped, gripping the sheets tighter, moving yourself back on him as much as you could under the weight. 

“You like taking me like this?” He sounded so proud, so cocky—just exactly like you liked him, but the soft and affectionate touches and feather-light kisses against your neck made your stomach flutter. “Te quiero tanto, fuck—“

Ferran straightened up again, gripping your hips with both hands now, fucking you harder, faster, getting a weird fix again from the moment his eyes landed on the jersey you wore to all of his games. The angle had you seeing stars, every thrust of his cock hitting the exact spot you needed to come undone under him. Your legs started shaking from the position, knees slightly sliding down the silky sheets, while pleasure kept coiling in your belly. 

“Come for me. Let me feel you.” His voice behind you sounded more like an order, even though you could tell he was holding himself back to let you finish first. Ferran kept fucking into your heat again and again, leaving you and your body no other chance to comply when your pussy started spasming around him. 

“Ferran!” You whined his name again, face down into the bed to muffle how desperately you sounded, tugging at the sheets harder and wishing it was his back you could scratch and mark. He cursed again, you felt the way his cock twitched inside of you as he came with a deep groan, spilling inside of you. The soft and rocking thrusts still shook your body while he prolonged your orgasm, not ready to let you go or leave the warmth of you wrapped around him. 

Only when he was finally spent, satisfied enough to let you go for a second, did he pull out, letting your fluids leak down your thighs in a complete mess. You fell on your side, and not even a second later he followed you. Ferran was facing you on the bed, wrapping his hands around your waist to pull you even closer.

Your eyes met again, and you both grinned at each other. 

“Best celebration I’ve ever had.” He whispered, voice almost sappy, while his eyes twinkled with warmth and leftover joy. 

You arched a brow playfully. “Yeah? I’m sure we’ve already had plenty of those?” You reached for his face, running your fingers over the slight stubble. Ferran’s lips found your wrist to leave there a soft kiss, not answering back to your comment because you both knew you were right, and you took a deep, contented breath. “I love you.”

 “I love you.” He replied back simply. “Thank you for being here. For wearing this… for everything.”

You smiled, still a little dazed, and pulled him forward into a slow, sweet kiss. “You earned it, my shark.”