I love that four different people on my feed scheduled this joyous person to reblog by 8am on June 1. I look forward to seeing this a dozen more times today.
Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Female!Reader (Corporate!AU)
Words: 3,2k
TW: Medical emergency, acute appendicitis, severe vomiting, fever, hospital settings, angst to comfort.
Summary: Out of pure politeness, you force yourself to sit at the backyard barbecue after an exhausting corporate workday, hiding a severe stomach ache. But a burst appendix doesn't care about manners, and Alexia soon realizes that your quietness wasn't just work fatigue.
The heavy glass doors of the corporate office had closed behind you at 7:00 PM, but the mental weight of the budget compliance meetings followed you all the way down the highway. Your head was pounding, but worse than the migraine was the sharp, localized heat radiating from the lower right side of your stomach. It had started as a dull flutter before your afternoon presentations, but by the time you reached your car, it had evolved into a steady, nauseating throb.
With a sigh, you pulled your phone out to text Alexia, letting her know you were running late and felt terrible. But the battery flashed red and died completely before the message could send. Throwing the dead phone onto the passenger seat, you rubbed your temples and began the painful drive home through Barcelona's evening traffic.
When you turned into the driveway, the vibrant rhythm of a reggaeton playlist echoed through the trees. Mapi’s and Ingrid’s cars were parked along the curb. The backyard was entirely lit up, casting a warm, golden glow against the glass windows of the living room.
Every muscle in your body tense up. You loved Alexia’s teammates, but right now, the thought of social interaction made the nausea in your throat spike violently. Pressing a hand firmly against your abdomen to steady the sharp ache, you grabbed your briefcase and unlocked the front door.
The moment you stepped into the kitchen, Alexia walked in from the patio to grab a fresh bag of ice. Her face lit up instantly. She looked radiant, her hair tied in a loose bun, wearing a casual linen shirt that smelled faintly of summer and woodsmoke.
"¡Hola, mi amor!" she called out cheerfully, walking over to wrap her arms around your waist.
As her hip pressed against your right side, a sharp, blinding needle of pain shot straight through your core. You stiffened, a quiet gasp catching in your throat, your hands immediately rising to grip her wrists. Alexia pulled back slightly, her brow furrowing at your rigidity. She leaned in anyway, pressing a warm, affectionate kiss to your cheek and the corner of your mouth.
"You look absolutely exhausted," she murmured, her thumb rubbing your arm. "Come outside. The girls are here, Mapi brought that wine you like, and we saved some food for you. It’ll help you unwind."
Every instinct told you to run upstairs and lock the door. But looking at Alexia’s bright, excited eyes, and knowing her friends were just outside, a wave of corporate politeness and basic decency took over. You didn't want to be the antisocial partner who ruins the mood.
"Okay," you whispered, trying to force a small smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Just... give me five minutes to leave my things upstairs."
When you came back down, wearing a looser hoodie but still trapped in your stiff work trousers, you walked out onto the patio. The girls greeted you with loud cheers. Mapi immediately poured you a glass of wine, and Ingrid handed you a plate with a small portion of grilled chicken and vegetables.
"Look at you, corporate star," Mapi teased gently, nudging your shoulder. "You look like you've been fighting demons in those boardrooms."
"Something like that," you muttered, sitting down carefully on one of the wooden terrace chairs.
You placed the wine glass on the table, barely touching it. The smell of the food, which usually made your mouth water, now felt completely suffocating. You picked up a fork, cutting a tiny piece of chicken, forcing yourself to chew and swallow it purely out of politeness. It felt like swallowing sand.
Alexia, sitting across from you, was chatting with Ingrid, but her eyes kept drifting back to your plate. She noticed you hadn't touched the wine. She noticed that after ten minutes, the food on your plate had barely been shifted around. To Alexia, who knew your usual appetite after a long day, this was incredibly weird.
Then, she noticed your posture.
You weren't leaning back in the chair. You were hunched forward, your elbows resting heavily on your knees. Slowly, almost subconsciously, you began to shift and remove yourself in the chair, twisting your torso slightly to the left, trying to find any angle that would stop the burning, sharp pressure in your lower right side. A fine sheen of sweat was beginning to break out along your hairline, despite the cool night breeze.
Alexia’s laughter subsided. She tilted her head, watching the way your hand occasionally drifted down to press firmly against your stomach.
"Hey," Alexia said softly across the table, interrupting Ingrid mid-sentence. "Are you okay, cariño? You haven't eaten anything."
The girls stopped talking, all eyes turning to you. The sudden attention made your stomach twist in a violent spasm.
"Yeah, I'm just... I think the work stress caught up to me," you lied, your voice tighter than before as you shifted again, trying to suppress a grimace. "My stomach is just feeling a little weird. I think I need to go to bed."
"Do you want me to bring you some tea?" Alexia asked, her playful demeanor completely gone, replaced by a sudden, protective focus. She stood up from her chair, moving to your side.
"No, it's fine. Stay with the girls," you whispered, pushing yourself up from the chair. The sudden vertical movement made the room spin, a hot flash of nausea washing over you. "Goodnight, girls. Sorry to cut it short."
"Don't worry about it, take care," Ingrid said, her eyes filled with genuine concern. Mapi nodded, her usual loud voice dropping to a quiet, respectful tone.
Alexia walked you to the foot of the stairs, her hand resting flat against your back. She could feel the heat radiating through your hoodie, the tension in your spine. "Are you sure you don't want me to come up?"
"Sure, Ale. Enjoy the night. I just need to sleep it off."
Upstairs, the darkness of the bedroom felt like a relief. You quickly changed into sweatpants, abandoning your work clothes on a chair, and curled onto your left side, pulling your knees tightly to your chest. The localized pain in your lower right side was now a constant, angry fire, but the exhaustion was heavy enough to pull you into a restless, fitful sleep.
At 11:30 PM, the house finally went quiet. Alexia had said goodbye to her teammates, quickly wiped down the kitchen counters, and crept into the dark bedroom. She climbed into bed with extreme caution, seeing your silhouette curled into a tight ball. She reached out, gently resting her hand on your hip, noticing how warm your skin felt through the fabric, but she didn't want to wake you. Closing her eyes, she fell asleep.
Two hours later, the peace was violently shattered.
At 1:45 AM, you woke up with a sensation of absolute terror. The nausea wasn't just a threat anymore; it was an undeniable, violent force.
You threw the covers off, but the sudden movement sent a white-hot, agonizing rip through your lower right abdomen. A choked sob escaped your lips as you tumbled out of bed, barely able to stand upright. Holding your right side with one hand and clutching the wall with the other, you stumbled into the adjoining bathroom, your knees hitting the cold tile floor just as your stomach violently revolted.
The sound of you retching, combined with the heavy, breathless gasp for air, woke Alexia instantly.
She bolted upright, her heart hammering against her ribs. Seeing your empty side of the bed and the bright light spilling from the bathroom door, she scrambled out of the sheets and ran inside.
"¡Mi amor!" she gasped, dropping to her knees beside you on the floor.
You were leaning over the toilet, your entire body shaking uncontrollably. You violently vomited again, dry-heaving until your ribs ached, because there was absolutely nothing left in your stomach. Tears were streaming down your pale cheeks, mixing with the cold sweat that covered your face.
Alexia immediately gathered your hair in one hand, her other hand coming up to rest against the back of your neck. The moment her palm touched your skin, she gasped. You were burning up, your skin radiating a dry, terrifyingly high fever.
"Oh my god, you're boiling," Alexia muttered, her voice trembling with a sudden spike of panic. She reached for a towel, wetting it with cold water, and gently pressed it against your forehead.
You leaned back against the bathroom wall, completely spent, your eyes glassy and unfocused. You were panting in short, shallow breaths, your teeth chattering from the fever chills despite the sweat.
"Ale..." you whimpered, your voice completely broken, sounding like a frightened child. "Something is... something is wrong. It's not a normal virus. I can't... I can't breathe through the pain."
"Where does it hurt, cariño? Tell me," she pleaded, dropping the towel and hovering her hands over you, terrified of hurting you further.
You didn't have to answer. Your right hand was clamped over the lower right side of your pelvis, your fingers digging into the skin through your sweatpants.
Alexia’s mind raced back to the backyard—the way you had been shifting uneasily in your chair, the way you couldn't eat, the way you had pressed that exact spot while trying to be polite for her friends. The guilt hit her like a physical blow, a heavy weight sinking into her chest. She had been so caught up in the barbecue that she hadn't pushed harder when she knew something was weird.
She reached down, her fingers carefully touching the edge of the area you were guarding. The moment her hand applied the slightest pressure, your eyes went wide with pure agony. You let out a sharp, agonizing shriek, your entire body flinching away, convulsing into a fetal position on the bathroom floor.
"Don't touch it! Please, don't touch it!" you sobbed, pressing your face into the cold tile, your breath coming in ragged, terrified gasps.
Alexia’s face went completely pale. The localized fever, the intense vomiting, the extreme rebound pain in the lower right quadrant—she didn't know the exact medical terminology, but her instincts as an elite athlete told her this was an absolute emergency. She knew that look of severe internal trauma.
"We are going to the hospital. Right now," Alexia said, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute authority, completely pushing aside her own rising panic to be the anchor you needed.
"I can't walk, Ale," you wept, your body shaking so hard your teeth clicked together. "I can't stand up."
"You don't have to," she whispered fiercely.
Without a second thought, Alexia slid her strong arms beneath your knees and behind your back. Using her core strength, she lifted you effortlessly from the bathroom floor, pulling your shivering frame tightly against her chest. You instinctively buried your face into the crook of her neck, clenching your teeth to keep from screaming as the change in position sent another wave of fire through your abdomen.
She carried you out of the bathroom, grabbing her car keys and her wallet from the nightstand with one hand while balancing your weight perfectly. She didn't bother changing her clothes; she was still in her shorts and a t-shirt, but none of that mattered.
Alexia moved down the dark staircase with quick, calculated steps, her focus entirely locked on keeping you steady. The house was completely quiet now, a stark contrast to the noise from earlier, making your soft whimpers echo painfully against the walls.
She unlocked the SUV with the remote, opened the passenger door, and gently lowered you into the seat. She reclined the backrest so you could stay in a semi-fetal position, carefully buckling the seatbelt around you. Before closing the door, she leaned in, kissing your sweaty forehead, her hands framing your face.
"Hold on to me, okay? Focus on my voice. I’m getting you there," she promised, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
The drive through the midnight streets of Barcelona was a blur. Alexia drove with an intense, aggressive speed, blowing through quiet intersections, her right hand reaching across the center console to grip your freezing, clammy hand. Every minor bump in the asphalt made you gasp, your grip tightening around her fingers until her knuckles turned white.
"Almost there, mi vida. Stay with me," she kept repeating, her voice a steady, rhythmic chant in the dark cabin of the car.
When she pulled into the emergency bay of the Hospital Clínic, she left the engine running right at the entrance. She sprinted through the automatic glass doors, her voice echoing through the quiet triage area. "I need a stretcher! My partner is in the car, she has a severe abdominal emergency, high fever, and she’s vomiting!"
Within seconds, two nurses rushed out behind her with a gurney. Alexia helped them lift you out of the passenger seat, her heart breaking as she saw how completely exhausted you were, your eyes rolling back slightly from the sheer intensity of the pain.
The medical staff wheeled you into an acute examination room. The emergency physician on duty immediately began cutting away your sweatpants to examine your abdomen. The moment his hands touched the lower right quadrant, your body reflexively guarded, your abdominal muscles turning hard as stone, and a weak, breathless cry escaped your lips.
"Classic acute appendicitis," the doctor announced rapidly, looking over at Alexia. "The fever and vomiting indicate the inflammation is reaching a critical point. If we don't operate immediately, the appendix will rupture, and that leads to peritonitis. We need to get her into the operating room for an emergency laparoscopy right now."
Hearing the word rupture made Alexia’s breath catch in her throat. She stepped closer to the gurney, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly.
You looked up at her through a veil of tears, your vision blurred by the bright, sterile surgical lights overhead. "Ale... I'm scared. Stay with me."
Alexia leaned down, completely ignoring the nurses who were inserting an IV line into your left arm and prepping a syringe of strong painkillers. She took your face in both of her hands, her thumbs gently wiping away the tears on your cheeks. Her voice was thick with emotion, but it carried an unshakeable strength.
"I am not leaving you, mi amor," she whispered fiercely, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your burning lips, tasting the salt of your sweat and tears. "I will be right outside those doors the entire time. The doctors are going to take the pain away. You are so strong, okay? I love you. I love you so much."
As the orderly began to push the gurney toward the double doors of the surgical wing, you kept your eyes locked on Alexia’s face until the doors swung shut, leaving her standing alone in the white, sterile corridor.
The hospital waiting room was dead silent. The clock on the wall read 3:45 AM.
Alexia sat with her elbows on her knees, her head buried in her hands. The adrenaline that had carried her through the house and the drive was finally wearing off, leaving behind a cold, crushing weight of guilt.
She closed her eyes and remembered you sitting on the patio, shifting uncomfortably in that wooden chair, politely picking at a piece of chicken just to make her and her friends feel comfortable. You had been in agony, your body failing you, and you had still forced yourself to smile and be decent.
"I should have known," Alexia whispered into the empty room, a single tear escaping her eye and dropping onto the tiled floor. "I should have pulled her away the moment I saw her plate."
The sharp click of the surgical doors made her bolt upright.
The surgeon, still wearing his blue scrubs and paper cap, walked into the waiting area. Alexia rushed to meet him, her hands trembling. "Doctor? How is she?"
The surgeon smiled warmly, immediately lifting the heavy weight from her chest. "She is doing wonderful. You brought her in just in time. The appendix was heavily suppurative and right on the edge of perforating, but we managed to remove it laparoscopically without any complications. The infection is contained, and we’ve started her on heavy antibiotics. She’s in the recovery room waking up from the anesthesia now."
Alexia let out a long, shuddering breath, her eyes closing as she offered a quiet, breathless prayer of thanks. "Can I see her?"
"Yes. A nurse will take you to her room. She’ll be very groggy, but having you there will help."
The private recovery room was dark and peaceful, the only sound being the slow, reassuring beep-beep-beep of the heart monitor.
You were lying in the hospital bed, a thick white blanket pulled up to your chest. The pale, ghost-like complexion you had in the bathroom was gone, replaced by a soft, resting color, the intense lines of pain completely smoothed out from your face.
As the door clicked shut, your eyelids fluttered open. The room was a bit blurry from the anesthesia, but you instantly recognized the silhouette walking toward you.
"Hey," you whispered, your throat incredibly dry.
Alexia let out a soft, choked sound, walking quickly to the side of your bed. She sat down with extreme care on the edge of the mattress, immediately taking your hand in both of hers, pressing it against her lips. She kissed your knuckles, her eyes bright with tears.
"Hey, mi vida," she whispered, her voice cracking. She leaned over, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead, breathing in the scent of the hospital soap. "How do you feel? Is the fire gone?"
"Yeah..." you murmured, a sleepy, relaxed smile touching your lips. "Just a little sore where the cuts are... but the horrible pain is completely gone."
Alexia looked down at your hand, her thumb tracing the plastic hospital bracelet around your wrist. "I am so sorry. I’m sorry I let you sit out there on the patio when you were already hurting. You were just trying to be nice to my friends, and I should have noticed how bad it was."
You squeezed her hand back, your fingers surprisingly warm. The memory of her lifting you from the bathroom floor, her calm and commanding voice directing the emergency room, had erased every ounce of doubt in your mind.
"You got me here, Ale," you whispered softly. "You knew exactly what to do when it mattered. Stop apologizing."
Alexia smiled through her tears, leaning down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips—a gentle, reassuring touch that carried all the love and relief she had been holding inside.
"The house is completely quiet now," Alexia murmured against your cheek, her hand sliding up to stroke your hair. "When the doctor discharges you, we are going home, and it’s going to be just the two of us. I’m clearing my schedule for the week. No training, no friends, no noise. I’m going to make you soup, take care of your corporate files, and just hold you until you’re completely well."
You smiled, your eyelids growing heavy as the residual anesthesia pulled you back toward sleep. "A whole week of quiet?"
"A whole week," Alexia promised, tucking the blanket securely around your shoulders. "Now close your eyes, amor. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Au: memories of my bursting appendix haha so painful btw.
☆ Summary: A glimpse into the hours following the Champions League victory in Oslo. You might or might not be wearing Patri's shirt through it all, which is a problem for a certain captain.
☆ Word count: 6.7K
☆ Warnings: (+18) SMUT • lot of dry humping • scissoring (again, yes) • boob love <3 • the captain armband stays on during sex • jealous/possessive Ale • mention of body image issues • baby alexia
☆ A/n: keeping score universe!! You will enjoy this fic more if you read these fics first
The Champions League final was here.
You had managed to get a few (precious) days off from the hospital, all so you could tag along to Oslo.
But travelling with the Football Club Barcelona meant navigating a game of hide-and-sick. You and Ale were still very private about your relationship, so much so that your presence in Norway has sent some small corners of the internet buzzing.
Online, the fans were completely split into two teams. Half of them thought you had come solely to support Clara, your younger sister, while the other half suspected you were there for Alexia, your rumoured girlfriend.
None of them knew you were there for both.
It was Clara's first time playing in a Champions League final, and since your parents were far too "busy" to make it to the game, you had made sure she would have someone cheering for her in the stands. At the same time, it was the first opportunity you had ever had to travel and watch Alexia play anywhere other than Barcelona.
Two birds, one stone.
When the final whistle blew, you were in the stands wearing a Guijarro shirt. The shirt had been a very strategic decision on your part.
Alexia and Clara had both suffered absolute meltdowns at the mere thought of you wearing the other's number and name. There was no chance you were subjecting yourself to the humiliation of a half-and-half shirt either, so you had ended the argument by picking up Alexia's phone, texting Patri yourself, and asking if she could sort you out a shirt with her name on it.
Clara had retaliated by making sure you could hear Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo playing from her room for three days straight. It was, indeed, torture.
Alexia, meanwhile, had pouted and declared that you were officially banned from kissing, hugging, or holding her hand until you came home with a shirt with her name and number eleven on it.
You did not cave.
She lasted four hours without kisses, hugs, or hand-holding. You didn't mention it when she finally folded. You just smiled into her hair as she pulled you in, both of you pretending the temporary ban had never happened.
Your plan had never been to go down onto the pitch for the celebrations.
You didn't want fans spotting you and Alexia together, which you knew would happen the second you were within a few meters of each other. You had told both Ale and Clara that beforehand, and they had agreed, after, of course, being babies about it.
But then the fans began to leave the stadium, the medal ceremony things were dismantled piece by piece, and the red and blue ribbons settled in the turf.
That's when you saw it.
Across the pitch, Alexia was laughing with her mum and uncle, tucked between them as if she were a little kid. A little further, Cata was wrapped up with her girlfriend and parents. Pina was surrounded by her mum and cousins, all of them talking over each other.
And then there was Clara.
She stood all by herself, a gold medal hanging around her neck, quietly watching everyone else. It was long past the moment when teammates were celebrating with each other; now they had all turned toward their own families. And Clara's family consisted entirely of you and your brother, who hadn't been able to take time off uni to come.
You felt your heart crack right down the middle, pieces of it falling in the stands. Before you could think better of it, before you could remind yourself why you had promised to stay in the stands, you were already moving towards the barrier.
You showed your credentials to the security guards, and they let you through without a second glance.
Clara didn't see you coming.
You caught her by surprise, wrapping your arms around her shoulders from behind. She gasped when she saw it was you, and you knew it was a sound you were going to carry around with you for a long time.
She was just so, so happy.
The expression on her face reminded you of when she was younger, doing dance recitals. Back then, she would search for you in the audience because your parents thought those performances weren't worth attending. As she spun around inside your embrace, her smile looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago. Except now, with fewer baby teeth.
You pulled her into a tighter hug, burying your face into her shoulder because, of course, she was taller than you despite being the youngest. The edge of her medal dug painfully into your sternum, but you ignored it.
"I'm so proud of you, Clarita," you whispered, "Te quiero, mana."
"Te quiero," she replied, kissing your cheek. "Thank you for being here."
Neither of you moved for a long time, and although there were plenty of people around, talking nonstop, it felt like this tiny space between the two of you was the quietest place on the entire pitch.
"You said you wouldn't come down," Clara murmured, squeezing you even tighter. "You said we would meet back in the locker room."
"I was being silly," you said, smiling up to her as the bear hug finally came to an end.
Your ribs were hurting. When had Clara gotten so strong?
You pulled back just enough to take the medal in your hands, turning it carefully. "I needed to see this medal up close, no?" You smiled. "You deserved it, bebé."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Don't call me bebé. I'm nineteen."
You ignored her completely as you reached up and pinched her cheeks. "Mi bebezota!"
"Urgh!" Clara groaned, trying to escape your grip. "Stop! You are embarrassing me"
A grin tugged at your lips. That was exactly what you wanted.
"People are watching, you know," she added.
People were watching indeed. Including Alexia.
It hadn't taken long for her to find you.
You obviously spotted her before she saw you; she was standing several meters behind Clara.
The moment her hazel eyes landed on you, something in her whole posture softened; a beautiful smile spread across her face even as she held herself carefully still, stiff, almost rigid.
Her shoulders were far too straight, the professional façace held tightly in place. She, as much as you, was entirely aware of how many broadcast cameras were following her every move.
It was almost as if she were waiting for you to make the decision.
Seeing her standing there, her temples covered in sweat that slipped down her collarbones, her face flushed from the game and from being smothered in her mother's affection, the identical gold medal that also adorned her neck....
She was pretty, and yours and the distance suddenly felt far too ridiculous to be taken so seriously.
You patted Clara on the back when Syd and Aicha called her to take some pictures. After watching her go, you turned and started walking towards Alexia.
She smiled at you the entire way.
When you stopped in front of her, you immediately pulled her into your side. You were hyper aware of your surroundings, so you kept the gesture simple, safe and casual.
You slid your arm around her shoulder, nothing more. You leaned in close enough for only her to hear, whispering a "mi campeona" right into her ear. Then you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
You hear her breath hitched, the puff of air that came out of her mouth was slow and warm against your neck as she instinctively leaned into you. She squeezed your waist just a second too long, just a fraction harder than any friend normally would.
"I thought you weren't coming down?" she murmured the exact same word Clara had said only moments earlier.
"Mhmm," you whispered, reluctantly stepping away from her, putting a more friendly distance between you. "I changed my mind."
Behind her, Eli and her uncle were watching the interaction with matching smiles.
You had met Alexia's family a few months ago, and along with the team, they were among the very few people who knew exactly what you meant to her. Something much, much more significant than her protegé's sister.
"Hola, mi amor!" Eli exclaimed, stepping forward and pulling you into a motherly hug, completely unconcerned by the cameras around you. "I'm glad you came down! I told you, it's fun being on the pitch after they win."
"Hey, Eli," you said, smiling and kissing both her cheeks. "You were, once again, completely right."
You turned in a slow circle, taking in the stadium, taking in everything.
"Everything feels far too big down here." You turned to Alexia. "How can you even play? I feel so tiny, like an ant."
Alexia shrugged, a soft look in her eyes. She always got those whenever you and her mom were together.
"You get used to it and--Mama! I told you I'm not cold" she pouted.
Alexia twisted away, trying to dodge as Eli attempted to drape a heavy coat over her shoulder.
"But you are shaking, bebé!" Eli insisted.
"I'm not shaking, mama," Alexia protested, already blushing. "I'm just–"
Before she could finish, you felt an arm suddenly land over your shoulder, dragging you slightly sideways.
"Guapa! Hi! look who's decided to join us. Got tired of hiding in your cave?"
Patri's voice was excited; she was always the sweetest on the team. She looked like she had been to war and back, maybe for them footballers, the Champions League final really was war.
"Hola!!!"
Another voice came. Kika appeared beside Patri, vibrating with energy, her dark hair sticking out in every possible direction. You knew those two would party a lot tonight.
Patri's brown eyes dropped to your back, her grin widening as she noticed the name printed across the fabric.
She looked over at Alexia, raising one eyebrow with mischief.
"Look at that, Ale," Patri teased, patting your shoulder proudly. "Your girl knows talent when she sees it."
Alexia's eyes narrowed playfully, her lips pressing into a tight, pouting line as she stared at the Guijarro shirt covering your torso. She looked at you, her eyes shining with that possessive spark you had come to adore. To expect.
Kika laughed, leaning into Patri's side. "Oh no... capi's a bit mad."
"I'm not mad," Alexia countered smoothly, though her eyes never left yours. "It's a nice shirt. It just happens to have the wrong number on it.
By the time you made it back to the hotel, Alexia had been grinning ear to ear for approximately forty minutes straight. She knew perfectly well what the two of you were going to do once you set foot into the hotel room.
The team bus wasn't leaving for the club for another hour and a half, but Alexia did not seem particularly invested in the public celebrations anymore. At the moment, she appeared to be significantly more excited about kissing your entire face.
The door had barely clicked shut behind you before her hands were on your waist.
"I'm so happy you are here, mi sol," she whispered against your lips, her voice raspy, probably from running so much and whatever singing had taken place in the locker room afterwards.
She kissed you gently at first, and then deeper, before resting her forehead against yours, breathing in slowly. Breathing you in.
"You looked pretty in the stands," she murmured. "My favourite fangirl."
"I'm your favourite even while in Patri's shirt?" You teased softly.
"Shut up," she murmured with a breathless laugh, not allowing you to mutter another word as she captured your mouth again, sucking your tongue.
"You won't be wearing it much longer, so enjoy it while you can."
You were fairly sure you would.
Her hands settled on your hips as she slowly guided you backwards through the room. There was something confident in her steps; they were so deliberate and confident, for a moment, it was easy to forget you were in a hotel a few kilometres away from her actual home in Barcelona.
The back of your knee bumped against the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall onto it, with Alexia following right after.
You kissed her, tasting her champagne-tinged tongue, she felt weightless on top of you.
Her captain's armband was still hugging her bicep tightly; of course, she hadn't taken it off. Once you had told her how much you loved it when she fucked you with it, she had started to keep it. Her heavy gold medal was still hanging around her neck, swaying between you like a pendulum.
Alexia was exactly as good as she thought she was, completely dominant on and off the pitch. The way confidence seemed to be radiating off of her in a way that was equal parts dangerous and attractive.
Your hand travelled down to her lower back, your finger sliding beneath the waistband of her shorts to squeeze the firm flesh of her ass. You shifted under her, tilting your body just right to force her pelvis closer to yours.
"It was hot watching you play," you murmured against her mouth.
You leaned up, caught her lower lip between your teeth, biting into it enough for you to hear a small whimper fall from her tongue.
She pouted at you, her eyes hazy, unfocused. She was completely fixed on you, silently asking you to kiss it better.
You didn't make her wait, pulling her down once more.
"Soy su campeona?" Alexia whispered into the narrow space between your mouth. Her voice sounded much smaller than usual, completely bewitched, and slightly tipsy. [Am I your champion?]
"Si," you whispered, your hand clutching her ass. "Mine, only mine."
Alexia smiled and caught you in a kiss.
Her hot mouth trailed down the line of your jaw, dragging over the side of your throat. One hand guided your head gently aside as she found the hidden and sensitive spot right behind your ear, choosing to brand you there, sucking firmly until you knew it would leave a purplish mark.
A mix of a giggle and a gasp escaped you as your hand settled on her shoulders. "A hickey? Really? You teased. "How old are you? Sixteen?"
She huffed a laugh against your pulse point. "I deserved it, okay? I won the Champions League. I can do whatever I want today."
"Mhm," you hummed, tipping your head back a little further to give her entirely uninhibited access to do as she pleased. "I suppose you can do whatever you want with me, yes."
"Si?" She asked dangerously.
Even without looking, you could feel the slow, coy smile pressing right against your jugular.
"Uhum," you nodded as much as you could under her weight.
"Joder," she cursed, her breath hitching as the absolute submission in your voice sank in. Her hips shifted, rolling hard and against yours as she pinned you to the mattress. "Voy a correr si sigues diciendo eso." [I'm gonna cum if you keep saying that.]
She kept moving against you; it was clear that the confession made her turn absolutely relentless. She took off your shirt, leaving your torso bare.
She pressed her body completely flush, the medal a cool contrast between your breasts, while the rough fabric of her armband brushed against your arm. Her mouth claimed yours once more, her tongue pushing deep, the taste of champagne still there.
You could, somehow, feel her wetness through the fabric of her shorts, slick and hot.
Your fingers dug deeper into the meat of her ass, squeezing as you tilted your own body, forcing her pelvis to drag exactly where you needed. "You're so fucking hot, Alexia."
Alexia moaned low straight into the kiss, then broke it to trail her lips back to your neck, sucking another mark right beside the first.
"Mía," she murmured, voice dropping as her hips found a steady rhythm. [Mine]
Her clit was pressing and sliding against yours through layers of clothing. Her chest was absolutely perfect against yours. She nipped at your earlobe, her breath becoming faster and faster with every passing second.
"Dilo otra vez," Alexia demanded, grinding harder. [say it again.]
You arched up to meet her, your hands roaming beneath her shirt to feel the sweat-slick skin of her back. She trembled when your fingers dug into the tense muscles there.
"You can do whatever you want with me, baby," you breathed right into her ear. "Whatever you want, sí? I'm yours; you deserve it. I'm all yours tonight."
"Ah," she moaned, the medal clinked softly with every roll of her hips. "I want to fuck you nice and slow."
She was growing impatient with the barrier of clothes between you.
She shifted, yanking her shorts down just enough to bare herself before turning her attention to you, working at your clothes with impatient tugs until skin finally met skin.
Finally, you were both completely naked.
When her bare pussy finally settled over yours, your folds parted wetly under the weight. She resumed the grind right away, clit to clit, moving in slow circles.
"Oh god, you feel so good," you gasped, eyes dropping to watch the way her slick coated you, it was so messy, so raw, so fucking delicious. Your eyes landed on her armband again and that only made you get wetter. "Damn, Alexia. You are fucking dripping baby."
"Joder, amor" She hissed again, her voice cracking as overstimulation hit her. "Tan mojada-" [you're so wet]
Still, she kept the pace even, riding the shared wetness, her body soft yet controlled as she chased the edge without rushing towards it.
Her medal continues to swing between you, a constant reminder of the massive victory waiting just outside the hotel room.
Her hands slid up your arms before settling around your wrists, pinning them above your head.
"You get so bossy when you win," you manage to say, rolling your eyes. You loved it when she got more dominant.
Your head suddenly felt so heavy.
You weren't sure whether it was exhaustion, dehydration, or simply the overwhelming intensity of the day catching up with you.
You were so overwhelmed with the way her body was touching every centimeter of your skin, how her kisses were getting sloppy and wet.
She was desperate, and you were, too. Your cunts were grinding, making a mess on both your bodies, the slickness dripping down her pussy right into yours, soaking you completely.
"I'm bossy and you fucking love it," Alexia shot back, moving her body carefully, trying not to crush you, but apply the right amount of pressure to your clit. "You are soaked, mi amor, all for me, huh"
She was, of course, right.
Keeping one wrist pinned above your head with one single hand, Alexia used the other to grip your thigh firmly, spreading it wider.
"Stay like that," she whispered while absolutely devouring your neck. "Don't you dare move."
Alexia shifted you as if you were a rag doll, moving your legs how she wanted until her cunt was aligned to her liking.
"Next time you wear my shirt, si?" she murmured, jealousy still thick in her voice as her cunt moved with yours.
She looked down at you, her eyes dark as she kept rutting against you. "Tengo mi coño pegado al tuyo, y todavía no llevas mi camiseta?" [My cunt is pressed against yours, and you're still not wearing my shirt?]
"Mhmm," you moaned. Fuck.
You were gonna cum.
"Tell me who is going to make you cum," she asked, as if reading your mind, her voice was low as she continued her movements.
The pleasure was becoming so intense, you were going to snap.
Alexia's dirty talk was way too good. Her pussy was pulsing over yours, all slick, dripping down to soak the white sheets between your thighs.
Alexia pinched your arm. "Ouch!" You gasped, caught between pain and pleasure.
"Who is rubbing your cunt? Me or Patri?"
"Y-you," you managed to say, breathless.
"Who marked your whole neck?" She asked again. "Who gets to have you naked in her hotel bed? Who, mi sol?"
The sensation pushed you over the edge right after, your body arching up into her as waves of pleasure took over you.
"F-fuck, Ale," your body was going limp, all warm as the orgasm took over. "You baby, you, always you."
Alexia, sensing your orgasm, rutted her cunt faster until she was climaxing all over you. "Oh, god–" she moaned in your ear.
She stayed exactly where she was afterwards, naked and beautiful on top of you.
Your pussies were still pressed together, warm and dripping. Alexia nuzzled lower until she found your breast, drawing the nipple into her mouth with slow and comforting pulls.
Her tongue flicked lazily, her breath warm and even against your chest as she settled in, tasting the mix of sweat on your breast, while her fingers played with your other nipple.
"You didn't answer my question," she mumbled from your breast after a minute.
"Ahn?" You asked, your mind far too dizzy. You hadn't even realised she was on your breast, when you did, pleasure began to grow again. "I did, no-?"
"You'll wear my shirt?" She asked, her words slightly slurred. "Next time? Please?"
"Oh," you said, nodding against the pillows, your voice still shaky from the climax, it was so… intense. You weren't sure you would ever regain all of your breath.
"Yeah, of course. I mean…" A laugh escaped you. "After this, how can I not?"
Alexia made a pleased sound deep in her throat and kept her lips sealed around your nipple. Her body stayed relaxed on top of yours, her frame soft pressing down.
You realised it was probably the first time she felt at ease and relaxed since she woke up.
Her thumb continued to touch over your nipple, rubbing slow circles before giving it a gentle tug and roll between her fingers.
"We need to get ready for the club," you murmured eventually, your fingers threading through her now-brunette hair. "It's getting late."
She whined softly.
She sucked a little harder for a moment, refusing to lift her head. Her thumb kept playing, flicking and pinching the other nipple while her hips gave one lazy grind that made both of you shiver, your clits brushing.
"No..." she mumbled around the peak in her mouth. "Stay like this. Just a little longer."
"I can't be the reason you are late," you said with a chuckle, still combing your fingers through her hair. "It's not good for my reputation. I'm new to the Barcelona circle, the girls need to like me... they won't if I make their captain late."
"The girls will never think anything badly of you," Alexia said, her mouth finally unlatching. She rested her cheek against your chest, listening to your heart. "You are too sweet for that."
You chucked at that, staring at the beige hotel ceiling. Was it beige? Or had it once been white and simply not been cleaned properly in years.
"Sweet? Me?" You chuckled. "Okay, maybe love really is blind."
Alexia looked up, frowning. "What? You are sweet, gentle, caring-"
You shook your head, a hint of a self-deprecating smile on your face. "I'm not bebé. I'm stressed all the time. I'm moody as soon as I wake up. I'm constantly worried about something or someone-"
"Because you care," Alexia interrupted instantly.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, no longer putting her full weight on you; she looked down at you with a very fierce expression.
"You are worried all the time because you care about your patients, about your siblings…" Her voice softened slightly. "About me."
You looked at her with soft (and slightly sad) eyes.
"I think you see me in a much better light than I actually deserve."
"I see you just right, mi sol," Alexia said, leaning down to kiss your lips.
"My sweet." Kiss.
"Pretty." Kiss.
"Gentle." Kiss.
"Loving." Kiss.
"Girlfriend.
You were smiling second one. You didn't try to stop it.
"You get too cheesy when you cum," you whispered, a sudden blush creeping up your cheeks. "It's adorable."
"I know, perdon," Alexia replied, pouting down at you without a single ounce of regret.
"I'm sorry I don't get cheesy," you murmured. "But I swear I love you just as much."
"It's okay," she chucked. "I know you love me. This is the first time you have actually taken time off for someone. That has to be true love."
You squinted your eyes, your cheeks heating up even more. "And who exactly told you that?"
Alexia chucked, leaning down to press a warm kiss on top of your blush. "Your sweetheart of a sister."
"Of course she did."
As it turned out, actually getting out of bed and preparing for the night was considerably less romantic than the books made it seem.
Once Alexia finally untangled herself from you, the two of you were forced to acknowledge the mess the sex left on the hotel sheets.
There was a large, damp stain stretched across the middle of the bed. The lingering scent of sex and slickness was mixed with the light breeze coming through the window.
Alexia did not seem remotely concerned about the ruined sheets, instead, she just propped her head up on her hand and simply watched you with a big and proud grin on her face.
You, in response, blushed all over, immediately scrambling for the duvet, dragging it up to your chin to cover yourself.
"Stop watching me like that," you pouted, clutching the fabric tighter.
Alexia rolled her eyes and continued to smile.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, moving smoothly without a single hint of instability; you were certain you would be wobbling if you had been topping the way she just did.
She walked across the room to fetch the two white hotel robes hanging by the wardrobe.
She slipped one on herself before returning to bed with the second. She gently tried to pry the duvet away from your tight grip so she could put the second one over your shoulders.
"We had sex less than twenty-four hours after we met for the first time," she teased, tugging playfully at the duvet. "Back then, you had absolutely no problem being naked around me… And now you are embarrassed?"
You rolled your eyes, holding it for dear life.
"Back then, I was thinner. But you know what they say, happy relationships make you gain weight." Your gaze dripped over her athletic frame. "Bon… unless you are a very disciplined footballer, then apparently, you don't gain a single kilo."
Alexia's playful expression vanished instantly, replaced by genuine worry.
"What!??" She blurted. "Are you having issues with your body? Like... body image issues?! Mi amor, you are the prettiest woman alive!"
You rolled your eyes at her dramatics. This was exactly why you hadn't said a single thing until now.
"No, I'm not having any issues," you said. "I know I'm... fine. I'm just different than when we started dating and–"
"You are, like, hotter now," Alexia interrupted, stating it so blankly and firmly as if she was merely speaking facts.
"Huh?"
"You are hotter," she repeated. "Because you are my lovely, beautiful girlfriend now."
You smiled at her, your heart feeling warm. The poor thing was trying hard to reassure you.
Your sweet, sweet girl. "Gracias, Ale."
"No, baby, I mean it," Alexia insisted, her tone changing to something so incredibly tender and sincere it made your chest ache. "You are perfect. Your face is perfect, and your body-"
Your grip around the duvet loosened, and Alexia took advantage, finally managing to wrap the robe around you. "And your thighs are perfect, and your tummy is perfect… and everything about you–"
"Okay, love, that's enough--"
"If I could, I would eat you whole."
You blinked at her.
"Okay, that's literally cannibalism."
"Some cultures see cannibalism as an ultimate act of love and adoration," Alexia countered immediately.
She said it with the most profound, soft, tender and deadpan face. She was completely serious, looking at you like a proud cat that had just caught a dead bird and was offering it as a sign of love.
"Oh, okay," you said, as you reached up and patted both her cheeks. "Thanks, my love. I'm feeling much better now. I would absolutely let you eat me whole if it wouldn't result in the complete ceasing of my existence."
"Really?" Alexia asked happily, her eyes lighting up. "Would you do the same to me?"
What the hell kind of sweet talk even was that?
"Oh... yes," you said with fake enthusiasm. "Of course."
Alexia beamed, looking incredibly happy and touched that her (bizarre) feelings were being fully reciprocated.
Relationships, however, and as sad as it seems, were not built entirely on sex and body image conversations that somehow end up in discussions of cannibalism, you see. Most often, they were not; there were arguments. Petty and ridiculous arguments.
Like the shower.
"Okay… we really need to clean up and get dressed," you said, glancing towards the bathroom. "The bus is leaving soon."
Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Let's take a shower together then," she murmured against your skin, her voice dropping to a seductive cadence.
You let out a dry laugh. "Nice try, Ale."
Alexia stepped in front of you, her face collapsing into a (guess what?) pout.
"Mi sol, please?" she pleaded, yes, pleaded. "I love you and your body, and we love taking showers together, sí? Come on, please? Pretty please? You say I'm your champion, no? Don't I deserve to take a shower with mi amor?!"
You stared at her for two full seconds before you folded.
You always fold. It was entirely Eli's fault for creating a woman with the prettier, most stupidly devastating puppy face ever made in the world. Nobody could say no to those eyes.
"Ugh, fine," you sighed, letting her take your hand and lead you to the bathroom. "You do deserve it."
Slowly, the reality of what she had accomplished began to settle over you, a warm feeling took over your torso, a smile appeared on your face, and Alexia noticed it.
She grinned too, pushing you gently against her, one hand sliding to your robe as she backed you against the tiled wall.
She was all over you, kissing you until your knees felt weak.
You caught her jaw in your hand, and she leaned into the touch. "You really won, huh, bebé?" you whispered again, "yeah, yeah... you really do deserve it."
"Your girlfriend is a European champion," she whispered back.
She grinned again before she stole another kiss, her hips drifting a little to yours.
"Ale, no," you gasped, pushing lightly on her shoulder. "We seriously cannot have sex again. We'll actually miss the bus, and I'm not taking an Uber to the club. That would be a proper walk of shame."
"No sex, no," she dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand. "Just a little kissing," she bargained, punctuating the statement by nipping at your chin.
"Okaaay," you said slowly. "Kissing, yes, but under the shower."
You both stepped into the shower stall. You reached over and turned the knob, settling the temperature to your preference. You waited a bit till the water completely heated up and then walked under the water, feeling it soak over you.
So warm. So perfect.
Alexia, still wearing that confident and romantic smile of hers, stepped directly behind you. Okay, maybe too could fit in a quickie and-
Alexia went completely silent behind you. Then… her eyes flew wide open.
Before you could even register what was happening, a hand clamped around your waist, and she yanked you backwaters out of the stream of water.
"Joder! Estás loca?!!" She said, frantically wiping stray droplets of water from her face as though she had just been splashed with HCl. "The water is burning my skin! It's melting me!" [Fuck, are you crazy?!]
"That's the temperature I like to shower at!" You protested, completely bewildered by her reaction. "What is wr–"
"You are making a soup out of yourself!!" Alexia looked so genuinely horrified, you were starting to wonder if the water was really that hot. "You are a doctor, you, of all people, should know how bad this is for your skin! It's gonna fall off!"
You cautiously stuck a hand back under the stream.
It felt oh so lovely… warm, comforting. Exactly how a shower should feel.
"You are being dramatic again, Alexia!"
"I'm not!" she said. "You want us to stand in boiling water!"
"You and Clara," you said, shaking your head. "Dramatic as hell. That's why you get along so well. Exactly the same personality."
Alexia opened her mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut. Apparently, she did not appreciate the comparison to her teenage protege, and got deeply wounded by it.
In the end, the romantic shared shower never happened.
Alexia kept her robe on and sat on the closed toilet lid while you showered, her arm crossed, pout deep in her lips. She watched you through the steam the entire time, her eyes fixed on you, refusing to look away for even a second.
When you finished, the two of you switched places.
Alexia then proceeded to shower at a temperature that, according to her, had been specifically designed for people who weren't actively trying to cook themselves alive.
Not everything is as romantic as it seems.
You were halfway through putting on your shirt when Alexia's voice drifted out from the bathroom, muffled by the glass door and the rushing water.
"You know I gained weight, too, right?"
You paused, confused, with your arms caught awkwardly in the fabric. "Uh?"
After a second, the sound of the shower cut off.
Alexia emerged wrapped in her hotel robe, her damp hair dripping down her shoulders and right onto the wooden floor. Unlike you, she actually had to wash her hair after being on the pitch for so long.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
You silently counted every single drop that fell.
"You said disciplined athletes don't gain weight," she explained, pulling at the collar on her robe, which seemed too tight on her; her skin was red and irritated. "I gained two kilos this season."
You stared, still confused, but then the realisation finally set in. She was still thinking about what you had said earlier.
"Bebé," you sighed, your arms dropping to your sides ."You don't need to do that."
"Do what?' She frowned.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about,' you said, turning away from her toward the small vanity to start doing your hair. "I'm fine, Ale. Really."
"Well," she began, stepping closer. "And you don't need to do that – saying you are fine just because you don't want to talk about something."
You rolled your eyes, focusing on the mirror and and how your hair was completely inconsiderate of the fact that you had places to be tonight.
Alexia didn't like to be ignored.
Predictably, she appeared behind you a second later. For a brief moment, the angry dog in you wanted to snap her, tell her to back off because her wet hair was soaking through your dried clothes.
But then she rested her chin on your shoulder. In the mirror, you noticed how her cheeks were still pink from the shower. She smelled overwhelmingly like generic hotel shampoo because she forgot to pack her own, and the lightning made her hazel eyes look somehow greener.
The anger completely dissipated. You let her stay.
"I love your body," she said quietly, her eyes on yours through the reflection.
You softened even more. "I know you do, Ale."
She pressed a soft kiss against your neck, and you continued. "I never worried about that. You have never given me a single reason to, okay?" you said.
It was the truth. Alexia had always looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Always. From the very first day back at her house until now.
"You always make a point of showing it, ale," you murmured, feeling a deep need to reassure her.
"Okay, good," she said, pleased with herself.
For a moment, you genuinely thought the conversation was over, and you could go back to fighting with your hair. But then her expression shifted, turning serious again. "So… where is this coming from, then?"
You looked away from her reflection, or tried to. A million different reasons passed through your mind, but none of them seemed serious enough or logical enough to be the actual reason behind it.
Maybe it was the junction of it all. Maybe it wasn't just one thing. Or maybe it was just you, fighting with that universal human flaw, that dangerous voice that made it hard to feel fully satisfied with yourself.
You shrugged, choosing the simplest answer you could find. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, but we are talking about it," she said, delivering with certainty as if a conversation didn't always need to be bidirectional.
You rolled your eyes again. "Alexia, the bus–"
"The bus can wait."
"It literally cannot."
She pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, then finally released her hold on you. She let the robe fall carelessly to the floor, leaving her beautiful naked body entirely free for you to look at.
She was really an unfairly pretty woman. Then, killing your fun, she grabbed a fresh towel to dry her body off.
"Okay," she said, drying herself and then beginning to brush her wet hair. "We'll talk while we get ready, that way we wont miss the bus."
"Oh Jesus Christ," you groaned, letting your forehead rest against the glass of the mirror.
"The faster you talk," she sang out, completely cheerful. "The faster we leave."
"You are so annoying," you sighed. "And incredibly stubborn."
"And excellent at time management," she countered, clearly proud of herself.
"And insistent," you mumbled, though you couldn't help but smile. "So annoyingly insistent."
"I prefer the word tenacious."
You rolled your eyes at that.
You were quiet for a moment, desperately hoping she would let the silence take over and drop it. But Of course, she didn't. She was tenacious, unfortunately for you.
"It' just…" You hesitated, thinking of ways to put it. "Everyone around you is so... fit. You know?"
Alexia paused her brushing, looking at you. "What? Everyone?"
"The girls on the team," you explained, your voice dropping a bit. "Their girlfriend, your other friends… Everyone in that circle is so into the gym and everyone is so athletic and they all look a certain way."
"And what does that have to do with you and your body, amor?" she asked softly. "They are them; you are you."
You opened your mouth to give a very sharp and pragmatic answer, but the words never came. You couldn't think of a single thing to say.
Yeah, what exactly did that have to do with you?
For once in your life, you didn't have an answer, and you absolutely hated that. You were witty, rapid thinking, you always knew what to say, but right now, you were empty of logic and words.
Alexia instantly sensed your distress, as always, she saw right through the quiet.
"Eres guapísima," she said tenderly, putting her brush aside and walking back over to you and gently cupping your face.
You felt your cheeks warm, but she didn't stop. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then your chin.
"Hermosa, preciosa," she murmured against your skin. "Perfecta. Mía."
You laughed, weakly trying to push her shoulder to hide your face. "Okay, okay, got it. You are like, super, hopelessly in love with me."
Alexia just grinned. "Something like that, si."
She locked her arms around your waist, pulling you against her and bringing her mouth close to your ear. "You will always be the prettiest woman in every room – or pitch – that I ever walk in, okay? Don't forget that."
You rolled your eyes, trying your absolutely best to look unimpressed, but unfortunately, your smile completely gave away.
☆ A/n: I really really wanted to write something "realistic" and domestic about the final, so why not with our keeping score babies? Someone asked me once what shirt reader would wear to a game, so this is the answer hehe. I got an ask a few months ago about reader feeling a bit insecure because everyone around Alexia was so fit, so I decided to add it to this fic. I'm sorry if it was too random, but I feel that keeping score reader would be a bit upset and try to hide it and I didn't want to write a whole blurb around it.
Idc, normalize kink shaming. Cause y'all be using “don’t kink shame” and “it’s fiction” to excuse being into incest, pedophilia, cannibalism, etc. Like, be so fr, you ship a 14 year old with a 30 year, want to get railed by your dad and want to see two brothers f*ck each other. I don’t engage with things fictionally that I don’t like/wouldn’t want to do in real life. Yes, I’m judging you.
I've already said this multiple times, and I know it's getting repetitive, but it's so annoying to post fics and get more asks about when you are going to post the next fic rather than commenting about the actual fic that has been posted.
It's literally never enough. I get about 20 asks a week with requests/asking for updates on fic xyz, but when I post said fic, I receive way less than half those asks. You guys need to be consistent 👎🏻
I posted that fic about the keeping score universe because, guess what? While I was only writing and posting "Intimacy" updates people kept asking for keping Score. Okay, people want keeping score? Fineee, I wrote and posted the keeping Score blurb.
Now I go to my asks, and what do I get? Four different asks asking about when I'm posting the next Intimacy update 😀 mind you, I wrote and posted around 14k fics this week.
muffin, do you think alexia is the type of gf who would jump on you seeing you return from the gym all sweaty and out of breath or she is the "shower first" type of gf?
of course we have the iconic fic that you wrote, but we are talking in alexia's pov ☝🏻😌
Oh she’s jumping you the second she sees you.
Smut 18 tiny blurb
She doesn’t care about sweat. The girl sweats every day from training and workouts. It doesn’t bother her in the slightest.
The first time she did it, you protested. It was after a private session at her home gym. The brunette had you pressed against the wall, both of your tongues danced messily over the others.
But you abruptly stopped when you felt her hand sliding down south.
“I haven’t showered, Ale. I’m all sweaty.” You tried to reason.
“I don’t care, amor.” Alexia husked as she kissed your damp neck.
“Let me freshen up first. Then we can do whatever we want.” You said as you kissed her soft lips.
“Baby, do you really think I care?” Alexia asked as she pulled back to look you dead in the eyes.
“Erm, well, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that-” Your sentence was stopped with a gentle kiss.
“Maybe I want to.” Alexia smiled before returning her mouth to yours.
Your doubts slowly disappeared as the brunette teased her tongue against your lips, the exact way she did when she was using her tongue in other areas.
“I know you’ll taste good. You always do.” She assured you as she breathed against your lips.
You weren't sure if it was her soft eyes, the talented tongue or just the way your cunt throbbed knowing the girl wanted you no matter how much sweat was dripping down your chest, but you were quick to nod your head.
“Okay, but if it's not.. you know… just stop if you want to.” You stuttered.
Alexia smiled down at you, pulling at your gym shorts and underwear to slip her hand inside, meeting your very wet pussy. Her fingers circled your clit with a lazy touch, then bringing those now wet fingers to her mouth, humming deep in her throat when the taste of you lathered her taste buds.
“Fuck.” She moaned before dropping to her knees, quickly pulling your shorts down with her.
When her tongue gently glided through your lips every ounce of worry disappeared. You laced your fingers in her hair, moaning as her lips wrapped around your clit.
And from then on it's no secret that she had a thing for the salty taste on your skin.
Thank you for this ask! I miss you guys asking me stuff like this 🥹
a/n: i didn’t exactly stick to the request but it’s close enough !
word count: 1.8k
-
Dinner is sea bass. You have it twice a week because Alexia swears it’s good for the omega-3s, and because she read somewhere that it helps reduce the risk of age related cognitive decline. It’s grilled, seasoned with Maldon sea salt and a drizzle of olive oil from a suspiciously artisanal bottle she brought back from a day trip in Girona. The fish sits on a porcelain plate, beside a scatter of wild rocket (that you suspect isn’t that wild) and a dollop of aioli that she keeps insisting is homemade but always tastes exactly like the jarred one you buy from Mercadona. You don’t complain. You’ve learned not to. Complaining about food in this house would be like complaining about Picasso’s brushstrokes. It’s pointless and makes you look uncultured.
Alexia sits across from you, sleeves rolled to the elbows of her crisp white linen shirt. She’s wearing the Cartier watch you bought her last year, and her hair, damp from her post-training shower, is slicked back with that agonisingly expensive hair product she orders from Paris. Her fork scrapes against her plate in slow, deliberate motions. She eats like someone’s recording her for an advert—perfect posture, elbows off the table, chewing with a rhythm that feels both measured and faintly patronising.
“Eat,” she says, gesturing at your untouched plate. “It’s good for your heart”
“My heart’s fine,” you mutter, stabbing a piece of fish with the fork. It flakes too perfectly, like it’s been carved from soap.
“Your blood pressure says otherwise.” She’s got that look again. The one that makes you feel like she’s your personal physician instead of your wife.
You open your mouth to reply, but then Aina, your six-year-old, decides to detonate the conversational equivalent of an atomic bomb.
“Mami, is the lady at training your girlfriend?”
The question is dropped so casually that, for a moment, you think you’ve misheard. It hangs in the air, heavy and improbable, like a chandelier dangling by a single thread.
Alexia freezes mid-cut of her food, the sharp edge of the knife grazing the plate with a faint squeak that makes you wince. She’s poised in that awkward half-motion, as though still deciding whether to commit to slicing the fish or abandoning the endeavour altogether.
You set your cutlery down with deliberate care. The silver catches the light, refracting it into neat prisms on the table. “I’m sorry,” you say, your voice calm but laced with incredulity. “What?”
“The lady at training,” Aina repeats, savouring her newfound role as household disruptor. She waves a chunk of fish in the air with the authority of a conductor cueing a symphony. “The one with the shiny hair who always laughs at your jokes”
Alexia clears her throat, a sound more purposeful than polite. “Aina, cariño, eat your dinner”
“I am,” Aina replies, affronted, her cheeks puffed with indignation—and probably another piece of food. “But she’s always there. She calls you Ale, too. Like Mamá does”
Your head tilts ever so slightly, your gaze sharpening like the edge of a freshly honed knife. “She calls you Ale?”
“It’s my nickname,” Alexia says, far too quickly. Her knife saws through her sea bass with unnecessary vigour, the motion a little too aggressive for a piece of fish.
“For people who are close,” you murmur, your voice sugared with the faintest trace of menace. Honey over a blade.
“She’s just being friendly,” Alexia mutters, but it’s a hopeless defence. Friendly? Alexia’s version of friendly typically involves curt nods and silences so loaded they could tip over a cargo ship. You’ve seen her reduce overzealous fans to apologetic puddles with nothing more than a well-timed brow lift. This shiny-haired woman must be either extraordinarily resilient or willfully obtuse.
The conversation limps onward—or at least, it pretends to. Aina, blissfully oblivious to the tension, pivots to a monologue about school. There’s a new maths teacher who “smells like raisins,” and the class hamster escaped during art, prompting chaos and a stern lecture from Mrs. Lopez. Alexia seizes this distraction like a lifeline, nodding along with exaggerated interest and lobbing in questions about multiplication tables and papier-mâché volcanoes. But you’re not fooled.
You’re watching her, the cogs in your mind spinning with precision. There’s a tell, you know there is. Something in the way her shoulders stiffen just a fraction too much when Aina says “shiny hair.” The way her hand lingers on her wine glass a moment too long, as if considering the merits of drowning herself in Rioja.
You let it lie for now.
-
Later, when Aina is cocooned in her duvet, her breathing deep and even, you find Alexia in the kitchen. The dishwasher hums faintly as she loads it with the precision of a neurosurgeon mid-surgery. Plates are slotted in at perfect right angles, bowls stacked by diameter like a tidy topographical map, cutlery pointed handle-up because “it’s more hygienic”—a rule she enforces as if it’s in the Geneva Conventions.
You lean against the counter, your stance casual but your tone anything but. “So. The lady with the shiny hair”
Alexia doesn’t look up, focused on positioning a stubborn saucepan. “What about her?”
“Is there something you want to tell me?”
Her exhale is sharp, controlled. She straightens to face you, her expression carefully blank, a masterpiece of denial. “Don’t be ridiculous”
You cross your arms, the picture of patient fury. “I’m not the one making friends at our daughters extra curricular activities”
“She’s not even my friend,” Alexia says, but it’s the wrong thing to say, and she knows it the second it’s out of her mouth. You watch the words hang in the air, a misstep that invites you to pounce. She’s inadvertently handed you the key to a door she didn’t want opened.
“Oh, so she’s just hitting on you,” you say, your tone silky and exact, as if you’re presenting an irrefutable conclusion in court. Your hand cradles the wine glass with a precision that borders on art, its curve mirroring the faint smile playing on your lips.
“Do you hear yourself?” Alexia asks, her voice pitched higher than usual—an octave reserved for complete disbelief.
“Do you hear Aina?” you counter, your words razor-sharp but draped in velvet. “Because she’s clearly picked up on something.”
Alexia exhales, running a hand through her hair in that harried way she does when faced with impossible tactics—like breaking down a parked bus defence or convincing Aina that broccoli isn’t evil. “She’s six. She thinks people are dating if they stand next to each other for more then five minutes”
You raise an eyebrow, arching it with surgical precision. “And yet she’s never accused me of having a girlfriend on my errands”
Alexia hesitates. It’s brief, but you see it—the tiny glitch in her system. Her mouth opens, then closes, her defences recalibrating. She hates this. She thrives on control, on certainty, on organising chaos into perfect diagonal lines, whether it’s her wardrobe or your shared holiday schedules. Being put on the defensive is an alien sensation, and she wears it badly.
“It’s not what you think,” she says finally.
“Great,” you reply, folding your arms. “Because I’m not thinking anything. Yet.”
Alexia exhales through her nose, the kind of exhale that says she’s already tired of this conversation, even though it’s barely started. “She’s a parent of one of the other kids at football. That’s it”
“Right. And the arm-touching?”
“She’s just… tactile”
“Tactile,” you repeat, as if tasting the word for the first time. “Interesting choice of adjective”
Alexia leans forward, her elbows resting on the table—a rare lapse in her usually impeccable posture. “You’re blowing this out of proportion”
“Am I?” You pick up your wine glass and swirl the liquid, not because it needs aerating but because it gives your hands something to do. It’s a Rioja. Medium-bodied. Too warm. “You keep me on a leash so tight I can’t even glance at a waitress without getting a lecture, but shiny hair can play patty-cake with your arm, and I’m the one who’s out of line?”
“She’s not playing patty-cake”
“You’re right. That would require both hands”
“Stop it”
“Why? Is it making you uncomfortable?”
Alexia’s eyes narrow. She doesn’t answer right away, which is unusual for her. She’s usually quick with her rebuttals—sharp, precise, like the lawyer she secretly wishes she’d become. But now, she’s uncharacteristically quiet.
“She’s just being friendly,” Alexia says finally, her voice lower now, almost defensive. “You know how people are”
“No, I don’t. Enlighten me.” You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Because the people I know don’t make a habit of fondling married women during football training”
“Fondling?” Alexia’s eyebrows shoot up. “Now who’s being dramatic?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, setting your wine glass down with enough force to make the liquid slosh over the rim. “Would you prefer ‘caressing’? Or maybe ‘groping’? No, wait, I’ve got it—‘inappropriate physical contact.’ How’s that for a euphemism?”
Alexia sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re paranoid”
“And you’re a hypocrite”
That lands. You can tell by the way her jaw tightens, the muscles working under her skin like she’s chewing on something bitter. You let the silence stretch out, savouring it like the last bite of dessert. When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter, but no less sharp.
“What do you want me to say?” she asks. “That I’ll tell her to stop? Fine. I’ll tell her to stop. Happy?”
“No.” You shake your head. “Because that’s not the point
“Then what is the point?”
“The point,” you say, your voice rising now, “is that you don’t get to police my every interaction and then brush this off like it’s nothing. You don’t get to play the saint while shiny hair out there auditioning for Handsy Football Mums Gone Wild”
Alexia’s lips press into a thin line. For a moment, you think she might yell, but she doesn’t. She just sits there, staring at you with those infuriatingly steady eyes, like she’s trying to dissect you with her gaze alone.
“She’s not interested in me,” Alexia says eventually, her tone measured, controlled. “She’s just… like that. With everyone”
“Do you actually believe that,” you ask, “or are you just hoping I will?”
She doesn’t answer. And for the first time tonight, you feel like you’ve won—not the argument, necessarily, but something. A crack in her armour, maybe. Or a shift in the balance of power.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Alexia says finally, her voice quieter now. Almost vulnerable.
“Like what?”
“Like you don’t trust me,
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you pick up your wine glass again, taking a long, slow sip. The wine tastes better now. Richer. Fuller. Or maybe that’s just the satisfaction of knowing you’ve rattled her.
“It’s not about trust,” you say eventually, setting the glass back down. “It’s about consistency”
Alexia tilts her head, confused. “Consistency?”
“If you’re going to be the morality police,” you say, your tone light but cutting, “you’d better make sure you’re following your own rules. Otherwise, it’s just embarrassing”
She doesn’t reply. And for the first time all evening, you think maybe—just maybe—she’s out of things to say.
Summary: You and Alexia swore up and down that you would never get involved with a teammate. But strictly having sex only after big matches wouldn't put that rule in danger, would it? aka another friends with benefits fic
Word Count: 7.5k
Warnings: +18 (SMUT) • fingering (r giving and receiving) • oral (r receiving) • scisorring • choking (very lightly ok) • idiots in love • kika knows it!! • mentions of alcohol
☆ A/n: I hope this silly fic can alleviate some wounded hearts out there <3
You and Alexia had crossed your hearts and promised you would never do this. You had mumbled that exact same oath against each other's lips a few too many times until it became pathetic enough that you both just accepted the reality you found yourselves in, time after time.
During interviews with reports or locker room conversations, you and Alexia always stood your ground: you two would never get involved with a teammate. You'd never let any form of attraction stand in the way of professionalism, both on and off the pitch. You would never blur the invisible lines you had set.
You were both too dedicated, too focused, too professional for that kind of distraction, right?
Alexia was captain, and you, though not wearing the armband, were a veteran, deeply and well respected by the club for your history, mainly for choosing to come back after a few years abroad.
And yet, here you were, a year and a half into an arrangement that would probably send Lacan into a coma if he tried to psychoanalyse it – all that suppression of desire, the carefully constructed distance when you were around other people, all those unspoken rules about when it was acceptable to want each other and when it wasn't. When you could touch, or kiss or fuck. When it was okay to need Alexia, when it was okay to feel needed by her.
Your unconscious was your worst enemy. It needed Alexia all the time. So you shut it up at the gym, at home devouring book after book, at random bars looking for girls that looked like Alexia.
Your agreement centred around sex. You both had agreed it would only happen after big wins.
That was the deal, as idiotic as it sounded for adults who had a significantly high sex drive and who wanted each other badly half the time. You had even sat down to discuss what would be considered "big wins", treating it like a business conversation. You settled "big wins" on "significant victories", meaning league titles, cup finals, semifinals, crucial matches like El clásico, etc.
After all those months of great sex, you were now properly conditioned. A Pavlov dog.
Wins equalled reward. Reward equalled Alexia in your bed, or you in hers, her wet mouth trailing up and down your body while your fingers explored her every inch.
May had been a very, very busy month; three domestic trophies hinted at a lot of sex. And by that you meant A lot ... hours!
All that built-up suppression meant you spent entire nights tangled together in each other, only taking breaks to keep your body functioning enough to keep going for more. You only ever stop if one of you fell asleep, or if the sun was up.
May 23rd was a different day, though. Barça had just won the Champions League. ;)
May was indeed an amazing month.
The private bar in the southern district of Oslo was packed with your teammates, their families, partners, friends and the coaching staff. The music was loud, maybe a bit too loud for your ears, and the drinks were flowing freely, spilling onto expensive shoes, as people enjoyed themselves in the open bar.
Everybody was riding the high of being crowned Champions of Europe, even the ones who hadn't even stepped onto the pitch. Case in point? Kika's mom. She was currently the unequivocal queen of the dance floor.
The vibe was entirely gregarious, thrilling, something that you couldn't quite pin down with a single word. You tried to find the vocabulary for it while sitting in a quieter corner of the room, the glass of the one single piña colada you had allowed yourself cooling the palm of your hand.
One drink was just enough to take the edge off, enough to make your skin feel warm and your thoughts just a bit hazy, dangerously hazy, perhaps. The bits of alcohol relaxed you, your shoulders dropped, your brain slowed your thoughts, and a smile came to your face a little more easily.
Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
The lyrics faded out around you, only for the next song to start:
Want more and more, people just want more and more
Freed from desire
Mind and senses purified
Those were just a couple of the songs that had played over the ten minutes you had been sitting there. Their lyrics were a tad too ironic given your current situation. Or perhaps, it was just one of those things where mundane occurrences felt severely personal, your brain desperately searching for clues to validate your thoughts, emotions, and action… bla bla bla. You had long forgotten the specifics of that uni class you took on human behaviour and cognitive dissonance back in the US.
Right now, you were trying to use that mechanism to validate your feelings about Alexia, taking any song as a sign from the universe that it wants Alexia to be between your legs soon enough.
Alcohol – or maybe just the high of the win – made you hyperaware of her. You could sense her across the room, watch the way her lips moved as she talked to her friend Miriam.
Your silly, tipsy brain actually thought it could decipher every word coming out of her mouth, shaping them into sentences that stroke your ego. You wanted her to be talking to Miriam about you. So, your mind simply invented that reality. Things were easy when you were buzzed; everything was far too simple, rules were negotiable, and your need for Alexia felt entirely merited and legitimate.
See? cognitive dissonance. It was one of your finest hobbies lately.
You watch Alexia, observe her as she moved around.
The captain was in full extroverted mode; it was the version of her that only emerged after major titles. She was dancing with Vicky now, laughing and taking pictures with Patri.
She had a drink in hand, one you knew for a fact would be far too sweet, with a fake-strawberry flavour. You would taste it on your lips later tonight, you were sure.
During celebrations, Alexia drank just enough to get tipsy, too, but unlike you, her tolerance could handle more than a single, miserable drink. She would have four, maybe five max, before switching to virgin drinks.
A bad bunny song started, and Alexia tracked down that goddam trophy, which had been her sole fascination for the last three hours, and began dancing with it in her hand, her jeans hugging the perfect shape of her ass.
She was a stark contrast to her usual quiet, shy, introverted self. This version wasn't necessarily better or worse; it was just different. She was still Ale, and you, as much as you tried to fight it, were still hopelessly you.
And this version was the only Alexia you had ever slept with. The high-adrenaline, post-victory, almost but not quite drunk Alexia, who was loose, and confident, and commanding in a way that made your stomach flip with butterflies.
You had never had her on a random Friday after training, you painfully realised. You had never seen what she was like when the adrenaline wasn't pumping in her veins, when the victory wasn't so fresh and raw, when she was just... herself.
You wondered if the sex would be different. Would it be softer, maybe? Less intense and emotionally charged? Would she be equally warm and fervent?
Or would she be exactly the same, because sex with Alexia was never just sex. For her, it was a very complex game, a way to open somebody up. Alexia was almost clinical in her precision, almost obsessive in her attention to detail.
While you viewed sex as a means to an end, a way to get off, to give someone an orgasm, to feel good and make someone else feel good, Alexia treated it like a dance. A deep involvement, an act she took her absolute time with.
She always kissed every bit of your skin. Always listened to every sound, and learned your body like it was a mystery she needed to solve. And god, you wanted her to take her time with you tonight.
"You are sooo nonchalant about her."
You jerked your attention away from Alexia to find Kika standing beside you, a knowing smirk on her face. One that scared you. "Ahn? What? What are you talking about?"
Kika took a sip of her artificial pink drink, gesturing with her chin toward the captain, "You are staring at Miss Catalunya right there."
"I'm not staring," you said, taking a sip of your own drink to cover. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm just resting–"
"You absolutely are." Kika slid into the seat next to you without an invitation; her eyes were twinkling with mischief. "You have been staring at her for the past ten minutes."
"I'm just… people-watching, okay?" you countered. "And you must be staring at me if you know exactly how long I've been sitting here–"
"And does this people-watching always involve looking at Alexia like you want to rip her clothes off with your teeth, or–"
"Kika," you warned, your voice dropping low. "I'm serious! Stop acting silly. There's nothing like that between us, you know that. We are friends! Colleagues even!"
Lying was so easy at this point; your only real problem was that you were not nearly as convincing as needed to be.
The Portuguese held up her hand, laughing teasingly at your grumpiness. "Calma! I'm just saying… You two have been acting weird for months. Don't think the rest of us haven't noticed, we have eyes everywhere." [calm down]
Your stomach dropped. You could feel the hollow organ actually fall all slimy to your feet. "W-we have not, I–"
"You have, though, and everyone's noticed. Well… mostly the younger girls and me, but still." She leaned in conspiratorially; her voice was low, meant for your ears only, but it was hard to understand her over the loud music. "Something's going on. I know it. I can literally sense the love in the air every time you two are in the same room."
"Nothing's going on between me and Ale" you said firmly, even as your heart rate picked up. "And there is definitely no love involved either!"
Maybe there was love. Maybe. Just a tiny bit. But it was small, the size of a fly. You could step into it, and it would go away.
"Okaaaay, sure," Kika said, but didn't sound convinced at all. You couldn't blame her.
"But just so you know, if something were going on, I think it's cute, tá bom? You two would be great together…You know," Kika began narrating everything as if it were a story in a book and not your life she was talking about. "The two legendary Barça players who had known each other for an eternity, who won every single trophy in existence side by side! It's more romantic than Romeo and Juliet, if you ask me! Oh… I just hope you both get a better ending." Then her excited face dramatically dropped into a sad pout.
Before you could respond, before your brain could even figure out what the hell to even say to that, Kika was already standing up, patting your shoulder affectionately, and wandering off to join the dance floor.
You drained the rest of your piña colada in one long gulp. You needed air. So much air, more air than this bar could provide and more than your lungs could take in.
The bar was getting too warm, too crowded, too much. Kika was entirely responsible for tangling your neurons together, leaving you unable to think properly. And no, the pina colada had nothing to do with it, nor did the heating pooling low in your belly from your desperate need for Alexia.
You slipped outside to the small patio area, where the night air was cool and crisp and exactly what you needed. You almost wished it would rain, that a downpour would just wash over you. You were never one for dramatics, but tonight felt like the perfect time to start.
The team had been noticing.
But noticing what, exactly?
You and Alexia had been friends for years, more than ten. You had never seen each other as anything other than friends, and truth be told, you hadn't even been that close.
You had lost contact a few years ago when you moved to play for Orlando Pride. It was only two years ago that you signed back with the club of your life. Alexia had been dating someone else at the time, so she was completely off limits.
Still, you couldn't help but notice how she had grown into such a beautiful woman. She was just a couple of years older than you, but she always carried a bit of a baby face; now, at thirty-two, she had fully grown into her features.
It was after she tore her ACL that things changed, that massive injury and the long pause from football seemed to be when she lost the last trace of that girlhood softness. She was different now. Or maybe your eyes were just different.
Then she broke up with her girlfriend, and that's when it happened.
You had been out there for maybe ten minutes when the door creaked open behind you. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was; that strawberry scent from her drink mixed with her honey shampoo made it clear.
"Are we hiding now?" Alexia's voice was warm and amused. "I was looking for you, but you were gone."
"I just needed a break," you said, still facing away from her. "Too loud in there, no?"
You heard her footsteps, feeling her presence as she came to stand right beside you, close enough that you could almost feel the heat from her.
"Kika cornered you," Alexia said, and it wasn't a question. "I saw her. I thought about trying to save you, but…"
"She thinks something's going on," you said straightforwardly. "Actually, she is very certain of it. We should probably sit down and make up a very good lie about why we always seem to gravitate towards each other after a win."
"Huh, like right now?" Alexia murmured, her breath dangerously close to your ear.
"Like right now," you murmured back, turning to look at her.
"We have been careful, nena", Alexia said. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed from dancing and alcohol. "But Kika is... observant."
"Too observant."
She looked at you, studying you. "Are you worried about it?"
You considered it for a moment, "I don't know. Maybe we should cool it for a while? The media and the girls will--"
"Is that what you want?" Alexia's gaze was suddenly sharpened. You knew better than anyone else that she did not like to be rejected. "To cool it?"
"No, I really don't," you admitted softly. "But–"
"We won the Champions League tonight," Alexia said, her voice all tender once again. She took a step closer, your bodies touching now. "That was the deal, wasn't it? Big wins? Sex right after?"
Your breath caught in your throat. "Yes, Ale. I know about our deal. It's just that–"
"Tell me you don't want this, and I'll go back inside," she said, and there was something vulnerable in her voice despite the confidence in her posture. "Tell me you want to cool it, and we will. I won't chase after you anymore, and we'll go back to being just friends."
You should say yes. Should tell her you wanted to stop, that this whole arrangement was getting too complicated, too risky, too dangerous for your own heart.
But all you could think about was the feeling of her hands on your bare skin, her wet mouth tracing patterns across your body, and the way she looked at you in the dark of the night as if you were something to be savoured.
"I don't want to cool it," you whispered finally.
Alexia's lips curved into a slow, beautiful, small smile. "Good. Because neither do I."
You managed to leave the bar separately. Alexia left first, claiming she was tired, and you followed about twenty minutes later. You didn't give anyone an excuse for your departure. At this point, you knew any lies you attempted would only make it obvious exactly what (or who) you were after.
No one seemed suspicious of Alexia. Or if they were, they were simply too drunk and ecstatic to care. Your absence went unnoticed, too; your phone remained blissfully silent in your pocket. You couldn't help but smile as you stepped into the back of a taxi heading towards the hotel.
When you finally reached her room on the seventh floor, you started the same careful dance you had performed a dozen times before. But tonight felt different. Maybe it was the magnitude of the win. Maybe it was the single pina colada loosening your inhibitions. Or maybe it was Kika's lingering comment about the two of you being good together, and all that silly nonsense about love.
Whatever it was, the moment Alexia opened the door and pulled you inside, all the growing tension ruptured into a kiss. Alexia kissed you with an intensity that made your knees instantly weak, and you felt something shift between you two.
This wasn't just a post-match reward anymore. This was something… deeper. It felt as if she wanted to prove a point, to show you that you couldn't live without her. That there was absolutely no way you could ever "cool things off".
Alexia took her time, she always did, but it felt even more deliberate… was it predatory? Her hands mapped every centimetre of your skin, as if she were trying to memorise your anatomy. Her lips followed the trail of her fingers, pressing heavy and bruising kisses into places that made you gasp, places that forced you to arch into her touch.
"Ale," you breathed, your fingers tangling in her hair.
"Shh," she murmured against your collarbone, her warm breath sending a shiver running through you, "Let me."
And you did.
You let her take you apart piece by piece, slowly and methodically. Every touch was calculated to draw a reaction. Every kiss was placed exactly where she knew it would make you completely fall apart.
It was overwhelming. It was perfect. You needed more. It was just not enough. It was also starting to feel dangerously less like just sex and more like something unnamed.
You pulled her face closer as Alexia lay naked on top of you, both of you letting out a moan, sharing the same shallow breath.
You and Alexia fit together with terrifying perfection, the alignment of your pelvis, the friction of bone against bone, the heavy brush of your breasts, the curve of your collarbones and shoulders. But above all, your mouth. Alexia slid her tongue into your mouth, and you sucked on it, reaching for me, demanding to taste her and that sugary drink that still tinged her tongue.
Alexia was a biter. Her lips nipped at your sensitive skin, leaving mark after dark mark against your throat, and she clearly did not give a damn if you would have to use concealer to hide them from the cameras and teammates tomorrow.
She did not care at all. The analytical and pragmatic version of herself melted while in bed; she let her instinct take over, and her instincts were flawless; she knew exactly where to suck, where to bite, where to slap, and where to caress.
You were so utterly lost too in the assault of different sensations that you barely realised that Alexia's hands had moved from your waist. Her fingernails were scratching your abdomen lightly, dragging downward.
You whined against her lips, wanting those hands on your thighs, wanting them inside you. You wanted her to fill the ache, only she knew how.
You had slept with other people in the months between your rendezvous with Alexia, but not a single one of the girls had been able to make you come properly. Eventually, you had just given up on everyone else entirely. None of them compared.
"You like it, no, nena?" Alexia's voice carried that inflexion of arrogance, the tone of a woman who knew what she was capable of doing to you. "You like it a lot. You have been thinking about me wanting you all night, haven't you?"
Her wicked words and even more wicked fingers were doing unspeakable things to your body, sending your pulse skyrocketing. Your jugular throbbed so violently beneath her touch that it felt as if it might burst if she didn't slide her hand lower soon.
"Tell me, corazón," Alexia murmured, her lips catching your earlobe roughly, biting down hard enough to make you whimper. "Let me hear your voice."
"I thought about you wanting me," you breathed, your legs trembling so badly you could barely manage to keep your thighs open.
"And what do you want me to do to you?" Alexia asked, you sensed her smile flutter against your pulse point, and God, you wanted her to bite you again.
Her fingers kept teasingly moving lower, tracing every part of your body, every birthmark, every scar, teasing and mocking your lack of control. You were going mad. Alexia's low voice and skilful fingers would be your undoing.
"You can do whatever you want," you panted. Alexia's smirk only grew; she deftly ran her tongue over one of the small bruises already flowering on your neck. "
"I've wanted you too, nena," Alexia whispered, calling back to what you said before. Her mouth was once again teasing your ear, and you wondered if that was her favourite spot. If not, it was a close second.
She let out a hot puff of air, nipping gently at the reddened skin. No amount of makeup was going to save you tomorrow. Everyone in the team would look at you and know someone had fucked you silky, leaving you this weak, this powerless, this beautifully undone.
They just wouldn't know that the someone in question was their captain. The captain who was currently branding you just like she always did. Alexia was a possessive little creature, and not-so-secretly, you enjoyed being hers.
"Ale, please" you moaned, your eyes closing shut as her fingers finally traced your inner thigh, slipping inside your pussy.
You were soaking for her. So pathetically wet for her.
Alexia let you accommodate to the depth of her two fingers, slowing down to press a line of small, sweet kisses against your lower lip, mindful of the previous bites she had left there just minutes ago.
There were such gentle, tender kisses that you trembled at the sheer affection of them. More often than not, you didn't associate softness with yourself, as if you didn't deserve it. So why was Alexia softer now?
"I want you all the time, corazón," Alexia whispered, her finger starting to move in a steady, agonising rhythm.
The sensation of her stretching you inside was overwhelming, the inaction burn instantly overtaken by the pure exaltation of relief. Finally, you had her.
Alexia continued to move her fingers in and out of your clenching pussy, her free hand coming up to rest flat on your neck. She applied the right amount of pressure. The devil-woman was very much aware of how much you loved choking, and, easy like that, she was commanding your body to come for her on the spot.
"Fuck me, please," you whimpered, shifting your hips as her pelvis pressed tightly against he own hand, driving the penetration even deeper. Dizzy. You were so dizzy.
"I am fucking you, bebe," Alexia murmured, her voice filled with satisfaction. "And I do my job so well, don't I?"
She curved her hand firmly around the base of your throat, restricting your air, making your vision grow pleasantly hazy as your blood flow constricted. "Like this. You love it when I hold you down, right?"
You let out a needy whimper, the words barely coherent, but Alexia understood it.
"Of course you like it, mi campeona," she smirked. She released the pressure on your neck as your cheek flushed a deep crimson, her thumb immediately caressing the sensitive skin she had just been dominating. "You are so wet… Tan mojada."
"I'm almost there," you pouted, hips twitching. "Please, please, I'm almost-"
"You want to cum?" Alexia asked, her eyes locked onto yours. "Want to soak my sheets? Drench my hands?"
"Please?" You begged desperately. "Can I?"
You could feel your orgasm closer. Her fingers moved faster, going deeper, searching for your own limit.
"Of course you can," Alexia whispered, her tone suddenly shifting into something so breathtakingly tender it hurt. "We just won the Champions League, amor. Mi amor. Tonight, you can have whatever you want."
Alexia moved her thumb, pinpointing a very specific spot on your clit, and within seconds, you were coming. The orgasm ripped through you, stealing every last drop of oxygen from your lungs.
You arched your back into her, trembling as she pulled her fingers out, only for her tongue to instantly swipe from your clit down to your slit. A gasp caught in your throat, and you weakly pushed at her shoulder.
"Too much," you mumbled, barely possessing the strength to resist; your arms were too heavy to move.
"Let me taste you, corazón," Alexia murmured against your wet folds.
You looked down through heavy-lidded eyes as she kissed her way back to your pussy. "I spent the whole day thinking about this. You taste, your scent… how badly I wanted my face buried in tu coño."
"Oh," you moaned, throwing your hand up to cover your face. The sensory overload was too intense; a second orgasm was already starting to build, just as intense as the first one. "Fuck, ale, it's too much-"
"Sh," she whispered against your heat, her tongue thrusting inside your entrance before lapping up at your wetness. "Don't fight it, nena. Just let it come to you."
"I can't," you cried out, trying to tilt your pelvis away, but Alexia stopped it, placing a heavy hand on your hip. "I can't I–"
"You can,' Alexia said, her voice not leaving room for you to fight her. "You can because I said so. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't know you couldn't handle it. So just fucking lie there and come on my tongue."
Her words were the trigger you needed. Your walls clamped down around n her tongue, and your orgasm washed over you in a wave of translucent liquid. Wetting the bedding, ruining her sheet, coating your inner tights and her whole face.
"Joder," Alexia groaned, swallowing your release. She kept lapping at you, but now, the overwhelming pleasure was begging to cross the line into pain.
"No, no more, please," you whimpered, gently tugging at her hair to pull her up.
Aleixa immediately alleviated the pressure, kissing her way away from your clit, and pressing soft and soothing kisses on your inner thigh. "Just cleaning you up now, mi amor, sí?"
The feeling was so intense you didn't realise it wasn't the first time Alexia had called you amor tonight. But whatever, maybe she was just too pussy drunk.
"You are dripping everywhere," she muttered, her voice low. Her palm pressed firmer against your thigh, forcing wider over her shoulder so your pussy stayed fully exposed to her.
She dragged her tongue lower, circling your entrance before pushing inside just enough to make you clench. She continued to tend to your pussy, her tongue still warm, but incredibly tender now. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice whispered that she was doing that more as an act of self-indulgence than anything else.
"Tienes un sabor tan dulce," she mumbled against you. [You taste so sweet.]
You gasped, a sharp flare of oversensitivity striking you as she sucked gently on your outer lips, cleaning every trace of your release with wet sounds. Alexia kept lapping at your folds with slow strokes, her tongue dragging through the slick mess until your whimpers grew sharper again.
"Okay, okay, that's enough," she murmured, more to herself than to you.
She pulled, leaving what you thought was a final kiss right on your clit that made your hips twitch. She reached down for the Campeonas shirt crumpled on the floor, using the soft fabric to gently wipe between your thighs, soaking up the wetness.
Because she couldn't help herself, she pressed one more tender kiss right on your centre before moving up your body to face you. Her lips brushed your nose first, then claimed your mouth in a deep kiss. Her tongue pushed in to swirl around yours, forcing the taste of your own release across your palate.
"See? That's why I couldn't stop," she whispered against your lips. "See how you taste? Good, no?"
Your cheeks flushed hot. Your mind was hazy and slow to form proper thoughts.
"I get sensitive when I squirt," you mumbled, trying to explain to her why you had to end her fun so soon.
Alexia smiled. "I know," she said, tugging the duvet over both of you. "And cold too, if I remember correctly."
You lay there catching your breath while she peppered lazy kisses along your jaw and neck. Your hand trailed down the mattress, moving slowly until your fingers found her pussy, touching it without any hurry.
You slid one finger inside her easily, testing the slickness, and Alexia moaned low, her face pressing into your neck as her walls tightly clenched around your finger.
You cupped her face and drew her into another kiss, sliding a second finger alongside the first inside her dripping pussy. "You are wet, wetter than me," you whispered on her lips.
She let out a low chuckle. "That would be impossible, nena."
You smiled at her arrogance and rolled your eyes, then guided her head down to rest against your neck properly. Her body shifted naturally on top of yours, her thighs spreading wide so your hand could keep working between her legs without pause.
"Good?" you asked, brushing kisses across her flushed cheeks.
Alexia needed that slow, steady rhythm to build up her orgasm; she actually hated to be rushed when it was her turn to come. Your fingers already ached slightly from the constant motion, but you kept the pace even and deep.
"Uhum," she murmured, voice thick with desire. "Tan bona."
"Want one more finger?" you offered, your thumb circling her clit,
"Don't know if it will fit," she moaned, her hips grinding down to meet your hand, clearly betraying her own words.
"You're very wet, Ale. It will." You eased the third finger in gradually, stretching her open while monitoring every twitch and gasp she let out.
Once all three were buried knuckle deep in her pussy, you resumed the thrusts, curling and stroking her inner walls with consistent pressure that had her breathing turn ragged against your neck.
She clutched desperately at your shoulders, her thighs trembling as the tension finally snapped. Her pussy tightened around your fingers, pulsing hard through the orgasm while she buried her face deeper into the crook of your neck, muffling low words you couldn't quite understand.
You kept her hand still, letting her ride out her orgasm on your fingers until she finally softened.
She let out a chuckle. "Joder," she breathed, kissing your jaw before you slid off your hamd. "Fuck, gràcies."
Seemingly, she wasn't done with you… not close.
You let her take the lead again, guiding your body exactly how she wanted. There was such a beautiful duality to her, soft everywhere, yet her muscles stayed firm from all the training she had done through the years.
She spread your legs again, her eyes falling on you for a second before she dipped her head between them. When she sucked your clit into her mouth, a gasp left your lips. The pull was gentle, her tongue slow, while you sank helplessly back into the mattress.
It felt less like foreplay now and more like she simply wanted the taste of you; she wanted the closeness, wanted to consume you. Her low voice hummed against your skin as she worked on you all over again.
When she finally pulled away, her face was glistening. She bit into your inner thigh, then hooked your leg over her shoulder once more. She shifted up, lining her soaked pussy directly over yours.
The moment the wet heats fused together, you let out a collective groan. Alexia didn't wait to accommodate herself; she started rocking her hips, grinding her clit against yours in a perfect slide. She was dripping.
"Ohh," you moaned, eyes locked on the way your slick folds pressed and parted with every roll of her hips. Every move of her made a wet, squelching and embarrassing sound that echoed through the hotel room. It sounded so devastatingly hot and prohibited; it only made it all more thrilling.
"Yes, Ale. Grind against me, bebé."
Alexia kept the pace slow. Her chest was pressed against yours, breast against breast. "So good… joder."
Her hip continued the motion relentlessly, your clit meeting every single time. She was pinning you down with her weight, taking everything you had to give her. "You feel so good, corazón–"
The friction was becoming too much, the heat far too intense. "Alexia… please!" You cried, tossing your head even further back into the pillows.
"Fuck," she panted against your lips while her pace became faster. "I'm close too, mi amor, fuck–"
Your walls spasmed first; you didn't know if it was the reason that triggered her orgasm, but Alexia shattered right after. She let out a loud cry into your mouth as her pelvis locked hard against yours, her body rigid as her orgasm took over. Underneath her, you were coming just as intensely, your vision already opaque, your mouth completely dry.
Slowly, you both relax, too much exhaustion in your muscles. Alexia's body collapsed fully on top of you; the poor thing was spent. You wrapped your arms around her back, welcoming her.
You didn't say a thing, but it was obvious that the invisible line you had feared crossing for so long had been blurred beyond recognition. Yet, as your eyes closed, all you cared about was that Alexia was sleeping next to you.
The sleep didn't last too long, though.
You woke up around thirty minutes later with the sensation of Alexia's fingers tracing lines across your shoulder blade.
"Hi," she murmured, her voice sleepy.
"Mhm," you mumbled, pressing your face directly into her (warm) neck. You were so sleepy, so tired. "Shhh, quiet."
She allowed you a few minutes of silence to properly wake up. But the moment she spoke again, she went right to the point, as if whatever was on her mind had made a home there for a long time.
"Ey nena, do you ever wonder…" she began quietly, breaking the comfortable silence, not quite looking at you, choosing to focus on the hotel's tv. "What would this be like if it wasn't just after wins?"
"Mhm? What do you mean?" you asked, rubbing your eyes and already knowing exactly what she meant. You had been torturing yourself with the exact thoughts at the club earlier, although you never articulated them.
"Just…" she trailed off. "I think I want to know what it would be like to be with you when we don't have to sneak around and hide in hotel rooms. Like… would the sex be different? Would we be different?"
Okay. Calm. Be calm!! It's happening!
"I ask myself that, too," you confessed to her, the conversation making you feel more awake.
"What do you wonder about?" Alexia asked.
You thought for a moment, picking up her hands and playing with her long fingers.
"Mainly if the sex would be softer. Maybe less..." You struggled to find the right word. "Less intense…? I feel like we try to give our absolute best and squeeze in every single position we can think of, simply because we only get to this a handful of times a season, you know?"
Alexia's lips curved into a small smile. "Oh, so you think I'm intense?"
"I think you approach sex like you are trying to win a prize." You rolled your eyes playfully. "Trying to win the gold medal."
"And is that a bad thing?" She asked, her eyes light narrowed.
"No, of course not," you said honestly, looking up to her, kissing her chin because why not? "It's incredible. You are incredible. I just..."
Alexia shifted, propping herself up on one elbow so she could look at you properly. "You just wonder if this is all we are. If this arrangement is all we can ever be."
Your breath caught instantly. "Yeah… exactly."
She was quiet again.
"I know we agreed this was supposed to be simple," Alexia said softly. "A way to... release tension after big matches. No complications and no real feelings, etc."
"...And now?" you asked, feeling a dangerous spark of hope.
"And now I think about you at the most random times," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think about you during training. I think about what it would be like to have you in ways that have nothing to do with football."
You felt like you couldn't breathe, as if the oxygen in the room had dissipated. This is exactly what you had been unconsciously waiting months for. "Ale-
"But I'm also scared," she continued. "We both swore we would never do this. Never get involved with a teammate. And well…look at us."
"We're not... involved," you tried to say, even to yourself; it sounded weak. "Not really."
Alexia gave you a look that clearly said you were full of bullshit.
"Aren't we?" She asked, looking down at your naked body, only covered by the duvet. "This is as involved as I have been with someone in a while, nena."
You didn't have an answer for that; maybe it didn't exist. So instead, you reached up to her, wrapping your hand on the nape of her neck and pulling her down to kiss her.
The kiss was slow and tender; it was made to shatter every rule you both had ever made. There was still the faint taste of you in her mouth; you wished Alexia hadn't grown tolerant of that.
When you finally pulled apart, Alexia rested her forehead against yours. She was breathless and flushed and perfect. Suddenly, you wanted to completely claim her as yours.
"What are we doing, Ale?" you whispered in the dark. "What does it all mean?"
"I don't know," she admitted, her thumb lazily tracking your cheekbone. "But I want you, corazón."
"Even though it breaks every single rule we made?"
"I don't think I care about those rules, if I'm being honest," she chuckled. "They were kind os stupid."
You couldn't help the smile that escaped you. "That is so very unlike you, capitana. You live for rules, don't you?"
"I think I live for you more," she said suddenly.
The words hung between you.
You could see the exact moment Alexia realised what had just slipped past her lips, the way her eyes darkened with a flicker of panic.
You would think it was a rehearsed line with how easily she said it, but it was an accident. A truth that had been suppressed.
"I—" she started, and her posture stiffened, as if she wanted to take every single word and swallow it down.
"Don't," you interrupted her spiralling, moving your hand to cup her jaw. "Don't take the words back, bebé. Say them properly."
"What?" she breathed, looking tapped.
"Say it again. Please, Ale."
Alexia's expression softened, and she closed her eyes and swallowed hard. "I love you," she whispered. "Te quiero, corazón."
Your heart was doing somersaults, and a wave of warmth took over your body. "Te quiero, Ale."
"Sí?" She asked, eyes wide.
"Yeah." You pulled her into another kiss "I think I have for a while now, but I didn't have the courage to say it."
"Me too," Alexia murmured. "I kept trying to convince myself it was just physical, just the arrangement, the adrenaline, but it wasn't."
"It never was, right?" You were staring at her pink lips.
So sweet they were.
Your sweet, sweet girl.
You stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other, processing what you had both just admitted.
"So what do we do now?" Alexia asked after you both had taken a shower and had something to eat.
"I'm not sure," you murmured, getting even closer to her. "This is... complicated, no? A bit humiliating considering we always went out of our way to talk about how we would never be with a teammate?'
"I think we are hypocritical," Alexia agreed, smiling.
"The team will definitely think that, too," you said, already imagining the teasing.
"They will probably be insufferable about it," Alexia said, her eyes as lifeless as yours, thinking about the future teasing. She didn't handle teasing very well. "Especially Kika… she scares me sometimes."
You laughed. "We are big girls. I think we can handle Kika and the others."
"Yeah, you are right," Alexia said slowly. "But also, I don't think I care that much…"
You pulled back to look at her. "No? You hate it when the kids make fun of you."
"Yeah, I don't appreciate much of the team banter, but when it comes to us… We are professionals, aren't we? We've proven that years ago. This… thing between us hasn't really affected our performance. If anything, we have won more since we started having sex."
"That's... probably not a correlation we should mention to the team, though," you said, your index finger to your chin.
Alexia grinned. "Probably not."
"So you want to... what?" You asked. "Tell them? Make this official? Or let them figure it out on their own.
"It would be nice for us to tell them… eventually. But right now–" She pecked your lips. "–I just want to see where this goes. No more rules about only having sex after victories, no more pretending this is just physical… just us, okay?"
"Okay," you smiled. "I think I like us a lot."
"Good." Alexia kissed you again, softer "So... does this mean I can take you to dinner? On a proper date."
Now you were properly grinning. "Only if it's an Arabic food place."
She rolled her eyes. "Deal."
"And then," you continued, kissing her chin, then moving to her neck. Your hand came to her waist as you straddle her hips, your breast right in front of her face, you could see she was trying to look in your eyes, and not down. "Maybe we can find out what it's like to have sex when we aren't tipsy or on an adrenaline high…?"
Alexia smirked, her hand tracing your side up and down, until she settled on your hips. "It would be a lovely discovery, wouldn't it?"
"Yeah," you nodded. "It would. I think we would be slower and–"
"Soft?" She suggested.
"Yes," you said, bringing her thumb to counter the shape of your lips. "I think we have a problem, though… I might be too eager to wait till them."
In the end, you did find out, right then.
And it turned out that Alexia, without the victory high, was, if possible, even more devastating. She was indeed softer, sweeter, but just as intense.
Somehow, the sex was even better.
The end.
Or is it?
Three Weeks Later
"I fucking knew it!" Kika crowed when you and Alexia finally, officially told the team, after they caught you kissing in the locker room when you thought no one was around.
"We all knew it," Vicky said, looking entirely too smug.
"I didn't know," Patri said, looking genuinely surprised. "Why didn't anybody tell me!?"
"How could you not?" Clara asked, just as surprised. "They used to disappear after every big game to do… god knows what."
Alexia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, at ease. You loved seeing her like that, relaxed and soft.
"So you are really together?" Patri asked, eyeing you both suspiciously. "Like, for real?"
"Yep!" you confirmed, popping the P.
"It was about time," Kika said. "The sexual tension was exhausting to watch… it was getting seriously depressing,"
"It really was," Ona agreed. "We thought about playing cupid to see if we could bring you two together… but it seems that Oslo did that just fine."
The defender winked, and Alexia's face heated up, but then her smile slowly turned into a grin.
"It was a very good night, indeed," Alexia said, kissing your temple.
A/n: Honestly I only wanted to write the smut, but I feel like it needed a bit of context around it, that's why the scenes might feel a little bit disconnect?
I think people truly forget how short a football career actually is and that’s it’s technically a job, like she lived out her childhood dream and now she gets to go chase a bag. If anyone deserves it then it’s her.
People also forget that it costs a lot of money to live comfortably, and a ridiculous amount to be in luxury for the rest of your life. Example, to comfortably take 100k out of your investments every year to live, you’d have to have 2.5 million invested. For someone with a more luxurious lifestyle or who is supporting family, you’re going to need literally millions. Not just earned, but spare and invested.
Given her career and the fact that she’s - even in the eyes of people who are currently being vitriolic - literally the best in the world, I personally think she’s earned the right to set herself and her family up for life.
If that means a few years playing LESS games, getting to live somewhere else and get paid bank to experience a different part of the world, I think that’s incredibly fair.
i hope she’s at peace with her decision. she gave everything to the team. maybe she wants to make way for the kids. maybe she wants a new challenge. maybe barça didn’t offer a good enough contract.
regardless, i think she’s earned the right to leave when she wants to. and so. always in her corner.
“i have always said this jersey cannot be defended halfway. and i admit that i have emptied myself.”
she wants to leave at her best, which is what she always said i suppose. she’s exhausted. everything the media and the fans put her through must take its toll, and it makes sense that she wants to enjoy her last years before retirement without the pressure of being barça’s captain and her every move being scrutinized.
it turns out that you're quite oblivious, which makes everything ten times harder for a certain nervy spaniard trying to learn english just for you. (5.5k - anon request!)
“She left mid-date again? Really? Another one?” The stifled laugh down the phone was not what you wanted to hear at that moment. “Tía, what the hell are you doing to these women?”
You weren’t sure how you ended up in Barcelona, nevermind being set up on blind dates by members of the current most successful team in Europe. You weren’t even sure if Jana was actually your cousin or not at this point.
“Because I don’t speak their language and I mess things up every time! It’s not funny, Jana, it really hurts.” You mumbled, kicking at a non-existent stone as you walked home from another failed date.
The third failed date. And possibly the most embarrassing thus far.
Date one was at a restaurant, whose quaint exterior led you to falsely believe that inside, it was quiet and jovial and wholesome. No. Your date’s order came wrong twice, your non-alcoholic cocktail had alcohol in it, and the owners blasted music so. loud. that you couldn’t even hear your own thoughts, nevermind the woman across from you. Which, rather unfortunately, resulted in an awkward situation. You had asked her to repeat herself three times, and still you didn’t catch what she said. So, you went for what you thought was a safe bet, in which you laughed to brush it off, except you did in a way that could only be described as a mocking and villainous cackle. After which, your date had stated in Spanish ‘This is my first date since my divorce.’
It was no surprise she walked out afterwards.
“Maybe you’re cursed or something.” Jana offered helpfully, wincing when you scoffed sharply.
“No, it’s not me, it’s them! Where are you finding them?”
Date two, however… that was entirely your fault. You had been slacking with learning Spanish since moving there, claiming to be too tired from your studies to find time and brain space for them. Which meant, when you were faced with an entirely Spanish-speaking date, there wasn’t really a way to communicate. She did her best, until she reached her final straw as you offered to get out Google Translate so you could talk properly. She took one glance at her phone and claimed ‘family problem’ in the thickest accent you had ever heard, before standing from her chair which pushed back with a screech that sliced throughout the room.
That was an awkward one.
“Well, Vicky came up with an idea-”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Do I even want to know?”
“We made a Tinder profile for you.”
You wished you never asked.
But, that did explain the strange pool of people you’d been paired with. Turns out it was just blind leading the blind. And your final date was a classic Tinder pull.
She sat down. Kept her phone face up on the table within reach, glancing at it every five seconds when it lit up with new notifications. You asked questions, receiving short answers like it was a Vogue 73 Questions video. Then, you heard a ping sound that sounded ever-so-similar to the aforementioned app, and just like that she was up out her chair, like the others, and out with a laugh as her thumbs moved fast against the screen of her phone.
“Jana… this is getting ridiculous. I can’t even speak to most of them. Whether it’s because of a language barrier or because I just make a fool of myself, not a single second of the dates goes right.”
The first occasion was funny, you could laugh about it over dinner and drinks with Jana and her friends from the team. After that though, your confidence and dignity took a jab each time. The idea of another blind date made you sick to your stomach.
“Well, I told you to ask Ale to teach you some things in return. Spanish is not hard to learn, you know.”
That’s right. Alexia.
Thankfully you didn’t meet her on another blind date, no. Instead, you were invited to a night out at a bar with the team before the season started, not long after you’d moved to the city on a whim for a year of your studies. You’d known Jana forever, and there was actually a good chance she could be a distant cousin, but who knows and who cares, because she offered you the perfect escape just when you needed it.
Starting a whole new degree in your late twenties was never part of the original plan, nor was moving to Barcelona in your third year of it. But those two surprises paled in comparison to the blind dates that were apparently part of Jana’s deal for moving.
Alexia had become a… strange friend. That first night at the bar had felt both like a lifetime ago and just yesterday.
“Hola.” She’d smiled, awkwardly first, then brightly when you reciprocated it. “You… Jana’s prima? Yes?”
The bar hadn’t been madly loud, but her voice was much quieter than the rest of the room, like she was nervous to speak. Whether to you, or in a mix of languages, you weren’t sure.
You’d nodded anyway, still smiling. “That’s me.”
She hesitated, unsure where to go next. All she knew was that she couldn’t tear her eyes away.
“I… see you, in games, the year last. You very loud.” You laughed, and the sound made her laugh too, though she was the only one that adorned a pink tinge to her cheeks after.
She hadn’t been wrong then, when referring to the few trips you’d made to watch Jana and the team, and she still wasn’t wrong. You were passionate about the team, and you did exactly what every passionate fan would do at a game. Scream when something went wrong and scream when something went right. Swear at the referee even if a blaugrana player gave an Olympic dive.
And for some reason, after that night at the bar where the two of you were nearly inseparable, there was a text on your phone the next morning from Jana asking for a peculiar request.
Alexia has asked for English lessons, if you will teach her. You are studying education, it could be good no?
Yeah, children’s education. Not for a 31 year old two time Ballon d’Or winner.
…not that it stopped you from saying yes.
“I forget. We just get distracted, end up talking, her with her broken English. She tries so hard, bless her, and asks me the most random things.” You adjusted your bag on your shoulder as you walked through the streets back to your flat, shoes clapping against the tiles with every step.
“What kind of things?”
You rounded the street corner onto the road your apartment complex was on, and thought for a moment to gather your thoughts in response to Jana’s question.
There was a variety of random things; phrases that didn’t exactly align with her goal of learning English for the sake of interviews and networking.
“Well… I don’t know, just odd and out of the blue. Last time she asked me to tell her how to say ‘I like spending time with you’ in English. Same with ‘you are beautiful’ and ‘I feel comfortable with you.’ Why does she want to say all this to journalists? Does she have a thing for them or something?”
The sound of a light slap came over the phone line– you, blissfully unaware it was Jana putting a hand over her eyes in speechless disappointment.
“No, tía, she does not have a thing for journalists.” She sighed, desperately holding herself back from blurting the one thing that would save everyone a considerable amount of time.
The blind dates? Merely a tactic to wear you down whilst Alexia could be there to pick up the pieces. Alexia wasn’t exactly aware that was the reason, all that she knew was that from the first time she met you, she needed an excuse to see you again. And again. And again. Hence the English lessons.
Was it a slightly sadistic plan on Jana and the younger member of the team’s behalf? Possibly, but they had a self-imposed boundary of no more than five dates. They assumed things would be a bit more fast moving than they currently were, but… you were completely and pitifully oblivious. If things did drag on until after the fifth, they would have to come up with an intervention– for the sake of Alexia’s sanity, and your confidence.
“Then why is she asking them?” You muttered, huffing as you adjusted your bag on your shoulder again, more of a restless tic than necessity. Before Jana could start rambling about some made up, irrelevant reason – because she had a habit of doing so – you spoke again. “You know what? I don’t want to know, and I don’t care. She can have the English lessons, what she does with them is not my business. What is my business is these stupid blind dates, and I don’t want them anymore. I’m done.”
Jana hardly flinched, because she knew that this same time next week, she would be having the same conversation. Just like she had for the last three weeks. So, she indulged, because she could. Because she thrived on it, and it was that same teasing that was slowly bringing you and Alexia together. Give it a few years and you’d be thanking her on your wedding day.
“Look, you are not getting any younger.”
You stopped in the middle of the street. Moved your phone from your ear to in front of you and glared at it like she could see you.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” All you could hear was the smirk on her face as you resumed your walk home, steps slow and precise through pure anger.
“No. I don’t want any more blind dates set up by teenagers.” You scowled at the laugh that burst out of her, loud enough that you had to pull your phone from your ear once more.
“We’re not teenagers!”
“You are compared to me!” You snapped, shaking your head at her continued laughter. “I’m old!”
“Oh, please.” Jana paused. Her grin grew. “Alexia is only a few months older.”
“Don’t bring her into this.” You muttered. Ears turning red before you could do anything about it.
“Mmhm. Sure.” Jana’s voice was sly, the kind of tone that made you want to hang up and never answer her call again. “Anyway, you can yell at me all you want, but we’re not the problem here.”
You groaned at her, cursing her under your breath, and reached into your bag for your keys as you entered your apartment building. “Whatever. I don’t care. No more dates. I mean it, Jana.”
“Fine, fine.” Another pause. “I’ll make sure next week’s date is a good one. I’ll speak to y-”
“Oh no, sorry- I’m about to get into the elevator, the signal is going! Bye, Jana.” You hung up and rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “Fucking kids.”
Waiting in the metal box as it skimmed past other floors was demoralising. Nothing but you and the lingering echo of the failed dates so far. It’d be the same when you finally do get to your flat too; you will walk around and wind down for the night, your only company being every embarrassing moment from each night.
You barged your shoulder into your door a little harder than necessary when it finally unlocked. You placed your bag on the drawers by the door, shrugged off your jacket onto the wall hooks, and barely even flinched when that very item fell to the floor moments later. Wasn’t the only thing that had given up on you that night, or the last few weeks.
Then, you paused in the entryway between the living area and the kitchen. Both were dark. Both quiet and still. Lifeless, cold, boring and alone. Your kitchen counters and the small breakfast bar was covered in books, notepads, stationary, binders. All University stuff, compared to your lounge coffee table. That had some of Alexia’s English work on it, leftover from the previous night.
You wandered over to your sofa and slumped down onto it. Pulled your phone out. Hesitated with thumbing in your pass code. When you finally had the gall to do it, as simple as it may have been, you headed straight to one place.
Are you free right now? I am, if you’d like an extra lesson.
An open invite, because you were too afraid to give in completely to whatever the reason your wish for her company was. Her reply was clockwork.
Por supuesto, gracias :)
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at your door.
You’d changed your clothes whilst you were waiting for her, hence the-
“You… comfy.”
-that she greeted you with, along with a relaxed and fond smile you’d grown to like the sight of. You brushed off the once over she gave you and pinned it down to her teasing matters only as you tugged at your sleeve cuff.
“I’ve told you, the more you tease, the less chance I’ll go easy on you.” You warned lightly, stepping aside to let her in.
“No, no easy.” She preened, competitive and determined as ever. She went to head towards your lounge like she always did before your hand out stopped her.
“Did you bring any of your things?” You asked with an eyebrow raised and a nod of your head down to her empty hands.
She grimaced, then slowly shook her head, both of which were unnecessarily charming. “...I forget.”
You rolled your eyes, but of course let her get away with it as you led her to the sofa. Alexia sat first, and you followed suit– a comfortable gap between you both, but closer than one might expect, or be deemed as just friendly. The brunette rested her foot on her knee, leaned back against the cushions with her hands clasped over her stomach. You were perched on the edge, reaching for the papers off the table and one of the many pens strewn around.
“Lo siento, profesora.” She paired the low-toned apology with a grin, both of which had your hand faltering where it reached out. Her words got under your skin a little, for one reason you knew for sure (irritation, very slightly) and another less… clear reason.
“You’re lucky I still have some here. Take this, this, and lean on that.” You handed her a sheet she left half-finished last time – the pair of you may have ended up watching a film instead – as well as a pen and a random book you paid no mind to when picking it. Apparently, she did.
“‘How to… raise a toddler.’” She read aloud, accent curling around the words endearingly and eyebrows knitted together as she did so. After she finished, she turned to you with a frown on her face. “You have something to tell?”
For a moment, you stared at her blankly. Until you realised what she was hinting at.
“I don’t have a child, you idiot. It’s just extra reading for my studies.” You rolled your eyes again, for the hundredth time that day. She let out a soft sound of realisation that left you fighting off a smile. “Come on, concentrate. Get through that and we can move on.”
There was probably all of two minutes of her pen scribbling on the page before she hummed, like she sometimes did before speaking.
“How was your day?” She wondered, head dropping back against the cushions as she looked at you.
“Fine. Thank you. Now work.” You told her. Strict. And very clearly avoiding the main event of the day. Alexia, though she wouldn't admit it aloud, wasn't so disheartened at the prospect of another failed date.
“I am practicing. Conversation.” She argued, practicing her act of faux innocence with the way she shrugged her shoulders blamelessly.
“You can practice your conversation after you’ve done that sheet.”
With a dramatic huff, she turned back to her sheet.
“You no ask for my day.” She grumbled under her breath rather theatrically.
That time, you didn’t bother to hide it. The smile came easy, and your voice softened just the slightest bit when you finally returned the question.
“And how was your day, Alexia?” You turned to look at her and she did the same, though it was only a glance as she turned back to her paper with a smug expression.
“Fine. Thank you. Now, I do the work.”
You couldn’t help but laugh quietly at her. Alexia didn’t look up from her page, but the corner of her mouth pulled higher, betraying how she tried to hide her satisfaction at pulling the noise from you. You felt the warmth in your chest that had been simmering in the background deepen, that same warmth and contentment that was always there whenever you were with Alexia. Before you could think too hard about it, you shifted a little closer and propped your elbow on the back of the couch to watch her write.
At some point, a minute or two later, you realised you were distracting her. The sheet crinkled beneath her hand as she readjusted with every line she went down, and her writing was slightly uneven. So, in an attempt to give her room to concentrate, you got your phone out and started flipping absentmindedly between apps. Yet, unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t you watching her that was distracting. It was just you overall. She attempted to discreetly steal glances with each full stop of her writing, thinking you wouldn’t notice. You did, just pretended not to, eye stuck to your phone as if you had a dozen better things to do.
Still, you felt her there. The lightest of brushes of her jacket sleeve against your elbow, the faint tap of her pen against the paper when she was thinking, even the slow exhale she gave when she finally finished a line. It wasn’t exactly a silence between you both, just a lived-in, comfortable quiet that had formed and grown between the two of you over the weeks. A quiet you weren’t used to sharing with many people.
You scrolled aimlessly, not reading a thing, aware of how feeble your focus was when she was beside you. Your mind drifted, to the memories of the last couple weeks and the scattered texts here and there too. The phrases she would ask and how random they seemed. The way she had smiled gratefully when you chose a film the night before and put the Spanish subtitles on for her, deeming the lesson over. The worksheets had been abandoned halfway through that evening for an awfully cheesy rom-com, where she laughed at all the wrong moments and made you laugh just because she was.
Her knee shifted slightly at one moment, grazing yours– deliberate or not, you couldn’t tell. She didn’t move away though, and after a brief moment of internal panic, you didn’t either. Instead, you let the contact exist. Let yourself enjoy it, even.
Alexia’s pen paused again, her brows furrowed in concentration. She bit her lip as she read back what she’d written, and you caught yourself watching the curve of her mouth before forcing your gaze away. It wasn’t the first time you had caught yourself doing that, and so what if you didn’t want it to be the last.
When she finally leaned back, paper and book balanced on her thigh, she let out a small sigh that was half exasperation and half satisfaction. Immediately, you put your phone face down on the sofa, giving her your full attention without a hint of a second thought. Which is ridiculous, you believe, that you do that. Why do you do it? And why does it feel so natural?
“Terminado.” She said, quietly proud at her work as she handed the sheet to you so you could look over it.
Throughout the weeks, there was one mistake that Alexia always made, without fail. The best part was that it wasn’t on purpose, it was completely accidental. You didn’t like it because it was funny, you liked it because it was so very human of someone so perfect in her stardom.
“Ale, you’ve done it again. Every time!” You laughed gently, pointing to three different lines of the page where she’d made the mistake. Each instance where she had to translate ‘and’ she forgot, instead just keeping the ‘y’ of the Spanish. She groaned loudly, throwing her head back and slapping a hand over her face as she cursed the English language out under her breath.
“It is more easy! More quick! And sound better!” She argued, shoulders up to her ears as her hands waved about like she was stating her case against a referee.
“You’re right, but you’re not correct.” You continued laughing as you skimmed through the rest of the sheet. Alexia hastily forgot her grievances with the language when she saw the amusement clear as day on your face once she removed her hand.
Eventually, to put Alexia out of her misery, you finished checking her answers.
“I do well?” She asked, hopeful through her humour, and it made you smile.
“You did. Very well. You’re getting better.” You complimented truthfully. Though, you ignored the fluttery feeling in your stomach at the light coating of pink that dusted her cheeks at the sincerity.
“Gracias, profesora.” Alexia hummed with a startlingly soft gaze. She had paused, as if deciding whether to say something or not. Ultimately, she went with it, it seemed. “You are good teacher. After Uni, you will be good teacher. Very good. Best.”
“‘The best’ is high praise from the best.” You teased, watching how she chuckled and glanced away at the fellow praise. You saved her her dignity and moved on quickly. “Since we’ve no more sheets for you because you forgot to bring them, we can do some more phrases if you’d like. Your random phrases that make it sound like you’re flirting with journalists.”
Alexia tried to hide her gawping at your claim. How were you still so oblivious that they were for you? The night before, she’d asked for the translation of her proudest compliment yet, the most truthful one. And it was so painfully lost on you.
“How I say… me siento cómodo contigo?” She’d asked, after waiting all night to build up the courage to ask. Instead of a blush or a shy smile she hoped to receive as the penny finally dropped for you, she got this-
“Aw, that’s so sweet that you have a journalist you feel like that with.” You’d responded, before giving her the answer. “I feel comfortable with you."
She grew concerned, in that moment, that you were blind too. Given how you missed the deadpan and politely maddened look on her face as a result of your utter obliviousness.
“Why do you want to know all these odd phrases anyway?” You wondered, elbow back on the sofa cushions as you rested your chin on your hand to look at her.
The question was asked offhandedly, like you weren’t really expecting much of an answer from her apart from the one you’d already had– that they were just for interviews and things like that.
Alexia decided, there and then, that she’d had enough.
The brunette hesitated. Held your gaze. Glanced away for the briefest second as she tapped her fingers on her thigh nervously, before she went back to her gaze.
“For you.”
That, of course, was the furthest thing from what you expected to hear her say.
You blinked at her. She blinked at you.
“What do you mean?” You asked delicately, voice a slightly higher pitch than normal.
Alexia had to hold in a groan that desperately wanted to escape.
“I ask these things… for you. No journalists. You.”
Given that you hadn’t had much of a negative reaction yet, she took that as a good sign. So, she shuffled closer again, Alexia’s shoulder pressing against your elbow that still rested against the sofa cushions. In your shocked silence, her confidence grew slightly.
Time to put her practice to good use.
“You are beautiful.” She started. You swallowed a quiet gulp at both her words and how she was looking at you. “And… I feel comfortable with you. Is… different, to others. I worry about my English but you help, and you make me feel comfortable. I trust you. I like the way you laugh, and smile. I never want this time with you to end. You are important to me, you make me happy. I… want to make you happy.”
Your blush was so intense, you swore she could probably feel the heat radiating off you. The feeling in your stomach of butterflies was the strongest it had ever been, and your breath caught with every phrase she said, now that they were directed entirely, purposefully, only at you.
You were surprised at the revelation initially, but the longer you stayed in her gaze, the more that feeling passed. At her admission, everything suddenly felt as if… it had clicked into place. A lightbulb moment. And it filled you with both a calmness and an excitement that you wanted to drown in, indulge in.
“You… like me?” You whispered, breathless, wanting to ensure you hadn’t misread the situation.
That same groan returned for Alexia, though she managed to stifle it once more. It was reaching its breaking point, however.
She nodded, with a soft and nervous smile. “I like me.”
You both paused. Alexia frowned like she knew something wasn’t quite right about that declaration, but couldn’t figure it out immediately.
When she did, after a few seconds of you trying to contain your laughter, she groaned suddenly and scrambled to make up for her error.
“No! I like you. Not me. I have a… crush.”
You laughed with her, not at her, and she joined in almost instantly. Couldn’t resist when you sounded like you did.
After the bravery she’d built up to to tell you that, the hard work she’d put in just to tell you in your own language, it suddenly made the idea of admitting to your feelings much less daunting. She was right there with you.
“I like you too, Alexia.” You reciprocated, catching her slightly off-guard and delighting in the shy smile she gave. That shyness then carried over into her next words.
“How to say… ‘he querido besarte desde que nos conocimos.’” Still shy, but full of intent. You felt like you must have been red from head to toe with how much you were blushing.
“I have wanted to kiss you since we first met.” You told her. The grin she replied with, as if she’d just scored a blinder of a free-kick, was rather unexpected.
“Really?” She teased with an eyebrow raised, and you realised then that you had been played.
You rolled your eyes as you laughed, glancing away sheepishly even though the words were entirely true on your behalf too. Lightly, you nudged at her knee in retaliation, something that only humoured her more.
Then, the laughter faded. Alexia’s gaze turned steady again, not serious in her demeanour but with enough candour in her expression that you focused on her entirely. As if there was anything else you could focus on then.
“I have wanted to kiss you since we first met.”
The statement didn’t come as a surprise, but with how truthful and genuine she uttered it, it still landed hard.
You found yourself nodding easily, bottom lip caught between your teeth in a mix of nerves and anticipation. Alexia started to lean in, and you did too, until…
“Hang on.” You blurted out, suddenly covering her mouth with your hand. “You’ve had over three weeks to prepare yourself to kiss me. I’ve had about three minutes.”
Alexia chuckled into your palm, not at all annoyed, and gently took your hand away with a fond shake of her head. “You are ridiculous.”
The accented lilt in her murmur made you want to forget everything that had been said so far and just kiss her.
She read that on your face shockingly well. She smiled affectionately, and raised her eyebrows in patient expectation.
“So, I kiss you now?” The midfielder asked politely. You couldn’t exactly speak, though, due to your frozen nature. You just stared. In turn, that made her frown again, wondering if she’d gotten her words confused again. “...beso?”
You snapped out of whatever trance you were in and exhaled a laugh through your nose, nodding with a composed urgency that made Alexia grin brightly. Then, she controlled herself, tempering her grin into something smaller, softer, more fit for purpose.
One hand fell to your knee, and the other landed deftly on your cheek. Your arms hardly moved, too stunned, but when she leaned in, your arm that had been resting on the sofa cushions wrapped loosely around her shoulders. Her lips met yours with a delicate brush first, shy and nervous, until she felt you melt into it almost instantly. Then, she pulled back for half a second just so she could go into it again with a little more firmness. You met it and matched it, losing yourself in the careful and precise way her mouth moved against yours.
It didn’t once feel rushed, or like anything less than perfect. It deepened slowly, naturally, and her lips were pliant against yours. You both moved seamlessly, like it was a dance you’d done a thousand times before. The feel of her hand on your cheek was both grounding and left you feeling like you were soaring, and it was the same for her with the way your fingers lightly brushed through the hair at the nape of her neck. A soft exhale left her nose when you grasped a touch tighter there after a particularly mind-melting movement of her lips, and the small notion sent shivers down your back.
Finally, when you pulled back a fraction, breathing the same air as you rested your forehead against hers, you knew the look in her eyes mirrored yours. Pupils slightly blown, and a mixture of intoxicating adoration as well as a deep-rooted relief present on both your faces.
“I can’t believe you’ve wanted to kiss me since the bar. We could have done this a month ago.” You commented, still a little dazed. Alexia chuckled once more, though there seemed to be something on her mind. So you leaned back, your arm falling to your lap and hers from your cheek finding its new place atop yours. “What is it?”
“Your blind dates…” She started timidly. “Jana want me to do… be first.”
You stared at her, wide-eyed, the realisation settling in rather quick.
“You could have been my first blind date? That was Jana’s real plan with all that?” She nodded solemnly, and you huffed. “So I could have had a nice date with you instead of the embarrassing three I’ve had?”
The midfielder, smart in her ways, chose to ignore your outrage and take the pair of you down a different avenue.
“Nice, eh?” She smirked cheekily, catching you out on your barely-there admission that you wanted a date with her, and had been wanting one since the dates started. You slapped her arm lightly, delighting in the way she laughed afterwards.
Then your eyes narrowed suddenly as you began to piece it all together. Alexia gulped dramatically under your accusatory glare. “So these English lessons were just a ploy.”
Her face pinched in confusion that you weren’t exactly surprised by– it was a rather weird word.
“Ploy?” She repeated, testing it out on her tongue and wondering what on earth it could mean.
“An excuse. A strategic tactic.” Of course football terms resonated with her.
“Un poco.” She shrugged initially, before softening. “I want know you. No blind date. Just… normal.” You couldn’t fault her for that. “But also… is helpful. The lessons. I enjoy them. Because is with you.”
Nor could you fault her for that either. So instead of lingering on it any longer and pretending to be mad with how it all played out, you gave her a smirk Alexia was beginning to grow familiar with– it often led to you teasing her. Which it did.
“Are you going to ask me to tell you how to say ‘I want to take you on a date’ now?” You grinned, thinking you’d caught her out. Even in another language, she was always one step ahead of you.
“You already tell me, just now.” She was proud of that one, and you didn’t have it in you to roll your eyes that time. Still, she felt inclined to ask it, something that made your cheeks warm again and your answer nearly catch in your throat. “I want to take you on a date.”
There was no hesitation with your answer. “Then take me on a date, Alexia.”
gummygunk
areudirty
dailybridgerton
jacobvanloon
stormborns
izzy806
pixelskylines
germansingergirl
