Summary: It’s the morning after the Champions league final. A perfect opportunity for sleepy snuggles, cuddles and kisses. You’ll never tire of waking up with Alexia. Even if she insists of teasing you all over again…
Word count: 4,381
Pairing: Alexia x Reader
Warnings: just fluff, there’s a tiny tiny bit of angst if you squint hard enough
For main story: MASTERLIST
A/n: just a cute little thing, I hope you enjoy 😊 see end for more notes
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You wake slowly, morning light spilling through the gap in the curtains. It isn’t particularly bright, but you squint anyway, a faint ache lingering behind your eyes. More tired than sore.
You’re not hungover, but your body carries the pleasant weight of yesterday. The celebrations. The dancing. The laughter. The long night that followed. Every muscle aches just enough to remind you of it all.
A happy ache. A memory you can still feel.
Without thinking, you reach across the bed in search of her warmth.
Your hand meets cool sheets instead.
You frown.
Still half asleep, you pat the mattress again, slower this time, as though you somehow missed her.
Nothing.
The last of the sleep falls away in an instant, confusion giving way to a flicker of panic.
“Bon dia, mi amor.”
Her voice is low and rough, scratchy from yesterday’s shouting, singing, and far too little sleep.
Relief washes through you. Of course she wouldn’t leave without telling you.
You turn to find Alexia curled up in the armchair beside the window, wrapped in one of the hotel blankets, her knees tucked to her chest. Sleep still lingers in her eyes, her hair tousled from the night before.
You stretch beneath the duvet, every muscle protesting pleasantly, before sitting up and rubbing the last of the sleep from your eyes.
“What are you doing over there?” you ask, your own voice still rough with sleep.
She smiles.
“I woke up early.” She glances towards the window. “Thought I’d appreciate the view.”
You smile, following her gaze.
“It’s beautiful out there, isn’t it?”
She looks back at you, her smile softening.
“I wasn’t talking about outside.”
You glance back at her, warmth creeping into your cheeks. Even now, after a day of celebrations and a night of even more, she can still make you blush.
“Come join me,” she says sleepily.
You smile, unable to resist. Slipping from beneath the duvet, you stretch again once you’re on your feet, every muscle reminding you of yesterday. There’s a slight chill in the room, enough to raise goosebumps across your skin.
Her gaze slowly roams over your body, a familiar smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Following her eyes, you glance down, spotting the faint marks she’d left scattered across your skin.
You huff out a quiet laugh, your cheeks warming all over again.
Padding over to her, still completely naked, you stop in front of the chair. She opens the blanket for you, lowering her legs so you can settle across her lap. She’s still naked too, her skin warm against yours as she wraps the blanket snugly around you both.
You melt into her immediately, resting your head against her shoulder as you slip an arm across her stomach. She presses a lingering kiss to your temple, and you smile.
You sit like that for a while, wrapped around each other, watching the city slowly wake. Morning sunlight spills across the rooftops, birds dart between the buildings, and people begin filtering onto the streets below. The world carries on around you, while the two of you simply exist in your own quiet little bubble.
It’s remarkable, you think.
Here you are, wrapped up together on a peaceful Sunday morning in Oslo.
Yesterday, you watched Alexia become a European champion.
Just a few days ago she’d admitted she was scared. Scared of failing. Scared of letting people down. Scared of seeing the heartbreak on her teammates’ faces.
Neither of you could have known how it would end.
And you know, deep down, you’d still be sitting here like this if the result had been different.
But you’re grateful it wasn’t.
You know how much she’d poured into this. The months of training. The sacrifices. The pressure she carried without ever really letting anyone see it.
Now she’s here beside you, peaceful, happy.
Exactly where she deserves to be.
“Have you named it yet?” she asks softly, breaking the silence.
“Hm?”
“Your stream.”
“Oh.” A soft laugh escapes you. “I haven’t, no.”
She hums, pressing another kiss to your temple.
You think for a moment.
“Maybe I’ll name it Alexia Jr.”
She laughs.
“Qué?”
“Yeah,” you say, turning to look at her. “Things like this should be named after greatness, so Alexia Jr seems fitting.”
She looks at you with a tired little smile, as though she still can’t quite believe you’re real.
“Doesn’t sound very Norwegian.”
You shrug.
“Well, the River Thames doesn’t sound very… London-ish.”
She laughs again, shaking her head.
You glance back out at the stream.
“This stream is magical, beautiful, and far too pretty to have an ordinary name.” You look back at her. “Just like you. Therefore, it shall be known as Alexia Jr.”
She watches you with that familiar smile, already knowing there’s no point trying to change your mind.
“Okay,” she says, laughing softly. “Alexia Jr it is.”
You grin proudly before leaning in to press a soft kiss to her lips. It lingers for a moment, gentle and unhurried, another quiet reminder that after everything yesterday brought, your favourite place in the world is still right here, wrapped up in her arms.
When you pull away, you smile softly before nestling back against her. Her fingers continue their lazy path up and down your side, absentmindedly tracing your skin, each pass sending a gentle warmth through you.
“What time do you have to leave?”
She sighs softly, as though the question is a reminder that this little bubble won’t last forever.
“Our flight’s at twelve. We’ll probably go straight to the celebrations in Barcelona from the airport.”
“More partying?” you tease.
“Maybe,” she says with a laugh.
“I guess I’ll see you back home,” you murmur.
She presses another kiss to your temple.
“Sí. You can stay at mine if you want. I don’t think I’ll be back too late.”
You laugh.
“Depends if you plan on dancing with Cat Culer again.”
She laughs.
“I think I’m all danced out.”
You smile against her, soaking in her warmth as your gaze drifts back to the view beyond the window.
“It’s been a wonderful weekend, hasn’t it?” you murmur, your eyes drifting closed beneath her touch, her fingers still grazing lazily over your side.
“Sí, it has.” she says softly. “I think it’s been even better than I dreamed it would be.”
“Really?”
“Sí,” she murmurs, her voice still low and rough from yesterday. “Just… everything about it has been amazing.”
“Mmm. I agree.”
Silence settles between you again, warm and comfortable.
You let your gaze drift back out of the window, watching the stream winding through the city below. It’s hard to believe that just a few days ago you were boarding a plane with a suitcase full of clothes and a heart full of nerves.
Now you’re here.
Curled up in Alexia’s arms after watching her lift another Champions League trophy. You’d spent time with her family, celebrated beside her teammates, seen her laugh until her cheeks hurt, watched her become a European champion again, and somehow, somewhere along the way, created memories you knew you would carry for the rest of your life.
Gratitude settles quietly in your chest. Because none of that would have happened without her.
You tilt your head to look up at her.
“Thank you, baby. For everything.”
She looks down at you, her brows drawing together slightly.
“I know I say that a lot,” you continue with a small smile, “but I mean it every single time.”
You glance down at where your hand rests against the blanket before meeting her eyes again.
“I wouldn’t be sitting here if it wasn’t for you.”
Her expression softens.
“You made this trip possible. You chose to love me. You chose to let me be part of this, to share this whole experience with you and your family.”
You smile to yourself.
“It’s everything I never knew I wanted. And now that I have it…” You shake your head gently. “I can’t imagine wanting anything else.”
She smiles at you, wide and impossibly happy.
“I wouldn’t want to do this with anyone else,” she says softly.
The words settle quietly between you.
Your chest tightens, warmth blooming through you so completely you almost forget how to breathe. You search her eyes, hoping to find even the smallest hint that she’s exaggerating.
You don’t.
She’s looking at you with nothing but certainty.
Something gives way in your chest.
Your smile softens, your thumb brushing gently across her cheek.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you murmur, the words slipping out so naturally they almost surprise you.
The silence that follows is soft.
You hadn’t planned to say it. You hadn’t even been thinking it. It had simply been there, sitting quietly in your heart, waiting until this exact moment to make itself known.
Alexia’s smile stills.
She blinks, her expression shifting into one of quiet astonishment, as though she’d never expected to hear those words aloud.
“Sí?”
A smile spreads slowly across your face.
For a moment, you simply look at her, taking in the surprise in her eyes. There’s no panic. No urge to laugh it off or pretend you didn’t mean it. If anything, saying it out loud only makes you surer of it.
You give a small, certain nod.
“Sí.”
She just looks at you.
The corners of her mouth slowly lift again, her eyes shimmering as she searches your face, almost as though she’s committing this version of you to memory. Her hand rises to cradle your cheek, her thumb brushing back and forth across your skin.
For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything at all.
Then she lets out the smallest, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking her head.
“Finally.”
Your brows knit together, already smiling. “Huh?”
A familiar smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth.
“You finally admitted it.”
You huff out a laugh, rolling your eyes.
“Shut up.”
“No, I’m serious,” she says smugly. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”
You shake your head, pursing your lips as you try to hide your smile.
“I could easily take it back.”
“Nooo,” she says, laughing, her arms tightening around you. “You’ve said it now. No take backs.”
Your smile only grows.
The laughter settles between you, fading into a comfortable quiet. Your fingers absentmindedly trace slow circles against her arm beneath the blanket before you glance back up at her.
“You knew I felt that way though, right?” you ask, quieter now. “Even if I never actually said it.”
Alexia doesn’t answer straight away, she just looks at you. Her smile softens, the teasing giving way to something infinitely more tender. Her thumb brushes across your side, her eyes never leaving yours.
“Sí,” she replies at last, her voice soft but certain. “I knew.”
She slips a hand from beneath the blanket, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, before letting her fingertips linger against your cheek.
“How long?” she asks, a smile slowly returning to her lips. “How long have you felt like that?”
You let out a thoughtful hum, your gaze drifting back towards the window.
You could tease her. You could pretend you didn’t know. You could make up some ridiculous answer just to watch her squirm.
But when she’s holding you like this, looking at you as though you’re the only thing that matters, you realise you don’t want to be anything except honest.
There have been moments where the two of you haven’t been completely honest with each other. Some bigger than others. But every single time, you’ve found your way back together.
That’s one of the things you love most about her. You trust her with everything. And more importantly, she trusts you too.
That means more than anything ever could.
Maybe that’s what every relationship should feel like. Maybe it isn’t remarkable at all.
But to you, it is.
You’ve never met anyone like Alexia. Someone who looks after you the way she does. Who loves you so completely. Who makes you feel like you’re one of the most important people in her world.
It’s still a feeling you’re learning to accept.
A part of you still wonders what you did to deserve someone like her.
But those thoughts don’t win as often anymore.
Because maybe…
Just maybe…
You do deserve to be loved like this.
You look back at her, smiling softly.
“I think… maybe our first date,” you admit, almost hesitantly. “But I knew for sure after that first morning we spent together. Sitting on your balcony.”
Her teasing expression disappears instantly, her eyes widening.
“I know that probably sounds far too soon,” you continue with a small laugh. “We barely knew each other beyond our first names.”
You shake your head fondly.
“But there was just something about you.”
She stays silent, listening.
“You made me want to know you. Really know you. And every time I learnt something new about you…” You smile. “I just wanted to know more.”
Her thumb brushes slowly across your cheek.
“I barely left my apartment after I moved to Spain,” you continue. “I went to work, went home, and occasionally spent time with María. Honestly, if it wasn’t for her, I’d probably have become a complete hermit.”
She huffs a quiet laugh.
“I’d imagined moving would change me,” you say. “That I’d suddenly become this adventurous person who said yes to everything and made the most of this fresh start.”
You smile ruefully.
“But instead, I became the same person in a different country. Work. Home. Sleep. Repeat.”
You furrow your brows slightly.
“Truth is, I was scared. Which sounds stupid because I was brave enough to move to Spain in the first place—”
“It’s not stupid, amor,” she murmurs gently before you can dismiss yourself again. “You were finding your feet.”
You smile gratefully.
“Maybe.”
You glance down at the blanket before looking back at her.
“But then I met you.”
She doesn’t interrupt. She just watches you.
“And somehow… everything started feeling different.”
Your smile softens.
“I don’t know how you did it. But whenever I was with you, I felt lighter. Safer. Like I didn’t have to pretend to be someone more confident or more interesting for you to want to stay.”
You laugh quietly to yourself.
“You just… liked me. As me.”
Her eyes begin to shimmer.
“You made me feel brave enough to try things I’d never have done before. Brave enough to let people in.” You smile at her. “Brave enough to believe that maybe I deserved to be loved like this.”
Your fingers find hers beneath the blanket.
“And every memory we’ve made together…” you continue, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, “whether it’s lying on your sofa watching television, wandering around Barcelona, or following you to a Champions League final…” You nudge her lightly.
“They’re my favourite memories. Not because of where we were. But because they were with you.”
You hold her gaze.
“So when I say you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me…” Your voice grows quieter. “I don’t mean because you’ve taken me on amazing trips, or because I’ve watched you lift the Champions League.”
A smile spreads across your face.
“I mean because you make me like who I am. You make me want to be the best version of myself. And every day I spend with you…” you whisper, your eyes never leaving hers, “I feel like more like me.”
Emotion flickers across Alexia’s face.
“So yeah…” you murmur. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Alexia.”
She doesn’t answer straight away.
She just looks at you.
Like she’s trying to take in every word you’ve just said.
As though she hadn’t been expecting it.
Five minutes ago, the two of you were joking about the name of a stream.
Now you’re sitting together in this hotel room in Oslo, wrapped beneath a blanket, your heart laid completely bare between you.
Her eyes glisten. Then she blinks, and a tear slips free.
You lift your thumb, brushing it gently from her cheek, and she leans into your touch without thinking.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me too,” she whispers.
Your breath catches.
You search her face, almost expecting a smile that says she’s teasing.
There isn’t one.
“I mean it,” she adds softly, reading the uncertainty in your eyes. “You are.”
Your brow furrows.
“But… how?”
She tilts her head, confusion flickering across her face.
“What do you mean?”
You hesitate before giving a small shrug.
“You’re Alexia Putellas.”
You say it so matter of factly it almost sounds obvious.
“You’re the best footballer in the world. You’ve won pretty much everything. Done things most people only dream about.” You shake your head slightly. “You’re living your dream.”
Your voice grows quieter.
“How can I be the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”
For a second, she just stares at you.
The confusion fades, replaced by something sadder.
Almost like it hurts that you’d even ask.
“Amor…” she says gently. “Why wouldn’t you be?”
You look away, shrugging again.
The familiar doubts creep quietly back in, finding every tiny crack you’d spent months learning to close.
A part of you wants to believe her.
A louder part keeps insisting she simply loves you too much to see you clearly.
That maybe, one day, she’ll wake up and realise she could have someone better.
“Look at me,” Alexia says softly.
You do, already feeling your throat tighten with emotion. Not because of her, but because of you. Because these thoughts still exist. Why is it still so hard to believe her?
“It doesn’t matter what I’ve won, what I’ve done, or even who people think I am,” she says gently. “Those things are wonderful, and I’m grateful for every single one of them. I know how lucky I am to live this life. I get to travel, play football, win trophies, meet incredible people…”
She pauses, her thumb brushing across your cheek.
“But very rarely do I get to do any of that as just Alexia.”
Your heart aches.
“When I met you, that’s who I was. Just Alexia. Not the captain. Not the footballer. Not somebody everyone expected something from.”
Her smile softens.
“And you never asked me to be anything else.”
Your eyes sting.
“You saw me before you saw everything that came with me. You laughed with me. You challenged me. You teased me.” She smiles. “You made me cheese sandwiches and asked if I played for Spain.”
A watery laugh escapes you.
“You made me feel normal.” Her voice grows quieter. “Safe. Peaceful.”
She shakes her head lightly.
“I didn’t know how much I needed that until I had it.”
Her gaze never leaves yours.
“I wasn’t looking for someone to make my life bigger. I already had football. I already had trophies.”
Her hand finds yours, threading your fingers together.
“I was looking for someone who made coming home feel like the best part of my day.”
Your breath catches.
“That’s you.”
She smiles.
“So if someone offered me a hundred more trophies… or the girl who gives me cards with goats on them…”
You laugh through your tears.
“I’d choose the goat cards.”
She leans forward until your foreheads rest together.
“I’d choose you. Every single time.”
Her voice drops almost to a whisper.
“You don’t just fit into my life, amor. You became my home.”
She smiles, warm and completely certain.
“So when I say you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me… I don’t mean despite everything else.”
She gives your hand a gentle squeeze.
“I mean because nothing else has ever made me feel the way you do.”
She chuckles softly.
“I’ve known it since you sat on my balcony and tried to convince me I wasn’t the best thing that had ever happened to you.”
A surprised laugh escapes you through your tears.
The memory is clearly as vivid to her as it is to you, a fond smile tugging at her lips.
Then she leans in, brushing her nose lightly against yours, a familiar sparkle returning to her eyes.
“You’re a strong independent woman, remember?”
You shake your head, another laugh bubbling free despite yourself.
“You really remember that?”
“I remember everything,” she says, her smile impossibly fond.
You shake your head, laughing again as you wipe at your eyes.
She beams at you, completely unashamed.
And as you look at her, you see it.
Not just hear it.
See it.
There isn’t a flicker of doubt in her eyes.
Only certainty.
Only love.
The warmth spreads through your chest, chasing away those familiar fears. Maybe they’ll never disappear completely. Maybe there will always be days when they try to convince you otherwise.
But not today.
Not while she’s looking at you like this.
“Look at us,” you sniff, laughing through the last of your tears. “We can’t even be honest without crying.”
“Sí.” She reaches up, wiping another tear from your cheek. “We’re impossible.”
“The worst.”
She smiles before leaning in to kiss you.
Soft.
Unhurried.
A kiss that somehow carries everything the two of you have just said without needing another word.
When she pulls away, her hand remains cupping your face.
“This really has been a weekend of firsts.”
You tilt your head.
“How so?”
“Well…” Her eyes sparkle again. “Your first time in Norway.”
You smile.
“Your first Champions League final.”
You nod.
“The first time you admitted I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you…”
Your smile grows.
She leans in conspiratorially, voice lowering.
“… the first time you squirted.”
You gasp.
“Alexia!”
She bursts into laughter before kissing you to muffle your protests.
“I’m teasing, bebé,” she murmurs against your lips.
“You can’t say all of that and then immediately joke about squirting.”
“I can,” she says innocently.
You narrow your eyes.
“I hate that you’re right.”
She grins.
You pout.
“I’m still embarrassed.”
“You don’t need to be.”
Her smile softens again.
“It was beautiful. You were beautiful.”
You study her for a second, a small defeated sigh leaving you.
“You’re proud of that, aren’t you?”
“Sí.”
She doesn’t even hesitate.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
You groan.
“I swear your ego gets bigger every day.”
She shrugs.
“I think I’ve earned it.”
“Oh?”
“It’s not every day I get to say I made you squirt.”
“Alexia!”
You yank the blanket over your face.
“I swear, if you mention squirting one more time, I’m getting on a completely different plane later.”
She laughs.
“Oh?”
“Sí, I’ll go as far away as I can.”
You pretend to think.
“Maybe Australia. There are hot girls in Australia. I’ll find myself a new girlfriend.”
She pretends to consider it.
“Maybe…”
A thoughtful pause.
“…bet she couldn’t make you squirt, though.”
“Right, that’s it.”
You wriggle dramatically out of her arms and make a very determined attempt to stand.
“I’m leaving.”
You point towards the door with all the dignity you can muster.
“Adiós, La Reina.” You throw one last look over your shoulder. “G’day, hot Australian girls.”
You don’t even manage a full step. Alexia wraps an arm around your waist, effortlessly hauling you straight back into her lap.
“Nooo, mi amor.”
You huff dramatically against her.
“You’re mean.”
“Ho sento, amor.” She kisses your shoulder. “You know I’m only teasing.”
You look at her.
The sunlight catches in her eyes.
Her smile.
The way she’s holding you beneath the blanket like she has absolutely nowhere else she’d rather be.
And really…
How are you supposed to stay annoyed with her?
“You’re lucky I love you,” you mumble.
Her expression softens immediately.
“I know.”
She brushes your hair behind your ear.
“No match. No trophy. No celebration…”
She shakes her head.
“None of it will ever compare to this.”
Her eyes never leave yours.
“My greatest achievement…”
She smiles.
“…is being loved by you.”
Your breath catches.
For a second, you’re convinced she’s about to ruin the moment with another joke.
But she doesn’t.
There’s nothing teasing in her face now.
Only warmth. Only certainty.
“I love you so much, amor,” she whispers.
You smile, feeling your heart swell all over again.
“I love you too. So much.”
She smiles back.
Then you lean in and kiss her.
Slowly.
Unhurried.
Your lips meet with a tenderness that has nothing to prove, no urgency left in it now. It isn’t driven by longing or desire this time, only by the quiet certainty of everything you’ve just shared.
She melts into you immediately, one hand sliding to the back of your neck while the other cups your cheek. You feel her smile against your lips, small but unmistakable, and it makes your own grow in return.
You linger there, foreheads brushing as you part, only to steal another soft kiss, and then another.
“I love you,” you whisper again, simply because you can.
Her eyes never leave yours.
“I know,” she murmurs. “And I love you too.”
You rest your forehead against hers, neither of you speaking for a long moment, content to let the silence hold everything words no longer need to.
You press a gentle kiss to her nose before snuggling back into her shoulder. Her arms come around you once more, holding you close, and you let out a quiet sigh.
Content.
With where you are.
With who you’re with.
With who you’ve become.
It’s perfect.
No matter how much you feel, or how difficult things can sometimes be, you would choose this every single time.
You would choose her.
Yes, she’s Alexia Putellas.
But she’s also just your Alexia.
The woman who makes you laugh when you’re crying. Who steadies you when your doubts creep in. Who somehow makes every ordinary moment feel extraordinary simply because she’s there.
Even if she insists on making squirting jokes.
You smile to yourself, glancing back out at the stream winding through the city below. Safe in her arms, listening to the steady beat of her heart, you realise something.
No matter where life takes you next, or what waits beyond this hotel room, one thing is certain.
Everything is better when you’re with Alexia.
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A/n:
Just a cute little something something. You know I can’t resist a fluffy moment for these two.
This was originally meant to be apart of the final chapter of the uwcl minific but I think it works just as well on its own. That and I couldn’t fit it in 😂
I really hope you enjoy this one. A couple of you have asked for some angst which will be coming. I’ll start off small with the next chapter, and then sometime in the near future, we’ll have ‘proper’ angst.
No one has permission to copy, steal, repost or translate this work.
As always, please let me know what you think. Comments, reblogs, likes and asks all make my day. I love interacting with you all and hearing your thoughts and opinions. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story ❤️
I want to say thank you for all of your love and support shown towards the final chapter of the uwcl minific. It was my longest chapter yet! But I knew there was so much I wanted to include. I really hope it lived up to expectations ❤️
Now I have a little bonus chapter for you… one that I couldn’t fit into the final, so it became it’s own little thing 😂
How about I post that tomorrow evening? A midweek treat… it’s nothing big, a smaller one but still cute.
Summary: The daughter of a legendary football manager has one simple dating rule: no footballers - a rule that becomes increasingly difficult to follow after meeting Alexia Putellas
Word Count: 13.4k
You’re just friends.
You repeat that sentence so often over the following weeks that it begins to sound rehearsed, like if you say it enough times it might eventually become true. You say it with complete conviction. You say it the way you say things in court when you need the room to believe you before they've had the chance to think too hard about it.
The problem is that you've been a lawyer long enough to recognize when someone is arguing a losing case.
You tell your parents anyway. You tell your brothers. You tell your friends. Curiously, not a single one of them appears remotely convinced.
Your mother responds with the kind of smile that mothers seem genetically programmed to produce whenever they know something their children haven’t admitted to themselves yet. Your father just raises an eyebrow before pointedly returning to whatever he had been doing, managing to communicate more skepticism through a single arched brow and studied silence than most people could achieve with an entire prepared argument. Your brothers don't even attempt the courtesy of restraint. They exchange one look - the particular look they have been perfecting since childhood, the one that means they are about to enjoy this at your expense - grin at one another, and immediately begin referring to Alexia as your girlfriend purely because they know with absolute certainty that it annoys you.
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Mhmm.”
“We’re friends!”
“Of course…”
“Stop looking at me like that!!”
None of them stop.
The thing is you genuinely believe it. Or at least some carefully maintained part of you is still committed to believing it, because the alternative requires a conversation you aren't ready to have and a vulnerability you have spent most of your adult life successfully avoiding.
Because friends talk, right? Friends spend time together. Friends call each other.
It is perfectly normal, you reason, to feel your entire mood improve the moment your phone lights up with Alexia’s name after she’s finally escaped training, only to spend the next forty-five minutes listening to her recount some ridiculous story from the gym while she drives home through Barcelona traffic. It is perfectly normal to make dinner plans three or four nights a week because neither of you particularly enjoys eating alone. Perfectly normal to wander through bookstores on Sunday afternoons, to argue over which café makes the best cortado, to send each other pictures of dogs you pass on the street because you know they’ll make the other smile.
That is friendship. Isn’t it?
And if those dinners occasionally stretch until well after midnight because neither of you notices the restaurant has emptied around you… Well friends lose track of time.
If you end up napping together on her couch because you stayed up way too late talking the night before… Her couch is just really comfy.
If she starts casually reaching for your hand whenever the streets become crowded, or if you instinctively gravitate toward one another in every room without consciously deciding to… Surely that’s just habit.
You are aware, somewhere beneath all of this careful reasoning, that you are doing what you always do when the truth is inconvenient: constructing a very competent argument for the version of events you'd prefer to be living in. You are, after all, professionally trained to make flimsy positions sound airtight. You can make a jury believe almost anything if you choose your words carefully enough.
The jury, in this case, consists of your mother's knowing smile, your father's single raised eyebrow, your brothers' matching grins, and the persistent, quiet voice somewhere in the back of your own mind that has been trying to get your attention for weeks.
None of them are buying it either.
Which is fine. They don't have to buy it. You are perfectly capable of maintaining a position under pressure - it is, in fact, one of the things you are paid to do - and if everyone in your life has decided to find your friendship with Alexia quietly hilarious, that is their prerogative. You are unbothered. You are composed. You are a woman who knows her own mind.
You are also, three weeks after the gala, standing in the bathroom of your apartment spending an unreasonable amount of time on your hair before going out to meet her friends, which is a thing that friends do all the time and means absolutely nothing.
She had suggested it over dinner the week before, insisting that you'd already heard so many stories about one another that proper introductions were long overdue. You had agreed right away, which you told yourself was because you were a socially confident person who enjoyed meeting new people, and not at all because Alexia had asked you with that particular smile and you had never once successfully said no to it.
The music in the club is thick enough to feel in your chest, colored lights sweep lazily across a packed dance floor while people squeeze together around crowded tables balancing cocktails they definitely paid too much for. Conversation requires raised voices and exaggerated gestures, and every few minutes a burst of laughter somewhere across the room rises high enough to clear the music before being swallowed back into it.
The moment you arrive, Alexia’s hand settles comfortably on your lower back, her palm warm and certain through the fabric of your dress as she guides you through the crowd.
The group is already gathered near the back of the club - a cluster of warmth and noise and overlapping conversations that parts easily to absorb you both. You recognize almost every name from the countless stories Alexia has already told you over late-night dinners and phone calls, and the recognition appears to be mutual. There are smiles, hugs, introductions, and more than one expression that feels suspiciously knowing.
You choose to ignore that part.
Instead, your attention immediately lands on Alba.
Within minutes the two of you are teasing Alexia with the effortless coordination of people who have only just met but somehow already understand the assignment. Growing up with brothers had taught you one universal truth: if you wanted to win over someone’s sibling, the quickest route was always joining forces against them.
“What the hell?” Alexia groans dramatically after the two of you gang up on her for what must be the fifth time in ten minutes, dropping her head against your shoulder with exaggerated despair. “I should have known better than to introduce you two.”
Alba laughs so hard at your teasing, she nearly spills her drink. You reach over and pat Alexia’s head with theatrical sympathy.
“Oh, please. You’re fine.”
“I’ve been betrayed.”
Despite the complaint, you can feel Alexia laughing against your shoulder, the sound vibrating warmly through you.
Alexia lets out one final dramatic sigh before lifting her head from your shoulder, though not before pressing a soft kiss against the fabric covering it. The gesture so casual and absentminded that she barely seems aware she’s done it.
You are aware. You are extremely aware. You simply decide, in the spirit of your ongoing commitment to the friends narrative, not to examine that too closely.
The kisses are friendly too. Obviously.
Ever since that first night they had quietly become part of whatever this strange, undefined thing between the two of you was. Sometimes they were nothing more than a quick greeting when one of you arrived late to dinner or a soft goodbye after you’d walked her to her door. Other times they happened reflexively, a kiss against your temple while you’re laughing, your cheek when she’d won an argument, your shoulder when she was already leaning against you anyway.
And occasionally they lingered. One kiss would become two, then three, until you found yourselves standing outside your apartment making out beneath a streetlamp while one of you laughed into the other’s mouth about how late it had gotten.
In your defense, Alexia was exceptionally, unfairly attractive.
“I’m gonna grab a drink from the bar,” she says, after another few minutes of thoroughly deserved teasing from you and Alba. “Come with me?”
The invitation feels almost unnecessary. Your hand is already reaching for hers before she’s finished speaking.
Her fingers lace through yours as though they've done it a hundred times - which, you realize with a start, they very nearly have at this point - and together the two of you weave toward the bar. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that very few people who describe themselves as just friends spend quite this much time with their fingers comfortably intertwined.
The bar is crowded enough that Alexia naturally steps closer, her shoulder pressing against yours as people move behind you. Her body angles toward you in that instinctive way it always does now, like she simply defaults to closing whatever distance remains between you. You lean into her just as naturally.
The closeness no longer feels new. It just feels right.
“So,” she says once you’ve both ordered your drinks, turning toward you with the kind of undivided attention that still catches you off guard no matter how often she gives it. “How did your meeting go this afternoon?”
Your entire expression brightens.
You launch into the story, explaining how opposing counsel had attempted to quietly slip an additional liability clause into the final contract draft, clearly hoping it would slide through unexamined before signing. You describe the increasingly transparent excuses they'd produced once you pointed it out, the uncomfortable silence that followed when you refused to let the conversation move on, and your eventual decision to suspend the entire agreement until every questionable provision had been properly addressed.
You know you’re rambling.
Alexia never makes you feel that way.
She listens with the same complete concentration she always does, never once allowing her attention to drift despite the music thundering around you. Every question she asks builds easily from the last answer you gave, revealing not only that she’s been listening, but that she remembers details you mentioned weeks ago about the case, the clients involved, and even the senior partner who had initially assigned it to you.
“You said their general counsel was difficult from the beginning,” she says thoughtfully. “So this probably wasn’t the first time they tried something like that?”
You shake your head, unable to hide your smile.
“No. Just the first time they tried it with me.”
“You are such a badass,” she says, beaming and squeezing your still interlaced fingers with genuine admiration. “I’m really proud of you.”
The compliment shouldn’t affect you as much as it does.
You have graduated near the top of your class. You have been praised by senior partners whose approval is notoriously difficult to earn. You have clients who request you specifically for negotiations that other associates won't touch. None of that has ever produced quite the sensation that those five words from Alexia manage in approximately three seconds.
Heat rushes to your face before you have any hope of stopping it.
Alexia watches the blush spread across your cheeks with an expression that can only be described as fond - the particular softness that appears in her eyes sometimes when you're not expecting it. It’s like she's caught a glimpse of something she wasn't supposed to see and has quietly decided to treasure it anyway. She doesn't tease you. She never teases you about this. She just lets herself look at you, warmly and without apology, until the embarrassment somehow deepens for entirely different reasons.
Thankfully, the bartender chooses that exact moment to slide your drinks across the counter.
You reach for yours quickly, grateful for the distraction, taking an unnecessarily long sip. The cold liquid gives you something else to focus on besides the fact that one simple compliment from Alexia has managed to unravel you so completely. When you lower your glass, she’s still smiling.
"Dance with me?" you ask, because it seems like the most efficient way to stop her looking at you like that.
She sets her drink down before you've finished the sentence. She doesn't answer. She just takes your hand.
For a while, everything is wonderfully ridiculous. The two of you laugh far more than you actually dance, deliberately exaggerating the worst moves you can think of until you’re both doubled over with laughter. Alexia attempts something she insists is a trend right now before immediately admitting it looks stupid. You retaliate with an enthusiastic and completely faithful recreation of something your brothers had sworn was cool when you were teenagers, which earns you a look of such pure delight from her that you keep going long after you probably should have stopped.
The people around you either stare in amusement or wisely pretend not to know you, and neither of you could possibly care less.
You haven't laughed this freely in years. The thought arrives quietly between one song and the next and stays there.
As the music and energy around you gradually changes, so does the space between you.
Without really thinking about it, you reach forward and hook a finger through her belt loop, drawing her the final few inches closer until the distance between your bodies disappears.
Alexia glances down at your hand before meeting your eyes, and then, without a word, her hands find your waist and turn you smoothly until your back rests against her front, the movement so fluid that you've barely registered what's happened before you're already settling into her.
Instinctively, you relax into her.
Her arms stay loosely around you, the two of you moving together with an ease that feels less like something you're doing and more like something you've simply fallen into, the way you fall into conversations and silences and all the other rhythms the two of you have accumulated without noticing. Every now and then she leans closer to say something in your ear, her voice low beneath the music, and you feel her laughter against the side of your neck before it reaches you as sound.
It is impossibly easy to forget where you are.
Your entire world narrows to the warmth of her behind you, the weight of her arms, and the quiet certainty that every time you shift, every time you tilt your head back slightly, her eyes are already there waiting for yours. She looks at you with an intensity that makes the rest of the room feel very far away - like the crowd and the music and the sweeping lights have faded away, and the only thing that is actually real and close and present is her.
It takes the tightening of her arm around your waist to pull you back.
You glance over your shoulder. Her easy smile has disappeared. Her eyes are fixed somewhere beyond you, their warmth replaced by a focused intensity that catches your attention.
“Is something wrong?” you ask quietly, resting your hand over hers where it lies against your waist.
Alexia barely blinks before letting out a huff.
“No…” she says, her eyes never leaving the spot she’d been watching. “I just don’t like the way she’s looking at you.”
Curiosity gets the better of you.
Following her line of sight, you glance toward the bar where a woman is leaning casually against the polished countertop with a drink in her hand. There is nothing especially subtle about the way she’s watching you. The moment your eyes meet hers, she offers an undeniably interested smile that lingers just a fraction of a second too long before her bold gaze begins to travel slowly and appreciatively across the length of your figure.
You feel Alexia shift imperceptibly behind you.
Her hand settles a little more securely against your hipbone, in a subconscious gesture of claiming that reveals far more than she likely ever intended. For someone who always seemed so composed, so measured in everything she did, the flicker of jealousy catches you a little off guard.
And, to your own surprise, you like it. A little too much.
The wave of possessiveness makes her fingers twitch against your skin as she grasps you lower on your hips, pulling your back flush against her. You can feel the erratic rhythm of Alexia’s hot breath fanning across the sensitive skin of your neck as she struggles to hold herself back from doing anything more.
But you do want more. You don’t want her to hold back.
You reach back and thread your fingers through the silken strands of her hair, pulling her face into the curve of your neck. You tilt your head slightly to offer silent permission that she immediately acts upon.
She presses her lips to your exposed throat, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses. A helpless shudder runs though your frame at the contact and your blood begins to run hot with desire.
Alexia can undoubtedly feel the frantic race of your pulse beating directly against her mouth, because you can actually feel the satisfied curve of her smile pressing into your skin as she continues to lavish your neck with desperate, breathless attention.
Unable to endure the distance between you any longer, Alexia’s hands tighten gently around your waist before she turns you to face her in one smooth movement. There isn’t a hint of hesitation left in either of you now. The second your eyes meet, she closes the space between you again, kissing you with the confidence of someone who has been thinking about doing exactly that for far longer than she’d ever admit.
Your hands find her shoulders, her waist, anywhere you can reach, and around you the music pounds on and the lights sweep past and none of it registers even slightly.
Eventually you pull back just far enough to steal a breath. Barely an inch separates you.
Alexia is already looking at you, a soft, disbelieving smile spreading across her face as if she can’t quite believe you’re standing there either. The sight of it makes something inside your chest tighten so suddenly that you’re forced to simply stare at her for a moment, quietly struck all over again by how unfairly beautiful she is.
When she catches you admiring, that smile only grows. Her eyes are warm with unmistakable amusement as she watches you completely lose your train of thought. You open your mouth like you’re about to say something clever, something capable of recovering at least a shred of your dignity.
Nothing comes out.
She laughs quietly at your expense before closing the distance once more, clearly deciding that whatever you had been about to say couldn’t possibly be as important as kissing you again.
Fuck, you think to yourself as you smile helplessly into the kiss.
This whole being friends thing would be so much easier if she wasn’t such a ridiculously good kisser.
------
The problem with insisting you’re just friends is that, somewhere along the way, the two of you have become very bad at behaving like it.
There is nothing particularly unusual about spending an entire Saturday together, at least not by the increasingly questionable standards you and Alexia have established over the past few months. You spend most of your free time together anyway, so when a rare weekend arrives with neither of you pulled away by work, football, or family obligations, there is never really any question of who you’ll spend it with.
The water was too cold for swimming, just like you'd warned her it would be, but neither of you had really come to swim.
You'd driven north out of the city before the sun had fully cleared the horizon. Alexia's hand rests easily on the gearshift between you, occasionally drifting over to rest on your knee whenever the road straightens out long enough for her to risk it. By the time you reach the beach, the morning haze was already burning away, leaving behind one of those impossibly blue Catalan skies that make tourists believe the weather is always like this.
You ate lunch on paper plates balanced on your knees, sitting on a worn blanket Alexia produced from the trunk of her car with the casual efficiency of someone who has done this before, with other people, in other lives. You don't ask about that. You've stopped letting yourself wonder about the women who came before you, mostly because the answer to that question has started to feel uncomfortably close to a question about yourself that you aren't ready to answer either.
Afterward you walk. For hours, it turns out, though neither of you notices until the sun has shifted considerably and your feet ache pleasantly from the sand. She tells you about her childhood summers here, when her family was still too poor to go anywhere else. She tells you about a ridiculous argument her father had with a fishmonger when she was nine and the particular shade of blue the water turns right before sunset, which she insists exists nowhere else in the world.
Her hand finds yours somewhere around the second hour and doesn't let go again.
By the time you arrive back at her house, the golden hour has settled over the city, slanting low through the kitchen windows and catching on dust in the air like something out of a film neither of you would ever admit to liking unironically. The house smells like rosemary and the lemon tree growing wild just outside her back door, and when she pulls you toward the kitchen counter, flour already dusting one forearm from some earlier attempt at organization, you don't resist.
"You're terrible at this," you tease, watching her stretch a piece of dough so thin it tears straight down the middle.
"I'm a footballer, not a chef."
"Clearly."
She flicks a small handful of flour at you in retaliation. It lands across the front of your shirt, and your indignant gasp only makes her laugh harder, hip-checking you out of the way so she can reach the rolling pin.
You've noticed, over the course of the afternoon, the particular way her hands keep finding you.
Her fingers brushing the small of your back as she reaches past you for the olive oil, her palm settling briefly at your waist when you lean over to check the oven, the warm slide of skin against skin whenever your shirt rides up just slightly and her hand happens to be there, thumb tracing absent, unhurried circles against your hip like she's barely aware she's doing it.
In the car earlier, her hand had drifted from the gearshift to your knee and stayed there for the better part of twenty minutes, her thumb stroking slow lines along your inner thigh while she drove one-handed and talked about absolutely nothing, as though she had no idea what that was doing to you.
She knew exactly what it was doing to you.
By the time the pizzas are assembled - yours lopsided and overloaded with toppings, hers absurdly minimalist in a childish way that of course you tease - the sun has dropped low enough that the yard is bathed in that deep amber light that makes everything, even Alexia covered in flour with sauce on her cheek, look like it was lit on purpose.
You carry the trays out to the little wood-fired oven tucked into the corner of her patio, and while the pizzas cook, you stand together. Her arm settles affectionately around your waist, her chin finding the curve of your shoulder as the two of you watch the flames through the small glass door.
"This was a good day," she says quietly, her voice low against your skin.
"Mhm." You lean back into her without thinking about it. "Best one in a while."
She presses a kiss to your neck, just below your ear, and you feel it more than you hear the soft sound she makes against your skin.
Dinner happens somewhere in there too - eaten at the small table on the patio, candles flickering despite there being no real need for them this early, the pizzas devoured with the kind of enthusiasm that makes conversation sparse and laughter frequent.
But even as you eat and talk, something else has been quietly building beneath the surface of the evening, present in every glance that lasts a fraction too long, every touch that lingers slightly past necessity.
You feel it most clearly while washing dishes.
Alexia stands beside you at the sink, drying what you hand her with the same unhurried patience she brings to everything, occasionally bumping her hip against yours just to watch you nearly drop a plate. The kitchen has gone quiet around you, the easy chatter of the day finally settling into something heavier, something charged.
When you finally set the last dish in the rack and reach for the towel hanging over her shoulder, she doesn't move out of the way.
You look up. She's already looking at you.
There's a stillness in her expression that wasn't there a moment ago, the playfulness from earlier replaced by something darker and far more deliberate. Her hazel eyes track slowly down from your face to your collarbone and linger there, unhurried, unapologetic.
"You're staring," you say, though your voice comes out quieter than you intend.
"I know."
She doesn't look away. If anything, her gaze drops further, tracing the line of your throat, the curve where your shirt has slipped slightly off one shoulder, and when her eyes finally lift back to yours there's nothing remotely subtle left in them.
"Alexia."
"What?" The corner of her mouth tips up, slow and shameless. "Can't a woman appreciate the view in her own kitchen?"
Your pulse picks up traitorously.
She steps closer, crowding you gently back against the edge of the counter, one hand coming up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that contradicts entirely the heat simmering just beneath it. Her fingers trail from your ear down the length of your neck, slow enough that you feel every inch of the movement, before settling at your jaw.
"You've been doing that thing all day," she murmurs.
"What thing?"
"That thing where you think I don't notice you looking at me." Her thumb brushes along your bottom lip, deliberate and unhurried. "I notice everything you do, cariño."
The endearment, soft and unfamiliar on her tongue, does something to your chest that you don't have time to examine before she's closing the last bit of distance between you. She kisses you the way she hasn't kissed you before - slow at first, almost teasing, like she's testing how long she can draw this out before either of you breaks.
You break first.
Your hands fist in the front of her shirt, dragging her closer, and the kiss deepens immediately. Her hands find your waist and gripping with a firmness that has nothing teasing left in it. She presses you fully back against the counter, the edge biting pleasantly into your hip, and you feel the low sound that escapes her when your fingers slide up into her hair.
"Ale-" Her name comes out half a warning, half a plea, and you're not entirely sure which one you meant it to be.
She pulls back only far enough to look at you, her breathing already uneven, her eyes dark in the dim kitchen light. There's a question in her expression, clear as anything she's ever said aloud - patient, certain, leaving the choice entirely in your hands the way she always does.
You answer her by pulling her back in.
This kiss is different from every one that came before it. There's no restraint left in it, no careful pretense that this is anything other than exactly what it is. Her hands slide beneath the hem of your shirt, palms warm against the bare skin of your waist. You arch into the touch, a quiet gasp escaping against her mouth that makes her smile even as she kisses you harder.
"Tell me to stop," she breathes against your jaw, her lips trailing slowly down the line of your throat, "and I will."
You don't.
Instead your hands find the hem of her own shirt, tugging gently, and the sound she makes when you finally slide your fingertips across her abs is enough to undo whatever was left of your hesitation.
She lifts you onto the counter with an ease that probably shouldn’t turn you on as much as it does.
The cool marble meets the back of your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating off her. She settles between your knees, like she's been waiting all day for exactly this - for the kitchen to go quiet, for the light to dim just enough, for you to finally stop pretending you weren't both circling toward this since the night you met.
You've never felt anything like this. Like you've been lit a flame somewhere deep in your chest, and every place she touches you only feeds it. You've also never felt this wanted - not admired, not desired in the abstract way strangers look at you across crowded rooms, but wanted, specifically, entirely, by the only person whose attention has ever made your pulse stutter like this.
"Upstairs," you murmur against her mouth, because the counter is wonderful but you want her somewhere you can actually touch all of her.
She doesn't argue, letting you pull her by the hand through the dark house. You lead her the framed photos and the shoes kicked off by the door, up the stairs two at a time until you're both stumbling slightly into her bedroom, lit only by the pale wash of moonlight through the open window and the distant glow of the city beyond it.
You turn to face her, and the look in her eyes nearly stops your heart.
Her gaze is dark, fixed entirely on you. It burns with an intensity that makes you feel like the only thing that exists in the room, in the city, in the world. You reach for her shoulders and push gently, until she sits on the edge of the bed. The soft exhale that leaves her when you settle your weight against her, knees bracketing her hips, sounds like relief.
"You're sure?" she asks quietly, her hands resting at your waist. Her thumbs trace slow lines against your skin like she needs the reassurance of touching you even while she waits for your answer.
"Alexia." You take her face in both hands, tilting it up so she has to look at you. "I have never been more sure of anything."
Something shifts in her then, the last thread of hesitation finally gives way. You reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, baring yourself to her for the first time. The sound that escapes her when she looks at you is barely human. Reverent, almost helpless, like she'd been holding herself together by a single thread and you'd just cut it.
She gathers you against her slowly, her hands sweeping up your back with a tenderness that makes your throat tighten. When she finally lays you back against the sheets and follows you down, the weight of her settling over you feels less like desire and more like coming home.
She kisses you sweetly at first, slow and careful. Before her mouth begins to wander, tracing down the column of your throat, across your collarbone, lower still, and every place her lips touch leaves a trail of fire behind it. Your hands find her hair, her shoulders, the strong line of her back, anchoring yourself to her as the slow burn building all day finally catches.
She murmurs against your skin as she moves, words half-formed and barely audible, more felt than heard. How beautiful you are. How she's been wanting this for longer than she probably should admit. How she just wants to make you feel good.
You're too far gone to manage anything coherent in return, the words dissolve somewhere before they reach your mouth, but the soft, broken way her name falls from your lips seems to be answer enough. It's all the encouragement she needs to keep going.
She pulls your nipple into her mouth, rolling the bud gently against her tongue. Your head rolls back uncontrollably as a soft moan leaves your lips. You should be embarrassed to already be reacting in this way when she hasn’t even fully touched you. You can’t bring yourself to care.
She hums softly in response, the sound vibrating through your skin like a secret meant only for you. Her mouth is warm, unhurried, lavishing attention on one breast and then the other with the kind of patience that speaks of weeks of stolen kisses, lingering-touches, and carefully guarded longing finally set free.
Her hands map your body with slow reverence, palms gliding over the curve of your waist, the dip of your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as if committing every inch to memory.
You thread your fingers through her hair, holding her close as she kisses a lazy path down the center of your chest. Every press of her lips feels like worship. She lingers at your navel, tongue dipping in just enough to make your stomach flutter, then lower still, until her breath fans hot against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. She parts them gently, settling between them with no rush, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the crease where thigh meets hip. The ache between your legs has grown deep, but she doesn’t dive in. Instead, she savors you - nuzzling, licking, sucking lightly at the soft skin until you’re trembling beneath her.
When her fingers finally trace through your folds, it’s feather-light at first, spreading the slickness she’s drawn from you with patient strokes. She explores every inch like she has all night, circling your entrance, teasing your clit with the barest pressure until your hips lift in quiet pleading. Only then does she ease one finger inside you, slow and deep, curling gently as if testing the way your body welcomes her.
There is nothing friendly about the pet names that you cry out when you feel her inside you.
“Bebé yes! Right there.” You moan as she finds a spot that makes you see stars. That seems to be the sign she needs to stop being gentle with you and press deeper in the way you need.
Her eyes darken with hunger at the sound of your voice, but even now she doesn’t rush. She adds a second finger with the same deliberate care, stretching you open inch by inch, her thumb stroking your clit in slow, perfect circles that match the rhythm of her hand. Her mouth returns to your breast, sucking harder now, teeth grazing just enough to sharpen the pleasure. Every thrust of her fingers is measured, dragging against that sensitive spot inside you until the coil of heat low in your belly winds tighter and tighter.
“Fuck mi amor, don’t stop,” you gasp, nails digging into her shoulders.
You’re lost in it - the wet sounds of her fingers moving in you, the weight of her body pressed between your thighs, the way she whispers your name against your skin like a prayer.
She lifts her head to watch you, dark eyes locked on your face as she drives you closer to the edge. “That’s it, mi amor,” she murmurs, voice rough with want. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.”
The build is exquisite, nearly overwhelming in its sweetness, and when the peak finally breaks over you, it shudders through your entire body in long, rolling waves that leave you gasping her name. She stays with you through every pulse, murmuring soft praises, her fingers gentling but not leaving until the last tremor fades and you’re boneless beneath her.
Hours later, after you've both had your fill, you lie tangled together in the dark, the sheets twisted somewhere around your ankles. The window is still open, and the night air carries in a faint breeze that mixes with the warmth still radiating between your bodies.
Your head rests against her chest, rising and falling with her breathing as it slowly steadies beneath you, the frantic rhythm from earlier settling into something slow and even. Her fingers trace absent, lazy patterns along your bare shoulder, unhurried, as though she has no intention of moving from this exact position for the rest of the night.
You listen to her heartbeat gradually return to normal, counting it without meaning to, matching your own breathing to its tempo until you can no longer tell where one ends and the other begins.
You know this will probably change everything. Being this vulnerable with someone always does. There’s no version of tonight that doesn't follow you both into tomorrow, into next week, into whatever comes after. Some part of you, the careful, guarded part that has spent twenty-eight years building walls around exactly this kind of moment, already senses the shift happening quietly in the dark.
But you can't bring yourself to name it. Not yet. Not with her skin still warm beneath your cheek and her fingers still moving idly against your shoulder, like she has all the time in the world.
So you stay quiet, matching the slow rise and fall of her chest, listening to the distant sound of the cars drifting through the open window, and let yourself simply exist in the stillness for as long as it lasts.
You don't dare speak. You're too afraid that any word, however small, might shatter it.
------
You'd think that after sleeping together, introducing Alexia to your family would stop feeling like such a monumental step.
Unfortunately, the two of you are still pretending that whatever this is doesn't require a label. That night or the many, many nights that followed, none of them have apparently been enough to prompt either of you to say the thing that would make all of this significantly simpler. You exist instead in the same comfortable, wordless arrangement as before, only now it comes with the memory of her hands on your skin and the particular way she looks at you afterward, like she is quietly terrified of how much she means it.
So a label-free dinner with your entire family it is.
The whole thing is your mother's idea, which surprises nobody.
A week earlier, after receiving the phone call confirming your promotion, Alexia had stolen you away for a celebratory dinner, insisting that such an achievement deserved far more than a takeaway pizza and a bottle of supermarket wine on your couch. The evening had been perfect, just the two of you tucked into your favorite little restaurant. Alexia spending most of dinner looking impossibly proud every time you spoke about your new role, her chin resting in her hand like she was genuinely content to just sit there and watch you be happy.
Unfortunately for you, your family had no intention of letting that be the only celebration.
"We're having dinner," your mother announced over the phone in the tone that has never once in your life indicated any possibility of negotiation.
"Mama…"
"No arguments."
"I already celebrated."
"You celebrated with Alexia."
"…Yes."
"Now you're celebrating with us."
You had assumed that settled the matter. It hadn't.
"And Alexia is coming too."
You blinked. "What?"
"She's important to you, isn't she?"
"Well… yes, but-"
"Then she should be there."
You had tried explaining that introducing someone you'd known for barely two months to your entire family over a sit-down dinner might be considered, by most reasonable people, a little intense. Your mother had remained entirely unbothered. She has always possessed a particular gift for treating your objections as though they are simply a slightly inconvenient part of the conversation that she's already decided to move past.
Which is how, exactly one week later, you find yourself standing in your apartment putting the finishing touches on the table while checking the clock for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.
Alexia arrives over half an hour early.
When you pull open the door, you find her standing there balancing an enormous bouquet of flowers in one arm, a bottle of wine tucked neatly beneath the other, and a paper bag whose contents remain a complete mystery. She is wearing the dark green shirt you've told her twice looks particularly good on her, which means she chose it deliberately and will never admit it.
The sight makes you smile. But it's the expression on her face that makes you laugh. For perhaps the first time since you’ve known her, Alexia looks genuinely nervous.
“You didn’t have to get me flowers,” you tease the moment you see the bouquet.
She rolls her eyes so dramatically that you immediately feel better.
“The flowers are for your mother.”
She brushes past you before you have a chance to answer, already making herself at home in the familiar way she always does. Your apartment stopped being a place she merely visited somewhere around the fifth or sixth week. You close the door behind her and watch with quiet amusement as she walks straight into your kitchen, opens the correct cabinet on the first try, and pulls down a vase before filling it with water from the sink.
You don't even blink.
She already knows where you keep the coffee mugs, the good olive oil, the spare phone charger, and apparently the flower vases too.
Perhaps that should concern you. Perhaps it should prompt some honest internal reflection about exactly how many evenings the two of you have spent together over the past two months, and what that quantity might suggest about the nature of whatever you're both still refusing to call what it obviously is.
Instead, you decide not to examine that thought too closely.
"Besides," she continues while carefully arranging the bouquet with slightly more concentration than flower arrangement probably requires, "I know better than to get you roses. Miss 'Roses are so cliché.'"
A laugh escapes you. “Oh really?”
She glances over her shoulder. “Really.”
You fold your arms across your chest. "Alright then, smarty pants. What flowers would you get me?"
She doesn't even pause to think.
“Sunflowers during the fall and winter because they remind you that warm weather always comes back eventually, and wildflowers in the spring and summer because you always stop to look at them even when you’re in a hurry.”
She says it so matter-of-factly, like it's simply a thing she knows, that for a moment you can only stare at her.
You hadn't realized she'd noticed that. Then again, Alexia notices everything. She always has.
The warmth that blooms across your face is impossible to hide. Without really thinking about it, you step closer, take her face gently between your hands, and press a quick kiss to her mouth that leaves her smiling before you've even fully pulled away.
"I got that one right then?" she asks, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"You got that one very right."
The satisfaction on her face lasts less than three seconds before the nerves return all at once.
"Oh." She blinks, suddenly remembering. "And I got your father a Spanish red because I looked up an old interview where he mentioned it was his favorite." She lifts the bottle with visible uncertainty. "I don't actually know if it's any good. I just bought the most expensive one the supermarket had."
"Alexia." You lightly smack her shoulder.
“What?”
“How much did you spend?”
“It was only like seventy euros…”
“Seventy??”
"I would've spent more," she adds quickly, clearly sensing she has somehow managed to argue herself into a worse position. "That was just the nicest one they had."
You stare at her in complete disbelief, opening your mouth to continue the lecture about spending too much money, but before you can, she quickly reaches for the mysterious paper bag she's been carefully protecting since she arrived.
"And this is actually for you," she says, holding it out with a grin so transparently hopeful that your mock outrage immediately begins losing ground. "Well technically it's for your brothers too." A brief pause. "But mostly you."
Curiosity gets the better of you. You peek inside.
Your entire face lights up. “No way…”
It’s from your favorite bakery. More specifically, your favorite bakery since you were six years old.
The tiny family-owned place tucked onto the corner of the street you used to walk home from school every afternoon, where the smell of fresh pastries drifted out onto the pavement long before you passed the front door.
You had taken Alexia there barely a week after meeting her, insisting she couldn't genuinely claim to be from Barcelona until she'd been inside. The visit had quickly become one of your favorite memories of the two of you. The women behind the counter had greeted you by name before you'd even spoken, then immediately abandoned all professional restraint to tell Alexia things you would have very much preferred remained private.
"She used to stand right there," one of them had laughed, pointing toward the front window. "Every afternoon, she'd press her little nose against the glass."
"You got in trouble for that?" Alexia had asked.
"Oh, constantly," the woman replied. "She left fingerprints everywhere."
"I did not."
"She totally did. But she was far too cute for us to stay angry."
You had hidden your face in your hands while the entire bakery laughed. Alexia, meanwhile, had looked positively delighted - storing every detail away with the cheerful thoroughness of someone collecting ammunition.
Rather than buying one or two things like any reasonable person, she'd insisted on ordering one of everything in the display case.
"Alexia," you'd laughed. "There are fifteen different kinds."
"I know."
"We're not going to finish all of those."
She'd simply accepted the enormous paper bag from the bewildered cashier and smiled at you. "You've had decades to figure out your favorite. Now it's my turn."
The two of you had carried the impossibly heavy bag across the street to a little park overlooking the neighborhood where you'd grown up, spending the next several hours on an old wooden bench splitting every pastry in half, ranking them with ridiculous seriousness, arguing over which deserved first place, and somehow talking until the sun had slipped entirely behind the rooftops.
Standing in your kitchen now, looking into the bag, you feel something press softly against the inside of your chest.
She remembered. Of course she remembered.
"Thank you, Ale," you say, and your voice comes out quieter than you intended. "Will you help me set these out for dessert?"
"Of course."
The two of you fall into the rhythm that has become so natural over the past two months that neither of you has to think about it anymore. You clear space on the kitchen island while Alexia opens boxes and transfers pastries onto serving plates. Somehow she always seems to know exactly what you need before you've asked for it - moving out of your way a half-second before you reach past her, handing you a dish cloth the moment you realize you need one, filling the silence between tasks with easy conversation about your plans together later in the week and a particularly baffling training exercise her coach had apparently inflicted on the squad that morning.
By the time the doorbell rings half an hour later, the nervous energy that had greeted you at the door has nearly entirely dissolved. When Alexia looks up from the counter at the sound, she actually jumps slightly, having momentarily forgotten there were even guests coming.
You disappear into the entryway and return a moment later with your parents and brothers, all of them carrying enough takeaway bags from your favorite sushi restaurant to comfortably feed twice the number of people currently standing in your kitchen. The noise level doubles within approximately four seconds of them crossing the threshold.
Alexia is already moving before anyone has fully stepped inside.
She reaches for several of the heavier bags your mother is carrying, relieving her of them with the quiet, instinctive kindness she extends to everyone, always. Your mother thanks her, but instead of simply accepting the help, she reaches up and cups Alexia’s cheek with unmistakable affection before pulling her into one of those warm, all-encompassing hugs that You watch Alexia freeze for half a second. Then you watch her melt.
When your mother finally releases her, there is a faint pinkness coloring Alexia's face that definitely wasn't there a moment ago, and she blinks once or twice as though recalibrating. Your mother simply pats her cheek with quiet satisfaction and moves past her toward the kitchen, already asking about the pastries she can see laid out on the island.
Your brothers are next.
Rather than offering anything as restrained as a handshake, Alexia greets each of them with the easy, confident clasp that turns naturally into one of those casual half-hugs athletes always seem to give each other. The whole interaction looks so unexpectedly effortless that you let out an undignified snort of laughter, earning yourself two offended looks from your brothers - though the grins beneath them suggest they're quietly impressed despite themselves.
Which leaves only one person.
You watch Alexia take the smallest, almost imperceptible breath before turning toward your father.
He's already looking at her with the warm, entirely genuine smile that has always made him seem younger than he is.
"Alexia," he says, as though the name itself is a welcome. "It's so good to finally meet you."
The emphasis on finally is accompanied by the briefest glance in your direction. You look at the ceiling.
Alexia steps forward and takes the hand he offers, her grip firm despite the nerves you know are still quietly present somewhere beneath the surface. "Thank you, sir. It's an honor."
"The honor's mine." He shakes her hand warmly, and then, because he cannot help himself, because retirement has given him nothing but time and your mother has given up trying to stop him: "I've been watching your season, you know. That Champions League match against Bayern a few weeks ago-" He shakes his head with the slow, genuine admiration of someone who has spent his entire life studying the game and still finds moments in it that surprise him. "Holy smokes."
Alexia blinks. Her brain visibly short-circuits.
Your father, blissfully unaware that he’s currently making one of the best players in the world look completely starstruck, continues without missing a beat.
“The movement before your opening goal was exceptional. Everyone will talk about the finish because that's what ends up in highlight reels. But your positioning thirty seconds earlier-" He gestures animatedly, clearly replaying it in precise detail somewhere behind his eyes. "You'd already won that battle before the ball ever reached your feet. That's the kind of thing most people watching will never notice."
He stops. Looks at Alexia. Then at the rest of the family, who are all watching him with varying degrees of patient amusement.
The sheepish smile arrives right on schedule. "I've started talking football, haven't I."
“A little,” your mother says dryly from somewhere behind a glass of water.
He laughs. “We'll save the rest for after dinner before everyone revolts.”
Alexia finally finds her voice again. “I’d… I’d really like that.”
There is something in the quiet sincerity of it that makes your father smile all over again, differently this time, like he's just confirmed something he already suspected. He doesn't look at you when he smiles. He doesn't need to.
Dinner begins the way every family dinner always has, with complete and utter chaos.
The moment everyone sits down, every plan dissolves into six people reaching across one another for chopsticks, containers opened simultaneously from four different directions, platters nudged around the table while someone loudly insists you simply have to try the one they've just put directly in front of themselves. Soy sauce travels in three directions at once. Someone steals food from someone else's plate before they've finished what's in front of them. Your brothers begin arguing over the last piece of tempura before either of them has actually finished what is already sitting in front of them. Your mother keeps quietly rolling her eyes as though this exact scene has been repeating itself for decades.
It is loud and completely unorganized and it feels, as it always has, like home.
Alexia slots into the middle of it as though she has been having dinner with your family for years rather than minutes.
She never dominates the conversation, but she never disappears into the background of it either. She laughs when one of your brothers says something ridiculous, which is often enough to keep her consistently entertained. She tells stories when the table turns naturally toward her, and she listens with such unhurried, genuine interest when someone else is speaking that it becomes impossible to imagine her sitting anywhere else.
Papa loves her immediately, you can see it happening in real time, which does absolutely nothing to help the sensation quietly expanding in the center of your chest.
Watching her fit this effortlessly into your world does something strange to you.
It feels right. Entirely, uncomplicatedly right, in a way that you have no framework for because nothing in your life has ever made you feel quite like this.
Which is precisely when your brothers decide to intervene.
“So,” the eldest begins, wearing the particular expression that has always signaled trouble for you.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Alexia looks between the two of you with amused interest. “What?”
“You know how she likes pretending she’s always been sophisticated?”
“I do not pretend!”
“Umm yes you do.”
Before you have any opportunity to mount a defense, the two of them launch into an enthusiastic joint retrospective of every humiliating story they can think of from the last twenty-eight years. The tree you had insisted you could climb despite all available evidence. The school play where you had confidently improvised an entirely new ending after forgetting your lines and then refused, for years afterward, to acknowledge this had happened. The spectacularly misguided attempt to impress a boy by riding your bicycle with no hands, which had ended with you sailing directly into a rose bush while the boy watched from a safe distance.
You groan louder with every story. Alexia is laughing so hard that tears begin gathering in the corners of her eyes, the kind of real, helpless laughter that she can't manage to keep quiet no matter how many apologetic looks she attempts to send in your direction between each new revelation.
Eventually the conversation drifts, as good conversations always do, finding its own natural current. Your mother turns toward Alexia with the same thoughtful, unhurried curiosity she has carried all evening.
"Tell me about your foundation," she says simply.
The transformation is immediate. Alexia's entire face changes.
You have seen that expression countless times before, usually sitting across from her at your kitchen table long after midnight while she excitedly sketched ideas across legal pads.
She speaks about the programs already running in Spain, then about the expansion into Mexico and Colombia and the different challenges each location had presented. She talks about what they're building toward next - the Dominican Republic, the partnerships she hopes to establish there, the specific communities she wants to reach and why. Her voice becomes more animated as she goes, her hands moving with the slightly unselfconscious expressiveness that only appears when she's talking about something she genuinely loves.
Your mother asks thoughtful questions, having her own experience with your father’s charity work. Alexia answers every one of them with unmistakable passion.
You find yourself smiling before you even realize you’re doing it.
This has always been your favorite part of her world.
Football itself has never really captured your attention, and Alexia knows that better than most. While she occasionally tells you about training sessions or particularly funny moments in the dressing room, the conversations the two of you return to most often are the ones that exist beyond the pitch. She tells you about the leadership challenges that come with captaining a team full of different personalities, about mentoring younger players who are experiencing the same pressures she once faced herself, and, more than anything else, about her foundation.
That is where her heart lives.
Over the past two months, the two of you have spent countless evenings sitting across from one another while she talked through ideas that she admitted she hadn’t shared with anyone else yet. She trusted you with the dreams she was almost afraid to say out loud, the frustrations that came with trying to grow something meaningful, and the quiet fears that accompanied every ambitious decision she made.
She brought you spreadsheets and funding proposals and expansion plans and asked you to find every flaw in them, which you did, ruthlessly and with genuine excitement, because making her ideas structurally stronger felt like the most useful thing you could possibly offer her. More than once you had disappeared so completelyinto an explanation of international liability frameworks or nonprofit governance structures that you'd only surfaced again when Alexia reached across the table and took your hand, watching you with a quiet smile that meant she'd been listening to every word.
You always make it better, she'd said once while lifting your hand briefly to her lips.
Now, watching her speak so passionately across your kitchen table, you can’t help feeling proud. You know how much of herself she has poured into every word she’s saying.
Without realizing it, your smile has softened into something your family has almost certainly never seen before.
Across the table, your father notices.
When your eyes meet his, he doesn't say anything. He simply raises one eyebrow and allows the smallest, most insufferably knowing smile to appear at the corner of his mouth before returning his attention to Alexia.
You look away immediately.
Unfortunately, you're fairly certain he already has everything he needs.
------
A few weeks later, you’re somehow still trapped in the strange limbo the two of you have created together.
You’re definitely not friends.
Friends don’t spend four or five nights a week together until one of you inevitably falls asleep in the other’s bed. Friends don’t become the first person the other calls after a good day, a terrible day, or anything remotely interesting in between. Friends don’t know the code to one another’s homes, keep spare toothbrushes in each other’s bathrooms, or casually wander into the kitchen to make breakfast while the other is still asleep.
Friends definitely don’t end most evenings the way you two do.
But girlfriends…
Girlfriends talk about what they are. Girlfriends ask difficult questions. Girlfriends define things, give them names, build something deliberate and acknowledged.
The two of you have somehow managed to skip that part entirely.
Neither of you seems willing to be the first to disturb whatever fragile balance you’ve accidentally built together. You spend so much time convincing yourself that asking the question might ruin everything that you never actually ask it. Some part of you is genuinely terrified that naming it will make it real enough to lose, that the conversation will introduce a pressure neither of you knows how to hold, and that one honest sentence spoken at the wrong moment might undo months of something you have no adequate word for.
Alexia carries a different fear. As far as she knows, your one unwavering rule still exists. She has heard you say it more than once, watched you wrestle with it the night you met, listened to you repeat it with complete sincerity even as everything between you quietly became something your rule was never designed to accommodate. And even now, even after everything, she assumes that some part of you still believes this can't possibly be permanent. That the woman who spent her entire adult life swearing off footballers couldn't really have meant to end up here, in this life, tangled up in hers.
So she doesn't ask either.
The result is an oddly peaceful sort of misery.
When you’re together, it never matters. The uncertainty seems to evaporate the moment one of you walks through the other’s front door, replaced by laughter, easy conversation, shared meals, and the quiet domestic routines you’ve established in only a few months.
It's when you're apart that the uncertainty begins creeping back in - arriving in the small hesitations, the half-second pauses before sending a message, the questions you begin composing in your head and then talk yourself out of before you've finished forming them.
You'll finish work and instinctively reach for your phone before wondering whether texting her too fast makes you seem too attached. She'll finish training and spend twenty minutes debating whether calling you would be interrupting your evening. Neither of you ever actually stops. But the hesitation is there, and it's growing.
Tonight feels different from the moment Alexia arrives.
At first you assume she's just tired after training - the season is deep into its most demanding stretch and you've learned to read the particular kind of exhaustion that lives in her body after hard weeks on the pitch. But as the evening stretches on, the feeling becomes impossible to explain away. She keeps drifting away halfway through her own sentences before catching herself several seconds later, her eyes going somewhere else for a moment, then returning to the room with a blink and a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. More than once you notice her staring blankly at the television without appearing to register what's happening on the screen. Every few minutes she wipes her palms against her sweatpants before folding her hands together again, only to pull them apart seconds later.
Something is bothering her. You just can't figure out what.
The two of you are sprawled across opposite ends of your couch, halfway through another episode of the crime drama you’ve become hopelessly addicted to together. Your legs are comfortably intertwined across the cushions, while Alexia absentmindedly massages the sole of one of your feet with slow, practiced movements.
She started doing it a few weeks ago after noticing you wince while taking off a pair of heels following a long networking event. Apparently she’d decided your sore feet were now her responsibility.
Usually, she’d be talking over half the episode. She has an endless supply of commentary about every character, confidently predicting plot twists that somehow always turn out to be correct while teasing you for inevitably believing the wrong suspects every single week.
Tonight there is nothing. The television plays on. Alexia just stares at the screen.
Eventually, you can’t ignore it any longer.
You reach for the remote and pause the episode mid-scene. The sudden silence seems to pull Alexia back into the room, though only physically. Her eyes remain fixed on the frozen television screen for another second before finally drifting toward you.
“Are you okay?” you ask quietly, your voice carrying more concern than you’d intended. “What’s going on?”
She blinks, almost as though she’d forgotten you were watching her too.
“It’s nothing…” she says with a small, unconvincing smile. “I’m okay. You can press play.”
You don’t move, you just continue looking at her.
The stubborn silence stretches between you, until she finally lets out a quiet breath through her nose and drops her gaze into her lap.
“I just…” she begins, only for the words to dissolve before they ever really arrive.
The silence that follows is unlike the comfortable ones the two of you usually share. It feels heavier, full of thoughts she’s clearly been carrying around for hours, maybe even days, without quite finding the courage to say them aloud.
You don’t rush her. You just wait, watching as she wipes her damp palms against her sweatpants again before intertwining her fingers together, only to pull them apart again a few seconds later. The nervous habit is so unlike her that it sends a quiet knot twisting through your stomach.
“I just wanted to ask you something.”
The uncertainty in her voice is enough to make your chest tighten. “What is it?”
She lets out a slow breath through her nose, her eyes fixed on the coffee table rather than on you. It’s obvious she’s rehearsed this conversation over and over again in her head, searching for the right words, only to discover there probably aren’t any.
“Well…” she says eventually, still avoiding your gaze. “You know we’ve got a really big match on Saturday.” You nod. “Against Madrid. At Camp Nou.”
“Yes, I know.”
For a brief moment you think she’s about to ask you something football-related, maybe whether you’d seen the funny tweet she’d sent you or whether you’d seen one of the interviews promoting the match.
Instead, she quietly asks, “I was wondering if… maybe you’d want to come.”
The words hang between you.
Before you have the chance to respond, she keeps going, speaking a little faster now, as though she’s afraid that if she stops she’ll lose the nerve to finish.
“It’s just…” She shrugs helplessly. “It’s a really important match for me, and… I don’t know…” A nervous laugh escapes her. “I just thought it’d be nice if you were there.”
Only then does she finally lift her eyes to yours.
“You could sit with Alba and the rest of my family.”
The smile she offers you is careful. Small and hopeful in a way that is too painful to look at.
“Ale…” The single word is enough. You watch her shoulders sink before you’ve even managed to finish the sentence.
“I’m just…” you hate yourself for hesitating. “I’m not sure.”
The disappointment crosses her face before she has a chance to hide it. She quickly smooths it away, but you’ve learned her expressions far too well over the last few months to miss it.
She turns back toward the paused television, blinking once before giving a tiny nod.
“No,” she says quietly. “It’s okay. I get it.”
The words are calm. Almost too calm. You can hear the effort it takes for her to make them sound that way.
You reach across the couch for her hand. Your fingers close gently around hers, your thumb slowly brushing across her knuckles until, after a moment’s hesitation, she allows your fingers to lace together.
“Alexia…” She doesn’t look at you. “Please… you have to understand where I’m coming from.”
“I know.”
“No.” Your voice is softer than before. “I don't think you do.”
That finally makes her turn her head.
The hurt in her eyes is so open, so completely unguarded, that it nearly steals the rest of your sentence before you’ve had the chance to say it.
You look down at your joined hands instead.
“Football…” you begin quietly, struggling to explain something you've spent your entire life trying to make sense of yourself, and trying not to make it sound like an accusation against the thing she has devoted her entire life to. “Football has taken so much from me that I honestly don’t know how to separate it anymore.”
Your thumb continues tracing subconscious circles across the back of her hand.
“I spent my childhood measuring my life around fixtures and transfer windows and press conferences. Birthdays got moved because of matches. Vacations got interrupted because somebody wanted to negotiate a contract. Every time I heard the front door open, some part of me wondered if Papa was actually home for the evening or if he’d just forgotten something before leaving again.”
You swallow.
“And every time I hear sixty thousand people cheering inside a stadium…” Your voice becomes almost painfully quiet. “…some part of me is still that little girl sitting in the stands wondering why football always seemed to need him more than I did.”
The words settle heavily between you.
“I know that isn’t fair to you.”
“It isn’t,” she whispers.
You squeeze her hand a little tighter. “I wish it weren’t true.”
She finally meets your eyes again.
“But sitting through ninety minutes…” You shake your head helplessly. “I think I’d be miserable, Ale. Not because it’s you.” Your voice grows more certain. “Never because it’s you.”
She says nothing.
“I’ll celebrate with you afterward.” She doesn’t answer. “I’ll make your favorite dinner. Win or lose.”
Her expression doesn’t change.
“You can come here after the match, tell me absolutely everything that happened, complain about the referee if you need to.” You smile weakly. “Which you definitely won’t because you’re gonna win.”
A tiny flicker appears at the corner of her mouth. Encouraged, you continue.
“And when you do, you can make me sit through every single replay of your goals while explaining exactly why everyone else’s positioning was wrong.”
For the briefest moment, something almost surfaces. Then it retreats.
“How about that?”
Alexia lowers her eyes once more. “Yeah…” The word is barely louder than a breath. “I guess so.”
She isn't agreeing because you've made her feel better. She's agreeing because she cares about you enough not to keep asking for something she already understands you can't give her. Somehow that quiet act of acceptance hurts infinitely more than an argument would have.
The atmosphere in the apartment shifts so subtly that, at first, you convince yourself you’ve imagined it.
Nothing has physically changed. The television remains paused on the same frozen frame, your legs are still tangled together on the couch, and your hands remain loosely intertwined where they have been for the last several minutes. Yet the warmth that had filled your apartment only moments ago has quietly drained away, replaced by a silence that neither of you seems to know how to navigate.
You try. God, you really try.
You tell her about the ridiculous argument currently unfolding between your brothers over where to go on vacation this year. You tell her about your mother’s latest attempt to convince your father to finally throw away sweaters he’s owned since the nineties. You even dramatically reenact a particularly insufferable interaction with one of the partners at work that would normally have Alexia laughing before you’d reached the punchline.
Tonight she smiles when she’s supposed to smile. She nods at exactly the right moments. She even lets out one or two polite little laughs that sound more like habit than genuine reactions. But her heart never quite finds its way back into the room.
You can feel it. She is sitting beside you and still is not entirely there.
Nearly ten minutes pass like that before she suddenly stretches, the movement slightly too deliberate.
"Well…" She rises slowly from the couch. "It's getting kind of late." Your stomach drops before she's even finished the sentence. "I should probably head home."
“Ale…” She keeps her eyes fixed on the arm of the couch as she reaches for her jacket. “Please.”
Your own voice has grown quieter without meaning to. “Can we just talk about this?”
I'm not upset."
"You are."
"I'm really not."
A short, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. "Okay." You rub a hand across your face. "Then you're disappointed." She doesn't answer. "And honestly that's worse."
For the first time since standing up, Alexia goes completely still. Her back remains partly turned toward you.
“I can’t help how I feel.” The sentence is spoken so simply that it strips away every carefully constructed argument you’d been preparing in your head.
“I know,” you answer quickly, taking a few steps toward her. “I know that.”
Your own emotions are beginning to rise now despite every effort you’ve made to stay calm.
“But I can’t help how I feel either.”
She closes her eyes for the briefest moment, drawing in one slow, measured breath as though she’s trying to gather enough composure to get through the next few minutes without falling apart. When she opens them again, there is a quiet resignation behind them that hadn’t been there before, and without another word she finishes pulling on her jacket, smoothing the sleeves with hands that still haven’t completely stopped trembling.
“Alexia…”
Your voice catches just enough that both of you hear it.
She freezes. Her hand rests on the zipper of her jacket, her back still partly turned, but she doesn't take another step toward the door.
For several long seconds, neither of you speaks.
The silence fills the apartment with everything the two of you have been carefully avoiding for weeks. Every unasked question, every conversation that got close and then swerved, every moment you both chose the comfort of not knowing over the risk of finding out.
Then, without turning around, she asks so quietly that you almost don’t hear it.
“What the hell are we even doing?”
The words hit you with enough force that your stomach drops straight through the floor. “What…?”
She turns to face you.
There are tears shimmering in her eyes now, making the hazel seem impossibly bright beneath the warm light of your apartment. She blinks rapidly, refusing to let them fall, and in that effort you see the full cost of how carefully she has been holding herself together all evening.
You have seen Alexia exhausted. You have seen her frustrated after difficult days. You have never seen her look this uncertain.
“I’m just…” A small, broken laugh escapes her. She shakes her head at herself, exasperated. Then the laugh fades. “I’m confused all the time.”
The words come more freely now, as though the first crack was the only thing that needed to give way.
Your chest tightens so sharply it hurts. “Alexia…”
“You say we’re not together.”
“I never said-”
“You won’t come to my biggest match.”
“It’s not about-”
"But then…" She gestures helplessly between the two of you, her eyes searching your face as though she's hoping you'll offer her something she can hold onto. "Then you look at me the way you do. You kiss me. You hold my hand. You introduced me to your family." Her voice drops, just slightly. “And every single time I think… okay maybe I finally understand what this is,” She stops, swallowing hard. “…something happens that makes me realize maybe I don’t.”
The room feels impossibly small. You step toward her instinctively. “Of course I care about you.”
She doesn’t answer.
“Alexia…” You shake your head, your own frustration beginning to mix with panic. “Me not going to one football match doesn’t suddenly mean I don’t care about you. That’s not fair.”
“It isn’t even about the stupid match,” she mutters with exasperation.
She shakes her head, stopping herself from saying more. She takes another slow breath before forcing herself to look back at you. “I should go.”
“Ale, please!”
You reach for her hand automatically. She lets you take it, doesn’t pull away. But for the first time since you’ve known her she doesn’t squeeze back. The absence of that tiny, familiar gesture somehow hurts more than if she had walked away entirely.
“We should talk about this!”
Alexia’s expression softens in a way that only makes everything hurt even more.
“I know.” Her voice is barely above a whisper now, stripped of all the certainty that usually defines her.
“It’s just…” She glances toward the clock hanging above your kitchen, as if time itself has suddenly become the villain in this conversation. “It’s late.”
Neither of you acknowledges how pathetic that excuse sounds. You both know that if this were really just about the time, neither of you would sleep anyway.
“And I’ve got a huge match this weekend.”
The sentence lands between you with devastating finality.
Football. Always football.
It has been woven through every important moment of your life for as long as you can remember, demanding sacrifices before you were old enough to understand why they were necessary.
You had spent years convincing yourself that you had finally escaped it. Then you met Alexia.
She takes a slow, careful breath, forcing herself to keep moving before she changes her mind. “Maybe…” she says quietly. The word catches somewhere in her throat. “Maybe we can hang out on Sunday.”
She tries to smile. It doesn’t reach her eyes.
“We’ll talk then. Okay?”
Something inside your chest quietly gives way. It’s a slow, painful collapse, like the final support beam giving out beneath a building that had already been cracking for far too long.
Because all you hear isn’t Sunday. All you hear is after football.
Again football comes first. Football decides when difficult conversations happen. Football decides when she has to leave. Football standing between you and the woman in front of you, who looks as heartbroken as you feel, because football has decided that tonight isn't the night either of you gets to fix this.
Rationally, you know that isn't what's happening. Alexia isn't choosing football over you. She has a squad depending on her, a stadium that will be full on Saturday, responsibilities that existed long before you did and will exist long after this conversation. You know all of that.
But grief isn't rational. And the frightened little girl who still lives somewhere in your chest - the one who learned too young not to ask if Papa was coming home because the answer always depended on a fixture - doesn't understand Champions League schedules. She only knows that once again, football is asking someone she loves to walk away from her.
And once again, it wins.
Your throat tightens until speaking feels impossible. You force yourself to smile anyway.
“Yeah…” The word comes out small, almost childlike. “Okay.”
Alexia studies your face for a long moment, like she’s trying to memorize it. Then she steps forward one last time.
She cups your cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes you on the spot before leaning in to press the gentlest kiss against your skin. It lingers for only a heartbeat, carrying everything neither of you has managed to say tonight, before she slowly lets her hand fall away.
“I’ll call you,” she whispers.
You nod, because you no longer trust your voice to carry anything worth saying.
She offers you one final smile before she turns.
You watch her cross your apartment. Watch her reach for the handle. Watch her hesitate for the smallest fraction of a second, it's like some part of her is silently begging you to stop her, to change your mind, to stop being stubborn.
You don’t.
The door closes behind her with a quiet click that seems far too small a sound for the size of what it leaves behind. Silence rushes in immediately, filling every corner of the apartment, and you stand perfectly still in the middle of it, staring at the closed door, willing it to open.
It doesn’t.
The apartment feels enormous without her in it. Too quiet. The couch still holds the impression of where she was sitting. Her half-empty glass of water remains on the coffee table beside yours.
Your chest begins to ache with an almost physical weight as every memory crashes into you at once. Sitting alone in school auditoriums while someone else's father occupied the seat beside your mother. Standing at the front window because Papa had promised he'd be home for dinner. Learning, somewhere between Munich and Manchester, to stop hoping out loud because hope was just disappointment with better timing.
You had promised yourself, in the quiet determined way of someone who has been hurt enough to mean it, that football would never again have the power to take someone you loved away from you. You had built your life around that promise. You made it your only rule. You held it for years without wavering.
You were so careful. So unbelievably careful. And somehow football had found you anyway.
Your knees finally give out beneath you.
You slide helplessly down the wall until you're sitting on the kitchen floor, back pressed against the cabinet doors, hands trembling in your lap while you stare at the front door through blurred vision and try to convince yourself you're overreacting.
Then the first sob tears itself out of your chest. It is harsh and completely uncontrollable.
Another follows before you’ve recovered from the first, then another after that, until your entire body folds in on itself and you wrap your arms tightly around your knees, crying with the kind of grief that has been building for years rather than hours.
You should have stuck with your fucking rule.
------
Author's Note: Heyyyy so I'm sorry about the angst there at the end... but so many happy moments before that right 😅 And more happy moments to come, I promise :) I love you guys so much and am so grateful for all the love this story has received!
Summary: Champions of Europe deserve a celebration. Especially Alexia. Good thing the night is only just beginning…
Word count: 18,106
Pairing: Alexia x Reader
Warnings: lots of fun, and smut - fingering (r receiving) oral (r receiving) squirting (r experiencing) face riding (Alexia receiving), soft dom Alexia with use of safe colours. Nothing crazy.
For main story: MASTERLIST
For other parts in this minific: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
A/n: This is final part of the minific, except there’s a bonus one to follow this, so maybe not really…? This was a lot of fun to write, I hope you enjoy 😊 see end for more notes
———————————————————————————————————————
As you stepped through the doors to the club, everything hit you all at once. The lights. The music. The movement of bodies around you. The smell of drinks, happiness, and victory. You couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips.
Once you’d made your way out of the stadium, lingering for a little while amongst the joy and the fans, you went straight for cocktails. The ones you’d promised Alba. Not that you’d really had much choice. She’d dragged you and Eli exactly where she wanted to go, not entirely sure whether she’d researched the place beforehand or not. It didn’t really matter though. It wasn’t far, and there were already people in football shirts inside, clearly having had the same idea.
You’d found a table by the window, giving you the perfect view of people still lingering outside as they walked by. The evening had a soft glow to it, the sun just beginning to set. The place was nice. A cosy, modern feel with a good menu. And soon enough, the table was covered with delicious food and cocktails. You’d also ordered a jug of water, because you knew that even celebrations needed a little responsibility.
The smiles hadn’t left any of your faces as you all retold the events of the game, showing each other the pictures you’d taken and replaying your favourite moments. You’d replied to all of your texts, sending the pictures and videos you’d promised to Emily. Maggie had sent a video of the girls cheering after Alexia’s goal. Olive running around wildly. Emily pumping her fists, eyes glistening as she watched.
It reminded you, once again, of your favourite part of all of this. The joy it brought people. And even more so when it was your niece, who cared so much about this. The team. Alexia. Her hero.
You shook your head, your own eyes stinging again. You were still in disbelief that any of it had happened. You’d shown the video to Eli and Alba. Alba had laughed, while Eli smiled so fondly your heart ached with warmth. You sent it to Alexia too, knowing she’d see it eventually.
Afterwards, you all went back to the hotel for a moment of quiet and to change into something a little less sweaty and a little more appropriate for evening celebrations. You’d opted for a berry-red silk vest top and a black skirt. Not too short… but short enough. It was a celebration after all, and the cocktails had given you a little extra confidence. Not that you were drunk, just happy. You weren’t foolish enough to wear heels though, so you slipped on your sneakers instead. A nice black pair that went surprisingly well with the outfit.
The three of you hopped into a taxi, taking you to the venue the club had hired for the team. It was big enough for everyone, family, friends, staff. Everyone was there.
Turns out, it didn’t really matter what you wore anyway, because as soon as you stepped inside, someone handed you a navy blue shirt proudly declaring Barcelona champions. You slipped it over your top with a laugh, Alba and Eli doing the same.
And now you weave through the crowd, recognising many of the faces around you as other family members and friends who had been sitting nearby at the stadium. Even Luis is here, still surveying the room. He’s always on the clock. You’re sure he’s having fun, though.
“Do you think they’re here yet?” you ask, leaning closer so they can hear you over the music. Alba shrugs while Eli scans the room. You can’t spot any of the team, but then again, they could be anywhere. There are more than enough people here for them to blend in. You rise onto your tiptoes, trying to get a better view. It doesn’t help.
Your question is answered a second later anyway. Warm hands slip around your waist from behind, gently pulling you back against a familiar body. You jolt, only for a moment, a small laugh escaping you. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“You’re here,” she murmurs, her breath brushing your ear. You smile as you turn in her arms, your hands settling on her shoulders. You notice she’s wearing the same shirt you’ve just been given. In fact, everyone is.
“Where else would I be?”
A smirk tugs at her lips. “Maybe distracted by another ecological wonder Oslo has to offer.”
You lift an eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me. I saw a really beautiful little green space on the way here.”
Alexia’s smile widens. “A green space?”
“It looked very peaceful.”
“You were tempted to abandon me for a park?”
“It was pretty.”
“Prettier than me?”
You pause, pretending to think. “Hard to say.”
Alexia shakes her head, laughing. Then she leans in and kisses you. Soft. Familiar. And for a moment, everything else disappears. Her lips are finally on yours after three days apart and only a handful of stolen moments together after the final. Relief unfurls through your chest, so sudden and complete it feels like breathing properly for the first time all day. Like you can finally stop pretending you don’t want to reach for her every second.
The kiss lingers. Long enough to taste the champagne on her lips. Long enough to feel her smile against yours. You almost forget where you are.
Almost.
Then you remember Eli and Alba are standing right beside you. You pull back just enough to look at her, cheeks warming as awareness finally catches up with you. Alexia looks entirely unbothered. You slip an arm around her waist, still reluctant to let her go, and she responds by draping hers across your shoulders and pulling you closer until your sides are pressed together.
Alba is already smirking. “Is the bar free?”
“Obviously,” Alexia replies. “They knew you were coming.”
Alba laughs. “Good. Someone around here has their priorities straight.”
She heads for the bar immediately. Alexia watches her go before her gaze returns to yours with a teasing smile. “Did you enjoy your cocktails?”
You nod. “Sí. Your mamí and I were responsible enough to only have two. We wanted to actually make it here.”
Eli laughs. Glancing towards Alba, who’s already deep in conversation with the bartender, she shakes her head.
“Let’s hope we all make it out,” she says.
That earns a laugh from all of you.
“Come on,” Alexia says, threading her fingers through yours. “Let’s find a table.”
She leads you and Eli over to the seating area, where people are already gathered around low tables and sofas. You sit down, Eli taking the seat opposite.
“I’ll go help Alba,” Alexia says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before heading towards the bar.
You watch her weave through the crowd until she reaches Alba, immediately poking her in the ribs and earning an exaggerated look of offence in return. A smile tugs at your lips. There’s a brightness to her tonight that you haven’t seen in a while. The tension that usually lives in the set of her shoulders has eased, replaced by something lighter. Contentment. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s finally winning. Maybe it’s both.
Either way, you’re happy to see it. She deserves a night where she has nothing to worry about. She’s a champion, after all. Your gaze returns to Eli.
“This is nice,” you say, glancing around the room. “I thought it might be a bit more chaotic.”
“Sí,” Eli agrees. “Not too loud. Not too crazy.” A knowing smile appears on her face. “They save that for later.”
You laugh. Looking around, it’s easy to see what she means. Cata and Claudia are already on the dance floor. Salma and Kika are doubled over laughing about something at the bar. Across the room, a group of players are gathered around a table, talking over one another and bursting into laughter every few seconds. The whole place hums with celebration. Not the wild kind. Not yet. Just the warm glow of people enjoying a moment they’ve worked incredibly hard for.
“Mis amores!” Mapi’s voice cuts through the music before you see her.
You look up to find her approaching the table, a tall woman with brunette hair at her side. You immediately get to your feet.
“Congratulations, Mapi,” you say with a bright smile, pulling her into a quick hug. “You were amazing.”
She shrugs, a smirk already tugging at her lips. “Sí. Just another day at the office.”
You laugh. “Of course.”
Mapi grins before turning towards Eli, who is already getting to her feet to hug her. When she steps back, Mapi gestures towards the woman beside her. “Y/n, I want you to meet my better half, Ingrid.”
Ingrid smiles warmly. You return it instantly, stepping forward to give her a light hug.
“It’s really lovely to meet you,” you say as you pull back. “And I can absolutely believe you’re the better half.”
“Hey,” Mapi protests, only sounding a little offended. But the way she lovingly looks at Ingrid suggests she has nothing to protest about.
“It’s lovely to meet you too,” Ingrid says with a laugh. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
Your eyebrows lift. “You have?”
“Oh, yes.” The amusement dancing in her eyes deepens. “Honestly, Mapi hasn’t stopped talking about the girl who’s stolen Alexia’s heart.”
Heat creeps into your cheeks.
“Well,” Mapi says with a shrug, “I still can’t believe it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alexia this whipped before.”
“Who’s whipped?”
You don’t even need to turn around. Alexia has returned, somehow carrying an impressive number of champagne flutes between her fingers while Alba follows behind with two ice buckets balanced against her chest.
“You,” Mapi answers immediately.
Alexia stops beside the table and stares at her. “You’re one to talk.”
Mapi places a hand over her chest. “Excuse me?”
“We all know more about Ingrid than Ingrid knows about herself.”
You bite down on a smile. Ingrid leans closer.
“They’re always like this,” she murmurs. “Always trying to outdo each other.”
You chuckle. “I can believe that.”
Neither Alexia nor Mapi seem to hear you, they’re too busy glaring at each other. Alba rolls her eyes and rescues the glasses from Alexia before someone inevitably drops one. She starts pouring champagne, spilling a little as she goes.
“Gracias,” you say as she hands you a flute.
Alexia immediately looks around.
“Wait. Where’s ours?”
“You were too busy catfighting,” she says, handing one to Eli and Ingrid.
Mapi gasps while Alexia looks offended, before rolling her eyes and grabbing the bottle and pouring herself and Mapi a glass.
Mapi accepts hers with a grin. “Let’s make a toast.” She waits until everyone has settled before lifting her glass. “To Barça. The best team in the world.”
Alexia snorts. “That’s all you could come up with?”
“Oh, excuse me, Capi.” Mapi gestures grandly with her glass. “If you can do better, be my guest.”
Alexia opens her mouth, pauses, then closes it again.
“Ha!” Mapi pokes her in the ribs. “Now who’s unoriginal?”
“Shut up.” Alexia shakes her head before finally lifting her glass.
“To us,” she says. The table quiets slightly. “For believing. For fighting. And for proving that we belong here.”
The smile that follows is small but proud.
“The Champions of Europe.”
Mapi rolls her eyes, though she’s smiling too.
You all raise your glasses. The soft clink echoes around the table before champagne follows. Conversation immediately starts up again, voices blending with the music and laughter filling the room. Across the table, Alexia catches your eye. The corner of her mouth lifts. A smile meant only for you. Warm. Familiar. Promising.
And suddenly, you’re very glad the night is far from over.
———————————
You’re on the dance floor, trapped between Kika and Patri as they take turns spinning you around. Laughter escapes you as Kika sends you directly into Patri’s waiting hands. The night has steadily drifted towards the loud and chaotic celebration Eli warned you about. The music is louder now. The dance floor fuller.
Cata and Claudia are somehow still dancing beside you, which is impressive even by professional footballer standards. The younger players, or the kids, as Alexia affectionately calls them, aren’t far behind, singing along to songs they only seem to know half the words to.
You hadn’t intended to end up here. Unfortunately, Alexia’s teammates had other ideas. At some point they’d collectively decided that sitting at the table was no longer an option and practically dragged you onto the dance floor. Not that you’re complaining. Across the room, Alexia is still sitting with Eli. Marta and Caro have joined them, the four of them deep in conversation.
You have absolutely no idea where Alba is. Which probably means she’s having the time of her life.
“Be honest, Y/n,” Patri says over the music. “Who’s your favourite player on the team?”
“And you can’t say Alexia,” Kika adds immediately.
You laugh. “How could I possibly choose? That’s like asking someone to pick their favourite child.”
“Everyone has a favourite child,” Kika says.
You shake your head. “I like everyone equally.”
“Bullshit,” Cata says. “It’s obviously me.”
“No, it’s me,” Clara argues. “I’m the favourite child.”
Vicky gasps. “Excuse me? I am.”
The debate escalates instantly. You glance between them, trying and failing not to laugh.
“I bet it’s Aitana,” Claudia says knowingly. “It’s always Aitana.”
You laugh, holding your hands up in surrender.
“I only have one favourite,” you admit. “And apparently I’m not allowed to say her.”
A chorus of boos erupts around you.
“Boring,” Kika declares. “If this is what love does to people, I want no part of it.”
“Kika,” Salma says dryly, “you’re literally the most loving person here.”
Kika considers this for a moment before shrugging. “Yeah. Fair.”
You laugh as the argument continues around you, everyone talking over each other as they try to prove why they should be the favourite.
Then a microphone squeals.
“Uno, dos. Uno, dos.”
The music cuts out, and conversations begin to fade as heads turn towards the small stage set up beside the DJ booth. You follow their gaze. And you’re not remotely surprised to find Mapi standing there.
“Hola, everyone!” she announces cheerfully.
A handful of teammates immediately boo. Most people cheer. Mapi flips off the booers without missing a beat, and the cheers only get louder.
“Welcome to our celebration of being Champions of Europe!”
The room erupts.
“That’s right!” Mapi continues. “We’ve spent this entire season playing our hearts out, and not only did we win the Champions League…”
She pauses dramatically. “We won everything.”
Another roar.
“The league. The Copa de la Reina. The Supercopa. The Champions League.”
Each trophy gets its own cheer.
“Because we’re the best team in the world!”
The loudest reaction yet follows. A Barça chant immediately starts somewhere near the back of the room and spreads like wildfire.
“Vale, vale,” Mapi laughs, waving her hand for quiet. “We know it wasn’t easy. But we did it.”
The noise gradually settles. “And honestly, it wasn’t just because we’re ridiculously talented.”
Several people snort. “Or incredibly attractive.”
More laughter. Mapi places a hand over her heart.
“Or because I carried the entire team on my back.”
The room groans.
“Mapi!”
“Get off the stage!”
She grins. “My point is, none of this happens without one person leading us there.”
Something warm settles in your chest. Your gaze instinctively finds Alexia across the room. She’s already shaking her head, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. The smile she’s trying, and failing, to hide only makes it worse.
“Oh no,” Ingrid murmurs somewhere beside you. “She’s going to hate this.”
“She really is,” you agree with a chuckle.
Mapi points dramatically into the crowd. “She is going to murder me for this.”
Alexia covers her face with one hand.
“But I don’t care.”
The room erupts in laughter. “So please welcome our leader, our capitana, our friend…”
Mapi stretches the moment out for as long as possible.
“Alexiaaaaa Putellassssss!”
The reaction is immediate, the room practically explodes in cheers, whistles, applause. A chant of “Alexia! Alexia! Alexia!” begins almost instantly. Alexia drops her head into her hands. You can’t stop laughing.
She makes absolutely no effort to stand, which lasts all of three seconds, because Cata and Claudia appear from nowhere, hauling her to her feet. The chant only gets louder. Laughing despite herself, she finally gives in and starts making her way towards the stage.
You cheer with everyone else. As she passes, her eyes find yours. Warm. Fond. Embarrassed. She reaches out and gives your hip a quick squeeze.
“I hate them,” she mutters as she walks by.
“You love them,” you correct with a teasing grin.
Alexia sighs, and unfortunately for her, the smile tugging at her lips gives her away completely. She steps up onto the stage and Mapi immediately throws her arms around her. The room erupts into cheers. Alexia rolls her eyes, trying to look unimpressed, but she hugs her back anyway.
“Te quiero también,” Mapi announces loudly into the microphone.
Laughter ripples through the room.
“Get off,” Alexia mutters, shoving her away.
Mapi only grins and hands over the microphone. Alexia takes it with a sigh, rubbing a hand across her forehead. The cheering continues.
“Vale, vale,” she says, laughing despite herself. “Calma.”
It takes a few more seconds before the noise finally settles.
“Wow.”
A few whistles ring out. Alexia points towards the crowd. “No.”
The room laughs again. You can’t help smiling. For all her confidence on the pitch, she’s never quite known what to do with this much attention.
Alexia shakes her head. “Okay. I’m not really sure where to start.”
The small, embarrassed laugh that follows earns another round of cheers.
“First of all… thank you.”
The room quiets.
“This season wasn’t easy. There were moments when people doubted us. Moments when they thought we couldn’t do it again.”
Her gaze moves across the room.
“But we believed in each other.”
A murmur of agreement follows.
“We kept working. We kept fighting. And because of that, we’re standing here tonight with every trophy we could possibly win.”
The cheer that follows is immediate. Alexia waits for it to die down, a proud smile tugging at her lips.
“But this isn’t just about the players.”
Her hand gestures towards the room.
“The coaches. The physios. The medical staff. The analysts. The caterers. The admin staff. Every single person who helps this team behind the scenes.”
Applause spreads through the room.
“This belongs to you too.”
The applause grows louder. Alexia lets it wash over them before continuing.
“And our families. Our friends.”
Something in her expression softens.
“The people who are there for the good days and the bad ones.”
Your breath catches slightly.
“The people who see the sides of us nobody else does.”
Her eyes find yours.
“The people who pick up the pieces when things don’t go our way and somehow still love us afterwards.”
Warmth blooms in your chest. For a moment, it feels like she’s speaking directly to you.
“We wouldn’t be who we are without you.”
The room is silent now.
“So thank you.”
A few people are already wiping at their eyes. Alexia notices and immediately points at them.
“Don’t do that.”
Laughter breaks the moment. She shakes her head.
“Seriously. Thank you.”
Then she lifts the microphone one final time.
“Now let’s celebrate like the champions we are.”
The room cheers.
“We earned this.”
Another roar. Alexia raises her fist.
“Visca el Barça i visca Catalunya!”
The room erupts, the response practically shaking the room. Music crashes back through the speakers, the dance floor immediately coming back to life. Alexia barely makes it off the stage before people swarm her. Hands on her shoulders, her back, her arms, pulling her into hugs and congratulations. You watch her laugh as she’s swept into the crowd, surrounded by teammates, staff, friends and family.
And looking at her now, smiling so brightly it reaches her eyes, it’s impossible not to think the same thing as everyone else in the room. They couldn’t have asked for a better captain.
She weaves back through the crowd, finally stopping in front of you. She’s smiling so widely her cheeks must hurt, though you can still see the lingering embarrassment in her eyes. You reach out and squeeze her shoulder.
“Just when I thought there was nothing you couldn’t do,” you tease over the music, “you go and deliver a speech to end all speeches.”
Alexia laughs, shaking her head. You poke her lightly in the chest. “Don’t ever tell me you’re not perfect.”
She watches you for a moment, eyes dancing across your face. “I’m not.”
You hum thoughtfully. “Still no evidence to support that claim.”
A faint blush colours her cheeks.
“Seriously,” you add, your voice gentler now. “That was amazing. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”
“That was very embarrassing.”
“Maybe,” you say with a smile. “But you still did it. A few hours after winning the Champions League, no less. I’d say that’s pretty impressive.”
Alexia’s eyes brighten, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “You want to know how I got through it?”
You nod.
She leans closer, breath warm against your ear. “I just pictured you naked.”
Your jaw drops. “Alexia!”
A laugh bursts from you as you try to poke her side, but she catches your wrist before you can, and in one smooth movement, she pulls you against her. You meet her gaze and the smirk on her face is impossible to resist. You close the distance first, your lips meeting as her hands settle on your waist. For a moment, everything else disappears. The music, the voices, the crowd.
Then—
“¡Vamos, Capi!”
“Get a room!”
“Finally!”
You break apart laughing.
Alexia groans. “Idiotas.”
She doesn’t get the chance to say anything else. Cata suddenly appears, grabs her wrist, and starts dragging her back towards the dance floor.
“Absolutely not,” Alexia protests.
“Absolutely yes,” Cata replies.
Within seconds, she’s swallowed by a sea of teammates. Someone thrusts a bottle of champagne into her hand. Someone else throws an arm around her shoulders. Mapi is already shouting something from across the room.
Alexia catches your eye over the heads of the crowd, rolling her eyes. Laughing. Happy.
You smile as she disappears back into the chaos. The music pounds through the room, the champagne still flowing, voices rising above one another. And surrounded by the people she loves most in the world, Alexia finally lets herself celebrate.
Tonight, that’s all that matters.
———————————
Eventually you free yourself from the chaos of the dance floor, looking back towards the seating area. Eli, Irene and her wife are deep in conversation. Your gaze drifts elsewhere and lands on Aitana, sitting slightly apart from the crowd with a drink in her hand. You don’t know her particularly well, but from meeting her at Cata’s birthday, you’d quickly realised something. As much as she enjoys the celebrations, she values the quieter moments too. Much like you.
Before you can think too hard about it, you’re already heading in her direction. She looks up as you approach.
“Hola, Y/n.”
“Hola.”
A soft smile appears on her face. “How are you?”
“Good.” You gesture towards the empty seat beside her. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” she says with a smile.
You settle into the chair beside her. For a while neither of you says anything. The music pulses through the room. Laughter rises from the dance floor. Somewhere across the room, Mapi is loudly arguing with someone about something. It’s comfortable.
You glance at Aitana. “Congratulations, by the way. That assist for the third goal was brilliant.”
Aitana immediately shakes her head, looking a little shy. “I knew Alexia would score it.”
You laugh. “She still needed the pass.”
“Maybe,” she says with a shrug.
You smile. She’s almost as bad as Alexia when it comes to accepting compliments. Aitana takes another sip of her drink and looks towards the dance floor.
“I’ve never really been good at this part.”
You follow her gaze. “The celebrations?”
She nods. “I love them. I love seeing everyone happy.”
A smile touches her lips as she watches Cata attempt a dance move that looks medically inadvisable.
“But I like this too.”
“The quiet?”
“Sí.”
You smile. “I know what you mean.”
Aitana glances at you. “You do?”
“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “The dance floor was starting to feel a little overwhelming.”
That earns a laugh. “Exactly.”
The two of you sit in companionable silence for a moment. Then Aitana speaks again.
“I think that’s why nights like this are important.”
You look at her. “Why?”
She lifts one shoulder. “Because most of the time people only see the football.”
Your gaze follows hers.
“The matches. The goals. The trophies.” She swirls her drink thoughtfully. “They don’t see everything else.”
You nod. “The pressure?”
Aitana’s smile is small. “The pressure.”
For a moment, neither of you says anything because you both know exactly what she means.
“I get some of it,” Aitana continues. “We all do.”
Her gaze drifts towards the dance floor. “But Alexia…”
She trails off. You glance over, watching as Alexia is currently being forced into some sort of dance circle by Cata, Patri and Mapi.
“It’s different for her,” Aitana says quietly.
“Because she’s captain?” you ask softly.
“Because she’s Alexia.”
The answer comes instantly. Aitana takes another sip of her drink.
“People expect things from her all the time. To lead. To perform. To have the answers.”
You look back towards Alexia.
Aitana’s expression softens. “When we lose, she carries it.”
Your chest tightens slightly.
“When we win, she gives the credit to everyone else.”
A fond smile appears on your face, knowing that all to well.
“That sounds like her.”
“It is her.”
Across the room, Alexia finally escapes the dance circle, but it lasts approximately three seconds before Mapi drags her straight back in. You and Aitana both laugh.
“She’ll never stop carrying those expectations,” she says. “That’s just who she is.”
You nod. You know exactly what she means. You’ve seen it. The late nights. The overthinking. The way she always expects more from herself, even after achieving things most people only dream about.
“I don’t know how she does it,” you murmur. “I can’t even begin to imagine what that must feel like.”
You return your gaze to Aitana. “And you.”
Aitana lets out a quiet laugh. “Maybe.”
She shrugs lightly. “Alexia gets most of it, but I understand some of it too.”
Her gaze drifts back towards the dance floor.
“I think that’s why we’ve always been able to lean on each other.” A small smile appears on her face. “We know what it feels like.”
You follow her gaze to Alexia.
“The expectations. The pressure. The responsibility. Everyone always expecting more.” She pauses. “So we support each other.”
Something warm settles in your chest. Aitana and Alexia. Two people carrying more than most ever see.
“We’ll always support each other,” she says softly.
For a moment, she watches Alexia laughing with her teammates. Then her smile grows.
“But lately,” she says, “she’s been better at putting some of that down.”
You look at her. She’s still watching Alexia.
“She’s happier.”
The words are simple, as though they’re something she’s noticed over time. Across the room, Alexia laughs at something Patri says. A real laugh. The kind that reaches her eyes.
Aitana smiles into her drink. “I haven’t seen that as often as I do now.”
Without looking away from the dance floor, she says quietly, “I think it’s because she finally has someone she trusts enough to share the weight with.”
For a moment, you don’t know what to say. Part of you still struggles to believe that you could have that kind of effect on someone like Alexia.
Across the room, Alexia catches your eye. Even from a distance, her face immediately brightens. Like finding you in a crowded room is the easiest thing in the world.
Your lips curve into a smile, warmth blooming in your chest. And watching her now, surrounded by teammates, family, friends, and somehow still finding her way back to you, you think Aitana might be right.
Before you can say anything, Ewa and Caro appear beside your table.
“Hola, Y/n,” Ewa says. “It’s good to see you again.”
You get to your feet to hug them both.
“You too. And congratulations. Your goal was incredible.”
“Thank you,” Ewa says with a soft smile. “It’s been a long time coming.”
“If anyone deserves it, it’s Ewa,” Caro says, slipping an arm around her shoulders. “She’s a fighter.”
Ewa immediately rolls her eyes, which makes you laugh.
“We’re heading to the photo booth,” Caro says. “Will you join us, Aitana?”
Aitana glances towards you. You wave a hand.
“Go. It was lovely talking to you.”
A warm smile crosses her face. “You too.”
She heads off with Ewa and Caro, disappearing into the crowd. The seat beside you is empty for approximately three seconds, before Alba drops into it. A tray of shots appears on the table.
Your eyebrows rise, lips curving. “There you are. I was starting to get worried.”
“Please,” Alba scoffs. “Even you’re not boring enough to worry about me.”
You laugh, watching as she grabs a shot glass and hands it to you. You eye the liquid suspiciously. “What’s this?”
Alba grins. “I genuinely can’t remember.”
That’s not reassuring.
She raises her own glass. “Salut!”
You laugh despite yourself and clink your glass against hers. The shot burns all the way down, forcing your eyes to squeeze shut. Alba is already halfway through a second one.
You shake your head, half-amused, half-impressed. “Having fun?”
“Mhm.”
Her gaze drifts towards the dance floor. “Though, maybe not as much fun as that one.”
You follow her line of sight and immediately burst out laughing. Not only is Alexia still dancing, but this time she’s dancing with the Cat Culer. Actually dancing. By choice.
You pull out your phone so fast you nearly drop it.
“No one will ever believe me.”
Alba looks deeply pleased with herself. “Exactly.”
You record a few seconds before slipping your phone away again.
“Anyway,” Alba says, getting to her feet, “I’m getting more drinks.”
Before you can reply, she’s already gone as quick as she came. You laugh, shaking your head fondly. Then your gaze drifts back to Alexia. She never drifts from your mind for long, and really how can she? When she looks like that, in the middle of the dance floor, having the time of her life. Carefree, happy, comfortable.
The smile on your face comes easily. The night is still young. And judging by the look on Alexia’s face, the celebrations are only just getting started.
———————————
As you wash your hands in the toilets, you glance at your reflection. Flushed cheeks, hair slightly out of place, eyes a little hazy, you can’t help but smile. Yeah, you’re having fun.
People drift in and out around you, but thankfully it’s one of those ridiculously fancy club bathrooms, private stalls, oversized mirrors, soft lighting, and even a velvet sofa tucked into the corner for some reason.
You’re drying your hands when the door opens again. You glance up and immediately smirk.
Alexia walks straight to you.
You turn towards her, your gaze roaming across her body, her current state not too dissimilar to yours. “Fancy seeing you here.”
She places a hand over her chest. “I know. Small world, huh?”
Your grin widens. “Sure you weren’t missing me?”
“I always miss you.” Her answer comes so quickly it catches you off guard. A warmth blooms in your chest.
Alexia steps closer, her voice lowering. “I had to pretend I needed the toilet just to get a moment alone with you.”
You laugh, closing the distance between you, trailing your finger across her collarbone through her T-shirt. “You never have to pretend, baby.”
She hums, head titling. “Tell that to the monsters on the dance floor.”
“I don’t know,” you tease. “It looked like you were having a lot of fun out there.”
She scoffs.
“And don’t think I didn’t see you with your hands all over Cat Culer.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “Were you… jealous?”
You smirk. “A little.”
Her grin widens. “Don’t worry, bebé,” she says, lifting her hands between you. “You know these hands only belong to you.”
Heat immediately rushes to your cheeks, before you shake your head laughing, taking her hand.
“Come on.”
You lead her back into the hallway, heading to the club. Or at least, that was the plan. The second the bathroom door closes behind you, Alexia gently tugs you in the opposite direction, towards a quiet alcove away from the main corridor.
“Alexia,” you say with a laugh as she backs you lightly against the wall.
“Qué?” Her hands have already settled on your waist. “You wanted my hands, no?”
Your breath catches. She’s close enough now that all you can see is her, the smirk, the warmth in her eyes, the faint blush still lingering across her cheeks.
And maybe it’s the buzz of the alcohol, or the heat radiating from her, or the way her voice is a little huskier and her accent a little thicker, but you find yourself hooking your fingers into the loops on her jeans and tugging her closer anyway.
You meet her gaze. “I always want your hands,” you murmur.
She groans softly before closing the distance and capturing your lips in a deep kiss. The sound that escapes you is one of half relief, half desire.
Finally, a moment alone.
Your arms slip around her neck as her grip tightens against your waist. You part your lips, her tongue slipping past them easily to meet your own, massaging in an endless dance. It’s intoxicating, the way her mouth dominates yours, the way her fingers dig into your skin, the way your bodies press flush together. Heat blooms in your chest and slowly spreads lower, and you want all of it. All of her.
The music from the club still echoes faintly down the corridor. Voices. Laughter. Footsteps. But they all fade into the background. Because right now, there’s only her. The familiar taste of champagne on her tongue, the way she manages to pull you impossibly closer, the way your fingers curl against the back of her neck without conscious thought.
Eventually, she pulls back just enough for both of you to breathe, resting her forehead against yours. For a moment, neither of you says anything. You simply stand there, catching your breath and taking each other in.
“I’ve missed you,” she murmurs. It’s quiet, but the honesty in her voice is unmistakable.
You smile, brushing your fingers through the little hairs at the nape of her neck. “I’ve missed you too.”
She hums contentedly as you press another soft kiss to her lips.
“I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” she murmurs against your mouth.
Her fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, brushing lightly against the soft skin of your hips. Your breath catches all over again as you lean into her touch.
“Alexia…”
“Hm?”
The sound vibrates against your skin as she trails kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. You don’t actually have a response. At least, not a useful one.
Especially when she shifts closer, sliding her thigh between yours. A soft gasp escapes you as presses lightly. You feel her smirk against your neck.
“Fuck...”
This time it’s barely more than a whisper. She lifts her head, meeting your gaze, her eyes searching yours for even the slightest hint of hesitation. She doesn’t find any. So she presses a little closer.
Your head falls back against the wall, your lips parting as pleasure shoots through you, the friction perfect against your core. She resumes her kisses along your neck while her fingers slide a little higher beneath your shirt, settling just below your ribs.
It’s all a little overwhelming. You bury your face against her neck, trying and failing to suppress the sound that escapes you. For a moment, you’re dangerously tempted to forget where you are, to close the remaining distance between you and give in to the feeling completely. The fiction of her jean clad thigh makes that temptation far too easy. Especially as you can feel your growing wetness seep into your underwear. There’s no way she can’t feel it, which sends another wave of arousal through you.
For perhaps the first time all evening, you’re grateful you chose to wear a skirt.
But before you can lose yourself further, laughter echoes around the corner. Close. Then closer.
A voice breaks the moment. “I bet they’re around here somewhere.”
Alexia groans against your neck.
“Alexia—” you warn.
“Shh, don’t move,” she mutters, her hands still beneath your shirt.
Before either of you can react, two familiar faces appear around the corner.
Mapi immediately points. “Ha! Called it!”
Patri bursts out laughing.“Of course they’re here!”
Alexia reluctantly steps back, though her hands remain firmly on you, sliding down to your waist. Your cheeks burn but with nowhere to hide, all you can do is stand there and endure it.
“Why?” she groans. “Why is it always you two?”
“Because,” Mapi says, gesturing wildly between the two of you, “you’re incapable of being normal.”
Alexia rolls her eyes. “We were talking.”
“Talking?” Mapi repeats dramatically. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”
“We were talking,” Alexia insists through gritted teeth.
As embarrassing as the situation is, you can’t help the laugh that slips out.
“Come on,” Patri says. “That’s even worse than the swapping shirts story.”
“We were swapping shirts!”
The speed of Alexia’s response only makes everyone laugh harder.
You reach out and squeeze her shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. They’re just teasing.”
Alexia pouts. A full genuine pout. “I just wanted a moment alone with my girlfriend.”
“Clearly,” Patri says, while Mapi nods sympathetically.
Alexia rolls her eyes. “Are you done?”
“Come on,” Patri manages between laughs, grabbing Mapi’s arm. “Let’s leave the lovers to their “talking”.” She makes sure to emphasise the last word.
“You’re welcome!” Mapi calls as she’s dragged away, their laughter gradually fading down the corridor.
Silence settles again as Alexia turns back to you, still pouting. “They ruined it.”
You huff a laugh, brushing a thumb across her cheek.
“I know, baby,” you murmur, before sliding your arms around her neck again. “But we’ve got all night.”
Her pout disappears instantly, replaced by a familiar smirk. “I’m coming back with you.”
It’s said more like a fact than a suggestion.
“Back where?” you ask, brows furrowing.
Alexia looks at you as though you’ve asked the most ridiculous question imaginable.
“To your hotel.”
The confidence in her answer makes your stomach flip. “N-now?”
She chuckles and leans closer to press a quick kiss to your lips. “No. Later.”
You pause, the thought settling somewhere low in your stomach.
“But what about your mamí and Alba?” you murmur, as though they can hear you from the club.
Her brows knit together. “What about them?”
“They’re right next door.”
She pauses for a second. Then a smirk slowly spreads across her face. “Guess you’ll just have to be quiet then.”
Your eyes widen as heat immediately rushes back into your cheeks. Alexia’s grin only grows. And judging by the look in her eyes, she’s already decided the conversation is over.
“Vamos,” she says, taking your hand and threading your fingers together. “Back to the celebration.”
Still smiling, she leads you back down the hallway and toward the music. And somehow, despite everything the night has already given you, you find yourself looking forward to the rest of it even more.
———————————
You’re back on the dance floor, but this time, Alexia isn’t very far away. She’s dancing with Eli in what appears to be a salsa, though at this point you can’t tell who’s supposed to be leading. You laugh as Eli tuts in exasperation, eventually giving up when Alexia starts doing her own thing.
Your own hands are in Alba’s, and you’re more than happy to let her take charge. Dancing has never exactly been one of your strengths. Whatever Alba is doing, though, is making you look considerably better than you actually are. And you feel a lot more confident for it. Again, maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe not. At this point, you don’t particularly care.
You laugh as Alba’s hands slide to your hips, moving them in an exaggerated rhythm.
“Hey.” Alexia voice cuts through the music. You glance over to find her already watching.
Her eyes narrow slightly at Alba. “Keep those hands where I can see them.”
Alba lets out an offended gasp. “We’re just having fun, sis.” She pulls you a little closer. “Why so possessive?”
The look she gives Alba only makes you laugh harder. You’ve always had a weakness for possessive Alexia.
“Alba’s right, baby,” you tease. “It’s just dancing. You’ll have your turn later.”
Alexia’s expression softens immediately, a smirk already tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“Gross,” Alba groans. “You can have her now if it’ll stop you eye-fucking across the dance floor.”
“Alba,” Eli scolds, shaking her head.
Alba merely shrugs. “What? I’m right.”
Before Eli can argue, Alba steals her hands and pulls her into the dance instead. Eli sighs dramatically but follows along anyway. The second they’re distracted, Alexia’s attention returns to you. Not that it had ever really left. Her hands settle on your waist, drawing you effortlessly against her.
“Much better,” she murmurs.
You laugh, sliding your arms around her shoulders as she guides you into the music. Even after a night of champagne and victory, she somehow manages to make dancing look effortless. You take the opportunity to tease, though.
“If only your dance moves were as impressive as you’re footballing skills.”
Alexia gasps, placing a hand dramatically over her chest. “Disculpe? Excuse me, I’m an amazing dancer.”
You fight back a smile. “Cat Culer is better than you,” you tease.
Her mouth falls open, and without warning, her fingers dig into your waist. You immediately burst out laughing.
“Alexia!”
She tickles you again. “Tell me I’m a better dancer than Cat Culer.”
You squirm against her, but she’s got you trapped against her, one arm firmly around your waist.
“Stop—!” you laugh.
“No.”
“Alexia—!”
“Say it.”
She pauses, waiting, still grinning.
You blink at her innocently. “But I’m not a liar.”
The look she gives you is almost offended. Then she attacks again.
“No—wait—Alexia!” Your laughter disappears into the music as she continues her revenge.
You glance toward Eli and Alba, silently pleading for assistance. They’re both laughing too hard to offer any. The two of you probably look ridiculous, laughing and arguing in the middle of the dance floor while everyone around you celebrates. But that’s what nights like this are for. Letting go, having fun, being with the people you love.
Eventually she relents, allowing you to catch your breath.
“You’re mean,” she says, though the smile tugging at her lips ruins the accusation.
You lean closer. “I’m just teasing, baby.” Your hands settle on her shoulders. “I know you’re an amazing dancer. Honestly, the real talent is making me look good. I was born with two left feet and the world knows it.”
Her expression softens immediately. “I think you’re a very good dancer.”
You smile, your lips hovering close to hers. “You’re just saying that.”
She shakes her head, completely serious. “Nope. I only speak facts.”
You giggle and steal another kiss. Her hand tightens around your waist as your bodies continue to sway together. The song is upbeat, but your dancing isn’t. Neither of you seems interested in anything more than staying close. You’re completely absorbed in each other, sharing quiet smiles, brushing noses, leaning in close so your words don’t have to compete with the music.
Every now and then, she presses a kiss to your cheek, your forehead, the corner of your mouth, as though she simply can’t help herself. Dancing may not be your thing, but if it means getting moments like this with Alexia, you think you could happily spend the rest of your life on dance floors.
A burst of laughter nearby pulls your attention away. You break apart slightly, though neither of you moves very far. Mapi has somehow ended up on the floor attempting the worm while half the team cheers her on. The other half appears deeply concerned.
Alexia shakes her head.
“Your friends are crazy,” you say with a quiet laugh.
“Sí,” she agrees, watching Mapi fail spectacularly. “They are.” But her smile soon widens. “And somehow I love them even more because of it.”
You brush a loose strand of hair from her face. “A little crazy yourself, then?”
She shrugs.“Maybe.”
You smile. “I think all that craziness played a part in you winning that trophy earlier today.”
Her smile softens, then grows into a smirk. “I bet you can’t remember who we played against.”
You gasp. “I do thank you very much. I’m basically an expert now.”
“Is that so?” Alexia teases. “In that case, which team did we play against?”
You pause, opening your mouth, before immediately closing it again. Alexia’s smirk widens.
“Now who’s being mean,” you pout. “Not my fault I can’t remember.”
She laughs again and pulls you a little closer. “Lucky you’re cute, bebé.”
You smile. “Lucky I love you.”
Her expression softens instantly. “Very lucky.”
She leans in and kisses you, gentle and familiar, while the room carries on celebrating around you, completely unaware that your whole world has narrowed to the woman standing in front of you.
———————————
You and Alba each carry two glasses of water from the bar back to the table, where Alexia and Eli are already sitting.
“I tried to convince her to get more shots,” Alba says, setting the glasses down, “but apparently your girlfriend is the most boring person on earth.”
You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Don’t pretend you didn’t already know that was the case. I may be boring, but at least I’m responsible.”
Alba sticks her tongue out at you before dropping down into the chair beside Eli. You move to sit beside Alexia, but before you can, she catches your waist and effortlessly guides you onto her lap instead. A soft laugh escapes you as you settle against her, her arms already wrapping around your middle.
“Don’t disrespect mi amor,” Alexia warns, pointing a finger at Alba before promptly flipping her off.
“Alexia,” Eli tuts.
Alexia gasps dramatically. “She started it. She called Y/n boring.”
Eli turns at Alba. “Sí. That not nice. Apologise to Y/n.”
Alba rolls her eyes. “Ho sento, Y/n. You know I love you really.”
You smile. “I love you too.”
Alexia glances between the two of you, looking as though she’s debating whether she wants to comment on that. Instead, she simply rests her chin on your shoulder, her arms tightening around your waist.
“Have you had fun tonight, mi niña?” Eli asks Alexia.
“Sí,” Alexia answers without hesitation. “It’s been amazing. Everything about it. The game, the celebrations… having you all here.”
She glances at Alba. “Maybe not all of you.”
Alba scoffs. “Puta. You’re lucky I came. I could‘ve been doing literally anything else.”
Alexia rolls her eyes. “Don’t listen to her,” you say with a laugh. “She was cheering louder than any of us. I thought she was going to burst my ear drum at one point.”
Alexia grins, glancing at Alba. “Knew you were a secret fangirl.”
Alba shrugs. “I was cheering for the other ten players.”
Alexia narrows her eyes, but they both burst into laughter. Warmth settles in your chest as you watch them. You don’t think you’ll ever tire of seeing this side of them.
“What about you Eli?” you ask softly. “Have you enjoyed it?”
“Sí,” she says with a warm smile. “Watching everyone enjoy what they work so hard for. Seeing all of you happy… that’s my favourite part.”
“And the free drinks,” Alba says, lifting her glass.
Eli shakes her head fondly. Alexia’s fingers absentmindedly brush the strip of skin exposed where your top has ridden up.
“Gracias, mamí,” she says quietly. “For taking care of Y/n.”
You feel yourself blush as Eli smiles warmly. “De nada, mi amor. It’s been pleasure.”
“And me,” Alba protests. “I looked after her too.”
Alexia rolls her eyes. “Gracias Alba.”
Then she looks between the three of you, her expression softening.
“Honestly… having you all here made this feel even more special.”
Your heart melts a little at that, and you lean in to press a gentle kiss to her lips.
“I’ve loved every minute of it,” you say. “From the moment I stepped foot in Oslo to now. This has honestly been one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.”
Alexia smiles softly at you. Across the room, a few teammates begin waving their goodbyes as they head towards the exit.
Eli clears her throat gently. “It’s getting late. I think we should head back and get some rest.”
She glances towards Alba who’s completely oblivious.
“Alba.”
Alba blinks. “Eugh. Fine.” She stretches dramatically. “I guess I am pretty tired.”
“Are you sure?” Alexia asks.
Eli nods, rising from her chair as Alba does the same.
You stand as well, wrapping Eli in a hug first. “Buenos noches, Eli. Thank you for today. Actually, thank you for everything.”
Eli cups your cheeks affectionately before pressing a kiss to one of them. “Always, mi niña.” A smile spreads across her face. “We three amigas.”
You laugh at the callback before turning to Alba. “Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Alba hugs you tightly. “I’ll try. Hopefully you don’t keep me awake all night.”
You freeze, heat immediately flooding your cheeks. You clear your throat as you step back, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response. Alba’s grin only grows. She moves over to Alexia, wrapping her in a hug. You can’t quite hear what she whispers, but judging by the way Alexia immediately punches her lightly on the arm, it isn’t difficult to guess. Which only makes Alba laugh harder.
Alexia hugs Eli next, holding on a little longer. “Are you okay getting back?”
“Sí,” Eli says. “The team has arranged taxis for us.” She cups Alexia’s cheek. “I’ll see you back at home.”
“Of course,” Alexia says, kissing her cheek before letting go.
You wave as Eli links her arm through a still-grumbling Alba’s and gently steers her towards the exit. Even from across the room, you can hear Alba protesting about leaving so early, making Eli laugh. You watch until they disappear from view. Only then does Alexia lace her fingers through yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before sitting back down, guiding you onto her lap once more.
The party carries on around you, a little quieter now. More empty glasses litter the tables, and teammates begin filtering towards the exits, saying their goodbyes before disappearing into the night.
When you turn back to Alexia, you find she’s already looking at you, smiling. You can’t help smiling back. Your arm slides around her shoulders as your free hand brushes a loose stand of hair behind her ear, your fingers lingering against the warmth of her skin.
“Have you had fun tonight?” you murmur.
She nods slowly, her smile never wavering.
“The most fun.”
Your own smile grows. “Good. That’s what tonight’s about. You getting to enjoy it.”
Her fingers tighten gently around your waist, slipping beneath the hem of your top once more, absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your skin.
“Have you?” she asks softly.
You look at her for a moment. Her cheeks are still slightly flushed from the champagne and dancing, a sheen of sweat catching the light across her forehead. The excitement of the evening is still there, but it’s quieter now, giving way to the softer side of her that only a few people ever get to see.
“Yeah,” you say with a smile. “It’s been amazing. I love seeing you like this. No pressure, no stress, no expectations. Just…letting loose.”
A small smirk tugs at her lips. “You like me… loose?”
You laugh quietly. “You know what I mean.”
Your thumb strokes across her shoulder.
“Watching you out there with your friends, just laughing and being yourself… I think that’s been my favourite part of today.”
Her expression softens. “Mine too.” She glances around the room. “Everyone deserves this.”
“Especially you,” you say, giving her chest a gentle poke. She ducks her head with a shy smile, her fingers still lazily tracing your side. Her gaze drops briefly to where her hand rests against your waist.
“I just did what I could,” she says quietly, as though she can’t quite bring herself to take credit.
You shake your head.
“You did everything, Alexia. I saw it all. Every touch, every glance, every instruction you gave. I might not understand all the tactics yet, but I could still see what you were doing. I could see you leading them.”
She looks back up at you, the corners of her mouth lifting.
“Did you actually watch the game?”
You laugh.
“Well… I tried.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“But it was a little difficult when my eyes kept finding you.”
Her smile turns into a smirk. “So you’re a fangirl too?”
You laugh again. “I’d like to think that’s obvious by now.”
She smiles proudly, and you can’t help leaning in to kiss her. It’s soft, but you let it linger, smiling against her lips as her fingers continue to trace slow circles your side.
When you pull away, her eyes flutter open. And you find yourself watching her again. Her smile, her heart, her. A European champion, and your girlfriend. She’s everything and you still can’t quite believe she’s yours.
“What?” she murmurs.
You shake your head. “Nothing. Just thinking about how perfect you are.”
She chuckles, ducking her head.
“Every time you say that, you know my ego only gets bigger.”
“Sí,” you tease. “And as we’ve previously established, your ego is just one of the many things I love about you.”
She hums thoughtfully before a familiar smirk returns.
“What?” you ask.
“Oh nothing,” she teases. “Just thinking about the time you said you didn’t want my ego to get any bigger.”
Your brows furrow. “When was that?”
“When you only rated me an eight in bed.”
You burst out laughing. “Alexia!”
“Qué?” she says innocently. “I’m still traumatised.”
“I don’t know why,” you reply, still laughing. “I’ve told you plenty of times since then that you’re the best sex I’ve ever had.”
You lean in, your lips brushing hers. “The best sex I’ll ever have.”
The words draw another smile from her, almost predatory this time, and she closes the distance between you once more. The kiss is unhurried, the rest of the room fading quietly into the background. For a few precious moments, it’s just the two of you, wrapped up in each other while the celebration carries on around you.
You must be buzzed, because making out in the middle of a club, surrounded by teammates, friends and family, isn’t something you would normally do. Then again, almost fucking outside the toilets wasn’t exactly on your bingo card either.
Maybe it’s just Alexia.
It usually is.
She has a way of making you feel fearless, like the version of yourself you’ve always wanted to be was there all along, just waiting for someone to bring her out.
Eventually, you part just enough to breathe. Your hand slides to rest lightly against her chest, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat beneath your palm. She’s still smiling, though there’s the faintest hint of pink across her cheeks. It never stops amazing you that you can still have this effect on her.
“You’re perfect,” you whisper, leaving no room for argument this time. “And you’re a European champion.”
You brush your nose against hers. “You’re mi campeona,” you murmur.
Her breath catches, just enough for you to notice. “Yours.”
The quiet certainty in her voice fills your chest with warmth.
“What do you say we continue our celebration back at your hotel?” she asks softly.
This time, it’s your breath that catches.
“Are you sure? Don’t you want to stay with your friends?”
She shakes her head.
“I’ll spend plenty of time with them tomorrow.”
Her thumb brushes over your hand.
“But right now, I want you. Just you.”
You glance around the room. Some of the team are still dancing. Others are gathered around the bar or chatting between the tables, reluctant for the night to end.
“Won’t they wonder where you’ve gone?”
Her smirk returns.
“I think they’ll have a pretty good idea.”
Heat creeps into your cheeks You search her eyes, finding only warmth and desire. And really, when she’s looking at you like that and saying things like that, how can you possibly say no?
“Okay,” you murmur, smiling. “I’m all yours.”
The smile she gives you sends a pleasant shiver through your chest.
She stands, effortlessly helping you to your feet before threading her fingers through yours. Without a word, she leads you quietly towards the exit. You follow willingly, your anticipation growing with every step as the celebrations continue behind you.
———————————
The ride back to your hotel is almost silent. There isn’t any need to fill it. You both know exactly where this is heading, so all you really need is her closeness, which she happily gives, resting her hand on your bare thigh in the back of the taxi, her fingers brushing slow absent-minded strokes across your skin.
They don’t even venture that far beneath the hem of your skirt, but your body is already thrumming with anticipation. Every time your gaze drifts down, your mind betrays you, imagining those same fingers somewhere else, doing entirely different things. The kinds of things that leave your eyes rolling back and every coherent thought disappearing.
Instead, you have to press your thighs together, trying desperately to keep yourself under control. The small smirk playing on her lips tells you she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. She’s probably dying to make some smart comment about how she hasn’t even properly touched you yet.
Little does she know, it doesn’t take much. She could simply look at you with those dark eyes, lips curved into that infuriatingly confident smile, muscles still taut beneath her shirt, and you’d already be lost. You’d be anything she asked of you right now.
Do anything.
Drop to your knees, get on top of her, or beneath her. Whatever she wants.
After the day she’s had, she definitely deserves it.
You find yourself leaning into her, chasing the warmth of her body, wrapping both hands around her arm and feeling the strength beneath your fingertips. The same arm that lifted the Champions League trophy only a few hours ago. The same arm that will no doubt have you seeing stars later.
You smile to yourself.
Okay. Enough of those thoughts. You can keep it together for another twenty minutes. The poor driver doesn’t deserve to be traumatised.
But then Alexia leans in, pressing a soft, warm kiss to your cheek and letting it linger. Her breath brushes against your skin, and you exhale slowly, fingers tightening around her arm.
“You okay, bebé?” she murmurs, her voice low against your ear.
You nod, trying to regain some control.
“Mhm,” you manage. “I’m fine.”
The smile you feel rather than see tells you she doesn’t believe you.
“You seem a little… tense.”
You turn to look at her properly. The world outside is dark now, the city reduced to scattered lights that drift across her face as the Uber winds through the streets. Every few seconds her features disappear into the shadows, only to be lit again, that same knowing smirk never leaving her lips.
You lean closer.
“If you keep touching me like that,” you murmur slowly, “I might actually lose my mind before we get there.”
Her lips part slightly, and even in the dim light, you catch the change in her expression.
“Joder,” she murmurs, her fingers pausing. “Do you want me to stop?”
You smirk. “I never said that.”
Her own smirk returns, her fingers continuing their slow movement against your skin.
“We’re almost there,” she whispers.
You nod. And suddenly, you’ve never wanted a car ride to end faster.
———————————
By the time you reach your room, the anticipation has reached an almost unbearable high. Your fingers nearly tremble as you search through your bag for your key card, Alexia’s hands sliding around your waist, the warmth of her body pressed firmly against your back does absolutely nothing to help your efforts.
Not that you’re complaining.
Especially when her lips find your neck, pressing slow, lingering kisses towards your ear. The moment she nibbles gently at the shell of it, a quiet gasp escapes you.
You glance down either end of the corridor. Thankfully no one’s around. You don’t even know what time it is anymore.
“If you don’t open this door in the next ten seconds,” she murmurs against your ear, “I’m going to have to take you right here.”
“Alexia,” you gasp, though there’s no real protest behind it. Besides, it’s hardly your fault you can’t find the card when she’s determined to distract you.
“Shhh,” she says with a low chuckle. “We have to be quiet, remember?”
You exhale, trying to steady your breathing.
“You’re distracting me,” you manage.
Her hand leaves your waist and slips into your bag. A second later she pulls out the key card.
Trust her to find it first try. She swipes it against the reader, the lock clicks open, and she gently ushers you inside.
A giggle escapes you as her fingers dig playfully into your waist, and the second the door clicks shut behind you, she has you pressed lightly against it. Your bag slips from your shoulder, landing forgotten on the floor.
“Shhh,” she murmurs again, a smirk already tugging at her lips. You don’t get the chance to argue.
Her mouth is on yours in a searing kiss, stealing every coherent thought from your mind. Your hands fly to her shoulders, holding on as she finally has you exactly where she wants you. Her tongue slips into your mouth, warm and familiar, and you can already feel yourself growing intoxicated by nothing more than her. She presses herself flush against you, the heat of her body almost too much to bear, yet you only pull her closer, your fingers curling tightly into the fabric of her shirt.
She catches your bottom lip between hers, and the simple gesture sends heat spiralling low through your stomach. The feeling only intensifies as her hands slip beneath the hem of your shirt, her fingertips tracing slowly along your ribs.
Eventually she breaks the kiss, her lips trailing along your jaw before finding your neck instead. You’re almost grateful for the change, it finally gives you a chance to breathe.
“Fuck…” you gasp as she begins to suck gently at the pulse beneath your skin.
“You’ve no idea how long I’ve been thinking about this,” she murmurs against your neck.
Your head tips back against the door with a soft thud, giving her easier access. You know she’s leaving marks, but for once, you can’t bring yourself to care.
“Since the toilets?” you breathe.
A quiet laugh vibrates against your skin.
“Since I left you three days ago.”
The certainty in her voice sends another shiver through you, a soft sound escaping your lips before you can stop it. Surely she couldn’t have been thinking about this while preparing for the biggest match of the season. Then again…
Alexia has always been an exceptional multitasker.
She proves it when her hands slide down to the backs of your thighs, effortlessly hoisting you up while her lips remain fixed against your neck. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your legs around her waist as she turns and carries you further into the room.
For someone who’s never been in here before, she navigates surprisingly well. She carries you to the dressing table, bumping lightly into it as she settles you on the edge and steps between your legs. The back of it nudges the wall with a dull thud, making the lamp wobble.
“Shhh,” you laugh.
She finally lifts her mouth from your neck, a smug smile already tugging at her lips.
“We’re not very good at being quiet, are we?” you whisper, still trying to steady your breathing.
“No,” she murmurs. “Especially considering I haven’t even touched you yet.”
The promise in her voice makes you swallow.
She reaches past you and flicks on the lamp. Warm golden light spills across the room, and when she leans back to look at you properly, you see everything at once. Her kiss-swollen lips. Her darkened eyes. The strands of hair that have escaped their place. Even flushed and slightly breathless, she’s impossibly beautiful.
You catch yourself staring, trying to slow your own breathing.
Her hands settle on your waist again as she leans in, kissing you more gently this time, your lips moving together in an unhurried rhythm. You lift a hand, threading your fingers through her hair.
Her mouth drifts back to your neck, and you tip your head instinctively, giving her room. As your gaze wanders across the dressing table, it lands on the shirt Alexia gave you earlier, still lying exactly where you left it.
You reach out, brushing your fingertips across the fabric. Soft beneath your touch. The same shirt she became a European champion in. You can’t help smiling. She notices, lifting her mouth from your neck to follow your gaze.
“Still want to frame it?” she murmurs.
“Mmm, sí,” you manage. “I want to remember this day. Remember what you experienced.”
“What we experienced,” she corrects, her lips returning to your skin as her fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing slowly across your stomach.
You glance back at the shirt.
“I don’t think I can take much credit for that.”
“Maybe not,” she husks. “But to me, you were still part of it.”
You let her words settle, and then… a thought surfaces. It’s a bold one, and for a moment you wonder how she’ll take it, but after everything that’s happened today, and everything that’s happened tonight, you don’t think she’ll object.
“Every time you wear this shirt… every time I watch you play… it always does something to me.”
“Sí?” she murmurs, lifting her head just enough to meet your eyes. “What does it do to you?”
Her eyes are dark, her lips slightly parted, the buzz of the evening having melted into something entirely different.
“It makes me think things,” you murmur, never breaking eye contact.
“What things, bebé?” she whispers.
You lean in until your lips are only a breath apart.
“What it would be like if you fucked me in it.”
For the first time all evening, she looks genuinely caught off guard.
“You… you’d like that?”
You nod slowly, biting your lip.
“Would you?” you ask softly. “Would you like to fuck me wearing the shirt you played in… fought in… became a champion in?”
Her breath catches as her gaze drops to your lips before drifting to the shirt resting on the dressing table. She stares at it for a long moment, her expression unreadable, until that familiar smirk slowly returns.
“Sí,” she says, her voice low. “I would like that.”
A smile tugs at your lips as you lean in once more, your mouth brushing hers.
“Put it on.”
She smirks, stepping back before lifting her champion’s shirt over her head. She does it slowly because she knows how much you enjoy watching her reveal herself inch by inch. Once it’s off, she slips her bra off too, and it’s takes genuine effort not to lean forward and wrap your lips about her perked nipple.
She picks up the football shirt and slips it on with ease, looking every bit the footballer she did earlier today. Except this time, you don’t have to hold back.
You bite your bottom lip.
“Why haven’t I thought of this before?” you murmur in wonder, your gaze roaming over her, taking in every inch of her confidence.
She lifts a brow, a playful glint in her eyes as she steps back between your legs. Her fingers find the hem of your shirt and vest, sliding the fabric up and over your head. You raise your arms to help, her breath hitching as her gaze drops to the red lace bra you’d put on especially.
You know… just in case.
A smirk tugs at her lips as her fingers graze slowly up your ribs, sending sparks across your skin. She leans forward, her lips ghosting over yours. “Is this for me, bebé?”
You nod, your heart hammering against your ribs. “I wanted to do a little something for you,” you murmur.
She shakes her head, almost in disbelief, genuine affection softening her expression. “You are so good to me, amor.”
“I want to be,” you whisper, leaning into her. “I want to be good for you.”
Her breath hitches. “You do?”
You nod again.
“Do you…” she asks, a note of hesitation beneath the teasing, “…want to be… my good girl?”
You moan, nodding slowly as you hold her gaze. Your answer seems to unravel the last of her restraint. She crashes her mouth into yours, a bruising, desperate kiss that tastes of longing. You clutch at her shirt, pulling her flush against you.
One of her hands slides down your ribs, over your stomach and thigh, before slipping beneath your skirt. When her fingers brush your centre, you both moan into the kiss. She lets out a low guttural sound when she feels how wet you are, the heat and dampness soaking through your lace underwear. She tears her mouth from yours, her eyes dark.
“Joder… you’re soaked,” she husks.
You nod, a small teasing smile playing on your lips. “Thanks to you, baby. That little incident outside the toilets really did a number on me.”
A slow smile spreads across her face. “You’ve been wet all night?”
You nod again, your fingers tightening around the front of her shirt, needing to feel her. “Mhm. So what are you gonna do about it?”
She doesn't answer with words. Instead, she captures your lips in another deep kiss while her fingers slip beneath your underwear, gliding through your slick folds, the friction making you gasp. Your hips jerk instinctively as she begins to slowly circle your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure.
You moan into her mouth, your tongues tangling in a feverish dance. You hook your thighs around her waist, locking her in, pulling her deeper into your heat as she dips a finger down to your entrance, hovering just above your opening, teasing the very edge of your need.
“Baby,” you breathe against her lips, your voice breaking. “Please…”
She pauses just enough to look at you. “Please what, amor?”
“Fuck me… please… just— fuck me,” you moan, shifting your hips against her hand in search of more.
“Mmm… so desperate, amor,” she murmurs. Her casual tone, her absolute control over the pace, starts to agitate you in the best way possible. You clutch at the front of her shirt again, pulling her into another deep kiss. This time she’s the one who moans, the sound vibrating through both of you, and she pulls back just enough to look you in the eye, that familiar smirk still there.
“I’ve been waiting all fucking night, baby,” you murmur, voice almost trembling. “And you’ve barely touched me.”
“Patience, amor. Good things come to those who wait,” she teases, finger sliding back up to your clit, your toes curling at the brief touch. “And to those who are good.”
You let out a small whine.
“Are you going to be my good girl, amor?” she asks, her voice low.
You’re honestly this close to grabbing her hand and pushing her fingers inside you, but another part of you is enjoying this. The torture. The slow burn. And she knows it. She knows how much you love the agonising build up that makes the eventual crash feel like an explosion. Even if you feel like you’re about to combust on top of this dressing table.
So you stay still, breath heavy, your body trembling slightly as you watch her.
She smirks, slipping her hand out from beneath your skirt. You almost whine at the loss of contact, but instead she hooks her hands under your thighs again, lifting you effortlessly. A louder moan escapes you this time, and she captures your lips in a kiss to swallow the sound.
She turns you, carrying you the few steps to the bed before lowering you gently onto the foot of it. Even when she’s completely in control, she’s still gentle with you, handling you as though you’re something precious. When she finally pulls away, she tilts her head towards the pillows in silent instruction.
You take the hint, shuffling backwards until you’re lying properly on the bed. Even now, with your chest rising and falling, your thighs slick, you find yourself mesmerised by her.
She simply stands there at the foot of the bed, watching you. Her eyes are dark, the smirk still lingering on her lips, and if it were anyone else, it might be intimidating. But never with Alexia.
Slowly, she unbuttons her jeans, lowers the zip, and slides them over her hips before stepping out of them. You only realise you’ve been biting your lip when the sting finally registers.
Her fingers trace the waistband of her underwear before hooking beneath it and pushing it down as well.
She’s completely bare, apart from the shirt.
She climbs onto the bed and makes her way towards you, every movement unhurried. Her fingertips trail along your thighs, making the heat between your legs almost unbearable. When she reaches the hem of your skirt, she slips her fingers beneath the fabric, easing both it and your underwear down your legs before dropping them carelessly onto the floor.
Her smirk widens when she looks at you properly. Trembling. Dripping. Waiting.
Your cheeks flush, partly beneath her gaze and partly from the ache building inside you.
“Baby…”
Her eyes lift to yours, and she gives a small nod as she crawls over you until her face hovers above yours.
“I’m right here, amor…”
You wrap your arms around her back, drawing her closer until her weight settles fully against you.
“Please…” you murmur, no longer caring how desperate you sound.
She leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, her breath warm against your skin. “You’ve been so good to me, bebé…” she murmurs. “You’ve made me feel so loved this entire trip.”
She kisses your jaw.
“I want to show you how much that means to me.”
Your fingers tighten in the fabric of her shirt as you lift your hips instinctively, searching for friction.
“I’m going to take care of you,” she murmurs, pressing another kiss to your neck.
You nod because, honestly, you’re too far gone to care about anything else.
“You’ll be my good girl, sí? Let me take care of you?”
You nod again, moaning as her kisses drift lower, along your collarbone and over the swell of your breasts. Propping herself on one elbow, she slips her free hand beneath your back, deftly unclasping your bra before easing it away.
“Tan hermosa,” she murmurs, her gaze roaming over you before lowering her mouth.
She licks your nipple before taking it into her mouth. A louder moan escapes you than you intend, and Alexia immediately lifts her head.
“Shhh,” she hums, a teasing smirk returning.
You nod, watching as she lowers her mouth again, sucking gently before nibbling, and you thread your fingers through her hair to keep her close.
“Yesss…”
She shifts until she’s fully over you again, one hand massaging your other breast, rolling your nipple between her fingers as you bite down on your lip to keep yourself quiet. Then her hand begins to wander, gliding over your ribs, across your hip, and down the inside of your thigh. She moves closer to your centre, gathering your wetness before brushing slow circles over your clit.
Your hips jerk beneath her touch, a desperate, reflexive reaction to the friction. She smiles, a slow, knowing curve of her lips as she continues those slow, deliberate circles. You can feel the tension building in your lower belly, a tight, humming coil that tells you it won’t take long. Your walls clench around nothing, trying your best to keep the needy sounds clawing at your throat from escaping.
She slips her fingers lower, grazing your entrance, then pauses. She lifts her mouth from your breast, her dark eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart race. She’s still checking, still making sure this is exactly what you want. That hesitation, that protective care, only makes you crave her more, it turns the lust into something deeper, something consuming.
You nod, and when she eases two fingers inside you, the moan that escapes is loud and raw, almost embarrassing in it’s desperation. She immediately presses her mouth to yours, kissing you, swallowing the sound before it can carry.
You clutch at the back of her shirt as she slides her fingers in further. She is slow and gentle, mindful of how tight you are, but the feeling is all-consuming. It feels like she’s filling you up, stretching you just enough to make you ache. Once she’s knuckle-deep, she pauses, holding herself still inside you to allow your body to adjust to her. She lifts her mouth, and you gasp, your chest heaving as you struggle to steady your breathing, your vision blurring at the edges.
“Okay, bebé?” she asks, her voice low.
“Sí… sí,” you breathe. “Perfect.”
She kisses you again, lingering and sweet, before returning to your neck, her lips brushing over your skin as she slowly draws her fingers almost all the way out before pushing back in.
The pace is gentle at first, almost like an exploration, as though she has all the time in the world. Then, little by little, it changes. Her strokes become quicker, firmer, but never rushed. Every movement remains deliberate, completely under her control.
You wrap your legs around her waist, muffling your moans against her shoulder, and you realise in this moment, this is exactly what you wanted. Her weight grounding you, the scent of her skin, the feel of her shirt soft against your chest, your fingers clutching at it as you hold her close while she fucks you with her fingers. It is your absolute favourite sensation.
The coil in your stomach tightens, your body clenching around her fingers as they pump into you, driving you higher and higher. You know you’re close, and so does she.
She lifts her mouth from your neck.
“Look at me, bebé,” she murmurs.
Your eyes flutter open, and you meet her gaze. She’s only inches away, her eyes searching yours, holding you there. The sight alone has you clenching around her.
“Alexia…” you pant.
“I know, bebé,” she says softly. “I’ve got you.”
She presses a kiss to your cheek. “Are you close, amor?”
“Sí… sí,” you manage.
Her thumb returns to your clit, tracing slow, deliberate circles before gradually tightening them, firmer now, more focused. Your thighs begin to tremble as the feeling builds, drawing tighter and tighter.
“I…I…” you breathe.
She rests her forehead against yours. “Come for me, bebé.”
All it takes is one more stoke before your orgasm crashes over you in wave after wave. She kisses you again to swallow your moans, and your clutch at her shirt even tighter. She moans softly against your lips as she eases you through it, never stopping, letting every tremor run its course.
Eventually your legs fall slack against the bed, and she lifts her mouth from yours, as you struggle to catch your breath. She presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. A fine sheen of sweat glistens across her face. She must be warm beneath the shirt, and for fleeting moment you almost feel guilty for asking her to wear it.
Almost.
Sweaty Alexia is still your favourite.
She gently withdraws her fingers, and you let out a small, involuntary whimper at the loss of her fullness. She doesn't pull away completely, instead, she brings her glistening fingers to her lips, sucking them clean with a dark, triumphant smirk.
Your cheeks flush a deep crimson, but you smirk back, your body still humming from the release.
She leans in to kiss you again, her mouth opening wide, your tongues meeting in a slow, wet dance. You can taste yourself on her, and the intimacy of it sends a fresh surge of heat through your lower stomach. You aren't even fully recovered before the hunger starts to stir again.
When she finally pulls away, her lips linger just above yours, her breath hot.
“I want to taste you, bebé. Properly.”
You nod without hesitation, completely on board with whatever she wants. She smirks again, that predatory yet loving glint in her eyes, and begins a slow, worshipful descent. She presses lingering kisses down your chest, her lips warm and soft against your skin, before moving over your breasts.
She takes each your into her mouth, sucking firmly, her tongue swirling around the peaks until you're arching your back. Then she gives the same attention to your other nipple, warm and loving. She marks you as she descends down your body, leaving faint, blossoming bruises that claim you as hers, and a thrill of anticipation shoots through you, imagining how those marks will look in the mirror tomorrow.
She continues down, her kisses trailing over the curve of your stomach, sending shivers racing toward your hips. Finally, she settles herself between your legs, her strong hands wrapping around your thighs and spreading them wide, exposing you completely to her gaze.
She pauses, looking at your glistening centre with a smirk of pure satisfaction before meeting your eyes. Your breathing is already shallow and quick, your chest heaving.
“You are so beautiful, amor,” she whispers, her voice thick with affection and hunger.
A small, needy whine escapes your throat, and you swallow hard, your body practically vibrating with the need for her touch.
She lowers her head, pressing a soft, tentative kiss directly to your clit. Your head drops back onto the pillow with a broken moan, your fingers instinctively tangling in her hair, pulling her closer. This time, she uses her tongue, licking slowly, circling with a gentle, teasing pressure. She knows you're still tender, and the carefulness of her touch is almost more erotic than the intensity. A fresh wave of arousal crashes over you, her tongue soft, and warm, and perfect. As she moans against you, the low vibration of her voice echoes through your body, sending a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.
No longer having access to her shirt, you tighten your grip on the sheets, bunching the fabric in your fists. Even from this angle, she looks devastatingly sexy, the shirt clinging to her sweaty skin. Her tongue dips lower, tracing your entrance, circling slowly before slipping inside. She pumps lightly, a rhythmic, shallow intrusion that makes you clench instinctively, your internal muscles chasing the feeling, desperate to pull her deeper.
She returns to your clit, alternating between long, sweeping licks and a firm, suctioning pull. Time seems to dissolve, you lose track of the minutes, lost in the sensation of her mouth. She is in no hurry, savouring the taste of you, and you find yourself content to simply float in this sea of pleasure, your body gradually building a new, steady tension.
“Baby…” you moan, the word barely a whisper as you try to keep your voice down, though your resolve is crumbling. Your fingers tighten in her hair, guiding her, as the coil in your stomach begins to tighten once more.
Suddenly, her fingers dig firmly into the flesh of your thighs, the sharp pressure providing the perfect anchor. That extra sensation is the catalyst, sending a final, violent jolt through your nerves.
And then it hits, sudden, overwhelming but no less invited. Your body arches as your orgasm rolls through you, not as explosive as the first, but deeper and more resonant. It feels like gentle, powerful waves of heat rolling over one another, washing away everything but the feeling of her. Your mouth parts in a quiet, broken moan, your thighs tightening instinctively around her head, locking her in.
Alexia moans against you, continuing to lick you through the peak, her tongue capturing every shudder, every drop of your release, drinking you in until the last of the waves subside.
You relax back against the sheets, completely spent. Except Alexia doesn’t stop. She keeps sucking, still gentle, barely there, but you feel it. A strange sensation that’s a little too much, but pleasurable all the same.
“Alexia…” you breathe. “I don’t think I can…”
She lifts her mouth from you immediately, watching you. Her thumbs brush soothingly over your thighs as she gives you a moment to breathe.
She holds your gaze while your breathing evens out, and there’s a softness in her expression that tells you she’s listening.
“Do you trust me, bebé?” she asks, her voice quiet and warm.
You look at her, nodding slowly. Because of course you do. You trust her more than anything. Still, she doesn’t usually ask that during sex.
“I think you’ve got one more in you,” she murmurs. “But only if you want it too.”
Your breath hitches.
“I… I’m not sure I can.”
“That’s okay,” she says gently, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “We don’t have to. I just think you can. But only if it still feels good.”
You watch her, the way her eyes search yours, the way she waits without rushing you.
The truth is, you do want more. You want everything she’s offering. You’re just not sure your body will cooperate after how overwhelming the last two have been. If it starts to become too much, you know she’ll stop. She’s proved that every single time.
You find yourself nodding anyway.
“Use your colours, bebé,” she reminds you.
You nod.
“Green,” you say.
A soft smile spreads across her face, as though she isn’t kneeling inches from your centre.
“I want you to relax, sí?” she murmurs. “Completely. Just let yourself feel.”
You nod again.
“And remember,” she says, brushing another gentle kiss against your thigh, “you can change your mind at any point.”
Your chest warms.
“Sí,” you whisper.
“Use your colours. Tell me if it stops feeling good, or if you want me to stop, sí?”
“Sí,” you murmur back.
She smiles, soft and reassuring.
“Good girl.”
The words alone have heat already bubbling low in your stomach.
“Relax,” she murmurs, her voice a low, soothing vibration against your skin. She can feel the tension in your thighs, the way you're holding your breath in anticipation, and she wants you to completely surrender to her.
She lowers her mouth again, her lips sealing softly over your clit. She begins to suck gently, her tongue stroking you in slow, rhythmic motions. It is a delicate, barely-there touch, yet it’s enough to make your hips lift instinctively, searching for the friction you crave. You remember her words and consciously try to let go, imagining every muscle in your body melting into the mattress. You stop fighting the sensation and instead lean into it, giving yourself over to her entirely, trusting her to lead you wherever this path goes.
As she continues, the gentleness of her mouth creates a slow, radiating heat that spreads from your core to your fingertips. It isn't a sharp fire this time, but a warm, enveloping glow.
Her hand lifts from your thigh, her fingers hovering just inches from your entrance. The mere anticipation of her touch makes your walls clench in a rhythmic pulse. When her fingertip finally brushes against you, a shiver races up your spine
She lifts her head slightly, her eyes searching yours, filled with a mixture of tenderness and focused intensity. “Colour, bebé?” she whispers, checking in on your emotional state, ensuring you feel safe in this escalating pleasure.
“Green,” you breathe, your voice airy and fragile.
A small, knowing smile touches her lips. Slowly, she pushes her fingers inside you. A long, low moan escapes you as your walls flutter and grip her, welcoming her back. She doesn't stop the oral stimulation, she keeps her mouth locked onto your clit, creating a dual sensation that makes your head spin. She begins to pump her fingers in and out with careful precision, and then, she pauses.
She finds that sensitive spongy spot, and your breathing hitches, turning into shallow pants. She presses firmly into the spot, beginning a rhythmic, rubbing motion while increasing the suction on your clit.
Suddenly, there is a shift. It’s as if a switch has been flipped in your nervous system. Your body reacts instantly, your internal muscles tightening around her fingers in a desperate, clutching grip. The pleasure is immediate, but it feels fundamentally different this time. A heavy, pooling heat gathers in your lower abdomen, a pressure that feels deeper, more intense, and far more urgent than any orgasm you’ve experienced before. It’s a mounting tension, a fullness that feels like a dam about to break.
“A-Alexia…” you pant, your hand finding her hair again, your knuckles white as you grip her.
Sensing your alarm and your ecstasy, she lifts her mouth and pauses her movements, though she keeps her fingers anchored inside you to maintain the connection.
“Bebé?” she asks softly, her voice a grounding anchor in the storm of your arousal.
“It’s… it’s different…” you whisper, your chest heaving.
“Colour?”
You take a shuddering breath, trying to steady the trembling in your limbs. You feel a strange, overwhelming vulnerability, a fear of the unknown, but looking into her eyes, you see only love and encouragement.
“Green,” you confirm.
She watches you for a moment longer, her gaze scanning your face to ensure you're still with her, before she dives back in. She returns to your clit with a firmer, more demanding suction, and her fingers begin to stroke that spongy spot with increasing speed and pressure.
The world begins to blur. You can no longer think in words, only in sensations of heat and pressure. You tremble violently, your fingers tightening in her hair, your body caught in a deadlock between the need to relax and the urge to explode. You are right there, balanced on the edge—
And then, it hits.
A flash of white light explodes behind your eyelids. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a scream as your body finally gives in. It isn't just a peak; it's a release. You feel a sudden, hot gush of liquid erupt from you, a powerful surge that leaves you feeling completely emptied and exposed. Your body convulses around Alexia’s fingers in violent, rhythmic waves.
Rather than pulling away, Alexia slows her movements, her sucking becoming soft and comforting, guiding you through the aftershocks. She stays with you, absorbing your tremors, ensuring you don't feel alone in the intensity of the release.
You gasp for air, your body feeling completely boneless, your chest heaving as though you've just run a marathon. A lingering tingle dances across every inch of your skin, and your centre feels like it's glowing with a soft, dying ember of fire. You stare up at the ceiling, blinking back tears of pure sensory overload.
“I… did I… what just…” you manage to choke out, your voice trembling.
Alexia lifts her mouth and gently removes her fingers. She doesn't speak immediately, instead, she showers you in affection. She presses tender, lingering kisses to your inner thighs, over your hips, and across your stomach, moving upward until she is hovering over you again.
Her face fills your vision, her expression full of quiet adoration. She lifts a hand to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing gently across your skin with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.
"You were perfect, amor," she whispers, her eyes shimmering with affection. "Just perfect."
You watch her in a blissful daze. It takes a moment for her words to sink in, for you to fully register what just happened.
“I’ve never…” You blink. “Did I just…”
Her smile widens.
Heat rushes to your cheeks as you cover your face with both hands. “Oh my God.”
“Bebé?”
The concern in her voice makes your heart ache, though not quite enough to uncover your face.
“Bebé, what’s wrong?” she asks, worry creeping into her tone. “Was… was it too much?”
You shake your head, peeking at her through your fingers. She’s genuinely worried. Then your eyes drift lower, and you catch the sheen still glistening across her chin and cheeks. The sight is honestly so fucking hot, but your embarrassment stops you from appreciating it.
A breathless laugh escapes you before you can stop it.
“Was perfect,” you mumble.
“Then what’s wrong?” she asks gently.
You hesitate.
“It’s embarrassing.”
A quiet silence settles between you before she lets out a small sigh of relief. She reaches up, gently wrapping her hand around your wrist and easing your hands away from your face.
“It’s not embarrassing, amor.”
You furrow your brows, unconvinced.
“I’ve never…” You trail off, another quiet, disbelieving laugh escaping you. “That’s never happened before.”
Her expression softens even further. “It’s okay. It was perfect,” she says, searching your face. “Are… you okay?”
She’s still worried. You lift a hand to her back, resting it there to keep her close.
“Yeah…,” you smile, shaking your head a little at yourself. “I’m good.”
“Sí?” she asks, checking once more.
“Sí,” you assure her, your smile growing. “Really good.”
Her smile brightens as she leans in to kiss you. You hold her close, melting into it. The taste of yourself on her lips is almost enough to distract you.
When she pulls away, she presses a lingering kiss to your cheek before nuzzling into your neck. The tip of her nose brushes softly against your skin, and you feel her smile as she lets out a quiet, contented sigh. You laugh softly, your arm instinctively wrapping around her shoulders, holding her close. Your fingers drift through her hair as she settles more comfortably against you, melting into your embrace like she belongs there.
You tighten your hold just a little, smiling to yourself as her breathing begins to slow against your skin. You stay like that for a while, simply holding each other while your breathing steadies and the room grows quiet again.
“I can’t believe I actually did that,” you murmur with a soft laugh.
She kisses your neck before lifting herself onto an elbow, her fingers lazily tracing across your stomach.
“Sí,” she says softly. “Did you… like it?”
You catch the hesitation beneath her words.
“It was certainly… something.” You let out a breathless laugh. “In the best way.”
She laughs quietly.
“But yeah…” you admit, your smile growing. “I liked it.”
Alexia lets out a breath you don’t think she’d realised she’d been holding.
“Good,” she murmurs, smiling. “I was worried I’d pushed you too far.”
You shake your head immediately.
“Never.”
The last of the concern melts from her face, her shoulders visibly relaxing.
You study her for a moment before tilting your head.
“Did you?”
Her brows lift.
“Like it,” you clarify, cheeks warming again. “I mean… I know you seemed to, but…”
A smile spreads slowly across her face.
“Amor,” she murmurs, leaning in to brush her nose against yours. “I loved it.”
Your shoulders relax without you even realising they were tense.
“Good,” you mumble, smiling.
She lets out a soft laugh.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you blush this much.”
You groan, hiding your face against her shoulder. She chuckles kissing the top of your head.
“It was more than good,” she says gently. “You were incredible.”
Your smile finally reaches your eyes, and Alexia’s shoulders seem to loosen in relief when she sees it.
“I guess that’s another achievement we can add to today’s list,” she says, a hint of teasing.
You tilt your head. “What do you mean?”
A familiar smirk slowly spreads across her face.
“Who knew it would take me winning the Champions League to get you to squirt?”
You gasp. “Alexia!”
She laughs, leaning in to kiss you again. You melt into it, pulling her closer before she finally draws back, her smile softening once more. You lift a hand to cup her cheek, your thumb brushing along her jaw before your fingers drift down the side of her neck and over the front of the shirt she’s still wearing. The fabric is damp now, clinging lightly to her skin.
“Do you want to take this off?” you ask.
She smirks. “No.”
You laugh quietly, but then your eyes widen as another thought suddenly occurs to you.
“I wasn’t loud, was I?”
She chuckles, shaking her head. “No. You were impressively quiet.” She pauses, a familiar glint returning to her eyes.“Though it does make me wonder…”
You already know that look.
“Don’t,” you warn, laughing.
Her smirk only grows.
“…how loud I could get you if we ever tried that again.”
You hide your face for a second before laughing.
“We’ll save that for your place.”
She hums thoughtfully, as though filing the idea away for later.
You roll your eyes before stretching out as much as you can, the sheets damp with your sweat and your… essence. The thought makes you squirm a little, but you don’t have the energy to care.
“I don’t think I can move,” you murmur.
“Good thing you’re already in bed then,” she teases.
“Mmm, I guess I’ll just have to get creative.”
She tilts her head, her brows knitting together. “Qué?”
You smile, tapping your chest. She watches you for a moment before understanding dawns. She lets out a breathless laugh.
“Oh.”
“Mhm,” you hum, smiling. “Don’t think I was going to let this night end without giving you at least one orgasm.”
A shy smile tugs at her lips. It never stops amazing you how effortlessly she can go from completely in control to almost bashful.
“You don’t have to, bebé,” she murmurs.
“No…” you say, meeting her eyes with quiet certainty. “But I want to. This is your day, and I want to celebrate you. And I want you on my face, riding me, completely letting go.”
Her breath catches, her eyes darkening.
“Are you… sure?” she asks.
The nod you give is the most certain you’ve ever given. Alexia knows you’ve never had any trouble asking for what you want, especially when what you want is the chance to watch her lose every ounce of composure above you.
“Colour?” you ask softly, checking one more time.
She smiles. “Green.”
Your own smile widens, and she shifts carefully, adjusting her position before slowly crawling up over your body until she’s hovering above your face.
Your breath hitches as your gaze falls upon her. Swollen and glistening with her arousal, it has spread down the insides of her thighs. It’s the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.
“Fuck… baby,” you murmur, awestruck.
When you lift your eyes to hers, the sight steals your breath all over again. Alexia, poised and radiant, her eyes wide with desire and something softer, a tenderness that shimmers beneath it all. You could happily lose yourself just looking at her, but that would be unfair. Alexia deserves more than your admiration. She deserves your complete love and devotion, and you are more than happy to give her both.
She braces one hand against the wall for balance, her fingers splaying across the cool surface as she looks down at you. When your eyes meet, there’s a raw honesty there, a vulnerability that mirrors your own.
“You are so fucking beautiful, baby,” you murmur, your voice low, thick with affection.
You catch the way her breath hitches, a sharp inhale lifting her chest. A delicate flush climbs her neck, colouring her cheeks a soft pink. The sight makes your heart ache.
Slowly, deliberately, you glide your hands up the smooth length of her thighs, your palms brushing the sensitive skin of her inner legs before travelling over the gentle smooth expanse of her stomach, muscles tense. Your touch is featherlight, a promise of what’s to come, and she leans into it with a slow, steady breath.
“Amor…” she breathes.
“I know,” you murmur, never breaking eye contact. “I’ve got you.”
You wrap your hands firmly around her thighs, the warmth of her skin sinking into your palms, and draw her closer until she’s barely a breath away.
You lean up, your tongue tracing one long, slow, wet swipe from her entrance up to her clit. Alexia’s hips jerk at the contact, a small, broken gasp escaping her lips. Her fingers dive into your hair, gripping tightly, not to push you away, but to anchor herself as the first wave of pleasure crashes over her.
You don't stop. You lick again, tasting the salty, sweet essence of her, the taste of her arousal, her effort, before wrapping your lips firmly around her clit. You suck softly, creating a rhythmic motion that sends tremors through her entire body. You can feel her pulsing against you, her body humming like a live wire.
The intimacy of the moment is overwhelming. It isn’t just the heat or the pleasure. It’s the way she trusts you with her vulnerability, the way she lets herself surrender after spending the whole day being the one everyone relied on. You know the burden she carries, the way she spends her days as the pillar of strength for everyone around her, the one who never falters. But here, in the sanctuary of this room, she’s allowed to break. She is letting herself surrender, peeling back every layer of composure. She’s giving herself to you completely, and all you want is to worship every inch of her. You’ve wanted to since the moment she walked out onto that pitch.
As the intensity between you builds, a quiet hunger settles in your chest. You want her to reach a place where there is no captain, no athlete, no expectation, only the raw, unfiltered sensation of being loved. You want her to know she doesn’t have to hold anything back with you.
Your hands slide from her thighs to the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the soft skin of her stomach before gently gathering the fabric. With a careful, loving tug, you guide her closer.
“Joder…” she moans.
The movement brings her fully against you, and suddenly the rest of the room disappears. All that’s left is the sound of her uneven breathing, her weight grounding you, and the beautiful suffocating closeness between you. You’ve mastered the art of breathing around her now, unwilling to compromise her comfort for even a second.
Alexia’s quiet sounds give way to breathless whimpers. She clings to you, her body moving with growing urgency, riding your face as if it were the only thing tethered to the earth. You’re struck all over again by her strength. Hours after playing a final, hours after celebrating, she’s still here with you, pouring every remaining ounce of energy into this connection.
Your own body may be exhausted, but your focus never wavers, her pleasure is your own priority.
“Sí… sí, just like that—” she whimpers, her voice cracking.
You wrap your lips around her again with renewed purpose, your tongue flicking with a precise, driving intensity. Your hands settle on her hips to guide her gently, feeling the way her muscles tighten and release. She lets go of your hair, her hand finding yours instead, her fingers threading over the back of your hand, squeezing tight as her movements become unsteady.
That’s all it takes.
The tension snaps. Her entire body goes taut, her mouth falling open around a low, broken moan. You feel her core clenching against your lips, pulsing in rhythmic, powerful waves that seem to go on forever. She isn't just peaking, she’s unraveling. The pleasure is so intense that she loses all control, her hips shuddering uncontrollably as she pours herself into you. You feel the sudden, hot rush of her release against your mouth and chin, a physical reminder of her complete surrender. She gasps for air, her voice a series of broken, sobbing whimpers, her entire frame vibrating with the aftershocks of her climax.
You stay with her, never rushing, easing her through every tremor and every shudder until the last wave finally passes.
Slowly, she exhales.
She looks down at you for a long moment before carefully climbing away, lowering herself beside you on the bed.
For a while, she simply stares at the ceiling, lost in the same blissful haze you’re floating in.
Then she turns her head.
Her cheeks are flushed, sweat beads along her forehead, and her lips are still parted as she catches her breath.
You grin.
Your mouth still bears the evidence of her, and you can’t help feeling a little proud. Proud that, after a day spent leading a team to glory, after lifting a trophy and celebrating with thousands of people, you were the one who finally unraveled her. Not a bad way to end the day.
She smiles back.
“Good?” you ask, unable to resist teasing.
A breathless laugh escapes her.
“Sí.” She smiles lazily. “Muy bien.”
You laugh too, curling instinctively into her side, resting your head against her chest. Her arm slips around your back, drawing you closer. The shirt beneath your cheek is damp now, clinging lightly to her skin.
“You should probably take this off,” you tease, your fingers absentmindedly tracing over the fabric.
“Mmm…” She smiles without opening her eyes. “In a minute.”
You laugh softly, lifting your head just enough to brush your thumb across her cheek. She leans into the touch without thinking.
“Pretty good night, huh?”
Her eyes open, finding yours.
“The best, amor.”
You smile and lean in to kiss her. It’s slow this time. Warm. Unhurried. You let it linger, savouring the closeness more than anything else. When you finally part, neither of you moves very far.
“T’estimo,” you murmur.
Her smile grows.
“T’estimo més.”
You huff a quiet laugh.
“Impossible.”
The smile she gives you in return is brighter than any medal, any headline, any trophy you’ve seen all day. It’s the kind of smile that makes you think you’d spend the rest of your life chasing it, if only to be the reason it appears.
You settle back onto her chest, your hand resting over her heart. Beneath your palm, its steady rhythm is finally beginning to slow. Your fingers drift across the shirt again, brushing over the crest. The crest of the club where she became a European champion.
“I still want to frame it,” you murmur.
There’s a beat of silence.
Then she laughs softly, the sound warm enough to set the butterflies that have taken permanent residence in your stomach fluttering all over again.
“Of course, amor,” she says. “We can still frame it.”
You smile, letting the thought settle quietly inside you, alongside every other memory from the day. The roar of the crowd. The medal around her neck. Her family. Her laughter. The celebrations. The shirt beneath your fingertips.
Some memories don’t fade. You know this will always be one of them.
———————————
A/n:
This is probably the boldest chapter I’ve posted. I really hope you enjoyed it and it lived up to expectations. It was really fun to write. This was supposed to be the final part of the uwcl minific but it was too long for one post so I’ve had to split the last part into a bonus chapter. It’s basically just the morning after and reflection of the weekend.
In other words, it’s 3k words of them cuddling and snuggling.
No one has permission to copy, steal, translate or repost this work.
As always, please let me know what you think. Comments, reblogs, likes and asks all make my day. I love interacting with you all and hearing your thoughts and opinions. Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story ❤️
Beyond the Badge | Alexia Putellas x reader - Part 8
Part 8
Summary : You're Real Madrid Femenino personified, the captain, the one who joined the day the club was born. A 15-2 agreggate against Barça makes you wonder if loyalty is enough, and the Spanish camp that follows only make it worse. You've known Alexia Putellas for years but have never been close. This camp has other ideas for you both.
Pairing : Alexia Putellas x Real Madrid! Reader
Word count : 9.8k
A/n : These two hold my heart
Masterlist
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Madrid feels different, somehow. The streets are just as busy as ever and the sun is blazing, a sign that summer is getting closer. From your balcony, you trace the treeline of the Retiro below. Automatically, your brain flips back to a few weeks ago, picturing Alexia sitting right across from you.
It’s been ten days since the match against Bayern Munich. You are far too competitive to outright enjoy having your team eliminated from all competitions, but you are far from sulking about it either.
You spend your sudden free time hanging out with your friends and family way more than you usually can during the highs of the season. Media and sponsors are taking up much more of your time than you would like, but you bear it because of the money that comes with it. Madrid is hot, but it isn’t completely unlivable yet. You find yourself spending time tanning in the park while reading books.
Football continues, too. Your teammates have been even more annoying than usual lately, but you let them get away with it and willingly play into their games because you know it helps lift the spirits of the squad.
The realization that it’s the last month of this group together has been weighing down everyone. You’re used to it as a football player, but it still feels weird. The tension spikes when the press breaks the news that Misa and Teresa are leaving this summer. You knew that for a while, the rest of the team didn’t.
Losing your top domestic internationals is always a massive red flag for a project. You silently hope Athenea isn’t planning on making an exit anytime soon, the media is already cracking jokes about the two of you being the last ones standing in Madrid.
You have a press interview scheduled for tomorrow, where you’re expected to publicly pledge your absolute fidelity to the badge. You will do it without blinking an eye. You’re entirely used to the corporate side of the sport, and you know exactly how to say the right things, no matter how chaotic reality is.
Your teammates are noisy, but you don’t give them anything. Your fatal error is leaving your phone sitting on the bench when you head out to debrief with Pau about the upcoming match tactics.
The noise level when you re-enter the room worries you immediately. You’re even more worried when you see the whole team crowded around your locker. As you approach, Irune turns around and aggressively shoves your phone screen directly into your face. You don't even flinch.
“I don’t have face recognition on,” you deadpan, snatching the device straight out of her hand. Stupid kids.
“Oh, come on ! We can all see she sent you a message, but you didn’t even put her actual name in your contacts,” Irene complains loudly.
You had indeed named Alexia “British girl” in your phone, specifically to protect yourself in case this exact situation ever happened. It had made Alexia laugh when you told her about it.
“Because you’re all incredibly nosy,” you fire back, shoving the phone into your pocket.
“We haven’t even seen a picture yet,” Misa chimes in, crossing her arms. “And you’ve been smiling at your phone like an idiot for a solid month.”
Linda’s eyes go wide as a sudden theory struck her. “Oh my god... are you keeping it a secret because you’re actually seeing a man ?”
Your head snaps toward her, your expression morphing into pure disgust. You might let some stupid rumors fly, but that is your absolute hard limit. “Fuck no. Never imply that again,” you answer instantly, leaving zero room for debate.
“Honestly, I think Vicky was right from the start. It’s definitely an England national team player,” Athenea states.
Just like last time, the whole situation devolves into a massive, loud debate over who it could actually be. The main problem is that the Real Madrid players know even less about the English squad than the Spanish national team does, so their guesses are completely ridiculous.
However, it does lead to a much funnier argument regarding who the hottest player in England is. Leah Williamson wins the locker room vote by a landslide, an opinion you silently validate.
Even after the debate settles, your teammates still won’t stop teasing you, making you wonder if being the captain would allow you to transfer them all out. At least they’re not getting any closer to the truth.
You see someone with a Barça jersey in the street below, snapping a quick picture to Alexia with “your kind is invading us” attached. She’s in training, so you know she won’t answer immediately.
Alexia managed to become a permanent fixture in your daily life through a steady stream of voice notes, FaceTime calls, inside jokes, and stupid memes. She’s focused on the finals coming up, which means she’s ironically more available for you as she goes out less and can justify not traveling for media things.
You've come to realize that she’s actually a massive homebody at heart. It explains her absolute obsession with football, when she's not on the pitch, she has all the time in the world to just sit on the couch and watch it on TV.
Her behavior has shifted a bit lately, likely because of the intense pressure from everywhere. The usual voice notes breaking down match analysis and the screenshots of her tactical sketches have dried up. You assume it’s because football is all she hears about 24/7 right now, and she desperately wants her chats with you to be a sanctuary away from it all.
Even so, you weirdly miss the football nerd side of her. You tell yourself the afternoon heat is just messing with your brain. Reaching up, you idly adjust the sunglasses resting on your nose, a pair you had shamelessly stolen from Alexia’s house before leaving. You had sent her a selfie wearing them a few days ago, and she had immediately texted back, claiming they looked much better on you anyway.
Everyone around you has noticed the shift. You’re glued to your screen, constantly snapping pictures of random things just because they remind you of her. Aitana jokes that you’ve never answered so quickly to her texts.
You told your closest friends, at the dinner you rescheduled because of Alexia. They roasted you for finally breaking your rule about dating another footballer, especially since said footballer happens to be the captain of Barcelona.
The banter inevitably shifted into a lecture. Your friends pointed out that you tend to dive into relationships far too easily, never overthinking things, just letting them happen until they eventually burn you. Occasionally it lasts, very occasionally. You hadn't expected Alexia to have that same impulsive streak, you'd figured she’d be a chronic overthinker who let fun things slip through her fingers.
She’s beautiful, effortless to talk to, and the chemistry in bed is unmatched. In a normal world, you’d have slapped a label on it by now. In a vacuum, dating is simple : you try it out, and if it fails in eight weeks, you become friends or choose mutual radio silence.
But you don't live in a vacuum. You share a national team jersey with the woman. You can't just ask for a transfer out of your own country. Add to that the absolute nightmare of playing a billion Clásicos against each other every season, and simple flies right out the window.
Then there are the social circles that never quite intersect. Misa is more of a close coworker than an actual friend, and while Aitana logically should be your ultimate common ground, she and Alexia have never really clicked on a personal level.
Every single sign points toward making a rational decision to back away, but you choose to let your attachment for Alexia overpower the logic.
Your friends wrapped up the intervention with a laugh, admitting they can’t fathom how you are such a brilliant, levelheaded decision-maker in your professional life, yet such an absolute wildcard in your personal one.
The view of Madrid from your apartment offers you the answer. Football comes with a completely fucked-up schedule, but it still grants you a ton of free time, even if a massive chunk of it has to be spent recovering on the couch. You’re exactly the player your club and country need you to be, and in return, the sport offers you a life far better than anything you would have gotten otherwise.
You are naturally a calm person, even outside of sport. You’re not the type to scream, nor are you the type who craves the center of attention, that’s why the sport doesn’t eat you alive.
Instead, you gravitate toward chaotic personal choices because they’re fun. Messing around with girls because there are zero long-term consequences is freeing, it’s a necessary release valve for the high-stakes environment you live in. The second a girl starts adding to the stress instead of relieving it, you just break it off. Simple as that.
That’s why you know you’re making a mistake with Alexia. Then you think of the two of you on her couch, eating way too much take out because she won that game against Bayern, and you think bad decisions can taste sweet. That’s why they’re dangerous, you suppose.
Since that dinner, your friends have been leaving you alone about the whole situation, aside from the occasional jabs in the group chat. But eventually, they can’t take it anymore. It happens when you’re all in Prague for the weekend.
Alexia has the Copa de la Reina final, she tried to convince you to come, but you had no desire to see either Atlético or Barça win a title. Plus, that weekend had been scheduled for a while anyway.
It’s Saturday night, and you’re sitting at the restaurant table, eating and chatting, when your phone suddenly buzzes. “British girl” lights up your screen. You excuse yourself immediately and step outside into the night.
You answer the FaceTime call the second the cool air hits your face, and Alexia’s face fills the screen. Her hair is a bit messy, clearly not yet showered, and she’s wearing a fresh Champions t-shirt with a gold medal draped around her neck. You already knew they won, you’ve been checking the live score under the table all evening.
“Congrats, champ,” you smile, leaning back against the restaurant wall, trying to get the roof to protect you from the rain. “How was the game ?”
“Easy,” Alexia jokes, a smug grin on her face. “Their game plan was shit.”
You laugh softly. “Well, nobody’s gonna complain about a free win.”
She nods, fidgeting with the blue ribbon of her medal. The lighting in her background is dim and a little weird, she’s clearly found a hidden corridor or an empty room to escape her teammates for a few minutes. Your heart does a sudden leap. Out of everyone she could be celebrating with right now, she'd slipped away just to call you.
“Especially a win in Gran Canaria,” Alexia answers, breaking your train of thought. “We should be able to hit the beach tomorrow morning before our flight back. I’ll send you pictures.”
“You live in Barcelona anyway, amor,” you remind her with a chuckle. “You can go to the beach whenever you want.”
She shrugs. “You can never have too much beach.” The camera angle shifts as she slides down against the wall and sits on the concrete floor, clearly trying to get comfortable. “How is Prague ?”
“The weather is miserable,” you complain. It had been raining non-stop since your flight landed. “But the city itself is beautiful, and I’m with my friends, so it’s still a great weekend.”
“If there is no sun, it cannot be a perfect weekend,” Alexia declares. A fond smile spreads across your face at her absolute seriousness. That girl was truly made to be Spanish, you don’t think she would have survived a single winter living in Munich. Knowing Alexia the way you do now, there is absolutely no way she would ever sign for a London club, the British weather alone would kill her.
You end up freezing outside for a while longer, chatting. You fill her in on the sights you've managed to see in Prague, while Alexia gives you the breakdown of the match and her teammates' ridiculous post-game celebrations. Everyone is trying to be moderately careful (even if you doubt someone like Vicky knows the full meaning of that word) considering Oslo is in one week.
Alexia ends the call abruptly when Kika Nazareth finally tracks down her hiding spot, Alexia hanging up mid-sentence to avoid getting caught, leaving you staring at a black screen before you can even say goodbye. She texts you a few minutes later to apologize for that.
The second you walk back into the warmth of the restaurant, your smile betrays you. Sitting back down at the table, you're met with four very expectant faces.
“So, it seems things have been going pretty great with your footballer,” Alejandro says.
It’s a flat statement, and looking at their faces, you realize there’s absolutely no point in trying to deny it. “Yeah. It has.”
“Remind me,” Alicia chimes in, tilting her head. “How long have you two been seeing each other exactly ?”
“A bit more than a month now.” Saying it out loud feels strange, it feels both shorter and longer than that. You haven't spent that much time together in person, yet you've talked almost every day. Ironically, the distance has forced you to really get to know each other, rather than just sleeping together.
“Look at you, you're literally blushing,” Alejandro teases.
You roll your eyes, but you don't even get a chance to fire back before Alicia seals the trap. “One month in, and you’re absolutely whipped.”
“Shut up,” you mutter, taking a sudden interest in your drink.
“And where exactly is it going ?” Ana asks.
That’s the million-dollar question you haven’t been able to answer for yourself yet. Alexia hasn’t broached the subject either. You’re kind of dating each other, you suppose. You’re exclusive, or at least you're operating under the strong assumption and hope that she isn't sleeping with anyone else. But how are you supposed to lock things down ? Asking her to be your girlfriend over a video call feels cheap.
“I’m just letting it happen,” you say aloud, shrugging.
You can see on your friends’ faces that they don’t like that answer, but they know you well enough to have expected it.
“You can mess around with random girls all you want,” Alejandro says, his voice losing its teasing edge. “But doing that with a coworker is a terrible idea.”
“Thanks Captain Obvious, that’s why I usually don’t mess with footballers.” You roll your eyes, a bit defensive. It’s irritating hearing them lecture you on a risk analysis you've already run a hundred times.
Alicia swats at your shoulder, and you rub it while throwing her a mean look. “Remind me, what is Alexia’s profession?”
You don’t dignify her with an answer.
“Cut the crap,” Ana interjects. Unlike the rest of the group, who prefer to guide you gently toward a realization, Ana likes to drop the hammer. “It’s obvious you like her, and I don’t know why you’re playing coy. But considering both your positions, you have to sit down with each other and figure out how you’re gonna do it at one point. Life won’t figure it out for you.”
Except you really, truly hope life will just figure it out for you. In your previous relationships, it always did. Either with things naturally burning out or with the other girl taking charge and making the necessary steps.
“Look, she has the biggest game of her season next week. It’s a terrible time to drop a relationship talk on her,” you deflect. “Summer break is coming up anyway. We’ll figure it out then.”
It’s a total deflection. Everyone around the table knows it, including you. Sadly, your friends have no intention of letting you off the hook that easily.
“Right. Just like you were going to ‘talk about it’ with Paula. And with Julia,” Ana says, raising her hands to mimic air quotes with her fingers. “And at the very least, you were actually, officially dating them.”
“Not my fault if it didn’t work out before we could chat about where things were going,” you counter. It was, in fact, entirely your fault, but you don’t need to admit that to them. If you act frustratingly stubborn enough, they will finally give up and drop it.
Ana groans in pure frustration. Cesar, who had stayed silent until now, decides to try a completely new strategy. “I still can’t figure out how Elena stayed with your uncommunicative sorry ass for more than three years.”
Weaponizing Elena is a dirty tactic, but your defensive line doesn't break. You smirk, looking around the table. “Fascinating insights. Do I need to remind the panel that every single person here is currently single ? You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not taking relationship notes from the lonely-hearts club.”
That absolutely does the trick. It’s a temporary ceasefire and you know it, but a win is a win, and you savor every second of it.
You were expecting radio silence the week coming up to the Champions League, but Alexia sends you even more texts than usual. Surprisingly, they’re not that much about football. You suppose that’s what her whole life is about right now, so she needs to speak about other things.
She tells you about her teammates’ shenanigans, about her mom and sister forcing her to have dinner with them to take her mind off things for a bit, and about the stupid things happening in the telenovela she’s watching when hours of football become too much.
You FaceTime whenever you’re both available, even once she arrives in Oslo, where Alexia takes full advantage of her single room. Yet, she still respects her sleep schedule like clockwork, saying goodnight the exact second it hits bedtime, no matter how interesting the conversation is.
By Saturday, your own squad is in Barcelona to play against Badalona. The final is on in one of your teammates’ hotel rooms, and almost the entire team has crowded inside to watch it. Naturally, everyone is fiercely supporting Lyon, Naomie and Sara are even proudly wearing their old Lyon jerseys.
You feign indifference, spending a massive chunk of the match staring down at your phone to mask your nerves. You won’t admit it out loud, but you’re not against Barcelona winning it, both for Alexia and Aitana. Alexia tried to make you admit it yesterday, but couldn’t.
Barça dominates the opening forty-five. They’re leading 2–0 at the break with goals from Alexia and Pajor. Lyon is playing badly, their midfield getting destroyed. But it’s like two different teams come out of the locker room.
Yohannes plays like she’s ten years older than she is, Bacha reminds everyone why she’s the best left-back in the world, Chawinga and Brand are running everywhere, and the game is suddenly 2–2 at the 80th minute. You can see the tension on the Barcelona side, while Lyon is playing more freely.
Then what was expected happens. In the 87th minute, Brand does a stepover to pass Mapi, and her shot curls perfectly toward the top corner. It’s beautiful football, you have to admit, and the room goes ballistic.
Barça tries in the few minutes left, a Pajor header not on goal, Vicky’s shot hitting the crossbar, and then the final whistle can be heard. While your Real Madrid teammates celebrate wildly around you, you try not to wince when the broadcast cuts to a devastating close-up of Alexia crying on the pitch, your heart breaking at the sight.
You end your live texting of the game to her with “I’m here to talk if you need it, amor. You don’t need to answer if you don’t feel like it.”
Predictably, it sits on delivered. You spend the rest of the night checking your notifications until you finally give up. The only call you get is a midnight dial from Aitana, who spends half an hour aggressively breaking down their tactical errors. You just listen. It's her classic post-loss routine : explode, analyze, and then go completely ghost for two days.
It’s genuinely funny to you how Barça’s loss manages to make everyone on your team just a little bit happier. Who says being a hater only creates negative energy ? The squad is in an extra cheerful mood all through lunch, and you're laughing along with the rest of them until your pocket buzzes with a notification you absolutely weren’t expecting.
Unsaved number : Hey, it’s Alba, Alexia’s sister. I know it’s a bit out of nowhere but I saw you’re playing against Badalona today. Could you come to Ale’s house after the game? She’s inconsolable.
You’re deeply confused as to how Alexia’s sister even managed to get your number, but you decide that’s a question for another time. You weigh the risks for a brief second before texting back your agreement. If you have the power to make Alexia feel even a fraction better right now, you’re going to do it.
Back at lunch, you casually say you're skipping the team flight back to go check on Aitana. Nobody knows her well enough to find it weird, so the lie goes easily.
The game against Badalona is an easy one, and the team officially clinches second place in the league with it. You order an Uber as soon as the game ends and leave for Alexia’s house right after your shower. You’re mildly aware that you’re about to meet at least Alexia’s sister, and it stresses you out a bit to say the least.
Worse, you are currently wearing your official Real Madrid sweatpants and hoodie. You're fully aware Alexia will absolutely hate seeing the crest in her house, but you hadn't packed a change of clothes as this detour wasn't in your plans at all.
The drive is long, and your driver is apparently not a fan of your wardrobe choice either. He takes great pleasure in gloating about how the Barça men's team won the La Liga title over Madrid, completely oblivious to who you are. You're deeply tempted to point out that their women's team just bottled a Champions League final, but you think better of it.
You’re relieved to finally pull up to Alexia’s house. Alba comes out to meet you right at the gate, and she looks enough like her sister that you have absolutely no problem recognizing her.
Her gaze drops to the massive Real Madrid crest on your hoodie, a corner of her mouth twitching. “Better than an OL one, I suppose,” she notes dryly.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair to shuffle it. It is incredibly awkward to meet the sister of your... what ? Situationship ? Under these conditions.
Alba seems to pick up on your nerves. “Seriously, thank you for coming,” she says softly, reaching over to take your bag before you can even protest. “Our mom and her friend Miriam are also inside.”
Your stomach does a violent flip. Okay, now you’re officially panicking.
“We’re currently on our fourth replay of the match today,” Alba sighs, leading the way. “I feel like I’m going completely crazy.”
The first thing that hits you as you step inside is the rich, comforting smell of homemade food. You leave your shoes at the entrance and venture deeper into the house.
The game is indeed on replay, it’s currently in the second half, just a few minutes before Lyon’s equalizing goal. Her best friend, Miriam, is sitting in a nearby chair. You recognize her instantly from the photos Alexia has sent you over the past month. Right now, she looks like a mix between thoroughly bored and deeply worried. She’s the first one to notice you, her face lighting up with a soft, relieved smile the moment your eyes meet.
You give a polite nod, but your focus is entirely elsewhere. Your eyes sweep the room, bracing for the one reaction you've been dreading and hoping for all afternoon.
She’s curled up on the couch in a oversized hoodie and sweatpants, her hood pulled completely up. She looks entirely exhausted, her eyes bloodshot and underlined by heavy bags. There’s a Cat Culer plushie locked in her arms that she’s hugging tightly to her chest, and you mentally reprimand yourself because finding a grieving Alexia this adorable should be illegal.
Her gaze remains locked onto the match film until Alba cuts through the commentary with a quiet, “Ale.”
That finally distracts her. A whirlwind of raw emotions flashes across Alexia's face the second she catches sight of you, but to your immense relief, they seem overwhelmingly positive. Wordlessly, she opens her arms.
You don't hesitate. Ignoring the fact that her sister and best friend are right there acting as an audience, you slide on top of her. She locks her arms around you instantly, squeezing with a desperation that catches you off guard, her chin resting on the top of your head.
“I’m going to go help Eli in the kitchen,” Miriam says, getting up from her seat.
The mention of Eli makes Alexia stiffen beneath you. The reality that you’re about to meet her mother is finally clicking, but she doesn't let go. If anything, her grip tightens, anchoring you to her chest. Accepting your fate, you adjust your posture, settling deeper into her hold.
In your peripheral vision, Alba claims Miriam's empty chair, watching the display with an unreadable expression. According to Alexia, Alba is a chronic teaser, but the younger sister clearly possesses great situational awareness. She stays completely silent, even if her eyes are practically screaming with questions.
“Can I turn off the TV?” you ask softly. It’s a tactical test to gauge her current headspace. She lets out a heavy sigh, you suppose she’s been asked that a dozen times already today. To soften the prompt, you press your face into the warm junction of her neck, your fingers tracing upward beneath her hoodie to rest against her ribs. You keep the touch light, mindful of Alba’s presence in the room.
“If you want,” she murmurs. It’s barely a whisper, and it’s the first time you've heard her voice all day, but it feels like a massive win.
Alba immediately shoots up and switches the television off, she’s clearly been dying to do that since morning. Aitana had mentioned last night that their flight left incredibly early, landing in Barcelona around 10:00 AM, meaning the family has been managing Alexia’s spiraling state for hours now.
The room settles into a slightly awkward silence. Alba fidgets, clearly trying to be mindful of Alexia’s mood, but when she can’t handle the quiet anymore, she slides out of her chair and disappears into the kitchen, leaving the two of you completely alone.
You press a kiss on her jaw, which you wouldn’t have done in front of her sister. “You’re dressed like shit,” Alexia jokes. Her voice is rough, drained of its usual energy, but the teasing spark is a massive relief.
You let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, sorry about that. I wasn’t exactly planning a trip here today.”
You shift slightly in her embrace to press a real kiss to her lips. She moves one of her hands up, her fingers cradling your jawline to deepen the contact. You hadn't expected Alexia to be this intensely affectionate after a defeat, but apparently, physical proximity is exactly how she processes loss. You certainly aren't going to complain.
You drop your head back against her shoulder the exact second you hear faint footsteps echoing down the hallway. Your body instantly tenses as you realize it’s Alexia’s mother. You know exactly how much her mami means to her, Alexia talks about her with absolute devotion all the time.
“Mami, this is Y/N, my girlfriend,” Alexia announces softly. “Y/N, this is my mami.”
You do your absolute best to mask your shock at the word girlfriend. That is a discussion for later, way later. You always expected that word would terrify you when the time came, but instead, a genuinely warm, pleasant feeling settles deep into your chest.
You instinctively try to disentangle yourself to stand up and greet her mother like a civilized human being, but your apparent girlfriend ensures you stay exactly where you are, locking her arms around your back.
“Hi,” you manage, fully aware that your face is burning bright red.
“Hola, cariño.” Eli looks at the two of you tangled together on the cushions. While it's certainly not the worst way to be seen on top of Alexia, it still makes your skin prickle with self-consciousness. “Are you staying for dinner ?”
You can feel Alexia’s expectant gaze burning into the side of your face at the question. “Yeah, I’m staying tonight,” you answer, before looking down at the girl pinning you down. “If that’s okay with you?”
“Yeah. Stay,” Alexia murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head. You were not expecting her to be the PDA type, it’s disarming. Then, she looks past your shoulder, her tone flattening as she addresses her mother. “I’m not eating tonight.”
Her mother immediately crosses her arms, throwing her the kind of lethal, no-bullshit look that only parents can truly master. “I let you skip breakfast, and I let you skip lunch. You are eating dinner.”
“No, I’m not,” Alexia fires back. She sounds like a petulant child, you’re sure that was exactly what she sounded like when she was eleven years old and her parents asked her to come home instead of playing football.
Her mother looks directly at you, clearly expecting you to step in and convince her stubborn daughter. But you know exactly what a hard loss feels like, the urge to just have everyone leave you alone. You refuse to annoy Alexia right now. Instead, you simply snuggle deeper against her shoulder. You're almost certain you hear a soft, quiet sigh of relief escape her lips.
You’re not entirely sure this tactical retreat is going to win you any points with her mother, but Alexia’s comfort is the only thing that matters right now. You hear her mami let out a heavy, defeated sigh as she turns and retreats back into the kitchen.
“Alright, the free pass is over,” Alexia whispers, giving you a playful shove. “You’re warm and I needed the affection, but you need to take that off. Go change.”
Laughing, you disentangle yourself from her. Alexia looks a bit better than earlier, even if it still looks like she needs fifteen hours of sleep. As you pass the kitchen doorway, Alba spots you. “Where are you off to?”
“I’m getting changed. Alexia surprisingly doesn’t like how I’m dressed.” You show the Real Madrid logo on the hoodie.
Alba snorts loudly. “Ah, stupid football rivalries. Do you need me to show you where Ale’s room is ?”
You instantly turn bright red. You absolutely, vividly remember exactly where Alexia’s room is, and precisely what happened the last time you were inside it. You look up, catching both Miriam and Eli watching your total composure dissolve in real-time.
Alba’s grin widens into pure mischief. “Ah, stupid me. You already know exactly where it is, don’t you ?”
You don’t dignify her with an answer and head to the bedroom, because you would have ended up digging a hole in the floor if that conversation carried on. Alexia’s bedroom hasn’t changed much, the Ballon d’Or still shining in a corner. A third one was promised to her if she won; it’s not a sure thing now.
The only noticeable difference is the suitcase thrown open carelessly on the floor, you can see the silver medal in the middle of it.
You go in the walk-in closet, stealing a neutral hoodie and sweatpants. You’re close enough in size that her clothes always fit you perfectly, you just triple-check the labels just to make sure you don't accidentally pick up some Barça merch.
When you return to the living room, dinner has been served. Predictably, Alexia and her mother are right back at it, locked in an intense argument about her needing to eat, while Miriam and Alba diplomatically focus on their plates to stay entirely out of the crossfire.
You hover for a bit, not really knowing your place, until Miriam sees you wandering and waves you to come over. You thank them profusely for the food and take a plate, quite hungry after the game earlier.
You get between Alexia’s legs, your back against her chest, and she wraps her arms around you without question, while still arguing with her mother. You happily remain a silent shield, refusing to get involved in this match either.
The footballer secures the win. Eli ultimately accepts that she can't physically shovel food down a thirty-two-year-old's throat, though she makes sure her displeasure is known. The meal is an exercise in pure discomfort. Alexia is brooding, Eli is brooding, and Alba and Miriam are clearly wondering when it will be considered acceptable to leave. You just sit there, trying to blend in.
Once the plates are cleared, they collectively decides they can finally escape the house with you there. Eli walks you through the kitchen, pointing out the Tupperware and explaining the microwave settings on the off-chance her daughter remembers human beings need sustenance. Alba whispers another genuine thank you, and Miriam leaves you with a parting gift: a promise that the protective best friend interrogation is absolutely coming the next time your paths cross.
Once the front door clicks shut, you retreat to her room. The transition to bed is entirely wordless. Alexia is acting like a shadow, clinging to your side but locked away in her own head, shutting down any attempts at small talk.
The second you both lie down on the bed, she settles heavily into your arms, hiding her face deep in the crook of your neck. You slip one hand under the hem of her t-shirt, softly caressing her bare back, while your other hand gently plays with her hair.
You don't shift your position when she murmurs, “We had it”, before her body begins to tremble, sobbing silently against your skin. You just press a tender kiss to the top of her head and let her cry it out. You don't try to force reassuring words, you've already figured out that your physical presence is the only thing that truly matters to her right now.
You stay like that for a long time, until her breathing begins to calm down. You press a soft kiss to her temple. “Goodnight, amor. Wake me up if you need anything.”
“Goodnight, cari,” comes the raspy, broken whisper against your skin. You pull her in even tighter against you. The gratitude is unspoken, understood without the need for a formal thank-you. A few minutes later, exhaustion takes over, and you both drift off into a deep, uninterrupted sleep, enjoying each other’s warmth.
You wake up long before Alexia the next morning. Her dead weight pins you securely to the mattress, making it impossible to get up without risking waking her. Carefully reaching for your phone on the nightstand, you inform the staff you won’t catch the plane back to Madrid in the morning. You also cancel the dinner you were supposed to have at your place with your family tonight.
Alexia looks peaceful, way more relaxed now that she’s sleeping. You suppress the instinct to touch her jawline or play with her hair, letting her body get the recovery it desperately needs. The media and fans are already tearing the team apart, making you deeply grateful she's currently insulated from the internet in this room. You feel bad for any player that might be checking it.
You know she’s starting to wake up because she begins to shift and press closer against you. She lets out a soft groan before finally blinking her eyes open, looking up to meet your gaze. Almost immediately, she hides her face right back into the crook of your neck. Your arms circle her shoulders, and you press a warm kiss to the top of her head.
“Hola, amor,” you whisper against her hair.
She doesn’t give you a verbal answer, choosing instead to snuggle even closer into your chest. Slipping your hand back under the hem of her t-shirt, you begin to trace slow, soothing patterns over her spine.
After a few minutes of quiet comfort, you gently start to slide out from underneath her, earning an immediate whine of protest. “Where do you think you’re going ?”
“To the kitchen. I'm making breakfast, so stay put.” You seal the command with a kiss to her forehead.
“Not hungry,” she mumbles into the pillow.
You’re about to argue when her stomach violently betrays her with a loud rumble. You arch an eyebrow, pinning her with a smug, victorious look. Pushing her shoulder back down into the mattress, you smirk “Don’t you dare leave this bed. I’m taking care of it.” She just huffs and pulls the duvet over her nose, but she doesn't try to get up. First win of the day goes to you.
You decide on pancakes, remembering Alexia mentioning once that they’re her ultimate comfort food. You add a bit too much chocolate for an athlete currently in the middle of a season, but luckily, both your club nutritionists aren’t in the room to stop you. To balance it out, you toss on some of the fresh fruit her family brought over yesterday.
The moment you walk back into the bedroom balancing the plates, you catch the immediate look of pure envy in her eyes. Not hungry, my ass.
After a quick second trip to fetch the coffees, you climb back under the covers and propped yourself up beside her.
“Thanks, cariño,” Alexia says softly, leaning over to press a lingering kiss against your shoulder.
You smile, leaning your head against hers. You know that simple thank you goes far beyond just the breakfast, but sometimes loud words aren’t needed.
The first part of breakfast passes in a comfortable silence, until Alexia softly breaks it. “How did you deal with the loss against England last summer ?”
You think back to that tournament, letting out a self-deprecating laugh at the memory. “Oh, I was awful. Everyone was banned from talking to me about anything remotely related to football for two whole weeks. Just one mention and I would completely shut down. For a month after that, it was still such a touchy subject that people avoided it like the plague. I drove my friends and family absolutely crazy.”
Alexia hums in quiet acknowledgment. “I think my worst one was the Olympics. I literally spent nights on the training pitch taking penalty after penalty instead of sleeping. Alba thought I needed an intervention.”
You finish your plate and place it on the nightstand, doing the same with hers. You motion for her to slide back between your legs, resting her back firmly against your chest with one of your arms looped securely around her waist. You both continue to sip your coffees in the quiet room.
“My absolute worst memory was in France too,” you murmur, staring at the wall. “The U20 World Cup in 2018. I was the captain, and I took that role way too seriously, especially considering I was already a regular member of the senior team by then. Back then, football was my entire identity. We lost the final to Japan after beating them in the group stage. It broke me for a long time.”
You sigh, the bitter taste of the coffee matching the old memories. “During my season with Munich just before that, we lost the league by three points to Wolfsburg,” you continue, staring out at the room. “I scored a stupid own goal that completely fucked up our rhythm in the match against them, and then we went and lost the DFB-Pokal final to them, too.”
You close your eyes, leaning your head back. “That season, coupled with the U20 World Cup, destroyed me. I fell completely out of love with football for a while. I almost signed with Barcelona during that next winter window, just because I desperately wanted to go home to Spain.”
Alexia shifts against your chest, looking up at you with completely unmasked shock. “You almost came to Barça ? Why didn’t you ?”
You shrug, keeping a perfectly straight face. “Self-respect.”
“Shut up,” she mutters, hitting your thigh. “We were having a serious conversation.”
“Alright, alright, sorry,” you murmur, kissing her temple to soothe the faux outrage. Usually, you’d use a joke like that to completely derail a deep topic, but you’re forcing yourself to stay present with her. “Honestly ? Munich felt like unfinished business. I couldn't leave on a failure. And right around then, the whispers were starting that Madrid was finally going to launch a women’s side.”
“When did you fell in love with football again ?”
“I just built a completely new relationship with it,” you admit. “I drew a hard line. I refused to let every bad result dictate my mood for a week. I still outworked everyone on the pitch and studied every clip the coaches sent, but I stopped watching football outside of that. I started to hang out and meet random people, got my first girlfriend, and reconnected with old friends from Madrid I’d barely talked to at the time. I would have burned out at some point anyway, I think it happened at the right time. I learned how to have a healthier relationship with football, I was finally happy.”
Alexia senses the conclusion of your story. Having both finished your coffees, you set your mugs aside on the nightstand. You loop both arms securely around her waist, and she begins lazily tracing the lines of your fingers, settling herself more comfortably against your chest. She reaches down and hitches the thick comforter all the way up over your shoulders. Always freezing, this girl.
“You won’t be too surprised to learn I was the biggest football nerd growing up,” she starts.
You bite back a sarcastic no kidding ? because it’s clear Alexia genuinely wants to keep this serious conversation going.
“The death of my father made me dive into football even more,” she admits quietly. You automatically tighten your embrace around her waist. She has barely ever spoken about her father with you, and you know how sacred that boundary is.
“I was physically back in Barcelona, but emotionally, I was completely absent for my mom and Alba. It was always another training session, another film study, another match. That first year back with the club was just... dark.”
You aren't entirely sure what words could possibly help heal that old wound, so you don't say anything. Instead, you slowly run your thumbs in soothing, rhythmic circles across her stomach, letting the steady pressure show her that you are completely anchored here, listening to every word.
“Then Jenni signed during my second season,” Alexia says, a distinct warmth filtering into her tone. “It’s crazy how one person can completely redefine your life.”
“We would go out all the time, either with the rest of the squad or just the two of us. She was the one who constantly encouraged me to go home and spend more time with my family. She dragged me out of my shell entirely. Jenni made me realize that there was a whole, beautiful world existing outside the lines of a football pitch.” Alexia pauses, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “Honestly, I thought I was completely straight until I met her.”
Alexia laughs at her younger self, and you can’t help but chuckle softly along with her. “So, she was the first girl you were ever with ?”
“First person, actually,” Alexia corrects softly. “Before that, between football and my dad, my mind just never went there. Jenni was the first one that felt right.”
You let out a neutral sound, forcing your muscles not to stiffen. A sharp, ugly prickle of jealousy hits you, but you swallow it down. You can’t stand Jenni on a good day, and hearing her framed as Alexia’s grand awakening makes your stomach turn.
Alexia seems to suddenly realize who she’s talking to, shifting slightly against you. “Jenni was right for a younger version of me, and I’m incredibly grateful for what she gave me. But we never would have worked long-term.”
Still stayed together for what ? Eight years ? Something like that.
“She can be too much of a teaser, and I’m too serious for someone like her,” Alexia explains, her tone shifting to something more analytical. “Jenni likes to be the life of everything and needs someone who will be right there in the spotlight with her. I want someone I can just chill with on the sidelines. We made it work for a while, until it broke. She helped me grow up immensely, and that’s all it was.” She tips her chin up, leaving a lingering kiss on your jawline.
There is a dangerous question burning on the very tip of your tongue. What Vicky had told you a month ago begins looping relentlessly through your mind : Alexia and Jenni slept together last summer. You know you need to talk about it. You know you have to ask. But a terrified part of you isn't sure you actually want to hear the answer, and the weight of yesterday's loss is still visibly hurting her.
This is absolutely not the right moment, you tell yourself. The voices of your friends are practically screaming in your head, calling you a total coward, but you firmly shut them out, tightening your grip around her waist.
“What was your most serious relationship ?” Alexia asks with curiosity. You’re thankful for the change of subject.
Thinking back, it’s strange that the two of you haven’t talked about this before, despite discussing almost everything else under the sun. If an ex was ever relevant to a specific story one of you was telling, you wouldn’t actively avoid mentioning her, but that was pretty much the extent of it. You suppose that openly talking about past relationships meant acknowledging what was slowly happening between the two of you, and you had both been collectively postponing that conversation.
“I met her right after I signed with Real,” you say, resting your chin on her shoulder. “Friend of a friend. It was my first real taste of a mature relationship. Back in Germany, when I finally accepted I liked women, I always knew I was just killing time until the Madrid project launched. There was a expiration date on everything. And before that... well, there were a few boyfriends, but that’s a dark part of my past we won’t dwell on.”
Alexia chuckles, the vibration warm against your front. You lean down and press a tender kiss to her temple, purely because you love the sound of her laughter and because, right now, you can.
You carry on. “Her name was Elena. She was a high-placed manager in one of these boring companies, got the position straight out of college. Way too smart for me, had her life plan planned out at twenty-five. She liked having someone in her life who didn’t give a fuck about corporates, and I liked having someone who couldn’t care less about football.”
“She’d take me to high-brow art galleries and lectures on seventeenth-century history, and I’d drag her into the mountains for hikes. I taught her how to touch grass, basically. Showed her that you can experience Madrid without a tour guide, and that doing absolutely nothing under the sun at El Retiro is a luxury. At home we would chill on the couch, her watching a documentary or working while I was reviewing tapes on my tablet.”
“What caused the split ?” The sudden tension in Alexia’s posture is palpable. Her tone has a quiet, territorial bite to it, a reminder you aren’t the only one in this bed capable of experiencing jealousy.
“Inexperience and self-sabotage,” you answer honestly. “She was transparent, and I was a coward. We were constantly making adjustments to make the relationship better for her, but never for me. To be fair to her, Elena always checked in on my needs, but I’d smile and lie through my teeth, convinced that compromising myself was the only way to preserve what we had. I was so paralyzed by the fear of losing her that I made the relationship implode.”
You swallow hard, the bitter truth catching in your throat. It never feels good to vocalize your past mistakes, especially to the person you're currently falling for.
“She finally realized what I was doing right after the World Cup,” you continue, your voice dropping. “We had been together for two and a half years at that point. So much was happening outside the apartment, I couldn't pretend everything was fine anymore.”
“Is that why you didn’t say anything during Las 15 ?” Alexia asks. It’s a clear olive branch, a way to blame the friction with Elena for your political silence. For once in your life, you decide to be the bigger person.
“No,” you say honestly. “I was just a coward. Elena kept her distance from the sport, she barely ever went to any of my matches. She didn't even take paid leave for the World Cup, because she preferred to save her vacation days during the off-season when I was available to hang out with her.”
You swallow back a wave of regret. You had desperately wanted her in the stands for the final, but you’d completely botched the conversation, never telling her how much it mattered.
“But she was absolutely mad at me for shutting my mouth,” you continue, a bitter smile crossing your lips. “Trust me, she was furious. It wasn't even about the principle of the protest itself, she works in the corporate world, so she understands the necessity of turning a blind eye to bad management. She was mad because it was actively hurting me and I wasn’t fighting.”
“How was it hurting you ?” It’s a mix of curiosity and bitterness. You know how hard it must have been for her at the time. She can’t fathom why it would have been hard for you.
“Real Madrid management told me point-blank that my renewal figures depended entirely on my silence,” you recount. “The federation made it clear the armband was off the table if I stepped out of line, and my status as the face of Spain’s future was conditional. I almost lost Aitana over it, too. Trust me, it took a lot of talking and screaming for her forgive me.”
“And then the national team camps were absolute hell,” you admit, closing your eyes, it was the part that hurt the most. “Everyone was putting pressure on me, expecting me to do something. I’m not deaf, I wasn't oblivious to the whispers in the dining hall, or the way the Barça players looked at me. I knew the labels being slapped on my back, and I know how much that resentment still lingers today. The staff wanted me to go out there and say how much I supported them, while our teammates wanted me to stand up and crucify the RFEF.”
Alexia gently interrupts you, her voice quiet but firm. “What made us go crazy is that we had a feeling you were actually on our side, contrary to some of your Real Madrid teammates. Especially considering how close you are with Aitana. But you just… refused to give an opinion. Back then, not talking against the federation was viewed as backing them, and we just couldn’t understand why you were doing that.” There's no venom in her delivery, she’s simply stating it as a cold, historical fact.
You don’t answer her directly.
“It took months for Elena and me to actually break up,” you murmur instead. You can feel Alexia’s posture instantly tense in your arms, likely frustrated that you’re seemingly deflecting her question again, but she remains quiet and lets you continue.
“Elena is a fixer to a fault. She genuinely believes any problem can be managed, optimized, and saved if we just put enough hours into it. My sister once told me that I’m the exact brand of idiot who is so utterly terrified of hurting people I care about that I will literally run myself straight through a brick wall instead of just turning around to face a situation. I knew the relationship was completely dead the second I came back from Australia, but we stayed together for another entire year. She finally broke it off right before the Olympics. The end was incredibly ugly.”
There were no screaming matches or theatrical slammed doors. The ugliness was simply the agonizing reality of watching someone you once loved hurt so deeply, knowing it was entirely your fault, and realizing you were too paralyzed to do anything about it. There had been no begging when she told you it was over. You had simply stood there and quietly helped her pack her boxes.
The last words she ever said to you were, Grow a spine if you want to be happy one day.
You aren't even sure what possessed you to lay your entire history bare like that. It’s basically handing it to her on a silver platter that you’re a giant red flag in a relationship. Maybe it’s a desperate attempt at redemption, a way of trying to convince yourself that you can actually be honest, that you've genuinely learned from your previous mistakes.
Alexia remains quiet for a long moment, likely pondering the weight of your words. You lie there, practically waiting for the hammer to fall. “Have you been in a serious relationship since her ?”
You swallow hard against the dryness in your throat. “No, not really. I mean, things would last two months at the absolute maximum before I’d grow completely paranoid about fucking it up, which inevitably caused me to fuck it up. Beyond that, nobody gave me a reason to want to settle down. And the wound of the breakup with Elena stayed open for a while.”
You leave out how much the combination of losing Elena and the Paris Olympic tournament had completely broken your spirit. Alexia had already claimed the Olympics as her personal rock bottom, you don’t want to make her feel worse about that missed penalty.
Your post-breakup coping mechanisms hadn't been pretty. At first, you just drifted through casual hooks-ups, operating under the bulletproof logic that you couldn’t be a bad girlfriend if you weren’t anyone's girlfriend at all. When that got lonely, you had flipped to the opposite extreme : slapping the “girlfriend” label on every girl you went out with for more than a few dates. It was a hollow title. They were technically your girlfriend, but you never actually acted like one, always keeping one foot out the door.
Alexia turns completely around in your arms, shifting back just enough so she can look you dead in the eyes. Her hair is still messy from sleep, and she’s wearing an old, oversized shirt with colors that have faded from too many trips through the wash. She looks utterly beautiful.
“So,” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes slightly, “not a single woman in two years has been worth the risk of committing to ?” She aims for a casual, testing tone, but the pitch is slightly off. The vulnerability is bleeding through the armor.
You don’t break eye contact with her for a single second. “There’s this one girl. But the jury is still out on whether we're together, considering she just casually dropped the 'girlfriend' label on me to her mom without giving me a heads-up first.”
A faint blush colors her cheeks. “I would say the message from her is pretty clear.”
You certainly don’t need a clearer invitation than that. Closing the small distance between you, you press your lips to hers. She responds immediately, her hand flying down to grip your hip while your hands find her cheek and shoulder. She tastes faintly of mint, she must have slipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth while you were busy flipping pancakes in the kitchen. You mentally thank your past self for having the foresight to do the exact same thing.
Your hand glides slowly down her shoulder, slipping beneath the hem of her oversized shirt to touch bare skin, but Alexia gently catches your wrist.
“I’m not quite there today. Sorry, cari,” she whispers against your lips, her eyes holding a quiet apology. “Oslo is still weighing a bit too heavy.”
“Hey, no need to apologize. Completely get it,” you assure her instantly, moving your hand back to the outside of her shirt and shifting to press a soft kiss to her cheek. “But seriously, though, did you really just sit through my entire relationship horror story and think, Yep, that’s the giant walking red flag I want to officially call my girlfriend ?”
You lean in and playfully nip at her earlobe, making her let out a breathy laugh.
“You own up to your faults. I would say that’s a definitive sign of improvement.” She moves back just a fraction so she can look you straight in the eyes. “I haven’t told you much about my relationship with Olga, but trust me, I can completely relate to keeping something going even when it’s clearly not working anymore. But I think we’ve already had more than enough serious chats for one morning.”
She pulls you down for a lingering, deep kiss. It’s quiet, peaceful, and entirely focused on the rhythm of the two of you.
You gently break apart from the kiss, giving her waist a playful squeeze. “Let’s go get ready, yeah ? Do you have anything scheduled today ?”
Alexia buries her face back into your chest, groaning into your shirt. “Ugh. We have a light recovery session. It’s to keep the squad from drowning in self-pity, I assume. Since we play again in forty-eight hours, they need us moving. It won’t take up the whole afternoon, at least.” Then a pause. “Thanks for getting my mind off things this morning.”
“Just doing my civic duty as your girlfriend,” you joke.
You can hear her small, breathy laugh vibrate right against your skin. Smiling, you press a warm kiss to the top of her head. “Come on, Ale. Let’s get out of bed and get presentable.”
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A/n : Between the game against England, Alexia staying at Barça, and Lyon winning the UWCL, never ask me to make any football prediction. Also yes the line about Alexia in London was written before she announced her departure from Barça...
Morning came far quicker than expected, with a fully showered and ready Patri pulling the duvet off your body and yelling at you to get ready so you could head to breakfast. You simply groaned and pulled the sheets back over yourself, telling her you’d be there in a few and to go without you. “Vale, pero tienes que levantarte pronto que el desayuno lo quitan en dos horas” she said, “ok ok, en 5 me paro” and you’d meant it, really you did, you were just going to rest your eyes for two seconds and then you’d jump in the shower, but the second you cozied up again you were a goner.
About half an hour had passed since you’d fallen back asleep and you were woken up this time by an incessant knocking at your door. You sluggishly made you way towards it thinking it was Patri and that she had just forgotten her key or something. However, you were sorely mistaken, when you opened the door you were met with a pissed Alexia, who instead of waiting to be let into your room like a well-mannered person would do, simply barged in and started rummaging around. “Well good morning to you too then” you said while rubbing your eyes, trying to get your brain to catch up. Two seconds ago you were pleasantly asleep and now there was a stunning blond tearing through your room.
“Where is it?” she said still not looking at you. “Huh?” you truly had no idea what she was talking about. She let out an exasperated breath and while turning said “My thong y/n, the one you…” Alexia completely lost her train of thought, she had barged into your room without even glancing at you, so when she turned she around and saw you standing by the door with a sleepy confused expression, wearing only a slightly baggy t-shirt and panties, she was stunned. No she was more than that, she could literally feel as each air molecule escaped her lungs as you took her breath away.
As she let her eyes feast on you, she noticed you weren’t wearing a bra, by the visible little indents that your nipples made against your shirt. And as she looked further down it only got better, you had on some plain cotton panties, nothing fancy or intentionally sexy, but still damn. And then came your legs, god your legs, your beautiful, defined, tanned legs where on full display and they seemed to go on forever. She had seen you naked before sure, but her mind was clouded by a lot, and she meant a lot, of alcohol that night. So seeing you here, like this, so domestic, so cute, so fucking devourable, it had sent her brain into a frenzy. She was brought back to reality by you saying “take a picture, it’ll last longer, you could even use it to get yourself off later”. Alexia really needed to stop getting lost in you.
Regaining her focus Alexia’s face turned stern once again, as she took a few steps towards you “mis bragas y/n damelas”. You just smirked at her, your sleepy state leaving and instead being replaced by your usual brazenness. To clear somethings up, you hadn’t taken her underwear with intent to use it for dubious or lustful purposes, you would never. Instead you had taken them because you knew it would piss her off and it would keep your banter going, hopefully leading you into the exact situation you were in now. “You know I don’t really recall any panties, maybe you could describe them, help me jog my memory” she huffed at you “No estoy para juegos y/n, give them back… now, I won’t ask again”, you put up your hands in surrender “fine, fine, let me just grab them” you walked towards your dresser and swiftly pulled them out. You turned around and held them out to her, but the second she went to take them from your hand you pulled back, “but I do have to say I’m quite shocked” you said while holding them up in the air with both hands “inspecting” them, “I never would have guessed this is the type of underwear you packed for camp or wore on a daily basis, I mean it seems like something someone would wear with the intent of having someone else takeoff”. She tries to take the garment out of your hands again but you simply raised them higher, you weren’t that much taller than her, but you did have long limbs, so that gave you an advantage. “whoahh easy there tiger,… I’ll give them back in a second I just want you to answer one simple question for me, do you have national team sidepiece capi?…” you say raising an eyebrow inquisitively at her “or did you bring these for me?…”. That makes a light blush creep up her neck and you quickly use it in your favor. “your blushing…, so you did bring them for me” “I did not bring them for you” she immediately answers “you don’t have to lie to me Ale, you can admit you wanted me to fuck you again, not to toot my own horn but people usually do come back for a repeat performance”; “you know what I’m done, you want my panties so bad keep em, just don’t talk to me anymore” she says as she hurriedly makes her way towards the door with you following in step behind her.
When she opens the door your quick to push your arm above her closing it and trapping her between your body and the door, with your unoccupied hand you gently grab her hip and flip her so she’s facing you, it surprises you when she doesn’t put up much resistance, allowing you to maneuver her so your eye to eye. “Ok ok me pase, perdon, tomalas” you say while gently playing them in her hand, “gracias” she says before she tries to turn around but your grip on her waist stops her, if she wanted to she could remove herself from your grip but she doesn’t, at least not yet. “soltame y/n” “no” “como que no?” “que no, que no te voy a soltar, y la verdad es que tampoco creo que quieres que te suelte” “ahh si y eso porque” “por qué sé que hay una parte de ti que le encanta esto, que le gusta que te caiga atrás, que coquetee contigo…” “y quien te dijo eso?” “ de boca nadie, pero me doy cuenta con tus acciones, porque por más que digas que no quieres nada conmigo Ale, aun viniste a mi cuarto” “vine por…” you interrupt her “no digas que viniste por las putas bragas esas, que las dos sabemos que te pudiste haber comprado mil más, no son ni la perla por dios”, she huffs at you but doesn’t deny it, so you continue “Admit it, a part of you likes this, wants me just as much as I want you” “ni en tu sueños y/n” “bueno déjame decirte que en mis sueños sí, y mucho eh… y creo que en los tuyos tambien” you pause looking her up and down before ever so slowly leaning forward and just as your lips ghost over hers she stops you while griping your jaw making you look straight at her before speaking “Y/n tu y yo, nunca, y escuchame bien cuando digo nunca, nos vamos a volver a enrollar, me entiendes” she doesn’t let you answer she just makes your head nod back at her before gently pushing you back and turning back towards the door ready to leave. Just as she’s crossing the door to leave you tell her “we’ll see about that reina”, Alexia doesn’t give you an answer she simply continues on her way shutting the door and leaving you staring at the space she occupied seconds ago.
Once your brain finally remembers it has functions to fulfill you let out a shaky exhale and start actually start getting ready for the day. After taking a much needed cold shower and dawning your training clothes you head to breakfast, which is mostly empty now with only a couple stragglers still there, you fix yourself a plate of what’s left and sit down next to patri. “porque te tardaste tanto peque” she says whilst gently nudging your arm with hers “por nada, I just, fell back asleep after you left” it wasn’t a complete lie you did spend another half hour sleeping but you also spent another 20 mins with Alexia, but those where miniscule details that Patri didn’t need to know.
You barely ate, taking a bite here and there while you pushed the food around your plate. Alexia had served as a pleasant distraction this morning, but she was gone now and while there were other people chatting animatedly around you, you couldn’t find it in you to participate. Reality was setting in again, and you were back to getting stuck inside your head thinking about every possible thing that could, and you thought would, go wrong today.
Eventually everyone made their way back to their rooms to finish getting ready and chill for a bit before heading to the training pitch. You sat on your bad just staring up at the ceiling when Patri laid beside you “que pasa y/n/n”, “no me pasa nada patri, tu sigue con lo tuyo que yo estoy bien” she turns to lay on her side so that she is looking at you “just because you moved halfway across the world doesn’t mean I don’t still know you peque, tienes rato metida en esa cabeza tuya y se que en lo que sea que estas pensando te esta agobiando” you know she’s expecting you to turn and look at her, to just tell her all your problems like you did when you were little, but you don’t, you stubbornly stay looking at the ceiling. “it’s nothing patri really, I’m just a little nervous ok”, she wraps her arms around you pulling you into her, hugging you in spite of your protest “nena, you’re going to do amazing ok, I know it and you should know it too ok, yeah it may take a bit to settle and find your pace with the team, but it’ll be like that for everyone, first trainings are filed with little mistakes and its normal, no one is expecting anyone to be perfect, ok?” you stayed silent just letting her hold you.
God you missed your sister and a part of you knew she was right, nothing was going to be perfect today, but another bigger part of you also knew that you didn’t have the luxury of messing up, sure you were called up for training camp, but there were too many of you here some of you were going to be cut and you knew it was probably going to be you, you were young, new to the team, and you had already rejected playing with them before, they weren’t loyal to you, and despite your last name you weren’t anyone at all here.
Training was simple enough with Montse having you ease into things, trying to asses where the players stood individually after their brief vacations. You had been doing ok, not great not bad, but almost everyone was the same, they only thing was that you couldn’t get out of your own damn head, and people were starting to notice, you’d messed up on a drill, your feet catching under you and making you stumble, and you were stuck replaying it in your head, sure you were still keeping up with the rest of training but it was your body going through the motions automatically while you were battling with your head.
Montse currently had you in the middle of a passing drill, it was simple, receive the ball in from behind, turn and pass quickly. As you were standing in line with you felt her put her hands on your shoulders and say “calmate nena, I can hear your thoughts from here” you rolled your shoulders shrugging her hands off you “I’m fine”. But you weren’t fine and that was made obvious to absolutely everyone the second you were up again, it wasn’t that you messed up the drill, your pass was perfect, the only thing was the power you put behind it, it was as if you wanted to go through Claudia’s foot.
A couple minutes later they finally called for a water break, and while everyone took this opportunity to make fun and chat, you stood by yourself trying to get your head under control. You were fucking it up, your first real chance and you were blowing it, no way in hell were you going to the Olympics playing like this.
You were brought out of your thoughts by a hand being placed on your shoulder from behind. As you were turning to look at who you assumed to be your sister trying to raise your spirits “Patri ya te dije que estoy bi… Alexia?”, “Hola” she said with a shy smile, why the hell was she here, “toma” she said handing you a water bottle, you took it from her hands and without really looking at her and said “gracias”.
You turned back around expecting her to leave after that, but of course she didn’t “you’re stuck in your head guijarrito” “I’m fine Alexia, really” “pues no lo aparentas la verdad” you just let out an incredulous chuckle at that, “te estas enfocando demasiado en no equivocarte y/n, calmate un poco” “yeah that’s easier said than done” she gets a little closer to you “enfócate menos en el pase que paso y más en el de ahora, you remember that day back in Barcelona, que me enseñaste el juego ese, como se llamaba, camello…” “Horse” “sí sí eso, be like when we were playing that, no te preocupes por los olympicos, let it only be you, here now, playing football just for fun, vale?” you take a deep breath calming yourself a little.
You assumed this was the end of her pep talk and that she would be returning to the group, but instead Alexia gets closer to you looking around to make sure no one was near enough to hear what she was about to say “Y si necesitas una distracción…” she paused lowering her tone “mirame el culo que se que eso te hace olvidarte de todo lo demas…” and with that she leaves and you just let out a low exasperated “madre mía”.
Surprisingly or maybe unsurprisingly Alexia’s pep talk, if it could be called that, actually worked, when you reassumed training you were a completely different person, you were visibly lighter, actually paying attention to the little side commentary the team had going on and towing in your own little quips here and there. And when you felt your doubts starting to creep back in you did let your eyes wander over to Ale and the thoughts quickly disappeared, you’d bet 100 euros that she was even bending over a little more on purpose, she even winked at you once when she caught you ogling her.
The rest of the day went by surprisingly quickly, and you were now just hanging out in the common room playing some ping pong with the girls. But, much to your dismay, Alexia wasn’t there, she and Irene had tragically been held back by Montse to discuss some things privately. After about an hour you saw Irene enter the common room and you expected Alexia to stroll in behind her, but after 10 minutes had passed and she still hadn’t entered you guessed she’d probably gone to her room instead. So you got up automatically fully focused on going to find her, telling Vicky when she asked why you were leaving that you had grown bored of beating them.
You made your way to Alexia’s room, now actually knowing where you were going, but you were stopped dead in your tracks when you rounded the corner and saw her standing at the threshold of her door clearly seething with anger as she talked to Jenni. “Es que no me lo puedo creer, los cojones que tiene esa mujer para venir y decrime eso a mí”, you saw as Jenni gently took her hand and pulled her in towards her wrapping an arm around Alexia’s waist, while her other hand softly gripped the back of her neck while she guided her head into the crook of her neck. You saw as Jenni leaned down and whispered something to Alexia, that visibly calmed her down, even getting a slight laugh from her.
You obviously knew about their history, you were living in America not under a rock, and you had seen their closeness trough pictures, but seeing it up close it felt different, it didn’t seem like exes who simply ended on good terms and were know friends, it was more like a couple who didn’t want to admit their feelings for each other. A frown settled on your face when alexia unwrapped herself from Jenni’s embrace and pulled her inside her room behind her. Ok so maybe you had read the whole situation wrong, maybe it was just a stupid mistake that alexia had made that night, and here you were acting like a petulant child bringing it up. Maybe you were right when you said before that Alexia had someone on the national team.
You turned around and headed back to where you came from while your head was filled with unanswered questions. Where she and Jenni at it again? Had you made a complete fool of yourself pursuing her? Had she told Jenni about your advances? fuck maybe she didn’t want you flirting with her, had you made Alexia feel uncomfortable? Had you misinterpreted yours and Alexias interactions? had she just tried to be friendly and you just made up this movie in your head? you know what no way, there was actually no way this was all in your head, she told you to stare at her ass for fucks sake, that’s not something you do with friends…, right?
Or maybe it was how alexia interacted with friends she had seen naked, maybe she used playful banter to sweep what happened under the rug, maybe she was the same way with Jenni. That left an unsettling felling in your chest, that seemed strangely similar to jealousy, which was absurd, you had no claim over Alexia, hell if you were being honest you couldn’t even really be considered friends, you didn’t know each other you had only interacted properly a handful of times, if that.
You were still thinking about it when you finally reentered the common room, your body was basically on autopilot as you plopped down next to Jana on a bean bag. She turned to look at you observing you for a second before saying “todo bien?” “huh, eh sí sí”, as Jana was about to pry she was interrupted by Vicky saying “look who came back with her tail between her legs”, “callate Vicky, es más después de Laia juego yo, para ganarte otra vez” you said while standing up and heading to the ping pong table.
A little later you were all called for dinner. And as you were standing in line with your tray looking over the food options and still replaying in your head what you had seen earlier, you felt a gentle tap on you shoulder. You turned to find Jana looking at you with her brows furrowed “whats up?”, she looks down at her tray, hesitating for a moment, “you okay?” when she sees the confusion written on your face she continues “I just mean when you came back earlier it just seemed like maybe you had something on your mind” she can see when the realization hits you by how your face scrunches in recognition “ohhh that, no its nothing, I’m good don’t worry about it” you turn back assuming that that was that, but you feel her place her hand on your shoulder again so you turn back around. “If you weren’t you could tell me, you know, like I know we don’t know each other that well, I mean we basically met yesterday, well we did see each other at the champions league celebration, or like I saw you, shit I’m rambling, I’m sorry, I just, it’s just…” you place your hand on her shoulder hoping to calm her down “breathe Jana… si te asfixias ahora no voy a poder hablar con nadie después” she lets out something between a breath and a chuckle at that, you look at her making sure she’s ok before saying “I am okay, but thanks anyways and If you ever need anything I’m here too” she just nods not trusting herself to not say something stupid if she opens her mouth and with that you turn back around not catching the muttered “joder” jana lets out under her breath.
After making your plate you sit next to your sister with Jana taking the chair on the right side of you. You were all chatting animatedly when Alexia and Jenni finally walked into the room, you watched as they fixed up their plates, and you couldn’t help but notice the little frown that appeared on Alexia face when she reached the end of the line and found out there weren’t any more of those protein muffins she liked. They sat together, really close, like maybe too close, I mean their arms were touching, you couldn’t really eat like that you thought, their arms were bound to bump into each other.
You shook your head ridding those thoughts from your mind and turned back to your own dinner, falling back into conversation with the girls around you. After a bit, everyone started saying their goodnights and heading to bed, today you could make mistakes, but tomorrow you couldn’t, Montse would be announcing the official squad list in 2 days, so everyone was a bit on edge. Patri patted your shoulder and told you that she was going to Onas room for a bit. Before leaving the canteen you stopped to talk to Sara, a very nice lady from the kitchen staff, hoping she could do you a little favor.
Afterwards instead of heading to your own room, you found yourself walking the same path you had a couple of hours ago and before you knew it you were at alexia’s door. You knocked softly and a couple seconds later the door opened. “Hola” “Hola Capi, may I come in?” “no creo que esa sea la mejor…” you cut her off showing her what had hidden behind your back “I come baring gifts” she gently took the muffin from your hand and lead you into her room “how did you know” you just shrugged “I’m a woman of many talents”, you stopped for a second, letting all the teasing leave your voice before telling her “It’s a thank you, you know, for helping me today”, “you didn’t have to get me anything y/n, honestly it…” you cut her off again “I wanted to… to be honest if it wasn’t for our little chat I would’ve bombed today” “you wouldn’t have” “I would, so Ale just accept my thank you gifts and be grateful ok?” “ ok ok, thank you” it silent for a second before you step a little closer to her again “I have something else for you” “y/n el muffin es mas que suficiente, de verdad…” you cut her off once more “shh, its nothing really, I’m fairly certain it’ll annoy you more than anything” you say while pulling something out of your pocket, you took her hand and gently placed something in her palm, when Alexia looked down at her hand she found a little crown made out of a yellow post its, she lets out a little laugh, god you loved that sound, “gracias” “de nada”.
Silence fell upon you once again, it wasn’t awkward but it wasn’t quite comfortable yet either, “sabes…” “entonces…” you both spoke at the same time, you both hesitated opening and closing your mouths, “Tu primero” “you first” you said in sink again. “Dime tu primero Ale” she looked at you for a moment and you saw the hesitation in her eyes, she shook her head and simply said “no importa, olvidalo mejor dime tu” you looked at her and you saw the softness and vulnerability her eyes held so you decided not to pry “vale, ehh… solo queria preguntarte si todo estaba bien?... It’s just that I might’ve seen you early with Jenni and you seemed pretty mad, I know you have Jenni, Misa Irene, Patri and all the other barca girls, ok you could talk to half the squad, but if you ever wanted to talk to someone else, you could talk to me if you’d like, I find it that its easier to talk about somethings with someone you don’t really know, it lowers the stakes a bit” she doesn’t say anything, and you feel as though you might have overstepped, but just as your about to tell her you take it all back and to just forget it, she softly says “thank you, I’ll kept it in mind”.
For a second neither of you speak, you just stand there looking at each other and alexia notes the sincerity in your eyes. Feeling the tension in the silnce you speak again “And if you wanted to not talk that’s okay too, I mean I don’t have an ass like yours to get lost looking at but I do believe I have some other desirable features that could serve as your distraction” jokingly flexing your arms, “callate” she said whilst playfully pushing you back, you lifted your arms in mock surrender “hey you were the one who said it first, I was actually quite surprised, for a second there I thought I was still dreaming… quien hubiera pensado que la reina seria tan picara”. She looks down at the floor, feeling the blush creep up her neck, a part of her couldn’t believe it either.
After that silence engulfed you once more, you look at the clock in her room noticing its almost 11 “I should go…” alexia follows your gaze and notices the time as well “yeah…”. You both walked the whole 5 steps to the door, before you turned to look at Alexia again “good night” “Bon nuit”
Alexia expected you to turn back around and leave, but you didn’t instead you just looked at her for a second, as if assessing her, she didn’t know what exactly you were trying to find in her eyes but she also didn’t interrupt you or look away.
A couple more seconds passed before you just gently shook your head and let a smirk appear on your face “un besito de buenas noches?” Alexia just laughed, god two seconds ago you were looking at her with such softness and now you were back to being cheeky, “no guijarrito, we’ve been over this before” you simply shrug “can’t blame a girl for trying” she waited for you to leave but once again you made no move to, in fact you stepped slightly closer to her looking at her lips before returning your gaze to her eyes “y si me eligen para los olympicos, ahí me das uno de felicitaciones?”, Alexia doesn’t know what possessed her body in that moment but she found her hand traveling up to your face and gently gripping your jaw, letting her thumb swipe over your cheek before moving in so her lips were ghosting over yours and just as you let your eyes flutter closed you heard her softly say
“ni de coña”.
A/N: reuploading this because I found out that I seemed to have deleted or missed a whole paragraph when I was moving this here from the word doc I work on. Plus I also didn't like how some parts of it turned out, so i went over it again and polished it better. Hope you enjoy It and as always thank you to all of you who read my work and interact with it.
Thank you for your love and support for the previous chapter, the final of the champions league! It was pretty football heavy, so apologies for that but I hope you enjoyed it all the same ❤️
Next chapter is the one we’ve all been waiting for… and I’ve been alluding to for a while now… a night of celebrations! It’s the final part of this minific, although because I can’t shut up (surprise surprise) it’s my longest chapter yet, so long in fact, I had to split it and create a bonus chapter 🫣 … sorry.
It’s basically the night time celebrations of the final, and there’s a lot of celebrations… 😉
You may know what to expect based on some of the posts and interactions I’ve had this week… if not I’ll post some spoilers under the cut. If you genuinely like to be surprised and you’re open minded then don’t read below the cut, you won’t miss anything. I’m only pre-warning as I know there may be some things people aren’t into, which is totally fine, and I want to let you know beforehand.
Thank you again for everything. I’m really looking forward to sharing this one. It’s been a long time coming, no pun intended…
… sorry 😜
I’ll be posting Saturday evening between 6-8pm bst.
Much love ❤️
Spoilers below don’t read if you like surprises:
Spoilers final warning…
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So there’s a lot of smut in this one. There’s a lot of foreplay, there’s fingering (r receiving) oral (r receiving) there’s some squirting which I know is not everyone’s cup of tea, so totally okay if this one is not for you, and face riding (Alexia receiving). There’s also soft dom Alexia with use of safe colours. Everything’s consensual.
Lost for words| Chapter 9: Found | Alexia Putellas x reader
Summary: For the first time, you let yourself feel everything – and Alexia is right there with you.
🔞 Explicit content: sexual intimacy. Minors skip this chapter.
Words: 4.5K
Previous chapters
Chapter 1: the day you stopped believing in heroes
Chapter 2: First day
Chapter 3: The one who won't bend
Chapter 4: Cracks in the ice
Chapter 5: The breaking point
Chapter 6: Aftermath
Chapter 7: The confession
Chapter 8: Learning to listen
The nearly 2 months that went by between the free kick practice and the Champions League final passed in a blur of early mornings, late nights, and the quiet and unsaid understanding that everything was about to change.
You didn't talk about it, not directly but there was a shift in the air between you and Alexia, a current that hummed beneath every conversation, every coffee and every shared glance across the training pitch, and the tension that had once been sharp and angry had softened into something else, something warmer, something that made your chest ache in ways you didn't have words for.
The team noticed, of course, Mapi had stopped making jokes, which was how you knew it was serious and Patri smiled more, even Pere seemed to ease up on the intensity, as if he could feel the collective weight of the season lifting, there was a quiet confidence in the air, a belief that this was finally the year but no one talked about it, not out loud cause the final was too close, too important, all that mattered was Lyon.
You remembered the first time you'd watched Alexia play in a Champions League final, you were sixteen, sitting on the floor of your childhood bedroom, the stream flickering on your laptop. Lyon had won 3-1 and Alexia had played like she was trying to carry the whole team on her back, and when the final whistle blew, she'd stood in the center of the pitch, her face full of exhaustion and disappointment.
You'd cried for her that night and you'd told yourself she'd get another chance, that she'd win it one day, but you never imagined you'd be there to see it and you never, ever imagined you'd be on the same pitch.
---
The morning of the final, you woke before your alarm.
The hotel room was still dark, the curtains drawn tight against the Spanish sun and you lay there for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the distant hum of the city outside. Your heart was pounding but not with fear, but with something closer to anticipation.
You reached for your phone and you saw a message from Alexia, sent at 6:03 AM: I'm awake too breakfast?
You smiled and typed back: Meet you in the lobby.
Twenty minutes later, you were sitting across from her in the hotel restaurant, picking at a plate of fruit you weren't hungry for, the restaurant was empty cause the rest of the team wasn't due for another hour.
"You look like you slept," Alexia said, observing you over her coffee.
"I didn't but I faked it well."
She laughed, "I didn't sleep either, I never do the night before a final."
"Any advice?"
Alexia tilted her head, considering her answer before saying, "don't think about the result, think about the moments, the passes, the tackles and the way the grass feels under your boots, if you focus on the small things, the big things take care of themselves."
You nodded, filing the words away.
"And one more thing," Alexia added, her voice softening, "enjoy it, doesn’t matter whatever happens, this is a moment you'll remember forever, don't waste it being scared."
You held her gaze. "I'll try."
She smiled. "That's all anyone can do."
---
The bus ride to the stadium was a blur of music and nervous energy, the team was loud, louder than you'd ever heard them. Mapi was telling a story in rapid Spanish that made everyone laugh and Patri was singing along to something on her phone, and you saw Caro, who was usually calm and composed, tapping her foot, her eyes bright with excitement. You sat in the back, your headphones on, but not listening to anything cause you were watching Alexia. She was near the front of the bus, talking quietly to Irene, her expression calm and focused, she looked like she'd done this a hundred times before, which, you supposed, she had but when she glanced back at you, her eyes softened and Alexia gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod.
We've got this.
You nodded back.
The stadium was a cauldron of sound as you stood in the tunnel, the Champions League anthem swelling around you, your heart pounding in your chest. The lights were bright, the noise deafening, the air thick with anticipation and you could smell the grass, the sweat, the tension, it was everything you'd ever imagined and more.
Lyon's players were lined up across from you, tall, composed, dangerous and you recognized a few of them, the ones who'd been here before, the ones who'd won this trophy multiple times, you were the underdog, you'd always been the underdog but you weren't scared.
A hand brushed against yours and you glanced down and you saw Alexia's fingers had grazed yours, not a grip, just a touch, and in that moment, you didn’t feel alone, you looked up and she was staring straight ahead, her expression unreadable but her hand stayed close to yours, just barely touching.
I'm here, it seemed to say, we're in this together.
The anthem ended and the crowd roared and then the referee was walking onto the pitch, and it was time.
The first half was brutal.
Lyon pressed high, their midfield relentless, their defense impenetrable and every time you thought you'd found a gap, it closed. Every time you made a tackle, they were right back at you, the score stayed 0-0, but it felt like you were losing.
At halftime, you sat in the locker room, your legs burning, your lungs aching and the team was quiet, too quiet, you could feel the doubt creeping in, the old whispers of you don't belong here but then Alexia stood up, she didn't shout, she didn't give a speech full of platitudes, she just looked at the team, her eyes steady, and said, "I've been here before, we have been here before and I know what it feels like to lose this game and I'm not going to let it happen again."
She looked directly at you.
"We're better than them, we've always been better, all we need to do is just believe it."
You met her gaze, and for the first time that day, you believed.
The second half started like the first, relentless, brutal, unforgiving.
Lyon came out with renewed intensity, their forwards pressing high, their midfield cutting off every passing lane and you could feel the weight of the occasion pressing down on your shoulders, the years of history, the expectations of a club that had waited too long for this moment but you weren't the same player who'd walked onto the pitch five years ago, trembling and unsure, you weren't even the same player who'd arrived in Barcelona months ago, angry and closed off, you were something else now, something stronger.
You made a tackle in the 52nd minute, a sliding challenge that stopped a Lyon counter attack, the ball bounced off your shin and rolled to Patri, who launched it forward and the crowd roared, you got to your feet, your lungs burning, and you saw Alexia glance back at you from the midfield.
She nodded.
Just once.
But it was enough.
The first goal came in the 67th minute.
Alexia received the ball just outside the Lyon penalty area, her back to the goal, and a defender pressed tight against her, you'd seen this moment a thousand times, in videos, in your dreams, in the poster that had hung above your bed, you saw Alexia dropped her shoulder, feinted left, and then spun right, the defender stumbling as she created just enough space.
The shot was a rocket, low, driven, curling into the far corner before the goalkeeper could even react.
The stadium exploded.
Alexia ran toward the corner flag, her arms outstretched, her face split with joy and the whole team swarmed her, a tangle of red and blue and pure, unfiltered euphoria.
And then she looked up.
She looked at you.
You were still standing near the edge of the penalty area, your hands on your knees, your chest heaving and she was walking toward you, weaving through the celebrating players, her eyes fixed on yours and when she reached you, she didn't speak, she just grabbed your face with both hands, her palms warm against your cheeks, and said, "We're not done yet."
You nodded, unable to speak.
She let go, and the celebration continued, but for that one moment, it had been just the two of you.
The second goal came in the 83rd minute and it was yours.
A corner kick from Patri, swinging into the box and you'd timed your run perfectly, losing your marker with a sharp cut across the penalty area, the ball met your forehead, and you redirected it past the goalkeeper, into the back of the net.
You didn't even realize you'd scored until the stadium roared.
Then you were on the ground, and someone was on top of you and then more bodies, and you couldn't breathe, but you didn't care, because you'd just scored in a Champions League final.
And then Alexia was there, pulling you to your feet, her arms around you, her voice in your ear.
"I told you," she said, her voice cracking with emotion, "I told you you were incredible."
You held onto her for a moment longer than necessary, your face buried in her shoulder, the noise of the crowd fading into the background.
"One more," you said. "We need one more."
She pulled back, her eyes shining. "Let's get it."
The third goal never came but it didn't matter, Barcelona won 2-1, and when the final whistle blew, the stadium erupted into chaos.
You dropped to your knees, your legs finally giving out, your head bowed, tears were streaming down your face, you weren't sure when they'd started and you couldn't stop them.
You were a Champions League winner.
The trophy ceremony was a blur of lights and confetti and the weight of the cup in your hands. You lifted it with the rest of the team, your arms aching, your voice hoarse from shouting. Mapi was crying, Patri was laughing and Caro was hugging everyone in sight.
And Alexia, Alexia was standing at the front, the captain's armband still around her bicep, her face lifted to the sky, the trophy held high above her head, she looked like she'd been waiting for this moment for a while and in a way, she had.
When she lowered the trophy, she turned to you, and she made a gesture, a small, almost imperceptible wave, and you walked toward her, weaving through the celebrating players.
She pulled you into a hug, the trophy still between you, the weight of it pressing against your chest, "this belongs to you too," she said, "every bit of it."
You didn't know what to say, so you just held on.
The celebration moved to the locker room, then to a private room at a restaurant nearby. Champagne was sprayed, music was played, and the team danced and laughed and cried until their voices were hoarse, you found a quiet corner, watching the chaos unfold. Mapi was leading an impromptu conga line, Patri was doing shots with the coaching staff, and Caro had somehow acquired a giant sombrero and was wearing it with pride.
And then Alexia appeared beside you, a glass of champagne in her hand, "not joining the conga line?" she asked.
"I'm a defender, we don't do conga lines."
"Good point." She took a sip of her champagne, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.
"I've been thinking about what you said before," you said finally.
"What did I say?"
"About enjoying it, about not wasting it being scared." You paused. "I think I finally understand what you meant."
Alexia's expression softened. "And?"
"I'm not scared anymore." You looked at her and said, "I'm just... happy."
Alexia smiled, that small, genuine smile that you'd come to recognize, the one she saved for moments like this, "me too."
The celebration wound down slowly and one by one, the team drifted away, heading to their rooms or their flights or their families and by the time the sun began to rise, it was just the two of you, standing on the rooftop of the restaurant, looking out at the city below, the night was cool, the sky clear, the stars bright enough to see despite the city lights. You could hear the distant hum of traffic, the faint sound of someone's radio drifting from a nearby window.
"I don't want this night to end," you said quietly.
"It doesn't have to," Alexia said, "not yet."
She reached out and took your hand it was not a quick gesture, but a slow, deliberate one as her fingers laced through yours, warm and steady.
"Come with me," she said.
You followed her through the quiet hotel corridors, past the reception desk, past the lifts, until she stopped at a door on the top floor and Alexia swiped her keycard and pushed it open, revealing a spacious room with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city.
"This is yours?" you asked.
"Ours," she corrected softly, "for tonight."
The room was warm, the lights dim, the city lights glittering through the glass and a small balcony jutted out from the windows, and she led you there, the two of you standing together, the city sprawled out below.
"Thank you," you said.
"For what?"
"For everything, for not giving up on me, for being patient, for..." you paused, searching for the right words before continuing, "for showing me that I didn't have to hate you."
Alexia turned to face you, her expression open and vulnerable. "I didn't do anything special, I just..."
"You just stayed," you finished for her, “you stayed even when I tried to push you away, even when I was angry and cold and impossible, you stayed."
Alexia didn't answer, she didn't have to.
The moment stretched between you, fragile and you could hear your own heartbeat, steady and sure.
"I don't want to be scared anymore," you said, "not of you, not of this….not of anything."
Alexia's eyes searched yours. "What do you want?"
You thought about the answer, but it was already there, waiting. "I want to stop running. I want to stop hiding…. I want..."
You didn't finish the sentence cause you didn't need to and Alexia stepped closer, her hand coming up to cup your face, her thumb brushing across your cheekbone, her eyes were soft, her smile gentle.
"Then stay," she whispered.
And you did.
Alexia turned to you, her eyes soft in the dim light. "Do you remember the first time we talked? like really talked, at the café?"
You nodded, "yes I remember perfectly, you asked me how I took my coffee."
"I was so nervous," she admitted, a small smile playing on her lips, "I'd been trying to find a way to reach you for weeks and then you just... sat there and I thought this is it, this is the moment I finally get to know her for real.'"
"You were nervous?"
"Terrified." Alexia laughed quietly, "you had this wall around you, and I didn't know how to break through so after thinking a lot, I asked about coffee cause it was the only thing I could think of."
You smiled. "It worked."
"Did it?"
You thought about the months that had passed since that moment, the coffees, the notes, the training sessions, the slow figuring out of everything you'd built, "yeah," you said, "it did."
The silence that followed was different from the silences of the past, it wasn't heavy with unsaid words or thick with resentment, it was soft, comfortable, like a blanket you'd been waiting your whole life to wrap around yourself.
Alexia reached out, her fingers brushing against yours, "I'm glad it was you," she said quietly, "I'm glad it was you who came to Barcelona, I'm glad it was you who stayed and I'm glad it was you who..." she trailed off, her eyes searching yours.
You knew what she meant cause you felt it too.
The cool night air seemed to stand still as you both stepped back inside, the transition from the balcony to the warmth of the hotel room was seamless, but the real shift was in the way she looked at you, stripped of the past, raw, and completely present.
You closed the distance between you two, breaking the final barrier and in no time what began as a soft hello kiss, a quiet reassurance that you were both finally on the same side, instantly ignited into a desperate, aching need that had been buried for months. Your hands moved instinctively to cup Alexia’s face, your fingers tangling in the dark waves of her hair, while her arms wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against her.
You parted just a fraction of an inch, your lips brushing hers as you whispered against her skin, "The wall, it’s gone now."
That confession seemed to break something open in her as Alexia didn't reply with words and instead, she guided you backward without breaking the kiss, her steps certain and deliberate until your back met the firm safety of the wall. There was no harshness in it, only a fierce, protective possessiveness that took your breath away, she was holding you securely by the waist, she lifted you a few inches off the floor, prompting you to wrap your legs around her hips as she pinned you gently against the surface.
"Put your hands above your head, corazon," Alexia murmured, her voice a low, raspy command that sent a shiver straight down your spine.
You obeyed without a second thought, pressing your palms against the wall above you, completely surrendering your control to her. Alexia secured both of your wrists with just one of her hands, holding them in place, not to trap you, but to remind you that you were entirely safe to let go and the weight of her body pressing into yours felt like the perfect, grounding anchor. Her free hand traveled slowly down your side, tracing your curves before slipping between your bodies as she pressed firmly over your pants, her touch agonizingly deliberate. A sharp moan escaped your lips, and you leaned in to find her mouth to muffle it, but Alexia kissed you with a torturous slow pace as she was savoring your impatience, forcing you to feel the agonizingly perfect friction of her hand against you.
Driven by the heat building inside you, you began to shift your hips, trying to chase the friction, but Alexia stopped you with a firm, steady pressure of her thigh. "If you don’t stop moving, I will stop," she breathed against your mouth, "wait for me and let me take care of you."
You stilled instantly, your breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.
"Alexia, please... don't make me wait," you pleaded in a ragged whisper, entirely undone by the look in her eyes.
Seeing your vulnerability only filled Alexia with a deeper warmth and with practiced, gentle fingers, she unbuttoned and unzipped your pants, refusing to rush. She slid her hand beneath the fabric, finding your underwear completely soaked as a quiet, breathless groan escaped Alexia’s throat at the realization of how badly you wanted her.
"Look at me," Alexia requested softly, her eyes searching yours in the dim light, "tell me what you need, use your words corazon."
"You..." you managed to breathe out, your cheeks flushing but your gaze locked onto hers, "I want to feel you….. really feel you…. with no barriers."
A breathtakingly tender smile touched Alexia’s lips as she pulled the lace of your underwear aside, erasing the final distance between you, her thumb found your sensitive center with a perfect, rhythmic stroke, while her fingers slid inside you with an ease that made you arch your back against the wall. Your moans filled the quiet room, a melody she drank in, pressing soft, adoring kisses along your jawline and neck as she guided you closer to the edge. When the climax finally broke over you, it felt like pure redemption as you clung to her shoulders as your body trembled, letting go of five years of distance, anger, and pain in one beautiful moment.
With immense care, Alexia lowered you back down, supporting your weight until your feet found the floor and before your knees could buckle, she swept you up into her arms, carrying you over to the living room couch as if you were the most precious thing she had ever held. She sat down beside you, pulling you immediately into her chest and you snuggled close, resting your head on her shoulder, your arms wrapping tightly around her body. The silence that followed was the most peaceful either of you had known in years, punctuated only by the synchronized, steady thumping of your heartbeats.
"I love you," you whispered into her ear, the words settling into the quiet air.
Alexia leaned down and kissed your forehead with deep reverence. "I love you too, so much."
A spark of playful energy returned to you in the comforting aftermath and you lifting your head, you looked into her eyes and let a small, devious smile play on your lips and the desire between you hadn't vanished, it had simply shifted into something different.
"Your turn," you purred softly, "lie back."
Alexia smiled, shifting her weight to lie back against the couch, her head resting on the armrest as she watched you with wide eyes completely surrendered to you. Her hair was a beautifully disheveled mess against the cushion and you paused for a fraction of a second just to admire her, reminding yourself that this incredible woman chose you and fought to have you, before climbing over her to kiss her with devotion.
Your hands slipped beneath her shirt, caressing the warmth of her skin, as your fingers reached the clasp of her bra, she arched her back slightly, making it easy for you to unhook it and free her breasts to your touch, Alexia gasped into the kiss as your fingers traced and teased her nipples, and you responded by dragging your lips downward, you took your time along her jaw, her throat, and her collarbone, paying deliberate attention to the sensitive spots you were discovering she loved, drawing loud, breathless moans from her. You trailed your kisses down to her stomach, slowly pulling her pants and underwear down, leaving her skin entirely bare to the soft glow of the room and when your lips finally found her center, Alexia inhaled sharply, her fingers instantly finding yours and intertwining them tightly against the cushions as she sought an anchor.
You moved with tenderness and intent, using your lips and tongue to worship her, turning every broken sigh she uttered into a promise that you weren't going anywhere. Her quiet whimpers turned into louder, breathless cries, her body tensing beautifully under your touch until she finally reached her peak and you held her through the crest of it, soothing her with gentle strokes until her breathing slowed and she melted completely into the couch, you climbed back up to lie beside her, pulling her close in the narrow space and you lay there hand in hand, chests rising and falling in perfect unison, wrapped in the quiet certainty that you were finally, truly whole.
As the morning light crept through the curtains, soft and golden, you woke slowly, your body warm and heavy with the kind of sleep that came from feeling safe and for a moment, you didn't remember where you were but then you felt the weight of an arm draped across your waist, the warmth of a body pressed against your back, and you remembered everything.
You turned your head, careful not to wake her, Alexia's face was relaxed in sleep, her lips slightly parted, her hair a mess of dark waves against the pillow, she looked younger like this unguarded and peaceful.
You watched her for a long moment, letting yourself feel the weight of what had happened, not just the night before, but everything, all the months of silence and anger and the slow unraveling of the wall, the confession, the forgiveness and the trust.
You reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
She stirred, her eyes fluttering open and for a second, she looked confused but then Alexia saw you, and her face broke into a slow, sleepy smile.
"Hey," she murmured.
"Hey."
"Did you sleep?"
"Better than I have in years."
She shifted closer, resting her head on your shoulder and her arm tightened around your waist, pulling you against her.
"Me too," she said softly.
You lay there together, the morning sun painting patterns on the ceiling and the city humming faintly outside. There was no rush to get up, no pressure to fill the silence with words, you just existed, together, in the quiet aftermath of something you hadn't known you were waiting for.
"I don't want to move," you admitted.
"Then don't."
"What about all the media things we have to do?"
"That can wait,” Alexia pressed a kiss to your shoulder, "this can't."
You smiled, closing your eyes and for the first time in five years, you didn't feel like you were running, you felt like you were home.
Hours later, you finally emerged from the bedroom.
Alexia was already in the kitchen, making coffee, dressed in an oversized shirt that you were pretty sure was yours and she turned when she heard you, a mug in each hand.
"Black, no sugar," she said, handing you one.
"You remembered."
"I remember everything."
You took the mug, your fingers brushing hers as the warmth spread through your chest, settling somewhere deep and permanent.
"So what now?" you asked.
Alexia leaned against the counter, considering. "I don't know cause I've never really done this before."
"Done what?"
"This…… us." she smiled, a little shy, "I've won trophies, I've scored goals and I've done all the things I'm supposed to do….. but this..." she gestured between the two of you, "this is new."
"Terrifying new?"
"Terrifyingly good new."
You laughed, and she joined you, the sound filling the small kitchen. it felt easy, it felt right.
"Then we figure it out together," you said.
Alexia set down her mug and walked toward you, her hands finding yours, "together," she repeated, "I like the sound of that."
Alexia leaned in, her forehead resting against yours. "Thank you," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For staying, for trusting me and for letting me in."
You closed your eyes, letting her words settle into your bones, "thank you for not giving up on me."
She pulled back, her eyes shining. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere."
