☆ Summary: A glimpse into the hours following the Champions League victory in Oslo. You might or might not be wearing Patri's shirt through it all, which is a problem for a certain captain.
☆ Word count: 6.7K
☆ Warnings: (+18) SMUT • lot of dry humping • scissoring (again, yes) • boob love <3 • the captain armband stays on during sex • jealous/possessive Ale • mention of body image issues • baby alexia
☆ A/n: keeping score universe!! You will enjoy this fic more if you read these fics first
The Champions League final was here.
You had managed to get a few (precious) days off from the hospital, all so you could tag along to Oslo.
But travelling with the Football Club Barcelona meant navigating a game of hide-and-sick. You and Ale were still very private about your relationship, so much so that your presence in Norway has sent some small corners of the internet buzzing.
Online, the fans were completely split into two teams. Half of them thought you had come solely to support Clara, your younger sister, while the other half suspected you were there for Alexia, your rumoured girlfriend.
None of them knew you were there for both.
It was Clara's first time playing in a Champions League final, and since your parents were far too "busy" to make it to the game, you had made sure she would have someone cheering for her in the stands. At the same time, it was the first opportunity you had ever had to travel and watch Alexia play anywhere other than Barcelona.
Two birds, one stone.
When the final whistle blew, you were in the stands wearing a Guijarro shirt. The shirt had been a very strategic decision on your part.
Alexia and Clara had both suffered absolute meltdowns at the mere thought of you wearing the other's number and name. There was no chance you were subjecting yourself to the humiliation of a half-and-half shirt either, so you had ended the argument by picking up Alexia's phone, texting Patri yourself, and asking if she could sort you out a shirt with her name on it.
Clara had retaliated by making sure you could hear Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo playing from her room for three days straight. It was, indeed, torture.
Alexia, meanwhile, had pouted and declared that you were officially banned from kissing, hugging, or holding her hand until you came home with a shirt with her name and number eleven on it.
You did not cave.
She lasted four hours without kisses, hugs, or hand-holding. You didn't mention it when she finally folded. You just smiled into her hair as she pulled you in, both of you pretending the temporary ban had never happened.
Your plan had never been to go down onto the pitch for the celebrations.
You didn't want fans spotting you and Alexia together, which you knew would happen the second you were within a few meters of each other. You had told both Ale and Clara that beforehand, and they had agreed, after, of course, being babies about it.
But then the fans began to leave the stadium, the medal ceremony things were dismantled piece by piece, and the red and blue ribbons settled in the turf.
That's when you saw it.
Across the pitch, Alexia was laughing with her mum and uncle, tucked between them as if she were a little kid. A little further, Cata was wrapped up with her girlfriend and parents. Pina was surrounded by her mum and cousins, all of them talking over each other.
And then there was Clara.
She stood all by herself, a gold medal hanging around her neck, quietly watching everyone else. It was long past the moment when teammates were celebrating with each other; now they had all turned toward their own families. And Clara's family consisted entirely of you and your brother, who hadn't been able to take time off uni to come.
You felt your heart crack right down the middle, pieces of it falling in the stands. Before you could think better of it, before you could remind yourself why you had promised to stay in the stands, you were already moving towards the barrier.
You showed your credentials to the security guards, and they let you through without a second glance.
Clara didn't see you coming.
You caught her by surprise, wrapping your arms around her shoulders from behind. She gasped when she saw it was you, and you knew it was a sound you were going to carry around with you for a long time.
She was just so, so happy.
The expression on her face reminded you of when she was younger, doing dance recitals. Back then, she would search for you in the audience because your parents thought those performances weren't worth attending. As she spun around inside your embrace, her smile looked exactly the same as it had all those years ago. Except now, with fewer baby teeth.
You pulled her into a tighter hug, burying your face into her shoulder because, of course, she was taller than you despite being the youngest. The edge of her medal dug painfully into your sternum, but you ignored it.
"I'm so proud of you, Clarita," you whispered, "Te quiero, mana."
"Te quiero," she replied, kissing your cheek. "Thank you for being here."
Neither of you moved for a long time, and although there were plenty of people around, talking nonstop, it felt like this tiny space between the two of you was the quietest place on the entire pitch.
"You said you wouldn't come down," Clara murmured, squeezing you even tighter. "You said we would meet back in the locker room."
"I was being silly," you said, smiling up to her as the bear hug finally came to an end.
Your ribs were hurting. When had Clara gotten so strong?
You pulled back just enough to take the medal in your hands, turning it carefully. "I needed to see this medal up close, no?" You smiled. "You deserved it, bebé."
Clara rolled her eyes. "Don't call me bebé. I'm nineteen."
You ignored her completely as you reached up and pinched her cheeks. "Mi bebezota!"
"Urgh!" Clara groaned, trying to escape your grip. "Stop! You are embarrassing me"
A grin tugged at your lips. That was exactly what you wanted.
"People are watching, you know," she added.
People were watching indeed. Including Alexia.
It hadn't taken long for her to find you.
You obviously spotted her before she saw you; she was standing several meters behind Clara.
The moment her hazel eyes landed on you, something in her whole posture softened; a beautiful smile spread across her face even as she held herself carefully still, stiff, almost rigid.
Her shoulders were far too straight, the professional façace held tightly in place. She, as much as you, was entirely aware of how many broadcast cameras were following her every move.
It was almost as if she were waiting for you to make the decision.
Seeing her standing there, her temples covered in sweat that slipped down her collarbones, her face flushed from the game and from being smothered in her mother's affection, the identical gold medal that also adorned her neck....
She was pretty, and yours and the distance suddenly felt far too ridiculous to be taken so seriously.
You patted Clara on the back when Syd and Aicha called her to take some pictures. After watching her go, you turned and started walking towards Alexia.
She smiled at you the entire way.
When you stopped in front of her, you immediately pulled her into your side. You were hyper aware of your surroundings, so you kept the gesture simple, safe and casual.
You slid your arm around her shoulder, nothing more. You leaned in close enough for only her to hear, whispering a "mi campeona" right into her ear. Then you pressed a quick kiss to her cheek.
You hear her breath hitched, the puff of air that came out of her mouth was slow and warm against your neck as she instinctively leaned into you. She squeezed your waist just a second too long, just a fraction harder than any friend normally would.
"I thought you weren't coming down?" she murmured the exact same word Clara had said only moments earlier.
"Mhmm," you whispered, reluctantly stepping away from her, putting a more friendly distance between you. "I changed my mind."
Behind her, Eli and her uncle were watching the interaction with matching smiles.
You had met Alexia's family a few months ago, and along with the team, they were among the very few people who knew exactly what you meant to her. Something much, much more significant than her protegé's sister.
"Hola, mi amor!" Eli exclaimed, stepping forward and pulling you into a motherly hug, completely unconcerned by the cameras around you. "I'm glad you came down! I told you, it's fun being on the pitch after they win."
"Hey, Eli," you said, smiling and kissing both her cheeks. "You were, once again, completely right."
You turned in a slow circle, taking in the stadium, taking in everything.
"Everything feels far too big down here." You turned to Alexia. "How can you even play? I feel so tiny, like an ant."
Alexia shrugged, a soft look in her eyes. She always got those whenever you and her mom were together.
"You get used to it and--Mama! I told you I'm not cold" she pouted.
Alexia twisted away, trying to dodge as Eli attempted to drape a heavy coat over her shoulder.
"But you are shaking, bebé!" Eli insisted.
"I'm not shaking, mama," Alexia protested, already blushing. "I'm just–"
Before she could finish, you felt an arm suddenly land over your shoulder, dragging you slightly sideways.
"Guapa! Hi! look who's decided to join us. Got tired of hiding in your cave?"
Patri's voice was excited; she was always the sweetest on the team. She looked like she had been to war and back, maybe for them footballers, the Champions League final really was war.
"Hola!!!"
Another voice came. Kika appeared beside Patri, vibrating with energy, her dark hair sticking out in every possible direction. You knew those two would party a lot tonight.
Patri's brown eyes dropped to your back, her grin widening as she noticed the name printed across the fabric.
She looked over at Alexia, raising one eyebrow with mischief.
"Look at that, Ale," Patri teased, patting your shoulder proudly. "Your girl knows talent when she sees it."
Alexia's eyes narrowed playfully, her lips pressing into a tight, pouting line as she stared at the Guijarro shirt covering your torso. She looked at you, her eyes shining with that possessive spark you had come to adore. To expect.
Kika laughed, leaning into Patri's side. "Oh no... capi's a bit mad."
"I'm not mad," Alexia countered smoothly, though her eyes never left yours. "It's a nice shirt. It just happens to have the wrong number on it.
By the time you made it back to the hotel, Alexia had been grinning ear to ear for approximately forty minutes straight. She knew perfectly well what the two of you were going to do once you set foot into the hotel room.
The team bus wasn't leaving for the club for another hour and a half, but Alexia did not seem particularly invested in the public celebrations anymore. At the moment, she appeared to be significantly more excited about kissing your entire face.
The door had barely clicked shut behind you before her hands were on your waist.
"I'm so happy you are here, mi sol," she whispered against your lips, her voice raspy, probably from running so much and whatever singing had taken place in the locker room afterwards.
She kissed you gently at first, and then deeper, before resting her forehead against yours, breathing in slowly. Breathing you in.
"You looked pretty in the stands," she murmured. "My favourite fangirl."
"I'm your favourite even while in Patri's shirt?" You teased softly.
"Shut up," she murmured with a breathless laugh, not allowing you to mutter another word as she captured your mouth again, sucking your tongue.
"You won't be wearing it much longer, so enjoy it while you can."
You were fairly sure you would.
Her hands settled on your hips as she slowly guided you backwards through the room. There was something confident in her steps; they were so deliberate and confident, for a moment, it was easy to forget you were in a hotel a few kilometres away from her actual home in Barcelona.
The back of your knee bumped against the edge of the bed, and you let yourself fall onto it, with Alexia following right after.
You kissed her, tasting her champagne-tinged tongue, she felt weightless on top of you.
Her captain's armband was still hugging her bicep tightly; of course, she hadn't taken it off. Once you had told her how much you loved it when she fucked you with it, she had started to keep it. Her heavy gold medal was still hanging around her neck, swaying between you like a pendulum.
Alexia was exactly as good as she thought she was, completely dominant on and off the pitch. The way confidence seemed to be radiating off of her in a way that was equal parts dangerous and attractive.
Your hand travelled down to her lower back, your finger sliding beneath the waistband of her shorts to squeeze the firm flesh of her ass. You shifted under her, tilting your body just right to force her pelvis closer to yours.
"It was hot watching you play," you murmured against her mouth.
You leaned up, caught her lower lip between your teeth, biting into it enough for you to hear a small whimper fall from her tongue.
She pouted at you, her eyes hazy, unfocused. She was completely fixed on you, silently asking you to kiss it better.
You didn't make her wait, pulling her down once more.
"Soy su campeona?" Alexia whispered into the narrow space between your mouth. Her voice sounded much smaller than usual, completely bewitched, and slightly tipsy. [Am I your champion?]
"Si," you whispered, your hand clutching her ass. "Mine, only mine."
Alexia smiled and caught you in a kiss.
Her hot mouth trailed down the line of your jaw, dragging over the side of your throat. One hand guided your head gently aside as she found the hidden and sensitive spot right behind your ear, choosing to brand you there, sucking firmly until you knew it would leave a purplish mark.
A mix of a giggle and a gasp escaped you as your hand settled on her shoulders. "A hickey? Really? You teased. "How old are you? Sixteen?"
She huffed a laugh against your pulse point. "I deserved it, okay? I won the Champions League. I can do whatever I want today."
"Mhm," you hummed, tipping your head back a little further to give her entirely uninhibited access to do as she pleased. "I suppose you can do whatever you want with me, yes."
"Si?" She asked dangerously.
Even without looking, you could feel the slow, coy smile pressing right against your jugular.
"Uhum," you nodded as much as you could under her weight.
"Joder," she cursed, her breath hitching as the absolute submission in your voice sank in. Her hips shifted, rolling hard and against yours as she pinned you to the mattress. "Voy a correr si sigues diciendo eso." [I'm gonna cum if you keep saying that.]
She kept moving against you; it was clear that the confession made her turn absolutely relentless. She took off your shirt, leaving your torso bare.
She pressed her body completely flush, the medal a cool contrast between your breasts, while the rough fabric of her armband brushed against your arm. Her mouth claimed yours once more, her tongue pushing deep, the taste of champagne still there.
You could, somehow, feel her wetness through the fabric of her shorts, slick and hot.
Your fingers dug deeper into the meat of her ass, squeezing as you tilted your own body, forcing her pelvis to drag exactly where you needed. "You're so fucking hot, Alexia."
Alexia moaned low straight into the kiss, then broke it to trail her lips back to your neck, sucking another mark right beside the first.
"Mía," she murmured, voice dropping as her hips found a steady rhythm. [Mine]
Her clit was pressing and sliding against yours through layers of clothing. Her chest was absolutely perfect against yours. She nipped at your earlobe, her breath becoming faster and faster with every passing second.
"Dilo otra vez," Alexia demanded, grinding harder. [say it again.]
You arched up to meet her, your hands roaming beneath her shirt to feel the sweat-slick skin of her back. She trembled when your fingers dug into the tense muscles there.
"You can do whatever you want with me, baby," you breathed right into her ear. "Whatever you want, sí? I'm yours; you deserve it. I'm all yours tonight."
"Ah," she moaned, the medal clinked softly with every roll of her hips. "I want to fuck you nice and slow."
She was growing impatient with the barrier of clothes between you.
She shifted, yanking her shorts down just enough to bare herself before turning her attention to you, working at your clothes with impatient tugs until skin finally met skin.
Finally, you were both completely naked.
When her bare pussy finally settled over yours, your folds parted wetly under the weight. She resumed the grind right away, clit to clit, moving in slow circles.
"Oh god, you feel so good," you gasped, eyes dropping to watch the way her slick coated you, it was so messy, so raw, so fucking delicious. Your eyes landed on her armband again and that only made you get wetter. "Damn, Alexia. You are fucking dripping baby."
"Joder, amor" She hissed again, her voice cracking as overstimulation hit her. "Tan mojada-" [you're so wet]
Still, she kept the pace even, riding the shared wetness, her body soft yet controlled as she chased the edge without rushing towards it.
Her medal continues to swing between you, a constant reminder of the massive victory waiting just outside the hotel room.
Her hands slid up your arms before settling around your wrists, pinning them above your head.
"You get so bossy when you win," you manage to say, rolling your eyes. You loved it when she got more dominant.
Your head suddenly felt so heavy.
You weren't sure whether it was exhaustion, dehydration, or simply the overwhelming intensity of the day catching up with you.
You were so overwhelmed with the way her body was touching every centimeter of your skin, how her kisses were getting sloppy and wet.
She was desperate, and you were, too. Your cunts were grinding, making a mess on both your bodies, the slickness dripping down her pussy right into yours, soaking you completely.
"I'm bossy and you fucking love it," Alexia shot back, moving her body carefully, trying not to crush you, but apply the right amount of pressure to your clit. "You are soaked, mi amor, all for me, huh"
She was, of course, right.
Keeping one wrist pinned above your head with one single hand, Alexia used the other to grip your thigh firmly, spreading it wider.
"Stay like that," she whispered while absolutely devouring your neck. "Don't you dare move."
Alexia shifted you as if you were a rag doll, moving your legs how she wanted until her cunt was aligned to her liking.
"Next time you wear my shirt, si?" she murmured, jealousy still thick in her voice as her cunt moved with yours.
She looked down at you, her eyes dark as she kept rutting against you. "Tengo mi coño pegado al tuyo, y todavía no llevas mi camiseta?" [My cunt is pressed against yours, and you're still not wearing my shirt?]
"Mhmm," you moaned. Fuck.
You were gonna cum.
"Tell me who is going to make you cum," she asked, as if reading your mind, her voice was low as she continued her movements.
The pleasure was becoming so intense, you were going to snap.
Alexia's dirty talk was way too good. Her pussy was pulsing over yours, all slick, dripping down to soak the white sheets between your thighs.
Alexia pinched your arm. "Ouch!" You gasped, caught between pain and pleasure.
"Who is rubbing your cunt? Me or Patri?"
"Y-you," you managed to say, breathless.
"Who marked your whole neck?" She asked again. "Who gets to have you naked in her hotel bed? Who, mi sol?"
The sensation pushed you over the edge right after, your body arching up into her as waves of pleasure took over you.
"F-fuck, Ale," your body was going limp, all warm as the orgasm took over. "You baby, you, always you."
Alexia, sensing your orgasm, rutted her cunt faster until she was climaxing all over you. "Oh, god–" she moaned in your ear.
She stayed exactly where she was afterwards, naked and beautiful on top of you.
Your pussies were still pressed together, warm and dripping. Alexia nuzzled lower until she found your breast, drawing the nipple into her mouth with slow and comforting pulls.
Her tongue flicked lazily, her breath warm and even against your chest as she settled in, tasting the mix of sweat on your breast, while her fingers played with your other nipple.
"You didn't answer my question," she mumbled from your breast after a minute.
"Ahn?" You asked, your mind far too dizzy. You hadn't even realised she was on your breast, when you did, pleasure began to grow again. "I did, no-?"
"You'll wear my shirt?" She asked, her words slightly slurred. "Next time? Please?"
"Oh," you said, nodding against the pillows, your voice still shaky from the climax, it was so… intense. You weren't sure you would ever regain all of your breath.
"Yeah, of course. I mean…" A laugh escaped you. "After this, how can I not?"
Alexia made a pleased sound deep in her throat and kept her lips sealed around your nipple. Her body stayed relaxed on top of yours, her frame soft pressing down.
You realised it was probably the first time she felt at ease and relaxed since she woke up.
Her thumb continued to touch over your nipple, rubbing slow circles before giving it a gentle tug and roll between her fingers.
"We need to get ready for the club," you murmured eventually, your fingers threading through her now-brunette hair. "It's getting late."
She whined softly.
She sucked a little harder for a moment, refusing to lift her head. Her thumb kept playing, flicking and pinching the other nipple while her hips gave one lazy grind that made both of you shiver, your clits brushing.
"No..." she mumbled around the peak in her mouth. "Stay like this. Just a little longer."
"I can't be the reason you are late," you said with a chuckle, still combing your fingers through her hair. "It's not good for my reputation. I'm new to the Barcelona circle, the girls need to like me... they won't if I make their captain late."
"The girls will never think anything badly of you," Alexia said, her mouth finally unlatching. She rested her cheek against your chest, listening to your heart. "You are too sweet for that."
You chucked at that, staring at the beige hotel ceiling. Was it beige? Or had it once been white and simply not been cleaned properly in years.
"Sweet? Me?" You chuckled. "Okay, maybe love really is blind."
Alexia looked up, frowning. "What? You are sweet, gentle, caring-"
You shook your head, a hint of a self-deprecating smile on your face. "I'm not bebé. I'm stressed all the time. I'm moody as soon as I wake up. I'm constantly worried about something or someone-"
"Because you care," Alexia interrupted instantly.
She pushed herself up onto her elbows, no longer putting her full weight on you; she looked down at you with a very fierce expression.
"You are worried all the time because you care about your patients, about your siblings…" Her voice softened slightly. "About me."
You looked at her with soft (and slightly sad) eyes.
"I think you see me in a much better light than I actually deserve."
"I see you just right, mi sol," Alexia said, leaning down to kiss your lips.
"My sweet." Kiss.
"Pretty." Kiss.
"Gentle." Kiss.
"Loving." Kiss.
"Girlfriend.
You were smiling second one. You didn't try to stop it.
"You get too cheesy when you cum," you whispered, a sudden blush creeping up your cheeks. "It's adorable."
"I know, perdon," Alexia replied, pouting down at you without a single ounce of regret.
"I'm sorry I don't get cheesy," you murmured. "But I swear I love you just as much."
"It's okay," she chucked. "I know you love me. This is the first time you have actually taken time off for someone. That has to be true love."
You squinted your eyes, your cheeks heating up even more. "And who exactly told you that?"
Alexia chucked, leaning down to press a warm kiss on top of your blush. "Your sweetheart of a sister."
"Of course she did."
As it turned out, actually getting out of bed and preparing for the night was considerably less romantic than the books made it seem.
Once Alexia finally untangled herself from you, the two of you were forced to acknowledge the mess the sex left on the hotel sheets.
There was a large, damp stain stretched across the middle of the bed. The lingering scent of sex and slickness was mixed with the light breeze coming through the window.
Alexia did not seem remotely concerned about the ruined sheets, instead, she just propped her head up on her hand and simply watched you with a big and proud grin on her face.
You, in response, blushed all over, immediately scrambling for the duvet, dragging it up to your chin to cover yourself.
"Stop watching me like that," you pouted, clutching the fabric tighter.
Alexia rolled her eyes and continued to smile.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, moving smoothly without a single hint of instability; you were certain you would be wobbling if you had been topping the way she just did.
She walked across the room to fetch the two white hotel robes hanging by the wardrobe.
She slipped one on herself before returning to bed with the second. She gently tried to pry the duvet away from your tight grip so she could put the second one over your shoulders.
"We had sex less than twenty-four hours after we met for the first time," she teased, tugging playfully at the duvet. "Back then, you had absolutely no problem being naked around me… And now you are embarrassed?"
You rolled your eyes, holding it for dear life.
"Back then, I was thinner. But you know what they say, happy relationships make you gain weight." Your gaze dripped over her athletic frame. "Bon… unless you are a very disciplined footballer, then apparently, you don't gain a single kilo."
Alexia's playful expression vanished instantly, replaced by genuine worry.
"What!??" She blurted. "Are you having issues with your body? Like... body image issues?! Mi amor, you are the prettiest woman alive!"
You rolled your eyes at her dramatics. This was exactly why you hadn't said a single thing until now.
"No, I'm not having any issues," you said. "I know I'm... fine. I'm just different than when we started dating and–"
"You are, like, hotter now," Alexia interrupted, stating it so blankly and firmly as if she was merely speaking facts.
"Huh?"
"You are hotter," she repeated. "Because you are my lovely, beautiful girlfriend now."
You smiled at her, your heart feeling warm. The poor thing was trying hard to reassure you.
Your sweet, sweet girl. "Gracias, Ale."
"No, baby, I mean it," Alexia insisted, her tone changing to something so incredibly tender and sincere it made your chest ache. "You are perfect. Your face is perfect, and your body-"
Your grip around the duvet loosened, and Alexia took advantage, finally managing to wrap the robe around you. "And your thighs are perfect, and your tummy is perfect… and everything about you–"
"Okay, love, that's enough--"
"If I could, I would eat you whole."
You blinked at her.
"Okay, that's literally cannibalism."
"Some cultures see cannibalism as an ultimate act of love and adoration," Alexia countered immediately.
She said it with the most profound, soft, tender and deadpan face. She was completely serious, looking at you like a proud cat that had just caught a dead bird and was offering it as a sign of love.
"Oh, okay," you said, as you reached up and patted both her cheeks. "Thanks, my love. I'm feeling much better now. I would absolutely let you eat me whole if it wouldn't result in the complete ceasing of my existence."
"Really?" Alexia asked happily, her eyes lighting up. "Would you do the same to me?"
What the hell kind of sweet talk even was that?
"Oh... yes," you said with fake enthusiasm. "Of course."
Alexia beamed, looking incredibly happy and touched that her (bizarre) feelings were being fully reciprocated.
Relationships, however, and as sad as it seems, were not built entirely on sex and body image conversations that somehow end up in discussions of cannibalism, you see. Most often, they were not; there were arguments. Petty and ridiculous arguments.
Like the shower.
"Okay… we really need to clean up and get dressed," you said, glancing towards the bathroom. "The bus is leaving soon."
Alexia wrapped her arms around your waist, resting her chin on your shoulder. "Let's take a shower together then," she murmured against your skin, her voice dropping to a seductive cadence.
You let out a dry laugh. "Nice try, Ale."
Alexia stepped in front of you, her face collapsing into a (guess what?) pout.
"Mi sol, please?" she pleaded, yes, pleaded. "I love you and your body, and we love taking showers together, sí? Come on, please? Pretty please? You say I'm your champion, no? Don't I deserve to take a shower with mi amor?!"
You stared at her for two full seconds before you folded.
You always fold. It was entirely Eli's fault for creating a woman with the prettier, most stupidly devastating puppy face ever made in the world. Nobody could say no to those eyes.
"Ugh, fine," you sighed, letting her take your hand and lead you to the bathroom. "You do deserve it."
Slowly, the reality of what she had accomplished began to settle over you, a warm feeling took over your torso, a smile appeared on your face, and Alexia noticed it.
She grinned too, pushing you gently against her, one hand sliding to your robe as she backed you against the tiled wall.
She was all over you, kissing you until your knees felt weak.
You caught her jaw in your hand, and she leaned into the touch. "You really won, huh, bebé?" you whispered again, "yeah, yeah... you really do deserve it."
"Your girlfriend is a European champion," she whispered back.
She grinned again before she stole another kiss, her hips drifting a little to yours.
"Ale, no," you gasped, pushing lightly on her shoulder. "We seriously cannot have sex again. We'll actually miss the bus, and I'm not taking an Uber to the club. That would be a proper walk of shame."
"No sex, no," she dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand. "Just a little kissing," she bargained, punctuating the statement by nipping at your chin.
"Okaaay," you said slowly. "Kissing, yes, but under the shower."
You both stepped into the shower stall. You reached over and turned the knob, settling the temperature to your preference. You waited a bit till the water completely heated up and then walked under the water, feeling it soak over you.
So warm. So perfect.
Alexia, still wearing that confident and romantic smile of hers, stepped directly behind you. Okay, maybe you could fit in a quickie and-
Alexia went completely silent behind you. Then… her eyes flew wide open.
Before you could even register what was happening, a hand clamped around your waist, and she yanked you backwaters out of the stream of water.
"Joder! Estás loca?!!" She said, frantically wiping stray droplets of water from her face as though she had just been splashed with HCl. "The water is burning my skin! It's melting me!" [Fuck, are you crazy?!]
"That's the temperature I like to shower at!" You protested, completely bewildered by her reaction. "What is wr–"
"You are making a soup out of yourself!!" Alexia looked so genuinely horrified, you were starting to wonder if the water was really that hot. "You are a doctor, you, of all people, should know how bad this is for your skin! It's gonna fall off!"
You cautiously stuck a hand back under the stream.
It felt oh so lovely… warm, comforting. Exactly how a shower should feel.
"You are being dramatic again, Alexia!"
"I'm not!" she said. "You want us to stand in boiling water!"
"You and Clara," you said, shaking your head. "Dramatic as hell. That's why you get along so well. Exactly the same personality."
Alexia opened her mouth to argue, and then snapped it shut. Apparently, she did not appreciate the comparison to her teenage protege, and got deeply wounded by it.
In the end, the romantic shared shower never happened.
Alexia kept her robe on and sat on the closed toilet lid while you showered, her arm crossed, pout deep in her lips. She watched you through the steam the entire time, her eyes fixed on you, refusing to look away for even a second.
When you finished, the two of you switched places.
Alexia then proceeded to shower at a temperature that, according to her, had been specifically designed for people who weren't actively trying to cook themselves alive.
Not everything is as romantic as it seems.
You were halfway through putting on your shirt when Alexia's voice drifted out from the bathroom, muffled by the glass door and the rushing water.
"You know I gained weight, too, right?"
You paused, confused, with your arms caught awkwardly in the fabric. "Uh?"
After a second, the sound of the shower cut off.
Alexia emerged wrapped in her hotel robe, her damp hair dripping down her shoulders and right onto the wooden floor. Unlike you, she actually had to wash her hair after being on the pitch for so long.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
You silently counted every single drop that fell.
"You said disciplined athletes don't gain weight," she explained, pulling at the collar on her robe, which seemed too tight on her; her skin was red and irritated. "I gained two kilos this season."
You stared, still confused, but then the realisation finally set in. She was still thinking about what you had said earlier.
"Bebé," you sighed, your arms dropping to your sides ."You don't need to do that."
"Do what?' She frowned.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about,' you said, turning away from her toward the small vanity to start doing your hair. "I'm fine, Ale. Really."
"Well," she began, stepping closer. "And you don't need to do that – saying you are fine just because you don't want to talk about something."
You rolled your eyes, focusing on the mirror and and how your hair was completely inconsiderate of the fact that you had places to be tonight.
Alexia didn't like to be ignored.
Predictably, she appeared behind you a second later. For a brief moment, the angry dog in you wanted to snap her, tell her to back off because her wet hair was soaking through your dried clothes.
But then she rested her chin on your shoulder. In the mirror, you noticed how her cheeks were still pink from the shower. She smelled overwhelmingly like generic hotel shampoo because she forgot to pack her own, and the lightning made her hazel eyes look somehow greener.
The anger completely dissipated. You let her stay.
"I love your body," she said quietly, her eyes on yours through the reflection.
You softened even more. "I know you do, Ale."
She pressed a soft kiss against your neck, and you continued. "I never worried about that. You have never given me a single reason to, okay?" you said.
It was the truth. Alexia had always looked at you like you were the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Always. From the very first day back at her house until now.
"You always make a point of showing it, ale," you murmured, feeling a deep need to reassure her.
"Okay, good," she said, pleased with herself.
For a moment, you genuinely thought the conversation was over, and you could go back to fighting with your hair. But then her expression shifted, turning serious again. "So… where is this coming from, then?"
You looked away from her reflection, or tried to. A million different reasons passed through your mind, but none of them seemed serious enough or logical enough to be the actual reason behind it.
Maybe it was the junction of it all. Maybe it wasn't just one thing. Or maybe it was just you, fighting with that universal human flaw, that dangerous voice that made it hard to feel fully satisfied with yourself.
You shrugged, choosing the simplest answer you could find. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Oh, but we are talking about it," she said, delivering with certainty as if a conversation didn't always need to be bidirectional.
You rolled your eyes again. "Alexia, the bus–"
"The bus can wait."
"It literally cannot."
She pressed a firm kiss to your cheek, then finally released her hold on you. She let the robe fall carelessly to the floor, leaving her beautiful naked body entirely free for you to look at.
She was really an unfairly pretty woman. Then, killing your fun, she grabbed a fresh towel to dry her body off.
"Okay," she said, drying herself and then beginning to brush her wet hair. "We'll talk while we get ready, that way we wont miss the bus."
"Oh Jesus Christ," you groaned, letting your forehead rest against the glass of the mirror.
"The faster you talk," she sang out, completely cheerful. "The faster we leave."
"You are so annoying," you sighed. "And incredibly stubborn."
"And excellent at time management," she countered, clearly proud of herself.
"And insistent," you mumbled, though you couldn't help but smile. "So annoyingly insistent."
"I prefer the word tenacious."
You rolled your eyes at that.
You were quiet for a moment, desperately hoping she would let the silence take over and drop it. But Of course, she didn't. She was tenacious, unfortunately for you.
"It' just…" You hesitated, thinking of ways to put it. "Everyone around you is so... fit. You know?"
Alexia paused her brushing, looking at you. "What? Everyone?"
"The girls on the team," you explained, your voice dropping a bit. "Their girlfriend, your other friends… Everyone in that circle is so into the gym and everyone is so athletic and they all look a certain way."
"And what does that have to do with you and your body, amor?" she asked softly. "They are them; you are you."
You opened your mouth to give a very sharp and pragmatic answer, but the words never came. You couldn't think of a single thing to say.
Yeah, what exactly did that have to do with you?
For once in your life, you didn't have an answer, and you absolutely hated that. You were witty, rapid thinking, you always knew what to say, but right now, you were empty of logic and words.
Alexia instantly sensed your distress, as always, she saw right through the quiet.
"Eres guapísima," she said tenderly, putting her brush aside and walking back over to you and gently cupping your face.
You felt your cheeks warm, but she didn't stop. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead and then your chin.
"Hermosa, preciosa," she murmured against your skin. "Perfecta. Mía."
You laughed, weakly trying to push her shoulder to hide your face. "Okay, okay, got it. You are like, super, hopelessly in love with me."
Alexia just grinned. "Something like that, si."
She locked her arms around your waist, pulling you against her and bringing her mouth close to your ear. "You will always be the prettiest woman in every room – or pitch – that I ever walk in, okay? Don't forget that."
You rolled your eyes, trying your absolutely best to look unimpressed, but unfortunately, your smile completely gave away.
☆ A/n: I really really wanted to write something "realistic" and domestic about the final, so why not with our keeping score babies? Someone asked me once what shirt reader would wear to a game, so this is the answer hehe. I got an ask a few months ago about reader feeling a bit insecure because everyone around Alexia was so fit, so I decided to add it to this fic. I'm sorry if it was too random, but I feel that keeping score reader would be a bit upset and try to hide it and I didn't want to write a whole blurb around it.
"Trust me?" she asked quietly.
It should've been a difficult question, but it wasn't.
An hour ago she was a stranger watching you from across a crowded bar. Now you're climbing into the back of a black Rolls Royce because somehow saying no feels impossible.
She flirts like it's a language. Smiles like she's already won. Kisses like she doesn't ask for permission from the world.
A woman in a tailored suit calls her boss and suddenly the gorgeous stranger you've been shamelessly flirting with might not be just another woman at the bar and you have absolutely no idea what you've just walked into.
Word Count: 15.2k
Warnings: Smut
Masterlist
The bar wasn't somewhere you usually came alone, yet here you were. A long week had finally ended, and the thought of going straight home to your empty apartment had somehow sounded worse than sitting in a crowded bar with strangers.
At least here there was noise, a bit of life, something to distract you.
You sat at the bar, nursing a drink you were in no rush to finish, occasionally glancing towards the television mounted above the bottles behind the counter.
The place was busy, people squeezed around tables, couples laughed in corners, groups of friends shouted over the music.
Nobody paid much attention to anyone else which was why it took you a second to realise someone was looking at you.
You felt it before you saw it, a pair of eyes lingering. You glanced up and froze.
Across the room sat a woman you'd never seen before, brunette hair, sharp features. The sort of confidence that seemed to radiate from her without any effort. The second your eyes met, she smiled, not politely or accidentally a smile meant entirely for you.
Your stomach immediately betrayed you, the sensible thing would've been to look away. Instead, you held her gaze, the smile transformed into a smirk, and you watched her lift her glass almost like a silent greeting.
Before you could stop yourself, you mirrored the gesture, something flashed in her eyes, amusement, maybe victory. You weren't sure, but suddenly your drink wasn't nearly as interesting anymore.
A few minutes passed or maybe only seconds, you couldn't tell, but every time you looked away, your eyes found their way back to he and every single time she was already looking.
The ridiculous thing was that neither of you seemed embarrassed about it, most people would've looked away eventually. She never did. Then, without warning, she stood.
Your pulse jumped, no, surely not you thought to yourself, but she was already moving through the crowd walking directly towards you, each step seemed impossibly confident as if she already knew exactly how this conversation was going to go.
She stopped beside your stool close enough now that you could see the tiny flecks of gold in her hazel eyes, close enough that she somehow became even more attractive.
"Hi." Her voice was smooth, warm and dangerously charming.
You cleared your throat, "Hi."
A grin immediately tugged at her lips, "Nervous?"
You laughed, "Confident, aren't you?"
"Usually." She tilted her head, "Although I have spent the last ten minutes wondering if you're going to tell me to go away."
"You walked across the entire bar without knowing"
Alexia shrugged, "Worth the risk."
Your heart did something deeply unhelpful, "That's a lot of confidence for someone approaching a stranger."
"It's a lot of staring for someone who wasn't interested."
You couldn't even argue, because she was right, Alexia's eyes dropped briefly to your drink, then back to you.
"I'm Alexia."
The way she said it made it sound important, not because she expected you to know who she was. Just because she knew exactly who she was. You smiled, "I'm—"
"Beautiful."
You blinked, "What?"
"I was going to let you tell me your name." Alexia looked completely unapologetic, "But then I got distracted."
Heat immediately rushed into your face, the smile she gave you in response was downright smug.
"See." She pointed at you, "That."
"That what?"
"The blush."
"There is no blush."
"There absolutely is."
You laughed, the sound seemed to make her soften slightly. For the first time since she'd walked over, something gentler appeared beneath all the confidence, something genuine.
She looked at you for a second longer than necessary, then said quietly, "I've been trying not to come over here all night."
Your eyebrows lifted, "Oh?"
Alexia nodded, "Thought I'd make a fool of myself."
That surprised you, because nothing about this woman suggested uncertainty, "And yet here you are."
Her gaze met yours steady and unwavering, "Yeah."
The smile that followed was smaller now, more honest, "Turns out the thought of not talking to you felt worse."
For a moment the noise of the bar seemed to disappear, the music, conversations, the glasses clinking together. None of it mattered, because suddenly all you could focus on was the woman standing in front of you.
The woman who had looked at you from across a crowded room and somehow made everyone else disappear.
Alexia glanced at the empty stool beside you, then back at you, "So." She rested an arm against the bar, "Are you going to let me buy you another drink?"
You smiled, "Depends."
Her eyes sparkled, "On what?"
You leaned slightly closer, close enough to see her own confidence falter for the first time all evening, "Whether you're planning on flirting with me all night."
Alexia's grin was immediate hopelessly pleased, "Oh." She pulled the stool out and sat down beside you, "I was planning on doing a lot worse than that."
The words settled between you dangerously. The kind of comment that could be interpreted a hundred different ways.
The kind that made your pulse immediately pick up whilst Alexia looked entirely too pleased with herself.
You shook your head, trying and failing not to smile, "Does that line usually work?"
"Line?"
"The one where you pretend to be charming."
"Pretend?" she repeated, placing a hand dramatically over her chest.
You laughed, Alexia's eyes lingered on you for a moment a second too long. Something shifted, the teasing was still there, but now there was something else underneath it.
The bartender appeared and Alexia ordered another round without taking her eyes off you, "You're very confident."
"So I've been told."
"You don't seem worried I might reject you."
Alexia considered that, then shrugged, "I don't think you will."
The certainty should have annoyed you, instead, it made your stomach flutter, "And if you're wrong?"
Her expression softened not by much, just enough to notice, "Then I'd thank you for the conversation and spend the next week being embarrassed." The honesty caught you off guard, Alexia noticed immediately, "You didn't expect that answer."
"No."
She smiled into her drink, "People assume confidence means fear doesn't exist."
"And does it?"
Her gaze lifted to yours, "All the time."
The admission hung there suddenly the conversation felt different, more personal, less like a game.
You found yourself studying her, the way she held herself, the way she watched you while pretending not to, the way she seemed completely present in every moment.
It was unsettling, most conversations drifted, this one didn't, Alexia's attention never wandered, not once.
A group squeezed past behind her, and she shifted her stool closer without thinking. The movement left her shoulder brushing yours, neither of you moved away and neither of you acknowledged it.
You became painfully aware of every point of contact, the warmth of her arm, the scent of her perfume, the tiny smile threatening at the corner of her mouth.
She knew exactly what she was doing, "You're staring again."
You rolled your eyes, "You started it."
"I know."
"You admit that awfully easily."
Alexia laughed, "Why would I deny it?" The answer came so naturally that it stole your next response, "You have really expressive eyes, you know."
"Do I?"
"Very." You looked away,which only made her grin wider, "There. You did it again."
"Did what?"
"Got shy."
You immediately scoffed, "I am not shy."
"You're blushing again."
"I'm not."
"You absolutely are."
The look she gave you made it impossible to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.
Every time you met her gaze, the air seemed to tighten as though the rest of the room had disappeared and the only thing that mattered was the space between the two of you.
Alexia leaned forward slightly, not enough to invade your space, but enough that you noticed, enough that your attention dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.
A mistake, because the second you looked back up, you knew she'd seen it her smile became almost unbearably smug. “What?”
Alexia took a sip of her drink, slowly, deliberately, then she set the glass down, "Nothing."
The liar.
You both knew exactly what had happened and judging by the look in her eyes, she was enjoying it far too much.
The conversation continued. One drink became two then three.
Neither of you seemed interested in leaving, every topic somehow turned into flirting. Every joke became an excuse to lean a little closer. Every glance lasted a little longer than it should have. Eventually there was a pause, not an awkward one, the opposite, the kind where neither person feels the need to fill the silence.
Alexia was the first to break it, her fingers drumming against the condensation on her glass, then, with a kind of lazy certainty, she let her hand fall to your knee. Not an accident, not a conversational pat. Her palm pressed warm and steady just above your kneecap, the pressure light but deliberate. You felt a slow, electric ripple climb your thigh, radiating outward from that single point of contact. Your breath caught in your throat.
She didn’t look at her hand or at your lap. Instead, she watched your face carefully, waited for the microexpression that would tell her how to proceed. You tried to keep your face neutral, but it was impossible. Alexia’s thumb drifted, slow, tracing a circle on bare skin just below the hem of your dress.
“Is this okay?” she asked quietly. The question was so uncharacteristically gentle, it almost broke your focus.
You blinked, then nodded, hoping you didn’t look as desperate as you felt.
Her smile deepened, eyes glinting. “You can tell me to stop,” she murmured.
The implication, she wanted you to say don’t was devastating. You managed, “I don’t want you to.”
She squeezed your knee, her hand moving fractionally higher, pinky brushing the inside of your thigh. You suppressed a shiver, acutely aware of every molecule of space between you and her and every molecule she was now invading.
The bartender dropped off your new drinks, misreading the intimacy as a casual touch. You reached for your glass a little too quickly, almost knocking it over. Alexia grinned, leaning in, her voice pitched for only you to hear. “You seem nervous.”
You took a sip, swallowing against the heat in your cheeks. “You keep saying that.”
“Maybe I like it.”
You tried for an eye roll, but your voice was softer than you meant it to be, “You’re a menace.”
“I’m very well behaved,” she said, the words landing somewhere between truth and open dare.
You glanced at her, weighing it, and found yourself thinking about what well behaved could possibly mean to someone like Alexia. Her hand had not moved from your thigh. If anything, she’d gotten bolder, her palm sliding by literal centimetres higher each time you answered a question, until now it was only the thickness of your dress between her skin and the rest of your leg.
Alexia leaned closer still, her temple nearly touching yours, the air around her glittering with the sharp notes of her perfume. “Tell me something true,” she said.
You pulled in a breath, felt your pulse hammer inside your wrist, “Something true?”
She nodded, watching your lips. Her pupils were blown wide, dark, a little dangerous.
You thought about lying, about saying something clever, but the truth snuck out. “I haven’t done this before.”
Alexia stilled, her hand pausing mid-motion. “Done what?”
“This,” you gestured vaguely at the two of you, the not-quite-touch, the careful choreography. “Let a stranger pick me up at a bar.”
She grinned, slow and predatory. “I’m hardly impersonal,” she said. “I’d like to think we’re both somewhat invested at this point.”
“Somewhat,” she conceded, though she could barely remember the last time she’d felt this alive and fidgety in her own skin.
Alexia’s hand, still at your thigh, moved with slow intent now, her knuckles grazing the delicate skin above your knee, then wandering upward, fingers splayed, as if claiming territory. Your breath came shallow, and you crossed your legs, trapping her hand between them. She didn’t seem bothered by the escalation if anything, she seemed to approve. Her lips curved upward, like she’d just watched a dog perform a new trick. She looked at you in a way that made your whole body feel like the center of a searchlight beam.
“Tell me another thing,” Alexia murmured, voice pitched for your ear alone. “Something only I get to know.”
You considered, momentarily at a loss. “That feels unfair,” you said, “since you already know how to make my heart beat faster.”
Alexia’s thumb drew a lazy semicircle along the inside of your thigh. “Then I’ll trade,” she said. “I’ll tell you something first.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded.
“When I walked over here, I was so nervous I nearly forgot how to speak English,” Alexia said, her eyes darting to yours to see if you’d buy it.
“I don’t believe you,” you said.
“You’re right.” Her grin flashed. “I was only nervous for about five seconds, but they were very intense seconds.”
You snorted, and Alexia’s hand squeezed your thigh, anchoring you to the moment. “Are you always like this?” you asked, without looking away.
Alexia tilted her head as though considering. “Not always.” Her expression gentled, suddenly earnest. “Usually only when I actually like someone.”
You blinked, trying to process the cliché and sincerity in one breath, “I don’t believe you,” you said again, but there wasn’t any heat behind it.
Alexia shrugged, as if to say, take it or leave it. “Truth or dare, then?”
“Are we twelve?”
“Would you prefer spin the bottle?” She laughed at her own joke, and the sound did something strange to your nervous system. You found yourself grinning despite the tension, despite her hand, despite the fact that your skin was now abuzz with anticipation.
“Truth,” you said, because you genuinely wanted to know what she’d ask.
Alexia’s eyes went soft for a moment, like she saw something she liked. “What do you want to happen next?”
The question stole your breath. You’d been bracing for innuendo, for some predictable escalation, but this was much riskier. It required an answer, a real one.
You took a sip of your drink, stalling, the ice clinked against your teeth.
You met Alexia’s gaze and said, “I want you to keep touching me.”
If she was surprised, she didn’t show it, if anything, her satisfaction sharpened. “Permission granted, then.”
You expected her to move her hand immediately, to go for the dramatic show, but instead she left her hand exactly where it was palm firm, fingers spread, thumb still tracing that single path, up and up, until your whole leg felt like a live wire. There was no hurry, she seemed to know exactly how long you could stand to be touched and how long you could stand not to be.
Neither of you spoke for a moment. All the words in your body seemed to have gathered somewhere behind your ribcage, hiding. Alexia’s thumb edged beneath the hem of your dress, just a centimeter, maybe two. The contact was delicate, almost accidental, but the intent behind it was not. It was a dare, pure and simple.
You forgot how to breathe.
Alexia leaned her face against her palm, elbow on the bar. She looked at you, eyebrows high and lazy. “You’re very easy to read, you know that?”
You wished you were better at lying, wished you could pull off even a little of her composure. “Not my fault,” you said, voice embarrassingly hoarse.
Alexia smiled, pleased as a cat, and then said, “I’d invite you to get out of here with me, but I don’t want to be rude.”
You almost laughed, but all that came out was a small, open-mouthed sound. “Is that why you’ve been doing this the whole time?” you asked, gesturing at your thigh, your face, the space between you.
Alexia shrugged, not even pretending. “Maybe I just like making you blush.”
“This is a lot for a first conversation,” you said, though you weren’t pushing her away. Every ounce of you wanted her closer.
“I’m not in the habit of apologising for knowing what I want.” Her fingers played a restless tattoo on your leg. “But if it’s too much—”
“It’s not,” you cut in, surprising yourself with the urgency in your voice. “It’s not too much.”
The look she gave you was so direct, so unwavering, it made you wonder if you’d ever actually been seen before tonight.
“Okay,” Alexia said, soft and steady. “So let’s go.”
You felt for your purse, hands a little clumsy, aware of how sharply the world had contracted to the two of you. The rest of the bar was background noise, lights smeared by alcohol and adrenaline. Alexia watched you reach for your coat, then she stood, not offering a hand because she seemed to know you wouldn’t want that. Instead, she waited, gaze never leaving you.
Outside, the Barcelona night air hit you like a splash of cold water. It should have helped, it didn't. If anything, stepping away from the noise of the bar only made you more aware of Alexia walking beside you.
The city buzzed around you, cars drifted past, distant laughter echoed down the street. Yet somehow all of your attention remained fixed on the woman at your side.
You had barely taken three steps onto the pavement when Alexia glanced towards the darkness beyond the entrance, "Get the car."
The words were calm, matter of fact, as though she'd done this a thousand times before.
Your eyebrows furrowed, a figure emerged from the shadows, a woman. A little taller than Alexia, professional, completely unsurprised, "Yes, boss."
Boss? Before you could process the exchange, she was already moving away.
You stared after her, then slowly turned back towards Alexia.
Alexia, meanwhile, looked entirely unbothered, almost amused by your expression, "What?"
You narrowed your eyes, "Nothing." Her smile suggested she knew you were lying.
The questions immediately started piling up in your head. Who was that? Why had she called Alexia boss? Why was there apparently a woman waiting in the shadows for instructions? And perhaps most importantly, what exactly did Alexia do?
The sensible part of your brain told you to ask, the other part was currently too distracted by the way she was looking at you.
So instead you said nothing, Alexia's smile widened, "You're thinking very loudly."
"I'm trying to decide whether you're secretly running a criminal empire."
She laughed, the sound warm and genuine, "I can neither confirm nor deny that."
"That's exactly what someone running a criminal empire would say."
"Good point."
You were still trying to work out whether she was joking when headlights appeared at the curb, a sleek black Rolls Royce glided to a stop in front of you.
You blinked, once, twice.
The same woman stepped out from the driver's seat and without hesitation she walked around the vehicle and opened the rear door for you.
Your brain completely short circuited, Alexia seemed far more interested in your reaction than the car itself, "You look concerned."
"I'm standing outside a bar with a stranger whilst another opens the door of a Rolls Royce for me."
"Fair."
The woman remained waiting patiently as though this was all perfectly normal, which somehow made it stranger.
Alexia stepped closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that the warmth of her presence settled beside you again. Then her hand found the small of your back, the touch wasn't possessive it was reassuring.
You looked up at her, the city lights reflected in her eyes, "Trust me?" she asked quietly.
The question should have been difficult, it wasn't not really, because despite the mystery, the unanswered questions and despite her being a complete stranger you met an hour ago you found yourself nodding.
Alexia's smile softened, "Good girl."
You rolled your eyes immediately, "Don't make it weird."
"Too late."
The woman holding the door looked suspiciously close to smiling, you pointed at her, "See? Even she's judging you."
Alexia glanced towards the driver, the driver instantly looked away, professional once more, "I pay her to pretend I'm charming."
You laughed, the sound escaped before you could stop it, Alexia's expression immediately brightened as though she'd won something, "That joke wasn't funny."
"It was a little funny."
"It wasn't."
"It was." Still smiling and despite your hesitation and better judgment, you ducked into the car. The interior was ridiculous, soft leather, ambient lighting, enough space to comfortably fit half the bar.
You slid across the seat trying very hard not to look impressed, trying and failing, a moment later Alexia climbed in beside you.
The door closed and the outside world vanished instantly, silence settled around you, it was private, comfortable and dangerously intimate.
The driver pulled away from the curb and as the city lights began sliding past the windows, you finally turned towards Alexia.
Alexia watched you for a long moment, her eyes so steady and unblinking it was impossible to decide if she was about to say something of consequence or if she was simply cataloguing which way your hair fell, whether you’d keep avoiding her gaze, how you were pressing your knees together under the hem of your dress. The car glided through the city, the silence between you both like a suspended breath.
Then, without warning, Alexia curved her hand around your jaw and kissed you.
There was no hesitation. No lean in, no shy, searching question in her eyes. One heartbeat you were staring forward at your own reflection in the privacy glass, the next you were tasting her: cold gin, salt from a half-remembered rim, something sweet you couldn’t place. She kissed the way she spoke, direct and unapologetic. Her lips were warm, soft but insistent, and her fingers splayed against the side of your neck, anchoring you in the leather-wrapped capsule of the car. It could have been rude if it hadn’t been so fast, so smooth, so exactly the right amount of pressure.
You froze, a breathless half second, not from shock, not exactly, but from the simple fact of being chosen, of being seen, and then immediately being claimed. Her mouth slid from yours to the corner of your jaw, then back again, as if she’d found the first taste promising and wanted to make absolutely sure. The confidence of it, the way Alexia didn’t bother with permission, only checked with pressure and the answering heat of your lips against hers it undid you like a single, practiced knot.
She pulled back, barely. Her forehead tipped against yours, the scent of her perfume mixing with your quickening breath. Close up, you could see the faint constellation of freckles across her nose, the near invisible scar above her left eyebrow. Her pulse beat beneath your fingertips where your hands had landed, one against her shoulder, one clutching the lapel of her blazer.
“Too much?” she murmured, not even bothering to disguise her amusement.
You were supposed to say something witty, reassert some sense of control over the situation, but all you could muster was, “No. Not enough, actually.”
Alexia laughed, and the sound vibrated through her chest to yours. She kissed you again, slower this time, a measured escalation, her tongue flicking the seam of your mouth before she deepened it. She tasted like adrenaline, like the distilled sharpness of citrus and want. Your body answered before your mind caught up, and you leaned into her, hungry, desperate to make up for every kiss you hadn’t had before this one.
It became clear within minutes that Alexia’s mouth was not the only part of her that lived on the offensive. Her hand found your thigh again, sliding up, warm and greedy, and this time it made no pretense of stopping at polite borders. She gripped, squeezed gently, fingers kneading the soft muscle under your dress hem, as if confirming that you were real and here and entirely at her disposal.
Alexia’s hand drifted with the certainty of someone who had never once been denied. She pressed higher, fingers trailing over the impossible heat where your thighs met, the only barrier a thin band of cotton. The touch wasn’t tentative nothing about Alexia seemed to be, her palm settled at the apex of your legs, fingers closing with almost lazy possession.
The whole world funneled to a single point of contact, you barely registered that the city was flying by outside, that the woman driving the car was a living, breathing witness to the slow burn undoing happening in the back seat.
Alexia’s lips moved to your neck, the pressure of her mouth making you tilt your head back against the seat. She kissed the soft skin under your jaw, then lower, slow and insistent, until your whole body was a single receptive nerve ending. You tried to bite back the noise that wanted to escape when her fingers pressed in, tracing the shape of you through the fabric, but a traitorous gasp slipped out anyway.
Your eyes flew open and landed in the rearview mirror. The driver’s gaze met yours for a heartbeat, cool, unreadable, with the faintest ghost of a smile before she looked away. A flush of something shamed and thrilling ran through you.
“Alexia,” you whispered, meaning it as a warning, a plea, something. She paused, her lips at your ear, her hand unmoving but present, holding you hostage against your own body.
She followed your gaze to the mirror, her lips quirked up. “Cata,” she called, voice just loud enough to be heard over the car’s hush. Like she shouldn’t have had to ask.
“Yes, boss,” the woman replied, sliding a pair of earbuds into place, a low, thrumming music started, insistent, and a moment later, the privacy partition slid up, transforming the rear cabin into a cocoon.
Now it was only you and Alexia, and the velvet black of the car, and the hum of terrible possibility.
Alexia’s hand moved again, this time with no witnesses. She gathered the hem of your dress in her fist and slid her palm beneath, skin to skin. Her touch was purposeful, a slow, winding trail up your thigh until her fingers brushed the edge of your underwear. She lingered there, just barely touching, reading your whole body through the trembling in your legs.
She kissed you again, deeper now, her tongue a soft demand. One of her hands tangled in your hair, the other pressed into your cunt through the thin layer of fabric, fingers moving in an excruciating, perfect rhythm.
You arched into her, breath coming short and fast. She nipped at your bottom lip. “Is this what you wanted?” she asked, not as a tease but a genuine question, her voice ragged around the edges.
You nodded, probably too eagerly.
Her mouth traced a slow line from your throat to your collarbone, then back up to the soft skin behind your ear. "Lift," she murmured against it, barely louder than the hum of the car.
You obeyed without thinking, hips rising, and she drew your underwear down in one unhurried motion, leaving it somewhere forgotten around your calves.
The air hit you first, then her hand, her thumb found your clit with the same faultless confidence she brought to everything else, pressing once, firmly, before beginning slow, deliberate circles that made your breath stutter and your fingers curl against the leather seat.
Your head tipped back against the headrest as her fingers pressed in, slow and deliberate, two knuckles deep before pausing there, letting you feel the stretch of it, the unbearable fullness of almost. Her thumb kept its own time, unhurried, entirely indifferent to the stillness of her fingers and then, without withdrawing, they began to move, curling upward on each slow stroke, finding the soft spot of you from the inside.
The pace of it. The way her fingers explored with such calm, with such patient violence. It undid every prepared defence, all the quick answers you thought you’d have for this moment. Your hands went to her wrist, not to stop her but to anchor yourself, to make her real, the hard lines of her hand pressed so warm between your thighs.
The car blurred by city lights you barely registered the route, but the only place that mattered was here, in the tight private world of the backseat and the mess Alexia was making of your body. Her mouth returned to yours, rough this time, her tongue a slow demand, her breathing totally unlike the cool, precise woman she’d been at the bar.
You’d meant to perform better at this. You’d meant to be the kind of person who played hard to get, who made her work, made her wait. Instead, you were unraveling all over her hand, hips pressing up, head tipped back so you barely even saw her anymore, only felt the relentless, exacting motion of her fingers.
“Good?” she asked, voice a hoarse promise, lips brushing against your ear.
You couldn’t speak. You had to search for words, any words at all, but all that came out was a whimper. You clung to her shoulder, the soft wool of her jacket, as if something about the fabric could stabilise you. It didn’t.
Alexia withdrew her fingers, and you nearly whimpered at the loss until she brought her hand, glistening, to her own lips and sucked her fore and middle fingers into her mouth. Her eyes never left yours as she tasted you, and she smiled, a lazy, wicked thing, before she pressed her damp thumb to your lips and said, “Try.”
You did. You licked it, and her whole expression softened, she bit her own lip as if surprised.
“Jesus,” she said, and you felt every syllable like a bruise on your chest.
Alexia crowded closer, lips still parted from the last kiss. She tugged at your knee, insisting it fall open for her. You let it. She moved down the seat, somehow graceful in the confined space, until she knelt on the floor between your legs. There was a reverence to the way she looked at you then, a beat of assessment, the hot, clinical attention of someone memorising every square centimetre of bare skin and shiver.
The world was a dark blur outside the windows, the car eating the city block by block. Inside, only Alexia’s hands, her mouth, and the feverish heat pooling at the base of your spine.
She reached up, fingers spanning your thigh, and leaned in, lips grazing the sensitive skin just above your knee, a single deliberate brush that made every hair stand at attention. She trailed upward, slow as torture, kissing your inner thigh, then biting, just enough to leave a mark. You felt the indentation of her teeth long after she moved higher.
You didn’t dare look out the windows, certain the city would be watching, even though you both knew the glass was blacked out. All you could see was Alexia, her head haloed by the car’s ambient light, her eyes locked on yours as she kissed, licked, nipped her way toward the heat between your legs.
She hovered, a breath away from where you ached for her, and you could feel her exhale, warm and humid, her mouth finally, finally pressing in and up. The first pass of her tongue nearly made you convulse, a shock of sensation that stole your breath. She licked you slowly, methodically, hands holding your thighs apart, steady even as they trembled under her grip.
There was nothing gentle in the way she worked you open. She sucked, then licked, then sucked again, and when you gasped or moaned she’d smile, the vibration of it sending you higher. She was thorough, insistent, the kind of lover who wanted proof of her own effect, who liked to leave you shaky and overwhelmed and a little ruined.
You dug your hands into her hair, the silky strands fisting between your fingers, and she responded by moaning into you, the sound so raw and animal it short circuited your brain. Her tongue circled your clit, then pressed, then flicked so fast and so relentless that you lost track of time, of the world, of everything except the wet, obscene sounds and the mounting, unbearable pressure.
She slipped two fingers into you, the same ones that had made you fall apart already, and curled them just right, just as her mouth closed around you and sucked you hard enough to tear a cry from your chest.
Her tongue slid lower, firm and slow as a prayer, flattening along your clit until your vision shimmered at the edges. Then, a slick tease, she pressed the tip just inside you. She drew lazy, savouring circles with her tongue, working you open in increments so small it was almost agony, and when you dug your heel into the seat edge for leverage, she moaned as if you’d given her a gift.
You wanted to say something clever, something cutting, anything to keep this from feeling like pure, animal surrender, but Alexia stole every syllable from you, translating want into sensation, pleasure into pressure, until all you could do was gasp and cling. The world outside the car ceased to exist. There was only the rough texture of the leather beneath your hips, the velvet slide of her tongue, and the steady, unrelenting rhythm she set with her fingers.
She alternated between licking you and fucking you with her tongue, one moment teasing the rim, the next thrusting deep enough you felt your whole pelvis lift off the seat. Her hands, palms broad and sure, held you open, anchored you so tight it was impossible to run, though your entire body wanted to arch away and into her at once. Each time you came close to shattering, she’d back off, tongue circling languidly, a slow drag that made you sob with frustration, then she’d return, hungry and insistent, as if she was intent on mapping you molecule by molecule.
You barely recognised the sounds coming out of your mouth, didn’t believe yourself capable of the high, desperate noises echoing off the car’s plush interior. Alexia ate you like she was starving, like the world had ended and all that was left was this, your body, her mouth, the heat and salt and slick of you. You felt the build start low, a gathering storm, your thighs trembling so hard you worried you’d break her grip.
She must have felt it, the way your pulse skyrocketed, because her tongue redoubled, fast and relentless over your clit, and when she pressed inside you again, it was with her whole mouth, her face buried so deep she could have been breathing you. You came so hard you saw a burst of white behind your eyelids, your hips jackknifing off the seat as you lost all sense of yourself, of her, of the car or the city or even your own name.
When it passed, you were boneless, melting back into the seat with a sound that was half laugh, half staggered sob. Alexia surfaced, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes dark and almost tender.
"Lift," Alexia said, and you surfaced slowly, hands still trailing absently along your own calves, the word arriving a beat late. She was sliding your knickers back up your legs, matter of fact, almost tender. "What's your address? I'll have Cata drop you home."
You almost laughed. You had let this woman pull you into a blacked out car and come apart in her mouth, and yet something in you toyed at giving her your postcode. "Just drop me back at the bar." Alexia almost smiled, as if she’d expected that answer, maybe she had. Maybe this was the kind of thing she did on Fridays, collect women from dim bars, corral them into luxury vehicles, and see what they’d let her get away with before midnight, you only half cared. Your whole body still pulsed with spent energy, core tight and legs jelly weak, and you didn’t trust yourself to speak.
Alexia’s hands were smooth, methodical as she helped you gather yourself, dress tugged discreetly back into position, wrists steadied together momentarily. Not possessive, but careful, as if she knew exactly how fragile a person could be when they’d just let go of a lifetime’s worth of control in the span of a half hour. For a second you almost expected her to light you a cigarette.
“Cata?” Alexia called out after pressing a button near your head, as the divider slid down and the muted thrum of the city returned through her open window. “Back to Calle del Bruc, please.”
No one asked for clarification, Cata’s tone was even, automatic, “Yes, boss.”
Alexia looked at you sidelong, one corner of her mouth quirking in a private joke. “Don’t worry, there’s a shop at the corner if you need a tactical recovery snack.”
It hit you, belatedly, that you might actually be starving, “Don’t suppose you’d let me walk it off?”
“In those shoes?” Alexia made an exaggerated show of glancing at your feet. “You’d make it one block.”
She had a point. Your heels dug into the thick carpet, ankles wobbling, and there was something indecent about offering the stranger in a tailored suit this much leverage over your literal ability to stand, but you didn’t hate it. Instead, a laugh tumbled out, unguarded and light, and Alexia softened to it, slow, genuine, the sort of smile that only happened when she wasn’t trying for effect.
“Okay,” you said, “I’ll take the ride.”
Alexia stayed angled toward you, every line of her posture open, the pants of her suit stretched tight over muscled thighs, her fingers steepled together like someone interviewing for a position only you had no doubt who was being sized up for potential.
“Is this where I’m supposed to say something clever?” you asked.
She shrugged, not breaking eye contact, “Only if you want to.”
You could feel the blush return, but you didn’t try to hide it this time. “I don’t know if I can outdo you.”
“Maybe that’s not the point.” Alexia’s tone was different, now, less tease, more invitation. “Maybe you just enjoy the ride.”
The car settled into a red light outside a late night panadería. Neon flickered against the window, painting the interior in pinks and blues. Alexia tilted her head, as if waiting for you to look away. You didn’t.
Soon the club the night started in came back into view, your hand reached for the handle before you could the door was open Cata standing tall above you in your seat.
You got out from the car, legs unsteady on the pavement, almost forgetting the state of your own body, the way heat still flickered up your thighs with every movement. Cata gave you a single nod, bored or respectful, you couldn’t tell, then ducked back inside, returning to whatever in cabin playlist she’d engineered for herself.
The street seemed too bright, the laughter spilling from the bar at double volume, the world now in high contrast after the hush and luxury of the car. Alexia moved over into the seat you had been in, she looked as immaculate as she had hours ago, utterly untouchable, except for the smear of pink at the corner of her mouth, nearly the same colour as your lipstick.
You wanted to say something, anything to break the spell of the night, but the words were stuck behind your tongue. You were suddenly aware of what it meant to be seen together this way, to be half dressed and full of teeth marks, to have been made open so thoroughly and so quickly you barely remembered your own rules for how moments like this should play out.
“I didn’t get your name,” Alexia said, into the silence between you.
The breeze hit first. You folded your arms against it, against her, against the whole unbearable composure of her still sitting there. “I don’t think that matters much now, does it.” Not a question, you held her gaze one beat longer than was wise. “Bye... Boss.”
She smiled at your quip, you saw it fall the moment you turned away.
The bar door was loud and bright and full of strangers. Behind you, a car door closed, and the engine pulled away down the street as you stepped back into the place it all started.
The Rolls Royce merged silently back into the late night traffic, for the first few minutes, nobody spoke.
Cata's hands rested confidently on the steering wheel, eyes scanning mirrors as much as the road ahead. Years of driving for Alexia had taught her that silence was rarely uncomfortable.
Tonight, however, it felt... different, she caught Alexia's reflection in the rearview mirror still looking out of the window, watching the bar disappear into the distance.
"You want me to turn around?" Cata asked eventually.
Alexia didn't answer immediately, "No." A beat passed, "...Keep driving."
Cata's eyebrow twitched almost imperceptibly.
Interesting.
💪🏼
The wrought iron gates rolled open before the car reached them.
The estate beyond was more fortress than home, hidden behind centuries old stone walls and towering cypress trees. Cameras tracked the Rolls Royce as it wound up the long drive before stopping beneath the portico.
Before Cata could step out to open the door, the front door swung open.
"About time." Patri bounded down the front steps wearing an oversized hoodie, a packet of crisps tucked under one arm, "We were taking bets."
Cata sighed, "I told you not to say any-"
"You also bet." Patri grinned, "And I won."
Alexia climbed from the car, smoothing invisible creases from her jacket, "What exactly did you win?"
Patri held up a handful of notes triumphantly, "Mapi said you'd be back in an hour."
"I said two," Ingrid called from the doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel.
"I guessed you'd bring someone home." Patri looked dramatically offended, "Which, for the record, would've won if you hadn't decided to be mysterious for once."
Alexia shot her an unimpressed look, "You're all exhausting."
"We know," Mapi replied, appearing beside Ingrid with a mug of coffee in hand, "That's why you keep us."
Inside, the house smelled unmistakably of fresh bread, garlic and slow cooked tomatoes, Ingrid smiled warmly as Alexia stepped through the doorway, "I kept your dinner warm."
Alexia loosened the top button of her suit jacket, "You always do, thank you"
That finally earned a small smile, the kitchen was already occupied, Misa sat at the island cleaning one of the training pistols they used in the private range beneath the house.
She glanced up briefly, "No bullet holes?"
"No."
"No stab wounds?"
"No."
"Disappointing."
Alexia rolled her eyes, "It was a quiet evening."
From the corner of the room came a snort, everyone turned, Pina was leaning against the counter, methodically sharpening a knife with the kind of concentration most people reserved for crossword puzzles.
Without looking up she asked, "So. Was she worth being late for the meeting you called?"
Silence, even Patri stopped eating, Mapi slowly lowered her coffee, Ingrid looked between them all, Alexia reached into the fridge, retrieving a bottle of water."I don't know what you're talking about."
Six voices answered simultaneously, "Boss."
Alexia unscrewed the cap, "I met someone."
Patri slammed both palms onto the counter,"I KNEW IT!"
"You owe me fifty euros," Jana said without missing a beat.
Patri groaned dramatically before fishing money from her pocket, "Worst night ever."
"You literally won the first bet."
"I've now lost the important one."
Mapi folded her arms, "So you met someone..." Alexia nodded, "...and?"
"There isn't an 'and.'"
"There is always an 'and,'" Misa replied.
Alexia took a long drink of water, hoping it would somehow delay the interrogation, but it didn't.
Pina finally looked up from the knife she'd been sharpening for Ingrid after complaining none of the knives she used for cooking was sharp enough, "What was her name?"
Alexia froze just for a fraction of a second, "...I don't know."
The room fell silent, Patri blinked, "You..."
Mapi blinked, "...don't know?" Mapi finished for Patri
Even Cata turned around, "You didn't ask?"
Alexia rested the bottle on the counter, "I did."
"And?"
"She didn't tell me."
Patri stared, then burst into hysterical laughter, "Oh, this is priceless."
Mapi joined in, "The great Alexia. The woman who has politicians returning missed calls. The woman whose enemies cross continents to avoid her...got rejected by a woman whose name she doesn't even know."
"I wasn't rejected."
"No?" Mapi grinned, "Then what's her name?"
Alexia's silence answered for her, Patri was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes, "I love her already."
Ingrid hid a smile behind her mug.
Cata folded her arms, "So what did she call you? If you didn’t find the time to get names"
Alexia couldn't stop the smallest smile from tugging at her lips, "'Boss.'"
That only made everyone laugh harder, Pina slid the newly sharpened knife onto the counter and, for the first time all evening, smiled, "Interesting."
Alexia looked over, "What?"
Pina shrugged, "You've spent years making people fear you." She tilted her head thoughtfully, "And tonight..." A knowing smile spread across her face, "...someone walked away."
The laughter around the kitchen faded, Alexia found herself looking toward the dark windows overlooking the grounds.
She could still picture you disappearing through the door without looking back, without giving your name, or asking who Alexia really was.
For perhaps the first time in years, Alexia realised she wanted something she couldn't simply command, buy, or intimidate into her life.
She wanted another chance encounter, that prospect was far more unsettling than any rival family waiting in the shadows.
💪🏼
The marina shimmered beneath the last of the evening sun, rows of yachts bobbed gently against their moorings, each one more extravagant than the last, but they all paled in comparison to the one looming at the end of the dock.
You stopped walking., "...That's a yacht?"
Lily looked over her shoulder, grinning, "What?"
"That's not a yacht." You pointed towards the floating palace”, "That's a small country."
She laughed, "I know." The thing was absurd, multiple decks, floor to ceiling windows reflecting the orange sky, crew moving efficiently across polished teak decks.
You'd never seen anything like it outside of films, "Remind me," you said, tearing your eyes away for a second, "how exactly do you know someone with a yacht this size?"
"I don't."
You frowned, "You don't?"
Lily shook her head as if that was the least surprising part of the evening, "You know Jana? The one who comes into the coffee shop every morning?"
You hummed, "The one you think I don't know you're sleeping with... that Jana?"
Lily shot you a look, "I'm not sleeping with Jana."
"Her car is outside at the end of your shift four nights a week."
"Coincidence."
"There’s an extra toothbrush at your flat."
"Allegedly."
"You accidentally called her 'babe' while steaming milk."
"I was tired."
You snorted, "So... definitely that Jana."
Lily sighed dramatically, "Fine." A beat, "Maybe."
You bumped her shoulder, "I knew it."
She rolled her eyes, "Anyway, Jana invited me and told me to bring a friend, so I assume she knows whoever owns this ridiculous thing."
"Comforting."
"It'll be fine." You weren't entirely convinced.
The closer you got, the bigger the yacht seemed, people in expensive clothes laughed on the upper deck, champagne catching the fading light, staff moved with quiet precision. Everything about it screamed money, old money, the sort that never had to tell anyone it existed.
Lily was already digging through her handbag, "Found it."
She held up a sleek black invitation with gold lettering before presenting it to a member of staff stationed at the bottom of the boarding ramp.
The woman scanned it, smiled politely and stepped aside, "Enjoy your evening."
Lily flashed you an excited grin, "See? Easy." She bounded halfway up the ramp before realising you hadn't followed, "Y/N?"
You had turned, distracted by movement beside the entrance, your stomach dropped. No...
Standing a few feet away, dressed in a tailored black suit with an earpiece tucked discreetly behind one ear, was a woman you recognised instantly.
Cata. She recognised you at exactly the same moment, there wasn't the slightest flicker of surprise on her face however. Just that same unreadable expression she'd worn outside the Rolls Royce.
Your heartbeat picked up, she walked towards you with measured steps, professional and controlled.
When she stopped in front of you, neither of you spoke, not at first, "Can I check your bag?" Her tone was courteous, almost gentle.
You swallowed, "Yeah... of course."
You slipped the strap from your shoulder and unzipped the bag, holding it open.
Cata's inspection was quick and methodical, she barely disturbed anything inside before stepping back.
For one impossible second, your eyes met again. Did she actually remember you?
Of course she remembered you. She remembered everything.
She gave a single nod, "Enjoy your night."
You managed a small smile, "Thanks."
She stepped aside and you started walking, one foot in front of the other trying very hard to appear completely normal.
Your thoughts, however, had other ideas, Cata, not someone who merely resembled her, the same woman, the same driver, the same bodyguard, the same quiet, observant presence who had watched you climb out of a blacked out Rolls Royce only a few weeks earlier.
Your pulse refused to settle, there were only two possibilities.
Either Cata worked security for multiple wealthy people...or this yacht belonged to Alexia.
You weren't entirely sure which possibility made you more nervous.
"Y/N!" Lily called from further up the gangway, "You coming or what?"
You blinked yourself back to the present, "Yeah."
You forced your legs to keep moving, each step carried you further onto the yacht. Further toward answers you weren't sure you actually wanted and despite every sensible instinct telling you to turn around a small, traitorous part of you hoped with embarrassing intensity that Alexia was somewhere on board.
💪🏼
The upper deck hummed with effortless luxury, music drifted from hidden speakers, low enough that conversations never had to compete with it. Crystal glasses caught the evening sun, laughter rolled across the decking as guests wandered between the bar, the plunge pool and the shaded seating areas.
At the centre of it all sat Alexia, one ankle rested across the opposite knee, an untouched glass of whiskey balanced loosely in her hand.
She looked exactly as she always did perfectly composed and perfectly in control. It didn't seem to matter that half the yacht revolved around her, women drifted in and out of conversation with her, each one impossibly beautiful.
One leaned against the arm of her chair, laughing at something Alexia had said that wasn’t even funny.
Another perched on the edge of the sunbed beside her, making no secret of the fact she was trying to catch Alexia's eye.
Someone else appeared with two fresh drinks, offering one with a hopeful smile. Alexia thanked her politely, nothing more, it hadn't gone unnoticed.
Patri watched another failed attempt and leaned towards Mapi, "That makes..." She counted under her breath, "...eight."
Mapi didn't even look up from her beer, "Nine."
"The blonde by the pool doesn't count."
Across from them, Ingrid laughed quietly, shaking her head, "They'll keep trying."
"They always do," Misa muttered.
Alexia, blissfully ignoring the commentary surrounding her love life, took another sip of her drink.
She wasn't listening to the women competing for her attention, she was listening to the sea, the engines, the rhythm of the yacht beneath her feet.
Then something changed, not the music or the conversation, the atmosphere, someone approaching quickly.
Alexia lifted her head, Cata, she rarely hurried, which meant something had happened. Without waiting to be acknowledged, Cata crossed the deck, weaving effortlessly between guests until she reached Alexia's chair.
"Boss."
Alexia set her glass down, Cata leaned in, speaking quietly into her ear, the words lasted barely three seconds.
Alexia's expression changed instantly not dramatically, anyone who didn't know her would have missed it, but the people around her knew every tiny shift in expression she'd ever made.
"Bring her to me." Alexia picked her whiskey back up, settling into her chair as though the conversation were already over.
Cata didn't move. "I anticipated that. So I went to find her first." A pause, just long enough to be uncomfortable. "I can’t find her"
Alexia turned her head slowly, the glass pausing at her lips, "Then keep looking."
Cata stepped back with a single nod, "Yes, boss," and was gone, threading back through the crowd with the same quiet efficiency she'd arrived with. Alexia brought the whiskey to her mouth, and whatever had just crossed her face crossed it no longer. Across the seating area, Patri, Mapi, Ingrid, and Misa exchanged a glance. Not one of them said a word. They knew better to.
💪🏼
You were grateful for the relative anonymity of the bar that was built into the main deck, a sunken space filled with expensive people who all seemed to know, or want to know, each other. Lily had already vanished into a small knot of women near the bowling alley, because, of course, there was a bowling alley on this ship and you could see her holding court, basking in the attention of anyone who mistook her accent for novelty.
You hovered, uncertain. You tried to make yourself small, blending into the pale curve of the banquette near the glass doors, but every so often you'd catch eyes on you, some tracing the line of your outfit, some evaluating you for a social transaction you didn’t understand.
When you realised you’d been staring at the same drink for ten minutes, you made yourself get up and cross to the rail. The air was spiced with salt and ozone, the city’s skyline had already begun to blue out in the dusk, and the lights on the next yacht over blinked like landlocked constellations.
You felt aimless, suddenly, remembering the rush in the car, the way your own body had become unfamiliar, a stranger’s for a little while. You wondered if Alexia was here, if she ever thought about you, even as a punchline. If she was the kind of person who remembered or the kind who always needed newness.
You tried to picture her among these people, she wouldn’t be laughing in the way you saw the women laughing here. She wouldn’t be smiling for the camera or parading a new girl on her arm. She would probably be quiet, watching, drinking something brown and expensive while running a thousand unspoken calculations.
The thought made you smile, which was, mercifully, the exact moment someone cleared their throat beside you.
“You need to come with me” a low, familiar voice spoke.
You froze, then turned, Cata stood there in her suit, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable. "Took her longer than I expected," you said and something shifted at the corner of Cata's mouth, gone before it fully arrived.
"Follow me." She turned and walked, not waiting.
The upper deck was quieter, the music from below reduced to a low pulse through the floor. Fewer people up here, and the ones who were watched you the way people watch someone walk into the wrong room. You stayed close behind Cata.
"Boss." Cata announced you without ceremony.
"Kiss arse," you muttered thinking she wouldn’t hear you, evidently her hear was better than you gave her credit for.
Cata looked over her shoulder, “Speak when spoken to"
You held her gaze, "Yes, boss," you said, borrowing her own phrase back, and watched something that might have been respect flicker across her face before she turned fully toward you, close enough that you felt the shift in air.
"You have quite the smart mouth."
You let yourself smirk, "Thank you."
"Cata." Alexia's voice came from somewhere behind her, low and unhurried, and you felt it move through you before you even found her face. "Let her be." Cata held your eyes a moment longer, then stepped aside with a single nod, and the space she left open framed Alexia exactly as though it had always been arranged that way.
Alexia's eyes moved down your body and back up. You became aware, suddenly, of your shorts and tank top and the way you'd heard boat party and dressed for the weather instead of whatever this was.
“Come sit”
Your feet didn't move, "Do I have to?" The words were out before you could stop them, and the silence that followed had a texture to it. Across the deck, four heads turned in unison, Patri, Mapi, Ingrid, Misa each of them suddenly very interested in you for the first time all evening.
“No” Alexia sipped her drink, you're guess of expensive brown liquid correct, “I’d like it if you did though”
You moved, then. What else could you do? You crossed the deck, conscious of every pair of eyes some curious, some dismissive, some openly assessing. Your body felt a half step behind you, as if your limbs needed reminders to carry out the simplest commands.
You reached Alexia, and even sitting she radiated a tethered energy, a gravity that made the upholstered benches and overfull glasses and even the Mediterranean itself seem like a backdrop for her benefit.
You took the seat she gestured to, two places down from her rather than the empty one directly at her side. It felt less like keeping your distance and more like making a point, though what that point was you couldn’t have explained. For a moment she didn’t look at you, her profile cut a sharp line against the glow of the city behind her, hair slicked back, lashes heavy. You took a breath, then another, and tried to remember how talking worked.
Alexia broke the silence first, “I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said, as if this were her own birthday party and you were the surprise.
“I wasn’t really given the option,” you replied glancing to Cata, and watched a hint of pleasure arc across Alexia’s mouth.
“I run a tight ship,” she said, though you gathered from the yacht, the suits, the entire performance, that ‘ship’ was a flexible concept for her.
Someone behind you snorted, you glanced back. The four women at the other end of the seating area each with a drink, each angled for maximum eavesdrop were practically vibrating. One said something under her breath Alexia’s gaze flicked her direction and the group fell silent, as if their boss had snapped a leash taut.
You turned back to her, heart pinwheeling, but your hands were steady. “So what’s this?” you asked, gesturing at the yacht, the party, the entire orchestration, “Just another Friday for you?”
“Yes,” she said, as if finding the question quaint, “But not for you?” Her eyes didn’t blink as she asked it.
You shook your head, made yourself relax into the plush seat, “Where I come from, the closest thing to a boat party is watching old men play dominoes on the beach.”
She considered that, head tilted, as if calibrating how much of it was a joke. Then she smiled not the predatory smile from the car, but something private, almost delighted, “I would like to see that,” she said.
You almost said, “You wouldn’t,” but stopped yourself. Alexia already knew what she liked and what she didn’t, she didn’t need anyone to tell her.
A server appeared from nowhere, placing a drink in front of you gin, your favourite, garnished with a literal flower. You raised an eyebrow, “You have people following me?”
Alexia’s face resembled perfect innocence, “We have a good bar staff,” she said.
You sipped, it was, of course, the best thing you’d ever tasted and not what you had been served earlier. You allowed yourself a second sip before returning to the conversation at hand. “Do you always get what you want?”
Alexia didn’t answer right away. She looked at you for a while, fingers tracing a lazy orbit around the lip of her glass “Statistically,” she said, “more often than not.”
You scoffed, “I bet you hate losing.”
She grinned, small and sharp, “I prefer not to waste time on impossible things.” You liked that, or maybe you hated it. Either way, your blood ran a little faster, the gin burning a path down your throat.
“Why did you want me here?” The question surprised even you, the boldness of it, the edge, but Alexia seemed to enjoy it.
She set her glass down, leaned back in her chair, “Curiosity,” she said. “I think better in company.”
You looked around, “You seem to have plenty of company.”
She followed your gaze, the three women at the bar, the servers and silent security detail, the handful of guests now half watching the two of you from the pool, “Most people,” she said, voice dropping a little, “never say anything interesting to me.” She watched you, as if to see what you would do with that. “I like that you do.”
You felt the flush rising again, but met her eyes until she blinked firs, “That’s not a high bar.”
She laughed, and the tension in her posture eased a notch. Behind her, Patri leaned closer to Mapi, whispering “Wait, is she flirting with her?” and both burst into silent laughter.
Alexia ignored them, but you did not miss the flicker of annoyance that crossed her brow before it smoothed flat again.
“So what do you talk about,” you asked, “when you’re not being entertained by strangers?”
She looked out at the water, considered, “Business, usually. Or Tv shows. Or why Catalan food is objectively superior to all other food and nobody wants to admit it.”
“I’ll admit it,” you said, “as long as you never make me eat a snail.”
It was meant as a joke, but Alexia’s face lit up as if you’d just offered a secret handshake. “Deal,” she said. “We’ll start with something easy. Croquetas.”
“Croquetas are not easy,” you said, remembering the last time you’d tried to make them, oil splattering across your forearms, half the batch dissolving into a kind of béchamel soup.
Alexia raised her glass in a small salute, “They are if you know the trick.”
“I bet you know a lot of tricks,” you said, before you could stop yourself. She looked at you with a look that could turn concrete to steam, and you felt a jolt of adrenaline, as if you’d taken a dare you never meant to accept.
“I do,” she said, very quietly, her voice dissolving the space between you. “Would you like to learn one?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again. The urge to say yes was so loud it drowned out every other sound on the deck, but that was not what you said. You said, “Show me.”
She stood, unhurried, glass in hand. “Take a walk with me.” You followed, aware of every person watching, of Cata’s silent shadow two steps behind, and of the way your heart pounded against your ribs, trying to keep pace.
She led you to the prow of the yacht, past the glass walled gym and the helipad, out onto a private viewing deck where the rest of the party was a distant rumour. There was no one else up here, the wind caught your hair and the edges of Alexia’s shirt, untucking it slightly, exposing a bare inch of stomach that glowed under the lighting.
She leaned against the rail, folded her arms loosely, and looked at you as if waiting for the next move. For the first time, you realised she was maybe as uncertain as you were about how the rest of this would go.
You cleared your throat, “So, what do you want to know?”
She gestured to the empty air between you, as if the night itself was the question, “Start with something true.”
You swallowed, tried not to think of her mouth or the hum of the car, or the fact that you’d spent weeks replaying her name in your head until it made almost no sense. “I’m terrible at parties,” you said, surprising yourself with the confession.
She smiled, not in the predatory way, but with a slow warmth that made her eyes crinkle at the corners, “You’re doing better than most.”
You shrugged, suddenly shy, “That’s only because I don’t care what these people think.”
“Is that so?” she stepped closer, angling her body to block the wind, “Does it matter what I think?”
You considered it for a second, then, “Yes.”
She nodded as if she’d known it already, stepped forward until you were pinned by the intensity of her, the hush between your bodies as taut as cello wire. “I’ve been trying not to think about you,” she said, as if reading the lines of your own private screenplay. “It hasn’t worked.”
A laugh caught in your throat, unsteady, “I figured you would have plenty of distractions.”
She didn’t smile. Instead, she extended her hand, palm up, inviting, and after a moment’s hesitation you took it. She squeezed, her grip warm and dry, and drew you closer until your hips touched the railing and the heat of her arm pressed yours.
“I lied, before,” Alexia said, voice pitched low. “I did want you to tell me your name. I still do.” You stared at her, the way the city lights painted bars of gold and blue along her jaw, the sincerity unguarded in her eyes. Her thumb traced the line of your wrist, patient, “You don’t have to.”
For a moment you were six years old, hiding under the kitchen table from your mother’s temper, unheard and unseen until you wanted to be. The urge to withhold was a muscle, one you’d trained since girlhood. But here, in the wind and the hush and the unyielding steadiness of Alexia’s hand, you wanted the opposite.
You told her your name. It came out quieter than you meant, small, like you had to try it out for both of you at once.
She repeated it, tried its weight on her tongue, then, “It suits you,” like it was something valuable, a keepsake she’d been hoping for.
Her thumb lingered, the movement slowing as she watched your reaction, then she leaned in, brushed your cheek with the side of her knuckle. For a second, you thought she might kiss you again, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for it, or the kind of night spent in the blast radius of Alexia’s attention.
Instead, she let the moment stretch, the two of you suspended in the hush of approaching midnight, city lights flickering, the yacht’s gentle sway pulling you both out to sea, metaphorically or otherwise.
You said it again, your own name, like maybe this time it would count more.
She smiled, wider now, the kind of smile that could build bridges or break ribs, and for a moment you saw the edges of the woman you’d met in the car, the one with a whole private world hidden behind calculated calm and jokes that always landed halfway between tease and dare.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and you didn’t know if she was talking about the name or simply standing here beside her without stepping away.
Behind you, the city was already a collection of distant lights. Up here, you didn’t feel watched, or judged, or anything except anchored to the spot. You’d forgotten what that was like, to be in a place and not want to be anywhere else.
You leaned on the railing. Alexia joined you, her shoulder pressed to yours in a way you didn’t hate. She looked at the water, then at you, something thoughtful shading her face. “What do you want, really?” she asked, and for a split second you didn’t know if she meant here, now, on this deck, or in the cosmic sense.
You thought of your answer, surprised at how easy it was, “I want to do something that isn’t about what anyone else wants.”
Alexia’s gaze flickered, as if she’d been waiting for that, “And what would that look like?” Her voice was softer, the competitive edge blunted by something that felt damn close to hope.
You considered the question. There was a time you would’ve answered with the first clever thing to come to mind, but now, wind in your face, her gaze locked on yours, you went for honesty. “I don’t know yet,” you said, “But I think I’d like to find out.”
She nodded, as if this was the best answer she’d ever heard.
You looked at her, really looked, and realised that for all her show and sharpness she was just as curious about the next step as you were. “Show me a trick, then,” you said, and her face split wide, delighted.
“I was making an innuendo”
“What makes you think i didn’t know that?” She was closer now, her face a question. For a long moment all you heard was the wind rushing past the railing and the hollow thump of your heart under your ribs.
She leaned in, her lips finding yours as if the answer to every riddle was hidden in your mouth. This time the kiss was the opposite of the car, no performance, no urgency, a long slow hush that pulled at your bones. She kissed you like she wanted to remember every detail, taste every secret, build the anticipation to a point so bright it burned through all the layers you hid yourself under.
When it broke, she kept her face close to yours, breathing in the same inch of air. "You going to leave just as quick this time," she said, and you had to laugh, because you recognised your own pattern even as she named it.
"Maybe I like the chase," you said, and she traced her fingertip along your jaw, not quite smiling.
"Me too."
The world fell away, the city, the yacht, the crowd, until it was just you and her and the pressure of her hand against your lower back. Alexia drew you in until your hips rested together, her body angled around yours like a shield. You felt something unclench in your chest. The wind lashed at your hair, and she smoothed it behind your ear with unnecessary care.
You could see now that nothing about her was casual, not really. Every gesture, from the careless way she drank to the way she held you, was a tic of discipline learned so early it became invisible. She was always running a calculation, how much to reveal, how much to risk, how close to get before she startled herself into retreat.
You didn't pull away. Instead, you asked, "What now.. Boss?"
She smirked, let her hands drift down your arms, fingers trailing heat, "Sometimes," she said, "the trick is there isn't one."
You felt her smile against your cheek, the slow, coiling satisfaction of a plan coming together. Then her hands were at the backs of your thighs, and in one smooth motion, she scooped you up, your legs reflexively circling her hips. You laughed, startled and delighted, but the sound dissolved when she pressed you into the wall of a stairwell, her mouth capturing yours, hard and slick with intent.
You clung to her, fingers threaded in the fine hair at her nape, only distantly aware of the world beyond her, the city a smear of colour in the porthole window, the thudding bass of the party below now just a private drumline for the two of you. She kissed you with a kind of greedy discipline, her mouth coaxing yours open, teeth gentle but insistent, tongue sliding hot against yours until you forgot to breathe.
She carried you down, footfalls muffled by expensive carpeting, the darkness pressing in close and intimate. At the bottom of the stairs, she manoeuvred you through a heavy door before letting it swing shut behind you. The click of the lock was a perfect, surgical sound. You were alone, the hush of the room thick and absolute.
She set you down your back thudding softly onto a mattress that could have slept four. She loomed over you, all dress shirt and precision lines, the heat of her body radiating over your own. You reached for her, and she let you, gathering your wrists in one hand and pinning them above your head on the bed, her mouth returning to yours, then to your neck, then lower, each kiss a claim.
You arched into her, thighs falling open, and she slid between them, grinding in slow, deliberate pulses that made you whimper. She was all pressure and rhythm, the fabric of her trousers rough against the thin fabric of your shorts, each movement a study in controlled violence.
She never let up, never released your wrists, just moved her mouth lower, teeth scraping lightly at your collarbone, then the edge of your breast peaking out the side of your tank top. She shifted, stripping you carefully, exposing you to the cool air and to her.
She took her time then, as if mapping your body for later use, hands and mouth and tongue leaving a trail of heat from your ribs to your hips to the inside of your knee. She was patient, so patient, the kind of patience that only made you want her more, until you were writhing beneath her, pleading wordlessly for her to close the final distance.
She did, eventually. She knelt between your legs and slid her hands up, thumbs tracing the sharp lines of your pelvic bone before pressing your knees wider. Her mouth was a question, and your answer was in the way your back arched, the way your hands found her hair and pulled. She licked slow at first, almost lazy, but when you gasped, she smiled into you, then licked again, harder, faster, tongue and fingers working in unison until your vision went white and the only thing you felt was her mouth, her tongue, the burning pleasure that built and broke, built and broke, until you unravelled so violently you nearly sobbed her name.
Alexia gave you no room to recover. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes gone almost black, hair a mess from your grip. She slid off the bed to her feet, unhurried, pulling you to the edge with one hand under your arm.
She then paused to look at you really look, as though you were something rare she’d found washed up on the sand. You lay there, breathless, skin prickling with the rush of exposure, and for a second you wondered if she’d make you wait for it, if she’d force you to beg. But she only smiled, a crooked, open hunger, and slowly began to work open the buttons of her shirt from top to bottom slowly.
She wore nothing underneath, the sight was enough to make your mouth go dry, the lines of her body sharp and golden under the room’s dim light. She was sculpted, almost severe, the kind of body that came from discipline and war with herself. She stood at the edge of the bed, letting you stare, and when you reached for her, she didn’t slap your hand away, but caught it, kissed your wrist, and pressed your palm to her toned stomach.
“Good?” she asked.
You nodded, unable to manage a syllable.
“Want more?”
Your voice was ragged, “Yes.”
She bent to kiss you, slow and exploratory, her whole weight pressing you into the mattress. She tasted of whiskey and salt, and her hands roamed your body as if memorising every detail for later. When she broke the kiss, she nipped your bottom lip, then traced her tongue along the seam of your mouth, teasing until you were shaking with want.
“I have a strap,” she murmured, voice rough with intent. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you nodded, throat tight. Your gaze locked onto her as she turned toward the dresser, the drawer slid open with a whisper, and her fingers brushed against the leather, the buckles, the polished metal. She lifted it out like it was something sacred, something dangerous.
You watched, breath shallow, as she stepped out of her trousers, the fabric pooling at her ankles before she kicked them aside. Her underwear followed, black lace discarded without ceremony. The strap was already in her hands, the harness fitting snug against her hips with the ease of someone who’d done this a hundred times before. The way she adjusted the straps, fingers skillful, movements precise made your pulse hammer in your throat. There was no hesitation, no fumbling. Just the quiet authority of someone who knew exactly what she wanted.
Your lungs locked when she turned, when the mattress dipped under her weight, when her knees bracketed your skull like the jaws of something beautiful and inevitable. The words came low, scraped raw, “I want your tongue.” You obeyed without thought, extending it flat, exposed, a living offering.
Then her hips began their movement, deliberate, her pressing the tip on your tongue. Each roll of her body drew a slow, wet path from the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth, her breath hitching when you flicked instinctively against her, a betrayal of control neither of you acknowledged.
You watched her hips move, the liquid confidence there, the way she didn’t treat you like a prop but like an accomplice, an equal participant in whatever this was between the two of you. She made a small, approving sound as you adjusted angle, depth, pressure, all of it on instinct, as if your own body ran algorithms to anticipate what she’d like most.
She kept her hand in your hair, not to force or dominate, but to feel each trembling, hungry movement you made. The slick, silicone weight of her slid over your tongue, filled your mouth, and each time your lips dove deeper, the muscles of her legs tensed around your head, thighs caging you in the dark. Her breath came ragged, every inhale a shudder that vibrated through her skin to yours, her composure cracked and light poured through the seams.
She looked down at you, hair falling across one cheek, brows knit in focus, an expression you’d never seen on her before. It was completely unguarded, almost raw. The knowledge that you had done this unravelled the perfect Alexia, lit you up from the inside. You doubled down, hollowing your cheeks, flattening your tongue, letting her fuck the softness of your mouth at her own pace.
She started slow, a testing roll of her hips, but soon she found the rhythm she liked, thrust, grind, retreat each stroke making her breath catch at the top, mouth slack and beautiful. You gripped her ass, pulled her closer, and Alexia let her head tip back, a perfect, silent moan written across her throat, the line of her jaw sharp under the pressure.
"Jesus," she muttered, the word both a warning and a surrender. You took her deeper, feeling the fullness in your mouth, the slight burn at the corners of your jaw. She liked that, liked it even more when your breath came short and needy. Every time you tried for air, she’d slow, let you catch it, then start again, showing you that patience you’d already learned from her hands and her tongue.
The world narrowed to the taste and the weight of her, the shuddering in her thighs, the salty sweat on your tongue, the quiet, desperate noises that slipped out of her despite every attempt to restrain them. You lived for those noises, for the messy, unprofessional honesty of them.
Her hands cradled your head gentle, then rough, then gentle again. At one point she cupped your jaw, thumb stroking the hinge, and you nearly broke from how careful she was, even when fucking your mouth. Every inch of her screamed confidence, but the way she held your face, the way she watched you, none of it was cruel. You realised then, in the dark, that you wanted her to break, to lose every scrap of composure with you.
You forced your eyes open, met her gaze, and watched the exact moment her control snapped. She swore, a soft Catalan curse, and pumped into your mouth with a rhythm that was almost punishing, almost needy. You let her, relaxed your jaw, took her as deep as you could and then further. The base of the harness kissed your lips, the heavy drag of it forcing your tongue flat and your eyes watering, but you didn’t stop. You gagged, for real this time, an involuntary spasm that made her flinch like she might pull away, but you gripped her hips tighter, pushed back, let the embarrassment burn through every inch of you and transform into something shameless.
She watched you, transfixed. You knew it wasn’t about dominance or humiliation, Alexia was too careful, too precise for that. It was about proof, about seeing how much of her you’d take, how much you wanted, how much you could stand to bear for the taste and feel of her. You blinked tears from your lashes, swallowed around her, and when the next wave hit, you welcomed it, the fullness and the ache, the sweet stretch of being bruised open for her.
She rocked her hips, short and sharp, a rhythm you felt all the way to your core, and with each pass she said your name, sometimes a whisper, sometimes a growl. You lost yourself in the sound of it, in the heat, in the pure intent of her body moving with yours, for you, because of you.
Eventually her pace faltered, hips slowing, and she dragged herself out, slow and slick. The silicone glistened, your spit threading in lines between you and the tip, and she wiped it on your tongue, a final, deliberate press. You licked your lips, Alexia smirked down at you, “Atta girl”
Your hands found her thighs, the muscle there dense and unyielding under your palms. You traced upward, over the curve of her ass, the harness straps cutting neat lines across it, then up and over her hip bones, then the chiseled marble of her abdomen, each ridge rising to meet your fingertips as they climbed.
Her breasts were softer than the rest of her, a contrast that made you pause, palming her breasts, and you flicked your thumb across a nipple. It hardened instantly, and the noise she made was almost a laugh, almost a threat. You rolled it, pinched, rolled again, and caught the way her jaw clenched, the way her hips rocked forward in reflex.
The cock bobbed just inches from your mouth, shining, and you licked it again, slow, letting the tip bump your lower lip, then your cheek, then your tongue. You looked up to see Alexia watching you really watching, pupils huge, face flushed with the kind of hunger you’d never had directed at you before.
You grinned up at her, hands sliding down her thighs to brace yourself and guide her backwards until, you sat up, chest to chest with her, and held her gaze as you wrapped a hand around the length of her with the other you encouraged her to lay back. You put your leg over her hips and guided it between your legs. You were still shaking, still slick, still wide open from before, but the pressure of the harness against you sent a fresh bolt of heat through your entire body. You lined the cock up, rolled your hips down, and took the whole length in one, trembling motion.
Alexia groaned, and you felt her hands grip your waist, holding you steady as you started to move. The first few strokes were slow, measured, you both watching the way her cock disappeared inside you, the way your bodies slotted together.
She let you set the pace, her hands resting on the small of your back, just above the swell of your ass, anchoring you in place. You started to ride her, slow at first, then faster, watching her face for every twitch, as you bounced on her lap.
Your hands found her shoulders, and you braced yourself, using her body as leverage. Every time you dropped down, you could feel her fill you, the thickness of the cock stretching you out perfectly, and the soft rub of the harness against your clit.
It was better than any other strap you’d ever taken, because Alexia made it feel like an extension of her will, her control, her desire for you. She didn’t just fuck you, she orchestrated your pleasure, built it up with every roll of her hips and every hungry sound from her throat.
You started to perform for her, grinding down harder, circling your hips at the bottom of each stroke, letting your head tip back so your hair fell in a wild curtain, your breasts bouncing with every movement. You moaned, loud and shameless, and her hands clenched tighter at your waist. You could feel her watching, totally focused, as you rode her, faster and harder, the slap of your skin against her thighs echoing through the room.
“Fuck,” she hissed, a wild, broken sound, and you rode her even harder, chasing sensation, chasing that next impossible edge. She sat suddenly and twisted a nipple with her mouth, teeth scraping, and you nearly lost it, your whole body lighting up with pleasure and pain, the sensations blurring until you were nothing but nerve endings and hunger.
You pulled her in for a kiss, biting her lower lip, still rolling your hips against her in a slow grind, when the ceiling above you thumped. You both stilled, a beat of silence, then voices, sharp and overlapping, somewhere high on the yacht. Alexia's eyes cut to the door.
A single gunshot. Two screams, then nothing.
She was off the bed before the echo died, the harness hitting the floor with a heavy buckle clank. She dressed fast, the efficient movements of someone who had done this before. She was pulling open a drawer, rummaging, when she said, without looking at you, "When I leave, lock the door. Don't open it until I tell you." She found what she was looking for. You didn't see what it was. The door clicked shut behind her, and you were still sitting there, flushed and breathless and completely alone.
The lock clicked, then silence, not true silence.
The engines still hummed beneath the yacht, but inside the cabin the quiet felt oppressive.
You stared at the door, your pulse was still racing, only now for an entirely different reason.
Another shout echoed from somewhere above, closer this time.
You slid off the bed, hastily pulling your clothes back into place with hands that suddenly refused to cooperate. Your fingers fumbled with buttons you'd managed perfectly well only minutes earlier.
Another dull thud reverberated through the ceiling, not another gunshot, footsteps lots of them heavy and running.
You crossed the room before stopping yourself, Alexia had been very clear. Lock the door. You checked it anyway, locked.
Your eyes drifted around the cabin for the first time, it wasn't just a guest suite.
The shelves held books in three different languages. A chess board sat half finished on a side table. One wall displayed framed photographs of coastlines and mountains instead of people.
Nothing about the room felt temporary this was hers, another voice barked somewhere outside, firm and controlled.
You couldn't make out the words, then "CLEAR!"
It was Misa, you recognised her voice from earlier.
Another answered almost immediately, "Port side secure!" that was Patri.
You frowned, they sounded calm not frightened and certainly trained. Your stomach tightened, Alexia hadn't been exaggerating about her world. This wasn't some glamorous fantasy she'd built around herself. It was real, every bit of it.
The sound of footsteps approached your door, you instinctively stepped backwards as someone stopped outside. A shadow crossed beneath the gap, your breathing slowed to almost nothing.
A single knock, three short taps, not Alexia, you didn't move, the was handle tested once, then whoever it was walked away.
Only after the footsteps disappeared did you realise you'd been holding your breath. Minutes crawled by or maybe only seconds time had become impossible to judge.
Then voices again, this time much closer.
"...one in custody."
"...sweep the lower deck."
"...check every cabin."
You caught Alexia's voice among them, steady and completely unshaken.
"No unnecessary casualties." A pause. "I want answers before sunrise."
You closed your eyes, she sounded exactly the same as she had ordering a drink earlier that evening, that frightened you more than the gunshot had.
Eventually, the voices faded, a key turned in the lock, your entire body tensed. The door opened and Alexia stepped inside, her white shirt sleeve was rolled to the elbow now, and there was a faint smear of blood across one cuff you couldn't tell if it was hers.
She closed the door quietly behind her, for the first time since you'd met her she looked tired, not physically, just heavy.
Her eyes found yours immediately, "You listened."
"I wasn't exactly tempted to ignore you."
The corner of her mouth twitched, "Good."
You looked at the stain on her sleeve, "What happened?"
Alexia followed your gaze, she glanced down at the blood almost absently, "Someone made a very poor decision."
"Is everyone okay?"
There was a brief pause, "My people are."
The wording wasn't lost on you, you took a careful step closer, "Alexia..."
She looked at you, really looked at you, the composed facade she'd worn all evening had cracked just enough for you to glimpse the woman underneath.
"I told you," she said quietly. “My world is... complicated."
You thought back to the party, it had looked almost normal, and now you understood why they all watched the exits.
Why Cata searched every bag herself.
Why Alexia always seemed to know exactly where everyone was.
"This happens often?"
Alexia was honest, "Often enough that everyone knows what to do." The answer settled heavily between you, she reached for a clean shirt folded over a chair, unbuttoning the stained one with practiced movements. Then she stopped, "You should leave."
You blinked, "What?"
"Cata will take you ashore."
"And you?"
"I'll be busy."
There it was again, the invisible wall she'd built around herself, the one that separated her life from everyone else's.
You studied her for a long moment before asking quietly, "Are you trying to protect me...or push me away?"
Alexia opened the door. Cata was already there, hands clasped behind her back, expression unreadable.
"Cata will take you home."
You looked at Alexia for a moment longer than you should have. Then you clasped your hands behind your back the way Cata always did and simply nodded once and murmured, "Yes, Boss."
summary: You had a lot on your plate: a little sister to raise, two jobs to juggle, and a massive secret. For years, you had been secretly working at a strip club to fund your sister’s needs: from school trips to football kits. Between keeping a secret and making ends meet, there was no room in your life for anything else, especially not romance.
Meeting Alexia Putellas made that a little difficult.
tags: stripper!Reader, slight age gap, client!Alexia, angst, smut, secret/forbidden relationship, drama, femme!Reader, minimal use of YN, lap dances, suggestive content, strap r!Receiving, cunnilingus r!Receiving, cursing, use of pet names, tldr: u meet alexia when she attends irene's bachelorette in the club u work at (irene not yet married in this fic haha)
index
— fic playlist
— moodboards
— chapter one
tags: 18+, 16k words, smutty content, mature scenes and themes
— chapter two
tags: 18+, 17k words, smutty content
— chapter three
tags: wip
taglist below the cut; reblog/comment on latest chapter if you want to be added!
synopsis - everyone assumes alexia putellas keeps her distance because you’re the youngest player in the squad. the truth is far more dangerous: she’s been trying not to fall for you from the moment you arrived. (wc - 5.6k)
༄ notes - 5000 words of rubbish; not proof read
༄ warnings - alcohol, age gap, virgin!reader x unaware!alexia, oral (r receiving), fingering (r receiving), strap (r receiving), strap sucking, mentions of alcohol, public sex
༄ read more - masterlist
matches at barca always feel a bit like controlled chaos.
boots thudding against concrete, someone laughing too loudly from the physio room, music leaking out of a speaker that’s been passed around the dressing room so many times nobody remembers who it belongs to anymore.
you’re used to it now.
freshly eighteen, still somehow always “the youngest” even though you insist you’re not a child.
it doesn’t matter what you say though. to them, you’re still-
“chiquita!”
mapi’s voice cuts across the room before you’ve even finished tying your laces.
you groan immediately. “don’t start.”
she grins like she’s been waiting all morning just to annoy you.
“too late, chiqui.”
ona snorts from where she’s sitting on the floor, tugging on her socks. “leave her alone, mapi.”
“why?” mapi leans on the lockers, completely unbothered. “she likes it.”
“i don’t,” you shoot back instantly.
vicky doesn’t even look up from her phone. “you do a little bit.”
“i hate all of you.”
“liar,” kika calls from the mirror, fixing her ponytail. “you literally laughed yesterday.”
you flip her off without thinking, and she laughs harder.
this is your normal.
kika, salma, vicky, you- always tangled together in noise and chaos and half-finished arguments about absolutely nothing. always in trouble for something small. always the ones making training ten percent louder than it needs to be. you wouldn’t trade it.
even when irene starts counting down like she’s pere.
“if you three don’t stop talking, i’m telling pere to start making you run extra after matches.”
“we’re four,” vicky corrects.
“no,” irene says immediately, pointing at you. “chiqui’s still little, she doesn’t count.”
“i’m literally standing right here.”
“exactly,” irene says, completely serious.
kika laughs so hard she nearly drops her boot. it’s easy. familiar. messy in the best way.
and then there’s alexia.
you notice her the same way you always do. quiet, already dressed, hair tied back perfectly, tape around her wrist even though training hasn’t started yet. she’s talking to aitana about something on the schedule, nodding slightly, listening more than she speaks.
she always looks like that.
composed. steady. captain without needing to announce it.
and she always looks at everyone the same way.
except you think she doesn’t.
you’re not sure when you started noticing it. maybe it’s the distance she keeps. not obvious, most definitely not rude, but distant nonetheless.
as if there’s a line she never crosses with you, even when she crosses it with everyone else.
she’ll ruffle vicky’s hair when she walks past, she’ll tug kika gently by the sleeve to stop her running in the hallway, she’ll wrap an arm around clara after a drill and say something softly that makes her laugh. with you however, it’s different. it's always polite and it'd always careful.
“buen trabajo, chiquita.” that’s what she says after you score, and if you’re lucky she’ll even say it after drills from time to time.
never your name, and never anything that lingers. just plain and simple, chiquita.
you used to think it was normal. everyone calls you that anyway. but it doesn’t feel the same when she says it.
because she says it like she’s reminding herself of something. like she’s putting a label on you and keeping it there.
you tighten your laces harder than you need to.
“stop staring,” vicky murmurs beside you without looking up.
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
“i’m literally just looking at the room.”
“uh-huh.”
you kick her lightly and she laughs, and across the room, alexia glances up for a second.
not at you exactly, just in your direction. and then she looks away again like she’s caught herself doing something wrong. you pretend you didn’t notice.
the game starts the way it always does- fast, loud, relentless.
you forget about everything except the ball, the space, the constant shouting of names as passes fly across the pitch. vicky is everywhere at once, claudia is trying something ridiculous again, cata is even smiling while she’s protecting the goal.
you fit into it perfectly.
it’s only when there’s a break that you notice her again. alexia is standing near the halfway line, talking to mapi and patri.
mapi says something that makes patri roll her eyes and alexia smiles… small, brief. then her eyes flick toward you again. and again, she looks away.
you frown slightly.
“what’s up with her today?” kika asks, following your gaze.
“who?”
“alexia.”
you shrug too fast. “no idea.”
salma finally looks up from the grass. “she’s always like that with you.”
“no she’s not.”
vicky raises an eyebrow. “she kind of is.”
you don’t like that answer, but you don’t say anything back.
instead, you jog back into position when the whistle goes again, pushing it out of your head like you always do when something doesn’t quite make sense.
by the time the match ends, you’re sweaty, tired, and back to normal. or mostly.
the dressing room is louder now.
music, laughter, someone complaining about a tackle, someone else stealing someone’s kit and getting chased for it.
you’re halfway through pulling off your boots when mapi leans over your bench.
“chiqui.”
you look up suspiciously. “what.”
she grins. “you coming tonight?”
“coming where.”
“don’t act innocent.”
you groan. “the celebration?”
“yes, the celebration, eres tonta?” she says like you’re slow. “we beat valencia.”
kika cheers from across the room. “we always beat valencia.”
“not like that,” mapi says. “this one was fun.”
you glance over instinctively.
alexia is already packing her bag.
calm. quiet. like she hasn’t just spent ninety minutes running the midfield into the ground. she catches your look for half a second. then looks away first. again.
your stomach does something you ignore immediately.
“yeah,” you say finally, turning back to mapi. “i’m coming.”
“good,” she says. “don’t disappear, chiquita.”
“i don’t disappear.”
“you literally hide behind vicky and kika all the time.”
“that’s called strategy.”
kika throws a sock at you. you catch it without looking.
the dressing room dissolves into more noise, more movement, more plans being made. and somewhere in the middle of it, alexia finishes zipping her bag.
she pauses, only for a second and her eyes land on you again.
this time you don’t look away immediately. you almost catch it. almost.
then vicky shoves you sideways and you laugh, losing it completely in the moment again.
when you look back up, alexia is gone. you don’t think much of it. not yet. it’s just another day. just another game. just another time she said your nickname like it meant nothing at all.
but later, when you’re getting ready for the night out, you’ll remember the way she looked at you in that one second.
like she was trying very hard not to.
⸻
the night feels like it’s been turned up too loud from the start.
music spilling out of the club, streetlights too bright, everyone still buzzing off the win like it’s something they can’t quite put down yet. shirts half tucked, hair messy, voices overlapping in a dozen different directions.
you stick close to vicky and kika at first, like always.
it’s easy that way.
safe in noise.
kika is already laughing about something mapi said earlier, vicky is arguing that she was clearly fouled at least seven times in training, and esmee is walking just ahead of you shaking her head like she’s the only sane one left in the world.
“you’re all insane,” esmee says.
“you love us,” vicky shoots back immediately.
“unfortunately.”
you grin, bumping into kika’s shoulder. “she means mostly me.”
“delusional,” kika says, but she’s laughing.
someone shouts your name from behind you- chiquita stretched out across the street like it’s a song- and you don’t even need to turn around to know it’s mapi.
you flip her off over your shoulder without looking. it earns you a cheer. somewhere in the mess of it all, you lose track of alexia.
you don’t notice when she stops being in your line of sight.
you only realise it later, when vicky is pulled away by aitana, clara gets dragged into a conversation with patri, and esmee wanders off with kika to get drinks.
suddenly it’s just you. standing slightly apart from the chaos. the noise feels louder without them buffering it.
you shift your weight, scanning the crowd without meaning to.
and then you see her.
alexia.
near the edge of the group, half in shadow under the club lights. hair looser than usual, not fully undone but not as controlled as it is at training. she’s laughing at something mapi says, head tilted back slightly, the kind of laugh you almost never see in daylight.
it catches you off guard.
you’ve seen her smile before. you’ve never really seen her like this. like she’s not holding herself together quite as tightly. her eyes flick across the crowd and land on you.
this time she doesn’t look away immediately.
she holds it. longer than she should.
your breath feels stuck somewhere it shouldn’t be.
then mapi bumps her shoulder, says something you can’t hear, and alexia blinks like she’s been pulled back into herself.
but she doesn’t fully let go of you. not yet.
you don’t move when she starts walking toward you. you probably should. you don’t.
she stops a step away, closer than she usually is. close enough that you can smell faint traces of perfume and alcohol and the night clinging to her skin.
“you’re quiet,” she says, her voice is softer than it is at training.
“i’m not.”
a small pause. then, almost like she’s deciding something mid-thought, she tilts her head slightly.
“you’re always with vicky and kika.”
you shrug. “they’re annoying. i keep them in check.”
that makes her smile properly. not the polite one from the game. something warmer.
“they keep you busy, then.”
“someone has to survive them.”
alexia hums like she’s considering that and there’s a beat where neither of you move. the music pulses behind you, distant but constant, like the world refusing to stop for this moment.
“are you enjoying tonight?” she asks. it’s such a simple question it almost throws you off.
“yeah,” you say. “are you?”
she hesitates just for a second too long, then nods. “si.”
but her eyes are still on you. like she’s not really answering the question she asked.
you swallow, suddenly aware of how close she is. how different she feels out here compared to training. less captain. more just… alexia. someone you’re not used to seeing without armour on.
“you’re not with them. it's bad to drink alone, you know.” she says quietly.
you glance past her shoulder. “they abandoned me.”
a soft breath leaves her like a laugh she doesn’t fully release. “tragic.”
“i know.”
that gets another smile out of her. and then, instead of stepping back like she normally would, she stays. your heart feels annoyingly loud in your chest.
“you’re eighteen now,” she says after a moment.
you frown slightly. “yeah. i was yesterday too. i have been for the past month now- hence the drink in hand.”
that makes her exhale through her nose, almost amused. “you know what i mean.”
there’s something in her tone that shifts the air between you. not heavy, just… different.
you don’t know what to say to that, so you don’t. instead, you just look at her. and she looks back. properly.
no looking away this time, no polite distance, just alexia. and for a second, it feels like the noise around you fades into something far away.
then someone shouts her name from across the club. she doesn’t move, not immediately. her eyes flick once toward the sound. then back to you- something in her expression tightens, like she’s arguing with herself.
you shouldn’t be here. that’s what it feels like she’s thinking. or maybe-
you shouldn’t be looking at her like that.
she finally steps back.just a little. enough to breathe again.
“they’re waiting for me,” she says.
“go then,” you reply, a bit too quickly.
she nods but doesn’t turn straight away. her gaze drops briefly to your face. then lifts again. like she’s memorising something she shouldn’t be memorising.
“you should go back to your friends,” she says.
“they’re not my parents.”
a small pause, then her mouth twitches.
“no,” she agrees softly. “they’re not.”
another beat, longer this time. and then she finally turns away. but not before you catch the way her hand curls slightly at her side, like she’s holding something in.
you watch her walk back into the crowd.
watched her disappear into the noise again like she never stepped out of it. only now, something has shifted.
and you can feel it sitting under your skin, quiet but undeniable. like the beginning of something neither of you have said out loud yet.
you don’t go back to vicky and kika immediately. you just stand there for a second longer than you should. thinking about the way she looked at you. and the way she didn’t look away.
⸻
a little while later you end up at the bar talking to a girl. she’s tall, easy smile, plays for another team. she leans in when she laughs, hand brushing your arm, complimenting the way you played against madrid two weeks ago, and your game tonight against valencia. it feels light. harmless. fun, even. you’re smiling at something she says when you feel it again- that heavy stare cutting through the crowd.
alexia.
she’s moving toward you now, jaw tight, eyes dark with alcohol and something sharper. she stops right beside you, shoulder brushing yours like she has every right.
“chiquita,” she says, voice low and edged. she doesn’t even glance at the other girl. “we need to talk.”
the girl raises an eyebrow. “everything okay?”
“it’s fine,” you start, but alexia’s hand is already wrapped around your wrist, grip warm and insistent.
“no. it’s not.”
she tugs you away from the bar, away from the girl who just shrugs and melts back into the crowd. the second you’re in the quieter hallway you yank your arm free, anger flashing hot.
“what the fuck, alexia? what was that?”
she pushes the bathroom door open, checks the stalls, then locks it behind you. the click sounds final. the music drops to a dull thump through the walls.
“you shouldn’t be talking to her, she looked about 6 years older than you,” she snaps, crowding you back against the sink counter.
“why? because you said so?” you laugh, sharp and bitter. “we barely talk. you keep your distance and call me chiquita like i’m a kid, and now you’re jealous? and trying to tell me who i can and can't talk to? who do you think you are?”
alexia exhales hard, hands landing on either side of you, caging you in. “i’m the person who can’t stop thinking about you. every single day. you’re bad for me, chiquita. too young. too close. and then i see her touching you like it’s nothing-”
“you don’t own me,” you fire back, but your voice wavers because she’s so close now, eyes blazing.
she kisses you instead.
it's hard, desperate, and slightly angry- but you arent sure if it's directed toward you or the girl.
her mouth crashes into yours, tongue sliding deep, one hand gripping your jaw while the other slides straight down into your jeans.
she pushes two fingers inside you without warning- slow but relentless, stretching you open deep and steady. you gasp into her mouth at the sudden burn, the fullness.
it hurts for a second, your body not used to it, but she doesn’t know. she’s too drunk, too jealous, too lost in the heat to notice how tight you are or how your breath catches.
“fuck,” she mutters against your neck, biting down as her fingers start moving. slow, deep thrusts, curling perfectly on every stroke. “you’re so wet already. so bad for me. making me lose control like this.”
you clutch her shoulders, legs trembling. the roughness of the stretch melts into heavy pleasure as her thumb finds your clit, circling slow and firm. every deep push drags against that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
alexia keeps talking, voice low and rough between kisses and bites.
“you’re going to ruin me, chiquita. walking around looking like that. smiling at everyone. letting some girl flirt with you right in front of me. i shouldn’t want this. i shouldn’t want you.” she curls her fingers deeper, pressing hard, and you moan, hips rocking into her hand. “but i do. i fucking do. and it pisses me off.”
the pleasure builds thick and heavy, coiling low in your stomach. her free hand slides under your shirt, palming your breast, pinching your nipple while her fingers keep that devastating slow rhythm inside you. the bathroom mirror fogs slightly from your breathing. your thighs shake harder.
“alexia-” you gasp.
“that’s it, amor” she whispers, forehead against yours, eyes dark and hungry. “come on my fingers. show me how much you want this even though it’s wrong.”
you come hard, biting into her shoulder to muffle the cry, body pulsing around her fingers as the orgasm drags out. she doesn’t stop moving them right away- just keeps fucking you slow and deep through every aftershock until you’re whimpering, ovrsensitive and shaking.
only then does she ease her hand out, licking her fingers clean while staring at you.
“my place,” she says, voice still rough. “now.”
⸻
alexia doesn’t say much on the way to her place. the taxi ride is quiet except for the low hum of the city outside the windows and the occasional brush of her thigh against yours. her hand stays on your knee the whole time, thumb stroking slow circles like she’s still trying to convince herself this is real.
you don’t speak either. your body is still buzzing from the bathroom, legs a little shaky, and the reality of what’s about to happen sits heavy and exciting in your chest.
when you finally step inside her apartment the door barely clicks shut before she’s on you again.
she pushes you against the wall in the hallway, kissing you deep and messy, hands already tugging at your clothes. shirts hit the floor. jeans get kicked aside somewhere near the couch. by the time you reach her bedroom you’re both down to underwear, skin hot and flushed. alexia’s eyes are darker now, the alcohol still thick but the want burning sharper underneath.
she doesn’t give you time to think. she walks you backwards until your knees hit the edge of her big bed and pushes you down gently but firmly. you land on your back, heart hammering as she climbs over you, hair falling around her face like a curtain.
“been wanting to do this for so long,” she murmurs, voice low and rough. she kisses down your body slowly- collarbone, between your breasts, stomach, hips- like she’s savouring every inch.
when she reaches your thighs she spreads them wide, settling between them on her knees.
she looks up at you for a second, eyes locked on yours, something possessive flashing across her face. then her mouth is on you.
the first lick is slow and broad, dragging from your entrance up to your clit. you moan loudly, back arching off the bed. alexia groans against you like she’s the one being tasted, hands gripping your thighs tighter to hold you open. she licks into you again and again, slow and deep, tongue exploring every fold like she wants to memorise the way you taste.
“fuck, chiquita,” she mutters, voice vibrating against your sensitive skin. “you taste so good. so fucking sweet. been driving me crazy wondering what you’d feel like on my tongue.”
she seals her lips around your clit and sucks gently at first, then harder, alternating with slow, lazy circles of her tongue. your hands fly to her hair, fingers threading through the soft strands, hips rolling up into her mouth. every flick and suck sends sparks shooting up your spine. you’re still sensitive from the bathroom but she doesn’t care. she devours you like she’s starving.
alexia slides two fingers inside you without warning- slow, deep, curling perfectly on every thrust. the stretch is still intense but the way her mouth works your clit at the same time makes it feel incredible. wet sounds fill the room along with your broken moans and her low hums of approval.
“so tight,” she groans between licks, fingers pumping steadily. “you’re squeezing my fingers so good. bad for me, you know that? making me want to keep you like this. spread open on my bed. mine.”
she adds a third finger, stretching you wider, and you cry out, thighs trembling around her head. the fullness combined with her tongue on your clit is overwhelming.
she fucks you with her fingers in that same slow, deep rhythm she used in the bathroom- deliberate, like she wants you to feel every inch, every curl. her mouth never leaves your clit, sucking and licking in perfect sync.
“ale- dios mio.” your voice breaks.
she looks up at you again, eyes dark and hungry, lips shiny with your wetness. “that’s it. say my name. let me hear how much you need this. you were talking to that girl tonight and all i could think about was dragging you home and burying my face between your legs. no one else gets to have you like this. only me.”
her words hit hard, possessive and jealous and raw. she curls her fingers harder, pressing against that spot inside you while her tongue flicks fast over your clit. your hips jerk, a sob escaping your throat. the pleasure is building heavy and deep, coiling tight in your core.
alexia doesn’t let up. she fucks you with her fingers faster now but still deep, mouth working you relentlessly. one of her hands slides up your body to pinch your nipple, rolling it between her fingers while she sucks hard on your clit.
“come for me, chiquita,” she growls against you. “want to feel you come on my tongue. been thinking about this for months. you’re going to ruin me and i don’t even care anymore.”
you come hard, back bowing off the bed, a loud moan tearing from your throat. your walls clench around her fingers, pulsing as the orgasm crashes through you in waves. alexia moans into you, licking and fingering you through every second of it, drawing it out until you’re shaking and whimpering, oversensitive and breathless.
only when you start twitching away from her mouth does she ease her fingers out and crawl back up your body.
she kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on her tongue. her hand strokes your side gently, almost soothing, but her eyes are still dark with hunger.
“we’re not done,” she whispers against your lips, voice thick with promise. “not even close.”
⸻
alexia doesn’t give you much time to recover. she kisses you once more, slow and deep, then pulls back and sits up on her knees. her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with hunger.
she reaches over to the drawer and pulls out the harness. you watch, pulse racing, as she steps into it and tightens the straps around her hips. the thick silicone cock juts out heavy and intimidating between her legs.
she looks down at you, voice low and rough.
“is this okay?” she asks, brushing her thumb gently over your bottom lip. “we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready.”
you swallow hard, nerves and want twisting together in your stomach. you’ve come this far. you don’t want to stop now.
“i… i’ve never done this before,” you confess quietly, cheeks burning. “any of it. the bathroom was already my first time. i’m still a virgin.”
alexia freezes for a second, eyes widening. shock flickers across her face, quickly replaced by something deeper- a fierce wave of protectiveness, hunger, and raw possessiveness.
she leans down, cupping your face with both hands, kissing you slow and tender.
“fuck, y/n,” she breathes against your lips. “you should’ve told me earlier.”
“i wanted it,” you whisper. “i still want it. i want you.”
she searches your eyes carefully, thumb stroking your cheek.
“you’re sure?” she asks again, voice serious even through the alcohol haze. “this is a big deal. i need you to be completely sure.”
you nod, heart pounding. “i’m sure. please, alexia.”
she kisses you again, deeper this time, like she’s sealing a promise. when she pulls back her expression has shifted- determined, almost reverent.
“then i’m going to make this the best night of your life,” she murmurs, voice dropping into that low, filthy tone you’re starting to crave. “gonna take such good care of you. make sure you feel every single second.”
she guides you up gently until your face is level with the strap.
“get it ready for me, amor. nice and wet so i can fuck you properly.”
you lean forward and wrap your lips around the thick head, sucking slowly, tongue swirling around it. alexia groans deeply, fingers threading through your hair with gentle pressure.
“fuck, look at you,” she breathes, eyes locked on your mouth. “sucking my cock so pretty for your first time. no one else will ever see you like this. only me. you’re mine tonight, y/n. all fucking mine.”
you take more of it, bobbing your head, hollowing your cheeks as you work it deeper, getting it slick with your saliva. alexia’s hips twitch forward slightly, but she keeps control, letting you set the pace while she praises you in that wrecked voice.
“good girl. just like that. so eager for me. been thinking about this for months. you have no idea what you do to me.”
the words send heat flooding through your body. you moan around the strap, the vibration pulling another deep groan from her.
after a few more moments she gently pulls you off, thumb wiping the corner of your mouth. “on your back, chiquita.”
you lie down, legs spreading for her instinctively. alexia settles between them, rubbing the thick, wet head of the strap against your soaked folds, teasing your clit until you’re whimpering and rolling your hips.
she leans over you, one arm braced beside your head, the other guiding the strap.
“last chance,” she whispers, forehead resting against yours. “you still want this? want me to be your first?”
“yes,” you breathe, desperate. “alexia, please.”
she kisses you softly, then lines herself up.
“i’ve got you,” she promises, voice thick with intent.
⸻
she pushes in slowly at first- careful, controlled, watching your face the entire time. the thick head stretches you open, inch by inch.
you gasp sharply at the intense burn and fullness, nails digging into her shoulders. it’s so much. alexia pauses, letting you adjust, pressing soft kisses along your jaw and neck.
“breathe, amor,” she murmurs. “you’re doing so good. taking me so well for your first time.”
once you relax a little she sinks deeper, bottoming out with a low groan. the feeling of being completely full is overwhelming- a perfect mix of pressure, stretch, and deep pleasure. alexia stays still for a moment, buried to the hilt, letting you feel every inch.
then she starts moving.
deep, powerful, rhythmic thrusts. not rushed, but intense. every stroke drags perfectly against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. she angles her hips just right, grinding deep on every thrust, making sure the base of the strap presses against your clit.
“joder, you feel incredible,” she groans, voice wrecked. “so tight and wet for me. this pussy was made to take my cock. your first time and you’re taking it so well, m’so fucking proud of you, mi amor.”
the praise mixed with the filthy possessiveness makes your head spin. alexia fucks you with purpose- long, deep strokes that build and build, never letting the pleasure drop. one hand slides between you, fingers circling your clit in perfect time with her thrusts.
your moans get louder, legs wrapping tighter around her waist, heels digging into her back. every thrust pushes you higher, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter in your core. alexia leans down, biting your neck, sucking marks into your skin while she railsyou.
“no one else will ever have you like this,” she growls against your ear. “your first time is mine. your moans are mine. this pretty pussy coming on my cock for the first time is all mine. say it.”
“yours,” you gasp, voice breaking. “alexia- fuck, i’m yours.”
she fucks you harder, deeper, hips snapping with precision. the strap hits that perfect spot over and over while her fingers work your clit relentlessly. the pleasure becomes almost too much, white-hot and overwhelming, building into something massive.
“that’s it, bebe,” she pants, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on you. “let go for me. want to feel you come so hard on your first time. give it to me. come on my cock like a good girl.”
the orgasm hits you like a tidal wave.
your whole body seizes, back arching violently off the bed as the most intense pleasure you’ve ever felt explodes through you. your walls clamp down hard around the thick strap, pulsing and fluttering as wave after wave crashes over you.
you cry out her name loud and broken, vision whiting out completely. it feels like it goes on forever- every muscle in your body shaking uncontrollably.
alexia keeps thrusting through it, deep and steady, drawing out every last pulse until you’re sobbing with overstimulation, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.
only when you start twitching and whimpering does she slow down, grinding deep instead of thrusting, helping you ride out the aftershocks.
she kisses you through it- soft, sweet kisses on your lips, your cheeks, your eyelids, whispering praise the whole time.
“such a good girl, came so beautifully for me. you did so perfect for me, mi amor.”
you’re shaking, completely wrecked, clinging to her like she’s the only thing keeping you on earth. alexia stays buried deep inside you, holding you close as you come down, stroking your hair and murmuring soft words against your skin.
“you alright, bebe?” she whispers eventually, voice full of awe and affection.
you can barely speak. you just nod weakly, a dazed, blissed-out smile on your face.
alexia kisses your forehead, staying inside you, holding you like she never wants to let go.
⸻
alexia stays buried deep inside you for a long moment, holding you close as the last tremors run through your body.
you’re shaking, full-body, uncontrollable little tremors that won’t stop. your breathing is ragged, heart hammering against your ribs, legs still twitching around her waist.
she finally eases the strap out slowly, carefully, murmuring soft apologies when you whimper at the emptiness.
she quickly removes the harness and tosses it aside, then pulls you into her arms, skin against skin.
“i’ve got you,” she whispers, voice hoarse but gentle. “just breathe, chiqui.”
you’re still trembling against her, overwhelmed and exhausted. alexia reaches for the warm cloth she prepared earlier and gently wipes you down between your legs, movements slow and tender.
every touch is careful, like she’s handling something delicate. she cleans the mess from your thighs, your stomach, your folds, all while holding you close with her free arm.
“you okay?” she asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead.
“yeah…” you mumble, voice barely there. “just… shaking. can’t stop.”
“that’s normal, especially for your first time,” she says softly, continuing to wipe you down. “you came really hard. let it happen. i’m right here.”
the room is quiet except for your uneven breathing and the soft sounds of the cloth. alexia finishes cleaning you and sets the cloth aside, pulling the blanket over both of you. she tucks you against her chest, one hand stroking slow, lazy circles on your back.
you stay pressed to her, still trembling lightly, face buried in her neck. after a while you manage a tired whisper.
“that was… a lot.”
alexia lets out a small, exhausted huff of laughter.
“yeah. it was.” she kisses the top of your head. “you were incredible though. took everything so well.”
you hum weakly, too drained to say much more. your body feels heavy, boneless, completely spent.
“didn’t know it could feel that good, i knew people said it was nice, but fuck,” you murmur after a long pause, words slurring a little from tiredness.
alexia’s hand keeps moving on your back, soothing.
“me neither… not like that,” she admits quietly. “not with anyone else.”
another long, comfortable silence stretches between you. both of you are exhausted- you especially, eyelids heavy, limbs shaky and weak. alexia reaches over blindly for the glass of water on the bedside table and helps you take a few small sips, holding your head up gently.
“good girl,” she praises softly when you drink.
you settle back against her with a content little sigh, still trembling faintly. alexia wraps both arms around you tighter, one leg thrown over yours, cocooning you completely.
“rest now,” she whispers against your hair. “i’ve got you.”
you nod sleepily, already drifting.
“stay…” you mumble.
“not going anywhere,” she promises, voice low and warm.
the two of you lie there tangled together, too tired for anything more than soft breathing and the occasional lazy stroke of her hand on your back. no big conversations.
no rushing to define anything. just the quiet, exhausted comfort of skin on skin and the steady beat of her heart under your cheek.
You have to admit, the spot right by the balcony had the most perfect lighting. You hadn't really thought of it much when you bought the cosy apartment in Barcelona but it really was the perfect lighting.
The sun beams through the windows as you stare at your laptop screen with a fond smile. A few of your co-stars stare back at you along with an interviewer that you know just introduced themselves but for the life of you, you can't remember the name of.
It's the usual questions. The ones that you've been asked ever since season three ended. The usual 'how are you feeling about being renewed for a fourth and final season?' and 'what was your favourite thing to film?' and, of course, the age old 'how did it feel to eat your co-stars?'
You play along though, well practiced at these exact questions as you and your co-stars trade stories and flash each other secret smiles through the laptop screens.
"And, of course, y/n-"
Your eyes snap back to the screen, momentarily distracted by the way your dog wandered into the room, sniffed the dirty boots by the door and went straight back to her dog bed.
"-I heard you brought a soccer ball to set with you."
You laugh at that, a more genuine smile splitting open your face. "Yeah, I did." You shake your head softly at the memory. "Well, Jenna, who plays Melissa, also plays a bit so between takes we were having a bit of a kick about."
"Because, of course," The interviewer continues," You have history playing soccer, don't you?"
"You did your research," You compliment with a small laugh," I do, yeah. Except, where I'm from, we call it football." Your co-stars on the call all yell out various teasing taunts as you wink at the screen. "But, yeah, I...Hang on, I'll get it."
You duck out of screen very briefly.
Your whole apartment is a shrine to football and the trophy cabinet is no exception. You bypass both Ballon D'ors and the medals that sit there, reaching to the very bottom to the little box that sits alone.
You open the box on screen, fishing out a very old medal that you won what feels a lifetime ago.
"I won the under-twenties World Cup as a kid." You flash the medal at the screen with a grin. "So, you could say I have a bit of history with football." You flash another teasing grin at your screen. "I actually tried to convince the writers to let us have a few flashback scenes of us playing football but I was overruled. Apparently, they didn't want to have to arrange another practice session after someone, not naming names, turned up to our first one in heels."
There's more playful ribbing from your castmates that you take with a sharp grin and a long suffering roll of your eyes.
"I always say this but the only reason I even played well was because I had a crush on a girl on the Spanish team. It was so embarrassing. She probably thought I was so lame."
"I'm sure that's not true," The interviewer says softly.
You don't dispute them. You're actually not sure what your school girl crush thought of you back then. She probably didn't even know who you were until your match against Spain. You weren't the most outgoing teenager. It was a wonder how you even got into acting in the first place with an attitude like that.
You made a fool of yourself in the tunnel before that match, palms already hot and sweaty from the nerves of playing but also from the way your crush caught your eye as she lined up.
You waved like an absolute loser and then proceeded to collide with the wall when she gave you a pleasant smile in return. It was probably in your top ten most embarrassing moments of your life which said a lot considering you once ate shit on the red carpet.
Now though, you smile a little fondly at the memory as the topic moves on. You allow yourself to relax back in your seat, sucking in the last of the warm Barcelona sun as your castmate's voices overlap with stories.
You're kind of lucky, you decide, that you can even be home right now. Most of the time, you're not even in the country, too busy with filming schedules and press junkets but you'd been firm this year.
You had to be home at this time of year. It was your non-negotiable and you were glad that the showrunners were happy to accomodate you.
Your co-worker Sophie is in the middle of telling a story about a funny incident on set when your dog starts barking up a storm. You hope the mic doesn't pick up on it as you lean back in your chair and peer towards the door, where the telltale sound of a key scraping the lock fills your ears.
You roll your ears. Of course that's what set her off. You shake your head fondly and let your eyes drift back to your laptop screen.
The door creaks open and your dog's barking quietens as she runs around the apartment in excitement. You expect a familiar voice to be cooing at her but there's too much noise for that and a soft huff of amusement escapes you.
Sophie's still in the middle of her story and you mute yourself quickly.
"Pina!" You holler when you're sure no one on the screen can hear you," Get the hell out of my cabinets! None of those are for you!"
You hear Pina's familiar groan from all the way in your kitchen and a snicker from Cata, who you assumed was also in there. Those two were never far from each other.
"Kika!" You continue sternly," Stop winding up my dog! And for god's sake, Patri, if you leave your dirty socks in my hall again then I'm banning you from this house!"
You check your screen again. Sophie's still telling her story so you've got a bit more time.
"Vicky, Salma, if you're going to pull out all the dog toys then you better make sure to clear them up again! Clara...You're an angel and I'm happy you're here. There's biscuits in the cabinets for you."
"How's that fair?!" You hear Pina complain but you don't even bother responding to that.
A hand rests gently on your shoulder and you turn your head.
Alexia smiles down at you, the shy smile that she reserves only for you after a long day at training. "I told them to be quiet when we came in," She says in embarrassment, eyes flicking to your screen," But you know what they're like. I'm sorry."
"It's okay, baby," You reply," I take it they're staying for dinner?"
"We'll order in."
"From that sushi place we like?"
"Whatever you want."
Alexia presses a soft kiss to the top of your head and you glance back at your screen, unmuting your mic with a soft smile.
"Sorry about that," You say," My wife and her teammates just got home. It's very loud in here right now."
As if you tempted fate itself, someone shrieks from the lounge. You assume it's either Cata or Vicky and decide you don't want to check what happened. Especially, because you watch on the screen as another person fills the space to your other side.
Patri. Of course it is.
She beams at you in greeting before zeroing in on your laptop. "You're still working?"
"The life of an actress," You deadpan," It's so glamorous." You gesture vaguely to her. "My wife's teammate, Patri. We're hosting some kind of game night, I think, so I've got a full house."
"How exciting," The interviewer says," Remind me, your wife plays soccer professionally, doesn't she?"
"She does." You turn to give Alexia another soft smile. "For Spain and Barcelona. I think she's the greatest player in the world."
Alexia's cheeks grow red at your compliment. You'd been together for years but any kind of praise still made her blush. Patri points at her and nearly dies laughing, drawing the attention of everyone else in your apartment and soon your screen is filled with warring teammates trying to get their faces shown.
"She's working," Alexia hisses, trying to control the chaos," Go! All of you! Away!"
"No fair, Ale!" Vicky complains," We never get to see her work!"
"You've watched everything she's been in," Alexia mutters.
"It's not the same. That's a character. This is y/n. It's different."
"And she's still working," Your wife insists," Go. She'll be done soon. Decide what you want from the sushi place."
Vicky walks off with a grumble, pulling a complaining Cata and Pina with her. Patri smirks as she disappears, giving your call a lazy two finger salute, cuffing Salma around the back of the head to pull her away too. Kika beams at the camera and waves before disappearing into the apartment properly.
Clara's a little shyer with her goodbye, a soft wave and an awkward smile as Alexia gestures for her to disappear too.
Your wife sighs deeply, shaking her head fondly as the chaos disappears deeper into the apartment and the dog starts barking again.
"I won't be long," You promise her softly," Don't let Cata and Pina eat us out of house and home?"
"I'll be my best."
"Thank you, baby."
You kiss her hand gently and let her wander away to control her squabbling teammates.
You glance back at your screen with a smile.
"Y/n's very secretive when it comes to her family," Your castmate Courtney teases and you roll your eyes," We finish filming and she's on the first flight back to them."
You stick your tongue out. "You're all welcome to come and visit," You tease," But you'll have to sit through a few football matches. My wife takes her job very seriously."
Alexia Putellas (Barcelona Era) x Female Footballer Reader!
Wc: 5k
For four years, the routine had been as steady and unyielding as the tides along the Barceloneta coast.
Whenever Alexia Putellas walked off the training pitch at the Ciutat Esportiva Joan Gamper—whether her legs felt like lead after a grueling Champions League semi-final or she was riding the euphoric high of another domestic masterclass, she never had to guess where her comfort lived. It lived in a pair of expressive, warm eyes, a soft, reassuring smile, and a girl who treated her like she hung the stars in the Catalan sky.
You were that girl.
As a fellow midfielder in the FC Barcelona Femení squad, you knew the exact physical toll the sport took on a body. You knew how Alexia’s right knee throbbed when the weather dropped, how she took her coffee with a very specific splash of oat milk and half a packet of raw sugar, and how her posture shifted from commanding captain to vulnerable, tired girl the second the heavy oak door of her home closed behind her.
You had loved her for so long that loving her felt less like a conscious choice and more like a vital biological function.
You spoiled her. There was no other word for it. If Alexia mentioned in passing that she loved a particular bakery in Gràcia, a fresh box of pastries appeared on her locker shelf the next morning before she even arrived. If she was too exhausted to untie her boots after a draining session in the rain, you knelt on the damp grass and unlaced them for her, your fingers brushing against her ankles with a reverence that made some of the younger academy call-ups whisper in the locker room.
You answered her texts within seconds. You cleared your weekends to accommodate her unpredictable media appearances, sponsor events, and family dinners. You gave her the world wrapped in quiet, undemanding devotion, never asking for a formal title, content simply to orbit the sun that was Alexia Putellas.
Or, at least, you had tried to be content.
The fracture line in your chest had begun as a hairline crack months ago. It was the subtle way Alexia’s eyes started drifting toward her phone during dinner. The dismissive little huffs of air when you rearranged your entire schedule to pick up her dry cleaning, as if your time had no intrinsic value of its own. The casual way she accepted every sacrifice you made, swallowing your devotion whole without ever offering a crumb of reciprocity.
And then came the Tuesday afternoon that broke the glass completely.
You were standing in the players' lounge, carefully peeling an orange for her because you knew she hated getting the bitter white pith under her fingernails. You handed her a segment, your thumb gently brushing the back of her hand.
Alexia didn’t take it. She didn't even look up from her iPad, where she was flicking through tactical footage. Her shoulders were bunched up near her ears, tight with post-training irritability.
"Y/N, stop” she snapped, her voice cutting through the hum of the lounge like a jagged knife. "Just... stop doing that."
Your hand froze mid-air. "Doing what?"
"All of this” she muttered, finally looking at you, her dark eyes flashing with an irritated, suffocating impatience. "The hovering. The bringing me fruit, the constantly making sure I'm comfortable, fixing my kit, rearranging your life. It’s too much."
A cold weight settled in the pit of your stomach. "I was just trying to help you, Ale. You said you were tired."
"I am tired” Alexia shot back, closing the iPad with a sharp, echoing thwack. "I’m tired of feeling like I have my mom following me around the club. Why do you even do it? Why do you keep trying so hard?"
You stared at her, the orange segments slipping from your fingers back onto the paper napkin. The question hung in the air, heavy and cruel, demanding an answer you suddenly didn't have the emotional energy to fabricate.
"Because I care about you” you whispered, your throat tightening.
Alexia let out a cynical, dry puff of air, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, don't. Save it. We're friends, Y/N. Just teammates. You act like you're my girlfriend, but you're not ever. So stop treating me like I'm special, because it's exhausting."
Just teammates.
The words echoed in your skull, tearing away the last four years of masonry you had built around your heart. The illusion shattered into fine, microscopic dust. She didn't want your care. She didn't want your devotion. She looked at everything you gave her and saw a burden.
You didn't cry. You didn't yell. A strange, numbing calm washed over you—the self-preservation mechanism of a soul that had endured too much abandonment in its lifetime.
"Okay” you said softly.
Alexia blinked, clearly taken aback by the lack of a fight, the absence of your usual tearful defense. "What?"
"Okay” you repeated, your voice entirely level, stripping every ounce of warmth, every shade of intimacy out of the syllable. "Got it."
The transformation was immediate, stark, and terrifyingly efficient.
If Alexia wanted friends, you would treat her like a friend. Not an enemy, you weren't malicious, and you didn't have a cruel bone in your body but the luxury car of your affection was suddenly downgraded to a local bus, running strictly on schedule and devoid of any extra amenities.
The next morning in the locker room, Alexia walked in carrying her heavy training gear and tossed her wet shinpads onto the bench. Out of pure, ingrained muscle memory, your hand reached toward them to move them out of her way so they wouldn't soak her spare socks.
Halfway there, your fingers stopped. You withdrew your hand as if the plastic had burned you, picked up your own kit, and walked right past her to tape your ankles.
"Morning” you offered, your tone light, breezy, and utterly transactional, the exact tone you used with third-string substitutes you barely knew.
Alexia paused; her boots half-zipped. She looked up at you, waiting for the usual sequence: the smile, the offer to fill her water bottle, the quiet check-in on how her sleep had been.
You just sat there, listening to music through your headphones, staring straight ahead.
During the tactical session on pitch three, the true shockwaves hit. In the past, whenever Alexia dropped deep to receive the ball under pressure, you were always the safety valve, running yourself into the ground to provide a passing lane, anticipating her movements before she even made them.
Today, when she called for a square ball under a heavy double-press from Mapi and Patri, you didn't force the pass. You calmly recycled possession to the opposite flank, choosing the safer, lower-risk option.
Alexia threw her arms up in the air, glaring at you across the grass. When the whistle blew for a water break, she marched straight over, her face flushed with heat and a strange, bubbling agitation.
"What was that?" she demanded, standing right in your personal space. "You had a clean passing lane to my feet. I called for it."
You took a slow sip from your water bottle, wiping your mouth with the back of your wrist. You looked at her with polite, detached curiosity, the way a customer service representative looks at a slightly confused client. "Option B was safer. The statistical success rate on the switch was higher. Pere wants us to minimize midfield turnovers."
"Since when do you care about statistical success rates over instinct?" Alexia snapped, her voice rising. "You always look for me."
"Well, I'm adapting my playstyle" you replied smoothly, offering a completely harmless, hollow smile. "We're just teammates, right? No need to overcomplicate the build-up. I'll see you on the next drill."
You turned on your heel and jogged away, leaving Alexia standing alone on the turf, her mouth slightly open, a deep, burning confusion warring with an unidentifiable anger in her chest.
Over the next week, the absence of you became a physical weight in Alexia’s daily life.
There were no more fancy coffees waiting in her locker. There were no more midnight texts checking if she had taken her magnesium for muscle recovery. When she dropped her water bottle during a shooting drill, you didn't scramble to pick it up; you simply stepped around it with a polite, "Careful there" and kept running.
You were polite. You were professional. You were a teammate.
And Alexia found herself slowly losing her absolute mind.
The privilege of being adored had become so woven into the fabric of her routine that its sudden removal felt like oxygen being slowly sucked out of an airtight room. She caught herself waiting for you to crack, waiting for the heavy sigh, the fond eye-roll, the inevitable softening where you would cave and bring her a towel.
You never caved. You were terrifyingly, consistently fine.
Football clubs are breeding grounds for chaos, gossip, and opportunistic flirtation, especially when a new transfer window brings fresh talent into the orbit of a powerhouse like Barcelona.
Her name was Louise. She was a twenty-six o-year-old French winger signed from Lyon, fast, flashy, entirely unapologetic, and possessed of a radiant, chaotic energy that could light up a room. She also had zero filter and an immediate, laser-focused fixation on you.
It started innocently enough during a recovery session in the gym. Louise, stretching her hamstrings near the resistance machines, struck up a conversation about tactical positioning, her English laced with a thick, charming accent. You laughed at one of her dry observations, leaning against the rack.
Across the gym floor, Alexia was doing core work on a stability ball. Her eyes were supposed to be fixed on her trainer, but her gaze kept darting magnetically toward your corner.
She saw Louise lean in close to your shoulder, whispering something that made you throw your head back and laugh—a genuine, melodic laugh that Alexia hadn't heard directed at her in months. She saw Lou’s hand lightly, lingeringly brush against your forearm.
And she saw you smile back. Not politely. Warmly.
A cold, vicious spike of jealousy ripped through Alexia’s ribs, so sharp and violent that she lost her balance on the stability ball, tumbling backward onto the rubber mat with an undignified thump.
"Everything alright, captain?" Pere asked, rushing over.
"I'm fine” Alexia hissed, shoving herself up off the floor, her dark eyes burning with an incandescent rage as she glared across the gym.
You weren't stupid. You knew Louise was laying it on thick, and you knew exactly what effect it was having on the woman standing forty feet away. You didn't feel any real romantic interest in Louise, your heart was still a bruised, stubborn landscape but after weeks of being treated like an annoyance, watching Alexia unravel from afar offered a dark, intoxicating validation.
So, when Louise leaned over the lunch table two days later and asked if you wanted to grab coffee in El Born after the afternoon tactical meeting, you didn't hesitate.
"I’d love to, Lou” you said clearly, making sure your voice carried just far enough across the canteen. "I'm completely free."
Lou flashed a brilliant, triumphant smile, reaching across the table to tap her fingers against your knuckles.
At the captain's table, the sound of Alexia’s fork snapping cleanly against her ceramic plate echoed in the sudden silence of the dining hall.
From that afternoon onward, Alexia stopped trying to pretend she was unaffected. The veneer of captainly composure melted away, replaced by a bitter, prickly hostility. She became short-tempered with the coaching staff, hyper-critical of the ball movement during drills, and outright mean whenever she had to interact with you.
"Can you actually run this time, or are you too distracted by your little French lady?" Alexia muttered loud enough for you to hear as you jogged back into position during a tactical walkthrough.
You didn't blink. You didn't offer a meek apology. You simply turned your head, looked her dead in the eyes with a chilling, utter blankness, and said, "Mind your spacing, captain. You're out of position and let me play."
Alexia looked like she wanted to physically lunge across the grass and throttle you.
The tipping point arrived on a rainy Thursday morning in late spring. A completely fabricated, absurd gossip item began circulating through the lower-tier Spanish sports blogs and filtered into the squad's group chats: FC Barcelona Femení star forward spotted holding hands with new signing in the Mercadona; rumored relationship blossoming.
It was entirely false. You had gone to that supermarket (the nearest from your house) to buy coffee beans and some oat milk, and Louise had merely bumped into you on the pavement and walked three blocks with you under an umbrella because it was raining.
But by the time it reached the locker room, it had mutated into a full-scale romance.
Alexia walked into the room ten minutes before team meeting, her face pale, her jaw clenched so tight the muscles flickered. She dropped her kit bag onto her bench with a force that rattled the metal lockers.
"Is it true?" she blurted out before she could stop herself, her voice shaking with an ugly mix of grief, humiliation, and furious possessiveness.
You were sitting on your bench, calmly pulling your boots on. You looked up slowly. "Is what true?"
"Don't play games with me" Alexia snarled, taking a step toward your bench, her chest heaving. "The whole club is talking. You and Louise. Are you actually dating her?"
The sheer hypocrisy of it hung in the air like tear gas. Alexia, who had spent months pushing you away, treating your devotion like a disease, and reminding you at every turn that you were just teammates was standing here looking like a betrayed lover.
You let out a quiet, humorless scoff. "What I do outside of training hours is none of your business, Alexia. We’re just teammates, remember? You made that crystal clear."
"That's different!" Alexia shouted, the word tearing out of her throat, drawing the startled eyes of every player in the room. "You can't just... you can't just be with someone else!"
"Excuse me?" you said softly, standing up to your full height, your brown eyes locked onto hers, steady and unyielding. "You don't get to dictate who I care about anymore. You gave up that privilege a long time ago."
Alexia’s face drained of what little color it had left. She looked shattered, her lower lip trembling slightly before her defensive walls slammed back down with brutal force. "Fine. Do whatever you want. Sleep with whoever you want. I don't care."
She spun on her heel and stormed out of the locker room, slamming the door so hard the glass pane rattled in its frame.
The training session that followed was a disaster of epic, catastrophic proportions.
Karma, or the football gods, or simply the dizzying weight of human misery, decided to collect its debts from Alexia Putellas that afternoon. From the very first whistle, nothing went right for her. Her first touch deserted her; her trademark diagonal passes sailed harmlessly out of bounds; her defensive timing was half a second too slow.
Every mistake compounded her frustration, turning her into a live wire of raw, jagged nerves.
And you didn't look at her. Not once. When she blew a simple possession in the central channel, you didn't cover for her; you let Mapi win the ball cleanly, forcing Alexia to chase leather.
During a high-intensity small-sided game thirty minutes into the session, the inevitable occurred. Alexia charged out to close down a loose ball, her studs catching awkwardly in a damp patch of turf just as she pivoted.
A sickening, muffled pop echoed across the grass, followed instantly by a sharp, agonizing scream that made the entire pitch freeze dead in its tracks.
"Stop! Stop training!" the coach bellowed, blowing his whistle frantically.
Players converged on the spot instantly. Alexia was down on her right side, clutching her right ankle, her face buried in the damp grass, her shoulders shaking with stifled, white-hot pain.
You stood ten yards away, your heart doing a terrifying, violent freefall into your stomach. Every instinct, four years of muscle memory, of unconditional devotion, of loving her above all else screamed at you to run to her, to drop to your knees, to cradle her head.
You forced your feet to stay planted in the mud. You swallowed the lump in your throat, folded your arms across your chest, and forced your expression into a neutral, detached mask.
She's just a teammate, you told yourself, a hollow lie tasting like ash on your tongue. Let the medical staff handle it.
-
They get her up eventually, one arm slung over a physio's shoulders, ankle already swelling visibly above her sock, and half-carry her off toward the medical room while training limps on around the gap she's left in it. You go back to the drill. Your finishing, again, is vicious and precise, and this time you know exactly why.
It's forty minutes later, showered and changed, gear bag over your shoulder, that you overhear it two of the physio staff, talking near the equipment room, not bothering to lower their voices because they don't think anyone's listening.
"…can't drive herself home like that, obviously, someone'll have to take her "
"Isn't her sister meant to be picking her up? Or Vicky?"
"Vicky's already gone, she had that appearance thing. And apparently, she doesn't want to call her sister, doesn't want to worry her " a small, exasperated laugh. "She's being very Alexia about the whole thing. Says she'll get a taxi. On a sprained ankle. In this weather."
You stand very still in the corridor, gear bag digging into your shoulder, and you think: everyone's gone. It's just me left in the building. She's going to end up alone in a taxi with a swollen ankle rather than ask.
And underneath that thought, quieter, truer: of course she won't ask me. Not after everything.
You know, with the particular clarity of someone who has spent two years learning a person's every stubborn edge, exactly what's happening in that medical room right now. Alexia, jaw set, insisting she's fine, insisting a taxi will be fine, because the alternative turning to you, the person she pushed away, the person she's spent three weeks being cold and sharp with is apparently a worse prospect to her than travelling home in agony with strangers.
You think about walking away. You think about it seriously, for about four seconds, standing there with your keys already half out of your pocket. Three weeks of hard-won distance, and here's the exact moment it would be easiest to protect, to let her sit in a taxi and be stubborn and prove some point to herself about not needing you.
But love doesn't leave just because you've asked it to behave for three weeks. You know this now in a way you only half-knew it before. It's still there, underneath all the careful coldness, patient and stupid and entirely undiminished, and it doesn't care what she said to you in the corridor five weeks ago. It just wants her to get home safely.
You go and find the team doctor first, not Alexia, you're not ready to face her yet, not without a plan.
"How's Alexia doing?" you ask, keeping your voice carefully casual, the tone of someone asking after any teammate.
He glances up from his clipboard. "Grade two sprain, could've been worse. She'll be in a boot for a couple of weeks. She's a bit sore and a lot stubborn, honestly, insisting on getting herself home, which is a terrible idea, but you know how she is." A small, tired smile. "She's through in the changing room now, getting dressed. Everyone else has already left, unfortunately."
"Right” you say. "Thanks."
You don't ask permission for what you do next. You go to the bench where Alexia's things always sit you know the spot without thinking, three weeks of distance hasn't erased two years of habit and you pick up her gear bag, and then, because you spot them sitting on top with her wallet, you pick up her car keys too.
You find her in the changing room, alone, sitting on the bench in her training kit with one boot off and the other leg propped up, her ankle already strapped and swollen, wincing every time she shifts her weight even slightly. Her hair's come loose from its bun. She looks, for the first time since you've known her, genuinely fragile, and something in your chest twists so hard it's almost painful.
She sees you in the doorway with her bag over your shoulder and her keys in your hand, and her whole face does something complicated surprise, then a flare of something defensive, then, underneath both, the faintest, most reluctant flicker of relief that she immediately tries to smother.
"I don't need you to do this” she says, before you've even said anything. Straight into it, the way she always does when she's trying to protect herself from something. "I've already called a taxi."
"You haven't” you say, calmly. "You've been sitting here for ten minutes arguing with the doctor about whether you need one."
"That's not…" she stops, flustered, because apparently that's exactly what happened. "It doesn't matter. I don't need you driving me home, Y/N. I'm perfectly capable of …"
"Of what? Hopping in a taxi with a sprained ankle in the rain?" You keep your voice even, not unkind, just factual. "I've got your bag. I've got your keys. I'm parked next to you, same as always. It's not a favour, Alexia, it's just getting you home. That's all it is."
"I don't want your help” she says, and her voice wavers slightly on want, betraying something underneath the stubbornness not dislike, you realise, but fear, the fear of needing something from someone she pushed away, the fear of what accepting might mean about everything she said five weeks ago.
"I know you don't want to need it” you say, gently. "But you do. So, let's not make this a whole thing. Come on."
She opens her mouth, you can see the argument forming, can see her gathering herself for one more round of insisting she's fine, that she doesn't need you, that she'd rather sit in pain than accept help from the person she hurt and you know, with sudden, weary certainty, that if you let her finish that sentence you're going to be standing in this changing room for another twenty minutes while she talks herself into a taxi purely out of pride.
So you don't let her finish it.
You cross the room, set her bag down, and before she's got more than half a syllable out, you lean down and kiss her.
It's quick barely two seconds, soft and sure and entirely without permission but it's enough to short-circuit whatever speech she'd been building, enough that when you pull back, she's just sitting there, boot half-on, mouth slightly open, staring up at you with an expression of such total, blank astonishment that you'd laugh if you weren't half-terrified of what you've just done.
You don't say anything. You'd meant to have something ready some explanation, some sorry, I shouldn't have, ignore that but looking at her face, dazed and open in a way you've genuinely never seen it, the words dissolve before you can use them. So instead, you just crouch down, sling her good arm over your shoulders, and say, "Right. Up you get. Careful of the ankle” as though you haven't just detonated something enormous between you.
She lets you help her up. That's the tell, really Alexia Putellas, who has spent weeks bristling at every offer of help you haven't made, who fought you on this exact thing forty seconds ago, goes utterly compliant, letting you take most of her weight, hopping awkwardly toward the door with an expression still fixed somewhere between shell-shock and something dazzled underneath it.
She doesn't say a word the whole way to the car park. Doesn't argue, doesn't insist, doesn't do any of the things Alexia Putellas usually does. She just leans into you, quiet, and every few seconds you catch her glancing sideways at your mouth like she's trying to work out whether the last two minutes actually happened.
You can't help it, the sight of her, the most stubborn woman you have ever met in your life, absolutely stunned into silence by one two-second kiss (well really was a litte peck) was too much, and a laugh escapes you before you can stop it, low and delighted.
"What” Alexia says, immediately defensive, though there's no real heat in it, just a kind of flustered scramble to reclaim some dignity. "What's funny."
"Nothing” you say, still smiling, guiding her toward the passenger side of her own car. "You've just got a very specific face on right now, so pouty."
"I do not have a face and I’m not pouty right now."
"You've absolutely got that face." You open the door for her, help her ease down into the seat, careful of her ankle, and she's still watching you with that same stunned, unmoored expression, cheeks gone pink, and you have to look away before you laugh again, because if you start properly laughing you might not stop, might end up crying instead, from relief or nerves or the enormous, terrifying hope suddenly unspooling in your chest.
You get her home. It's a quiet drive she doesn't say much, keeps stealing glances at you at red lights, and you keep your eyes very determinedly on the road, driving her own car with a peculiar, tender care, like the vehicle itself is something precious now simply by association.
Her flat is warm and a little too tidy, the way places get when someone spends more time on the training ground than at home. You get her settled on the sofa, prop her ankle up on a cushion the way the physio instructed, fetch her an ice pack from the freezer without needing to be told where it is old habits, you think, a little wryly, they don't actually go anywhere, they were just waiting.
By the time you've got her sorted, some of the shock has worn off her, replaced by something more like her usual self, though softer round the edges, less armoured. She watches you move around her kitchen with an expression you can't quite read.
"You kissed me” she says, eventually, like she's still confirming it happened, still testing the words in her own mouth.
"I did” you say, not turning around, focused very hard on filling a glass of water for her.
"Why?"
"Because you were about to spend twenty minutes arguing yourself into a car for pure stubbornness, and I didn't have the patience for it." You bring the water over, hand it to her, and finally let yourself meet her eyes. "Also, because I've wanted to for about two years and I'm tired."
Something in her face crumples, just slightly, at that’s not sadness exactly, something more complicated, guilt and hope tangled together.
"I'm hungry” she says instead, abruptly, which startles a small laugh out of you, because of course, of course this is how Alexia Putellas processes an enormous emotional confrontation by changing the subject to food, the same as she always has, the same stubborn, deflecting, utterly familiar version of her you've loved for two years.
"Alright” you say, easily, letting her have the deflection because you know her well enough to know she needs a minute. "What do you want?"
"I don't know. Something easy." She shifts on the sofa, wincing slightly at her ankle, and then looks up at you from underneath her lashes with an expression so deliberately pathetic, so exaggeratedly wounded, that you nearly laugh again the full puppy-dog routine, bottom lip very faintly out, eyes huge, the look she gives referees when she wants a foul given.
"What” you say, amused, "is that face for?"
"Nothing” she says, entirely unconvincingly. "I just my ankle hurts. And I'm cold. And you're just standing there so huggable."
"You want a hug."
"I didn't say that."
"You absolutely did say that, with your face and “huggable”" But you're already crossing the room, already lowering yourself onto the sofa beside her, careful of the propped ankle, and she doesn't hesitate at all just leans straight into you, tucks herself against your side like she's been doing it for years instead of never once before tonight, her head finding your shoulder with an ease that undoes something in your chest completely.
You wrap an arm around her carefully, mindful of her, and for a moment neither of you says anything. The flat is quiet. Somewhere outside, the rain that's been threatening all evening finally starts, soft against the windows.
"I'm sorry” Alexia says, into your shoulder, so quietly you nearly miss it. "For what I said. In the corridor. I didn't mean it the way it, I panicked. You were so… you were always doing so much for me, and I didn't know what to do with it, and I said the cruellest thing I could think of because it felt safer than admitting I liked it."
"I know” you say, softly, and you find you mean it the anger of the last five weeks has drained out of you somewhere between the medical room and this sofa, leaving only the old, patient love underneath, still there, exactly where you left it.
"And then you stopped” she goes on, voice small. "Doing all of it. The coffee, and everything. And I hated it. I hated it so much, Y/N, I didn't understand why it felt like losing something when I was the one who said I only wanted a friend."
"Because you didn't actually want a friend” you say, gently. "You wanted someone to love you the way I do, without having to call it that. And I couldn't keep doing it once you said what you said. It would've broken something in me."
She's quiet for a moment, and when she lifts her head to look at you, her eyes are shining, overbright, and there's none of the armour left in her face at all.
"I don't want to just be friends” she says, low, almost frightened by her own honesty. "I never wanted that. I don't know why I said it."
"I know why” you say. "You've said it yourself. Panic."
"Can I " She stops, swallows, tries again. "Can I kiss you properly? You only gave me about two seconds earlier and I've been thinking about it for the last forty minutes and I want to actually"
You don't let her finish that sentence either. You lean in and she meets you halfway, and this time there's nothing quick about it, this time it's slow, and soft, and certain, her hand coming up to rest against your jaw like she's making sure you're really there, and you feel something in your chest that's been clenched tight for five weeks finally, finally let go.
When you break apart she's smiling, properly smiling, the kind you haven't seen from her in weeks, unguarded and a little disbelieving, like she still can't quite work out how she got here.
"So” she says, a little breathless, "friends don't do that."
"No” you agree, smiling back at her, brushing a strand of hair off her face with a tenderness you've been rationing for five weeks and are no longer interested in rationing. "They really don't."
"Good” Alexia says, decisively, settling back against your shoulder with the satisfied air of someone who has just won an argument she started against herself. "Because I'm done with just being friends. I want the coffee. And the water bottles. And you carrying my bag through airports even though I do, in fact, have arms."
"You'll have to ask nicely maybe bribe me with a kiss or two."
"I'll ask however I like” she says, but she's laughing now, soft and warm against your shoulder, and outside the rain keeps falling, gentle against the windows, and inside, finally, everything that's been circling for two years settles quietly into place, the way the truest things always do not with fireworks, but with an ordinary evening, an ice pack, a bad joke about arms, and a girl who has finally stopped pretending she didn't want to be loved exactly the way you'd always loved her.
You order food eventually, something easy, like she asked for, pasta from the place two streets over that she likes and you eat it curled together on the sofa with her ankle propped on a pillow between you, and she keeps stealing glances at you between bites like she's checking you're still there, and every time you catch her doing it she goes faintly pink and pretends to be very interested in her food instead.
"I'm going to be insufferable now” she warns you, later, when the food's gone and the rain's settled into something steady and comfortable outside. "I'm going to want the coffee every single morning and your hugs and kisses and everything."
"I know, I want some kisses and hugs too. It´s what I expect when I’m dating someone."
"And I'm going to expect you to still jump in front of footballs for me."
"You always did expect that. You just weren't going to admit you liked it."
She goes quiet at that, thoughtful, tracing an absent pattern against your knuckles where your hand rests over hers. "I liked all of it” she admits, finally, so quietly it's almost lost under the rain. "I liked it so much I didn't know what to do with myself. It felt like too much. Like I didn't deserve someone loving me so carefully, so I pushed it away before I could ruin it myself."
"You didn't ruin it” you say. "You're here. I'm here. The ankle's the only casualty."
That gets a proper laugh out of her, surprised and bright, and she tips her head back against your shoulder, eyes closing, entirely at ease in a way you've genuinely never seen her before, not on the pitch, not in the dressing room, not anywhere. Just soft, and certain, and yours, finally, the way you'd quietly hoped she might be for two long years of coffee and stray footballs and a love you never once needed her to notice, because you knew, somewhere underneath all the patience, that eventually one way or another, whether by injury or stubborn
A little one shot in a world where Alexia is a CEO, big boss bitch but is still a simp for her wife. Cos she’s just a girl.
Thank you for the request/inspiration!!! (i tried to tag you but it wouldn't let me. sorry!)
and thank you @wosofutbolfan for always being that babe and getting me out of a jam 🫶🏼 and even adding your own smutty bits 👀
smut 18
wc 2868
The meeting room was full of suits. Every seat was occupied by some head of this or a lead board member of that. People whose self worth was inflated because of their equally inflated bank accounts.
And Alexia sat at the head of that long, clean and clinical table.
The one with the largest bank account of them all.
Alexia Putellas, one of the most prolific names in the business world.
The 32 year old’s portfolio was large to say the least. You name it, she most likely owned it, or had a stake in it.
The business titan owned half of Barcelona's new luxury high rises, expanding out to London, New York, and her newest addition in Tokyo.
Not forgetting her ownership with several tech companies of course.
Ice cold bottles of Berg water imported all the way from Canada were set directly in front of each seat, along with polished to perfection Vera Wang glassware.
It was pretentious, but it was expected.
Diagrams flicked over the projector, numbers and percentages neatly presented for all the big wigs to see. Some would nod, pretending to be as invested as they were paid to be. Some took notes on their shiny air mac books, looking up every so often so they looked the part.
But not everyone felt that way.
Alexia’s fingers tapped restlessly against her arm chair. It was the only thing she could focus on while one of the new starters in marketing drawled on about …. well, she couldn't actually tell you what she had been talking about because Alexia hadn't actually been listening.
Her focus had been on you.
Because this morning you had been very distracting.
—-------------------------
Alexia hadn't woken up to her usual 7am alarm, instead she had woken up to the warm press of your soft lips on her bare stomach.
“Amor?” She groggily murmured, one eye sleepily opening.
“Good morning, baby.” You purred as your kisses travelled lower.
The brunette sleepily smiled as her brain woke up to what was happening. “Hmm, this is a nice way to start my morning.” She mumbled, her morning voice raspy as she stretched her arms over her head. The soft cream Italian silk sheets moved with her.
You smiled sweetly up at her, loving the way the muscles in her stomach were already flexing to the feeling of you.
“You looked so cute sleeping. I couldn't really stop myself.” You whispered, almost shyly.
The room was still dark, a slither of morning light spilled in the corner of the large room, giving you some sense of sight. Not that you needed it, you knew Alexia's body like the back of your hand, every curve, every freckle was mapped out in your mind.
“I have no complaints.” Alexia hummed as you shuffled down lower, your face now in between her thighs.
Your cunt jumped with want when her large hand lazy tangled in your already messy bed hair.
You lathered her thighs in slow, wet kisses, sucking gently on her sensitive skin just to hear her breath skip in her throat.
Alexia had finally fully woken up now, she sat up on her elbows, wanting to fully see what you were doing to her. She watched as your naked body lay between her legs, worshiping her like the goddess she was, praying at the altar of her cunt.
Her eyes greedily took in the curve of your arse, traveling up the smooth skin of your back, watching the way your muscles moved. The tresses of your hair flowed down your spine, falling between your shoulder blades. You looked dreamlike. For a moment she wasn’t sure if she was still dreaming.
“You look so good, baby.” The brunette sighed happily as she leaned back, folding her arms behind her head, getting herself comfy for what was to come.
Her, hopefully.
You nuzzled your nose against her thigh giving her one last kiss before you flattened your tongue and tentatively gave a gentle lick between her lips.
“Fuck.” She sighed, her lashes fluttering from the feeling of you.
You hummed at the taste of her. Pressing your tongue inside her, greedily lapping at the already wet fluids escaping her.
You slowly licked your tongue from her entrance, through her folds, then gently wrapped your lips around her clit, sucking it teasingly against your tongue.
“Baby.” The brunette whimpered, her hips already grinding into your face.
“You’re so wet already, Ale.” You smirked, looking up at your wife through your lashes.
Alexia let out an airy chuckle trying to ignore the way your breath tingled against her wet skin. “And who’s the reason for that?”
You gave her lips another soft kiss before going back to your task.
Your hands wrapped around her strong thighs, opening her up fully for you, like she was your own personal buffet.
The brunette, relaxed sitting back, letting you eat her out while she watched you.
“Thats it.” She whispered before gathering your hair on one hand, pushing your face a little deeper. “Keep going.”
You groaned, feeling the pressure of her hand on you, doing exactly what she said without protest.
Alexia could feel her heart thumping against her chest as your tongue swirled with precision around her clit.
God, you felt so fucking good.
But your bliss was rudely interrupted as a blaring jingle went off besides Alexia’s head.
“Fuck.” The brunette grumbled before reaching for her phone to see who dared to call her at this early hour. “It’s Jenni.” She sighed.
But you didn't stop as she pressed the green button on her screen, and she made no effort to stop you.
“Si?”
You heard the familiar voice of Jenni.
“When?.... Today?” Alexia frowned, her hand still wrapped in your hair as she spoke to Jenni.
You flicked your tongue at Alexia's clit, quickening your movements before slurping at her wet folds.
The brunette gritted her teeth watching you like a hawk as you continued to pleasure her.
“Can’t it wait?” She sighed with annoyance.
Even as you greedily licked at Alexia's cunt you could hear Jenni’s own agitated tone simply state a firm ‘No’
You pulled back, Alexia watched as her shiny fluids stuck messily to your chin. You sweetly smiled before sticking out your tongue, showing her just how truly wet she was.
Her bottom lip came in between her teeth as she watched her juices drip from your tongue and onto the sheets beneath you. She looked utterly mesmerised by you, her mouth gapping open, lost in the filthy sight.
Then you went back to it.
“Fuck.” Alexia gasped, throwing her head back against the pillow.
You could hear the unmistakable, all knowing change in Jenni's tone through the phone.
‘That’s why you don't want to get out of bed.’ You heard the raven girl snigger through the speaker.
Alexia let out a frustrated groan as she hung up, blindly throwing her phone on the bed.
“I have to go.” She frowned before dramatically throwing her arm across her face. “I have a meeting with the board that I can’t get out of. I have to leave in 15 minutes.”
You stopped what you were doing and leaned your head against her thigh, giving her a pout that you’d normally save for when you really needed it.
Like the time you found a raggedy kitten on a holiday in Greece. You had begged Alexia to bring the flea ridden feline home with you. She of course had said no before the words had even fully left your mouth, but when you stuck your bottom lip out your wife never had the heart nor will power to not fold and not give you exactly what you wanted.
That raggedy old kitten was now named Falafel and had her very own playroom. Alexia was her favourite person, not that she'd admit it, but Falef's purrs said otherwise.
“Thats not fair.” You sulked.
“I know.” She sighed before releasing the hold on your hair.
You leaned up, Alexia’s hazel eyes watched you crawl from her shaky thighs and sat directly on her stomach before you lent down to give her a lazy kiss.
“Dios mio.” She whispered the moment she felt your wet cunt press against her tight abs.
“Thats okay, baby. We can come back to this later.” You murmured against her lips, before sneakily allowing your hips to roll against her skin.
Her hands automatically moved to grab your hips, but you were quicker, moving off of her before she could no doubt grind you against her.
“You better jump in the shower.” You sighed dreamily as you laid back on your side of the bed.
Alexia peered over at your naked body, you could see she was having second thoughts on whether or not to go to this meeting, but you both knew Jenni would gladly drag her out by her feet if she didn't show up.
The brunette grumbled as she left you in the sheets, seconds later you heard the shower turning on.
She was quick as she got ready, as the CEO she was used to having last minute meetings.
Alexia was in the walk-in wardrobe as she buttoned up the last button of her shirt, grabbing her sunglasses from the side before she came back into your shared room.
“I’ll make it up to you tonight, my love…” But her words were caught in her throat as she walked into the sight in front of her.
Your hand was between your thighs, your hair a mess of tresses over the dusty pink pillowcases as you boldly circled your wet clit.
You smirked when you heard the small whimper leave Alexia’s gaping mouth. The brunette comically looked between your legs, then your face, then back between your legs again.
“Oh, hey, baby.” You rasped, your wet fingers slick with your arousal.
And just as she began to walk towards you her phone rang again. No doubt Jenni telling her to move her arse.
She groaned, throwing her head back before she headed towards the door to leave, knowing full well if she stepped an inch closer to you she wouldn’t be making it to this meeting. “Amorrrr, why do you do this to me!”
You couldn't help but laugh.
The 32 year old stood in front of you. In full designer. Looking everything like the 5”8 CEO that she is. Silk shirt tucked into high waisted tailored trousers. At least 30 staff reported to her. Reported being the optimum word. They respected her but they feared her.
A room would fall into silence at just a glance from her. Analysts would break a sweat at a pointed cough, stock markets fell at the arch of her eyebrow. And here she was. Stomping her foot like a child who had been told Christmas was cancelled because of you. And some light fingering.
Maybe it was a bit mean of you but you had to keep your wife on her toes every now and again.
The brunette looked over her shoulder at you one more time before she left and mumbled. “You wait until I see you tonight.” She warned.
But you couldn't take the threat too seriously, not with the tantrum she just had.
“Can’t wait.” You winked cheekily before dipping a single finger inside yourself, keeping your eyes locked with hers the whole time.
Alexia’s eyes drifted down between your legs once more before she begrudgingly left.
—---------------------------------------
Now here she was. Her mind miles away, bored out of her skull while you were at home.
Being a brat.
Alexia sighed before she discreetly pulled out her phone under the table. Her fingers automatically opened the Instagram app.
She smirked when she saw the little round pink icon of your dp lit up with a story, but when she opened it her smirk faltered, her lips parted for the seventh time that morning due to you.
There you were, kitted up head to toe in fresh Nike, thanks to Alexia’s stakes in the brand. Your face sweaty, sporting a tight sports bra, your chest drenched wet with sweat. Your baby hair’s curling at the edges where you had just completed a work out.
The brunette licked her before she clicked on your next story.
Alexia closed her eyes in frustration as she looked over the new picture. It was a selfie. Close up. Your tight nipples were perking through the fabric. Your rosy pink lips were parted just like the way they were when she left you this morning, in the large king sized bed. The same cloudy eyes that looked at her with so much desire as you teasingly touched yourself.
The throb between her legs that had barely left her came back in full throttle as she imagined your mouth.
The way your tongue had pressed inside her, making her legs shake and back arch and–
“…Alexia?”
“Sweat.” She gently mumbled under her breath, too consumed in her thoughts to even realise she was talking out loud.
“...Erm, Alexia?”
The brunette nearly dropped her phone as her name was called again bringing her back to the real world.
“Huh?...What?” The CEO looked around the boardroom, slipping her phone back in her pocket as a room full of eyes looked at her for an answer.
Alexia must have looked like a dear in headlights, which wasn't often.
The new marketing girl cleared her throat a little nervously. “I-I was just asking what your thoughts were on maybe teaming up with Rosalia and h-her team? It would be great for traction on the new project.” She stuttered.
Alexia stared at her, blinked, once, twice, completely lost. Shit.
“I erm…”
“What she means to say is…” Jenni came in to save Alexia, giving her a shit eating grin as she did, “she thinks that's a great idea. We’ve been wanting to work with Rosalia for a little while and this is the perfect project for that.” The raven haired woman smiled reassuringly at her young colleague.
Alexia looked at Jenni, then back at the woman in front of her, her face looking a little less anxious at Jenni's words, but still looking at Alexia for her approval.
Alexia knew if Jenni liked whatever idea this was then she could let it pass.
“Si, I like the idea. Well done.” Was all she needed to say with a little head nod and small smile.
The room murmured in agreement, happy that Alexia liked the idea.
The brunette looked over at her oldest friend, mouthing a silent ‘thank you’ her way.
“Shall we end it there. I think a quick coffee break would be good.” Jenni chimed, looking at Alexia, still smiling.
The room of course looked at Alexia for the go ahead.
Alexia nodded, clearing her throat as she pulled at her shirt collar. “Everyone take 15.”
The room slowly descended with gentle murmurs as everyone began to rise from their chairs. Eager to get their caffeine fix.
A low whistle came from the other side of the room. Jenni was standing now, her phone in her hand and that same wolfish grin on her face. “Aye, now I know why you were distracted." Jenni chuckled, showing her screen to Alexia, with your face plastered on her phone.
“She’s killing me.” Alexia breathed, covering her face with her hands before dragging her palms down her face.
The raven haired girl threw her head back, letting out a belly laugh. “You are so whipped. I love it.”
With a loud groan the brunette stood up from her chair, shaking her head at her oldest friend.
“I can’t even argue with that.” Alexia admitted, softly chuckling. “I owe you a coffee for saving me.”
“Can we go to the one with the cute barista?” Jenni wiggled her eyebrows.
“Sure.” Alexia agreed.
The two colleagues began to walk out the room, Jenni held open the door for Alexia as she walked out. The brunette pulled out her phone once more, smiling to herself when she saw she had a text from you.
Then she stopped dead in her tracks.
It was a photo of you. Hair freshly washed, in nothing but an old pj top, one of Alexia’s of course. You were clearly naked from the bottom down, smiling innocently at the phone. With a simple text saying ‘miss you’
Before she could reply the heavy glass door came hurling towards her, slapping her right in the side of her face.
“Oww! Merda!” She hissed, rubbing her now thumping head. She looked over at Jenni with a scowl, who had apparently let the door go.
Jenni smirked, holding her hands up in innocence.“Aye, it's not my fault you’re so distracted!” She smirked, walking ahead.
Alexia rubbed her head, already feeling the lump forming and quickly wrote out a reply.
‘Amor, you have to stop. I just banged my head, distracted by your face. Its dangerous for me x’
She can't help but laugh aloud at the reply that vibrates in her hand.
“Aw, my poor baby. Not the kind of head I had in mind, but I'll rub it all better. Come home soon x “
By the time Y/N pushed through the front door, her feet were aching so badly she almost considered sleeping right there in the entryway.
The apartment was quiet except for the low murmur of cartoons coming from the living room and the soft sound of Eli’s voice.
“Careful, mi amor. The dinosaur cannot fly from the sofa.”
“Yes he can,” her son argued immediately.
Y/N smiled despite herself.
It was the first real smile she’d managed in twelve hours.
Her shift at the hospital had been brutal from the second she clocked in. Two car accidents, one elderly patient with chest pain who reminded her painfully of her grandfather, one drunk tourist who kept trying to leave before the stitches in his eyebrow were finished, and then, because the universe had a cruel sense of humor, a trauma came in thirty minutes before she was supposed to go home.
So now she stood in the hallway, still in navy scrubs, hair falling out of its bun, smelling faintly of antiseptic and coffee, with dried pen marks on the side of her hand and exhaustion sitting heavy in her bones.
“Mama!”
Her son spotted her from the living room and immediately abandoned the plastic dinosaur in his hand.
Y/N barely had time to drop her bag before he launched himself at her legs.
“Oh, there’s my boy,” she whispered, bending down and scooping him up.
He wrapped his arms around her neck so tightly that her chest ached.
Not from the pressure.
From the feeling.
“Did you have fun with Eli?”
He nodded dramatically, his messy hair brushing her cheek.
“Eli made pasta.”
Y/N looked over his shoulder.
Eli was sitting on the living room floor among a battlefield of toys, looking elegant even in casual clothes, which Y/N found deeply unfair. Alexia’s mother smiled warmly at her, but there was concern behind it.
“Long day?”
Y/N let out a tired laugh.
“You have no idea.”
Eli pushed herself up from the floor. “Sit down. I saved you some food.”
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.” Eli walked into the kitchen like it was her own, which, at this point, it nearly was. “That is why it is called being kind.”
Y/N smiled again and kissed her son’s cheek before setting him down. “Go clean up five toys for me.”
“Five?”
“Yes. Five.”
He sighed like she’d asked him to move furniture. Eli laughed softly as she pulled a covered plate from the fridge. These moments were the ones that confused Y/N the most. The domestic ones. The painfully normal ones. Because inside these walls, she wasn’t a secret.
Inside these walls, Eli knew exactly where the extra mugs were kept. She knew Y/N liked her tea stronger than most Spanish people could tolerate. She knew Y/N’s son hated peas but would eat broccoli if someone pretended it was a tiny tree. She knew where the plasters were, which blanket lived on the back of the sofa, and that Alexia always pretended she didn’t like cartoons but somehow knew the theme songs by heart.
Inside these walls, Y/N had a life.
A real one.
A family, almost.
Outside of them, she barely existed.
Y/N sat at the kitchen island as Eli warmed her food. Her son dragged toys across the living room floor, very clearly cleaning by moving the mess from one side of the room to the other.
“Alexia texted earlier,” Eli said. “They arrived at the concert.”
Y/N nodded, picking at a loose thread near her sleeve. “Good.”
Eli looked at her carefully.
Y/N felt the look before she met it.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not a nothing face.”
Eli leaned against the counter. “I only wondered if you were sad you could not go.”
Y/N shrugged. “A bit, maybe. Bad Bunny would’ve been fun.”
“You work too much.”
“I’m an ER nurse. That’s sort of the job description.”
“Yes, but still.” Eli placed the plate in front of her. “You need rest.”
Y/N hummed, already taking a bite.
The food was warm, simple, and exactly what she needed. For a moment she let herself sink into it. The apartment. Her son. Eli washing a pan in the sink even though Y/N told her not to. The muffled sound of cartoons. The distant city noise outside.
Alexia was out with the team.
Y/N was home.
It should have felt fine.
It almost did.
“She deserves tonight,” Y/N said after a moment.
Eli turned slightly. “Alexia?”
Y/N nodded. “Last season at Barça. That’s huge. Emotional. Complicated. She should be out celebrating.”
And she meant it.
That was the worst part.
Y/N wasn’t angry that Alexia had gone out. She wasn’t angry that Alexia had friends, teammates, a life outside of her. She had never wanted to be the girlfriend who demanded every second, every text, every location.
She loved Alexia’s passion.
Loved the way her eyes lit up when she talked about football, even when the conversation shifted into tactical details Y/N only understood half of. Loved watching her be adored by people who had followed her career for years.
Y/N loved Alexia’s life.
She just wished she was allowed to be part of it.
Her phone buzzed on the counter.
She glanced at it without thinking.
Instagram.
Kika Nazareth added to her story.
Y/N stared at the notification for a second longer than she should have.
She followed most of the Barça girls on Instagram, though she doubted half of them knew who she was. To them, she was probably just another random account in the sea of fans and friends and strangers who watched their lives through a screen.
She hesitated.
Then tapped.
The first story was harmless. A shaky clip of the stage, lights flashing purple and blue while the crowd screamed along to the music. The second was a selfie of Kika and a couple of the girls, laughing with drinks in their hands. The third was the one that made the apartment go strangely quiet around her. It was only a few seconds long. A video of the group dancing in the middle of the concert. Mapi was there. Irene. Patri. A few others Y/N recognized from Alexia’s stories and matches and post-game photos.
Then the camera swung.
Alexia.
Laughing.
Dancing.
Her head tipped back, her body leaning into Kika’s, completely relaxed. Kika’s left arm was wrapped across Alexia’s chest. Not briefly. Not accidentally. Comfortably. Possessively, even if Y/N hated herself for thinking the word. Alexia was singing, eyes bright, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world. Kika was behind her, close enough that there was barely space between them, grinning as the lights flickered over both of them.
The clip ended.
Y/N’s thumb froze over the screen.
Her heart didn’t drop all at once. It sank slowly. Painfully. Like her body needed time to understand what her mind had already seen.
Eli must have noticed the change, because she stopped washing the pan.
“Y/N?”
Y/N didn’t answer.
She replayed the story.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each time, she tried to find a different version of it. One where Alexia looked uncomfortable. One where she moved away. One where Kika’s arm was just passing by, just caught in a bad angle, just one of those things that looked worse than it was. But no. Alexia was comfortable. That was what hurt. Not because Y/N thought Alexia was cheating. She didn’t. Not really. But comfort could still cut. Because Y/N had spent nine months learning the shape of Alexia’s caution. The way Alexia let go of her hand the second they stepped out of the car anywhere too public. The way dinner reservations were always made in quiet places, private corners, back rooms, or only when Mapi came along to make it look less like a date. The way Alexia never posted anything that even hinted at Y/N’s existence. The way she said, “It’s safer like this,” so many times that Y/N had started to wonder who exactly they were protecting.
And now here she was.
Public.
Open.
Careless.
With Kika’s arm around her like it belonged there.
Eli stepped closer.
“What happened?”
Y/N swallowed and shook her head.
“Nothing.”
Eli’s expression made it clear she didn’t believe her. Y/N looked down at her plate. The food suddenly felt impossible to eat. Her phone buzzed again. This time it was a message from Alexia.
Ale ❤️: Concert is amazing. Wish you were here.
Y/N stared at the words.
Wish you were here.
She wondered if Alexia really did. If Y/N had been there, would she have been allowed to stand beside her? Would Alexia have danced with her like that? Would she have wrapped her arms around Y/N in front of the team? Would she have kissed her cheek beneath the flashing lights? Or would Y/N have stood three people away while Alexia smiled at her like a friend? She set the phone face down.
Eli watched her carefully.
“Do you want me to stay until Alexia gets home?”
Y/N almost said no.
Pride rose up first. Automatic. Defensive.
Then she glanced toward the living room, where her son was now lining up toy cars across the rug, completely unaware that his mother’s chest felt like it was cracking open.
“Yes,” Y/N whispered.
Eli’s face softened.
“Of course.”
Neither of them said anything else for a while.
Y/N finished three more bites because Eli was watching and because she knew she needed food after a twelve-hour shift, even if her stomach had twisted itself into something tight and ugly.
Afterward, she showered quickly.
The hot water did nothing to settle her.
She changed into an old oversized shirt and shorts, then tucked her son into bed. He demanded two stories, then one more because “Ale does three,” which nearly broke her on the spot.
“She does, does she?”
He nodded sleepily. “Ale does voices.”
Y/N brushed his hair back from his forehead.
“Of course she does.”
“Is Ale coming home?”
Y/N stared down at him.
“Yes, baby,” she said softly. “She’ll be home later.”
He smiled, already half asleep. “Tell her I saved blue car.”
Y/N kissed his forehead.
“I’ll tell her.”
When she returned to the living room, Eli had turned the television down.
The apartment felt too calm.
Too normal.
Y/N picked up her phone again.
The story was still there.
Of course it was.
She watched it one more time, even though she knew she shouldn’t.
This time she noticed Mapi in the background, dancing with Miriam, her arms wrapped around her from behind for a second before both of them burst out laughing and separated.
Y/N almost laughed too.
Because she could already hear Alexia’s argument. Everyone was dancing. It didn’t mean anything. Mapi was doing it too. The difference was that Y/N knew Mapi. Mapi had been in their home. Mapi had eaten breakfast at their table. Mapi had let Y/N’s son draw a terrible picture of Bagheera and stuck it on her fridge like it was priceless art. Y/N knew Mapi. She knew her humor, her loyalty, her boundaries. Kika was a stranger. Not because Y/N hadn’t tried. Because Alexia had made sure the Barcelona part of her life stayed behind a locked door.
Y/N sat on the sofa and waited.
The minutes passed slowly.
Eli didn’t ask questions, and Y/N loved her for that. She simply sat nearby, knitting something small and soft in pale blue yarn, as if her presence alone could keep the night from falling apart.
It couldn’t.
A little after one in the morning, keys turned in the front door.
Y/N’s entire body went still.
Alexia stepped inside quietly, one hand braced against the door as she slipped off her shoes. Her cheeks were flushed from the night air, her hair slightly messy, her eyes still bright with the leftover energy of music and celebration.
She looked happy.
That made it worse.
Then she saw Eli.
“Mama?” Alexia whispered, surprised.
Eli stood slowly.
“I stayed with Y/N.”
Alexia looked from her mother to Y/N on the sofa.
Her smile faded.
“What happened?”
Y/N stood.
For one second, she looked at Alexia and forgot every word she had spent the last hour preparing. Because she loved her. That was the problem. She loved the woman standing in front of her, tired and beautiful and confused, in a jacket Y/N had helped her pick out weeks ago. She loved her enough to move countries. Loved her enough to trust her with her son. Loved her enough to build a life in a language that still felt unfamiliar on her tongue some days. But she was so tired of loving someone who only seemed brave enough to love her in private.
Y/N lifted her phone.
Alexia’s eyes flickered down.
Y/N opened Kika’s story and pressed play.
The music filled the room for five seconds.
Then stopped.
Alexia’s face changed.
Not guilt exactly.
Recognition.
Y/N hated that more.
Because it meant Alexia knew.
She knew what Y/N had seen before Y/N even had to say it.
Eli looked between them, the sadness in her expression quiet but unmistakable.
“I will check on him,” Eli said softly, giving them the room.
Neither of them answered.
Alexia waited until her mother disappeared down the hallway before she spoke.
“Y/N”
“No.”
Alexia stopped.
Y/N’s hand tightened around her phone.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Say my name like I’m already being unreasonable.”
Alexia exhaled slowly.
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
The apartment fell silent.
Then Alexia glanced toward the phone again.
“It was just dancing.”
Y/N laughed once.
It came out sharp and empty.
“Of course it was.”
“Cariño”
“No.” Y/N shook her head. “Not tonight.”
Alexia’s shoulders dropped, the concert glow fading from her completely.
“Can we talk about this calmly?”
Y/N looked at her.
“I have been calm for months.”
Alexia didn’t answer.
And that was when Y/N knew this fight wasn’t going to be small. It wasn’t going to be fixed with a kiss on the forehead, an apology whispered into her hair, and Alexia promising again that she’d handle it. This was the moment all the smaller moments had been waiting for. The story was still paused on her phone. Alexia frozen in the frame. Kika’s arm around her chest. Y/N turned the screen toward Alexia one more time.
“I asked you to deal with this.”
Alexia swallowed.
“I know.”
“No,” Y/N said quietly. “You don’t.”
And for the first time all night, Alexia looked afraid.
Alexia looked afraid. Y/N hated that. Not because she wanted to hurt her. Because fear meant Alexia still thought this was about the video. It wasn't. The video was simply evidence. The latest exhibit in a case Y/N had been building for months.
Alexia stepped forward carefully.
"Cariño"
"Stop calling me that."
The words came out before Y/N could stop them. Alexia flinched. Immediately. Y/N felt guilty. Immediately. Neither feeling was enough to stop what was coming. The apartment felt too small. Too quiet. Too familiar. Y/Ns son's coloring books were still on the coffee table. Alexia's jacket was still hanging by the door. The blanket they always fought over during movie nights was folded neatly over the sofa.
A life.
Their life.
And somehow Y/N had never felt further away from it.
"It was one video."
Alexia's voice was softer now.
"There it is."
"What?"
"The part where you pretend this is about one video."
Alexia opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Y/N nodded.
"Exactly."
She walked away from the sofa before she could start crying. The last thing she wanted was to cry this early. She needed Alexia to hear her first.
"For months," Y/N continued, "I've told you she's too touchy."
"I know."
"I've told you it bothers me."
"I know."
"I've asked you to say something."
"I did."
Y/N stopped walking.
Slowly turned around.
"You did?"
"I did."
"When?"
Alexia hesitated.
Y/N's stomach dropped.
"When Alexia?"
"I mentioned it."
"Mentioned it?"
Alexia sighed.
"It wasn't a formal conversation."
"Clearly."
The silence stretched.
Alexia rubbed a hand over her face.
"I don't know what you want from me."
The words hit harder than they should have.
Because Y/N knew Alexia wasn't trying to be cruel.
She genuinely didn't know.
That was the problem.
"I want to feel like your girlfriend."
The room went still.
Alexia blinked.
"What?"
Y/N swallowed.
Hard.
"I want to feel like your girlfriend."
"You are my girlfriend."
"No."
The word came out sharp.
Painfully sharp.
"Not here."
Alexia stared at her.
"What does that even mean?"
Y/N laughed.
Again.
She was starting to hate the sound.
"It means the only place I get to be your girlfriend is inside this apartment."
Alexia's jaw tightened.
"You know why."
"No."
"You do."
"No, Alexia."
Y/N stepped closer.
"I understand why you don't post me online."
"Then, "
"I'm not finished."
Alexia fell silent.
"I understand why you don't put my face on Instagram."
Another step.
"I understand why you don't want paparazzi following my son."
Another.
"I understand why you value privacy."
Alexia nodded.
"But privacy and secrecy are not the same thing."
That landed.
Y/N saw it.
Saw the exact second the words reached her.
Alexia's expression shifted.
Only slightly.
Not enough.
Still not enough.
"You think I'm hiding you."
The hurt in Alexia's voice nearly made Y/N cave.
Nearly.
"Alexia..."
She shook her head.
"I don't think it."
Silence.
"I know it."
The words hung between them.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
Alexia looked devastated.
"I have never been ashamed of you."
"I know."
"Then how can you say that?"
"Because being hidden feels exactly the same."
Alexia looked away.
That hurt too.
Because Alexia always looked away when she didn't have an answer.
Y/N had learned that months ago.
"Tell me something."
Alexia didn't respond.
"When was the last time we went to dinner?"
"We always"
Y/N cut in "Just us."
Silence.
Y/N nodded.
"Right."
"That's not fair."
"No?"
"No."
Alexia crossed her arms.
"We go out."
"With who?"
Silence.
"With who, Alexia."
"...Mapi."
Y/N smiled sadly.
"Exactly."
"Mapi knows."
"That's not the point."
"She helps."
"That's not the point."
Alexia's frustration started to show.
"Then what is the point?"
Y/N stared at her.
For a moment she couldn't believe she still had to explain this.
"The point is that we've been together for nine months and you've never once taken me somewhere publicly as your girlfriend."
The words echoed through the room.
Alexia looked like she'd been slapped.
Y/N kept going.
Because once she started she couldn't stop.
"You've introduced me to sponsors, You've introduced me to neighbors, You've introduced me to restaurant staff, But never your teammates."
Alexia opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"They don't need to know."
Y/N actually laughed.
A real laugh this time.
Small.
Broken.
"There it is."
Alexia frowned.
"What?"
"They don't need to know."
Y/N repeated the words back to her.
Slowly.
Like she was tasting poison.
"They don't need to know."
Alexia's face fell. Because she finally heard it. The implication. The dismissal. The years of meaning packed into one careless sentence.
Y/N took a shaky breath.
"You know what hurts the most?"
Alexia didn't answer.
"I don't know Kika."
The room went quiet.
Alexia frowned.
"What?"
"I don't know her."
Y/N gestured toward the phone.
"I've never met her, I've never spoken to her, I don't know what she's like, I don't know if she's kind, I don't know if she's funny, I don't know if she respects boundaries, I don't know anything about her."
Alexia's face softened.
"Y/N"
"No."
Tears were starting now.
She couldn't stop them.
Not anymore.
"That's my point, Alexia."
Her voice cracked.
"I know Mapi."
Silence.
"I've had dinner with Mapi."
Silence.
"My son knows Mapi."
Silence.
"Mapi knows me."
Another silence.
"I don't know Kika because you won't let me anywhere near your life at Barcelona."
Alexia looked stunned. Like she'd never considered it from that angle before. Like she'd never once thought about how strange it was that her girlfriend of nine months had never met most of the people she spent every day with.
The realization hit her visibly.
Too late.
Far too late.
Y/N wiped at her face.
"I'm tired."
Alexia took a step forward.
"I can fix this."
The words came instantly. Desperate. Instinctive. Y/N closed her eyes. Because she'd heard them before. After every conversation. Every argument. Every uncomfortable discussion. I can fix this. I will handle it. I'll talk to her. I'll make it better.
When Y/N opened her eyes again, something inside her had settled.
Not healed.
Not forgiven.
Settled.
Like a decision.
"I'm going to stay somewhere else for a while."
The color drained from Alexia's face.
"What?"
"I'm leaving."
"No."
The response came immediately.
Firm.
Panicked.
"No."
"Alexia"
"No."
Alexia shook her head.
"No, we're not doing that."
Y/N stared at her.
"We're not doing what?"
"Leaving."
Alexia's voice cracked.
"You don't leave."
The irony almost knocked the breath from Y/N's lungs.
You don't leave.
As if Y/N hadn't left everything already. London. Friends. Family. Her support system. Her entire life. All for this. For them.
"I'm not asking permission."
Alexia looked shattered. Y/N hated herself for it. But not enough to stay. She walked toward the bedroom. Behind her she heard Alexia follow.
"Please."
One word.
Barely a whisper.
It almost worked.
Almost.
Then Y/N opened the wardrobe and pulled down a duffel bag.
And Alexia finally understood she was serious. Really serious. Not a fight. Not a threat. Not a dramatic exit. Leaving. Actually leaving. The silence that followed was deafening.
Because for the first time all night...
Neither of them knew how to fix this.
And somewhere down the hallway, completely unaware that both of their worlds were collapsing, a little blue toy car sat waiting on a bedside table for Alexia to come home.
Y/N grabs the duffel and walks to her sons room, Eli sitting in a chair in the corner of the room stands when the door opens, seeing Y/N tear stains and glassy eyes and Alexia behind her. Y/N walks over to her sons dresser, puts some of his clothes in the duffel, walks over to slowly pick him up and walks towards the front door.
Alexia is right on their heel.
Y/N reaches the door, opens it and starts to walk out. Before she closes the door, she turns around to face Alexia
"When you figure out that Kika is not your girlfriend... Come find me"
With that she closes the door. Alexia watches and she gets in and drives off. Eli standing behind her daughter. Watching as she is lighting her world on fire. She knows the love her daughter has for Y/N and her son. She also knows that Alexia will have to fix this on her own.
